THE great city of was just beginning to wake into life, as Maude Elliston walked down the quiet streets; and she was interested in the novelty of the scene around her, for it was the first time she had ever been out at such an hour. Early rising, unless by compulsion, was by no means a characteristic of the Elliston family, and Maude and her sisters had always been accustomed to take their ease, in every possible way by which they could attain it; the more, perhaps, that their father insisted on their remaining steadily at work during the hours of business. The stir of life was already begun at the cotton mill, towards which she was advancing, and, like an electric shock, it seemed thence to communicate itself from house to house along that crowded district, whose population, the lowest and worst in the town, were soon to be seen opening their windows, and emerging into the street. There might have been to them a faint type of the resurrection, in that simultaneous awakening, had they known it; for sleep, breaking in upon their reckless careers, in most cases of profligacy and crime,-had rendered them, for a brief space, harmless and peaceful as in childhood, silent as in death; and now that the short oblivion was over, they woke to find the old nature yet upon them-the past life still clinging to them-and the indestructible load of sins, once committed and never repented, hanging, real and terrible as ever, upon their souls-even as men at that great day shall find, when they awake to sleep no more.

Maude hurried on through these wretched lanes and alleys, that she might escape into the open country which lay beyond them, and in so doing, she overtook a party of factory girls, who were on their way to resume their accustomed toil. They were nearly all pale and sickly-looking, walking feebly, and with an

ominous cough sounding occasionally from amongst them; whilst one or two were by no means devoid of that delicate beauty, which ill-health and confinement not unfrequently produce in our English peasant girls. These subduing causes had not, however, checked the roughness and noisy boldness of manner which they had learned in the wretched society of their own homes. They were talking and laughing loudly, and the expressions they used shocked and astonished Maude not a little; while they seemed to be levelling various invectives against one of their companions, whom they addressed by the name of "Nelly," and who walked alone at a little distance from the

rest.

They spoke in a rough sort of jargon, which was rather unintelligible to Maude; but she could distinguish that they accused this person of having grown proud, under some unwonted piece of good fortune, and of keeping aloof from them because she thought herself too 66 grand" to associate with them; whilst some of them prophesied her speedy downfall in no measured terms. All this induced Maude to look at her with some curiosity as she passed, and her gaze became instantly riveted upon her countenance, for it was one of exceeding loveliness,--so young, so bright, with large eyes, limpid as the morning sky, that glanced out from under their fair lids, full of the expression, half wild, half timid, of a young fawn. The close cap and coarse straw bonnet could hardly restrain the sunny hair that came bursting from beneath them; and her whole appearance was singularly captivating, plain and unpretending as it was.

There was nothing, however, in this young girl's peculiar beauty, which could raise her at all above the class to which she actually belonged; no elegance of movement, or symmetry of form; on the contrary, she possessed many indications that she was born for the station in which she was placed,-her hands seemed formed for toil, and her limbs were cast in no delicate mould. It was simply beauty such as is often seen in her rank of life, heightened by the fragility and pallor resulting from her mode of existence, and by an air of singular sweetness and innocence, less common, alas! amongst the children of our great manufactories; but it was the more attractive in her, that she appeared already to have attained sixteen or seventeen years of age.

While Maude gazed earnestly upon her, she was almost startled to perceive that Nelly, as they called her, returned her look with one, not only of no common interest, but full of an eager scrutiny, which would almost have seemed to intimate that she was not unknown to her. Yet the tradesman's daughter was certain she had never seen this beautiful factory girl before; for

Mr. Elliston and his family were quite as tenacious of their position in society, as any little German prince of his small dignity, and they would have scorned the very idea, of having the least intercourse with persons they considered their inferiors. Maude concluded, therefore, that the young girl's earnest gaze was caused by her own deformity, which too often attracted the attention of strangers in a manner most painful to herself. This idea made her hurry past Nelly as fast as she could, and it deepened, in no small degree, the despondency which had produced her sleepless night.

A morbid consciousness of her own infirmities, was certainly one great reason why the world appeared so cheerless to poor Maude; for she had learned to know of no other treasure which the heart of man could possess on earth, save only human love, and that she knew she was debarred from ever possessing. She walked on, then, gazing down upon the dark, muddy streets, instead of upward to the morning sky, which has so bright a smile for those whose faithful eyes pierce through it to their one True Home, when suddenly the sweet peal of a Church bell, at no great distance, came softly on her ear.

She looked up in some astonishment, for such a sound, on any day of the week but Sunday, was a novelty to her. Gradually, however, she recollected that it must proceed from S. Alban's Church, as the whole of the wretched district she was now traversing, belonged to a parish named after that noble old English saint. She soon remembered also that this very church, though in a retired position, and served in a most unobtrusive manner, had of late become a favourite subject of animadversion among the discontented of the place. The causes which rendered it so, were precisely such as might have been expected to lead to a very different result; but this is an anomaly remarkably common in these days. Like to the Holy Church Catholic, herself in the midst of an evil world, the parish in which it was set was, as we have said, one in which the wickedness of that great town seemed almost concentrated; it was entirely inhabited by the lowest class of the population, and until within the last few years, it had been so rife with all manner of crime, that no respectable person could so much as venture to walk through the streets. This had been during the time of the late Vicar, who had so largely taken his rest in his lifetime, that his flock scarce discerned any difference when at last he dropped into his legitimate grave. That the proceedings of his active successor had been of a very different stamp, however, was sufficiently proved by the fact, that S. Alban's, though still poverty-stricken and full of evil, was so greatly improved in order and quiet, that it had become a sort of thoroughfare for

any one desirous of walking in the fields beyond it, like Maude Elliston on this particular morning.

All that she knew of the watchful Pastor who had effected this great change, had been learnt from a certain fierce old lady, of violent dissenting principles, who lived in one of the few houses of the better sort in the parish, and who was wont to visit Mrs. Elliston somewhere about once a month, for the express purpose, as it would seem, of abusing her Vicar, whom she especially loved to denominate "the young Pope." In what particular Mr. Chesterfield resembled this foreign dignitary, Mrs. Crowther would have been at a loss to say; but as the subject had been one of complete indifference to Maude, she retained no very definite recollection of the charges brought against him. Mrs. Crowther's remarks on the subject only returned to her memory in some such disjointed form as the following:-"A regular wolf!" "alas! the poor lambs!" (the parishioners of S. Alban's were by no means particularly lamblike)" everlasting bell, ding dong, from morning till night!" (Mrs. Crowther was not alluding to her own style of conversation)" throwing away money on stones and lime !" and so on, prolonged throughout the whole period of her visit.

Others there were, however, in the parish of S. Alban's, who would have told Maude a different tale, could she have heard them,--helpless old men, and widows, whose dim eyes would fill with tears when they spoke of him whom they worshipped almost as a saint, and told how, as he struggled with a dauntless zeal against the infamy and vice of this their native place, he had, like his Master, endured such contradiction of sinners, that his very life had been endangered, and his heart pierced with the ceaseless enmity and hate of those whom he loved with a father's love, and sought to serve with unsparing toil; and how, in spite of all opposition, he had toiled on, year after year, steadfast and immoveable, till gradually he had lived down all calumny, by a life so holy and self-denying, that even those of his people who dared not meet his eye, because of their evil deeds, yet esteemed him in their hearts, and sought his presence in sickness and sorrow, as their greatest blessings; whilst many there were, sleeping in the green churchyard, or living still in patient hope, who had been led by his guiding hand to paths of penitence, and found them truly ways of peace.

But we must not linger now, on all that Maude would have heard concerning him, from many hundreds in that wretched parish, for whose necessities the work of ten men would scarce have sufficed; for her present impressions respecting S. Alban's and its Vicar were those of extreme prejudice, vague as they were,

and she walked on in the direction of the Church, from a mere feeling of curiosity to see the place of which such enormities were reported.

She was guided by the sound of the bell, as the church was not visible, till she reached the end of the principal street, which was about as muddy and miserable a lane as could have been seen. Taking a sharp angle, however, it branched off in another direction, and left an open space, where a very pleasing object at once presented itself, in the shape of an exceedingly pretty, newly-built school-house, surrounded by its little garden and playground, with the Church itself immediately behind it.

It was not until Maude had passed the gate of the churchyard, and stood within it, however, that she was aware of the extreme beauty of the spot in which she found herself. Contrasted with the crowded streets and alleys she had left, it seemed really as if she had suddenly passed into a little Eden,-so calm, so sunny, was that green resting-place of the quiet dead, with the beautiful old Church rising in the midst of it, all covered, to the very summit of its grey tower, with mantling ivy and the last autumn roses, that clustered round the arched windows, and hung over the porch, in wild luxuriance. Maude could see, judging from the exterior alone, that it had lately been restored, a side aisle added, and the chancel apparently rebuilt; but this had been done so judiciously, as in no way to diminish the antique appearance, which the colouring of the time-worn stones gave to the whole building. The churchyard was evidently kept with the greatest care, though it had none of the trim garden look with which modern bad taste occasionally invests the holy ground; a few flowers there were only round the graves of some who had been no doubt specially cherished in their lifetime, and one fine old yew tree cast a broad shadow over many of those peaceful couches; whilst a seat was placed beneath it, where the old people loved to rest in the summer evenings, and think upon the children who had gone before them, now gathered slumbering at their feet. And in that hour it was sweet to their aged eyes to rest upon the cross that stood in most cases as the monument, and remember how therein lay the blessed hope of a bright re-union. A low hedge of briar and Mayflower alone separated the churchyard from the green fields that surrounded it, and stretched far away even to the range of dim blue hills, which the sunrise now was flooding in golden light. The great charm of this holy and peaceful spot was, that it had so completely the appearance of a country church, and burial-place, although actually almost within that dark, crowded city of turmoil and labour.

The bell had ceased some time before Maude had recovered