My Lord The King;

background to the waste of waters which flow between . There is the old harbour , and its quaint light-house at the end of the little pier , the remains of the old wall skirting the town seaward , the turrets and steep les of the New Town Hall , the churches , the jmblic buildings , and the orand old battlemented tower of the

Collciate Church , dedicated to St . Bega 700 years ago . There it stands crowning the town like a diadem the head of a king . Perhaps the simile is not so far-fetched when one remembers that it was an ancestor of the kings of Scotland who founded that venerable pile . His tomb—with the

lion of Scotland , still visible , carved on its blue marble sides ( though it has been exposed to the wild winds of Heaven for the last 150 years , instead of adorning the chancel , as once it did)—yet remains a testimony to his piety and munificence .

A long ridge of sand , covered with manufactories and workmen ' s cottages , connects the old town with the new ; but as South Wring'ton lies low , you see but little of it , save the roofs of the gigantic warehouses , the slender tower and lantern of the

handsome church , and a windmill or two , which gives character to the picture . Two men were lying on the grass on the low cliff , one autumn clay in 1864 , just at the spot I have indicated , looking at the fleet of ships sailing out of the two harbours .

" Pretty sight , " said Harry Mennell , a young ruddy-faced stripling , with clear grey eyes and light curly hair , and something more than the susjrieion of whiskers , and a by no means meagre moustache . Harry ' s great feature was his moustache ; and

, like the Emperor of the French , he Wade a great deal out of that usually inexpressive hirsute appendage . It was a long , c'iriy , heavy-drooping , auburn moustache , which our friend Harry had a habit of broking with the first finger and thumb

° i his ri ght hand whenever he was excited W thinking deeply on any subject . To Wok at him now , you could not think he ever thought deeply upon anything . There e % , five feet eleven in his stocking feet , pressing bis moustacheand looknig

, over the hay at the town of Abbot Wrington w ith a gaze of listless languor , which , by "le way , vastly became him . ' Prett y . sight" —our hero repeated

musingly— " very pretty—; but one gets tired of it . " "Well , what ' s up now , Mennell , " his companion hiquircd , " when you asked me to come down here from Durham to coach you during the ' long , ' you said you wanted

to get to a quiet jilace to read for your degree , and now you are no . longer settled here for a week or two than yon want to be off again 1 " " Don't be cross , old fellow ; you know its awfully slow here . I daresay it would

be jolly enough if one knew the people ; but as a total stranger—barring the bathing and boating—I can't see much iu Barton to recommend it . Fact is , Mark , I went into the town yesterday , and found out that the boat starts to-morrow for Antwerp , and so I thought I would just run over for a week or two to recruit . You know I've been reading hard since we ' ve been

here . " The Rev . Mark Chajilin burst into a hearty laugh . " Excuse , me , my dear fellow , but I can't help it , " he said apologetically . ¦ ' I like the idea of your reading hard—three hours a dayand half of that time wasted ; " and

, again the young cleric exploded in something very like a loud guffaw . "I don't quite see where the laugh comes in , " Harry remarked sententiously . " Daresay not ! " responds Mr . Chaplin . " Did ' nt see it when you got rusticated at

Oxford for the third time . Seriously , my clear boy , I really wish you would read . What am I to say to your lady mother , when her youthful son will do nothing towards getting the family living but smoke very good cigars , lie on the beach reading ' Bell's Life' and ' Byron , ' and take to bathing at all sorts of unseemly hours in unseemly places ?"

" Now that's bosh , Chajdin , about the bathing . You know I only once went clown early in the morning , and seeing that great wreck on the sands , full of water 7— -I'm sure it ' s six feet deeji in some places—I couldn't resist the temptation of

having a quiet dive . I believe you brought up that old peripatetic philosopher Miss Benchen , yourself , just as I was going to dress . " " I ' m sure I did'nt , " Mr . Chaplin says solemnly ; "but how the . old lady screamed when she saw you . By the way , if you