^mm^ 

 
 -fS>*#f*>-^ 
 
 '^m**-" 
 
 I MUST KEEP THE CHIMES GOING. 
 
 w'if^
 
 "I wonder whether they keep Christmas in heaven. 
 
 P. 44-
 
 I MUST KEEP THE CHIMES 
 GOING. 
 
 ^ ^torg of Eeal 3Life, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF " COPSLEY ANNALS," &c., &c. 
 
 " Church-bells above the starres hearde." — George IIkubeut. 
 
 'f^^^P^ 
 
 E. P. DUTTON AND COIMPANY. 
 
 m 
 
 Boston: 135, Washington Street. 
 New York: 762, Broadway. 
 
 1869. 
 
 y J » J ' ' ' ' , ,' • 
 
 
 ♦ i .» 3 

 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 STKRBOTYPED AND PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

 
 
 "^ 
 
 No Preface is required for the following 
 chapters beyond the statement that the story 
 contained in them is substantially true. 
 
 'wiJ-i. /w«3H
 
 COISTTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Message 9 
 
 II. Christmas at the Brookes' Cottage .... 26 
 
 III. First Class and Third Class 49 
 
 IV. No. 19, Mill Street, Southwark 76 
 
 V. Martha and the Top Attic Make Friends . 93 
 
 VI. Martha Finds the Coa^s Heavier 116 
 
 VII. Martha has Visitors 137 
 
 Vni. Last Words 144
 
 I MUST KEEP THE CHIMES GOING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 1?^ 
 
 !Z 
 
 1 
 
 I T was the Sunday before Christmas- 
 day ; and the girls of the Rectory 
 Bible Class were coming down the 
 Winthrop Avenue in parties of two and 
 three, after having been dismissed by Mrs. 
 Estridge, the Rector's wife, at the conclusion 
 of her customary afternoon instructions. It 
 was a class composed of the usual materials. 
 There were the girls who were always punctual, 
 and the girl that was always late. There was 
 the dressy girl, whose Sunday array was a 
 source of perpetual astonishment to her com-
 
 10 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 panions, and still more to her teacher; and 
 there was the untidy girl, whose garments 
 seemed to be continually on terms of misun- 
 derstanding with their wearer and wdth each 
 other. There was the girl who always seemed 
 to be on the brink of making a successful 
 answer, and who ever stoj^ped short of that 
 result ; and the girl who never thought of 
 answering at all. There was the girl who kept 
 on hand a stock of replies fitting any question, 
 and another whose mental machinery worked 
 so slowly as to lead look€rs-on to believe it at 
 a standstill ; but who, after a time, would pro- 
 duce from depths of thought an answer so sat- 
 isfactory as to make the same people wonder 
 whether she had not arrived at it by mis- 
 take. 
 
 And it was the last of these who wislied to 
 keep the chimes going, in accordance with the 
 title of the book you -are now engaged in 
 reading. 
 
 It was the Sunday before Christmas, and a 
 Christmas whereof the cold and frost had a 
 sting in it, somewhat like the small sharp
 
 THE MESSAGE. 11 
 
 stone by treacherous and unprincipled boys 
 concealed in snowballs, which rouses the fight- 
 ing element in the assailed. I sometimes wish 
 that m^ny who sigh for " nice old-fashioned 
 Christmases," such as very strong people call 
 those of keenest frost and snow, might try the 
 experiment of spending theirs at Winthrop, 
 situated near the East coast, and about a quar- 
 ter of a mile from the fens. West-country 
 people know but little of the matter. The 
 South and West winds seem to go for change 
 of air on their own account to that side of the 
 island for the winter months ; and the Gulf 
 stream warms it by hot water, to which accom- 
 modation there is the satisfactory addition that 
 no water-rate collector will claim payment for 
 the same ; and rich children open the Supple- 
 ment of the " Illustrated London News " on 
 the Saturday before Christmas, and poor chil- 
 dren look at its out-spread pictures in the shop 
 windows, and wish themselves the boy with the 
 red comforter who is bringing home holly in 
 his cart, or the girls muffled up in family 
 shawls, on their way to sing carols at. the
 
 12 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 Squire's, little remembering that to the poor 
 and the old and the sickly the Christmas mes- 
 sage, if borne on the keen breath of the East 
 wind, is often followed by another message 
 from regions colder and icier still, 
 
 I remember a delightful passage in the Geog- 
 raphy book from which we learnt in our youth, 
 wherein, amid statements of latitude and lon- 
 gitude, and names of chief towns, together 
 with the amount of their exports and imports, 
 the author had in a moment of weakness 
 allowed himself to run into two ox three lines 
 of familiar description. And in these we were 
 told how the Norway and Lapland women skate 
 along frozen rivers to market, and how at 
 those very markets, all fluids being congealed 
 by means of the cold, milk is sold in blocks 
 and by the pound. I remember wondering 
 that the great Mr. Pinnock, all of whose learn- 
 ing seemed to break out in catechisms for other 
 people, instead of his being satisfied with keep- 
 ing it to himself, and who as a matter of duty 
 excluded from those catechismal books with 
 grave and gray covers everything that bor-
 
 THE MESSAGE. 13 
 
 dered on the enlivening, or that might lead us 
 to imagine towns and places as anything but 
 dots on the map, should have given us such 
 interesting information ; and I felt it scarcely 
 honorable when Saturday — in school-rooms 
 commonly called repetition-day — came round, 
 * to- allow the bit about Lapland to count in my 
 lessons as of the same, value as exports and 
 imports. Of course I wished I could skate to 
 market, and invite my brothers to share a slice 
 of milk ; and believed that it was only Ijccause 
 those in authority over us were old and had 
 no enterprise in their dispositions that they 
 met my desires with the assurance that I 
 should be very thankful to be back again where 
 I was. 
 
 " But then," as we agreed afterwards, 
 " we're always assured that Ave should be bet- 
 ter off as we are than in being anything else, 
 and should be told the same even if we wished 
 for gold watches, or to live in Swiss cottages 
 on mountains, and hunt chamois, or to go and 
 discover new worids like Columlnis, or any- 
 thing different from lessons." So we rejected
 
 14 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 our counsel, and wished still for Lapland, and 
 milk by the pound. 
 
 Which brings me back to my statement — 
 an echo of the once discarded testimony of 
 our more experienced elders — that West- 
 country people, wishing for a real sharp old- 
 fashioned Christmas, may travel to it by taking 
 a ticket for Winthrop, in East Norfolk, and 
 will in like manner find their first position 
 the best. At least, they might so have done 
 in the winter of which I am writing, and in 
 which Mrs. Estridge's girls were coming down 
 the Rectory Avenue as already mentioned. 
 
 I have said that they were girls very much 
 of the usual description ; and their conversa- 
 tion, as they grouped and regrouped them- 
 selves, was for the most part such as any 
 dozen of country maidens, after an hour's 
 intercourse with one of the two ladies of the 
 village, might be expected to hold. Who had 
 said her verses without a mistake ; and who 
 had broken down in the duty to her neighbor ; 
 and the dress Mrs. Estridge had worn; and 
 how she had asked Jane Morris for her sailor
 
 THE MESSAGE. 15 
 
 brother ; and how fortunate Susan had been 
 m sitting next the fire ; and liow careful the 
 Rector's lady had been to see that Mary Harris 
 was wrapped up, and had hoped her cold 
 wouldn't be worse for coming out ; — these, 
 and such topics, were quite enough for the 
 talkers, whilst some true children of the Nor- 
 folk soil contented themselves with walking on 
 side by side with little or.no remark. 
 
 " You'll be gone next Sunday, Martha," 
 said one of the talkers to a short, square, 
 quiet-looking girl who had been specially no- 
 ticed by Mrs. Estridge as having attended her 
 class for the last time. " I wish I was going 
 too. It'd be summut of a change. You'll be 
 coming back a lady ; or least ways, with a 
 bonnet like Miss Graham's in church this 
 morning, more like a crown in a picture-book 
 than aught else." 
 
 " No, I won't," was the sturdy reply. " I 
 wouldn't be stared at for finery — not if I had 
 a chance." 
 
 "I wonder if you'll meet with that Miss — 
 I forget her name — that sent the message to 
 
 I
 
 16 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 US all. How faithful Mrs. Estridge gave it 
 
 out." 
 
 " I'd know her again," was Martha's reply ; 
 " and from the ways of her, she wouldn't take 
 it amiss if I was to cross the road and speak 
 to her. I will if she comes to London." 
 
 This was a good deal for Martha to say; 
 and while it implied some ignorance of the 
 likelihood that two strangers, though in Lon- 
 don at the same time, might fail to meet each 
 other directly, it betrayed that deep down in 
 her mind the message to which her compan- 
 ion alluded had been put away never to be 
 lost. 
 
 Nearly a year before the opening of our 
 story, a friend of Mrs. Estridge's, spending a 
 Sunday at Winthrop, had consented to share 
 with her the Sunday afternoon teaching ; and 
 the words that she had spoken had often by 
 the Rector's wife been recalled to the minds 
 of the girls, while in their purport they had 
 from week to week been repeated. And on 
 this particular afternoon Mrs. Estridge had, 
 before parting, read to them a few lines from
 
 THE MESSAGE. 17 
 
 a letter received only the day before, of which 
 the words were as follows : — 
 
 " And tell your girls from me that I send 
 them all good Christmas wishes ; and that 
 they must always keep the true Christmas 
 chime ringing in their hearts — 'Thanks be 
 UNTO God for His Unspeakable Gift.' " 
 
 Not very much had been added to the mes- 
 sage thus repeated — only a few words of 
 what the Gift was, which is truly the unspeak- 
 able gift of Christmas-tide — words few enough 
 to be soon forgotten by the careless, and 
 enough to he carried away with the message 
 by the thoughtful, while Mrs. Estridge had 
 bidden them think, wlien the chimes should 
 ring in Christmas-day, that the church-bells 
 must ring in their heart-temples too. 
 
 Martha Brooke's home was on the very edge 
 of the fens, and to it she now returned. A 
 great change in licr life was to come in the 
 course of the week now opening. On the day 
 after Christmas-day she was to go to service 
 in London ; and to this change she had long 
 looked forward, not with any pa'-ticular oxpoc-
 
 18 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 tation of satisfaction, but simply as that which 
 would come to her in her turn as it had come 
 to her sisters before her. 
 
 When Eliza — the first to start forth into 
 the unknown whirl of London life — had gone, 
 her younger sisters had felt as much eagerness 
 of curiosity as in their quiet way it was possi- 
 ble for them to show. They wondered how 
 she must feel at the idea of a railway journey 
 in the new dress and strong boots which were 
 the results of so many savings, and half 
 wished their time for going out had arrived. 
 But Jane had followed since then ; and Martha 
 began to feel it such a matter of course that 
 she should go, now that Kezia was old enough 
 to take her place at home, that she did not 
 allow herself to think of her own departure 
 as a matter of much moment to any one but 
 herself. 
 
 For ]\Iartha was not a girl who looked for- 
 ward very carefully from one day to another. 
 She accepted her life as she found it, and sup- 
 posed that it was all right, or at least that 
 what was wrong in it couldn't be helped. It
 
 THE MESSAGE. 19 
 
 was not pleasant to be always scolded by her 
 mother ; but then other girls were scolded too. 
 Her father was a quiet man who seldom spoke, 
 and still more seldom gave any sign of her 
 belonging to him. She had read of fathers 
 who loved, and even showed forth love to, 
 their children, and whose hearts were towards 
 them ; but then, as she came to reflect upon 
 it, that was generally in Joseph and his breth- 
 ren and the Prodigal Son, and in l)Ooks which 
 must have taken it from them ; and as many 
 fathers round her beat and abused their chil- 
 dren, she said to herself that, on the whole, 
 she was well off. 
 
 And such a conclusion implied a very great 
 amount of thought on Martha's part. Slie 
 had never kuown anything very pleasant in 
 her life until the day from which evciytliing 
 that had since lieen at all pleasant dated. 
 Her home was, on the whole, more respect- 
 able than many by which it was surrounded. 
 No particular wrong or shame had cast a 
 shadow over it, although, had such been the 
 case, neither father nor mother would have
 
 20 THE MESSAGE, 
 
 very keenly felt such a shadow. Every one 
 in the house had been on a working level. 
 The children had been sent to school with a 
 general impression that it would go into 
 work afterwards ; and to church, with an idea, 
 equally vague on Mrs. Brooke's part, that so 
 much religion having been got through in the 
 time of childhood, it would be set to her and 
 their account in some shape hereafter. She 
 herself had seldom been to church since she 
 married. When there was a death in the 
 family, she put a black ribbon across her 
 bonnet and appeared in the aisle ; and after 
 Christmas gifts from the Parsonage, she 
 " went to church for the blankets," as slie 
 expressed it, regarding it as a suitable return 
 compliment to the clergyman ; but beyond 
 this, and the registering of each new birth 
 in a Family Bible, which action was regarded 
 by both her and her husband as a religious 
 rite, Mrs. Brooke's Christianity did not go. 
 And though it is pleasant to read of Christian 
 England, and of village piety, and of rural 
 virtue, if the truth were written, of how many
 
 THE MESSAGE. 21 
 
 village homes is this only too favorable a 
 specimen ! 
 
 Martha's first gleam of real individual sun- 
 shine had, figuratively speaking, crossed her 
 path on the day that Mrs. Estridge, newly 
 arrived at Winthrop, had called and invited 
 her to come up to the Rectory on the Sunday 
 afternoon. Martha could not at first realize, 
 as she stood at the wash-tub with hands deep 
 in soap-suds, that her appearance would make 
 any difference to the lady ; but Mrs. Estridge, 
 all the same, looked kind and pleasant about 
 it ; and Mrs. Brooke, after having first said 
 she didn't see what the girl was to get by 
 going, was brought round to lielieve that she 
 wouldn't get any harm, and it wouldn't take 
 out of working time ; and finally agreed to 
 allow it. 
 
 That was three years ago, and Martha had 
 seldom absented herself since. And under- 
 neath the hard outer life there came to be 
 very deep down, and almost unconsciously to 
 herself, a swelling of heart, and a putting 
 forth of feelers and yearnings for a better and
 
 22 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 higher life ; and then had followed strange 
 desires and hopes, and unspoken, unacknowl- 
 edged notions that all that was said in church, 
 and had heen read out at school when she was 
 a child, might have something real in it, some- 
 thing true, and living, and present — some- 
 thing for her. It was as yet only a sort of 
 twilight speculation on Martha's part, and one 
 at first so strange, that she had to take earnest 
 counsel with herself before she could believe 
 that such was the case. Tlie seeds planted in. 
 her heart had their place so deep down, that 
 all their first life-strength seemed to be put 
 forth underground, and to expend itself in 
 roots and unseen fibres ; and although, be- 
 cause she had not yet grasped visibly to her- 
 self those wonderful things to which her life 
 was tending, she believed herself to be very 
 far from them, she was in truth being num- 
 bered amongst tliose who hunger and thirst 
 after righteousness, and who shall be 'filled. 
 It was a cold East wind that blew up across 
 the fens as she descended the slope to her 
 own home on the Sunday afternoon, of which
 
 THE MESSAGE. 23 
 
 I have spoken ; — a cold, sarcastic wind, which 
 however bravely you might fight it at one 
 corner, met you with a keen retort round the 
 next, and made people who thought about it 
 at all wonder where it was originally com- 
 pounded, and from what recipe for a freezing- 
 mixture it was made up. And Martha, as she 
 stamped sturdily doAvn the frozen road, and 
 drew her shawl closely round her, wondered 
 whether it would meet her like that in Lon- 
 don ; and then, musing on her London life to 
 come, went over the words which had been in 
 her heart ever since she left the Rectory. 
 
 " I must keep the chimes going," that was 
 what the message said ; — Thanks be unto 
 God for His unspeakable gift. The Christmas 
 chimes ! I seem to understand it somewhere 
 about me, and not to get hold of it right side 
 foremost. It'll come right best if I think of 
 the unspeakable gift first. The Bible tells us 
 " the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus 
 Christ our Lord." It's that eternal life that's 
 the Christmas gift, because Jesus Christ was 
 born the-- to die instead of me — to take all
 
 24 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 my punishment for me, that there might be 
 nothing between me and heaven. It seems al- 
 most too much to think, that when He has so 
 much to do, and all the angels to look after, 
 and everyone in great London and towns to 
 mind, that He should care to put the gift right 
 down to me for me to take it up. But then 
 the Bible says so. I wouldn't tell a lie, I 
 know, and He wouldn't, much more.. So there 
 it is promised ; and I may have it, and I've 
 asked, and I will get it from Him — " eternal 
 life through Jesus Christ our Lord." What a 
 go(Jd thing it would be to have that for my 
 Christmas present this year ! And why 
 shouldn't I make quite sure ? I'd take that 
 away with me into London, and never lose it. 
 If only I could understand about the chimes ! 
 They'll ring out on Christmas-day, and per- 
 haps I'll get hold of the meaning then. If I 
 can't, I'll go up and ask Mrs. Estridge to 
 make it plainer, because I'm so slow. Any- 
 how, there's something wonderful in believing 
 all about Christmas being something for now, 
 as well as an old story about Christ's coming.
 
 THE MESSAGE. 25 
 
 It's wonderful that I once never knew how to 
 ask Jesus to come into my heart where there's 
 room for Him to live always. I sometimes 
 can't believe I'm only plain Martha Brooke, 
 that's got to Him in my slow, clumsy sort of 
 fashion for the unspeakable gift, and hope to 
 be getting it all the same as if I was the 
 Squire's lady herself. For it's promised sure 
 and fast, and He bought it for us ; — only I 
 must try and make it out quite plain — that 
 about keeping the Christmas chime in my 
 heart for always.
 
 =<.-J^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT THE BROOKES' COTTAGE. 
 
 ]HE chimes rang out of Winthrop 
 church-towers on Christmas-dayj 
 and the congregation came in ; the 
 crisp snow on the churchyard paths sparkling 
 and gleaming in the cold sunshine. All the 
 regular attendants were there, and a sprink- 
 ling of irregular ones, who came to see the 
 evergreens round the pillars and arches, and 
 to hear the singing, and with a general notion 
 that church-going in the morning was the 
 right sort of prelude to the Christmas dinner 
 later on. 
 
 The family from the great house were early 
 in their pew ; the Squire himself looking like 
 an eml)odiment of Church and State as he
 
 CHEISTMAS AT THE BROOKES' COTTAGE, 27 
 
 walked up the aisle with the important tread 
 customary to him at the Quarter Sessions and 
 on other public occasions. And in Mrs. 
 Graham's face, which was wont to be sharp 
 and thin, there appeared a sort of conscious- 
 ness that coals and blankets had not been 
 forgotten the day before ; while old Mapper, 
 the clerk, ostentatiously preceded her with 
 a bright red comforter round his neck, which 
 he wished her to understand was the same 
 which had accompanied his donation of coals 
 on the previous evening, and which he wore as 
 a mark of respect ; his grandsons figuring 
 under the gallery in other comforters, of 
 which the rather washed-out glories pro- 
 claimed them as the Christmas gifts of 
 former years. And the young ladies tried 
 to appear as if they had not been the 
 decorators of the chancel, and knew noth- 
 ing about the wreath over the arch, or the 
 "Glory to God in the highest" round the 
 east window, although it was well understood 
 that they and their brothers had been busy 
 among holly and ivy wreaths the whole of the
 
 28 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 previous day. Only little Effie, who being but 
 nine years old, was not supposed to be indif- 
 ferent to her own share in the handiwork, 
 was heard to whisper to Mr. John : " And I 
 held all the white holly for the G in ' Glory,' 
 and Mary wouldn't let me make the letters ; 
 but I will nest Christmas ; " for which re- 
 mark, although intensely interesting to the 
 girls who sat in the choir on the open bench 
 before the squire's pew, Effie was immediately 
 quenched by an admonitory glance from her 
 elder sister. 
 
 Then Mrs. Estridge came in with Harry 
 and Gracie, and took her seat on the opposite 
 side of the chancel ; and Effie and Gracie 
 had to be restrained by their respective guard- 
 ians from holding telegraphic communication 
 concerning the glories of the wreath round 
 the arch. And then Mr. Estridii-e came out 
 of the vestry, and the Confession and the 
 Prayers were read ; and concerning the Child 
 of Bethlehem all voices sang, " Thou art the 
 King of Glory, Christ ! " and all voices 
 said, " I believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord,
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 29 
 
 who sitteth at the right hand of God: from 
 thence He shall come again to judge both the 
 quick and the dead," 
 
 I wonder whether many people think of 
 what they are saying in the Creed. In old 
 days the Teutonic nobles used to draw their 
 swords, and repeat the words while their glit- 
 tering blades flashed in the air, to show that . 
 they would be willing to fight and die for the 
 faith — for the faith in Him who came as a 
 child into the world that He might die for us. 
 I sometimes think, that though in England 
 people do not draw, swords from their sheaths 
 when they say the Creed, those who love His 
 name and who remember how for them He was 
 crucified, dead, and buried, have something of 
 the fighting spirit ronsed in their hearts by the 
 old old words, and long to overcome and be 
 set down with Him on the throne of His glory, 
 
 « 
 
 even as He also overcame and was set down 
 with the Father on His throne. 
 
 The winter's sun was shining brightly 
 through the stained glass of the east window 
 when the choir struck up, " Hark, the herald
 
 30 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 angels sing ! " " The unspeakable gift," 
 thought Martha to herself; " no wonder 
 angels brought the message, and then couldn't 
 find any such words for it as ' Glory to God in 
 the highest, and on earth peace, good-will 
 toward men.' I like that ' good-will ; ' it 
 seems as if we was wanted to have the gift 
 each one." And Martha's voice, which was 
 full and clear, went out with a real joy such 
 as nothing particular in her outward life had 
 ever occurred to call forth, in the song, 
 
 " Joyful all ye nations rise, 
 Join the triumph of the skies ; 
 With the heavenly hosts proclaim, 
 Christ is born at Bethlehem." 
 
 She wondered at her own happiness as she 
 sang. " And yet I ought to be glad," she 
 said to herself; "He came for me. When 
 one thinks of it, at first it seems more natural 
 that rich people should have the great gifts, 
 like they have everything else, and for us 
 poor plain ones to be passed over. I haven't 
 a grand cloak like the young ladies from the 
 great house, all richness, and, taken in one
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 31 
 
 light, like silk, and in the other like bird's 
 feathers, just where they turn soft and downy ; 
 and I'm not pretty, like Mrs. Estridge, but 
 plain and awkward. But the unspeakable 
 gift's for me all the same — it says so : ' unto 
 all people ; ' like a letter directed to me in my 
 own name ; and it seems like something for 
 always in one's heart to remember, ' eternal 
 life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' " 
 
 Martha did not know that the joy-bells, the 
 true Christmas-chimes, were already ringing 
 in her heart as she sang out so gladly. She 
 only knew that she was not left out of the 
 day's rejoicing, and that the reason why she 
 was glad was because the Christ born at Beth- 
 lehem was her Saviour, and that he was near 
 to her for ever. 
 
 Everybody was wishing everybody else 
 happy Christmases after service. Even the 
 squire, who by nature was silent and did not 
 notice people, nodded to the groups in the 
 churchyard, as if he couldn't do less on the 
 25th of December ; and Mrs. Estridge went 
 amongst all her village friends, shaking hands,
 
 32 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 and asking after rheumatisms and coughs, and 
 saying how cold it was, and how she hoped 
 eveiybody would enjoy themselves, in a 
 manner which Martlia admired from a dis- 
 tance, wondering all the time whether she 
 would herself come in for a greeting, but feel- 
 ing far too shy even to look as if she lingered 
 in expectation of such distinction. 
 
 It came, however — the kind word aijd 
 touch of the hand upon her shoulder, and 
 pleasant smile, which, far more than Mrs. 
 Estridge could have believed, went to make 
 her Christmas a happy day, sending a little 
 electric thrill of pleasure through the quiet 
 country girl, for which she could hardly ac- 
 count, even to herself. 
 
 " Your last day with us, my child ! I hope 
 it will be a happy one. But I shall miss you 
 on Sundays. Remember you are to let me 
 know how you get on in London : and, 
 Martha, Christmas can be kept in our hearts 
 all the year round, can't it ? We must try to 
 let the true Cliristmas chime be always ring- 
 ing, you know."
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE, 33 
 
 Ajid then Mrs. Estridge went to join her 
 husband, and there was a sore feeling in the 
 girl's heart as she watched her as far as the 
 Rectory Avenue ; and very much to her own 
 surprise, everything round looked quite dim 
 in spite of the bright sunshine that streamed 
 down on the snowy pathways. What was over 
 her ? Martha could hardly believe that great 
 tears were welling up into her eyes in an 
 unwonted manner as she recalled the last 
 words of the friend to whom she had slowly 
 and week by week been making the offering 
 of true deep gratitude and affection ; and 
 then she tried to remember how it had felt 
 to have Mrs. Estridge's hand laid on her 
 shoulder, and asked herself if it could be 
 possible that she meant what she said about 
 missing her, and thought how she had finished 
 with the words, " We must keep the chime 
 going." " As if we would be together in 
 •something," she said to herself; "and I will, 
 oh, I will ; I'll try and re.member always, 
 always ! I would, if it was only for love of 
 her, I would; but it's more than that, — I 
 
 2
 
 34 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 have the Unspeakable Gift given to me, and 
 I'll never forget it as long as I live ! 
 
 It was dinner-time when she reached home, 
 and Mrs. Brooke was, with Kezi^a's help, put- 
 ting the beef and pudding on the table, which 
 had been in part supplied from the great house 
 the day before. 
 
 I wonder whether any but true-born English 
 people can enter into the full meaning and 
 sentiment of Christmas pudding, — the insti- 
 tution which penetrates into the humblest cot- 
 tages, into workhouses, and even into prisons, 
 in which last retreat it is regarded, as a 
 general rule, with much more respect than 
 the law of the land. Foreigners may make, 
 may eat, and may even go as far as to enjoy 
 the same ; but with a rightly-constituted Eng- 
 lishman or Englishwoman, consciously or un- 
 consciously, there belongs to every mouthful 
 a sense of nationality, of hereditary Church 
 and State attachment, together with an infu* 
 sion of as much family feeling as it is possible 
 to muster, all of whiclj go to form an invisible 
 compound, served up at the same time with
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 35 
 
 the material embodiment of groceries and 
 other ingredients, and giving a flavor and 
 meaning to tlie same wliich can be attained 
 on Christmas-day only, and then only by the 
 home-born. 
 
 Mrs. Brooke at one time in the year seemed 
 able to look over the deeply-worn groove of 
 her work-a-day life, and to realize, with a mo- 
 mentary approach to the dignity of a British 
 matron, her position as a wife and motlier 
 of a family. It was when, with the only ap- 
 proach to sentiment which she was ever known 
 to exhibit, she stuck a sprig of holly, " to give 
 a touch of feeling," as she annually expressed 
 it, in the centre of the pudding, and then sat 
 down at the head of her family to eat it. 
 
 Even in the poor cottage on the fens there • 
 arose, at the observance of the yearly festival, 
 a remembrance of the absent members of the 
 family. The Brookes were at all times so 
 slow of speech, were so fixed in a sort of belief 
 that what was to be was, wdiich thing, in their 
 case, happened to be, from time to time, tlie 
 due exportation into London service of one of
 
 36 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 the children, that, this transaction having been 
 accomplished, little was said about the matter ; 
 unless it chanced that Mrs, Brooke, in scold- 
 ing the daughters that remained, Avould finish 
 up with, " 'Liza now, liur was good for sum- 
 mut ; hur knew how to- stir round, hur did ; " 
 which generally resulted in a practical ex- 
 emplification on her own part of what " stir- 
 ring round " might be supposed to signify, 
 much to the bewilderment and disturbance of 
 the different members of the household. 
 
 Over the pudding, however, the father of 
 the family, who had arrived at au idea that he 
 should, before parting from her, " throw out a 
 word to Patty," as he expressed it to himself, 
 concerning her new start in the world, began 
 to work tip to it by slow degrees, to the mani- 
 fest approbation of his wife, who, coarse and 
 rough-hewn as was her ordinary life, had, at 
 the bottom of it all, a certain womanly satis- 
 faction in any approach on her husband's part 
 to recognitions of his family relationship in 
 partnership with herself. 
 
 " 'Liza, -now, she's a eating of pudding
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 37 
 
 somewheres, I'll be bound," was the paternal 
 observation which, in an unwonted manner, 
 betrayed his remembrance of the absent. 
 
 " It don't seem only like two years since 
 hur was away," continued his wife, carrying 
 on the train of thought. "It was a bigger 
 pudding that year than this. Mrs. Law, she 
 takes a bit off for every one as goes ; that's 
 what I've minded each year. There was a 
 handful of raisins less after 'Liza went, and a 
 quarter of a pound less suet after Jane was 
 off. I'm thinkin' we'll lose by Patty's going 
 next year ; and if I can, I'll have speech with 
 one of the young ladies up at the house, and 
 ask to know if it's by their desires." 
 
 From which remark the reader will discover 
 that Mrs. Law was the Squire's housekeeper ; 
 and further, that the charities over which she 
 presided were dispensed not altogether with 
 the inconsiderateness of generosity to which 
 the seascm of Christmas is supposed to con- 
 duce. 
 
 " There's Jane, too," continued Mr. Brooke, 
 after a longer silence than tlic first, during 
 
 2i3;l 254
 
 38 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 which second slices had been given round; 
 " I shoukln't wonder if she was a eatin' of 
 puddin' now at this very minit ; " in pursuing 
 which train of thought his wife looked at the 
 clock, and observed that it was pretty nigh 
 gone one, whereupon the children looked at 
 the clock too, and as it struck, seemed in their 
 turn struck with- their father's idea. 
 
 He himself was rising in spirits in the un- 
 usual process of conducting a family conver- 
 sation, his habit being on most other days in 
 
 * 
 
 the year to devour hungrily and silently what 
 might be prepared for him in the interval of 
 his labor, indulging now and then only in an 
 angry exclamation against his wife, if his 
 usual allowance was wanting in weeks of 
 scant wages, or of other difficulty. 
 
 Christmas-day was telling upon him, how- 
 ever, as in the bosom of his family he gave 
 vent to a third remark, which was founded on 
 the pattern of the former ones, as they had 
 proved successful. 
 
 "Patty, now; she'll be eatin' of puddin' 
 somewheres next year, you may depend."
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 39 
 
 Martha grew very red as she felt that all 
 the eyes round the table were beut upon her, 
 while her mother, with a dim idea that, to- 
 morrow bein^ a working day, it would be time 
 saved to say what was necessary to her daugh- 
 ter at parting then and there, nodded to her 
 husband, and then to Martha, and then to the 
 other children, repeating his words as being 
 what they might all take note of: "Patty, 
 yes, hur'll be eatin' of puddin' somewheres 
 next year;" adding the exhortation, "Now, 
 Martha, you mind that; that's from father 
 and me." 
 
 It might have occurred to an unenlightened 
 listener that, regarded as parting advice, the 
 remark relating to Martha's next year's con- 
 sumption of Christmas pudding, was hardly 
 such as practically to bear with much force 
 upon her future career ; but I don't think that 
 any such idea presented itself to her or to 
 any one else at table. On the contrary, there 
 was a certain approach to maternal dignity, 
 and even kindliness, in the words, " that's 
 from father and me," which, while it con-
 
 40 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 vinced Mr. Brooke that he had offered a very 
 original and well-timed remark, found its way, 
 though slowly, to Martha's heart ; while a sort 
 of yearning came over her towards the rough, 
 coarse, and generally loveless home, from 
 which on the next day she was to drift into 
 an individual life of her own. 
 
 " Yes, mother," she answered, rather hum- 
 bly. 
 
 " Ay : it's all in that what your mother 
 says," continued her father, willing in some 
 sort to pay back his wife's appreciation of his 
 former remarks, " hur said ' moind.' Now, 
 Patty, you moind. It's what I says to Jane, 
 and to 'Liza before her, when they was goin'. 
 And it won't wear out afore its Kezia's turn. 
 You allers moind, and then, as I says, you'll 
 be moinded of." Whereupon Mrs. Brooke 
 hinted that the parson himself would find it 
 hard to improve upon that, and told Martha 
 " not to forget her bringin' up or her school- 
 in' ; " and when Martha had said she wouldn't, 
 added, " and you fulfil that sitiwation that 
 you're summonsed to, and you'll be like the
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 41 
 
 other two, never coming back like a bad penny 
 on our hands." 
 
 With which burst of feeling, and the finish- 
 ing up of the pudding, Martha's exhortation 
 on leaving the parental roof ended ; and, in- 
 deed, the Christmas observance in the Brookes' 
 house also found its close. The dishes were 
 put away, and Mrs. Brooke was heard to 
 remark to Kezia " out at the back," that she 
 felt most lost after dinner was over whenever 
 Christmas-day came, for that, look at it in one 
 way, it seemed most as dull as Sundays for 
 work ; and, look at it the other, why, it seemed 
 a waste not to be settin' to the washin', 
 " which I wouldn't think nothin' before I'd be 
 at it now," she concluded, " if it wasn't for 
 neighbors sayin' as we couldn't afford to sit 
 like gentlefolks for Christmas-day, which, after 
 all, comes but once a year." 
 
 Martha, meanwhile, was busy upstairs in 
 packing up her few possessions, much as her 
 sisters had done before her. Her Bible and 
 Prayer-book, given her at school, and her 
 working clothes, and a few other little proper-
 
 • 
 
 42 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 ties, sufficient to form a bundle, were tied up 
 in an old shawl ready for the morrow's jour- 
 ney. The three younger children looked on 
 with a vague wonder and admiration, while 
 she told them that on the next day she would 
 be going away from them in the train, together 
 with that identical bundle ; and then they ran 
 off to play, leaving her to finish up her work 
 by herself, which she did, wondering almost 
 as much as they as to what it would feel like, 
 to be, for the first time, away from them all, 
 and starting life on her own account. 
 
 And then, when all was done,, and when 
 Mrs. Brooke bad sent Kezia out ta the farm to 
 get the milk, and had settled herself to sleep 
 in the one arm-chair by the fire, Martha 
 arrayed herself in her new warm shawl, the 
 result of deposits in Mrs. Estridge's clothing 
 club, and put on the brown straw bonnet 
 which she had worn for the first time that 
 morning, and, in the unwonted leisure of 
 Christmas afternoon, took the road leading up 
 to the church. A settled purpose was in her 
 mind, — the accomplishment of a plan which
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 43 
 
 she had formed for this last day at home, after 
 the Bible class of the previous Sunday, — and, 
 in the freezing cold of approaching dusk, she 
 drew her shawl round her closely, and tried to 
 think out with something of distinctness, the 
 feelings which were deep down in her heart, 
 but for which, even to herself, she could not 
 find expression. If she could have known it, 
 they were gentle and tender ones, — gentler 
 and tenderer than might naturally have been 
 nurtured in a hard, religionless home, — feel- 
 ings which had come to her with the longing 
 for the higher life towards which her heart 
 had been drawn by kindly words and heav- 
 enly influences, — longing, upward-tending 
 thoughts, which now were beginning to raise 
 themselves with new, vigorous shoots above 
 the coarse soil of an ignorant and rough every- 
 day life, filling her with a strange sense of 
 purpose, and meaning, and hopefulness, such 
 as she had never, until lately, understood or 
 imagined. 
 
 The slope up to Winthrop Church was the 
 prettiest bit of the village; and the church-
 
 44 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 yard trees were looked upon with some pride 
 by the inhabitants. Through the gate Martha 
 took her way, and down the path to the fur- 
 thest end of the enclosure ; and then she 
 stopped by a grave with a small head-stone, 
 on which the inscription was but of recent 
 date. The words engraved were only 
 Mary Lee, died 18 — . Aged 15. 
 " I'm glad to come here," said Martha to 
 herself, as she stood by the tomb of a young 
 girl who had died some months before, and 
 whom she had cared for as for few other vil- 
 lage companions ; " I helped to carry her to 
 the grave here, and I'll think of her often 
 when I'm gone away. She wasn't long ill, but 
 she had the Unspeakable Gift. I mind how 
 she said before she died that she wasn't feared 
 to die, because He had died for her, and that 
 He was everything she wanted. I wonder 
 whether there are chimes up in heaven to ring 
 at Christmas-time. I wonder whether Mary's 
 listening to them. I think if I was to go to 
 heaven, I'd like to keep Christmas even more 
 than down here ; seeing Him who came to be
 
 BKOOKES' COTTAGE. 45 
 
 a child, that He might give His life for ours. 
 But, somehow, it seems a long way off ; some- 
 thing so far out of one's way. Work, and 
 being followed round by mother, and washing 
 up, and all, seems realer than all about Him. 
 But then, death's as true as all that. Mary 
 died — " and at this point Martha found her- 
 self touching the grave-stone, as if to assure 
 herself that it was there, telling a true tale — 
 " Mary died, and then she found it all as it's 
 written for us, about the golden streets, and 
 harpers with their harps, and the tree of life, 
 and all ; and it was having the Unspeakable 
 Gift that took her safe there ; the great gift 
 of Jesus Christ. I think I'm rather glad some 
 one I know has gone over there, because of it. 
 It makes me feel more as if it was the only 
 thing that's to last always. Yes. I'm glad 
 Mary's there ; and I'll know her when I've got 
 to thank Him for it all. It feels like a sort 
 of showing out that it's all true what we're 
 told of, — dying and heaven, — to have her 
 gone where there's no trouble nor worry, nor 
 being scolded for anythmg any more."
 
 46 CHRISTMAS AT THE 
 
 With which thoughts Martha turned to look 
 round again over the village churchyard, still 
 with the intense stillness of the winter frost 
 and winter twilight. The damps had risen 
 from the marshy grounds below the slope on 
 which she stood, and the firm road through 
 the fens, stretching on out of sight, looked 
 like the old Bible pictures of the pathway of 
 the children of Israel through the cloud and 
 the sea. And high above the mists and va- 
 pors, which came up like waves from the lower 
 flats, a clear crescent moon was shining, and 
 sentinel stars were standing out like watchers 
 in the sky ; and it seemed to Martha as if the 
 shadows of the trees, with the rime upon their 
 branches, and the deeper shadows of the 
 church, were in some sort thrown over the 
 graves as a night-covering for those sleeping 
 underneath ; sleeping as peacefully as little 
 Mary Lee, whom she would never see again. 
 
 And just then, as for a last greeting on the 
 Christmas afternoon, the chimes rang out 
 through the stillness. Martha could not tell 
 herself why she liked so much to hear them,
 
 BROOKES' COTTAGE. 47 
 
 or why she was .glad that she had been on the 
 the other side of the tower from that by which 
 the bell-ringers entered, so that they seemed 
 to her piore like voices from above than the 
 result of efforts within. 
 
 " The chimes ! they're to remind me once 
 more of the Unspeakable Gift I " she said to 
 herself. " I wonder how it goes. One, two, 
 three, four, five. No, it won't do like that ; " 
 and in vain she tried to set the words to the^ 
 music of Winthrop peal. But suddenly, after- 
 a pause, the ringers changed their chime. 
 Slowly the first four bells sounded, and then 
 the full cadence : then again four ; then once 
 more the clear octave of notes, ringing, ring- 
 ing out the reminder, far and near, that the 
 Child of Bethlehem is Christ the Lord. 
 
 " That's it," said Martha, joyfully ; " I've 
 got it now. I'll be able to keep them in my 
 heart just as the message said : — 
 " ' Thanks be to God 
 
 " ' For his unspeakable — Gift.' 
 ■ " ' Thanks be to God : For His unspeakable 
 — Gift.' I'll try and mind about it when I'm
 
 48 CHRISTMAS AT THE BROOKES' COTTAGE. 
 
 tired or put out. I'll try and mind about it 
 down at London that's so big. I'll try and 
 mind about it Sundays and work-a-days, and 
 Christmas days too, — that the great Gift was 
 given for me ; and so I've never cause to care 
 for anything that's to worry or vex me, unless 
 it's losing hold of that ; and I don't think 
 He'll let me lose hold of it. I'll try and live 
 like it. I want to give my life back to Him 
 Vho gave Himself for me ; and I'll try, I 
 • will try to set the bells ringing in my heart ; 
 and whatever comes, it won't seem very bad 
 if only I can keep the Christmas chime 
 going." 
 
 And then Martha once more looked over to 
 the misty fens, and gave a farewell glance to 
 the mound beneath which Mary Lee was sleep- 
 ing ; and under the shadow of the church 
 found her path among the graves, and won- 
 dered, as she went on her way home, that she 
 should have understood so well what Winthrop 
 chimes had to say to her.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 JEOPLE who travel from city to city 
 first class express, gain in time, 
 gain in importance, and probably 
 gain in comfort ; but I am inclined to believe 
 that in some respects they have not altogether 
 the advantage over slower travellers. They 
 have opportunities, indeed, of reflection con- 
 cerning the hurry and bustle of this sublunary 
 life during the brief space of time which may 
 intervene between their settling themselves in 
 corner seats with newspaper, magazine, and 
 sandwiches in store, and the moment of }junc- 
 tual and loudly-signalled departure. They 
 may discover objects not devoid of interest in 
 
 i
 
 50 FIRST CLASS AND THIED CLASS. 
 
 anxious travellers unable to reconcile them- 
 selves to enforced separation from some cher- 
 ished portmanteau or box of fragile ware, 
 between which and their owners there is this 
 much in common that the last, like their 
 boxes, seem to have " Care : this side ?/;?," 
 written visibly on their brows. They may 
 find food for meditation in watching newly- 
 married couples taking possession of coupes, 
 and people barely in time rushing into wrong 
 carriages and being transferred at the last 
 moment to their proper places by watchful 
 officials, and in manifold other transactions, 
 suggestive of stir, and hurry, and change, and 
 busy life. And, if n?)t wholly engrossed in 
 anxieties concerning their own personal well- 
 being, they may discern suggestive themes 
 for thought in the various callings aiid nation- 
 alities represented by the Bishop, and the 
 doctor, and the man of business, and the 
 commercial traveller, and the native servant, 
 and the various other personages collected 
 and jostled together in a confusion which 
 is only brought to an orderly solution by the 
 magic words, " Take your seats."
 
 FIEST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 51 
 
 But to my mind the more leisurely traveller 
 is often the gainer, who, all things being esti- 
 mated by comparison, saunters through the 
 counties, stopping at village stations, and at 
 way-side gates, and at obscure hamlets, with 
 names so little known, as not even to be 
 counted worthy of publication, being supposed 
 to interest only natives of the soil. The 
 nineteenth century, and gas, and steam, and 
 machinery, and radical reform have not yet 
 erased all English country life. The great 
 red-brick creeper, which branches forth from 
 the large towns, and, in suburltan lines of 
 building, calling themselves Prospect Villas 
 and Pleasant Rows, invades quiet meadow 
 tracts, never more to be named as " the 
 country,-" has not yet overspread the whole of 
 our land. And still, even where the railway 
 echoes are heard as accustomed sounds, Eng- 
 lish village life is going on, and men and 
 women are living out their histories under the 
 shadow of the church where they were chris- 
 tened, only shaking their heads over the next 
 generation, and saying that " changes have 
 come up since the old days, I believe you."
 
 52 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 And little home pictures of country life, 
 •whereof the way-side platform with its few 
 accessories of embellishment or comfort is the 
 groundwork, may from time to time be seen 
 by the passing traveller, who, possibly, at 
 many previous stations has heard no disturb- 
 ance oi the stillness beyond the solitary foot- 
 step of the guard and the subdued panting of 
 the engine ; — pictures sometimes of parting, 
 sometimes of greeting, but all more or less 
 invested with an increase of interest and in- 
 dividuality by reason of the quiet and the 
 loneliness of the framework in which they 
 are set. 
 
 Here the nobleman's family is seen to 
 emerge from first-class carriages ; and a brief 
 bustle of waiting servants, and loudly-claimed 
 luggage, breaks the monotony of the journey ; 
 while lookers-on, who may happen to be well 
 informed concerning the neighborhood, point 
 out to more ignorant fellow-travellers the di- 
 rection of the country-seat towards which the 
 coronetted carriage is already turning, com- 
 monly finishing up with a brief biography
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 53 
 
 of Lord De Blank — " not much good in the 
 county — mostly abroad ; but finer timber not 
 to be seen in England, sir; and they do say 
 that the young lord will take to the family 
 place — he that married Sir John Acres' 
 daughter in the next county — a fine place, 
 too, Acres' Park, and Sir John knows some- 
 thing of farming, and goes for a pretty tight 
 landlord. There, you may see the Blankhurst 
 chimneys over behind those trees ! " And 
 then the train goes on its way, and other 
 woods and meadows are skirted in its course, 
 and the Blankhurst parenthesis in the after- 
 noon journey is left behind. 
 
 And sometimes may be seen a life-parting, 
 and sometimes a greeting of the soldier re- 
 turned from long absence. And sometimes 
 Mary going to her first place at the country 
 parsonage, is met by a strange fellow-servant, 
 who " supposes she is the young person as is 
 expected," and who, finding that she is, 
 adopts her bonnet-box, while Mary, claims the 
 heavy one from the luggage-van. And some- 
 times the Squire returning from Quarter Ses-
 
 64 . FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 sions, or from a day's 'sport over the stubble, 
 and sometimes the town young lady friend 
 met with the pony-carriage by her country 
 young lady friend, and "the cart will come 
 down for your boxes, dear," are the foremost 
 figures in the little home histories for a few 
 moments acted out before the eyes of passing 
 travellers. And now and then chimes from a 
 village spire, or the sound of the afternoon 
 organ practice from the church, or the even- 
 ing hymn swelling through the open windows 
 of a' school, or the scents of summer things 
 borne up from cottage gardens, have a mes- 
 sage for the passors-by not altogether without 
 power to revive old associations, or to waken 
 up quiet songs without words in secret heart- 
 chambers, if the world's care and work have 
 not done their part in silencing its inner 
 music. 
 
 The point at which the narrow stream of 
 Winthrop life joined the tide of world history 
 and nineteenth century civilization was a way- 
 side platform at which only slow trains con- 
 descended to stop ; and there, some time
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 55 
 
 before the morning parliamentary had become 
 due, Martha Brooke might have been seen, 
 the day after Christmas, escorted by her sister 
 Kezia, and grasping the bundle of which men- 
 . tion has been already made, with a sort of 
 unspoken conviction that all she had now to 
 do was to keep a firm hold on the properties 
 therein contained. 
 
 On occasion of the first launch of a daughter 
 into service, two years before, both the father 
 and mother of the Brooke family had come up 
 to Winthrop gate, as they expressed it, "to 
 see the last of 'Liza ; " and to the said Eliza 
 there had come a certain dignity and sense of 
 independence, as she kissed the children, and 
 promised to bring them things when she came 
 to see them again. But the family ceremonial 
 had been conducted with less importance when 
 Jane had followed in her sister's track — her 
 father having said that he " saw no good in 
 having to make up after hours along of the 
 girl's going off, which mother could see -to 
 better than him." Martha's departure at the 
 Christmas-tide of which we are writing was
 
 56 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 even less honored in its accompaniments, the 
 thing having to a certain extent become com- 
 mon in the family ; so that ujDon her sister 
 alone devolved the duty of speeding her on 
 her way, Mrs. Brooke having declared, over 
 her wash-tub, that " 'twould take a deal to 
 make up all the time wasted in keeping 
 Christmas, special now that they'd be a hand 
 short without Patty, when she was gone." 
 
 To the same platform there drove up, just 
 before the arrival of the expected train, the 
 carriage from the great house ; and the sisters, 
 looking on, did not take long to come to the 
 conclusion that Miss Graham was also about 
 to start on her travels. 
 
 There was what seemed to them an endless 
 quantity of luggage, with the amount of Ijrass 
 and leather displayed in the construction 
 thereof which is generally to be regarded as 
 an outward sign and symbol of the excellence 
 of the contents. And then many charges were 
 given to Green, the lady's maid, as to her 
 care of Miss Dora during her absence. " And 
 you'll be sure to see that she wraps up going
 
 FIKST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 /'. 50.
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 57 
 
 out driving," Martha heard Mrs. Graham say, 
 as the train drew up ; and then furs and cloaks, 
 and a hot-water footstool, were by the man- 
 servant placed in a coraer seat, and the Squire 
 was seen to slip something into the guard's 
 palm as he promised to mind and see after 
 the young lady, who, meantime, looked very 
 bright and merry as she started off for a 
 month of Christmas gaieties, and laughingly 
 told her parents not to mourn for her absence. 
 Then once more Green, who was made to sit 
 opposite to her, was exhorted to take care of 
 her young mistress ; and her father, as the 
 whistle somided, was heard to say, " The car- 
 riage will be waiting for you at Shoreditch ; " 
 and then, Martha having been deposited in 
 her place, and a brief kiss having sealed the 
 parting of the sisters, the train glided away, 
 and Winthrop tower faded in the distance, and 
 the chapter of her village life was closed and 
 over — not a very happy life — by no means a 
 gentle or tender one — but still life with a 
 home in it, and with a rough sort of family 
 love belonging to it, the remembrance of which
 
 58 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 brought a swelling into Martha's heart, while 
 she wondered in what sort of a place she would 
 sleep that night. 
 
 " Eeckon there's a deal of store set by some 
 one over there," was the first remark she 
 heard from a laboring man who pointed back- 
 wards with his thumb towards the carriage 
 occupied by Miss Graham and her maid. And 
 Martha, hai-ing no reason to think to the con- 
 trary, reckoned that there was. 
 
 " Comes to the same thing in the end," 
 observed her companion, with some conscious 
 philosophy ; adding, after a pause, " First 
 class or third, it's all one at the end — when 
 the journey's over." 
 
 Which remark set Martha, who was on her 
 first journey, thinking with much energy, as 
 of late had been her wont. 
 
 Has the reader heard of a certain cloth 
 called mungo ? Not a superfine or even a 
 showy product of northern looms or steam- 
 mills, but a coarse and strong material which, 
 because it cannot be called fine, styles itself 
 serviceable. It may be that, long before the
 
 FIBST GLASS AND THIED CLASS. 59 
 
 close of this century, all remembrance of the 
 origin of its name will have passed away ; and 
 therefore, reminded of the same by a sympa- 
 thetic interest in the workings of Martha 
 Brooke's mind, we are willing here to make 
 mention thereof. 
 
 Not, as at first might appear probable, is 
 reference in anywise intended to the celebrated 
 African explorer who was indebted to his god- 
 fathers and godmothers for a Christian name 
 not commonly to' be found in baptismal regis- 
 ters ; but to a circumstance attending the 
 production before a Lancashire master manu- 
 facturer of coarse shreds of old cloth, carpet, 
 and other woollen textures, with a protest to 
 the effect that they were too rough and value- 
 less to be worked up into a new cloth. 
 
 " They wunna go," said the foreman, dis- 
 couragingly. 
 
 " But they mun g'o,'" replied the master. 
 And hence mungo cloth. 
 
 I have sometimes thought that all round 
 us, if only we might take note of the matter, 
 mind-machinery, possibly rough and slow in
 
 60 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 its operations, is working up out of imperfect 
 notions and common observations, and out-of- 
 the-way ideas, a web of home-spun thought 
 and feeling, not of tlie book or essay descrip- 
 tion, nor of the finer samples displayed from 
 pulpit or platform, but of an every-day use, 
 and well suited for the wear and tear of a 
 rough and homely life — a texture which, 
 woven on the hidden loom of a conscious, if 
 ordinary, experience, does not always result 
 in being either coarse or commonplace. 
 
 Martha's mental powers had, as we have al- 
 ready observed, only of late been roused from 
 inactivity to action. She had herself been 
 but a working machine — a washing, scrub- 
 bing, and little-noticed country girl, to whom 
 few ideas came beyond the round of her every- 
 day work. And the entrance of the Word 
 which giveth understanding unto the simple 
 had set so many new thoughts, so many won- 
 derful bright glimpses of fresh truth revolving 
 in her mind, and arranging themselves as if 
 to be wrought out into some settled scheme, 
 and plain and tangible web of feeling and Ix^
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 61 
 
 lief, that she found herself constantly occupied 
 in the determined production for her own 
 satisfaction of this private mungo, all, as soon 
 as spun, laid up in mental store-chambers pre- 
 viously little used, with a sort of surprise that 
 there should be s*o many things seen and un- 
 seen around her, concerning which it behoved 
 her to meditate and take concern. 
 
 And now, as through the Norfolk flats the 
 train made its ways, much of this work was in 
 process of being carried on. Home remem- 
 brances, and wonderings concerning the now 
 impending future " down at London," and 
 thoughts of Mrs. Estridge's pleasant face and 
 kindly voice, and curious observations con- 
 cerning the new sensations of real travelling, 
 were so much raw material for Martha's men- 
 tal "home-spun;" and intermixed with it all 
 was a longing desire to let her life — the new 
 chapter of which was now beginning — be in 
 some sort a return for the Life once given for 
 her, and a dim idea that things here in general 
 were like a journey, and that at last it will not 
 much matter whether we were rich or poor,
 
 62 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 first-class or third-class passengers — if only 
 we come to the right end and the true home. 
 
 Thus Martha went on her way ; and gazed 
 out at Ipswich steeples and towers, wondering 
 that there should be so many of them, and 
 making sure that she was nof passing London 
 by mistake by inquiring from her fellow-pas- 
 sengers concerning the large station, who 
 laughed at her in a good-natured fashion, and 
 supposed she was new to that line — which 
 was indeed ' the truth. And, just about the 
 time that Miss Graham, in her corner of the 
 train, had recourse to a nice little luncheon 
 of cold pheasant, and. plum-cake, and claret, 
 Martha bethought her of finding occupation of 
 the same sort, and enjoyed her-dinner of bread 
 and cheese and apples, which Kezia had put 
 up for her before she left home. 
 
 The Eastern Counties line from Winthrop 
 to London has not the merit of being at any 
 point particularly attractive. On the contrary, 
 an observant traveller might very generally be 
 led to suppose it a sort of advertising medium 
 along which, during many months of the year,
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 63 
 
 samples of British fog of various thickness are 
 hung out on approbation, and for general inspec- 
 tion. First come the damps from the Norfolk 
 fens — Martha's native commodity ; then the 
 mists from the Orwell, thick and steamy when 
 the tide is out ; and later, vapors, more or less 
 dense, from the Essex marshes, hanging like 
 draperies over the telegraph wires, and block- 
 ing out all scenery beyond, until the gradual 
 entrance within the regions of genuine Lon- 
 don fog, of texture more closely woven, and 
 altogether with a great deal more body in it. 
 And when, through the darkness of the winter 
 afternoon, the train threaded its way to the 
 platform of Bishopsgate Street, and Martha was 
 told that there she was at last, she grasped 
 her bundle with a feeling of companionship in 
 its possession, and got out on to the platform, 
 realizing a sensation of bewilderment and for- 
 lornness which momentarily increased with 
 her first experiences of loneliness in a crowd. 
 The only thing that looked home-like was 
 Miss Graham's face, as she stood chatting to 
 a lady and gentleman who had come to meet
 
 64 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 her, and to whose carriage — the same to 
 which the Squire had referred on the Win- 
 throp platform — her wraps and lighter ap- 
 purtenances were being transferred by Green 
 and a footman in attendance ; and Martha 
 watched her with as much interest as if she 
 were a picture in a story-book, until she was 
 handed into the carriage, and covered up with 
 what the cottage girl thought looked like skins 
 of wild beasts such as she had seen in a carar 
 van that had once passed through Winthrop, 
 and, telling Green to follow in a cab with the 
 luggage, was driven out of sight. 
 
 " I wish there was a wheelbarrow, or some- 
 thing in my line, to meet me," thought Mar- 
 tha ; at which moment she was touched on the 
 shoulder by a respectable middle-aged man, 
 who inquired whether she was the yo'ung girl 
 down from Norfolk for Mrs. Purkiss ; " be- 
 cause, if you are," he added, " I'm her 
 husband, come on purpose to meet you." 
 Whereupon Martha's care was lightened, and 
 she followed him as he carried her bundle to 
 an omnibus outside, and, having arrived at a
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 65 
 
 point of bewilderment beyond which it was 
 impossible to attain, sat in her place awaiting 
 what might happen next, with a general hope 
 that it would all come right. 
 
 I believe that in a narrative constituted 
 according to the orthodox fashion, it would be 
 proper here to say, — " And while Martha is 
 pursuing her way along the streets of the 
 metropolis, we will inform our readers who 
 Mrs. Purkiss is." For I have a remembrance 
 that in approved story-books of our childhood, 
 similar occasion for a break in the history 
 were with such pleasant formula made use of 
 for purposes of fresh introductions. " But 
 then," as in thoughtful moments I was inclined 
 to argue, " I can't see what the first })erson's 
 journey has to do with the other person's his- 
 tory being explained, because it's only in a 
 story after all ; " and therefore, resenting any 
 contrivance bearing a resemblance of fictitious 
 unreality, I became immediately impatient of 
 the interruption as being created and made 
 use of under false pretences. 
 
 Nevertheless, without reference to our Win- 
 
 5
 
 66 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 throp maiden's omnibus drive, and subsequent 
 walk through sundry streets under her con- 
 ductor's protection, I may here mention that 
 Mrs. Purkiss was second cousin to Martha's 
 mother, and that having married many years 
 before, and having " done well for herself," as 
 her family expressed it, in her marriage, she 
 was willing, with just a very little love of pat- 
 ronage, mingled with a great deal of brisk kind- 
 liness, to stretch out her hands to less fortunate 
 members of the family, and, in Mrs. Brooke's 
 behalf, to act as a sort of agent for getting 
 her daughters out in situations. Thus had 
 she done for Eliza ; thus had she also done for 
 Jane ; and thus was she about to do for Mar- 
 tha ; " and for the rest, too, as long as I can," 
 she had said to her husband ; " for there's 
 always some more pf them coming on, and 
 though poor and in a lowly line, they're strong 
 working girls without show or nonsense, as'll 
 do well if they're put right at the first start, 
 which I'm glad to do for them." - 
 
 And when Martha came in at the private 
 door, escorted by Mr. Purkiss, his wife gave
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 67 
 
 her a friendly welcome, and asked her what 
 she thought of London, and on receiving her 
 first impressions to the effect that it was very- 
 big, replied that so she had thought herself 
 when she had come up first, thirty years ago ; 
 " but you see, I've come not to think much of 
 it now," she added ; while Martha wondered 
 at the greatness of an experience which could 
 speak or even think lightly of so vast and 
 fearful a metropolis as that in which she found 
 herself swallowed up. 
 
 And then she had a comfortable cup of tea 
 in the back parlor with her new friends, and 
 was questioned by Mrs. Purkiss concerning all 
 the members of her family in a kind and not 
 too condescending manner, and heard news of 
 her sisters' latest movements, — that Lizzie, 
 she was away at Notting-hill, miles and miles 
 ofif; and that Jane, she was with her family 
 down at Bloomsbury ; but " some day, they'd 
 get a holiday, and Martha should come too, 
 and they'd have tea and buttered toast in this 
 very parlor ; " at which pleasant little prospect 
 Mrs. Purkiss grew quite merry, and Martha,
 
 68 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 strange and shy as she felt, brightened into an 
 idea that it would be a very high festival 
 indeed. 
 
 " And I've got a place for you, Martha, all 
 ready, so you see you won't be like goods on 
 hand and spoiling in keeping," chirrupped her 
 second cousin once removed, as she poured out 
 another cup of tea. " It's a stirring sort of 
 place, with plenty of work, and you won't 
 have the grass growing under your feet ; but 
 then, as I said to Mr. Purkiss there, and you 
 know he's your cousin too, after a fashion, 
 through me, and my marrying him — as I said 
 to him, ' She's had so much fields and mead- 
 ows down at Winthrop, why, she won't want 
 to let the grass grow here in London ; ' " 
 whereupon the whole party laughed very much, 
 feeling that this was, as it was intended to be, 
 a very pleasant and amusing view of the 
 matter. 
 
 "It's Mrs. Banks, that lets in lodgings 
 down at Southwark," continued Mrs. Purkiss ; 
 " I don't know her ; but Mrs. Johnson, that's 
 the baker's wife in John Street (it's funny,
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 69 
 
 Johnson, in John Street, isn't it ?), well, she 
 had a cousin that lodged there once, and heard 
 a girl was wanted ; and through mentioning it 
 to me, I sent word to say you was coming up, 
 and it'd he the very thing for you : five pounds 
 a jekr to begin with, and everything found, 
 which isn't bad for a first start." 
 
 If Martha had been told l)y Mrs. Purkiss 
 that she was to go as head chambermaid at 
 Buckingham Palace, on fifty pounds a year 
 board wages, she would have Ijelieved that it 
 was all right, and would have proceeded to her 
 destination with a general hope tliat doing 
 what she was told, and working hard at what- 
 ever might be in hand, would carry her 
 through her duties. She had come to a sort 
 of inward conclusion that she was in the world 
 to be directed by somebody, and to work under 
 any person in authority over her, with but a 
 vague idea of distinctions in service ; and she 
 was willing to accommodate herself to the cir- 
 cumstances in which she might l^e placed with- 
 out troubling her mind much as to what they 
 might be, thus leaving the morrow to its own
 
 70 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 cares in a manner which many wiser persons 
 find to be far less easy of attainment. 
 
 In the course of the evening, being left 
 alone, Mrs. Purkiss informed her young cousin 
 that her husband was a painter and glazier 
 and general decorator. " You've no idea what 
 he can do, my dear," she said ; " or rather 
 what he can't do that's at all in his line." 
 
 Martha thought she ought to say something, 
 and asked if he built churches. 
 
 " Well, no, not exactly build them," replied 
 the lady, drawing a basket of stockings towards 
 her, and setting to work at them ; " though if 
 we were out at Robinson Crusoe's island, my 
 dear, and wanted one, I shouldn't wonder if 
 he'd build as good a one as any man ; though, 
 if you come to think of it," she continued, 
 carrying on the train of thought suggested, 
 " we'd hardly want anything on a large scale 
 out there, a cave or anything else liandy would 
 be all one as good as a church ; that's what I 
 say ; and better than us has had worse pray- 
 ing-places in the world. But in anything to 
 do with windows or pipes, or painter's work,
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 71 
 
 there's no one to make mention of by his 
 side," And then Mrs. Purkiss regaled Mar- 
 tha with a very enthusiastic little sketch of 
 her Imsband's employments, especially in what 
 she called the decorating department. " He'll 
 explain to you all the outside of the shop to- 
 morrow morning, my dear, which being a cor- 
 ner, is handy for showing off his taste on two 
 sides of the house. He did the same for Lizzy 
 and for Jane, and I know he'll do it for you, 
 especially for my asking ; and it's fair you 
 should have a bit of pleasuring before going 
 to your servicer" And then Mrs. Purkiss 
 hinted that, " if Government knew what was 
 what, they'd have thought of Purkiss along of 
 the Houses of Parliament being got up orna- 
 mentally ; but there, my dear, we can't expect 
 to take the rule into our hands, however much 
 we think we could improve matters." 
 
 Martha's honest conviction as she listened 
 and endeavored to follow out Mrs. Purkiss 
 in her train of thought, was to the effect that 
 if Government, whoever he might be, would 
 take her into counsel and give her a general
 
 72 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 management of matters, it would be a very 
 good plan indeed, and she went so far as to 
 say so. But Mrs. Purkiss shook her head 
 with a little well-satisfied self-disparagement, 
 saying, " Ah, no, my dear ; I might have 
 "thought so once perhaps ; but, there, you see, 
 I'm not so young as I was ; and Purkiss, why 
 he's content for himself, and so I ought to be 
 for him. But here in London there seems to 
 be every one rising one at the top of another 
 in all lines ; and there's few know as well as I 
 do the gifts that I tell him he shouldn't hide 
 from the generation that we're called to live 
 m." 
 
 Then Martha was silent, and wondered 
 whether, in the line of servants, girls-of-all- 
 work wanted to rise one on the top of the 
 other, and how they managed it, if they did ; 
 and soon after, her hostess thought she must 
 be tired, and showed her the very, small 
 chamber off the stairs where she was to sleep, 
 and left her saying pleasantly that she'd have 
 to begin London life with a good night, and 
 that Lizzie and Jane too had formerly so
 
 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 73 
 
 started in their respective careers in that 
 identical chamber. 
 
 Martlia was in truth so very sleepy, that her 
 ideas melted into one another in a very dis- 
 orderly fashion. She could hardly believe 
 tliat it was only that morning that she had 
 left home, it seemed such a long, long time 
 ago, almost in a different existence. And 
 then she wondered whether they felt odd 
 without her, and especially whether Mrs. 
 Estridge had been thinking of her as she 
 had promised ; and then she thought what 
 a wonderful place London was, and wondered 
 how all the people found enough to eat, when, 
 down at Winthrop, where there were so few, 
 it was often hard to obtain a sufficiency for 
 the poor. And with all this came thoughts, 
 with her evening prayer, concerning the Un- 
 speakable Gift ; and she half fancied that 
 it would be easier to remember it, and to live 
 the true life of a pilgrhn to heaven, if, instead 
 of travelling in a train, and seeing gas-lights, 
 and being a maid-of-all-work in London, she 
 could dwell in tents and be a shepherdess like
 
 74 FIRST CLASS AND THIRD CLASS. 
 
 Rachel and Rebekah, in the old days of the 
 world's history. By which time Martha's eyes 
 had grown so heavy, as to be unable to keep 
 open any longer, and she fell asleep with 
 a last remembrance of how comfortable and 
 pretty Miss Graham had looked when she 
 drove away from the station that afternoon, 
 and with the words in her mind, " but after 
 all it'll be the same whether we go first class 
 or third class, if only we get rightly to the 
 journey's end at last."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NO. 19, MILL STEEET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 [HE next morning, Mr. Purkiss ful- 
 filled his wife's injunction to show 
 Martha the many glories of his ex- 
 ternal decorations ; and she was as much 
 struck with their general aspect as he could 
 possibly have desired. 
 
 " This side, you see's devoted to coloring," 
 he observed, leading the way round the cor- 
 ner, and pointing to where, in large squares, 
 somewhat as if designed for a huge chess- 
 board, blue and green and red and orange 
 patches of color were displayed with great 
 brilliancy. "Looks pretty well, doesn't it?" 
 And Martha said she thought it was very 
 beautiful indeed.
 
 76 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 " You haven't much of that sort of tlnng 
 down at your parts, I suppose ? " continued 
 Mr. Purkiss, with a little artistic conscious- 
 ness of merit. 
 
 " Oh no," Martha said, " nothing half so 
 fine." Indeed, the only thing she could at all 
 mention that would bear comparison with 
 such glories, was the colored glass in the 
 windows of the church at Winthrop, which 
 she knew Mr. Estridge thought highly of, and 
 which the clerk had said was written about 
 somewhere in a book. But then the colors 
 weren't nearly so bright or plain to see as the 
 squares on Mr. Purkiss's side wall. 
 
 " This is the finer kind of work, here in the 
 front," he continued, with increased confi- 
 dence and friendliness. " You take notice, 
 there's hardly a word in all that, Purkiss, 
 Painter, Plumber, Glazier, and General Deco- 
 rator, which is written in the same letters. 
 That's Roman, and the next old English, and 
 the next Italics, and so on ; and you see it's 
 all worked into a scroll, which is a fancy 
 of mine for use and ornament both. It's
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 77 
 
 not every one," he went on, " Avho can see 
 the thought and feeling of my line of life. 
 There's Vawse, now, he's something in the 
 same business, being a plumber, though I 
 take to the decorating most myself. Well, 
 I met him after the last frost, going about 
 quite in a low way. ' Ah, Purkiss,' he says, 
 ' everything seems to go against us this year.' 
 ' Why, how so ? ' I asked of him, though 
 knowing what he^was after as well as most. 
 
 " 'Why,' he says, ' this here frost, I looked 
 to its going off all of a sudden, and pipes 
 giving way all round the neighborhood, and 
 flooding of houses, and we being called up 
 like doctors in the night, and paid accord- 
 ingly. And now it's all thawed so gradvial, 
 like anyone sinking by inches ; and I've not 
 heard of a pipe burst anywhere round, except- 
 ing one of my own, which is all loss and 
 no gain.' 
 
 " ' Yawse,' I said to him, ' feel that — feel 
 it if you must, and I feel it too, for we're 
 all mortal ; but don't say it. It lowers a 
 profession for a man that's in it to be giving
 
 78 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 of it out that he thrives on other folks' trials 
 and cares, which, though they must come, 
 and we wouldn't, even for their good, wish 
 it otherwise, is trouble still. A doctor doesn't 
 give out that he's low in spirits because of 
 a healthy season, though he may have a wife 
 and family like you, and feelings with them 
 such as yours ; and it's unbecoming for you 
 and me to act in any way different in the 
 matter.' That's what I said to him." 
 
 Martha intimated that she was sure he was 
 very kind ; and then Mrs. Purkiss called them 
 in to breakfast, and asked her what she 
 thought of all that she had seen, and agreed 
 with her that it would take a great deal to 
 go beyond her husband's success in the out- 
 ward coloring of their abode. 
 
 And then, after the cups and saucers had 
 been cleared away, Martha collected her things 
 once more into the old shawl bundle, and Mr. 
 Purkiss, who had business in South wark, took 
 her in charge ; and, after grateful good-byes 
 to his good-natured wife, she walked silently 
 by his side through many and various streets.
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 79 
 
 wondering much that he should always know 
 which way to tiu-n ; and was finally left by 
 him on the door-steps of No. 19, Mill Street, 
 which, she was told, was to be her new abode. 
 
 In the lives of great people and of small 
 people there are moments, standing out always 
 in after memories, in which one's personal 
 identity forms the sole link of connection be- 
 tween different chapters in one's individual 
 history, and which intervening between a com- 
 pletely finished past and a completely unknown 
 future, are looked back upon as moments never 
 to be forgotten. Martha, as she stood on the 
 door-step in Mill Street, remained still for a 
 moment, realizing that, with the retreating 
 form of Mr. Purkiss, her last link to the old 
 life amongst kith and kin was cut. She would 
 be no longer Martha Brooke amongst those 
 with whom she might be thrown, but simply 
 " the girl." She was on the brink of an alto- 
 gether new existence, and there was a little 
 fear concerning it in her heart. 
 
 Some readers will possibly think tliat an 
 unusually small amount of care and thought
 
 80 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 had been expended upon her settlement in 
 London, and that the speedy arrangement for 
 her services in the house of a stranger be- 
 trayed an absence of concern on the part of 
 her relations, not* often encountered even in 
 Martha's line of life. Little do such readers 
 — possibly the Miss Grahams of our social 
 circles, cared for, guarded, protected in all 
 their ways, and in all their comings and 
 goings, from possible and impossible annoy- 
 ances or anxieties — know the absolute reck- 
 lessness with which young ignorant country 
 sisters are cast upon the perilous seas of Lon- 
 don life to sink or swim, with no arm out- 
 stretched by friend or protector to hold them 
 up in the dangerous waters. 
 
 Li comparison with the majority of girls 
 similarly sent forth, Martha was ushered into 
 her new position with an extraordinary amount 
 of protection ; and Mrs. Purkiss, in having 
 made inquiry of Mrs. Johnson, who further 
 made inquiry of her cousin, concerning the 
 respecta1)ility of Mrs. Banlcs and her lodging- 
 house, and in having satisfied herself that
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 81 
 
 " Eliza Brooke's girl would he in safe keeping, 
 and have no cli&nce of bad company," had 
 performed the office of protectress, as a good 
 angel of discretion, and in a manner which 
 too few allow themselves to regard as a neces- 
 sity, and which fully justified Mrs. Brooke's 
 announcements to Winthrop neighbors, that 
 " she had friends in London such as finer 
 folks might be glad on, and that there wasn't 
 nothing common about the way her girls was 
 got out once they were off her hands," 
 
 And if a line might here be written on be- 
 half of a race comparatively neglected, and 
 yet so numerous as to be altogether beyond 
 estimation : a race, concerning which pages 
 and volumes might record the sad story, " No 
 man cared for my soul," it would be to en- 
 treat a word of encouragement, of solicitude, 
 of help for the often overtasked serving sister 
 whose country home is an old story with her 
 now, and who has been cast adrift upon a life 
 to which but scant rays of sunshine find their 
 way — a word wliicli may wake up tender 
 thoughts of the past and some hopes for the 
 

 
 82 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWAEK. 
 
 future, if truly spoken for His sake who once 
 took upon Himself the form of a servant, and 
 who even now bids us by love serve one an- 
 other. 
 
 Martha had not stood for more than a mo- 
 ment on the doorstep before she became con- 
 scious that a storm of wrath was going for- 
 ward within ; and the sudden opening of the 
 door, from which a girl of about her own size 
 hastily came forth into the street, suggested 
 to her that it might probably be the best op- 
 portunity for presenting herself to her new 
 employer. 
 
 Within stood a stout middle-aged woman, 
 who, being charged with a priming of words, 
 originally, and in the commencement of de- 
 livery, intended for the outgoing damsel, 
 seemed to consider that it might be an un- 
 necessary economy to reserve the remainder 
 for Martha at a more distant moment ; so that 
 the first sentence which greeted the Winthrop 
 maiden was the general remark, — 
 
 " And you call yourself a servant by the 
 name of Hannah Jane, and throwing out
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 83 
 
 crumbs for birds from out of the table-cloth 
 into the yard, which, browned in the oven, 
 would have come in for the front parlor's fish 
 this very day. It's a good thing you're going, 
 or I'd Hannah Jane you, and any one else that 
 has ways of that sort in this house." 
 
 At the conclusion of which observation, or 
 rather during a pause in which Mrs. Banks 
 seemed to be considering what she should say 
 next, she allowed herself to become suddenly 
 aware of Martha's presence, and stopped to 
 say,— 
 
 " 0, I suppose you're the girl ! " 
 
 Martha replied, timidly, that she thought 
 she was. 
 
 " You might have come an hour sooner, 
 then," was the rejoinder, " for all that's to be 
 got through of work before dinner-time ; and 
 I hope tliat you've hands and feet, and a mind 
 to use the same, which is more than most girls 
 has now-a-days." 
 
 Martha hoped she had, but hardly ventured 
 to say so ; and after this brief introduction, 
 her new mistress led the way to a sort of
 
 84 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 large cupboard looking over the leads at the 
 top of the house, wherein was room for a rough 
 bed and a stool, telling her she might leave 
 her bundle there, and come down, as soon as 
 she had put on her working-clothes, to the 
 kitchen, where abundance of work was in 
 store for her. 
 
 Mrs. Banks, as our readers will already have 
 discovered, was not a woman of gentle disposi- 
 tion. The cares of a London life, and still 
 more the care of a London lodging-house, do 
 not tend to soften a hard temper, and tend 
 very much indeed to the hardening of a rough 
 one. She was not naturally harsher than 
 many others of her class ; but having grown up 
 as the daughter of a letter of lodgings, and 
 having pursued the same calling in later life, 
 she had seen a great deal of the worst side of 
 men and women, had found out that people 
 sometimes go off without remembering to pay 
 just and lawful claims, that the grocer occa- 
 sionally puts sand into the sugar, and the 
 baker alum into the bread; that servants now 
 and then have tendencies to dawdle or to go
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 85 
 
 out when they should remain within, and that 
 the collectors of rates and taxes are frequent 
 in their calls, and never forget the number of 
 the house. And so it had come to be that, 
 with Mrs. Banks, eyes and ears and tongue 
 had formed themselves into a sort of defence 
 committee against the ways of the outer world, 
 and that, unhappily for her own peace of mind, 
 her plan had come to be tliat of believing every 
 one to be guilty unless, by some rarely-re- 
 turned verdict, proved to be the reverse. In 
 her eyes there were three great divisions of 
 society, — a king, lords, and commons, into 
 which all that portion of mankind resolved 
 itself which lay within her ken — parlors, two- 
 pair fronts, and attics. And it was concern- 
 ing this threefold apportionment that Martha 
 was, at her first outset in service, duly en- 
 lightened. 
 
 It seemed to her, on that first day, as if she 
 were fighting and struggling against a whirl- 
 wind of" what's to be done next ? " as if cook- 
 ing and cleaning, and washing-up, and answer- 
 ing bells, and trying to remember orders
 
 86 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 from Mrs. Banks, followed one upon the other 
 with a fierce and bewildering confusion ; as if 
 she had never known real weariness before ; 
 while at the same time she felt half guilty at 
 being so tired, since her mistress seemed gifted 
 with powers of '' following round " which were 
 not exhausted by the close of the evening. 
 
 She wanted to remember the names and 
 places of a hundred things which were new to 
 her, and, above all, the directions for her 
 future conduct to the lodgers, which Mrs. 
 Banks showered down upon her rapidly. 
 
 "You mind — whatever comes, the front 
 parlor's before all when it rings. The door 
 may wait, but never the parlor. They pay 
 reg'lar, and they expect reg'lar service, which 
 attendance and linen is named in the agree- 
 ment ; and I'm never going to lose good 
 lodgers for idle servants. Two-pair fronts, 
 now, may wait. If it comes handy, I don't 
 mind your looking in, but I wouldn't have 
 such as them giving of themselves airs, or 
 taking out in attendance, besides their paying 
 of sixpence less than those who was there 
 before them."
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 87 
 
 " And suppose the other people, up at the 
 top, ring too ? " inquired Martha, somewhat 
 timidly ; " mustn't I go to them ? " 
 
 Mrs. Banks looked at her new handmaiden 
 for a moment in speechless surprise, holding 
 up the toasting-fork which she had at that 
 instant in her hand as a sort of visible and in- 
 corporate note of exclamation at the audacity 
 of the idea 'which her question suggested. 
 
 " Top attics ring ! " she exclaimed, after 
 fully taking in the idea, "top attics ring — 
 ring bells and paying two shillings a week for 
 one room, kitchen fire not included. I fancy 
 I hear them. I'd attic them pretty soon, I 
 can tell you ; " whereupon Martha was willing 
 to let the subject drop as speedily as possible, 
 while her mistress murmured to herself all 
 the way up-stairs at the suggestion which had 
 for a moment, as she expressed it, " most 
 taken away her breath." 
 
 It will have l^een perceived by the reader 
 that Mrs. Banks had invented a mode of 
 defence in her conflict with the world which 
 admitted of very extensive use in the way of
 
 88 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 warfare. It was simj^ly that of adopting as a 
 threatening weapon the last noun of impor- 
 tance which had been used by herself or the 
 object of her wrath, and which by being, as it 
 were, picked up from the field of battle, and 
 winged and barbed for use by transposition 
 into an active verb, was launched forth from 
 her lips with a vague and terrible indefinite- 
 ness of meaning which, in inexperienced ears, 
 added greatly to its power and effect. It was 
 after an account of the misdemeanors of the 
 last servant who had been known on one oc- 
 casion to " overlay herself," as Mrs. Banks 
 expressed it, until seven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, and with the added reminiscence, •' I 
 seven o'clocked her pretty well, I can tell 
 you," that Martha at last found her way to 
 her sleeping chamber. She had it to herself, 
 at least for the present ; though her mistress 
 had forewarned her that " as likely as not 
 she'd have to give it up to some one as would 
 pay for if, and make up a bed for herself in 
 the back-kitchen, which she hoped she might 
 never find herself worse off, and -a good
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 89 
 
 blanket on the bed that had cost her twelve 
 and six a pair, if it had cost a penny." 
 
 And when Martha had sat down for a min- 
 ute on her bed to rest and think, she went 
 to the little garret window in the roof, and," in 
 spite of the cold, opened it and looked out. 
 The keen frost had given place to a milder 
 temperature ; but the stars were shining up 
 above the fog and smoke as they had shone 
 two days before above the damps of the Nor- 
 folk fens ; and the crescent moon was high 
 and bright over the great city as she had seen 
 it from among the grave-stones in Winthrop 
 Church-yard on the Christmas afternoon which 
 seemed now so long ago. 
 
 Martha was tired in body and mind ; and 
 the sense of being swallowed up as a drop in 
 the great ocean of London life gave her a 
 feeling of depression and bewilderment. 
 
 " So many chimneys," §he said to herself, 
 looking over the wilderness of house-tops 
 spreading out on every, side — " so many 
 chinmeys, and every chimney going down 
 to some place, and every place full of people.
 
 90 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 It seems like being lost among such crowds. 
 I wonder if there's maids-of-all-work in all 
 the houses that's got to be followed round and 
 worked hard like me. 1 wonder whether 
 they'll be thinking of me at home, which is so 
 far off as if one would never get there again. 
 Mother used to scold, but somehow it seems 
 harder to take when one's to take wages with 
 it, and meaning well all the time. I wonder 
 whether Mrs. Estridge will keep her promise 
 to think of me. I think of her all sorts of 
 times, but it's so different for a lady like her ; 
 and she doesn't know how lost one seems 
 away from every-one, and in such a big place 
 that I wouldn't know my way back for any 
 money. I wonder what Miss Graham's doing 
 now — somewhere in London too. I'd like to 
 meet her or see her go by ; — it'd be some- 
 thing from Winthrop. 
 
 " But I must try and do right, and be true. 
 
 I remember how Mrs. Estridge said once ' He 
 
 ■ calleth the stars by their names.' There's 
 
 lots of them up there — as many as there 
 
 is people in London ; but He calls them all
 
 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 91 
 
 right, and it says there's not one faileth. 
 And then she said He calls «5 by name, and . 
 we find grace in His sight. I wish I could 
 remember everything as well as all that she 
 said that afternoon after Mary Lee was buried ; 
 but I'll ask Him to call me by name — like 
 His own sheep — when I'm put about or tired 
 or dull — to let me feel His voice as she said 
 He would ; and — " 
 
 But Martha's reflections were interrupted 
 by the striking of the hour from towers and 
 steeples which stood out in the fog and moon- 
 light like guardians of the city while it slept. 
 The news of the departure to give in its 
 account of another hour, was proclaimed in 
 different tones — slowly and solemnly on one 
 side, lightly and hurriedly on others; here, 
 heavily, and as if laden with the burden of 
 the world's weariness, and there with a jaunty 
 attempt at seeming not to care about the 
 matter. And before the last tone had died 
 away, a sweet voice of chimes seemed to bring 
 a farewell message of hope and greeting from 
 the parting hour as it sped — chimes like
 
 92 NO. 19, MILL STREET, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 those of Winthrop Church, and which brought 
 , the same tears to Martha's eyes which had 
 filled them when Mrs. Estridge's hand had 
 been on her shoulder and her voice in her 
 ears. 
 
 "It's to remind me — it's to make me re- 
 member ' the Unspeakable Gift,' " she said to 
 herself, with a sudden springing up of thought 
 and desire in her heart. " I won't forget — I 
 won't ever give way if I can help it, or think 
 He doesn't mind about me because I'm com- 
 mon and only a plain servant. I'll try, 0, I'll 
 try and please Him, because He came for me. 
 Those bells will remind me when I forget, and 
 I'm so glad they're here. And I'll keep the 
 Christmas chimes going on in my heart — as 
 the message said — like it went to "Winthrop 
 bells on Christmas-day — yes, it's thanks be 
 unto God for His Unspeakable Gift — that's 
 the chime I'll keep always gomg."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAETHA AND THE TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 
 
 j ARTHA had not been many days in 
 Mrs. Banks' employment before she 
 observed that, early every morning, 
 after having duly cleaned and set to rights the 
 top attic mentioned hj her mistress as being 
 charged two shillings a week, kitchen fire not 
 included, a careworn and elderly woman came 
 forth, as for a day's work, never returning 
 until six o'clock in the evening, at which time 
 she carried with her a small basket apparently 
 containing whatever marketings she had been 
 able to procure. Martha thought she had dis- 
 tinguished the sound of voices in the room, 
 but never from morning till night having a
 
 94 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 moment to herself, she had only been able to 
 wonder who the other occupant of the cham- 
 ber might be. 
 
 All she knew was that the name was Elm- 
 hurst, and that bearers of that name were 
 thought of but slightingly by Mrs. Banks, who 
 uttered a general intimation that she would 
 " pretty soon attendance anyone who dawdled 
 about top attics when there was parlors wanted 
 looking after," and who took , good care that 
 the provision of down-stair work should be 
 sufficient to prevent any such transgression, 
 had Martha been so inclined. 
 
 Sunday came -^ the first Sunday she had 
 ever passed away from Winthrop — and with 
 it Martha had hoped for a little quiet. She 
 did not mind work; on the contrary, she 
 rather liked to get through creditably with the 
 cleaning and cooking and polishing that fol- 
 lowed so rapidly one upon the other ; and 
 although there was something rather alarming 
 in her first waiting at table for such particular 
 persons as Mrs. and Miss Smythe, who were. 
 " the parlors " in Mrs. Banks' establishment,
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FEIENDS. 95 
 
 and who held themselves high, and did not 
 condescend to speak to the servant, still she 
 made up with strength and willingness for 
 what she wanted in experience. There were 
 two things, however, for which Martha was 
 unconsciously. longing. The first was for an 
 interval — if only an hour — of quiet ; and 
 the other, for the sound — if only for a few 
 minutes — of a friendly voice. She did not 
 know the name of a feeling that was over her 
 — a feeling of longing and heart-yearning and 
 sadness, such as she had never felt before, but 
 which came to her at night before she went to 
 sleep, and by day, when hands and feet were 
 busy in kitchen and wash-house, and con- 
 stantly when the chimes from the friendly 
 steeple reminded her of Winthrop, and of lit- 
 tle Mary Lee in the churchyard — a strange 
 heart-hunger, which you and I may have felt 
 and known as home-sickness. For do not 
 imagine, my reader, that those who have left 
 happy homes, and who know that they are fol- 
 lowed by the prayers of loving parents and 
 fond sisters, and who can in fancy hear tender
 
 96 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 voices blended in remembrances of the absent 
 one, are the only ones to whom home-sickness 
 comes. Far from it. The wanderer from 
 many a home, as hard and loveless as the 
 Brookes' cottage on the fens — the ragged boy, 
 who has never had a father's house — may yet 
 in secret heart-chambers know that inner crav- 
 ing for something to which no word answers 
 but home ; and I have sometimes thought that 
 the need of an abiding resting-place for the 
 heart, and of a sure centre for our unspoken 
 affections and desires, is shadowed forth in the 
 longings which we call home-sickness, whether 
 here it be satisfied or not. 
 
 Martha was home-sick, more because she 
 missed having something familiar, something 
 by right belonging to her, than because she 
 could look back to any endearing associations 
 in her own family ; and more, far more, with 
 the longing in her heart for Mrs. Estridge's 
 face and voice, than for anything else in all 
 Winthrop. And on this first Sunday she had 
 felt as if she would like to find her way to the 
 church with the chimes, as if it would be like
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 97 
 
 finding a friend — a friend telling her about 
 " the Unspeakable Gift ; " and so, though with 
 some misgivings, as to how her petition would 
 he received, she had asked Mrs. Banks 
 whether, after washing up breakfast things 
 and tidying the rooms, she would be able to 
 let her go to church. 
 
 If Martha had indulged in some fears con- 
 cerning the matter, they were fully justified 
 by Mrs. Banks, who seemed to think that for 
 a servant-of-all-work to ask to go to church in 
 tlie morning was a l)eginning which might 
 lead to heights of presumption to which no 
 imagination would enable her to follow. 
 
 " Church ! You receiving of five pounds 
 a-year, tea and sugar and washing foiuid, or 
 soap given for the last, which there's every- 
 thing for drying out at tlie Ijack, — church, 
 this time of the day, when the parlors has a 
 gentleman to dinner, and hot shoulder of 
 mutton coming on the table, and the upstairs' 
 people at home, and calling for boots over the 
 stairs, and you talking, like a lady, of going 
 out to church ! Well, Hannah Jane wasn't 
 
 7
 
 98 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 much, and took mindin' to that extent, that 
 I've told her she'd be best standin' for a sign 
 over the house-door, like the Chinaman with a 
 tail, and a canister in his hand, over the tea 
 store, the other side of the way, for all the 
 good she was in the house — Hannah Jane 
 wasn't much, but she'd have thought twice 
 before she brought it up to me about church- 
 going, though I let her go out twice a month 
 in the evenings to church or chapel, or any- 
 thing that came handy, which is more than 
 most would, and don't care if you do the same,^ 
 so that there's nothing wanting doing at home. 
 You talk to me of church-going again this 
 time of day, and I'll tell you where it'll end ; 
 and that's in your expecting of a silk gown, 
 and a carriage to the door, with a double knock, 
 and a footman to carry your book before you, 
 and the clergyman to wait prayers, with every- 
 body looking over their prayer-books to see 
 who it is. You go and clean up those things, 
 or I'll church you pretty soon, I can tell you." 
 Martha obeyed quite silently, and occupied 
 herself with trying to discover the links by
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FEIENDS. 99 
 
 which, from Mrs. Banks' point of view, her 
 desire for church-going would land her at last 
 at that point of her expecting the carriage and 
 the livery-footman, and wondered that people 
 should be so different from each other as her 
 mistress and Mrs. Estridge. And then came 
 the usual week-day hurry and scolding ; and 
 if it had not been for the chimes, and for see- 
 ing people go by with books in their hands, 
 and for the church-going look about them, and 
 for the closed shops, and for the extra dinner 
 for the first-story people, who, being clerks in 
 an office, stayed at home on that day only, 
 Martha would hardly have known that it was 
 Sunday, or believed that it meant the same as 
 it did at Winthrop. 
 
 It was not till the afternoon that she man- 
 aged to secure a quiet half-hour. Mrs. Banks 
 went out in a grand dress of green silk, put 
 on only for state occasions, leaving many in- 
 junctions with her servant as to the lodgers' 
 
 » 
 
 tea, and as to her own behavior in respect of 
 temptations to look out of the window, and to 
 gossip out of the door, and to find her way out
 
 100 MAETHA AND THE 
 
 of the area, such as it had not occurred to 
 Martha to think of. And then, when every- 
 thing had been put away, and for awhile all 
 was still, she went up to her own little room, 
 and, sitting down, began to think of home. 
 
 "Just half-past two," she said to herself; 
 " Mrs. Estridge is giving out the hymn now. 
 They'll miss me, I think ; at least, she prom- 
 ised she would, and I do believe she meant it. 
 I wonder what she'll be saying to them this 
 afternoon. Oh, I wish, I wish I could be 
 there ! It'd be such a help, and I seem to 
 want something to help me. It all seems one 
 day like another here ; and though they didn't 
 care for good things at home, there was always 
 Sunday for church and going up to the Bible- 
 class. I wish I had been braver to speak to 
 Mrs. Estridge and tell her that I'm trying to 
 serve Jesus, — that I've asked for the Unspeak- 
 able Gift. It seemed so hard to tell her, I was 
 feeling it all deep inside. If only ladies knew 
 
 « 
 
 how hard it is for poor girls to speak to them, 
 they'd find out it's not always because we 
 don't care.
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 101 
 
 " And now how am I to keep true and get 
 on ? There's no one to speak a word to me 
 here. I can't even get to church regular, and 
 that would have been something. Missus, 
 why she'd scorn me if she was to know I 
 thought He cared for me ; and it all seems 
 a life without any one else to care. I'd work 
 hard, — I want to work hard ; but I want 
 to remember all the same. I want to please 
 Him, — I want to do everything right for His 
 sake who came at Christmas-time for mine. 
 And oh, if only He'll help me ! If only 
 He'll keep me from giving up and not caring. 
 And He says He will. That's what Mrs. 
 Estridge said two Sundays ago : ' I am poor 
 and needy, but the Lord careth for me.' And 
 then He's pleased if we try to do what He 
 tells us. It says so in the Bible. And I'll 
 try, — I will; I think I am trying. I'll not 
 answer back, and I'll do all my work as well 
 as I can ; and I'll thank Him for caring to 
 think about me in this great big place, and I 
 only a stupid plain servant, with nobody else 
 to mind how I get on."
 
 102 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 Then Martha read a little out of her Win- 
 throp Bible, and knelt down, and asked Jesus 
 Christ, the Saviour, of Bethlehem, to help her 
 to be true, and in her little humble life to 
 show forth His praise ; and she read the 
 Collect prayer for pardon and peace, and 
 asked that she might be cleansed from her 
 sins, and serve Him with a quiet mind, and 
 that though she couldn't go to church, yet that 
 she might feel it was Sunday and keep it holy 
 before Him. And then, when the chimes 
 sounded into her room as with a special 
 Sabbath message, she told Him that she 
 wanted to keep the chimes always going 
 in her heart, — the Christmas chime of thanks 
 for the Unspeakable Gift : and when she rose 
 up, the afternoon sun was streaming into her 
 room, and there was a great peace in the 
 heart of the little maid-of-all-work, and she 
 found herself singing in a low voice, and 
 with a wonderful thankfulness in her soul, 
 the words of the Christmas hymn : — 
 
 " Joyful all ye nations rise, 
 Join the triumph of the skies ; 
 With the heavenly hosts proclaim, 
 Christ is born at Bethlehem."
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FEIENDS. 103 
 
 She had only ceased for a minute or two 
 when the handle of the door was turned, and 
 the elderly woman known to inhaliit the top 
 attic appeared, dressed, evidently, for after- 
 noon service. 
 
 " I'm going to church," she said ; " 1 wish 
 you'd give a look in now and then at my poor 
 girl, and see if she wants anything. I've 
 never had a chance to speak to you before." 
 
 Martha came to a rapid conclusion that 
 looking in on a Sunday afternoon need not 
 be counted as the " attendance," so much 
 resented in idea by Mrs. Banks ; and knocked 
 at the door as Mrs. Elmhurst went down 
 the stairs. 
 
 " Come in," said a weary voice from within ; 
 and so invited she entered at once. 
 
 The room, poor and scantily furnished as 
 it was, was exquisitely neat ; and on a sort of 
 couch made by the extension of an old horse- 
 hair mattress upon two rough deal boxes, 
 lay a girl of about eight and twenty, covered 
 with a coarse woollen shawl. There was 
 a look of education and thoughtfulncss in her
 
 104 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 face, which in a moment impressed Martha 
 with respect ; while, at the same time, an 
 occasional expression of weariness and anx- 
 iety kindled the sympathies which in our 
 Winthrop maiden's case had been repressed 
 by the harshness of her outer life, but had by 
 no means been extinguished. 
 
 " You're the new servant, I suppose," said 
 the stranger, taking in at a glance all that 
 showed itself in Martha's appearance of sturdy 
 straightforward homeliness. 
 
 " Yes," replied Martha, hardly knowing- 
 how to begin advances ; " I've been here ever 
 since Wednesday ; but I didn't know anything 
 about your being up here." 
 
 " It's hardly likely you would," replied the 
 invalid ; " we're only top attics," she added, 
 with a half smile ; " I hardly think Mrs. 
 Banks knows my name." 
 
 " I knew your mother was Elmhurst," said 
 Martha ; " but she never spoke to me till 
 to-day, and I didn't dare to look in without 
 asking." 
 
 " No one ever does look in," was the an-
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 105 
 
 swer; "little Hannah, that went away last 
 week, did, now and then, when she had a 
 chance ; but she couldn't stand the work. 
 How do you get on?" 
 
 Martha said that she got on middling, — it 
 all seemed very strange at first ; and Mrs. 
 Banks seemed easily put out. Then she added, 
 by way of excuse, — for certain thoughts be- 
 longing to the last hour had made her feelings 
 towards her mistress and every one else gen- 
 tler than before, — " country ways are different 
 to town ways, I suppose." 
 
 " You're from the country, then ? " said 
 the sick girl inquiringly ; and Martha replied 
 that she was, — that, in fact, she was " out 
 of Norfolk." 
 
 " I'm from the cquntry, too," she went on. 
 " My name's Kate — Kate Elmhurst. I used 
 to live away in Somersetshire, down amongst 
 the hills, before father died. I sometimes 
 think I'd give everything in the world to 
 be down in the country again." 
 
 " It seems quite different here," rejoined 
 Martha, by way of saying something.
 
 106 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 " It's the roar," said Kate ; " the roar of 
 the city which never stops. I lie here wonder- 
 ing how it felt to be quite still, — to hear 
 nothing but stillness, — and then I sometimes 
 feel as if I shall go crazy just for a minute's 
 quiet. There's less noise Sundays ; but all 
 the same, there's no silence— ^ no quiet." 
 
 " Have you been long here ? " asked Mar- 
 tha, with a sort of shyness over her on oc- 
 casion of almost her first visit to a sick bed. 
 
 " Two years laid up. Father died five years 
 ago. He was a gardener. And then mother 
 and me thouglit we'd get on better up here, 
 and she went out to needlework, and I worked 
 at a factory. The people where we lodged at 
 first behaved badly to us, and we got poorer 
 and poorer ; and then I was ill and couldn't 
 work; and now mother she keeps on trying 
 to get enough for us both, and brings me 
 a little work when she can get it; but it's 
 only a very little, after all." 
 
 " I'm so sorry," said Martha, with true 
 womanly pity coming into her dark grey eyes, 
 " I wish I could do anything for you. Wliat 
 laid you up? "
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 107 
 
 " Biscuits," was the answer, as Kate wearily 
 changed her position. 
 
 " Biscuits ! " exclaimed Martha, who en- 
 deavored in vain to remember any form of 
 illness of which she had ever heard having 
 biscuits as a symptom. 
 
 " Yes ; I worked at the biscuit-mills. It 
 was a long way to walk, and I wasn't strong. 
 I think I over-walked very often. My work 
 was among the packers, and though it didn't 
 seem hard to look on at, it was hard for 
 me. I was at it from seven in the morning 
 till six in the evening. The people weren't 
 unkind to me, but it was the stooping all day 
 in the hot room, full of people and noise, that 
 seemed to tire me out. Then mother was 
 taken ill, and I sat up with her all night. 
 I couldn't aiford to be with her by day, for my 
 six shillings a week was all we had to live on. 
 And then when she got better, I was taken ill, 
 and they said it was my back, and I know 
 they said I'd never get well again. I was 
 very ill at first, and a sort of fever came 
 on me, and by times I was delirious. And all
 
 108 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 through I never seemed to see anything but 
 biscuits. Every noise was biscuits mixing, or. 
 being poured out over me, or weighing for the 
 tins and not coming right. I used to think I 
 was packing and couldn't get them into the 
 boxes ; or hungry, and couldn't get anything 
 to eat but biscuits ; or, worse still, thirsty, 
 and they'd give me biscuits instead of water. 
 I hope I'll never have such a time again. 
 When I got better, I found I couldn't get 
 about, and mother got this room cheap, and 
 she has to work for both of us." 
 
 Martha listened with deepest interest. " It 
 must have been dreadful," she said ; and then, 
 with a sudden expression of sympathy, of 
 which in her shyness she almost felt ashamed, 
 she added, " it must feel so long lying here all 
 day." 
 
 " Yes, it does," said Kate — " very long. I 
 hear you stirring, and going up and down 
 stairs, and I try to remember what it feels like 
 to get about. I know nearly all that goes on 
 by putting things together — footsteps, and 
 knocks at the door, and bells ringing, and
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 109 
 
 Mrs. Baijks calling out on the stairs, and the 
 other people's voices ; and then I think how 
 much strength there is in the world — how 
 many people that can walk about without ever 
 troubling to think of it — while I'm obliged to 
 see mother work for us both. That's the 
 hardest of all to bear. She's getting old, and 
 it's heavy for her, though I'm not much to 
 keep. And then I seem to long for some one 
 to come in and say a word to me while she's 
 out. I've been wondering what sort you were ; 
 and just now I heard you singing, all quiet to 
 yourself, a bit of a hymn like we had at our 
 home in the country, and I said to mother, 
 Ask her to come in." 
 
 Martha's eyes glistened with pleasure. " It's 
 what we had at my home in the country on 
 Christmas-day — only last Tuesday," she said. 
 " O, I wish you knew Winthrop, and our 
 church and Mrs. Estridge — she'd come to see 
 you, and you'd like her ever so much." 
 
 "They say there's a district lady comes 
 round here," said Kate. "Hannah told me 
 80 ; but Mrs. Banks doesn't care for her com-
 
 110 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 ing in. Hannah said that once she only called 
 out to her from the back stairs, ' Nothing to- 
 day, thank you,' just as if she'd been a trades- 
 person ; and that she told lier she needn't 
 mind leaving books, as she hadn't time to 
 read them. I wish district ladies would ask 
 for the lodgers. I asked Hannah to beg her 
 to come up to me ; but she was afraid of her 
 mistress' scolding her." 
 
 "I'll ask her to come up," said Martha, with 
 the first sudden resolution that she had ever 
 made in her mind. "I daresay it can be man- 
 aged ; and Kate, I'd like to look in now and 
 then — just when I'm going by, and do up 
 your fire, and tell you what I'm about. I'm 
 so sorry for you," she added. 
 
 Kate looked as if the sympathy of the new 
 visitor was very pleasant to her. " " I'll tell 
 you what I'd like you to do now," she said ; 
 " I'd like you to sing that Christmas hymn to 
 me, I used to sing in the choir in our church 
 at home, and to deck it up with holly and ivy ; 
 and then we used to have hymns and carols 
 up at the Rectory. I think of it now some-
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FKIENDS. Ill 
 
 times when the time comes round ; and 0, 
 Martha, do you know I'm sometimes rebel- 
 lious. You don't know what it's like to see 
 mother work for me, or to think that if things 
 had been different, I might have kept well and 
 strong. I used to read tracts about sick peo- 
 ple, and now, do you know, they sometimes 
 make me worse. Those in the tracts are 
 always good, and always happy, and say they 
 don't feel lonely, and that they wouldn't be 
 well again if they could ; and I'm quite differ- 
 ent. I'd give everything in the world to be 
 well again. I think of it all day. Waking in 
 the morning's the worst — waking up to know 
 that I can't get up — that every day' 11 be the 
 same till I die, unless mother dies first, and 
 then I'll go to the workhouse. I'd like a book 
 about people who are ill and can't get about, 
 and are longing to get well again." 
 
 Martha hardly knew what .to say, so she set 
 to work at remembering the Christmas hymn, 
 and Kate took up the tune with a soft sweet 
 second, as far as the words 
 
 " Life and light to all He brings, 
 Shines with healing in His wings."
 
 112 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 Then her voice faltered, as she recalled the 
 country days of her childhood, and the church 
 in which she had formerly sung them, and she 
 whispered out, — " But there's not the life and 
 light and healing to me, Martha." 
 
 Martha didn't know what to say. The tears 
 were up in her own eyes, as she sat on the 
 floor by Kate's couch. At last, however, the 
 silence was broken by the sound of the chimes, 
 pouring in as with comforting voice for the 
 weary girl lying there in her sorrow. 
 
 " They're just like ours used to be at Ockley 
 Coombe," she said, seeing that Martha kindled 
 at the sound. 
 
 " And they're just like ours at Winthrop," 
 echoed her companion joyfully ; and then, as 
 if with a new thought, she told Kate about 
 Mrs. Estridge, and about the Unspeakable 
 Gift, and about Mary Lee, and about the mes- 
 sage in the letter, and how they were to keep 
 the Christmas chime always going in their 
 hearts, and about how she thought that Jesus 
 would help them to do it if they tried. 
 
 " And do you keep it going? " asked Kate
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 113 
 
 — "here with all your work to do, and Mrs. 
 Banks after you all day ? " 
 
 "I try — at least, I want to try," was Mar- 
 tha's somewhat timid reply. " I'm sure we 
 can, if He helps us." 
 
 " It's easier, for people who can get about," 
 said Kate, wearily ; " I could, perhaps, if I 
 was strong again. I know about it. Mother's 
 a Christian. She prays by me every night, 
 and leaves me the Bible to read every morn- 
 ing. I was confirmed, and I thought I was a 
 Christian too ; but when I can't feel to say, 
 ' Thy will be done,' I think I'm not. And yet 
 
 — and yet — Martha, I long to feel the Un- 
 speakable Gift like mother does ; and I pray 
 here, when I'm all alone, for God to help me. 
 Sometimes I think if I was in the country 
 again, and still, I could Ije more willing ; and 
 at night sometimes, when I can't sleep, and 
 when I hear all the roar of the city, I look up 
 where the stars are, and I think it's all coun- 
 try up there — it's all quiet and still u\) in the 
 sky — the smoke and noise of the world can't 
 get up there. And a sort of peace comes into 
 
 8
 
 114 MARTHA AND THE 
 
 my heart, thinking that He's there, and that 
 He'll care. But that's only now and then," 
 she added, wearily, " and then I'm as bad as 
 ever." 
 
 "It must be very hard," said Martha again ; 
 " and yet — " 
 
 " Well ; and yet what ? " 
 
 " Why, if you could keep the chime going 
 too, and thank Him in your heart, it seems to 
 me as if — as if He'd be so pleased. It'll be 
 better than mine, for He must know how much 
 harder it is for sick people. I can fancy He'd 
 like it as much as the angels' music, and it 
 would be such a great tiling for you to be 
 doing it up here — keeping it going in your 
 heart all by yourself." 
 
 Martha felt quite ashamed at having said 
 more than she had ever said in her life of 
 what was in her thoughts. But the true 
 woman's nature of sympathy and tenderness 
 had been drawn out in hei- by the sight of 
 weariness and sickness ; and, moreover, her 
 separation from home, her being cut off from 
 the lielp and encouragement which she had
 
 TOP ATTIC MAKE FRIENDS. 115 
 
 previously known, to fight her way amongst 
 strangers, had done more in a few days to 
 bring out independence of tliouglit and action 
 tlian had years of her quiet Winthrop life. 
 She sat quite still by Kate's side, wishing that 
 she could be a comforter to her in her trouble, 
 mitil the warning sound of Mi's. Banks' voice, 
 as she returned from her visits, roused her to 
 her feet. 
 
 But as she wished her new friend good-bye, 
 there was a look of more rest in Kate's face 
 than there had been at the first, and she re- 
 tm-ned the farewell with the words, " I'll try 
 too, Martha. We'll both try together to keep 
 the chime going in our hearts — the Christmas. 
 chime. You look in, and remind me now and 
 then, that I may try and say always, ' Thanks 
 be unto God for His Unspeakable Gift.' I 
 believe it's a step to saying, ' Thy w411 be 
 done:' "
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MARTHA FINDS THE COALS HEAVIER. 
 
 [OLOMON said truly that "a con- 
 tinual dropping in a very rainy 
 day and a contentious woman are 
 alike ; " but, if I had my choice, I would 
 of the two very much prefer the rainy day. 
 
 I think Martha would have preferred it too ; 
 for, hard as she worked, and earnestly as she 
 endeavored to do her best, Mrs. Banks seemed 
 to persist in the belief that she had on hand a 
 perpetual design of wrong-doing, and that 
 nothing but a ceaseless succession of scoldings 
 and threatenings on her part would in any- 
 wise prevail to keep her handmaiden from 
 breaking dishes, gossipping with the milkman,
 
 MARTHA FINDS THE COALS HEAVIER. 117 
 
 purloining remains of repasts belonging to 
 the front parlors, neglecting her duties in 
 cleaning and dusting, and, in fact, from com- 
 mitting any misdemeanors into which she 
 could possil^ly l)e led astray. 
 
 Still the weeks passed on ; and it was not 
 until she had been for three or four months in 
 London that ]V[artha began to wonder why she 
 always felt tired. It seemed so odd, she 
 thought ; and she wished that it wasn't so 
 hard to get up in the morning, an'd fancied 
 that the coals must be of a heavier sort than 
 the first, only, then, the water couldn't have 
 grown heavier too. 
 
 During these weeks she had been several 
 times to church in the evening, Mrs. Elm- 
 hurst having come forward in her belialf, and 
 promised to see to the lodgers' suppers, if 
 Martha might be spared. And she had gone 
 to the church with the chimes, and had felt 
 home-like and happy as the well-known words 
 were spoken, and the psalm sung, which she 
 liked best of all, in which it says, " With His 
 own right hand and with His holy arm hath 
 He gotten Himself the victory."
 
 118 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 And, one evening, the festival shadowed 
 forth in promise by Mrs. Purkiss on her first 
 night in London, came to pass ; and Eliza 
 from Notting-hill, and Jane from her situation 
 in Bloomsbury, came to tea at the house of 
 the general decorator's hospitable little wife, 
 and were regaled, as promised, with buttered 
 toast, and with many other good things. 
 jAnd though Mrs. Banks at first steadily re- 
 fused to give Martha an evening out, yet, 
 when Mro. Purkiss herself called to proffer 
 her request, she at last consented — only tak- 
 ing out the indulgence granted to the young 
 maid-of-all-work in a double indulgence of 
 her own tongue, and winding up her scolding 
 over Martha's first breakage with the frequent 
 threat, " Talk of going out to tea-parties, I'll 
 tea-party you if I have you coming to me with 
 another glass broken, which it cost seven- 
 pence three farthings, if it cost a penny. 
 You mind, I shall stop it of your quarter's 
 wages the next time you look to be paid." 
 
 Martha was well-pleased to see her sisters, 
 and to talk over Winthrop news with them ;
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 119 
 
 and she was rather surprised at finding them 
 so tall, and with an air of . experience, and 
 a fearless knowledge of town ways, to which 
 she thought it unlikely she could ever attain. 
 They told her that she was growing thin, and 
 advised her to better herself — an idea which 
 had never for a moment dawned on her mind 
 as a possibility ; and she thought of their 
 words very deeply as she walked home ; but 
 the remembrance of Kate Elmhurst was 
 quite enough to put such an idea out of her 
 head. 
 
 J 
 
 For, indeed, to the invalid girl she had 
 come to be such a help and comfort as she 
 could never have hoped to be to anyone. She 
 could seldom sit with lier, except on Sunday 
 afternoons ; but daily, and many times a day, 
 she would look in for a moment, make up the 
 fire, arrange her pillows, or speak a brave, 
 cheery word of comfort, which helped Kate 
 to fight her own harder battle — to toil in 
 rowing, though the wind might be contrary, 
 against the waves and breakers which sur- 
 round the tranquil haven of resignation.
 
 120 MAETHA FINDS THE 
 
 over which is the inscription, " Thy will be 
 done." 
 
 Yes, Martha was keeping the chime going 
 in her heart, and it filled it more than the 
 sound of Mrs. Banks' voice, or than the roar 
 and turmoil of the great city around her. 
 
 Then a great joy had one day come to 
 her — a letter, bearing a Norfolk postmark, 
 and signed " E. Estridge." How Martha's 
 heart throbbed as she read the letter! How 
 she wondered whether anyone in the whole of 
 London could boast of such a prize, and laid 
 it beside her bed at night, and read it when 
 she woke up in the morning ! How she 
 showed it to Kate and her mother, and kept a 
 little festival in her heart on occasion of such 
 an accession to her treasures ! How trifling 
 appeared the troubles of her everyday life, 
 and Mrs. Banks' scoldings, and the lodgers' 
 impatient rings ! Had she not that in her 
 possession which had lit up quite an illumina- 
 tion of joy and pleasure within? Had not 
 Mrs. Estridge — a lady, who had so many to 
 think of — remembered her, Martha Brooke,
 
 COALS HEAVIER, 121 
 
 a poor, awkward maid-of-all-work, and cared 
 for her enough to write her a letter all for 
 herself ? Every word, as Martha said to her- 
 self, was written expressly for her ; she must 
 have thought of her all the time she was 
 writing — all the time, indeed, that " she was 
 making up the letter to write it." How could 
 she be thankful enough, or tell Mrs. Estridge 
 sufficiently what a bank-note of joy it had 
 been to her, or make her a little bit under- 
 stand, what she would have been far too shy 
 to say in woMs, that she thought of her 
 and prayed for her day and night ; that the 
 remembrance of every word she had ever 
 spoken to her was in her heart; that the 
 thought of those words was helping her on 
 in her fight and in her struggle to be a Chris- 
 tian, even when it was hardest ; that to be 
 with her once more was her dearest earthly 
 wish, cherished in the midst of much clean- 
 ing and scrubbing by day, and of Winthrop 
 dreams by night. 
 
 The letter which so filled Martha's heart 
 with rejoicing was as follows: —
 
 122 MAETHA FINDS THE 
 
 " WiNTHROP Rectory, March 27. 
 "Dear Martha, 
 
 " I am sure you are often thinking of 
 
 Winthrop and of all your friends here ; and I 
 
 think it will please you to have a few lines 
 
 from me, to tell you that we remember you, 
 
 and talk of you very often too. I was with 
 
 your mother a few days ago, and she told me 
 
 that she had heard from you, and that you 
 
 were in the same place in Southwark to which 
 
 you went at first ; and that you had seen 
 
 Eliza and Jane, and that they were both well. 
 
 I am so glad that you have met, for London 
 
 is such a great city, that I can ^ncy your 
 
 feeling a little bit sorrowful and lonely at 
 
 having no one belonging to you at hand. 
 
 " We think of you so often in the Bible 
 
 class, and I miss your voice in the choir 
 
 on Sundays, and hope that some day or other, 
 
 when you get a holiday, I shall have you with 
 
 me again. I have taken Kezia into the Bible 
 
 class now, and I think your brother Willy will 
 
 be able to join the singing-class by-and-bye. 
 
 I do not think there have been any other
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 123 
 
 changes since you left home. Spring is be- 
 ginning to appear even in onr cold part of 
 the world ; and Miss Gracie has just brought 
 me in some violets, of which I send you a few 
 as messengers from Winthrop. 
 
 " And now, dear Martha, I must tell you 
 how earnestly I desire for you that, though 
 separated from your friends here, you may 
 feel that the true and unchanging Friend 
 is always near you. I daresay things are not 
 always smooth with you — He often sees it 
 good for US' that we should be led in rough 
 paths ; but if we give our hands into His, 
 He will show us that He is leading us forth 
 by the right way to the city of habitation. 
 Never be satisfied with just being called a 
 Christian — with merely knowing about Christ, 
 instead of knowing him for your own Saviour. 
 It makes everything so different when we 
 think all day long, ' I may do this for Jesus. 
 I may get through my common every-day 
 work well, and with all my heart, to please 
 Him. I may refuse to speak this angry word, 
 because He would not like it.' I find that
 
 124 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 this thought helps me in my work, and I like 
 to think that you and I are together in trying 
 to serve Him and love Him and please Him, 
 and I hope that we shall be together with Him 
 in heaven. I think I must give you this mes- 
 sage before I close: — 'To him that over- 
 cometh will I give a crown of life.' 
 
 " I have only time to say that Mr. Estridge 
 sends you his best wishes, and to remain, 
 dear Martha, 
 
 " Your very true friend, 
 
 " E. Estridge." 
 
 It was not a long letter, but there was that 
 in it which filled the young servant with sur- 
 prise and joy. That she and Mrs. Estridge 
 should be together in anything — that she 
 should write as if they two were fighting side 
 by side, shoulder to shoulder, in Jesus Christ's 
 army — seemed quite a fresh spring of happi- 
 ness. And then those violets ! To think of 
 her putting them into the letter, just as if 
 she had been writing to a lady like herself ! 
 Winthrop violets, gathered by Miss Grace,
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 125 
 
 and actually sent to her by Mrs. Estridge. 
 The Queen herself, if on terms of correspond- 
 ence with the Rector's wife (and Martha 
 would not have been at all surprised had this 
 been the case), could not be treated more con- 
 siderately. The violets were put into warm 
 water, and revived, and were kept in Kate's 
 room for a little while, and then were taken 
 away and dried, and put in Martha's Bible as 
 precious relics. 
 
 And Mrs. Estridge's letter did yet more for 
 the country girl. There was something in its 
 tone which roused her self-respect. Uncon- 
 sciously, there came to her a touch of womanly 
 dignity, so that Kate and her mother said she 
 had grown ever so much older in her ways, 
 and Mrs. Banks now and then asked herself 
 what it was about the girl that was different 
 from others. Mrs. Estridge's words, telling 
 her that she was missed at Winthroj), had a 
 great deal to say to it ; but a sense of com- 
 munion and kinship with a higher Friend, far 
 more than anything else, seemed to keep Mar- 
 tha in a pavilion from the strife of tongues,
 
 126 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 and to lift her heart now and then into a sense 
 of unspeakable quietness and peace. 
 
 And so, as we have said, winter was giving 
 place to spring, and violets, and sickly-looking 
 primroses, with blacks from London chimneys 
 falling thickly upon them, instead of the dews 
 of the country, were being sold in the streets ; 
 and Martha was beginnijig to find that the 
 stairs were steep and the coals heavy, and the 
 water-cans heavier still. 
 
 One very pleasant thing had come to pass ; 
 she had found courage, much to her own 
 astonishment, to ask the district lady to walk 
 up and pay Kate Elmhurst a visit, and the lat- 
 ter had discovered that Miss Armitaare had 
 been in Somersetshire, and knew Ockley 
 Coombe, and had loved her directly. And 
 her visitor had spoken to her words such as 
 Kate most specially needed concerning the 
 high dignity of suffering and of patient en- 
 durance and of cross-bearing, when the love 
 of Jesus is in our hearts, and had reminded 
 her that we are not to cast the cross and carry 
 the care, but to bear the cross and cast the
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 127 
 
 care on Him who careth for us. And then 
 Kate told her about Martha ; and, little by 
 little, a firm league and covenant was estab- 
 lished between the top attics and Miss Armi- 
 tage, who used to find opportunities of saying 
 a kind word or two to the young servant as 
 she passed her at her work, and who one day 
 brought the good news that she had found a 
 better place for Mrs. Elmhurst, with employers 
 who would, when possible, allow her to bring 
 her work home. After this, for two days in 
 every week, Kate had her mother with her. 
 
 It was a Sunday evening, soon after Easter, 
 and Martha had somewhat wearily found her 
 way to church. She could not think why she 
 felt so tired, or why everything in the service 
 seemed to be going on outside her like a 
 dream; and then, when the sermon began, she 
 found that her eyes were growing very heavy, 
 and gradually everything faded away into a 
 confused vision of Winthrop, and Mill Street, 
 and Mrs. Banks ; while the organ in the 
 church sounded like a storm threatening to 
 burst over her head.
 
 128 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 When Mrs. Crummie, the pew-opener, made 
 her rounds, after service was over, to put out 
 lights, to shut pew-doors, and to take into cus- 
 tody stray pocket-handkerchiefs and smelling- 
 bottles which might have been left behind, she 
 was surprised to find Martha, whom she had 
 noticed as a reverent, quiet attendant at 
 church, fast asleep in the corner of one of the 
 free seats. 
 
 In Mrs. Ci'ummie's composition two some- 
 times conflicting natures were strongly devel- 
 oped : as a woman, she looked compassionately 
 on the weary face ; as a pew-opener, she felt it 
 her duty to regard the matter of going to sleep 
 in church from an official point of view. 
 
 " Young woman," she said, in a serious tone 
 — "young w6man, you'd better wake up." 
 Then, when Martha hastily started, being 
 touched by Mrs. Crummie on the shoulder, 
 she was unable to resist a kindly impulse to 
 add, " You're very tired, my dear ; you'd best 
 go home and get to sleep." 
 
 " I suppose I am," returned Martha, rousing 
 up, and then, realizing where she was, adding
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 129 
 
 humbly, " I beg your pardon, ma'am ; I can't 
 think what came over me to make me so tired. 
 1 don't think I ever went to sleep in church 
 
 before. 
 
 55 
 
 " It's a bad habit," said Mrs. Crummie, 
 speaking then as a pew-opener ; " I always say 
 Eutychus is an example to such as does. 
 Think if you was in a front gallery, or even in 
 the body, instead of free seats, how bad it 
 would look ! Indeed, I don't like to see it any- 
 where along my aisle, and there isn't need 
 with such a minister as ours. This looks as 
 if it belonged to one of the pews in the body," 
 she continued, darting at a pocket-handker- 
 chief which had been dropped by some passer- 
 by ; " hem-stitched and scented, and ' Rosalie ' 
 worked in flowers round the name ; that's no 
 free-seat handkerchief, and it'll have to be 
 claimed next Sunday." 
 
 By which time Mrs. Crummie and Martha 
 were out in the porch, and the good lady was 
 no longer a pew-opener, but a kind"^ motherly 
 little woman who told Martha she looked so 
 tired that she'd like to take her home and give
 
 130 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 her a cup of tea if her house were not too far 
 off; failing which, she announced her deter- 
 mination to walk with her as far as Mill 
 Street, " for you look most worn out, my dear ; 
 that's what you do." 
 
 " I feel queer all over to-night," said Mar- 
 tha ; " 1 can't make it out ; my knees seem to 
 give in, and things seem going round in my 
 head — " 
 
 " It's a chill, my dear," said Mrs. Crummie, 
 confidently ; " chamomile tea, warm, or a little 
 gruel, and a hot bath going to bed, '11 set you 
 up if anything will." 
 
 " I don't know," answered Martha ; " I'm 
 not sure whether lying quiet isn't what I seem 
 to want most, if missus will let me go to 
 bed." 
 
 "You're tired out — that's what you are," 
 repeated good Mrs. Crummie, looking her com- 
 panion full in the face as they passed a lamp- 
 post ; "I believe that quiet and a glass of 
 wine, now, elder wine, warmed, with a little 
 spice in it, would be as good as the chamomile 
 tea for you."
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 131 
 
 Martha inwardly thought it might be much 
 better, and went on to imagine what Mrs. 
 Banks' reception of a request for elder wine, 
 with a little spice in it, might be, should the 
 idea be brought before her ; and then, as she 
 came to the door, she thanked her new friend 
 for the kindness, and with what strength she 
 had got up the steps into the house. 
 
 "'Poor thing!" said Mrs. Crummie to her- 
 self, " she's getting done up like most of them. 
 If only mothers knew what girls have to meet 
 of overwork in them lodging-houses, they 
 wouldn't send them off all alone and unbe- 
 friended like. I know I wouldn't if I had a 
 girl of my own." 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Crummie went home, and 
 had a little Sunday supper over the fire which 
 had been expected to keep itself in her ab- 
 sence, and which had answered to the expec- 
 tation, and found out the clergyman's text in 
 the large Bible by the help of her spectacles ; 
 having done which, she went to bed. 
 
 Martha meantime asked herself whether the 
 world and the people in it were always divided
 
 132 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 into three divisions, first class, second class, 
 and third class ; parlors, up-stairs, and attics ; 
 body, gallery, and free-seats — Miss Graham 
 and Rosalie in the first, and maids-of-all-work 
 in the last ; and then she felt a difficulty in 
 getting to her room, and had to call Mrs. Elm- 
 hurst to her aid, and had a strange weary 
 night of tossing and sleeplessness, and in the 
 morning was obliged to own that she could 
 not get up, and lay still, wondering whether 
 she was very ill, and what could be the matter, 
 and in a confused way hoping that some one 
 would get the lodgers their breakfasts, and 
 that Mrs. Banks would not turn her out of 
 doors because she could not work. 
 
 Mrs. Banks was, however, very angry. She 
 had no notion of any people under front par- 
 lors giving themselves airs and taking to their 
 beds, and declared that Martha should go at 
 once to the Hospital, fur which she would get 
 a ticket that morning through the district 
 lady. " For," she added, " district ladies is 
 good for some things, which one never sees 
 one coming along without a look in her face
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 133 
 
 and outward garments telling of an insight 
 into coals and blankets snch as is right for the 
 poor, not to mention letters for hospitals if 
 such can be got for those as should be sent 
 there." 
 
 But it so happened — how Martha could 
 hardly make out — that Miss Armitage's visit 
 did not result in sending her to the hospital, 
 and that Mrs. Banks remembered how a niece 
 of hers " by the name of Sarah Ann was look- 
 ing out to better herself, and might come in 
 for a week or so to take the other girl's place 
 if she chose to make haste and get about 
 again ; " and that Mi-s. Elmhurst's work was 
 brought home oftener than twice a week, so 
 that she was able to care for Martha more 
 kindly than she had ever been cared for 
 before. 
 
 Her mistress only once came upstairs to re- 
 proach her for " taking on," and to " wonder 
 what girls was made of that they nnist turn 
 fine ladies after a week's ])ustlhig a1)0ut ; " at 
 the conclusion of whicli sti-ain of exhortation, 
 even Mrs. Banks was impelled l)y the sight of
 
 134 MARTHA FINDS THE 
 
 the pale, weary face beneath her to wind up in 
 somewhat gentler fashion, " which neverthe- 
 less if you'll be a good girl and pluck up pretty 
 soon, I'll keep the place open for you without 
 making any change. Sarah Ann, now, she's 
 as strong as a church-pillar, but she's as hard 
 to move, and as hardened to waste and riot. 
 Though she's my own flesh and blood," con- 
 tinued her relative, with quite a virtuous tone 
 of condemnation in her voice, " I couldn't say 
 nothing else of lier. It was only yesterday 
 evening I found her eating hot toast and but- 
 ter ; which I toast-and-buttered her pretty well, 
 I can tell you." 
 
 And this confidence to Martha concerning 
 Sarah Ann's taste for toast and butter — al- 
 though the illustration hurriedly selected of 
 the church-pillar was difficult to carry out in 
 all its bearings — seemed to form quite a link 
 in Mrs. Banks' estimation between herself and 
 her young servant ; and she left the latter 
 greatly cheered, and with a hope that her mis- 
 tress would for this once pass over her "taking 
 on and being ill."
 
 COALS HEAVIER. 135 
 
 Then followed a very peaceful foi-tnight in 
 the region of the top-attics. Martha was 
 astonished to find that she had so many 
 friends in London. For kind little Mrs. Pur- 
 kiss came to see her, having heard of her be- 
 ing ill through Mrs. Elmhurst, who had one 
 day left word of the same at the general deco- 
 rator's : and she brought with her a nice cup 
 of jelly, and some eggs laid by her own fowls, 
 and a general atmosphere of cheeriness and 
 hopefulness which seemed to fill the room like 
 a fresh breeze. And then Eliza, her own sis- 
 ter, came to visit her ; and Mrs. Banks was 
 quite surprised to find that Martha's sister was 
 so capable a young servant, " holding a posi- 
 tion," as she expressed it afterwards to Mrs. 
 Smythe, "in a first-rate family:" and Eliza 
 was for writing home to Winthrop ; but Mar- 
 tha did not wish to " put them about just for 
 her." 
 
 And after a few days, she was able to go 
 into Kate's room, and to lie on the bed there, 
 and read with her, and talk ^vith her, and now 
 and ther to sleep quite undisturbedly for
 
 136 MARTHA FINDS THE COALS HEAVIER. 
 
 hours, while rest did its work towards restor- 
 ing her strength. And the spring breezes 
 came in at the window, bringing messages, 
 Kate said, from Somersetshire, and Martha 
 said, from Norfolk ; and young sparrows twit- 
 tered on tlie roofs ; and often Miss Armitage 
 came to them, and sometimes sang to the two 
 girls, while their voices joined in with hers, so 
 that, as she observed, " they made quite a 
 choir ; " and the chimes now and then sounded 
 through the upper chamber, so that when Mar- 
 tha was able once more to go to her work, and 
 to return to the hurry and bustle downstairs, 
 it seemed to her as if a quiet restful time of 
 peace were over to which she would look back 
 always as to a Sunday in her life.
 
 CHAPTER VI I. 
 
 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 
 
 jT happened shortly after that Mrs. 
 Banks was laid up ; and very much 
 was she surprised at herself for 
 being thus subjected to the ricissitudes of life 
 like any one else. And one morning Martha 
 came into Mrs. Elmhurst, imploring her to see 
 about the front parlor's breakfast, as her mis- 
 tress said she was " all of one throb," and 
 couldn't fancy anything Ijut a cup of tea, 
 which she must Ijring up to her at once. Af- 
 ter which, she was sent forth to secure once 
 more the services of Sarah Ann, who, it ap- 
 peared, had not yet succeeded in bettering
 
 138 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 
 
 herself, and who was invited to come and help 
 in the house, there being, however, a distinct 
 clause in the agreement whereby she was to 
 hold herself bound honorably to abstain from 
 any recurring temptations to hidulgence in 
 buttered toast. 
 
 It was wonderful, everybody said, how well 
 the house went on. New responsibilities 
 seemed to develop in Martha qualities of self- 
 reliance and quiet womanly capability which, 
 at first sight, her friends would hardly have 
 suspected her of possessing; and people re- 
 flected that her mistress gave herself much 
 unnecessary expense in the matter of words, 
 as things settled themselves in quite a satis- 
 factory manner without there seeming to be 
 any necessity for so much scolding about 
 them. 
 
 I think that a perpetual liability to being 
 scolded and found fault with has one of two 
 effects. Either it hardens the temper into a 
 sort of dull or impatient sullenness ; or it ren- 
 ders it, from the very fact of constant suffer- 
 ing, tender and considerate in all dealings
 
 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 139 
 
 with others, which may possibly be the result 
 of experimentally knowing the value of a kind 
 and sympathizing word. The last of these 
 two effects showed itself in Martha's conduct 
 towards her small world without ; so that 
 Kate, upstairs, and Sarah Jane, down-stairs, 
 thought a great deal more of our Norfolk 
 maiden's presence than she at all suspected. 
 
 And in one of these days, a sudden and un- 
 wonted knock brought her hastily to the house- 
 door, and with an almost cry of surprise, she 
 found herself face to face with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Estridge, who, standing on the door-step, and 
 wearing respectively hat and coat, and bonnet 
 and shawl, were, she immediately concluded, 
 not a vision, but actual Winthrop realities. 
 
 What a comfort that Mrs. and Miss Smythe 
 were out for the day, and that Martha could 
 fearlessly show her visitors into their parlor ! 
 What a comfort that Sarah Ann Av^as well-dis- 
 posed towards her, and, having listened at the 
 bottom of the stairs to the strange greetings, 
 was prepared to answer Martha's hurried whis- 
 per down the same flight, " You'll turn the
 
 140 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 
 
 joint, won't you ? " with a comprehensive 
 " All right, I'll see to everything ! " 
 
 And then the Winthrop girl went in to the 
 front parlor, and realized that to see her, Mar- 
 tha Brooke, these friends had come miles 
 across London — that nothing else had brought 
 them down into Southwark but the desire to 
 visit and cheer the young maid-of-all-work, 
 " whom they had not forgotten," as she said to 
 herself, " in all their greatness." 
 
 if only she were less tongue-tied ! if 
 only she could tell Mrs. Estridge how she 
 thanked her, and loved her, and cared for her ! 
 As it Avas, she could only muster courage to 
 ask for her parents, and to utter confused 
 words of humble gratitude, and then, all of a 
 sudden — she supposed because she had been 
 ill and was still weak and foolish — she found, 
 as she thanked Mrs. Estridge for the photo- 
 graph she had brought her of Winthrop 
 church, that her voice was getting beyond 
 control, and that tears were coming thickly 
 into her eyes, and a hurried sob or two for a 
 minute entirely checked every possibility of 
 utterance.
 
 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 141 
 
 Then her frieiids talked to her, and Mrs. 
 Estridge told her Winthrop news of her class 
 companions, and of her brothers and sisters ; 
 and after awhile, she found herself able to 
 speak more freely ; and when they thought 
 that she looked thin and worn, she told them 
 how she had been ill, and about Miss Armitage 
 and Kate and Mrs. Elmhurst ; and at last, 
 actually found herself saying how she had 
 missed her Winthrop Sundays, and longed to 
 be once more at the Rectory class. 
 
 " But you keep up ? " answered Mrs. Es- 
 tridge, with her hand upon her shoulder in the 
 same kindly fashion which she remembered so 
 well and had thought of so often, " You are 
 trying to serve Jesus Christ, dear child, and to 
 be His faithful soldier and servant in all the 
 busy hurry and work of your life ? I hope you 
 are looking to Him, Martha." 
 
 And then with a sort of smile through her 
 tears, Martha looked up, and said, " I'm trying 
 to keep the Christmas chimes going in my 
 heart, like the message said that you gave us, 
 ma'am ; sometimes when I'm dull and tired I
 
 142 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 
 
 feel as if I must give in ; but then I say to 
 myself I'm to keep it always going — 'Thanks 
 DO to God for His Unspeakable Gift' — and 
 that seems to set me up." 
 
 The visit did not end in the front parlor. 
 Martha brought them to see Kate, and Kate's 
 eyes lighted up when she knew who the visitors 
 were, and while Mr. Estridge talked to the 
 girls about the struggle and the weariness and 
 the difficulties here which are but for a little 
 while, and about the great joy laid up which is 
 reserved unto the Lord's people for ever. And 
 then he knelt down, and thanked God for the 
 Unspeakable Gift, and asked that they might 
 always be living as those who have tasted of 
 eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord, and 
 prayed for the sick, and the weary, and the 
 hard-working, that they might come unto Him 
 and find rest for their souls. And then that 
 golden hour in Martha's life came to an end, 
 and her friends left her ; and she watched 
 them, until, turning round the corner of Mill 
 Street, they nodded a last good-bye to her, and 
 went their way.
 
 MARTHA HAS VISITORS. 143 
 
 And Martha went back to her work ; and 
 found that Sarah Ann had been true to her 
 and to the joint, and that it was time to lay 
 the cloth in the front parlor. 
 
 As Mr. and Mrs. Estridge walked away they 
 were for a few minutes very silent. Then Mr. 
 Estridge looked into his wife's face, and saw 
 that her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " Good little Martha ! " he said ; " how lit- 
 tle one could expect to find such a girl out of 
 the Brookes' cottage." 
 
 " Charles," answered his wife, after a pause, 
 " I feel as if Martha had taught me more than 
 I ever taught her, I shall never hear our 
 Winthrop bells now without thinking of her, 
 in all the hurry and care of that rough life of 
 hers trying to keep the Christmas chimes ring- 
 ing. It will help me to do it when I think of 
 her. If only — if only one could think every 
 day more of the greatness of the Unspeakable 
 Gift!"
 
 iV^^^i^^^^J^^ 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 LAST WORDS. 
 
 KNOW that my story may be called 
 unfinished. It is so because it is 
 true. In a busy and thronged Lon- 
 don district, and in a busy and thronged 
 house, a little maid-of-all-work is still trying 
 to keep the chime going in her heart — is still 
 tryipg to show forth praise not only with her 
 lips, but in her life. 
 
 And would not this busy and thronged 
 world, this great lodging-house in which for a 
 time we have our habitation, be to many who 
 read these pages a happier and a better place 
 could they have constantly in their minds the 
 greatness of the "• Unspeakable Gift," the be- 
 lief in a real present, living, loving Saviour ;
 
 LAST WORDS. 145 
 
 could they, too, keep the chimes of joy and 
 thanksgiving always ringing ? 
 
 Busy workers^ in whatever station of life 
 you may be placed, who have found time to 
 read these words, shall not they sound in 
 your hearts ? There is room in them for the 
 clang and uproar of the world's noise and 
 tumult : is there not room for the sweet 
 cadence of peace and thanksgiving which 
 follows the admission of Jesus, and which 
 rings in the true Christmas-tide of the soul ? 
 It may be that you are at the head of a family, 
 and have calls and claims and interruptions 
 on every side, and " many coming and going," 
 so that sometimes you seem to have " no 
 leisure to tarry so much as to eat." Or it 
 may be that you are a servant, always busy, 
 often tired, sometimes overtasked ; or possi- 
 bly you are a boy or girl at school, and have 
 your time portioned out for you, and find that 
 every moment is fully occupied. Still, let the 
 chime ring in your hearts. Ask the Lord 
 Jesus Christ to come to you Himself. Make 
 time for Him, for whatever else you may find 
 
 10
 
 146 LAST WORDS. 
 
 no leisure. " What shall it profit a man 
 if he shall gain the whole world and lose his 
 own soul ? " He wants to be the Friend of 
 your busy hours. He wants to make your 
 work light by making your heart light. He 
 wants to make your common every-day service 
 holy and beautiful and happy service, by let- 
 ting you do all as for Him. He wants to 
 share, and help you, in all your work, and 
 to prove to you that He is a true and present 
 Saviour. 
 
 It may be that you are specially e/igaged. in 
 sacred work ; that you are a teacher, a district 
 visitor, a much-employed vineyard laborer. 
 O, should not ithose thus occupied be very 
 earnest in making sure that the chime is ring- 
 ing in their hearts ? Is not something of the 
 peace which should come with the constantly 
 realized possession of the Unspeakable Gift 
 cridangered by the too great hurry of our 
 days — by the effort to crowd too much into 
 already fully employed hours — by the mis- 
 taken idea that to do much for Christ is the 
 same thing as keeping near to Christ ? It is
 
 LAST WORDS. 147 
 
 when we have time to be still, when the world 
 is shut out, when our work is brought to Him 
 in prayer, when the unseen things of eternity- 
 are the vividly seen things of our souls, when 
 " there is no man found with us save Jesus 
 only," that the clear notes of thanksgiving- 
 swell most joyfully through our hearts, and 
 
 " Sound like the benediction 
 Which follows aftei' prayer." 
 
 Perhaps you may be reading this on a sick- 
 bed. It may he that you are an invalid, con- 
 fined to a couch from which you will never 
 again rise to health and strength, or suffering 
 in a hospital, or weak and failing, and unable 
 for all the work without, which you are long- 
 ing to undertake, and Avhich may even be left 
 undone because you cannot do it. I think 
 that for you it is hardest of all to keep the 
 chimes ^"oing. I think that to you, if you 
 seek to turn mourning into thankfulness, the 
 message will be most specially sent, " He that 
 offereth me praise, he honoreth me." I 
 I hardly know any victory of faith so great
 
 148 LAST WORDS. 
 
 as that won by Christ's servants when they 
 are able to rejoice in tribulation ; in weakness 
 to obtain strength ; in weariness to lean on an 
 unseen Saviour ; during sleepless nights to 
 look beyond to the everlasting rest ; when all 
 around them are busy and in health, to whis- 
 per, "Even so, Father;" to pray, saying, 
 " Thy will be done," and to exchange the sad 
 minor strain, " My, purposes are broken off," 
 for the trustful song of assurance : 
 
 " His purposes will ripen fast, 
 Unfolding every hour : 
 The bud may have a bitter taste, 
 But sweet will be the flower." 
 
 It is no light service which you are offering to 
 Jesus, dear brother or sister, in your hour of 
 weakness, if you are able to cry, " Though He 
 slay me, yet will I trust in Him," if you are 
 t-ejoicing in the Unspeakable Gift, and keeping 
 the chime of thanksgiving always ^ ringing 
 in your heart. 
 
 Perhaps you are poor. Possibly you find it 
 hard to keep down anxious fears concerning a 
 coming year, or an impending difficulty, or 
 
 r
 
 LAST WOEDS. 149 
 
 to check forebodings which will arise in yonr 
 heart when but little comes in, and there seem 
 to crowd upon you increasing claims for what 
 you have. Then, if you have the Unspeaka- 
 ble Gift, you may take the children's privilege, 
 and expect your Father to care for you. A 
 good man once said, " On the forehead of 
 every one of God's people are inscribed the 
 words. To be provided for.'' Only trust. 
 " He that spared not His own Son, but 
 delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not 
 with Him freely also give us all things ? " 
 If you have Christ, though having nothing, 
 you possess all things. God cannot desert 
 you ; His gift of a Saviour is the pledge that 
 He will give you all that you really need. 
 Try and cling to Him. He will liclp you, 
 even in your poverty, to set the joy-l)ells ring- 
 ing in your heart,- and to offer " thanks unto 
 Him for His Unspeakable Gift." 
 
 It may be that you are lone/// — that you 
 are away from those dearest to you — that 
 you are surrounded by many who cannot sym- 
 pathize with you — that harsh and irritating
 
 150 LAST WORDS. 
 
 words bring continual uneasiness and pain 
 to your heart, and that you have no one upon 
 whom you can lean for companionship and 
 suppo];t. Then seek these in Jesus. I do not 
 say that it is easy to realize the nearness, the 
 love, the confidence of an unseen Saviour. I 
 do not think it is. But I know that these 
 may be, and are, felt by His children who, not 
 having seen, yet have believed. If in the 
 hour of loneliness you are brought near to Him 
 — if you are enaljled to realize the truth of 
 His Word, " Draw nigh to God, and He will 
 draw nigh to you," — you will arise to find 
 great peace within your heart, the song com- 
 ing from your lips, " It is good for me to draw 
 nigh unto God," and the chime already sound- 
 ing in unspoken praise. 
 
 One word more to any reader of these 
 pages who may be amongst the bereaved. 
 Can there be any joyful strain for you until 
 the chimes of heaven welcome you to reunion 
 with those — your beloved — who have gone 
 before ? Here, where at every moment you 
 miss the answering voice and look and com-
 
 LAST WORDS. 151 
 
 panionsliip which will never more waken you 
 to a constant delight, can you desire or expect 
 anything beyond submission and the peace of 
 resignation ? Is any somid to echo through 
 the inner temple of your heart Imt the secret 
 knell heard in still wMches of the night, 
 hi the early wakings of the morning, and 
 in the midst of others' joys which seem to 
 ripple round in waves of gladness, but be- 
 tween which and vour secret soul there is 
 a line of separation which you feel can never 
 be passed ? 
 
 I think that He wiio is the Resurrection and 
 the Life may even to you bring such a sense 
 of the greatness of the Unspeakable Gift, 
 that, " Thanks be unto God," will ring 
 through your heart with a joy different from 
 all others — that which comes from being 
 a' partaker with Christ of sorrow, and a par- 
 taker of His consolations — that which comes 
 from the intimacy with Him into which grief 
 and bereavement admit His children — that 
 of which He Himself spake, saying, " Your 
 joy no man taketh from you."
 
 152 LAST WORDS. 
 
 Yes, we must " keep the chimes going " 
 here, in the time of our warfare and pilgrim- 
 age ; " church bells," as old George Herbert 
 hath it, " above the starres hearde." 
 
 And He who hears them above the stars 
 is the Same who hath said, " In my Father's 
 house are many mansions : I go to prepare a 
 place for you. And if I go and prepare 
 place for you, I will come again and receive 
 you unto Myself, that where I am there ye 
 may be also." 
 
 a 
 
 Cambridge : Press of John WilBon and Son.
 
 A LIST OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 E. P. BUTTON AND CO., 
 
 135 ■Washington Street, Boston. 
 ♦ . 
 
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 Approbation Cards, per hundred 1.00 
 
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 Bickersteith's Devout Communicant '. 50 
 
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 Carols for Christmas, &c., by A. P. Howard 60 
 
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 Christian Education, a tract by the Rev. Morgan 
 
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 Collects, paper, 15 cents ; cloth 30 
 
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 Dark River 60 
 
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 Historical Church 10 
 
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 Howard's Collection of Carols 60 and 1.00 
 
 Huntington's (Rev. F. D.) Tracts, each 10 
 
 Huntington's (Rev. F. D.) Sermons for the People. . 1.75 
 
 Huntington's (Rev. F. D.) Christian Believing, etc. 1.75 
 
 Huntington's (Rev. F. D.) Lessons on the Parables. 30 
 
 Huntington's (Rev. Wm. R.) Questions 30 
 
 Hymns by Harriet McEwen Kimball 1-50
 
 PBICB. 
 
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 Maps, &c 
 
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 Miss Matty 75 
 
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 Numerical Frames 1.25 and 1.50 
 
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 Parting Spirit's Address 25 and 1.00
 
 PKIOB 
 
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 Proper Lessons 1.25 to 4.00 
 
 Psalms and Hymns of the Prayer-Book 60 
 
 Queen : A Story for Girls 75 
 
 Rector's Vade Mecum 1.00 to 3.00 
 
 Restoration of Belief, by Isaac Taylor 1.50 
 
 Robinson's Book-Keeping and Blanks, each 25 
 
 Rock of Ages 1.25 
 
 Sacred Gems for Letters, two pages 1 
 
 Se well's Preparation for Holy Communion 75 
 
 Sewell's Thoughts for Holy Week 50 
 
 Silence of Scnpture 1.00 
 
 Shnik Shnak, by Oscar Pletsch ,..» 1.25 
 
 Story of the New Priest 1.75 
 
 Sunday-School Chant and Tune-Book 50 
 
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 Book, half-bound, 60 cents ; bev. cloth 1 00 
 
 Teacher's Cooperating Mirrors, per himdred 1.50 
 
 Teacher's Weekly Report Cards, per hundred 1.50 
 
 Trinity Psalter 1.75 
 
 Vinton's (Rev. Alex. H.) Sermons 1.50 
 
 Wainwright's Familj' Prayers 1.25 
 
 Wainwright's Short Family Prayers 50 
 
 Waiting World 20 
 
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 Winter and Summer at Burton Hall 1.00 
 
 Words of Jesus 35 
 
 Words, and Promiser 50 
 
 Words, Mind, and Promiser 1.00
 
 E. P. BUTTON AND CO., BOSTON. 23 
 
 Making this a special department in our business, ice have been 
 careful in the selection of our publications ; it being our aim to 
 issue boohs healthy and moral in their tone, and at the same time 
 fresh and entertaining to children. We invite piirchasers to ex- 
 amine the following, feeling convinced they will find them much 
 beyond the average of Children'' s Books. They are all pi-inted in 
 clear type, on good paper, beautifully illuslrated, and bound in 
 bright colors. 
 
 NEW BOOKS. 
 
 LITTLE FOLKS. 20 Illustrations by Oscar 
 Pletsch, with verses of appropriate poetry accompa- 
 nying each picture, beautifully printed. Large 8vo. 
 $1.25. 
 
 SHNIK SHNAK. 20 Elustrations by Oscar 
 Pletsch. A companion volume to the above. $1.25. 
 
 " Oscar Pletsch is remarkable for his genius in sketching chil- 
 dren. Not Hogarth or Gustave Dore was ever more eminent in 
 their line than Pletsch is in his." — Publishers'' Circular. 
 
 " His pictures are not only drawn with masterl}' accuracy and 
 skill, but they are wonderfully true to nature, and show a rare 
 faculty of embodying the humorous element in the occupations 
 and expressions of childhood." — The Nursery. 
 
 " What Landseer is to dogs, what Rosa Bonheur is to horses, 
 what Morland is to pigs, what Teniers is to Dutch boors, 
 Oscar Pletsch is to children, — their painter, interpreter, immor- 
 talizer." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " In the humor and fidelity of his pictures of children, Pletsch 
 is without a rival in the whole range of art." 
 
 BOY ARTISTS ; or, Sketches of the Childhood 
 of Michael Angelo, Mozart, Haydn, Watteau, and 
 Sebastian Gomez. Translated from the French of 
 
 JMdlle. Eugenie Foa. 16mo. Illustrated $1.00 
 
 Our critic says; " The French biographical stories of Madame
 
 24 PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 Foa, are very life-like, interesting, and well worth reproduction 
 in English dress. I would certainly recommend their publication, 
 for they are very attractive." 
 
 COPSLEY ANIMALS, Preserved in Proverbs. 16mo. 
 
 bevelled boards, red edge. Si. 25. 
 
 " The family histories here described are commendable in no 
 common degree; full of a sweet and gentle spirit, without 
 sickliness ; religious in tone and the high morals inculcated, 
 without a trace of such sectarianism as would exclude them from 
 the fireside of church or chapel-goer; not without nice touches 
 of humor, clear of exaggeration. It must be a healthy pleasure 
 to write — it is to read — such books for the young as ' Copsley 
 Annals.' " — AthencBum. 
 
 " A delightful book, and one which will afford pleasant enter- 
 tainment to readers, old and young. A thoroughly good and 
 well-written story." — Record. 
 
 " Here is wit, tenderness, and good writing enough for twice 
 as large a volume. It is altogether a most fascinating perform- 
 ance, likely to please poor and rich, young and old." — Literary 
 Churchman. 
 
 WINTER AND SUMMER AT BURTON 
 HALL. By the author of " Cushions and Corners." 
 16mo. Illustrated $1.00 
 
 We take pleasure in offering to the thousands who have read 
 "Cushions and Corners" with delight, another book by the 
 same charming writer. Before deciding to reprint it, we gave 
 the English copy to several children to read, and our juvenile 
 jury returned the unanimous verdict that it was one of the 
 best stories thej^ had ever read. 
 
 CUSHIONS AND CORNERS : or, Holidays at 
 Old Orchard. New Edition. 16mo. Illustrated. 214 
 pages. Price reduced to $1.00. 
 
 "A capital delineation of childish character, the conversations 
 are managed ver}' naturally, and the contrast between the dis- 
 positions, so well symbolized by a cushion and a sharp corner, 
 respectively, is wrought out skilfully, and in a most interestmg 
 manner." — The Nation.
 
 E. P. DUITON AND CO., BOSTON. 25 
 
 "The author has humor and dramatic power, and an appre- 
 ciation of children's tastes ; the book has a good moral be- 
 sides." — Springjield Republican. 
 
 NED GRANT'S QUEST. A Story for Chilcben. 
 By the author of "Bertha Weisser's Wish." 195 
 pages. Price reduced to $1.00. 
 
 " The young folks who are so fortunate as to get hold of this 
 book will follow the fortunes of Ned Grant with great interest." 
 — Providence Press. 
 
 " The writer is one of our best story-tellers, and this is such a 
 book as goes right to the heart of a boy." — Churchman. 
 
 FRANK STIRLING'S CHOICE. By Maria 
 H. Bulfinch. Price reduced to $1.00. 
 
 " Christian parents maj' do much good by placing this book 
 in the hands of every bright and thoughtful boy." 
 
 " An excellent storj' of a boyhood and youth ending in the 
 ministry of the Church." — Advertiser. 
 
 FANNIE AND ROBBIE. A Year Book for 
 
 Children of the Church. Price 75 cents. 
 
 " Fannie wished to do some good in Lent, and sought out 
 Robbie, the lame son of a poor widow, as a subject. She read 
 to him, taught him about the Christian Seasons: when he got 
 well took him to the Sunday-school, and so became useful." — 
 Connecticut Churchman. 
 
 " The interest is well sustained, and youth of both sexes will 
 read it with pleasure." — Protestant Churchman. 
 
 MISS MATTY; or, Our Yoiiugest Passenger. 
 A Tale of the Sea. Price 75 cents. 
 
 " A capital sea-story, with natural scenes and characters, and 
 incidents that thrill with interest." — Albany Argus. 
 
 •' Another book that we cjwi highly praise. Any small man or 
 
 woman, who, after reading it, would not be better, or would not 
 
 try to be better — for the spirit may be willing, the flesh w«ak 
 
 " — ought hardly to be taught to read at all, or made to le»r« 
 
 iwice over." — The Nation.
 
 26 PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 « THE OLD CORNER LIBRARY." Contain- 
 ing: — Ned Grant's Quest, Frank Stirling's Choice, 
 Cushions and Corners, and Christmas Holidays at 
 Cedar Grove. 4 vols, in box. Price S4.00. 
 
 " Four juvenile publications, handsome in fcrm, tasteful in 
 illustrations, interesting in matter, and pure in moral tone." — 
 Transcript. 
 
 THE HOLIDAY LIBRARY. Containing: — 
 Miss Matty, Fannie and Robbie, Easter Holidays at 
 Cedar Grove, Bertha Weisser, Contraband Christmas, 
 and A Queen. 6 vols, in box. Price $4.50. 
 "All good stories, as the little ones tell us." —-Boston Post 
 
 CHILDREN'S SONGS FROM THE HILL- 
 SIDE. A beautifully illustrated volume of Poetry 
 for Children. Bevelled boards, gilt edge, S2.00. 
 " This book of songs wll be warmly welcomod by a multitude 
 of households all over the land. These verses were written for 
 children, but both old age and youth will read them with de- 
 light." — Christian Times. 
 
 " A charming collection of songs, poems, and charades for tho 
 little ones. Illustrated by Kilburn in admirable taste, printed 
 on satin paper at the ' Riverside Press,' and bound in bright col- 
 ors and gold, it is, every way, a perfect thing." 
 
 OTTALIE'S STORIES FOR THE LITTLE 
 
 FOLKS. Translated from the German of Madame 
 Ottalie Wildermuth ; containing the following stories, 
 bound together : — 
 
 Frau Luna, and Her Voyages. 
 A Queen, A Story for Girls. 
 Leon and Zephie ; or, the Little Wan- 
 derers. 
 16mo, 308 pages, 4 fine wood- cuts $1.50.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 5m-2,'31
 
 PR 
 
 4699 
 
 E51i 
 
 JJJLLLOtt - 
 I must keep 
 the chimes 
 going ~ 
 
 AA 000 3662426 
 
 PR 
 
 4699 
 
 E51i
 
 iiSSS