animal food; drenched by the tempest could not change its
dripping rags; and was indebted for its scanty fuel to the
windfalls of the woods.

The eyes of this unhappy race might have been raised to the
solitary spire that sprang up in the midst of them, the bearer
of present consolation, the harbinger of future equality; but
Holy Church at Marney had forgotten her sacred mission. We
have introduced the reader to the vicar, an orderly man who
deemed he did his duty if he preached each week two sermons,
and enforced humility on his congregation and gratitude for
the blessings of this life. The high Street and some
neighbouring gentry were the staple of his hearers. Lord and
Lady Marney came, attended by Captain Grouse, every Sunday
morning with commendable regularity, and were ushered into the
invisible interior of a vast pew, that occupied half of the
gallery, was lined with crimson damask, and furnished with
easy chairs, and, for those who chose them, well-padded stools
of prayer. The people of Marney took refuge in conventicles,
which abounded; little plain buildings of pale brick with the
names painted on them, of Sion, Bethel, Bethesda: names of a
distant land, and the language of a persecuted and ancient
race: yet, such is the mysterious power of their divine
quality, breathing consolation in the nineteenth century to
the harassed forms and the harrowed souls of a Saxon
peasantry.

But however devoted to his flock might have been the Vicar of
Marney, his exertions for their well being, under any
circumstances, must have been mainly limited to spiritual