The Old Mansion-House
STRANGER .
Old friend! why, you seem bent on parish duty,
Breaking the highway stones, — and 'tis a task
Somewhat too hard, methinks, for age like yours!
OLD MAN .
Why, yes! for one with such a weight of years
Upon his back! — I've lived here, man and boy,
In this same parish, well nigh the full age
Of man, being hard upon threescore and ten.
I can remember, sixty years ago,
The beautifying of this mansion here,
When my late Lady's father, the old Squire,
Came to the estate.
STRANGER .
Why, then you have outlasted
All his improvements, for you see they're making
Great alterations here.
OLD MAN .
Ay — great indeed!
And if my poor old Lady could rise up —
God rest her soul! — 'twould grieve her to behold
What wicked work is here.
STRANGER .
They've set about it
In right good earnest. All the front is gone;
Here's to be turf, they tell me, and a road
Round to the door. There were some yew trees too
Stood in the court —
OLD MAN .
Ay, Master! fine old trees!
Lord bless us! I have heard my father say
His grandfather could just remember back
When they were planted there. It was my task
To keep them trimm'd, and 'twas a pleasure to me;
All straight and smooth, and like a great green wall!
My poor old lady many a time would come
And tell me where to clip, for she had play'd
In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride
To keep them in their beauty. Plague, I say,
On their new-fangled whimseys! we shall have
A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs
And your pert poplar-trees; — I could as soon
Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them down!
STRANGER .
But 'twill be lighter and more cheerful now;
A fine smooth turf, and with a carriage road
That sweeps conveniently from gate to gate
I like a shrubbery too, for it looks fresh;
And then there's some variety about it.
In spring the lilac, and the snow-ball flower
And the laburnum with its golden strings
Waving in the wind; and when the autumn comes
The bright red berries of the mountain-ash,
With pines enough in winter to look green
And show that something lives. Sure this is better
Than a great hedge of yew, making it look
All the year round like winter, and forever
Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under bough
Wither'd and bare.
OLD MAN .
Ay! so the new Squire thinks
And pretty work he makes of it! What 'tis
To have a stranger come to an old house!
STRANGER .
It seems you know him not?
OLD MAN .
No, Sir, not I
They tell me he's expected daily now;
But in my Lady's time he never came
But once, for they were very distant kin.
If he had play'd about here when a child
In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries,
And sate in the porch, threading the jessamine flowers,
Which fell so thick, he had not had the heart
To mar all thus!
STRANGER .
Come! come! all is not wrong
Those old dark windows —
OLD MAN .
They're demolish'd too,
As if he could not see through casement glass
The very red-breasts, that so regular
Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs,
Won't know the windows now!
STRANGER .
Nay, they were small
And then so darken'd round with jessamine,
Harboring the vermin; — yet I could have wish
That jessamine had been saved, which canopied
And bower'd, and lined the porch.
OLD MAN .
It did one good,
To pass within ten yards, when 'twas in blossom
There was a sweet-brier, too, that grew beside
My Lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet
And slept in the sun; 'twas an old favorite dog,
She did not love him less that he was old
And feeble, and he always had a place
By the fire-side: and when he died at last;
She made me dig a grave in the garden for him
For she was good to all! a woful day
'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went
STRANGER .
They lost a friend then?
OLD MAN .
You're a stranger here,
Or you wouldn't ask that question. Were they sick?
She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs
She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter,
When weekly she distributed the bread
In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear
The blessings on her! and I warrant them
They were a blessing to her when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!
It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen
Her Christmas kitchen, — how the blazing fire
Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs
So cheerful red, — and as for mistletoe, —
The finest bush that grew in the country round
Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,
And 'twas a noble one! — God help me, Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.
STRANGER .
Things may be better yet than you suppose,
And you should hope the best.
OLD MAN .
It don't look well, —
These alterations, Sir! I'm an old man,
And love the good old fashions; we don't find
Old bounty in new houses. They've destroy'd
All that my Lady loved; her favorite walk
Grubb'd up, — and they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house, which meet a-top,
They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think
To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps
A comfort I shan't live to see it long.
STRANGER .
But sure all changes are not needs for the worse,
My friend?
OLD MAN .
Mayhap they mayn't, Sir; — for all that,
I like what I've been used to. I remember
All this from a child up; and now to lose it,
'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left
As 'twas; — I go abroad, and only meet
With men whose fathers I remember boys;
The brook that used to run before my door,
That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt
To climb are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of old times, — except the stones
In the churchyard. You are young, Sir, and I hope
Have many years in store, — but pray to God
You mayn't be left the last of all your friends.
STRANGER .
Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of.
If the Squire's taste don't suit with yours, I warrant
That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste
His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady
E'er broach'd a better cask. You did not know me,
But we're acquainted now. 'Twould not be easy
To make you like the outside; but within,
That is not changed, my friend! you'll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.
Old friend! why, you seem bent on parish duty,
Breaking the highway stones, — and 'tis a task
Somewhat too hard, methinks, for age like yours!
OLD MAN .
Why, yes! for one with such a weight of years
Upon his back! — I've lived here, man and boy,
In this same parish, well nigh the full age
Of man, being hard upon threescore and ten.
I can remember, sixty years ago,
The beautifying of this mansion here,
When my late Lady's father, the old Squire,
Came to the estate.
STRANGER .
Why, then you have outlasted
All his improvements, for you see they're making
Great alterations here.
OLD MAN .
Ay — great indeed!
And if my poor old Lady could rise up —
God rest her soul! — 'twould grieve her to behold
What wicked work is here.
STRANGER .
They've set about it
In right good earnest. All the front is gone;
Here's to be turf, they tell me, and a road
Round to the door. There were some yew trees too
Stood in the court —
OLD MAN .
Ay, Master! fine old trees!
Lord bless us! I have heard my father say
His grandfather could just remember back
When they were planted there. It was my task
To keep them trimm'd, and 'twas a pleasure to me;
All straight and smooth, and like a great green wall!
My poor old lady many a time would come
And tell me where to clip, for she had play'd
In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride
To keep them in their beauty. Plague, I say,
On their new-fangled whimseys! we shall have
A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs
And your pert poplar-trees; — I could as soon
Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them down!
STRANGER .
But 'twill be lighter and more cheerful now;
A fine smooth turf, and with a carriage road
That sweeps conveniently from gate to gate
I like a shrubbery too, for it looks fresh;
And then there's some variety about it.
In spring the lilac, and the snow-ball flower
And the laburnum with its golden strings
Waving in the wind; and when the autumn comes
The bright red berries of the mountain-ash,
With pines enough in winter to look green
And show that something lives. Sure this is better
Than a great hedge of yew, making it look
All the year round like winter, and forever
Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under bough
Wither'd and bare.
OLD MAN .
Ay! so the new Squire thinks
And pretty work he makes of it! What 'tis
To have a stranger come to an old house!
STRANGER .
It seems you know him not?
OLD MAN .
No, Sir, not I
They tell me he's expected daily now;
But in my Lady's time he never came
But once, for they were very distant kin.
If he had play'd about here when a child
In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries,
And sate in the porch, threading the jessamine flowers,
Which fell so thick, he had not had the heart
To mar all thus!
STRANGER .
Come! come! all is not wrong
Those old dark windows —
OLD MAN .
They're demolish'd too,
As if he could not see through casement glass
The very red-breasts, that so regular
Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs,
Won't know the windows now!
STRANGER .
Nay, they were small
And then so darken'd round with jessamine,
Harboring the vermin; — yet I could have wish
That jessamine had been saved, which canopied
And bower'd, and lined the porch.
OLD MAN .
It did one good,
To pass within ten yards, when 'twas in blossom
There was a sweet-brier, too, that grew beside
My Lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet
And slept in the sun; 'twas an old favorite dog,
She did not love him less that he was old
And feeble, and he always had a place
By the fire-side: and when he died at last;
She made me dig a grave in the garden for him
For she was good to all! a woful day
'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went
STRANGER .
They lost a friend then?
OLD MAN .
You're a stranger here,
Or you wouldn't ask that question. Were they sick?
She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs
She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter,
When weekly she distributed the bread
In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear
The blessings on her! and I warrant them
They were a blessing to her when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!
It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen
Her Christmas kitchen, — how the blazing fire
Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs
So cheerful red, — and as for mistletoe, —
The finest bush that grew in the country round
Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,
And 'twas a noble one! — God help me, Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.
STRANGER .
Things may be better yet than you suppose,
And you should hope the best.
OLD MAN .
It don't look well, —
These alterations, Sir! I'm an old man,
And love the good old fashions; we don't find
Old bounty in new houses. They've destroy'd
All that my Lady loved; her favorite walk
Grubb'd up, — and they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house, which meet a-top,
They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think
To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps
A comfort I shan't live to see it long.
STRANGER .
But sure all changes are not needs for the worse,
My friend?
OLD MAN .
Mayhap they mayn't, Sir; — for all that,
I like what I've been used to. I remember
All this from a child up; and now to lose it,
'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left
As 'twas; — I go abroad, and only meet
With men whose fathers I remember boys;
The brook that used to run before my door,
That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt
To climb are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of old times, — except the stones
In the churchyard. You are young, Sir, and I hope
Have many years in store, — but pray to God
You mayn't be left the last of all your friends.
STRANGER .
Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of.
If the Squire's taste don't suit with yours, I warrant
That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste
His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady
E'er broach'd a better cask. You did not know me,
But we're acquainted now. 'Twould not be easy
To make you like the outside; but within,
That is not changed, my friend! you'll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.
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