
times it is difficult to feel the truth that
 
There are in this loud stunning tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of th' everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart
Through dusky lane and crowded mart,
Plying their task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.
 
I have an annual holiday, which I generally spend in Wales; and often in this
immediate neighbourhood.«
    »I do not wonder at your choice,« replied Ruth. »It is a beautiful country.«
    »It is, indeed; and I have been inoculated by an old innkeeper at Conway
with a love for its people, and history, and traditions. I have picked up enough
of the language to understand many of their legends; and some are very fine and
awe-inspiring, others very poetic and fanciful.«
    Ruth was too shy to keep up the conversation by any remark of her own,
although his gentle, pensive manner was very winning.
    »For instance,« said he, touching a long bud-laden stem of foxglove in the
hedge-side, at the bottom of which one or two crimson-speckled flowers were
bursting from their green sheaths, »I dare say, you don't know what makes this
foxglove bend and sway so gracefully. You think it is blown by the wind, don't
you?« He looked at her with a grave smile, which did not enliven his thoughtful
eyes, but gave an inexpressible sweetness to his face.
    »I always thought it was the wind. What is it?« asked Ruth innocently.
    »Oh, the Welsh tell you that this flower is sacred to the fairies, and that
it has the power of recognising them, and all spiritual beings who pass by, and
that it bows in deference to them as they waft along. Its Welsh name is Maneg
Ellyllyn - the good people's glove; and hence, I imagine, our folk's-glove or
fox-glove.«
    »It's a very pretty fancy,« said Ruth, much interested, and wishing that he
would go on, without expecting her to reply.
    But they were already at the wooden bridge; he led her across, and then,
bowing his adieu, he had taken a different path even before Ruth had thanked him
for his attention.
    It was an adventure to tell Mr. Bellingham, however; and it aroused and
amused him till dinner-time came, after which he sauntered forth with a cigar.
    »Ruth,« said he, when
