ht crouches yet, upon the
pavement, and broods, sombre and heavy, in nooks and corners of the
building. The steeple-clock, perched up above the houses, emerging
from beneath another of the countless ripples in the tide of time that
regularly roll and break on the eternal shore, is greyly visible, like a
stone beacon, recording how the sea flows on; but within doors, dawn, at
first, can only peep at night, and see that it is there.

Hovering feebly round the church, and looking in, dawn moans and weeps
for its short reign, and its tears trickle on the window-glass, and
the trees against the church-wall bow their heads, and wring their many
hands in sympathy. Night, growing pale before it, gradually fades out of
the church, but lingers in the vaults below, and sits upon the coffins.
And now comes bright day, burnishing the steeple-clock, and reddening
the spire, and drying up the tears of dawn, and stifling its
complaining; and the dawn, following the night, and chasing it from its
last refuge, shrinks into the vaults itself and hides, with a frightened
face, among the dead, until night returns, refreshed, to drive it out.

And now, the mice, who have been busier with the prayer-books than their
proper owners, and with the hassocks, more worn by their little teeth
than by human knees, hide their bright eyes in their holes, and
gather close together in affright at the resounding clashing of the
church-door. For the beadle, that man of power, comes early this morning
with the sexton; and Mrs Miff, the wheezy little pew-opener--a mighty
dry old lady, sparely dressed, with not an inch of fulness anywhere
about her--is also here, and has been waiting at the church-gate
half-an-hour, as her place is, for the beadle.

A vinegary face has Mrs Miff, and a mortified bonnet, and eke a thirsty
soul for sixpences and shillings. Beckoning to stray people to come into
pews, has given Mrs Miff an air of mystery; and there is reservation in
the eye of Mrs Miff, as always knowing of a softer seat, but having her
suspicions of the fee. There is no such fact as Mr Miff, nor has there
been, these twenty years, and Mrs Miff would rather not allude to him.
He held some bad opinions, it would seem, about free seats; and though
Mrs Miff hopes he may be gone upwards, she couldn't positively undertake
to say so.

Busy is Mrs Miff this morning at the church-door, beating and dusting
the altar-cloth, the carpet, and the cushions; and much has Mrs