ood day, honest Thomas.

_Ash._ Zame to you, measter Evergreen.

_Everg._ Have you heard the news?

_Dame._ Any thing about Mrs. Grundy?

_Ash._ Dame, be quiet, woolye now?

_Everg._ No, no--The news is, that my master, Sir Philip Blandford,
after having been abroad for twenty years, returns this day to the
castle; and that the reason of his coming is, to marry his only daughter
to the son of Sir Abel Handy, I think they call him.

_Dame._ As sure as two-pence, that is Nelly's husband.

_Everg._ Indeed!--Well, Sir Abel and his son will be here immediately;
and, Farmer, you must attend them.

_Ash._ Likely, likely.

_Everg._ And, mistress, come and lend us a hand at the castle, will
you?--Ah, it is twenty long years since I have seen Sir Philip--Poor
gentleman! bad, bad health--worn almost to the grave, I am told.---What
a lad do I remember him--till that dreadful--[_Checking himself._] But
where is Henry? I must see him--must caution him--[_A gun is discharged
at a distance._] That's his gun, I suppose--he is not far then--Poor
Henry!

_Dame._ Poor Henry! I like that indeed! What though he be nobody knows
who, there is not a girl in the parish that is not ready to pull caps
for him--The Miss Grundys, genteel as they think themselves, would be
glad to snap at him--If he were our own, we could not love him better.

_Everg._ And he deserves to be loved--Why, he's as handsome as a peach
tree in blossom; and his mind is as free from weeds as my favourite
carnation bed. But, Thomas, run to the castle, and receive Sir Abel and
his son.

_Ash._ I wool, I wool--Zo, good day. [_Bowing._] Let every man make his
bow, and behave pratty--that's what I say.--Missus, do'ye show un Sue's
letter, woolye? Do ye letten see how pratty she do write feyther.
[_Exit._

_Dame._ Now Tummas is gone, I'll tell you such a story about Mrs.
Grundy--But come, step in, you must needs be weary; and I am sure a mug
of harvest beer, sweetened with a hearty welcome, will refresh you.
[_Exeunt into the house._

SCENE II.

_Outside and gate of the Castle--Servants cross the stage, laden with
different packages._

_Enter_ ASHFIELD.

_Ash._ Drabbit it, the wold castle 'ul be hardly big enow to hold all
thic lumber.

_Sir Abel Handy._ [_Without._] Gently there! mind how you go, Robin.