low moaning is heard, the women rock their bodies to and fro, and
wring their hands; the preacher's fervour increases, the
perspiration starts upon his brow, his face is flushed, and he
clenches his hands convulsively, as he draws a hideous and
appalling picture of the horrors preparing for the wicked in a
future state. A great excitement is visible among his hearers, a
scream is heard, and some young girl falls senseless on the floor.
There is a momentary rustle, but it is only for a moment--all eyes
are turned towards the preacher. He pauses, passes his
handkerchief across his face, and looks complacently round. His
voice resumes its natural tone, as with mock humility he offers up
a thanksgiving for having been successful in his efforts, and
having been permitted to rescue one sinner from the path of evil.
He sinks back into his seat, exhausted with the violence of his
ravings; the girl is removed, a hymn is sung, a petition for some
measure for securing the better observance of the Sabbath, which
has been prepared by the good man, is read; and his worshipping
admirers struggle who shall be the first to sign it.

But the morning service has concluded, and the streets are again
crowded with people. Long rows of cleanly-dressed charity
children, preceded by a portly beadle and a withered schoolmaster,
are returning to their welcome dinner; and it is evident, from the
number of men with beer-trays who are running from house to house,
that no inconsiderable portion of the population are about to take
theirs at this early hour. The bakers' shops in the humbler
suburbs especially, are filled with men, women, and children, each
anxiously waiting for the Sunday dinner. Look at the group of
children who surround that working man who has just emerged from
the baker's shop at the corner of the street, with the reeking