for thy pains, if thou dost, Friend Toft," returned
Plant, "that's all I can say."

"Be advised by me, and stay here," seconded Burtenshaw, endeavoring to
hold him back.

But Toft would not be advised--

Kings may be blest, but he was glorious,
O'er all the ills of life victorious.

Staggering up to Peter, he laid a hard grasp upon his shoulder, and,
thus forcibly soliciting his attention, burst into a loud horse-laugh.

But Peter was, or affected to be, too much occupied to look at him.

"What dost see, man, that thou starest so?"

"It comes, it comes--the rain--the rain--a torrent--a deluge--ha, ha!
Blessed is the corpse the rain rains on. Sir Piers may be drenched
through his leaden covering by such a downfall as that--splash,
splash--fire and water and thunder, all together--is not that fine?--ha,
ha! The heavens will weep for him, though friends shed not a tear. When
did a great man's heir feel sympathy for his sire's decease? When did
his widow mourn? When doth any man regret his fellow? Never! He
rejoiceth--he maketh glad in his inmost heart--he cannot help it--it is
nature. We all pray for--we all delight in each other's destruction. We
were created to do so; or why else should we act thus? I never wept for
any man's death, but I have often laughed. Natural sympathy!--out on the
phrase! The distant heavens--the senseless trees--the impenetrable
stones--shall regret you more than man shall bewail your death with more
sincerity. Ay, 'tis well--rain on--splash, splash: it will cool the
hell-fever. Down, down--buckets and pails, ha, ha!"

There was a pause, during which the sexton, almost exhausted by the
frenzy in which he had suffered himself to be involved, seemed
insensible to all around him.

"I tell you what," said Burtenshaw to Plant, "I have always thought
there was more in Peter Bradley nor appears on the outside. He is not
what he seems to be, take my word on it. Lord love you! do you think a
man such as he pretends to be could talk in that sort of way--about
nat'ral simpering?--no such thing."

When Peter recovered, his insane merriment broke out afresh, having only
acquired fury by the pause.

"Look out, look out!" cried he; "hark to the thunder--list to the rain!
Marked ye that flash--marked ye the clock-house--and the bird upon the
roof? 'tis the rook--the great bird of the house, that hath borne away
the soul of the departed. There, there--can you not see it? it sits and
croaks