The Last of the Family

James.
What, Gregory, you are come, I see, to join us
On this sad business.

Gregory.
Ay, James, I am come,
But with a heavy heart, God knows it, man !
Where shall we meet the corpse ?

James.
Some hour from hence ;
By noon, and near about the elms, I take it.
This is not as it should be, Gregory,
Old men to follow young ones to the grave !
This morning, when I heard the bell strike out,
I thought that I had never heard it toll
So dismally before.

Gregory.
Well, well ! my friend,
'Tis what we all must come to, soon or late.
But when a young man dies, in the prime of life
One born so well, who might have blest us all
Many long years ! —

James.
And then the family
Extinguish'd in him, and the good old name
Only to be remember'd on a tomb-stone !
A name that has gone down from sire to son
So many generations ! — Many a time
Poor master Edward, who is now a corpse,
When but a child, would come to me and lead me
To the great family -tree, and beg of me
To tell him stories of his ancestors.
Of Eustace, he that went to the Holy Land
With Richard Lion-heart, and that Sir Henry
Who fought at Creasy in King Edward's wars ;
And then his little eyes would kindle so
To hear of their brave deeds ! I used to think
The bravest of them all would not out-do
My darling boy.

Gregory.
This comes of your great schools
And college-breeding. Plague upon his guardians.
That would have made him wiser than his fathers !

James.
If his poor father, Gregory, had but lived,
Things would not have been so. He, poor good man.
Had little of book-learning; but there lived not
A kinder, nobler-hearted gentleman.
One better to his tenants. When he died
There was not a dry eye for miles around.
Gregory, I thought that I could never know
A sadder day than that ; but what was that.
Compared with this day's sorrow ?

Gregory.
I remember,
Eight months ago, when the young Squire began
To alter the old mansion, they destroy'd
The martins' nests, that had stood undisturb'd
Under that roof, — ay ! long before my memory.
I shook my head at seeing it, and thought
No good could follow.

James.
Poor young man ! I loved him
Like my own child. I loved the family !
Come Candlemas, and I have been their servant
For five-and-forty years. I lived with them
When his good father brought my Lady home ;
And when the young Squire was born, it did me good
To hear the bells so merrily announce
An heir. This is indeed a heavy blow —
I feel it, Gregory, heavier than the weight
Of threescore years. He was a noble lad ;
I loved him dearly.

Gregory.
Every body loved him ;
Such a fine, generous, open-hearted Youth !
When he came home from school at holidays.
How I rejoiced to see him ! He was sure
To come and ask of me what birds there were
About my fields ; and when I found a covey.
There's not a testy Squire preserves his game
More charily, than I have kept them safe
For Master Edward. And he look'd so well
Upon a fine, sharp morning after them.
His brown hair frosted, and his cheek so flush'd
With such a wholesome ruddiness, — ah, James,
Bat he was sadly changed when he came down
To keep his birth-day.

James.
Changed ! why, Gregory,
'Twas like a palsy to me, when he stepp'd
Out of the carriage. He was grown so thin.
His cheek so delicate sallow, and his eyes
Had such a dim and rakish hollowness ;
And when he came to shake me by the hand.
And spoke as kindly to me as he used,
I hardly knew the voice.

Gregory.
It struck a damp
On all our merriment. 'Twas a noble Ox
That smoked before us, and the old October
Went merrily in overflowing cans ;
But 'twas a skin-deep merriment. My heart
Seem'd as it took no share. And when we drank
His health, the thought came over me what cause
We had for wishing that, and spoilt the draught
Poor Gentleman ! to think, ten months ago
He came of age, and now ! —

James.
I fear'd it then !
He look'd to me as one that was not long
For this world's business.

Gregory.
When the Doctor sent him
Abroad to try the air, it made me certain
That all was over. There's but little hope,
Methinks, that foreign parts can help a man
When his own mother-country will not do.
The last time he came down, these bells rung so,
I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple down;
And now that dismal toll ! I would have staid
Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty :
I am an old tenant of the family,
Born on the estate ; and now that I've outlived it,
Why, 'tis but right to see it to the grave.
Have you heard aught of the new Squire ?

James.
But little,
And that not well. But be he what he may,
Matters not much to me. The love I bore
To the old family will not easily fix
Upon a stranger. What's on the opposite hill ?
Is it not the funeral ?

Gregory.
'Tis, I think, some horsemen.
Ay ! there are the black cloaks ; and now I see
The white plumes on the hearse.

James.
'Tis hid behind them now.
Between the trees; —

Gregory.
Ay ! now we see it.
And there's the coaches following ; we shall meet
About the bridge. Would that this day were over !
I wonder whose turn's next.

James.
God above knowi.
When youth is summon'd, what must age expect !
God make us ready, Gregory, when it comes !