"Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail the poor man's day.
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke :
While wandering slowly up the river side,
He meditates on Him whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,

He hopes

As on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer."
GRAHAME.

A fine Sunday morning in August. The bell of the moorland chapel tolling for service. Stragglers on their way, from different points of the scene, towards the chapel. MARY O' NATHAN'S O' TOOTER'S, standing in the tree-shaded porch of an old farmhouse, with her little son, drest for church.

N

She turns back

OW, Martha, thou'll mind an' ha' th' dinner ready bi one; for there'll be no howdin' these childer when

th' sarvice is o'er."

"I'll have it ready."

"An' mind thou doesn't brun that beef to a cinder, as thou did last Sunday!.. An' make 'em plenty o' Yorkshire puddin',doesto yer?"

" I yer."

"Wind yon clock up; an' don't let thi fire get too low! an' keep yon buttery-dur shut, or else thou'll ha' some o'th' cats in! . . . Whatever are yon childer doin' so lung? They're olez i'th' feelt when they should be i'th' fowd!"

(She shouts upstairs.)

"Now, lasses; how lung ever are yo beawn to be fiddle-fadlin' up theer? Dun yo yer yon bell? I begged an' prayed on yo to get ready i' time for once,-but yo winnot be said. If yo'r faither had been a-whoam he'd ha' stirred some on yo up afore now!" "We're comin'!"

"Yo're comin'!-ay, an' so is Kessmas! (Christmas.) A lot o' up-grown young folk, like yo,-whatever are yo thinkin' at? Yo needen moor tentin' nor if yo'rn in a caither!" (cradle.)

"We're comin', I tell yo!"

"Ay, an' I'm comin', too, if yo aren't down thoose stairs i' two minutes! Yo'n had the whole mornin' to get yo'rsels ready in,-an'

here yo are again! I wonder at yo,-that I do! Stir yo'rsels, I prayo! I fair shame to see yo trailin' into th' chapel after th' sarvice has begun, disturbin' folk. An' th' parson doesn't like it, noather,-I can tell yo! What, yo're a town's talk, - that yo are! Mary, whatever are yo doin'?"

"It's our Ailse, here; hoo connot get her yure reet!"

"If I have to come up thoose stairs I'll put her yure to reets, some soon,-an' thine too!" "Yo can be goin' on, mother, we'n o'ertay

yo!"

"I wonder how yo can for shame o' yo'rsels, that I do! Good Sunday as it is! It's a disgrace to yo,-that it is,-sniggerin', an' laughin'!"

"We aren't laughin'!"

"Yo'n ha' to laugh o'th' wrang side o'th' mouth, if yo don't mind! Hie yo down, or I'll bring a stick to yo!"

"We sha'not be a minute, mother. I've nobbut this bit o' ribbon to tee, an' then. We'n o'ertay yo afore yo getten to th' Owler Nook."

"'Od rot sich wark! I wish yo'r faither wur a-whoam! . . Come, William; we

mun be gooin', as how."

"Dun

(She shouts upstairs again.)
yo yer?"

"Well!"

Come,

"Mind; if I have to turn back, I'll warm some on yo,-to some tune! ... my lad; let's be gettin' on."

They had not gone many yards before the old woman stopped suddenly, and said, “Eh! I declare, I've forgetten my Prayer Book! William; run back, my lad, an' ax Martha for it,-hoo'll find it a-top o'th' drawers, wi' a white pocket-handkerchief lapt round it. An' there's a bunch o' neps a-side on it,bring them, too."

The lad ran back for his mother's Prayer Book; and then they wandered on together down the old lane, under over-hanging boughs of thick-leaved summer green, through which the strong sunshine stole in fitful freaks of golden gleam. The air was clear, and pure, and bright, and save the songs of birds, and the quiet music of a little brooklet here and there, the sound of the chapel bell floated far and wide over the rural parish with cheerful solemnity, calling the scattered inhabitants of hill and dale from their leafy nooks to the house of prayer. The sky was cloudless, and the green flower-sprent landscape seemed as still as the overarching heavens. A strange serenity lay upon the beautiful summer scene; as if all nature felt that the day of