ave differed from each other,
where we have done best, only in mode--perhaps not even in degree. A
grinding tradesman takes advantage of the over supply of labour to
get his work done at starvation prices: I owe him love, and have never
thought of paying my debt except in boundless indignation.'

'I wish I had your faith and courage, Mr. Falconer,' I said.

'You are in a fair way of having far more,' he returned. 'You are not so
old as I am, by a long way. But I fear you are getting out of spirits.
Is to-morrow a hard day with you?'

'I have next to nothing to do to-morrow.'

'Then will you come to me in the evening? We will go out together.'

Of course I was only too glad to accept the proposal. But our talk did
not end here. The morning began to shine before I rose to leave him; and
before I reached my abode it was broad daylight. But what a different
heart I carried within me! And what a different London it was outside of
me! The scent of the hayfields came on the hardly-moving air. It was a
strange morning--a new day of unknown history--in whose young light the
very streets were transformed, looking clear and clean, and wondrously
transparent in perspective, with unknown shadows lying in unexpected
nooks, with projection and recess, line and bend, as I had never seen
them before. The light was coming as if for the first time since the
city sprang into being--as if a thousand years had rolled over it in
darkness and lamplight, and now, now, after the prayers and longings of
ages, the sun of God was ascending the awful east, and the spirit-voice
had gone forth: 'Arise, shine, for thy light is come.'

It was a well-behaved, proper London through which I walked home. Here
and there, it is true, a debauched-looking man, with pale face, and
red sleepy eyes, or a weary, withered girl, like a half-moon in the
daylight, straggled somewhither. But they looked strange to the London
of the morning. They were not of it. Alas for those who creep to their
dens, like the wild beasts when the sun arises, because the light has
shaken them out of the world. All the horrid phantasms of the Valley of
the Shadow of Death that had risen from the pit with the vaporous night
had sunk to escape the arrows of the sun, once more into its bottomless
depth. If any horrid deed was doing now, how much more horrid in the
awful still light of this first hour of a summer morn! How many evil
passions now lay sunk under the holy waves of sleep! Ho