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a missionary indeed to their souls. I drew nearer, but kept behind the furze bushes, according to our national terror of joining in other people’s worship. Presently the old man raised his hand with a fine natural gesture, and leaning on his crutch, exclaimed, in the words of the Son of David—

“‘Hear in Heaven thy dwelling-place! And when thou hearest, forgive!’

“It really was rather affecting; but I felt terribly alarmed when the old preacher fixed his eye upon me, and, without moving, observed, ‘My brethren, we will now sing a hymn. Young lady, will you raise the tune?’ in a voice of mild command. I felt turned into stone. He held a book towards me, and I mechanically took it, while the Scandys turned their mild, calm, ruminating eyes on me, with no appearance of surprise. Devoutly hoping that no one I knew could see me, I looked at the hymn he had pointed out, and tried to begin the dear mournful tune of ‘Belmont.’ But the nervous impediment which had laid an embargo on my music for so long asserted itself with all its strength. I could not utter a single note, and I remained dumb and stupidly petrified in this still green pasture before half-a-dozen simple country-folk. I felt terribly disappointed, and the old man,