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Mr Arthur Clennaate Hill,

counting one of the neighbouring bells, s out of it in spite of hiht be the death of in the course of the year As the hour

approached, its changes of

At the quarter, it went off into a condition of deadly-lively

i the populace in a voluble manner to Come to church,

Come to church, Come to church! At the ten minutes, it became aware

that the congregation would be scanty, and slowly hammered out in low

spirits, They WON'T come, they WON'T come, they WON'T come! At the five

hbourhood

for three hundred seconds, with one disroan

of despair

'Thank Heaven!' said Clennam, when the hour struck, and the bell

stopped But its sound had revived a long train of miserable Sundays, and the

procession would not stop with the bell, but continued to ive me,' said he, 'and those who trained me How I have

hated this day!'

There was the dreary Sunday of his childhood, when he sat with his hands

before him, scared out of his senses by a horrible tract which co hi to Perdition?--a piece of curiosity that he really, in a frock and

drawers, was not in a condition to satisfy--and which, for the further