CONCERNING MARL PITS. 
147 
But the year’s last flowers are tender and blue, 
Tlie flowers that are faithful when flowers are few, 
We guard the path till the harvest is through : 
These are the bells of Holy Land. 
Finest and frailest of all the flowers. 
We are left alone in the autumn hours. 
To bear the brunt of the storms and showers ; 
The skies above us are grey and sad : 
But the hue of heaven to earth we bring. 
But the heart of heaven in our bells we ring ; 
Low, low, low, — are you listening ? 
The heart of heaven is gay and glad. 
Come away, come away, come away! 
The eyes of the angels are blue and grey. 
There is one coming down the crow^ded street. 
He is passing out, he is coming this way. 
Here, up here, where the winds are at play ; 
At the turn of the road you cannot but meet : 
You will know his face, you will understand. 
He need not speak, he will reach his hand. 
Oh, the surprise, too sweet to say 1 
The bells are ringing in Angel Land. 
One to go, and many to stay : 
Each his turn, — you have come this way. 
Why are we dancing here so gay ? 
Why has the music just begun ? 
Like a peal of church-bells down they run, 
Down, down, down, from a height away. 
Thousands on thousands, one by one, 
Each a spirit — off and away ! 
Do you not know, do you not see. 
Blue as the breadths of the sky and sea. 
The light of love, of eternity ? 
The bells are ringing in Heaven to-day ! 
Harriet Eleanor Hamilton King. 
CONCERNING MARL PITS. 
OME interesting questions have been raised by Mr. 
Collingwood Hope concerning the numerous “ gravel 
pits,” as they are locally called in the neighbourhood 
of Eastham in Cheshire, which place is situated in 
that portion of the county known as “ The Wirrall.” This 
part of Cheshire is often spoken of as “ The Wirrall Peninsula.” 
It is a strip of land some twelve miles long by six miles wide, 
which extends from Chester to New Brighton, and lies between 
the Mersey and the Dee. Thus it is surrounded by water on 
