e rest they are careless of
neighbours. Christianity teaches us to love our neighbour as ourself;
modern society acknowledges no neighbour."

"Well, we live in strange times," said Egremont, struck by the
observation of his companion, and relieving a perplexed spirit by an
ordinary exclamation, which often denotes that the mind is more stirring
than it cares to acknowledge, or at the moment is capable to express.

"When the infant begins to walk, it also thinks that it lives in strange
times," said his companion.

"Your inference?" asked Egremont.

"That society, still in its infancy, is beginning to feel its way."

"This is a new reign," said Egremont, "perhaps it is a new era."

"I think so," said the younger stranger.

"I hope so," said the elder one.

"Well, society may be in its infancy," said Egremont slightly smiling;
"but, say what you like, our Queen reigns over the greatest nation that
ever existed."

"Which nation?" asked the younger stranger, "for she reigns over two."

The stranger paused; Egremont was silent, but looked inquiringly.

"Yes," resumed the younger stranger after a moment's interval. "Two
nations; between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are
as ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they
were dwellers in different zones, or inhabitants of different planets;
who are formed by a different breeding, are fed by a different food, are
ordered by different manners, and are not governed by the same laws."

"You speak of--" said Egremont, hesitatingly.

"THE RICH AND THE POOR."

At this moment a sudden flush of rosy light, suffusing the grey ruins,
indicated that the sun had just fallen; and through a vacant arch that
overlooked them, alone in the resplendent sky, glittered the twilight
star. The hour, the scene, the solemn stillness and the softening
beauty, repressed controversy, induced even silence. The last words
of the stranger lingered in the ear of Egremont; his musing spirit was
teeming with many thoughts, many emotions; when from the Lady Chapel
there rose the evening hymn to the Virgin. A single voice; but tones
of almost supernatural sweetness; tender and solemn, yet flexible and
thrilling.

Egremont started from his reverie. He would have spoken, but
he perceived that the elder of the strangers had risen from his
resting-place, and with downcast eyes and crossed arms, was on his
knees. The other remained standing in his former postu