evil spirits is really to desert the banner of Christ, and to join the army of the Evil One.

Long John confessed, after some time, that he had been secretly very much ashamed of himself when he went over the common to consult Widow Jones the gipsy.

He never thoroughly believed that she could do anything for him, but his fears of evil spirits had made him so weak and cowardly, that he willingly gave himself up to the delusion.

When the vicar came to see him, he fancied that he came to blame him for what his conscience told him was wrong, so to shield himself from his reproaches, he had taken refuge behind a thick barrier of sullenness and reserve.

"When you spoke to me so kindly, sir," said John, "I seemed to feel that as I had left God, He would leave me, and it frightened me more than ever.”

It is not easy to judge of the different phases of religious feeling through which a perfectly ignorant and uninstructed mind may go before the germ of life is visible. Those who have had the advantage of education

should not be judged in the same manner as those whose minds have always lain stagnant.

The few ideas that John and his wife had. taken in about spiritual things were wrong ones, as they confounded the powers of darkness with the workings of God's providence, and looked upon the Almighty more in the light of a King of Terrors to be propitiated, than as a God of Mercy to be loved.

For those who have been properly instructed, what greater work can there be than helping the ignorant in the path in which we all should tread?

As we have all received gifts from above, we should try to use them in our Master's service, and though we can, by prayer and labour, earn nothing for ourselves, we must pray and labour if we would be faithful stewards, and not unprofitable servants. The events in our daily lives are in themselves nothing; they are, it seems to us, transitory, but each in reality bears within it the seed which is to exist for eternity.

Life requires watchfulness, self-restraint, and endurance, and these good gifts are given to all that truly seek them.

With such armour, and with the shield of faith, we need not fear though the earth be moved. God is greater than the powers of darkness, and, trusting in Him, we need never be afraid.

It was a long time before Mr Elwyn could persuade Long John that ghosts do not walk about churchyards, but he was not discouraged at the sexton's holding out so long; he knew that it must take time before the rooted impressions of childhood could be replaced by the teaching of after years; but as time went on, he saw that his labour was not all thrown away, for both Long John and his wife at last began to realise what he taught them, and as ignorance departed, credulity vanished gradually with it.

THE

CHAPTER XIV

SEA BREEZES

"Such signs of love old Ocean gives,
We cannot choose but think he lives"

HE change to the sea-side did Lucy a great deal of good, and the fresh seabreezes did more towards the restoration of her strength than months of careful nursing would have effected without them.

Kate, too, looked brighter and better; her step was more springy, and her manner less languid than it used to be.

It was not entirely the air of Beachport that had wrought this transformation in Kate. She was learning many useful lessons, and her trials had not been sent to her in vain.

To be a heroine seemed now to Kate to be entirely out of her line of life, and whenever she thought of her old day-dreams, a blush of shame would spread itself over her cheeks.

H

"How could she who had failed so grievously in her first trial ever hope to be able to do noble deeds?" That was her frequent reflection now, as in her newly found humility she mourned over the mistakes of her past life.

The village of Beachport lay at the foot of a hill, and was sheltered from the wind by high rocks among which grew fir trees. It was a lovely spot, and both Kate and Lucy thought that they never could get tired of it.

The glorious sea formed of course the chief feature in the view, and the dashing of the waves against the cliffs, or their soft ripple upon the sandy beach, were equally delightful to these two London children.

Granny Davies' cottage stood on a sort of terrace in the rock, which had been formed long ago by a land-slip. A short sandy lane led down from her garden-gate to the seashore, and from the parlour-window Lucy could see the ships sailing on in the distance, while nearer the shore the fishing-boats were constantly coming and going.

Above the cottage stretched the downs, with their endless billow-like mounds covered with short, scented herbage, amid which the