File:Master Humphrey's clock (1840) (14579400877).jpg

Identifier: masterhumphreysc02dick (find matches)
Title: Master Humphrey's clock
Year: 1840 (1840s)
Authors: Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 Cattermole, George, 1800-1868, ill Browne, Hablot Knight, 1815-1882, ill
Subjects: Gordon Riots, 1780
Publisher: London : Chapman and Hall
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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ment, worn so long ago by pious feet, thatTime, steahng on the pilgrims steps, had trodden out their track, and left butcrumbling stones. Here were the rotten beam, the sinking arch, the sappedand mouldering wall, the lowly trench of earth, the stately tomb on which noepitaph remained,—all,—marble, stone, iron, wood, and dust, one commonmonument of ruin. The best work and the worst, the plainest and the richest,the statehest and the least imposing—both of Heavens work and Mans—allfound one common level here, and told one common tale. Some part of the edifice had been a baronial chapel, and here were effigiesof warriors stretched upon their beds of stone with folded hands, cross-legged—those who had fought in the Holy Wars—girded with their swords, and casedin armour as they had lived. Some of these knights had their o\vn weapons,helmets, coats of mail, hanging upon the walls hard by, and dangling fromrusty hooks. Broken and dilapidated as they were, they yet retained their
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ancient form, and something of their ancient aspect. Thus violent deeds liveafter men upon the earth, and traces of war and bloodshed will survive inmournful shapes, long after those who worked the desolation are but atomsof earth themselves. 96 MASTER HUMPHREYS CLOCK. The child sat down in this old, silent place, among the stark figures on thetombs—they made it more quiet there, than elsewhere, to her fancy—and gazinground with a feeling of awe, tempered with a calm delight, felt that now shewas happy, and at rest. ■ She took a Bible from the shelf, and read; then lay-ing it down, thought of the summer days and the bright spring-time that wouldcome—of the rays of sun that would fall in aslant upon the sleeping forms—of the leaves that would flutter at the window, and play in glistening shadowson the pavement—of the songs of birds, and growth of buds and blossoms outof doors—of the sweet air, that would steal in and gently wave the tatteredbanners overhead. What if the s

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