briskly along, smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, or
telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about the
approaching nuptials; from whence he made several digressions upon the
character of womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion, and
made sundry very excellent, though rather trite, observations upon
disappointments in love. It was evident that he had something on his
mind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward in approaching it. I
was curious to see to what this strain would lead; but I was determined
not to assist him. Indeed, I mischievously pretended to turn the
conversation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting;
but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably got back, by hook
or by crook, into the sentimental vein.

[Illustration: "Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft of
flowers, and threw them one by one into the water."--PAGE 165.]

At length we came to a clump of trees that overhung a whispering brook,
with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were grievously scored with
letters and devices, which had grown out of all shape and size by the
growth of the bark: and it appeared that this grove had served as a kind
of register of the family loves from time immemorial. Here Master Simon
made a pause, pulled up a tuft of flowers, threw them one by one into
the water, and at length, turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if
ever I had been in love. I confess the question startled me a little, as
I am not over fond of making confessions of my amorous follies; and,
above all, should never dream of choosing my friend Master Simon for a
confidant. He did not wait, however, for a reply; the inquiry was merely
a prelude to a confession on his own part, and after several
circumlocutions and whimsical preambles, he fairly disburthened himself
of a very tolerable story of his having been crossed in love.