Capstick made no answer; but his eye, turned ominously upon his wife, began to glow like a coal, and he puffed at the smoke like a man labouring with himself. Beautiful philosophy! Full soon the muffin-maker's eye shone with its old tranquil light, and again he smoked calmly-desperately calmly. Still Mrs. Capstick continued the punishment of her tongue; but Capstick had conquered himself, and still replied not. At length in the very heat and fullest pitch of her complaint, Capstick rose, and softly laying down his pipe, said "Mary Anne, I'm going to bed." Poor Capstick! He came home with his heart bleeding; and a little tenderness, a little conjugal sympathy, would have been a value to him; but―as people say of greater matters—it was not to be.

Capstick rose early; and, speedily joined by Bright Jem, both took their way to Mr. Tangle's private mansion, Red Lion Square. It was scarcely nine o'clock, when the muffin-maker knocked at the lawyer's door. It was quite impossible that Mr. Tangle should be seen. "But the business," cried Capstick to the man-servant— a hybrid between a groom and a footman-"the business is upon life and death."

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Bless you," said the man, "that makes no difference whatever. We deal so much in life and death, that we think nothing of it. It's like plums to a grocer, you know. Mr. Tangle never can be seen of a Sunday before half-past ten; a quarter to eleven he goes, of course, to church. The Sabbath, he always says, should be a day of rest.' And Tangle-it was his only selfindulgence - illustrated this principle by lying late in bed every Sunday morning to read his papers. Nevertheless, with smoothly shaven face, and with an all-unworldly look, he was, ere the church-bell ceased, enshrined in the family pew. There was

he with his wife, decorously garnished with half-a-dozen children, sons and daughters, patterns of Sabbath piety; of seventh-day Christianity. "After six days' hard work, what a comfort it was," he would say, "to enjoy church of a Sunday!" And Tangle, after his fashion, did enjoy it: he enjoyed the respectability which church-going threw about him; he enjoyed his worldly ease and superiority, as manifested in his own cosily furnished pew. Looking upon the pauper worshippers on the benches, and then contemplating the comforts of his own nook, he felt very proud of his Christianity. And in this way did Mr. Tangle attend church. It was a decent form due to society, and

especially to himself. He went to church as he went to his office, -as a matter of business; though he would have been mightily shocked had such a motive been attributed to him.

"I'll come at half-past ten," said Capstick, "for I must see him.' The servant looked stolidly at the muffin-maker, and, without a word, closed the door. "He can then tell us," said Capstick to Jem, "when he can see us in the afternoon. And now Jem, we can only stroll about till the time comes. And so they walked on silently; for both felt oppressed with the belief that their errand to the lawyer would be fruitless; yet both were determined to try every means, however hopeless. They walked, and sauntered, and the church-bells rang out, summoning Christian congregations to common worship. "There's something beautiful in the church-bells, don't you think so, Jem?" asked Capstick, in a subdued tone. "Beautiful and hopeful!—they talk to high and low, rich and poor in the same voice; there's a sound in 'em that should scare pride, and envy, and meanness of all sorts from the heart of man; that should make him look upon the world with kind, forgiving eyes; that should make the earth itself seem to him, at least for a time, a holy place. Yes, Jem: there's a whole sermon in the very sound of the church bells, if we have only the ears to rightly understand it. There's a preacher in every belfry, Jem, that cries Poor, weary, struggling, fighting creatures-poor human things! take rest, be quiet. Forget your vanities, your follies; your week-day craft, your heartburnings! And you, ye human vessels, gilt and painted; believe the iron tongue that tells ye, that for all your gilding, all your colours, ye are of the same Adam's earth with the beggar at your gates. Come away, come, cries the church-bell, and learn to be humble; learning that, however daubed and stained, and stuck about with jewels, you are but grave clay! Come, Dives, come; and be taught that all your glory, as you wear it, is not half so beautiful in the eye of heaven, as the sores of uncomplaining Lazarus! And ye poor creatures, livid and faint-stinted and crushed by the pride and hardness of the world,—come, come, cries the bell, with the voice of an angel,—come and learn what is laid up for ye. And learning, take heart and walk among the wickednesses, the cruelties of the world, calmly as Daniel walked among the lions.'"' Here Capstick, flushed and excited, wrought beyond himself, suddenly paused. Jem stared, astonished, but said no word. And then, Capstick, with calmer manner, said—

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"Jem, is there a finer sight than a stream of human creatures passing from a Christian church?"

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Why," said Jem, that's as a man may consider with himself. It may be, as you say, a very fine sight-and it may be, what I call a very sad and melancholy show, indeed."

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Sad and melancholy !" cried Capstick ; " you'll have a hard task to prove that."

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Cap

"Perhaps so,-only let me do it after my own fashion." stick nodded assent. Bless you! I've thought of it many a time Look when I've seen a church emptying itself into the street. here, now. I'll suppose there's a crowd of people-a whole mob of 'em going down the church steps. And at the church-door, there is I don't know how many roods of Christian carriages,—with griffins painted on the panels, and swords, and daggers, and battleaxes, that, as well as I can remember, Jesus doesn't recommend nowhere: and there's the coachmen, half-asleep and trying to look religious and there's footmen following some and carrying the Holy Bible after their misusses, just as to-morrow they'll carry a spanel, and that's what they call their humility. Well, that's a pleasant sight, isn't it? And then for them who 're not ashamed to carry their own big prayer-books, with the gold leaves twinkling in the sun, as if they took pains to tell the world they'd been to church, well, how many of them have been there in earnest? How many of them go there with no thought whatsoever, only that it's Sunday,-church-going day? And so they put on what they think religion that day, just as I put on a clean shirt. Bless you! sometimes I've stood and watched the crowd, and I've said to myself,- Well, I should like to know how many of you will remember you're Christians till next week? How many of you will go to-morrow morning to your offices, and countinghouses, and stand behind your counters, and, all in the way of business,all to scramble up the coin-forget you're miserable sinners, while every other thing you do may make you more miserable, only you never feel it, so long as it makes you more rich? And so there's a Sunday conscience like a Sunday coat; and folks, who'd get on in the world, put the coat and the conscience carefully by, and only wear 'em once a week. Well, to think how many such folks go to worship,-I must say it, Master Capstick, to stand inside a church and watch a congregation coming out, I can't help thinking it, however you may stare, may be, thinking after my fashion, a melancholy sight indeed. Lord love you, when we see