days has been reserved to me, and is more thoughtful than usual.'

'Elizabeth, Sir, was much attached to that being we called brother, and has not yet recovered the shock of separation.'

I am positive, child, there is something more than this; she certainly has imbibed those erroneous opinions. Do you know whether she possesses a Bible?'

'O dear, Sir, I hope not; she would scarcely dare to transgress your commands and those of the church.'

'I admire your zeal, Miss Ellmer. Would to God all the members of the true church possessed the same; but I greatly fear for your sister.'

'And have you not the power, Father, of knowing whether your fears are well founded?'

Yes, to be sure, but I wish you would first endeavour to learn all the particulars you can.'

'Certainly, Sir; it shall be my pleasure to obey you in all things.'

'Your duty, and obedience, my dear child, shall not be unrewarded. But see, here comes the object of our conversation; the Virgin protect you. Be cautious, and ever keep the honour of the true and holy church in view.

16

CHAPTER XI.

Turns on the neighbouring hills, once more to see
The dear abode of peace and privacy;

And as he turns, the thatch among the trees,

The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze,
The village common, spotted white with sheep,
The church-yard yews, round which his fathers sleep;
All rouse reflection's sadly pleasing train,

And oft he looks, and weeps, and looks again....Rogers.

ON leaving his father's house, Henry Ellmer walked for a short time at a quick pace, as if fearing his resolution might give way. When he got to the summit of a hill at some distance, that overlooked the valley in which his home stood, he paused a while to gaze on that loved spot, and tears of bitter regret flowed from his eyes. He then recollected he must see Pat, to give him the packet for Elizabeth, and was obliged to return for that purpose; but met the young man on his way to the potato field. Pat was greatly surprised to find his young master really about to leave them, and set up that wild cry, peculiar to the western countries. Some time elapsed ere Henry could pacify him sufficiently to take his directions relative to the packet, and as they walked together, gave him much salutary advice. When parting from him, he said,

'Farewell, Pat. Keep in mind all I have been saying to you from time to time; give up less of your time to pleasure, and more to your duty to God. And if it be his holy will that we meet

again in this world, I hope to find you changed in every particular. Ever keep in mind, that if you walk in the laws of the Lord, we shall certainly meet in another and a better world, never to part. Farewell may the Lord bless and keep you.'

Pat could not reply, but wrung Henry's extended hand, and turned away, looking back at intervals, until distance concealed his master from his view.

Henry determined to go to his kind friend Neville, and advise with him what he should do, while the persecution of his family continued. He had no other alternative; his purse was but slenderly stocked, and would not enable him to travel; even if it did, he thought it would be a sinful waste of time.

Henry's heart was torn by a variety of contending emotions; he was endued with all the tender feelings of human nature. The gospel of Jesus Christ does not eradicate those feelings, but shows how they might be brought into due subordination to the divine will.

During the early part of the morning, he was inclined to murmur,--to think that his trials were intolerable, that he was forsaken by the Lord. But a reference to the word of life quelled those repinings; he there read, that Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,' and he thought on the remarkable expression of patient Job, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away blessed be the name of the Lord,'-and the saying of the faithful patriarch, shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?'

The morning was gloomy, and suited the sombre reflections of the traveller; but ere he gained

a high hill from which the prospect was extensive, the sun broke forth with unclouded splendour, and gladdened the universal face of nature. Henry felt its cheering influence in a great measure dispel his melancholy thoughts, and he pursued his walk with renewed vigour, gazing with admiration on the beauties with which he was surrounded; rejoicing beneath the beams of the morning sun, and exclaiming with the poet,

'My Father made them all.'

He looked around with gratitude, and appropriated this glorious display of Heaven's bounty to himself; for,

'Are they not his by a peculiar right,
'And by an emphasis of interest his,

'Whose eye they ever fill with holy joy,

'Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted nind

'With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love
'That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world
'So cloth'd with beauty, for rebellious man?'

Having walked a long way, the calls of appetite awoke Henry from his reverie on the beauties of nature; but on looking round he could not see a human habitation - he was embosomed in mountains, and began to think he must also endure hunger among other privations. He sought some beaten track, and after a long search, succeeded; he followed its mazes for some time, and on getting round the base of a craggy rock, he perceived a cabin on the side of a hill, a short way off, to which he bent his steps. The exterior of this habitation gave no promise of comfort; the walls composed of loose stones, mud, and sods, were in many places propped; the thatch, if it might be

-

so called, decaying, patched with potato stalks and heath windows it had nonę, a small aperture to admit light, was stuffed with straw, and the door so low, that to enter, one must make a deep obeisance. Wretched as this place appeared, Henry was obliged to enter it, and the interior fully corresponded to the outside appearance. A woman was engaged in washing potatoes, and four children sitting round a small fire; every thing bore the semblance of idleness-the whole family in rags, not even a spinning wheel occupied its place in the chimney corner. Henry inquired whether there was any house near, where he could be accommodated with breakfast?

'Ne'er a place, Sir, that you could get any thing fit for you, no nearer than the town; and that same is five mile off,' replied the woman.

'What am I to do?' said Henry, I have walked a long way this morning, and am really fatigued; will you permit me to rest a while?'

To be sure, Sir, and welcome; and if you would put up with what I have in my poor cabin -no doubt it's not what you're used to; but then there's no better to be had.'

Henry had no redress, therefore accepted the offer; the potatoes were hurried down, and a little boy sent for the cow that grazed on the mountain. Henry endeavoured to converse with the woman, but she seemed not to like answering his questions, and frequently went to the door, looking round as if in expectation of something. Henry gave up the desire of information, and walked out; indeed he was obliged to do so, for the smoke having but a small aperture in the roof to escape through, increased almost to suffocation.