with magnificent trees-was seen from either window; a simple, rustic, snow-white building shining in the sun, and standing clearly, purely out from the deep blue summer heaven. "A charming view, this," said Tangle as, having arrayed himself, he was about to quit the room, when his companion appeared in the passage.

"A beautiful landscape!" said Folder, entering the chamber. "I was thinking so, as I looked from my own window. How very nicely the church there shows itself upon the hill!"

"Quite right-nothing but proper;" observed Tangle with a sudden touch of solemnity. "I'd have every church upon a hill; I would, indeed, sir. And for this reason; when upon a hill, everybody can see it. When upon a hill, it seems to stand like a monitor, an adviser to every body. It preaches, as I may say, from a high pulpit to the world below; and so, you will perceive, it's apt to make men pause in their sinful, shabby courses. a time-I don't mind confessing so much to you, Mr. Folder-but many a time, that is, sometimes, when I've felt my soul a little slack, for the best of us can't always be braced up like drumswell, when, as I say, I've been a little slack, the very sight of a church has pulled me up again, and made me think of virtue just as I did before."

"Nobody can dispute it," remarked Mr. Folder. as somebody has observed, is sermons in stones.'

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"A church,

My opinion to a letter," observed Tangle; "though it 's odd that anybody should have thought the same as myself. Come along. Stay. When I come here, I always look once to see if all be right. Whereupon Mr. Tangle approached a closet, unlocked the door, and pointing to an iron-bound box, observed"All's safe. All new, Mr. Folder, all sparkling and burning from the Mint. What a beautiful substance gold is only to look at,' cried Tangle with enthusiasm; at the same moment, unlocking the box and lifting the lid. "There's a blaze!" he cried, with a voluptuous smacking of the mouth. "How they twinkle!" he added; whereupon the parliamentary agent clutched a handful of bright guineas, and poured them from hand to hand, his eye catching yellow lustre from the golden shower. And thus for some brief minute or two did Tangle play with minted gold.

We are told that the snake-charmers of the East are wont to ensnare the reptiles with dulcet music. The snake-Apollo plays a melody upon some magic pipe; whereupon torpid snakes coiled in holes and crannies gradually untwist themselves, and feel their

blood quicken, and their scales rustle, and they glide and undulate towards the sound,-readily as school-girls run to a ball. Great is the voice of gold! What a range, too, it has! Now, breathing the profoundest notes of persuasion-deep and earnest as a hermit's homily-and now, carrying away the heart and senses with its light and laughing trills,-delicious, fascinating as the voice of bacchante. Gold, too, is the earth's great ventriloquist; speaking from and to the belly of immortal man, and enslaving and juggling him with its many voices.

And gold worked its vocal wonders in Tangle's bed-chamber. For no sooner did it sound, than like the pipe of the charmer, it drew forth a little human reptile-a gutter snake-a noxious creature, hatched to sting the world in a London lane. Aye, it was even so, No sooner we say did Tangle rattle the gold, than a little ragged head was thrust from beneath the bed's foot; a head, with eyes bright and snake-like; sparkling the more, the more the metal chinked. That little head-what a world of wicked knowledge was packed within it was the property of St. Giles's half-brother, and it was said, of Tom Blast's whole son,-young Jingo; the hero of the pocket-handkerchief; the petted genius of Hog-Lane. How that adroit youngling had gained the eminence of Tangle's bedchamber, we will not pause to explain. Of that in due season.

Our whole business is for the present with Tangle and his companion. As the old war-horse pricks his ears at the murderous music of the trumpet-as some retired and erewhile sharp attorney, reading some successful juggle juggled in the name of justice, feels his heart trickle as it ran red ink, and dreams himself again in court so did the sound of the gold, as it fell from hand to hand, awaken in the soul of Tangle all its Plutean strength. Nay, his soul for a moment left him, and ducked and dived and took its fill of liquid pleasure in that golden river-that Pactolus embanked in a box-like a triton wallowing in the foamy sea! He felt he was in his true element; and eloquence flowed from his lips, free as a silver thread of rivulet from some old granite-hearted rock.

،، Wonderful invention, gold coin, sir ! Wonderful thing! If there's anything, sir, that shows man to be the creature that he is, it's this. Scholars, when they want to raise man above the monkey-Heaven forgive the atheists-call him a laughing animal, a tool-making animal, a cooking animal. Sir, they've all missed the true meaning; they should call him a coining animal. I've

thought of the matter much, Mr. Folder; and this "-and Tangle rattled the coin-"this is the true weapon against the atheists, sir-and nearly all scholars are every bit the same as atheistsjust as toadstools are often taken for mushrooms. No, sir, no: they may call men what they like,-but I see proofs of the immortality of the soul in this, sir. No unbelief-I'm sure of it, Mr. Folder-no unbelief can stand against this," and Tangle again laid his hand upon the gold.

The theory is ingenious-perhaps true," said Folder.

"A glorious invention, coining, sir," again cried Tangle, expanding with his subject. "Now, look here; these guineas are, I may say, nothing more than the representatives of the voters of Liquorish. Here we have 'em! Here I take 'em up with my hand, any number of 'em, body and soul." Whereupon, Tangle scooped up the guineas in his palm and poured them down again, young Jingo still looking from beneath the bed, and grinning, and twitching his lips as the music continued. Here they aremen, women, and children-all packed close; all snug. Sir, a man who carries these, carries heaps of his fellow-creatures with him. A tremendous art, sir, coining. They talk about the invention of printing: why, what was coining but printing,—that is, the better part of printing; the soul, I may say of it, without its wickedness? There's no dangerous notions in these, sir; no false ideas; no stuff to dizzy the heads of fools; making them think themselves as good as their betters; no treason, sir; but all plain and above board-plain and above board." And again, Tangle took up the coin, and dropt it-and took it up, and dropt it again, his heart-strings vibrating to the music.

And the church bell rang out its summons to the world. And, for some moments, the eloquent man heard it not; he only listened to his church bells-the ringing that sounded of his heaven. Still, he plays with the gold; still the church-bell sounds. Toll-toll-chink-chink-toll-chink-toll-chink!

What

How often do many think these notes sound in unison ! beautiful harmony to mere ears of clay! What grating discord to diviner sense!

"Is not that the church bell?" at length asked Mr. Folder. "Bless me! so it is. I'd forgotten-nothing secular to-day ;" and Tangle closed the box; locked it; closed the closet-door; locked it too. Stop a minute," he observed. He then went to his trunk, and took therefrom a large prayer-book, bound in

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