longer worth man's while to renew human flags in human streets. She was
drawing near to the pavements which would ever be trodden by myriads of
bright sandals, and which yet would never be worn, and would be carried
to those jewelled causeways on which no weed could find a spot for its
useless growth.

Behind the house there was a square prim garden, arranged in
parallelograms, tree answering to tree at every corner, round which it
was still her delight to creep when the weather permitted. Poor Clara!
How much advice she had received during these creepings, and how often
had she listened to inquiries as to the schooling of the gardener's
children. Mrs Winterfield was always unhappy about her gardener.
Serious footmen are very plentiful, and even coachmen are to be found
who, at a certain rate of extra payment, will be punctual at prayer
time, and will promise to read good little books; but gardeners, as a
class, are a profane people, who think themselves entitled to claim
liberty of conscience, and who will not submit to the domestic
despotism of a serious Sunday. They live in cottages by themselves, and
choose to have an opinion of their own on church matters. Mrs
Winterfield was aware that she ought to bid high for such a gardener as
she wanted. A man must be paid well who will submit to daily inquiries
as to the spiritual welfare of himself, his wife, and family. But even
though she did bid high, and though she paid generously, no gardener
would stop with her. One conscientious man attempted to bargain for
freedom from religion during the six unimportant days of the week,
being strong, and willing therefore to give up his day of rest; but
such liberty could not be allowed to him, and he also went. 'He
couldn't stop,' he said, 'in justice to the greenhouses, when missus
was so constant down upon him about his sprittual backsliding. And
after all, where did he backslide? It was only a pipe of tobacco with