r cup for any consideration." "And I would
not ask you," said the old man; "for, if you did, you would most probably
be stupid all day, and wake next morning with a headache. Mead is a good
drink, but woundily strong, especially to those who be not used to it, as
I suppose you are not." "Where do you get it?" said I. "I make it
myself," said the old man, "from the honey which my bees make." "Have
you many bees?" I inquired. "A great many," said the old man. "And do
you keep them," said I, "for the sake of making mead with their honey?"
"I keep them," he replied, "partly because I am fond of them, and partly
for what they bring me in; they make me a great deal of honey, some of
which I sell, and with a little I make me some mead to warm my poor heart
with, or occasionally to treat a friend with like yourself." "And do you
support yourself entirely by means of your bees?" "No," said the old
man; "I have a little bit of ground behind my house, which is my
principal means of support." "And do you live alone?" "Yes," said he;
"with the exception of the bees and the donkey, I live quite alone." "And
have you always lived alone?" The old man emptied his cup, and his heart
being warmed with the mead, he told me his history, which was simplicity
itself. His father was a small yeoman, who, at his death, had left him,
his only child, the cottage, with a small piece of ground behind it, and
on this little property he had lived ever since. About the age of twenty-
five he had married an industrious young woman, by whom he had one
daughter, who died before reaching years of womanhood. His wife,
however, had survived her daughter many years, and had been a great
comfort to him, assisting him in his rural occupations; but, about four
years before the present period, he had lost her, since which time he had
lived alone, making himself as comfortable as he could; cultivating his
ground, with the help of a lad from the neighbouring village, attending
to his bees, and occasionally riding his donkey to market, and hearing
the word of God, which he said he was sorry he could not read, twice a
week regularly at the parish church. Such was the old man's tale.

When he had finished speaking, he led me behind his house, and showed me
his little domain. It consisted of about two acres in admirable
cultivation; a small portion of it formed a kitchen garden, while the
rest was sown with four kinds of grain, wheat, barley, pease, and