The Childe’s father was an honest tinman, in times which try men’s pedigrees, –that is to say, some forty years ago; and Roeliff being brought up to the same trade–we beg pardon, profession, –became, as it were, so enamoured of noise, that he never could endure the silence of the country; was especially melancholy of a summer evening, when all the carts had gone home; and often used to say that Sunday would be intolerable were it not for the ringing of the bell