mighty wall of cliffs that bounds the valley are gradually, but surely, becoming undermined. Among the deep sequestered gorges of the hills, an isolated farm-house or a tiny hamlet may be sometimes seen, all smiling with that peculiar gleam of true home-comfort, for which England and America are alike distinguished. There are also little fishing settlements along the shore; and, from time to time, an ancient ivy-mantled church, of simple but imposing aspect, meets the view; its lowly porch, surmounted by a stone cross, rudely carved; while from its hoary tower the soothing, solemn music of the chimes rings out to the hoarse murmur of the sea.

Near such a church as I have just described, are situated the remote but picturesque village of Blackgang and its adjacent chine, which latter forms the western termination of the Undercliff, or at least of its most interesting features. It is the chosen retreat of such visitors as delight in the gloomy and sublime in nature, rather than the beautiful. The contrast which this chine presents to that of Luccombe, so rich in glimpses of luxuriant loveliness, is striking in the extreme: here all is wild and savage grandeur; the tall, bare rocks stand black and grim, guarding the narrow

pass; and the very rivulet which trickles through the defile is not pure and sparkling like most mountain streams, but wears a sombre, yellowish hue, imparted doubtless by the ironore which abounds in the surrounding crags.

There are some pleasant homes, however, in this lonely spot; and very lovely do they look, standing in the midst of their neat and wellkept gardens, the bloom and fertility of which contrast so singularly with the encircling waste.

In a private drawing-room of the romantic little inn, three ladies were seated around a work-table, which stood in the recess of a deep bay-casement that overlooked the blue ocean, with its long line of rocky coast; while in the far distance was visible the bold outline of a magnificent range of chalk-cliffs, whose lofty pinnacles glittered like snow beneath the sparkling rays of a summer's sun.

"The snow-white cliffs of England, which I have so very often longed to see!" exclaimed the youngest of the party, a sweet and gentlelooking girl of about sixteen, as, with a half sigh, she laid aside her pencils, and stood beside the window, gazing thoughtfully upon the glorious panorama.

"Grace is home-sick already, I suspect," observed her sister Helen, laughing.

"I was only thinking of papa," said Grace; "and wishing that he and all our dear friends at home were with us to share in the delight of this first visit to the shores of England."

"I fancy that will scarcely be required, my love," remarked Mrs. Melville; "at least, if all your epistles are to be like the one which you sent off this morning."

"You know that I intend to keep a journal for papa," said Grace; "and I fear many of my letters will be still longer than this first one; but even that is not quite like being with one's friends, for writing can never take the place of conversation."

"No, indeed; one feels the difference sadly. Still we should try to make the most of those blessings which are within our reach; and I did not expect You would feel lonely here in England, Grace."

"I am not lonely, I assure you, dear mamma. How could I be with you and Helen, and surrounded, too, by so many in whom we take an interest?"

"The whole population here, I imagine," interrupted Helen; "or, at all events, a large proportion. Do you know, mamma, that yesterday, in church, I quite realized the feeling which appears to afford you and Grace such

peculiar satisfaction; it did seem as though we were brought nearer to our distant friends. Yes; our Liturgy is undoubtedly a bond of union, and a strong one."

"I am truly glad to hear you say so, my love; and when that which is now a mere transitory emotion shall have become a fixed and abiding principle of action, I think I can venture to affirm that you will find a vast increase of happiness in daily life."

The deep-toned bells of the old church were faintly heard.

"Eleven! Can it be possible?" exclaimed Mrs. Melville, looking at her watch. "My dear children, we must decide upon our excursion without delay."

"It is too late for Carisbuke, mamma," said Helen; "let us go there to-morrow instead, and leave here by nine, so as to have plenty of time for wandering among the ruins.”

"Yes, perhaps that will be best," replied her mother; "but where, then, shall we go to-day?"

"Indeed, I hardly know, mamma; for there is so much of interest to be seen on every side, that one is really at a loss which way to turn. What should you say to a drive along the Undercliff, with no especial object in view, ex

cept to explore wherever we may chance to wish?"

"That will do admirably well, I think; so Grace, my love, will you just ring the bell? I should like the carriage to be brought round immediately."

Generally speaking, Grace Melville would have been delighted at the prospect of such an expedition as the one proposed, but upon this occasion she had a fancy for a ramble on the shore; Helen and her mother being invalids, would not be able to participate in this amusement, and as it seemed probable that every day of their short sojourn in the village would be fully taken up with sight-seeing, she determined, should nothing prevent, to improve the present opportunity, perhaps the only one she should ever have.

"If you and Helen do not mind, mamma," she answered, "I believe I shall leave you to your own devices, just for once, and wander off among the cliffs. One loses so much pleasure in a carriage!"

"Well, my dear, I see no possible objection, except that Helen and I shall be sure to miss you sadly; but you had best consider for a moment. You know that we expect to leave for Devonshire next week, therefore you may