"Stockings" might as well have kept his bed on Saturday morning. My
room was close to the ancient tower, left standing in the parish
churchyard; and, at five o'clock, the beautiful bells of St Marie's
struck up, filling my little chamber with that heart-stirring music,
which, as somebody has well said, "sounds like a voice from the
middle ages." I could not make out what all this early melody meant;
for I had forgotten that it was the Queen's birthday. The old tower
was in full view from my bed, and I lay there a while looking at it,
and listening to the bells, and dreaming of Whalley Abbey, and of
old features of life in picturesque Blackburnshire, now passed away.
I felt no more inclination for sleep; and when the knock came to my
door, I was dressed and ready. There were more people in the streets
than I expected, and the bells were still ringing merrily. I found
the soup kitchen a lively scene. The twenty men were busy at
breakfast, and there was a crowd waiting outside to see them off.
There were several members of the committee in the kitchen, and
amongst them the Rev. Joseph V.
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