sad scene. Before she had time to fly she was perceived by one of the murdering party, but as he raised his arm to strike her down, she knelt at his feet, appealing piteously to his mercy. Happily for her, it was the good-natured Morven with whom she pleaded for her life. Whether struck by her beauty, or pitying her youth, or imposed on by her instant assurance that she was there only by accident, and had no connexion with the murdered people, however this might be, he did not suffer her to plead in vain. He assured her of his protection, and having easily satisfied his lawless companions of the truth of her story, he contrived to carry her to the cottage inhabited by his own aged mother, and there she had chiefly lived ever since; and though she had confided the secret of her religion to Morven, he seemed to care little for that matter, but bidding her take care to hide it from others, he promised her continued safety; and being himself a favoured servant of his Lord, he even procured for her occasional employment in the castle. All this she reluctantly and by slow degrees told to Elda, for she knew that simple and honest child would disapprove her deceitful conduct, even though it were to save her life. Thus time passed on, and I have nothing new to tell of Elda until she was about fourteen years old. Still were the words of God her daily study, and now their precepts had become her constant guide. Not content with reading, she desired to put in practice what she learned. Scarcely could she be more gentle and meek than she had ever been-patient of reproof, and unmindful of injury and reproach-but she yearned to do good to others, to teach them, if it might be, the knowledge that was so dear to her own heart, and as the neglect with which she was treated gave her, as we have already seen, much liberty, she was able to visit many of the poor ignorant peasants in the neighbourhood of the castle. To many she gave comfort and relief in their troubles, to all sympathy and kind words, and to some few she brought a ray of light int their dark dwellings, that made them ever bless the da when the gentle girl had first told them of a Saviour's lov Poor Gwyneth had brought grief to her simple heart. Fro associating constantly with the heathen among whom sh dwelt, she had fallen gradually into all their ways, follow ed their pursuits and their pastimes, and gave up thinking of better things. Finally, on a whisper being raised tha she, too, had belonged to the hated religion of the Chris tians, she became so much alarmed for her own safety, that she made a public profession of heathenism, and thus renounced Him who alone could have guarded her in every danger; and having become the wife of Morven, she was thenceforth admitted to be an inmate of the castle, and was to all appearance in every respect like the heathens around her. Was her heart at rest? and did no memory of her mother's happy death come to embitter all her moments? who shall say? The only indication she gave of such a feeling, was her almost entire avoidance of Elda, whose presence would be a constant reproach to her. Never had Elda ceased to remember the gentle stranger, who had been the means of bringing her all the happiness she now enjoyed, and she thought of him with the deepest reverence and love. She earnestly prayed that she might see him again, and at length her prayer was answered. She had one day wandered with the aged and faithful Lufra into the forest, with all the recesses of which she was now acquainted, and had reached the grassy mound where first she had beheld him, who she had then looked on as something more than mortal man, but whom she now knew to be a priest of the true God. All around her was the same as it had been on that evening, except that an air of desolation was upon it; the underwood had sprung up on the space then so neatly kept, and weeds were growing on the mound where turf had been so carefully spread. As Elda looked around on the deserted scene, she sighed, and a sadness came over her spirit when she thought of all the troop of believers whom she had seen and heard praising their God, with one heart and one voice, within this glorious temple reared by Nature for His worship. Where were they now? all dispersed, some dead, and others, oh! were they few or many? terrified by a mortal fear into renouncing their Maker and their Redeemer ! Alas! poor Gwyneth! the thought of her was ever grievous to Elda, and as the tears now fell from her eyes, she gently murmured, 'Oh that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and be at rest.' Her sigh was echoed, and turning her head, she saw him of whom she had thought so long and so earnestly. He called her gently by her name, and gazed long and fondly upon her. Once more she would have knelt before him, not now in superstitous awe, but in reverence and love; but again he raised her, and seating her by his side upon the grassy mound, he proceeded to answer her various questions as to where he had been, and why he was so long absent. But at the first sound of his voice, Lufra became restless, and coming nearer to him, showed signs of mingled pleasure and uneasiness; the stranger noticing him now for the first time, exclaimed, Ah, Lufra, good Lufra, still alive, and I am not forgotten-' but before he could finish his sentence, the dog had leaped upon him with every demonstration of joy and fondness. Elda looked on with amazement, for the dog was not apt to favour strangers; but it was evident this was no stranger to him. 'Oh tell me, I beseech you,' she cried, "the meaning of these strange mysteries. You know my dog, you knew my name, and often have I since remembered what then I thought not of; you knew the secret windings of the castle, and you spoke of it as if familiar to you; will you not tell me who, and what you are, and why have you thus cared for me above others?' 'Yes, my child, the time is come when I need have no further concealment from you. To-morrow at this tin and in this place, if you will meet me, I will relate to y the story of my life, and of a life dearer to me far th mine. It may be you will find in them matter of deep i terest to yourself. But first tell me, my child, more full that which my ears thankfully caught from your whispe ed words. Have you followed my last counsel, have yo learned to read in the Christian's book, and oh, far bette have you learned to believe in the Christian's God?' "With my whole heart and soul do I believe in Him answered Elda, slowly and solemnly adding with claspe hands, 'Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee.' 'Then God be praised; and now I am ready to depar in peace, my task is done, yet will I wait Thy time, ( Lord.' He remained for some moments in silent, thankfu prayer, then once more desiring Elda to meet him there the next day, he slowly departed from the spot. Lufra seemed half inclined to follow him, but the stranger waved him back, and he returned to the castle. with Elda, who impatiently counted the hours till the time should arrive when she might learn the cause of the extraordinary interest taken in her by her mysterious friend. (To be continued.) 'LONG, LONG AGO.' BY MARY LISLE. 'I'll tell you the tales which to me were so dear, CHAPTER I.-THE FIRST VISIT. I HOPE that in writing the following pages, I shall not be betrayed into speaking too much of myself, and making my own feelings and thoughts of too much importance; still less into representing myself to the reader as anything of a heroine, and that I may avoid this temptation, I shall rather narrate such circumstances as personally I had but little to do with; for I do not take up my pen to indulge an egotistical vanity, but that in recalling the memory of the days 'Long, long ago,' I may for a season lose the sense of my own loneliness, and in fancy gather around me the guides and companions of my youth. Amongst the multitude of books that are written now-a-days, I have no hope of mine ever been heard of, beyond the small circle of friends, who will have a value for it wholly independent of its literary merits. A true picture of a country home, such as it might have been nearly sixty years ago, and a brief record of some too early snatched away from this world, is all I aspire to give. Indeed, such progress has education made since I was a child, and so learned are the present race, that I am deeply conscious of my own inability to teach anything to so forward a generation. But I think if I write only of such things as I have seen and known, I shall not be liable to expose the ignorance I am so sensible of to the ridicule of my juniors; and there are, perhaps, some amongst them who may take an interest in comparing the world as I knew it, with the world as they know it now. The rectory-house of Mitchelmore, was the home of the greater part of my childhood. It lay about a mile distant from the great western road, and was built in a pretty woody meadow. I recollect well the day we first arrived there, indeed, it is almost my earliest recollection. and my The living of Mitchelmore is in the gift of our family, father succeeded to it on the death of an uncle. Before that, we had been living in Devonshire. Ah! I often in after-days heard my mother sigh for the hills and streams of her native land (for she was a Devonshire woman) with its soft mild atmosphere. I was about five years old when we removed to Mitchelmore, my brother Edward was six, and Eleanor and Agnes were eight and |