erchief round
his neck puts forth dangling ends of an extra length, like streamers.
The most troublesome business of a full-dress day is to know what to do
with his hands. He is dreadfully at a loss where to put them. On other
days, they have plenty of occupation with their familiar implements, but
to-day they are miserably sensible of a vacuum; and, except he be very
old, he wears no gloves. They are sometimes diving into his
trowser-pockets, sometimes into his waistcoat-pocket, and at others into
his coat-pockets behind, turning his laps out like a couple of tails.

The great remedy for this inconvenience is a stick, or a switch; and in
the corner of his cottage, between the clock-case and the wall, you
commonly see a stick of a description that indicates its owner. It is an
ash-plant, with a face cut on its knob; or a thick hazel, which a
woodbine has grown tightly round, and raised on it a spiral, serpentine
swelling; or it is a switch, that is famous for cutting off the heads of
thistles, docks, and nettles, as he goes along.

The women, in their paraphernalia, generally bear a nearer resemblance
to their sisters of the town; the village dressmaker undertaking to put
them into the very newest fashion which has reached that part of the
country; and truly, were it not for the genuine country manner in which
their clothes are thrown on, they might pass very well, too, at the
market.

But the old men and old women, they are of the ancient world, truly.
There they go, tottering and stooping along to church! It is now their
longest journey. The old man leans heavily on his stout stick. His thin
white hair covers his shoulders; his coat, with large steel buttons, and
square-cut collar, has an antique air; his breeches are of leather, and
worn bright with age, standing up at the knees, like the lids of
tankards; and his loose shoes have large steel buckles. By his side,
comes on his old dame, with her little, old-fashioned black bonnet; her
gown, of a large flowery pattern, pulled up through the pocket-hole,
showing a well-quilted petticoat, black stockings, high-heeled shoes,
and large buckles also. She has on a black mode cloak, edged with
old-fashioned lace, carefully darned; or if winter, her warm red cloak,
with a narrow edging of fur down the front. You see, in fancy, the oaken
chest in which that drapery has been kept for the last half century; and
you wonder who is to wear it next. Not their children--for the fas