tenants and dependants salute me less cheerily. He has thrown a veil over the understandings of all men! He has estranged from me that sympathy and tenderness, which should have supported my head in the day of adversity.
Mrs. B. All, my dear Baltimore! It is you who have got a veil, a thick and gloomy veil cast over your mind. That sympathy and tenderness is still the same (pressing his hand.) And, if the day of adversity must come, you will be convinced of it. But let us for a while give up thinking of these things: let us walk out together, and enjoy the soothing calmness of this beautiful twilight. The evening-star already looks from his peaceful sky: no sound of busy man is to be heard: the bat, and the beetle, and the night-fly are abroad, and the pleasing hum of happy unseen life is in the air. Come forth, my husband. The shade of your native trees will wave over your head; the turf your infant feet first trod will be under your steps. Come forth, my friend, and more blessed thoughts will visit you.
Balt. No, no; my native trees and my native lawns are to me more cheerless than the dreary desert. I can enjoy nothing. The cursed neighbourhood of one obnoxious being has changed every thing for me. Would he were—(clenching his hands and muttering.)
Mrs. B. O! what are you saying?
Balt (turning away from her.) No matter what.
