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appeared a vast solitude, hemmed in by the cold silent mountains. It was a scene to impress the imagination and linger long in the memory. Later in the year, the present writer visited the mystic circle alone, on one of those strange November days which seem peculiar to the northern climate, when furious gusts of wind and driving sleet alternate with soft bright sunshine. Crossfell was covered with one beautiful sheet of pure snow from bottom to top, revealing many a dark chasm unsuspected before, and bringing into prominence many a glittering peak. The mountains round about Ullswater, stood out clear and distinct, the highest peaks only being covered with snow, while all the lower range was black and gloomy. Farther north, a white line of snow beautified the long ridge of Saddleback, behind which, the hoary summit of Skiddaw peered forth like a mighty giant, whose head was bleached by the frosts of years. All this was visible one moment, and the next minute a sudden gust of wind, driving before it snow and hail, obscured all the landscape, and one stood alone—a dwarf surrounded by a troop of grim giants. It is at such times as these that you realize the full impressiveness of the spectacle, and understand something of the influence which such buildings, be they temples or tombs, were likely to exercise over the minds of a rude and credulous people.

There are so many varying accounts of the number of stones which comprise the circle, that it is not wise to be too certain of exactness. Camden says that there are 77 stones; Dr. Todd, a learned antiquary who was Vicar of Penrith towards the end of the seventeenth century, makes them to be 72; Nicholson and Burn, the historians of Cumberland, agree with the learned Doctor; an article in the Gentleman's Magazine mentions 70 principal stones, and one or two disputable; Hutchinson says there are 67; we counted them over once and made out 68. A local tradition says they have never been counted correctly, but if by any possible chance an inquirer should hit upon their exact number, or twice reckon them the same, Long Meg would be disenchanted, instantly resume her natural shape, which is supposed to have been that of a woman, petrified for some unexplained cause, her gigantic daughters would instantly follow her example, and the lovely vale of Eden become once more the abode of malicious witches. As we were not disposed to test the accuracy of this tradition, lest the faith of believers might be unsettled, we were content with a single counting.

The circle is about 350 feet in diameter and consists of unhewn

upright stones, placed at irregular distances, some ten feet high, and from twelve to fifteen feet in circumference, others nearly level with the ground. It is impossible even to conjecture where the stones came from, as they vary so much in character. Some are of flint, some of granite, and others of grey and blue limestone. Long Meg, the principal stone, is a freestone. It stands on the south-west side of the circle, about twelve yards from the others. It is a square stone, about sixteen feet high and sixteen feet in girth, tapering a little cends, and so placed that its angles agree with the cardinal points of the compass, and the eastern angle faces the circle. On the northeast side of the stone, some curious circular markings have been discovered, which some antiquarians have hoped would help us to determine its date. All that can be positively said of them, however, is that they undoubtedly exist, but may have been placed there for astronomical purposes by some modern astrologer-they do not appear coæval with the stone itself.

At that part of the circle nearest to the principal stone are placed four massive square stones, with a flat surface, as though they were intended for altars: certainly they were used for some other purpose than that of marking the boundary of the circle, though what that purpose could have been, we can only conjecture.

There are no traces of an inner circle of smaller stones such as existed at Stonehenge and at Abury in Wiltshire. Neither are there any traces of a mound, or even of a central chamber indicating that it was used as a place of sepulture. But in the absence of information it is not easy to tell what changes may have been effected in the course of centuries, to destroy the original aspect of the place. A few years ago a thick hedge passed almost through the centre of the circle. This has been removed, but the circle is still intersected by a road. It is said that a Colonel Lacy once conceived the idea of destroying the stones by the process of blasting. For that purpose he engaged a gang of labourers, but the moment they commenced work the slumbering powers of Druidism, or the malevolent powers of magic arose in arms against this desecration of their sanctuary, and produced such a furious storm of thunder, and lightning, and pelting hail, that the labourers were driven from their work, and vowed never more to insult the spirits by meddling with their property. The story is not many years old, so it is likely there may be some truth in it. If the design ever existed in the minds of the gallant Colonel, who by the way is credited

with some extraordinary freaks, lovers of antiquity may well be glad that the storm was so opportune and the labourers so credulous.

The writer of a recent article in the "Leisure Hour" says, "Stonehenge is a modern antique, compared with the age attributed to it in the days of our forefathers." This cannot be said of Long Meg. We have no direct means of tracing its history, but there are certain marks which indicate its almost fabulous antiquity. It may have been in existence many centuries before we have any authentic history, and is undoubtedly much older than Stonehenge. The latter monument exhibits many improvements which were not known to the northern builders: it is, as the writer of the article very cleverly points out, “an improved edition in hewn stone, of the ancient unhewn stone circle." Long Meg belongs to the ruder and more antique period. The stones of the southern circle came under the hands of the graver, and were prepared for their position with iron tools; but the stones of the northern circle may have been erected at a time when the use of metal was unknown in this country, and the workmen had no better tools than hard flint.

E. D. W.

MADELEINE'S TRUST.

I.

"Sweet and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow

Wind of the western sea,

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon and blow,

Blow him again to me."

THE soft song came rippling away in tender yearning melody from two rosy lips belonging to a maiden over whose head some twenty summers had passed. She warbled her song at the piano in the still June twilight, and when it was ended, she rose and noiselessly glided across the room to a sofa, over which she bent down, and lovingly kissed a fair delicate face that lay upon the pillows. A beautiful boy of about four years of age was kneeling on the ground busily employed in building a tower of wooden bricks. The room was not large nor

lofty, but it bore the impress of refinement and taste, and was adorned with many pretty fancies and curious bits of old china, and Indian treasures. The soft breeze sighing through the open windows, bore on its breath the scents of geranium and jasmine, while the darkening twilight threw a shade of sadness over the lovely evening.

"Well, Lina, you deserve to have something good blown to you across the sea, you sing that song so sweetly. Only a week to-morrow, Lina, I hope the happiness will not kill me."

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"Only a week to get up some roses in, Blanche, and make haste, or I shall be blamed for not taking good care of you," was the playful answer; roses for you, darling, that is all I want blown across the sea; but I suppose they will come with the ship and not before."

"Three years, Lina, since I saw him,-three years is a long, long time. I often wish I had stayed and died out there. I have lost three years of Gerald's life, and I am so altered, he will find me sadly changed. I am very silly, dear, but tell me again, am I very much changed?"

Her young sister knew how to comfort and reassure her, and when by-and-by the boy came to nestle down on the sofa for his "Good night to papa and mamma," the "papa" being a picture in a locket which Mrs. Fielding always wore, it was a peaceful, happy little group that the old nurse disturbed, as she came in to carry off Master Gerald to bed.

Madeleine Clifford had lived with her sister for three years, ever since she came home from India, an invalid with her baby boy. Her husband was in the Indian Civil Service, and he had taken out his lovely bride three years before to Madras, where she had been a general favorite in consequence of her beauty and winning manners. the climate would not let her keep her health. After her boy was born her strength did not return,—the first medical advice was called in by the alarmed husband, and the cruel decree went forth that she must, without delay, seek her native land.

But

Gerald Fielding was ready to throw up his appointment and go to England with his wife, but an old friend of his father represented to him the rashness of such a course, and at length they parted, the terrible wrench almost killing both,-the wife to take the long journey to the shores that seemed to her no longer home, but with her child in her arms; the husband to go on with his work, feeling that all the spirit was gone

out of it now that there were no sweet lips to meet his with their fond caress, no tiny hands to grasp his finger with their baby games. Yes, theirs had been a true love amidst all the gaiety and fashion which had seemed to be necessaries in their life.

Blanche Fielding, unable to face the cold of Lancashire, where her family had lately moved, was obliged to take a small house in the south of England, and she begged that her next sister, who was five years younger than herself, might come and stay with her till she was a little stronger. So Madeleine came away from her busy home, where she was just beginning to enter into all her father's parish work, and cheerfully devoted her energies to nurse and cheer her sister, and as the weeks wore on she was rewarded by the sight of the faint bloom that stole back to the pale cheeks, and the slowly returning strength, and still more by the clinging love that both the mother and her baby boy showed towards her.

One of the child's first long sentences was uttered as he ran to meet her, when she came back from a walk, and said, “I is so glad you are come, auntie, please make mammy well," for his mother had given way under one of her fits of depression, and his baby trust told him that she must be "well" as soon as "auntie " came.

But though all this love made sunshine in her heart, yet many a time did Madeleine's thoughts turn with a hungry longing to her home in Lancashire, and she would eagerly watch for the Indian Mail in the hope that Gerald would tell of his approaching return, and that so her freedom might be in sight, even though distant; for though the first agreement had been that she should stay at Southbourne only till Blanche got better, yet the mere mention of the idea of Madeleine's leaving made her sister quite miserable, and was soon set aside as an impossibility.

But now Gerald was really coming. He had been promised an appointment in England, and he had gladly given up his present office to return to his country and regain his treasures. Blanche was in the garden when his letter was brought to her, and Madeleine wandered away into the shrubbery, as with trembling hands it was torn open,for she always left her sister to read her precious letters alone; but it was well that Madeleine was not far off, for the sudden joy for which she had pined so long was too much for the still delicate wife, and a long faint was succeeded by violent hysterics. Afterwards all the little preparations for her husband's welcome and comfort occupied her

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