Just under the shadow of the old church, and separated from it by the low wall of the churchyard, was the vicarage, a grey-looking structure in the midst of a small but well-stocked garden; while beyond it were fields in long succession, with a ponderous-looking farm-house crouching down here and there amongst them. Of course there was an inn in the village. It was marked out to travellers by a sign-board dependent from a beam projecting over the footpath. Something had once been painted on the board, but it had become so blurred and indistinct under the corroding action of sun and rain, that it would be quite impossible now to decide whether the features delineated on it were those of a landscape, a lion, or a human countenance. Such was Crossbourne some forty years back. But now, what a marvellous change! Coal has been found close by, and the little village has leapt, as if by magic, into a thriving town. Huge factories and foundries rise from the banks of the stream; the ford is spanned by a substantial bridge; the corn-mill has disappeared, and so have the rheumatic-looking old mossy cottages. A street of prim, substantial houses, uniform, and duly numbered, with brass handles, latches, and knockers to the doors, now leads up to the church. And that venerable building has certainly gained by the change; for the plaster and the iron chimney have vanished, full daylight pours in through all the windows, while two new aisles have been added in harmony with the original design of the unknown architect. The vicarage, too, has expanded, and been smartened up to suit more modern tastes and requirements. And then all around the principal street are swarms of workmen's dwellings,--and, alas! public- houses and beer-shops at every corner ready to entrap the wretched victims of intemperance. Besides all these there are a Town Hall and a Mechanics' Institute; and the streets and shops and dwelling-houses are lighted with gas. Crossbourne has, in fact, become a very hive of industry; but, unhappily, too many of the cells of the hive are fuller of gall than of honey, for money is made fast and squandered faster: and what wonder, seeing that King Alcohol holds his court amongst the people day and night! And, to make all complete, Crossbourne now boasts of a railway running through it, and of a station of its own, from which issues many a train of _goods_; and near the station a distillery, from which there issues continually a long and lengthening train of _evils_. Turning out of the principal street to the right, just opposite to where the old dingy sign-board used to swing, a passer-by could not fail to notice a detached house more lofty and imposing in its appearance than the plain working-men's cottages on either side of it.