in the dust! By degrees I got courage to go a
little nearer––and then a little nearer still––
for, says I to myself, I'm a sinful woman, I
know, but I have repented, and do repent
constantly of all the sins of my youth, and the
backslidings of my age––which have been
numerous; and once I had a very heavy back-
sliding––but that's neither here nor there.
So, as I was a-saying, having collected all my
sinfulness of life, and humbleness before
heaven, into a goodish bit of courage, forward
I steps––a little furder––and a leetle furder
more––un-til I come'd just up to the beautiful
shining star lying upon the dust. "Well, it
was a long time I stood a-looking down at it,
before I ventured to do, what I arterwards
did. But at last I did stoop down with both
hands slowly––in case it might burn, or bite
––and gathering up a good scoop of ashes as
my hands went along, I took it up, and began
a-carrying it home, all shining before me, and
with a soft blue mist rising up round about
it. Heaven forgive me!––I was punished for
meddling with what Providence had sent for
some better purpose than to be carried home
by an old woman like me, whom it has pleased
heaven to afflict with the loss of one leg, and
the pain, ixpinse, and inconvenience of a
wooden one. Well––I was punished;
covetousness had its reward; for, presently, the
violet light got very pale, and then went out;
and when I reached home, still holding in
both hands all I had gathered up, and when
I took it to the candle, it had turned into the
red shell of a lobsky's head, and its two black
eyes poked up at me with a long stare,––and
I may say, a strong smell, too,––enough to
knock a poor body down."

Great applause, and no little laughter,
followed the conclusion of old Peggy's story, but
she did not join in the merriment. She said
it was all very well for young folks to laugh,
but at her age she had enough to do to pray;
and she had never said so many prayers, nor
with so much fervency, as she had done since
she received the blessed sight of the blue star
on the Dust-heap, and the chastising rod of
the lobster's head at home.

Little Jem's turn now came; the poor lad
was, however, so excited by the recollection of
what his companions called "Jem's Ghost,"
that he was unable to describe it in any
coherent language. To his imagination it had
been a lovely vision,––the one "bright
consummate flower" of his life, which he treasured
up as the most sacred image in his heart.
He endeavoured, in wild and hasty words, to
set forth, how that he had been bred a
chimney-sweep; that one Sunday afternoon
he had left a set of companions, most on 'em
sweeps, who were all playing at marbles in the
church-yard, and he had wandered to the Dust-
heap, where he had fallen asleep; that he was
awoke by a sweet voice in the air, which said
something about some one having lost her
way!––that he, being now wide awake, looked
up, and saw with his own eyes a young Angel,
with fair hair and rosy cheeks, and large white
wings at her shoulders, floating about like
bright clouds, rise out of the Dust! She had
on a garment of shining crimson, which
changed as he looked upon her to shining
gold, then to purple and gold. She then
exclaimed, with a joyful smile, "I see the
right way! " and the next moment the Angel
was gone!

As the sun was just now very bright and
warm for the time of year, and shining full
upon the Dust-heap in its setting, one of the
men endeavoured to raise a laugh at the
deformed lad, by asking him if he didn't
expect to see just such another angel at this
minute, who had lost her way in the field on
the other side of the heap; but his jest failed.
The earnestness and devout emotion of the
boy to the vision of reality which his imagination,
aided by the hues of sunset, had thus
exalted, were too much for the gross spirit of
banter, and the speaker shrunk back into his
dust-shovel, and affected to be very assiduous
in his work as the day was drawing to a
close.

Before the day's work was ended, however,
little Jem again had a glimpse of the prize
which had escaped him on the previous occasion.
He instantly darted, hands and head
foremost into the mass of cinders and rubbish,
and brought up a black mash of half-burnt
parchment, entwined with vegetable refuse,
from which he speedily disengaged an oval
frame of gold, containing a miniature, still
protected by its glass, but half covered with
mildew from the damp. He was in ecstacies
at the prize. Even the white cat-skins paled
before it. In all probability some of the
men would have taken it from him "to
try and find the owner," but for the
presence and interference of his friends Peg
Dotting and old Doubleyear, whose great
age, even among the present company, gave
them a certain position of respect and
consideration. So all the rest now went their
way, leaving the three to examine and
speculate on the prize.

These Dust-heaps are a wonderful
compound of things. A banker's cheque for a
considerable sum was found in one of them.
It was on Herries and Farquhar, in 1847. But
banker's cheques, or gold and silver articles,
are the least valuable of their ingredients.
Among other things, a variety of useful
chemicals are extracted. Their chief value,
however, is for the making of bricks. The fine
cinder-dust and ashes are used in the clay of
the bricks, both for the red and grey stacks.
Ashes are also used as fuel between the layers
of the clump of bricks, which could not be
burned in that position without them. The
ashes burn away, and keep the bricks open.
Enormous quantities are used. In the brick-
fields at Uxbridge, near the Drayton Station,
one of the brickmakers alone will frequently
contract for fifteen or sixteen thousand chaldron
of this cinder-dust, in one order. Fine