A CHILD'S SUNDAY.

At a quarter to one o'clock, on a wet Sunday afternoon, in November
1837, Samuel Snoxell, page to Mr. Zachary Thorpe, of Baregrove Square,
London, left the area gate with three umbrellas under his arm, to meet
his master and mistress at the church door, on the conclusion of
morning service. Snoxell had been specially directed by the housemaid
to distribute his three umbrellas in the following manner: the new silk
umbrella was to be given to Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe; the old silk umbrella
was to be handed to Mr. Goodworth, Mrs. Thorpe's father; and the heavy
gingham was to be kept by Snoxell himself, for the special protection
of "Master Zack," aged six years, and the only child of Mr. Thorpe.
Furnished with these instructions, the page set forth on his way to the
church.

The morning had been fine for November; but before midday the clouds
had gathered, the rain had begun, and the inveterate fog of the season
had closed dingily over the wet streets, far and near. The garden in
the middle of Baregrove Square--with its close-cut turf, its vacant
beds, its bran-new rustic seats, its withered young trees that had not
yet grown as high as the railings around them--seemed to be absolutely
rotting away in yellow mist and softly-steady rain, and was deserted
even by the cats. All blinds were drawn down for the most part over all
windows; what light came from the sky came like light seen through
dusty glass; the grim brown hue of the brick houses looked more dirtily
mournful than ever; the smoke from the chimney-pots was lost
mysteriously in deepening superincumbent fog; the muddy gutters
gurgled; the heavy rain-drops dripped into empty areas audibly. No
object great or small, no out-of-door litter whatever appeared
anywhere, to break the dismal uniformity of line and substance in the