by a poor woman; "but Lady
Clementina has been dead these four years."

"Dead! dead!" cried young Henry. "That worldly woman! quitted this world
for ever!"

"Yes," answered the stranger; "she caught cold by wearing a new-fashioned
dress that did not half cover her, wasted all away, and died the
miserablest object you ever heard of."

The person who gave this melancholy intelligence concluded it with a
hearty laugh, which would have surprised the two hearers if they had not
before observed that amongst all the village crowd that attended to see
this solemn show not one afflicted countenance appeared, not one dejected
look, not one watery eye. The pastor was scarcely known to his flock; it
was in London that his meridian lay, at the levee of ministers, at the
table of peers, at the drawing-rooms of the great; and now his neglected
parishioners paid his indifference in kind.

The ceremony over, and the mourning suite departed, the spectators
dispersed with gibes and jeering faces from the sad spot; while the
Henrys, with heavy hearts, retraced their steps back towards the palace.
In their way, at the crossing of a stile, they met a poor labourer
returning from his day's work, who, looking earnestly at the throng of
persons who were leaving the churchyard, said to the elder Henry--"Pray,
master, what are all them folk gathered together about? What's the
matter there?"

"There has been a funeral," replied Henry.

"Oh, zooks! what! a burying!--ay, now I see it is; and I warrant of our
old bishop--I heard he was main ill. It is he they have been putting
into the ground! is not it?"

"Yes," said Henry.

"Why, then, so much the better."

"The better!" cried Henry.

"Yes, master; though I should be loth to be where he is now."

Henry started--"He was your pastor, man!"

"Ha! ha! ha! I should be sorry that my master's sheep, that are feeding
yonder, should have no better pastor--the fox would soon get them all."

"You surely did not know him!"

"Not much, I can't say I did; for he was above speaking to poor folks,
unless they did any mischief--and then he was sure to take notice of
them."

"I believe he meant well," said Henry.

"As to what he meant, God only knows; but I know what he _did_."

"And what did he?"

"Nothing at all for the poor."

"If any of them applied to him, no doubt--"

"Oh! they knew better than all that comes to; for if they asked for
anything, he was sure to have them sent to B