Well, I drove as near as I could to the place, and then I got a boy to hold the horse, and got down and went along with my fare. If it didn’t make me quite savage and sick, Sam, to see hundreds of fellows--well-dressed gentry, mind you--gaping and lounging about, and now poking the grass with their sticks, as if it was something precious because blood had been shed upon it, and now breaking bits of the trees about the place, I suppose to make toothpicks and cribbage-pegs of. And then there were fathers--precious fools!--bringing their children with them, boys and girls, as though they’d brought ’em to a stall of gingerbread nuts, where they might fill their bellies and be happy! But the worst of all, Sam, was to see the women. Lots of ’em nice, young, fair creatures, tender as if they were made of best wax--there they were running along and looking at the bushes and the grass, and talking of the blood and the death-struggle, just as if they were looking at and talking of the monkeys at the ’Logical Gardens. Well, the handsomest of ’em after a time looked to me no better than young witches--and that’s the truth. Every minute I expected some of ’em to do a polka, they did after a time seem to enjoy themselves. Well, all of a sudden I missed my fare. Looking about, I saw my gentleman go up to the brick wall. Then he took a heavy hammer out of his pocket, and knocking away, split a brick, and then knocked it out of the wall. “This is something like,” said he to me, twinkling his eye; “something to remember the murder by.” And then he carefully wrapt the pieces of brick in a silk handkerchief, and put ’em in his breast-pocket, as if they’d been lumps of diamonds. I said nothing--but I could have kicked him. However, he hadn’t done yet, for going to a part of the field, he said to his wife--for so she proved to be--“This is the place, Arabella; the very place: where’s the pots?” Then the lady took three garden-pots from a basket, and then her husband, dropping upon his knees, turned up the earth with a large clasp-knife, and when he’d filled the pots, he dug up two or three daisy roots, and set ’em; his wife smiling and looking as happy all the while as if she’d got a new gown, or a new bonnet, or both. “Come,” said the gentleman, squinting at the daisy roots, and twisting one of the pots in his hand, “this is what I call worth coming for. As I say, this is something to recollect a murder by. Humph!” and then he paused a bit, and looked very wishfully at the stile--“Humph! I should like a walking-stick out of that; but the police are so particular, I suppose they wouldn’t suffer it. Come along, Arabella;” and securing the broken brick and the daisy roots in the pots, my gentleman went back to the cab. “Now drive as fast as you can to the church,” he said; “I wouldn’t but be there for any money.” Well, I never did drive through such a crowd, but at last I managed it; and at last--but no; I haven’t patience enough to write any more upon this part of