THE CURATE'S KINDNESS

I thought they'd be strangers aroun’ me,

But she's to be there!

Let me jump out o’ waggon and go back and drown me

At Pummery or Ten-Hatches Weir.

I thought: “Well, I've come to the Union -

The workhouse at last -

After honest hard work all the week, and Communion

O’ Zundays, these fifty years past.

“‘ Tis hard; but,” I thought, “never mind it:

There's gain in the end:

And when I get used to the place I shall find it

A home, and may find there a friend.

Just then one young Pa'son arriving

Steps up out of breath

To the side o’ the waggon wherein we were driving

To Union; and calls out and saith:

“Old folks, that harsh order is altered,

Be not sick of heart!

The Guardians they poohed and they pished and they paltered

When urged not to keep you apart.

“‘ It is wrong,’ I maintained,‘ to divide them,

Near forty years wed.’

‘ Very well, sir. We promise, then, they shall abide them

In one wing together,’ they said.”

Then I sank — knew‘ twas quite a foredone thing

That misery should be

To the end!... To get freed of her there was the one thing

Had made the change welcome to me.

To go there was ending but badly;

‘ Twas shame and‘ twas pain;

“But anyhow,” thought I, “thereby I shall gladly

Get free of this forty years’ chain.”

I thought they'd be strangers aroun’ me,

But she's to be there!

Let me jump out o’ waggon and go back and drown me

At Pummery or Ten-Hatches Weir.