Poor feller, poor young king! he thought more of Ellen than wuz good for him, but he acted like a perfect gentleman through it all, and that is better than bein’ a king.
Or ruther it is bein’ a king.
He forgive her Pa, who had been rambellous, and with that gold chain of hisen, that he might have hung him with, he bound the girl he loved to another man forever. Good, generous creeter!
But we are wanderin’ too fur back into the realm of poesy, accompanied by noble Warriors and Ladys of the Lake, and to come out into the hard-beat track of reality agin, and to resoom.
Martin sot a great deal of store on visitin’ the great public buildin’s and the Cathedral, which is nine hundred years old, and the University, big enough for over a thousand scholars—I guess a thousand and a half.
But I myself took more interest in visitin’ the Necropolous, as they call their buryin’ ground, and seein’ the monument riz up to John Knox. It towers up towards the sky dretful high; but not so high as John’s principles loomed up—not nigh.
And I wuz dretful interested while in the city in lookin’ at the statutes of Sir Walter Scott, and James Watts, and David Livingstone, and Robert Burns.
And seein’ the place where Sir John Moore wuz born.
It wuzn’t any better place than Elder Minkley wuz born in, to Jonesville, or Deacon Blodgett up in Zoar.
And as I looked onto the onpretentious walls I methought how it wuzn’t likely at all when he wuz a baby, his Pa a-puttin’ up pills and powders at the time, his Ma a-holdin’ his little helpless, dimpled form to her bosom, that he would grow up to be sech a hero and die fur from her, over in Spain, and “be buried darkly at dead of night.”