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shadows had gathered stealthily around the village, everything seemed hushed into profound repose.

On a wide moor, about three miles from Colton, and nearly equidistant from the other hamlets, Mr. Snapson's workmen were all assembled, according to a preconcerted arrangement, for the purpose of holding a final meeting in which to adjust whatever yet continued unsettled respecting their future conduct.

The weather was cold and frosty ; but as the moon, with its silvery, passionless light, shone placidly down upon the motley crowd, thus strangely gathered together beneath the open canopy of heaven, it gave a wild and picturesque appearance to the whole scene.

The speakers, who were for the most part short and energetic in their language, had for upwards of an hour been striving to impress upon each other the absolute need of firmness and determination in carrying out the task they had already commenced, when Daniel Mortice, taking advantage of a momentary pause, mounted a sort of natural rocky platform, which raised him considerably above his companions, and began for the second time that evening to denounce Mr. Snapson's practices and principles in no measured terms, while eulogising the manly spirit that had induced them to stand up for their own rights.

From this he went on to describe the nature of those "rights," and ended at length by making a florid appeal to the divers prejudices of his fellow-labourers.

When he had sufficiently excited their pride, and confirmed and strengthened their resolution, he paused, and exchanged a sentence or two with those who stood nearest him. Then, drawing a Bible from his pocket, he held it up, and again raising his voice said slowly and impressively,—

"Now let all those who are prepared manfully to resist the overtures which will probably be made them within a few hours, join me in the oath it is proposed for us to take. I will set the example."

And he was proceeding to utter the usual formula, when, to the surprise and consternation of every one, a tall figure slid like a shadow down a steep and stony bank; and a deep, solemn voice exclaimed, in accents of thrilling earnestness,

"Swear not at all!"

Daniel Mortice started and looked around him with a guilty, scared look, as though he had been suddenly detected in some crime; while a hasty movement among the audience showed that their agitation was commensurate with his own.

"My brethren, swear not!" repeated Herbert (for he it was), reaching by one bound the rocky ledge whereon Mortice was standing; "But let your communication be Yea, yea; and Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil!""

"It is only Mr. Seymour," cried several voices, in obvious relief; but Mortice seemed angry and disquieted.

"Daniel," said Herbert, knowing full well the character he had to deal with, "Daniel"—and he laid his hand upon the strong man's muscular arm-"why are you determined, not only to fall into condemnation yourself, but also to drag others down with you?”

"Sir!" exclaimed Mortice, somewhat falteringly.

"And you, my friends," continued Herbert, slightly lifting his voice, "how is it that I find you here?"

There was no answer to this question, but in the pale moonlight the men began to gaze wistfully into each other's faces.

"Ah, my friends, I fear I am only too well acquainted with the motive which has drawn you together! Little did I think I should, ever have to meet you on such a painful occasion as the present; little did I think that you-and are there not many such now before me? -you whom I have had the inexpressible happiness of pointing to the Friend of sinners, whose hearts have been touched and melted by His love, would thus be brought to deny Him."

Deny Him!" ejaculated an old man just below, with a quick, gasping sound. "Are

"Yes, what else can you call it?" gravely returned Herbert. we not commanded to remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy, to live peaceably with all men, to resist not evil, to beware of doing evil that good may come; nay, even to avoid the very appearance of evil? And is this what you are doing, dear friends? Are you striving to follow the example of your blessed Lord and Master? Are you walking in His footsteps, breathing forth His spirit, who, when He was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered, threatened not; who was kind unto the unthankful and evil? Ah! my brethren, I very much fear you have forgotten Him this evening, forgotten His love and forbearance with yourselves; how tender and and pitiful He is to your wanderings and infirmities; how gently He chides, how slow He is to anger, while plenteous in mercy! Had you remembered all this, you would, I am persuaded, have acted quite differently in the present business."

"I don't see what else we could have done," said Mortice, trying to assume an air of bravado. "We tried fair measures first, and, as they failed, it was only to be expected that we should look out for ourselves." "Did you try the efficacy of patient, believing prayer?" mildly inquired Herbert.

"No, I can't say that I did," he answered, with a sort of sneer.
"I thought so.
Had you--

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'But, after all, sir," interrupted Mortice, hastily, "what use could prayer be in such a case as this?"

"What use?" repeated Herbert, lifting his hand towards the starry heavens, while a faint glow illumined his cheeks. "If you knew the worth of prayer, Daniel, you would scarcely need to ask the question. What use?" he re-echoed, in an earnest, impressive voice. "Has it not stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, inspired the weak with strength to subdue the strong, armed the timid with courage and the ignorant with wisdom, as well as brought light out of darkness, joy out of sorrow, and life out of death? Go home and ask your wife what it did for her," continued Herbert, still addressing Mortice, "when you met with that sad accident which threatened to extinguish your earthly existence some months ago."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked the man, in an agitated voice.

Fearing that you were all unmeet and unprepared to appear before your Maker, she fervently and unceasingly besought the Lord to spare your life, and not cut you off in the midst of your sins; and you see her prayer was granted. Who shall presume to say that it was not in answer to some feeble petition, offered in solitude this very evening, by a humble follower of the Lamb, that I was sent hither to prevent the accomplishment of your design?"

A long and solemn silence ensued.

At length a voice in the crowd asked, "How would you have us act, sir?"

"A straightforward question, my friend, and one which deserves a straightforward answer," said Herbert. “I would have you all, without exception, return to your work as usual to-morrow morning. Your purpose is not as yet suspected, and therefore

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"But, sir," exclaimed Mortice,-apparently loth to relinquish his anticipated revenge on Mr. Snapson,-" we cannot consent to draw back like a set of mean-spirited cowards?"

"Not like cowards, but wise men," responded Herbert, with energy. "In this business it would be far more cowardly to advance than retreat. I appeal to yourselves: is it not so? Who but cowards would voluntarily plunge their wives and families into poverty and distress, deliberately depriving them of every comfort, taking the very bread from their children's mouths, and introducing destitution, accompanied, probably, by discord, and its twin-sister misery, into homes which had formerly been happy and prosperous, rather than submit to a few inconveniences, which in a short time may, by proper management, be removed?”

"He is right!" cried the old man who had before spoken; “God forgive me for thus suffering myself to be led astray. A little patience, and we might have obtained what we wanted, without taking the law into our own hands."

Several others hung their heads, feeling the truth of the remark; and Motice, in whose mind had risen, while Herbert was speaking, a vivid picture of his own humble home, his meekly enduring and prayerful wife, and small, helpless children, remained for a moment thoughtfully silent.

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"And now, dear friends, the evening wears away," said Herbert, after allowing them a short time in which to make their decision; may I go away cheered by the assurance that you will do as I have suggested? This is, of course, neither the time nor place for us to enter upon the subject of your grievances; but if you would like to depute some of your number to call on me to-morrow, I shall willingly listen to your explanations, and if they seem to me of sufficient importance to account for your disaffection, I will myself undertake the responsibility of representing your sentiments to Mr. Snapson." This proposition was unanimously and thankfully accepted; and having thus far executed his self-imposed task, Herbert commended them to the guidance and protection of "the very God of peace" in a brief yet impressive prayer; after which he had the satisfaction of seeing them disperse to their several homes, animated by another spirit than that in which they left them.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE REJECTED PETITION.

"Cam: Be advised.

Flo: I am; and by my fancy: if my reason
Will hitherto be obedient, I have reason;

If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
Do bid it welcome."

Winter's Tale.

"When wicked men want estates, they are troubled for them; and when they have estates, they are troubled with them." DYER. "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others."

THE office which Herbert had voluntarily undertaken, would, he knew, so far as Mr. Snapson was concerned, prove a thankless and perhaps unavailing one.

Still, he was resolved to make the attempt. Matters might-so he reasoned with himself-be improved; worse they could not well be.

Accordingly, after taking great pains to form a clear and impartial judgment of the case, and ascertaining how the claims of the one party could be reconciled to the interest and consequent expectations of the other, he waited on Mr. Snapson.

Seldom had that gentleman looked less amiable than when his peace-making neighbour announced the object of his visit, and mildly represented to him the present dissatisfaction of his workmen, and the practical annoyance he might receive from them, unless he agreed to make certain alterations and improvements in their condition.

"And in what may these alterations and improvements consist? " asked Mr. Snapson, with scornful irony.

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"In this paper," replied Herbert, who refrained from reminding him that he was already fully acquainted with their requirements, “I have taken the liberty of noting down a few particulars, which I might otherwise have omitted to mention; and by glancing through it you will, I think, at once perceive the reasonableness of their demands."

"Their demands, forsooth!" exclaimed Mr. Snapson, in a voice that trembled with suppressed passion: "the idle scoundrels-how dare they thus presume to dictate to me!"

However, he took the paper, and rapidly scanned its contents. Then, flinging it down on the table, he continued sneeringly,—

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Really, I should feel much obliged if you would inform me what your proper vocation is, sir; for I confess I am quite unable to determine, owing to the variety of characters it pleases you to assume. First of all, I was given to understand that you were a private gentleman, unencumbered with any profession; secondly, you appear in the light of an itinerant clergyman; and now, I find you acting as a sort of self-elected arbitrator, or agent, between myself and my workmen !"

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"I am well aware," said Herbert, without betraying the slightest shadow of anger or pride, "that in undertaking the last-mentioned duty, I run the risk of incurring your displeasure, on account of my apparently uncalled-for interference in your affairs, and also afford an opportunity, should you wish it, of questioning my motives."

"But why lay yourself open to such an imputation?" asked Mr. Snapson, in a dry, caustic tone.

"Because I should not be justified in considering my own individual feelings, where the welfare of so many others is at stake," returned Herbert, still with the utmost good humour; "and in my anxiety to bring about a satisfactory arrangement between yourself and your employés, I———"

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But what is all this to you, sir?" cried Mr. Snapson, on whom his gentleness seemed to have an exasperating effect; "what right have you to meddle with my servants?"

"As you mean it, none," said Herbert, frankly; "still you must be conscious that it is as much for your interest as theirs, that you should come to terms."

"How so?" demanded the wrathful gentleman, pushing his chair from the table, and beginning to pace the apartment.

"You have heard of strikes?" observed Herbert, significantly. Mr. Snapson laughed scornfully.

"My workmen are not fools!" was his empathic answer.

"H'm!" said Herbert, rather embarrassed (he had resolved on making no allusion to the scene he witnessed on the previous Sabbath); "if you will be guided by me

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"Excuse me," interposed Mr. Snapson, drawing himself up with considerable hauteur; "I am perfectly capable of judging for myself in this matter, and can brook no interference-even from you!"

These last words were added with an expression of unmistakable irony; while the stern compression of his thin lips, and the angry gleam that flashed from his eyes, was enough to convince Herbert of the utter futility of expecting to produce any favourable impression in his sterile heart.

Nevertheless, he made another effort to obtain his consent to the proposed arrangements (which, though of the greatest consequence to the workmen and their families, would be attended with very little inconvenience to Mr. Snapson); but, as might have been anticipated, his appeal was totally unresponded to; neither by word nor look did Mr. Snapson evince the smallest interest in the welfare of his dependents, or acknowledge himself bound in the slightest degree to contribute to their comfort.

At last, Herbert, repelled by the coldness of his manner, and disgusted with his selfish and ungenerous conduct, rose hastily from his seat, and, surveying Mr. Snapson with that calm superiority which is born of conscious integrity of purpose, remarked, in a grave, almost severe tone,

"Well, sir, I conclude, from your language, that you positively refuse to accede to the conditions referred to in this paper?"

"You are right, sir; I do refuse, most decidedly."

"Then I have only to apologise for thus taking up your time; and, however strongly I may regret your determination, it will be my duty to repeat it to the men on whose behalf I came."

"That is as you please," returned Mr. Snapson, in a tone of supreme indifference.

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