Our ramble for to day is ended, though at some future time we may wander along in search of the delicate foxgloves which grow in the hedges of the road to Reading, better known to us as Piccadilly, or take our walks abroad through some more of the interesting localities of Old Cockayne.

The Broken Thread.

The rosy dawn
In the summer sky
O'er the sleeping earth
Woke dreamily.

But all was dark,

With a shadow of gloom
In the stifling heat
Of that narrow room;

Where summers' breath
Might never stray

On the bare white walls
Through the weary day :

Where never came
The fresh cool breeze,
Or the rustling music
Of summer trees.

Contracted walls,
And a sloping floor,
A narrow window,
And close-shut door:

Such was the room
In whose fervid breath
They lay together,

Life sleeping with Death!

Weary and wan

On the night before,

They had

gone to rest

When their work was o'er.

Sinking to rest
With a weary sigh,
The many to sleep,
And the one to die!

Their work was done,
For one short day
The silks and ribbons
Were laid away;

The rich brocade
And the costly lace
Were thrown aside
For a brief day's space.

The worn-out slaves
Of the needle and thread
Lay there in slumber-
The living and dead!

She was weak and ill
When she laid her head
By her fellow-slave
In her narrow bed.

For eighteen hours
Must her fingers press
The rustling folds
Of the ladies' dress.

The Bridal dress,

With her fingers sore

She has worked, but shall never

Work Bridal dress more!

Her

eyes no more

Shall look on the light,

For Death has crept in

With the shades of Night.

'Tis Sunday morn,
And the Summer skies

Are bright, but not

For those weary eyes.

They gaze in fear

From each crowded bed,
For one of their number
Lies cold and dead!

Her life has past
From its many pains,
And her martyred body
Alone remains.

Her work is done,
Her labour is past,

And the hard-earned rest

Is gained at last.

Oh! Think of it,

Ye in your youth and health, 'Mid the scenes of fashion And pomp of wealth !

Oh! Think of it,

Oft as your bright eyes glance In the glittering whirl

Of the mazy dance.

Your costly robe,
So rapidly made,
By your hasty order
Too well obeyed,

Perchance was worked
With struggling breath,
By hands which already
Were cold in death!

And each long stitch
For your rich array
Was dragging the thread
Of some life away!

Your hearts are light,
Your are free from fears,
But your dresses were wet
With a woman's tears.

Those dresses were made

For one grand night,
But she died to give you
That brief delight.

The Harpies who live

By those hard-worked slaves,
Who neglect their lives,
Should provide them graves.

Whilst they grow rich
In their indolent ease,
With their tricks to cheat
And their tricks to please,

Their ill-paid slaves
All the burden bear,
And perish from weakness
And want of air.

Oh! High-born Beauties,
Fair Fashion's flowers,
Oh! think of their labours,
Their weary hours!

Oh! Kindly hearts,
Do your best to save
These daughters of toil
From an early grave!

Nor let the Rich

Ride carelessly by,

Whilst the seamstress is left

In her garret to die!

W. B.

ABOUT FREE-SEATED CHURCHES, AND

THE OFFERTORY.

When old Bailey defined a pew as a partitioned seat in a Church," he quite forgot to add that it was adopted for the greater ease of those who sat in it, to enable them to break the commands to bow at the Name of JESUS and to stand at the Gloria Patri; as also to enable them to sleep when the discourse grew tedious, or even to pass their time during Service in other ways than saying their prayers. Such a definition passes the bounds of logic, I suppose; but nevertheless, pews were used for such things then, and they are used for such things now. The great objection to pews, however, is, that they occupy the contrary to Free Seats, in that they are let for a certain sum of money, or appropriated to certain people, who do or do not use them. God's Church should be a Free Church, every seat in it belonging as much to one worshipper as to another. Appropriated seats, be they pews or benches, engender pride in the occupants, and make a distinction between God's worshippers which is not, cannot be, right. Pews, too, make our limited Church room far more limited than it otherwise would be, and every one knows that we cannot afford that. The great plea for Free Seats, however, is that those who most strenuously oppose them have no one thing to urge in their favour beyond this, that they make the time of Service more comfortable, and raise them higher in the scale of church-goers than those who cannot afford to pay for them. Inability to procure a sitting or pay for one has doubtless increased the ranks of the Dissenters more than anything else, and they know

it. Those, too, who cannot afford to pay for a seat, and many who will not pay from principle, will willingly give voluntary offerings. A penny at a time is not missed like a sovereign, and even if they give more than a sitting would cost at the year's end, it is not felt nearly so much, because it has been distributed over so much time. Neither can the Free Seat opponents urge antiquity in their favour, for but little more than two centuries have elapsed since we first hear of pews, or as they may rather be called, "Appropriated Seats." The Primitive Church, certainly, and that of the middle ages did not appoint a portion of their places of worship to any particular individual. We once heard a plan proposed that in new Churches the seats should all be appropriated, but a charge only of five shillings a sitting should be made, in order that the poor might afford to take them. Now this is against the wished-for object as much as if the seats were each charged fifty pounds. It prevents God's house being a free house to all; it prevents the peer saying his prayers next to the peasant; it still encourages pride and distinction in a place where they ought not to exist. The Church might be "the Church of the People," not the Church of the powerful and rich, if it were not that they who legislate are the very ones who desire appropriation, and depend upon it as one of the helps to keep them in their position. Many men would lose some of the support they already have if it were not for the squire's pew and the impropriator's chancel-seat.

The building of new Churches in our thickly-populated and illprovided church-room suburbs does no good as far as the people are concerned. The largest subscribers get the best seats, (what do they call the best ?) and so on in proportion. The poor get the benches in the side aisles, or anything that can be pushed in to make one of the free seats by law established. To take an instance in point. A fast-increasing district has only its Parish Church and two small Chapels-of-Ease. A District Church is built, and one of the Chapels is suppressed. The largest subscribers get their choice of seats in the new Church, and so on in proportion. The free seats are far back at the west end, and a few chairs and benches where they may be best got in. From each holder of a seat in this Church there is exacted a further sum of five shillings to defray expenses; (to defray expenses? Where is the Offertory, the willing offerings of God's worshippers, to defray the expense of His Services ?) The present incumbent professes to be a good churchman; he had much to do with the building of the Church, but there was no voice raised for Freedom of Worship, for "the Church of the People."

There are two classes whom it will take a very long time to persuade that a Free Church is a proper Church, and the worst of it is that they are seldom the rich, never hardly the poor. They are those who have pews allotted them, either by paying for them, or as householders in an endowed parish, and who never or very seldom come to Church. Ask them to give up their pews for the benefit of those who wish to come to Church and say their prayers, and what