er stooping posture. The
Angelus bell is ringing, and it calls them to prayer.

Three times each day, at sunrise, midday, and sunset, this bell
reminds the world of the birth of Jesus Christ. The strokes are rung
in three groups, corresponding to the three parts of The Angelus,
which are recited in turn. The first word gives the bell its
name,--Angelus, the Latin for angel.

"The angel of the Lord announced to Mary,
And she conceived of the Holy Spirit.

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord,
Be it done unto me according to thy word.

"And the word was made flesh
And dwelt among us."

Thus run the words of the translation in the three couplets into which
they are separated, and then this prayer is added: "We beseech thee, O
Lord, pour forth thy grace into our hearts; that as we have known the
incarnation of thy Son Jesus Christ by the message of an angel, so
by his cross and passion we may be brought into the glory of his
resurrection, through the same Jesus Christ our Lord."

Besides this, after each couplet of the Angelus, is recited that
short hymn of praise, beginning with the words which the angel of the
annunciation addressed to Mary,[1] "Ave Maria." This is why the hour
after sunset is so often called the hour of Ave Maria. The English
poet Byron has written of this solemn moment:--

"Ave Maria! blessed be the hour!
The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft
Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft,
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,
Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft,
And not a breath crept through the rosy air,
And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer."

[Illustration: From a carbon print by Braun, Clement & Co. John Andrew
& Son, Sc. THE ANGELUS]

The atmosphere of prayer pervades the picture. The woman stands with
bowed head and hands clasped over her breast. Her whole body sways
slightly forward in the intensity of her devotion. Her husband has
bared his head and holds his hat before him. Though he may seem
somewhat awkward, he is not less sincerely reverent.

The sunset light shines on the woman's blue apron, gilds the potato
sacks in the wheelbarrow, and gleams along the furrows. Farther away,
the withered plants are heaped in rows of little piles. Beyond, the
level plain stretches to meet the glowing sky, and, outlined on the
horizon, is the spire of the church where the bells are ringing.