, as St. Paul
's overtops London
, springs the belfry of a new Orphan Asylum; crowning the gay city and expansive bay; and looking over goodly towers, bright gardens, and ruined edifices.
Emerging on the leads of this edifice we find a watchman leaning in a corner, smoking his pipe, and gazing at the sky. “And what may be about the time?”
“Time? Just gone twelve.”
Then guess I'll sling the bell.”
Men lounging in the streets below look up; the hour is noon, say the lotos-eaters; yes, it is the hour of prayer.
Alla hu Akbar!
“You don't seem to mind a few minutes?”
“No, Sir, we are not such fools as to bother about a few minutes, more or less.
This watcher in the belfry is a Carolinian, and