Jane, X

Again great Horus, the vanguard of day, Rolls up th’ horizon, and paints o’er the sky. Eight harvest labourers bask on yonder hill, Partaking of their early breakfast-meal; Refresh’d they rise and scythe the bearded corn, And nurse it till ’tis ready for the barn: From field to field the sickle rushes forth; The master meditates upon its worth: He bushels it, and bags it in a cart, And takes it to a profitable mart; Receives the coin, and cheers his trusty heart. But while those peasants laid the hill-side bare, The mansion inmates had their daily care; And Rollingate was now all joy within, Preparing for the matrimonial scene. The different tradesfolk came from Ruttendell With their resources for the festival; And stores of every kind were now being brought. (The wedding-ring already had been wrought.) Upholsterers were busily at work From early morning till the day grew dark: Two suites of rooms were thus being re-arranged; And sundry goods appropriately changed. (Arnold, himself, took special interest— Observing everything done in its best.) Three decorators, from one Mr. Small’s— Were renovating ceilings, doors, and walls.

The proprietor.