And I’ll, &c.
So I’ve ended my tale of the West Countree,
And they calls it the Barkshire Trage-dèe.
And I’ll, &c.
“The Barkshire Tragedy, indeed! Now, Doctor, what have you to tell us about this? When did it happen? Who was the lady? Was she drowned in the Thames, the Kennet, or where?”
“Oh, I don’t know. All I can say is, she was drowned before my time; for I remember hearing the song when I was a little chap in petticoats. But the story seems a common one. There’s a north-country ballad founded on it, I know, but I don’t remember the name just now.”
“‘The Bonny Mill-dams of Binnorie,’ is not it?” said the long scholar.
“Aye, that’s the name, I think.”
“Well, it’s very odd, for we’ve got the same story, all but the miller, and his daughter as fair as any gilly-flower (why are millers’ daughters always pretty, by the way?), on the Welsh marshes,” said the long scholar.