grating and rocking at their joints, when, just at this point, as if a sharp agony had seized it, the engine put forth the horrid ejaculation of anger or defiance. The contrast between its smoky blast, and the pathetic, silvery benediction of the old clock in the church tower, brought us back from thoughtful communion with the departed spirits of past centuries to the sharp and rugged realities of this utilitarian age.
The old church in Handsworth is an antique building showing a smattering of various orders of architecture, with old-fashioned square pews, designed for families, facing inward upon each other instead of looking at the minister. But it is a kind of Westminster Abbey to Birmingham, consecrated to the memory of its great dead, whose names have won illustrious fame. First and foremost is a chapel dedicated to James Watt, with a life-size statue in a sitting posture, which ranks among the master-pieces of Chantrey's chisel. Then there are monuments erected to Boulton, his partner and right-hand man, and to others whose lives and labours deserve a respectful memory.
One of the most beautiful little churches in England is the Edgbaston Old Church. Its beauty is not in architectural proportions or pretensions, but in the charm which nature has given it. In the first place, it is picturesquely situated
