glory of the great church of St. Sophia, and how that a choir of angels descended every day from Heaven to join in the Christian worship, led Vladimir to listen to the missionaries, and to accept the offer made by the Emperor Basil to give him his sister in marriage if he would become a Christian. The baptism and nuptial ceremonies were solemnized on the same day. And the despotic Vladimir issued an edict that all his people should leave their idols and become Christians on pain of his displeasure. This was done with extraordinary readiness; and the grotesque idol, even the dreadful Perown, after being stripped of his golden ornaments and dragged through the streets of Kief, received a sound cudgelling, to teach him the estimation in which he was held in by his former worshippers, and was tumbled into the river Dneiper.* From that day Russia became a Christian nation; and in another century all traces of paganism had disappeared from the general masses of the people. A. R.

A

FIFTY YEARS AGO.

A SEA OF TROUBLES.

MOS RIDLEY was successful in the errand which he had undertaken with such intense eagerness. He found the doctor at home, and after very little delay persuaded him to accompany him back in the dog-cart. It was very dark and dreary as they drove through the narrow country lanes in the early morning, and there had set in a cold, drizzling rain; which, however, Amos saw with satisfaction, as he hoped it would extinguish the smouldering embers of the burning rick, which might still prove a source of so much danger. His heart was too full of anxious fear for him to talk much, and his companion, a man of few words, was so carefully muffled up in his greatcoat and comforter, that it was not surprising they should have performed most of the journey in silence.

When, however, they were passing a rough cattle-shed near the road-side, which had been long unused, about a mile from the farm, the doctor suddenly exclaimed,

'Do you see that group of men there, Ridley? I must say I don't like the look of them. What can they be doing at this hour?'

Amos turned quickly round and caught sight of one of the men who stood nearest the hedge. It was a familiar face, for he recognised at once Luke Barnett.

They are after no good, for certain,' said he, as they drove on. ‘No, indeed,' replied Dr. Fenton. I shouldn't wonder, now, if that is one of the gangs of men who have been going about the neighbourhood, destroying the threshing and winnowing machines. It's astonishing how much ill-feeling the use of these new inventions seems to have caused amongst the labourers. One could never have believed there was so much ignorant prejudice.'

*Then called by the Greeks the Borysthenes.

The young blacksmith was silent. He knew far too much about the actual feelings of his neighbours to discuss the subject as a mere matter of conjecture. He was full of the most anxious forebodings, too; for what if another attack was about to be made on the Holt Farm? This suspicious gathering, so near, looked very like it; and if it was indeed the case, what could he do?

Would it be well to warn Farmer Yeatman? And yet, what good would that do, unless he could collect a sufficient force to protect his property? Amos had heard reports of the yeomanry having been called out in some places, and there passed through his mind wild dreams of going off to Mere and trying to secure military help for the village in case of an attack. But on further thought, he felt sure that his appeal would not be noticed unless he could give much stronger proofs of the necessity of such a step. Besides, how could he leave his friends at a time like this, even for a day? And Dinah .. alas! He knew not whether, at that very moment, she was still alive. That terrible uncertainty overwhelmed all other thoughts, and he drove on with impatient haste, for they were now close to the house.

Mr. Yeatman met them at the gate with the news that his daughter had moved and spoken, but that she did not seem to know any one. He had been anxiously waiting and looking out for the doctor, who was at once taken to see his patient. Amos, meantime, waited outside the house, in a state of nervous impatience, which made the time seem terribly long.

'Come in and have a bit of breakfast, my good man,' said a familiar voice; and looking up, he saw old Mrs. Yeatman standing in the porch. 'Come in and rest awhile,' she repeated; for we can't afford to let thee get laid up. Thee's worth all the lot of us. Come in, do'ee now.'

Amos could not but obey, and he followed the old lady into the great kitchen, which always looked so home-like and pleasant. Breakfast was on the table, but he could not touch a morsel, and was disposed to think it heartless for any one to remember matters like food and drink at such a time. He forgot that the common routine of life must go on, whether there be life or death, joy or grief, in the household. He had come in full of intense longing to have more news of Dinah-to talk about her eager to seize any excuse for hearing or speaking her name. Now old Mrs. Yeatman, for reasons of her own, was quite willing to humour him.

'She've been off her head, poor dear,' said the grandmother; but all the time she do nought but ask after thee, and call thee to come and save her. Then she'll go on like one distracted, that there be a plot to marry her to some one else; and she'll talk about Jephthah's daughter, and beg and pray her father to forgive her. Eh! but it do make one's heart sore to hearken to the poor child.'

Amos sat and listened to the old lady's words like one in a dream. Was it possible that he had been mistaken, and unjust to Dinah all this time? And did she really care for him, after all?

Oh! what if this knowledge had come to him too late,—too late, when she was about to be taken away from him by the cold hand of Death? He hid his face in his hands, and could not trust himself to speak. How slowly the time passed! Would this agony of suspense ever be over? At length the door of the adjoining room opened, and

steps were heard on the threshold; when suddenly, at that moment, a low wailing cry came from that sick girl,- Amos! Amos!'

The young man started up eagerly and would have gone to her, but the doctor stopped him at the door.

'No, no, my good fellow,' he said kindly. Don't you hear that she's delirious? Any excitement, such as your presence might cause, would be very dangerous to her at present.'

'But tell me, for Heaven's sake, how is she? Will she live?' was the impetuous cry.

"Yes, indeed, I hope so, with God's blessing, was the doctor's answer. I don't think she has received any serious injury, but the shock has been altogether too much for her delicate nervous system. She must be kept perfectly quiet now, or I cannot answer for the result.'

How those few words of hope seemed to lift up the heavy weight

of sorrow and anxiety, which had been almost too heavy to be borne ! To one person, at least, they had changed the whole aspect of the world, and Amos Ridley went back to his home that morning another being. Once more the future began to look bright for him; if Dinah were spared, he should indeed henceforth have something to live and work for. He went straight back to his workshop, without going to the house first; there was so much to be done, and he had already lost some hours that morning, for he usually began work at day-break. He had scarcely had time, however, to open the shutters and look round, when his sister Lizzie came running in, for she had seen him from the cottage window.

6

'Oh, Amos!' she cried, wherever hast'ee been? Father's in a terrible way, for he says it's enough to be the death of little Peter, for he to be out in all this wet, and such a cough as he've got too !' 'Little Peter!' exclaimed her brother, starting back as though he had been struck.

'Why, I've never so much as seen the child this morning! There must be some mistake, Liz, for I left him asleep. I'll just run and see.'

And without waiting to listen to the girl's reply he went off at once, and a few strides took him upstairs to the low narrow room under the roof which he shared with his blind brother.

It was, indeed, too true. The little bed was empty, and a further search showed him that all the boy's everyday clothes were gone, and his cap had been taken down from the peg where it always hung. There could be no longer room for doubt,-little Peter was gone!

Amos soon learnt from his sister all she had to tell. When she got up, as soon as it was light, she had knocked, as usual, at her brother's door. On receiving no answer, after repeated attempts, she had looked in, and finding the room empty, had naturally concluded that they had both risen early and gone out together. Amos briefly told her the story of his night's work, and then added that he could only suppose the child had woke up in the night, and, missing him, had got up quietly and gone out in search of him. At the thought poor little Peter wandering about alone in the night, Lizzie began to cry, till her brother checked her.

of

'Hush, Liz; or maybe father will hear you. We must try to hope for the best, and cheer him up.'

But though he spoke thus to comfort his sister, Amos felt very uneasy, and went off at once in search of the child. He just paused a moment on the way to lock up his workshop, and as he did so, he cast a regretful look at the arrears of work waiting for him.

Well, it can't be helped,' said he, with a sigh. I must make up for it by extra hours when I've brought dear little Peter home." Yet even as he spoke the words, his heart was full of misgivings, for he thought of the many hours of that long night during which the child might have been wandering in his vain search, and how far in that time he might have strayed from home; not that the darkness would really make any difference, as he sadly thought, to him whose life was one of perpetual night. He first went round and inquired of the neighbours as to whether they had seen him, but could get no information, though he met with much sympathy, for

the blind boy was a general favourite. In some cases, too, his inquiries were met by others: women asked if he could give any news of a son or a husband, who had been away from home all that night.

Amos felt his suspicions strengthen that some desperate deed was on hand. Anxiously he asked himself if it were yet possible that any effort of his might prevent it? He could not tell; but now, at any rate, the first plain duty before him was the search for little Peter. With eager haste he retraced all his own steps of the night before, and went up to those outlying farm-buildings where the first rick had been burnt on the Sunday night; he searched every corner and sheltered spot where the child might possibly have fallen asleep,called aloud for him in every direction, but all in vain. There was no sound or sign of him. Then he turned back towards the Holt Farm, carefully keeping to the road which he had himself taken. He looked under every bush, and examined every hedge-bank, until he came to the pond at the foot of the hill.

Here, a sudden, terrible fear took possession of him. Oh, why had he not thought of this danger before? What if the blind boy, in hasty pursuit of his brother, had forgotten the pool, turned aside a moment from the narrow path, and fallen down the sloping bank into the deep water, far from any human help! Amos shuddered at the thought.

Was it possible that the peaceful water before him, with its surface gently rippling in the breeze, could hide such a fatal and horrible secret? He remembered how, years before, that very pond had been dragged, and with what painful success, when one of his school-fellows had been missing. Once more he turned his anxious gaze upon the pool, -there was nothing to be seen but the glimmering reflexion of the trees, and the startled moor-hens amongst the sedges, then he hurried away, not daring to look back.

Not yet,-not yet, could he give up all hope; while one stone remained unturned, he would not despair. There was something very touching about the young man's affection for his little brother, who, when a sickly infant, had been solemnly entrusted to his care by their dying mother. And nobly had Amos fulfilled his charge, even indeed, as we have seen, at the sacrifice of his own boyish ambition and tempting prospects in life. Not even in that hour of anxious sorrow could he reproach himself with neglect to his charge.

He had now reached the corner of the road which turned up to the farm-house, and was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he had not heard the tramp of many footsteps, until he came suddenly, almost face to face, with a number of men, advancing steadily forwards in some kind of order.

There was a look of sullen determination and dogged obstinacy about them, as with long strides they made their way in at the gate, and up the cart-road towards Farmer Yeatman's. They took no notice of Amos, who turned and followed them, having first yielded to the impulse which prompted him to rush into his workshop close by, and seize the first weapon which came to hand-a massive bar of iron lying on the ground against the forge.

(To be continued.)