Part 2 — THE NATIVE VILLAGE.—A Drama.

Scene—A scattered Village almost hidden with trees.

Enter Harford and Beaumont.

Harford. There is the place! This is the green on which I played many a day with my companions; there are the tall trees that I have so 282often climbed for birds’-nests; and that is the pond where I used to sail my walnut-shell boats. What a crowd of mixed sensations rush on my mind! What pleasures, and what regret! Yes, there is somewhat in our native soil that affects the mind in a manner different from every other scene in nature.

Beaumont. With you it must be merely the place; for I think you can have no attachments of friendship or affection in it, considering your long absence, and the removal of all your family.

Harf. No, I have no family connexions, and indeed can scarcely be said ever to have had any; for, as you know, I was almost utterly neglected after the death of my father and mother, and while all my elder brothers and sisters were dispersed to one part or another, and the little remaining property was disposed of, I was left with the poor people who nursed me, to be brought up just as they thought proper; and the little pension that was paid for me entirely ceased after a few years.

Beau. Then how were you afterward supported?

Harf. The honest couple who had the care of me continued to treat me with the greatest kindness; and poor as they were, not only maintained me as a child of their own, but did all in their power to procure me advantages more suited to my birth than my deserted situation. With the assistance of the worthy clergyman of the parish, they put me to a day-school in the village, clothed me decently, and being themselves sober, religious persons, took care to keep me from vice. The obligations I am under to them, will, I hope, never be effaced from my memory, and it is on their account alone that I have undertaken this journey.

Beau. How long did you continue with them?

Harf. Till I was thirteen. I then felt an irresistible desire to fight for my country; and learning by accident that a distant relation of our family was a captain of a man-of-war, I took leave of my worthy benefactors, and set off to the seaport where he lay, the good people furnishing me in the best manner they were able with necessaries for the journey. I shall never forget the tenderness with which they parted with me. It was, if possible, beyond that of the kindest parents. You know my subsequent adventures, from the time of my becoming a midshipman, to my present state of first-lieutenant of the Britannia. Though it is now fifteen years since my departure, I feel my affection for these good folks stronger than ever, and could not be easy without taking the first opportunity of seeing them.

Beau. It is a great chance if they are both living.

283Harf. I happened to hear by a young man of the village, not long since, that they were; but I believe much reduced in their circumstances.

Beau. Whereabouts did they live?

Harf. Just at the turning of this corner. But what’s this?—I can’t find the house—yet I am sure I have not forgot the situation. Surely it must be pulled down! Oh! my dear old friends, what can have become of you?

Beau. You had best ask that little girl.

Harf. Hark ye, my dear! do you know one John Beech, of this place?

Girl. What, old John Beech? O yes, very well, and Mary Beech, too.

Harf. Where do they live?

Girl. A little farther on in the lane.

Harf. Did they not once live hereabouts?

Girl. Yes, till Farmer Tything pulled the house down to make his hop-garden.

Harf. Come with me to show me the place, and I’ll give you a penny.

Girl. Yes, that I will. (They walk on.) There—that low thatched house—and there’s Mary spinning at the door.

Harf. There, my dear (gives money, and the girl goes away). How my heart beats! Surely that cannot be my nurse! Yes, I recollect her now; but how very old and sickly she looks!

Beau. Fifteen years in her life, with care and hardship, must go a great way in breaking her down.

Harf. (going to the cottage-door). Good morning, good woman; can you give my companion and me something to drink? We are very thirsty with walking this hot day.

Mary Beech. I have nothing better than water, sir; but if you please to accept of that, I will bring you some.

Beau. Thank you—we will trouble you for some.

Mary. Will you please to walk in out of the sun, gentlemen; ours is a very poor house, indeed; but I will find you a seat to sit down on, while I draw the water.

Harf. (to Beau.). The same good creature as ever! Let us go in.