We drove away, out of town, to the churchyard at Hornsey. “Better here than in the streets,” said my aunt. “He was born here.”

We alighted; and followed the plain coffin to a corner I remember well, where the service was read consigning it to the dust.

“Six-and-thirty years ago, this day, my dear,” said my aunt, as we walked back to the chariot, “I was married. God forgive us all!” We took our seats in silence; and so she sat beside me for a long time, holding my hand. At length she suddenly burst into tears, and said:

“He was a fine-looking man when I married him, Trot⁠—and he was sadly changed!”

It did not last long. After the relief of tears, she soon became composed, and even cheerful. Her nerves were a little shaken, she said, or she would not have given way to it. God forgive us all!