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with the fortress-like buildings where | famous abbey, that from the seventh centourneys and other brilliant displays celebrated the festival of England's patron saint, St. George. The old Bell Tower, beneath which prisoners were once confined; the Round Tower, constructed to receive the round table of the Knights of the Order of the Garter; and St. George's Chapel, the burial-place of present and past royalty these three structures present a particularly striking appearance from the river. Yet it would seem that one must lose most of the charm of this spot if he fails to stroll along the forest walks, the elm-shaded drives, and the farm lands of the great park, or to enjoy that finest of English views from the noble terrace that surrounds the walls, antique towers, and embattlements of the castle. Among the more striking points that meet the eye are the Gothic chapel and buildings of Eton, occupying a most beautiful site amid trees and "sweet meadows" on the opposite side of the river,

"Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade."

The grand old playing fields, sloping gracefully down to the river, and adorned with stately elms and pretty green lawns, are wonderfully captivating. It seems as if nature and art could not have produced a lovelier spot for the early boyhood of such men as Gray, Fox, Wellington, Hallam, and Gladstone.

tury enjoyed such extraordinary wealth and power. Some stone walls, a graveyard, and the tolling of the old curfew bell alone remain to remind one of Erkenwald's foundation. History tell us that this monastery of the Benedictines was a favorite resort of Henry VI., and here the remains of that king found a resting-place previous to their interment at Windsor. A picturesque old place, the Porch House, marks the home of the poet Cowley. His pretty gardens looked out upon St. Anne's Hill, and were interspersed with shady trees, one of which, a famous old horse-chestnut, is pointed out as that beneath which the poet frequently sat. There is something singularly unfortunate in Cowley's career, and one longs to know more of the latent worth of that poet whom Milton ranked with Shakspeare and Spenser, and who enjoyed the highest esteem of Pope and Johnson. There is a beautiful touch of pathos in the lines of Pope over that solemn procession that followed the remains of Cowley down the Thames to Westminster Abbey.

early lost! What tears the river shed When the sad pomp along his banks was led !"

If one should walk a mile or so to the west of Chertsey, up the slope of St. Anne's Hill, he would reach that delightful spot where Charles James Fox lived and worked during the summer months. The gardens, woods, and lawns, and the view over the surrounding country, are all so charming that one can well understand how it was that Fox "loved the place with a passionate fondness." He no doubt revelled in the joys of country life. "Where is Fox now?" was asked of Gen

I soon left this tempting spot, and followed the sinuous course of the stream, varied with lines of willows and waterlilies along its bank, and dotted here and there with picturesque islets. One of these-Magna Charta-lying nearly opposite the long level meadow of Runnymede, recalled many historical associa-eral Fitzpatrick at a critical stage in the tions, for

"There was that Charter seal'd, wherein the crown
All marks of arbitrary power lays down."
I spent some time at the little cottage on
the island, and examined with a certain
degree of curiosity a stone table, on which
an inscription declares that "On this isl-
and, in June, 1215, King John of England
signed the Magna Charta."

There was little to justify any further delay until I reached Chertsey, where the ancient abbey and that lovely point of view, St. Anne's Hill, were sufficient inducements to draw up the canoe. There are, indeed, very few remains of this once

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French Revolution. "I dare say he is at home, sitting on a hay-cock reading novels, or watching the jays steal his cherries, was the reply.

Setting out from Chertsey, my canoe began to leak quite freely, and this was an excuse for landing at the meadows of Coway Stakes, where accounts say Cæsar encountered the "woad-stained" Britons under Cassivelaunus, who had sought to impede his progress by planting stakes on the bank and in the bed of the river. The scenery was not particularly interesting at this point, and so soon as the canoe's stern was well besmeared with soap-the only expedient at hand-I paddled on to

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"Chester presents Walton with a bridle,

To curb women's tongues that talk too idle." The unfortunate female with tongue tied fast was led about the streets, or exposed to public gaze in the market-places.

This portion of the Thames is a favorite resort of anglers, who can be seen day in and day out in their punts, moored close by the bridge, or under the shade of Oatlands Park-once the cherished home of the young Queen Elizabeth. One old fellow seemed to be having fine sport with

the bream that swim in such abundance in these waters, while his companion was sulkily complaining of his luck. The latter could not understand it, and would not be told that it was from any want of skill and experience that he failed to hook a fish.

As I paddled on, the river seemed to lose those charms that gave such peculiar loveliness to the scenery of the Upper Thames, though here and there some pretty villas gave a pleasing character to the banks. One of these, standing some distance back, with beautiful grounds sloping down to the river, and weeping-willows dipping their branches in the stream, is celebrated as having been for twenty-five years the country residence of Garrick after his retirement from the stage. Here the actor entertained at dinner parties and garden parties such men as Horace Walpole and the Duke of Grafton; and here every May-day village children loved to romp, and partake of the cakes, wine, and other good things that Garrick set apart for them.

The first thing that attracted my attention, as the canoe neared this charming villa of Hampton, was an octagonal structure, apparently a summerhouse, but originally built to receive Roubiliac's statue of Shakspeare, which was

being executed according to Garrick's order, and for which the vain actor sat as a model.

It was now but a short paddle to Hampton Court-my journey's end-and the sight of Wolsey's old palace was particularly welcome after three days of comparatively solitary life on the Thames. There was a picnic party in the neighborhood when I arrived. One of the London steamboats had landed hundreds of men, women, and children, who seemed everywhere about the town, in the palace grounds, under the chestnuts of Bushy Park, and along the banks of the river. Some were losing themselves in the

CHAPTER III.

Maze"; some were admiring the wonderful "vine" and its huge clusters of Black Hamburgs; others were "doing" the palace, or whiling away the time on a rustic seat beneath some shady tree. That spot where kings resided from the time of Henry VIII. to that of George II. has now become a public thoroughfare. The rooms once frequented by royalty are now assigned to the widows of such men as have done their country noble service, or are thrown open to the throngs of sightseers who go to look at the pictures, or to satisfy their curiosity in whatever tends to reveal the domestic life of the royal household.

ANNE.

"By this means was the young head furnished with a considerable miscellany of things and shadows of things: History in authentic fragments lay mingled with fabulous chimeras, wherein also was reality."-CARLYLE.

"Wassamequin, Nashoonon, and Massaconomet did voluntarily submit themselves to the English,

and promise to be willing from time to time to be instructed in the knowledge of God. Being asked not to do any unnecessary work on the Sabbath day, they answered, 'It is easy to them; they have not much to do on any day, and can well take rest on that day as any other.' So then we, causing them to understand the articles, and all the ten commandments of God, and they freely assenting to all, they were solemnly received; and the Court gave each of them a coat of two yards of cloth, and their dinner; and to them and their men, every one of them, a cup of sack at their departure. So they took leave, and went away."-Massachusetts Colonial Records.

walls here and there; there was no furniture save the tables and shelves made by the island carpenter, and one old leathern arm-chair, the parson's own, a miracle of comfort, age, and hanging leather tatters. But on the shelves and on the tables, on the floor and on the broad window-sills, were books; they reached the ceiling on the shelves; they wainscoted the walls to the height of several feet all around the room; small volumes were piled on the narrow mantel as far up as they could go without toppling over, and the tables were loaded also. Aisles were kept open leading to the door, to the windows, and to the hearth, where the ragged arm-chair stood, and where there was a small parade-ground of open floor; but everywhere else the printed thoughts held sway. The old fire-place was large and deep, and here burned night and day, throughout the winter, a fire which made the whole room bright; add to this the sunshine streaming through the broad, low, uncurtained windows, and you have the secret of the cheerfulness in the very face of a barren lack of everything we are accustomed to call comfort.

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R. GASTON sat in his library, studying a chess problem. His clerical coat was old and spotted, his table was of rough wood, the floor uncarpeted; by right, Poverty should have made herself prominent there. But she did not. Perhaps she liked the old chaplain, who showed a fine, amply built person under her reign, with florid complexion, bright blue eyes, and a curly brown wig-very different in aspect from her usual lean and dismal retinue; perhaps, also, she stopped here herself to warm her cold heart now and then in the hot, bright, crowded little room, which was hers by right, although she did not claim it, enjoying it, however, as a miserly money-lender enjoys the fine house over which he holds a mortgage, rubbing his hands exultingly, as, clad in his thin old coat, he walks by. Certainly the plastering had dropped from the

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"Her name is here, I have it written down-Mrs. Evelina Crangall," said the chaplain, reading aloud from his notebook, in a slow, sober voice. Evidently it was a matter of moment to him to keep that name well in his mind.

Public opinion required that Dr. Gaston should employ a Protestant servant; no one else was obliged to conform, but the congregation felt that a stand must be

a chalk line, at the parson's threshold. Now it was very well known that there were no Protestants belonging to the class of servants on the island who could cook at all, that talent being confined to the French quarter-breeds and to occasional Irish soldiers' wives, none of them Prot

tenure of his rectorship-being dependent | upon the chance wills and fancies of his people. Here was no dignity, no time for pleasant classical studies, and no approval of them; on the contrary, a continuous going out to tea, and a fear of offending, it might be, a warden's wife, who very likely had been brought up a Dissenter. The Reverend James Gaston therefore preferred the government for a master. Dr. Gaston held the office of post chap-made somewhere, and they made it, like lain, having been, on application, select ed by the council of administration. He had no military rank, but as there happened to be quarters to spare, a cottage was assigned to him, and as he had had the good fortune to be liked and respected by all the officers who had succeeded each other on the little island, his position, un-estants. The poor parson's cooking was like that of some of his brethren, was endurable, and even comfortable. He had been a widower for many years; he had never cared to marry again, but had long ago recovered his cheerfulness, and had brought up, intellectually at least, two children whom he loved as if they had been his own--the boy Erastus Pronando, and Anne Douglas. The children returned his affection heartily, and made a great happiness in his lonely life. The girl was his good scholar, the boy his bad one; yet the teacher was severe with Anne, and indulgent to the boy. If any one had asked the reason, perhaps he would have said that girls were docile by nature, whereas boys, having more temptations, required more lenity; or perhaps that girls who, owing to the constitution of society, never advanced far in their studies, should have all the incitement of severity while those studies lasted, whereas boys, who are to go abroad in the world and learn from life, need no such severity. But the real truth lay deeper than this, and the chaplain himself was partly conscious of it; he felt that the founda-ings before. Sometimes her teachings eftions must be laid accurately and deeply in a nature like that possessed by this young girl.

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passed from one incompetent hand to another-lake-sailors' wives, wandering emigrants, moneyless forlorn females left by steamers, belonging to that strange floating population that goes forever travelling up and down the land, without apparent motive save a vague El-Dorado hope whose very conception would be impossible in any other country save this. Mrs. Evelina Crangall was a hollow-chested woman with faded blue eyes, one prominent front tooth, scanty light hair, and for a form a lattice-work of bones. She preserved, however, a somewhat warlike aspect in her limp calico, and maintained that she thoroughly understood the making of coffee, but that she was accustomed to the use of a French coffee-pot. Anne, answering serenely that no French coffee-pot could be obtained in that kitchen, went to work and explained the whole process from the beginning, the woman meanwhile surveying her with suspicion, which gradually gave way before the firm but pleasant manner. With a long list of kindred Evelinas, Anne had had deal

fected a change for the better, sometimes they did not, but in any case the Evelinas seldom remained long. They were wanderers by nature, and had sudden desires to visit San Francisco, or to "go down the river to Newerleens." This morning, while making her explanation, Anne made coffee too. It was a delicious cupful which she carried back with her into the library, and the chaplain, far away in the chess country, came down to earth immediately in order to drink it. Then they opened the Latin books, and Anne trans

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lated her page of Livy, her page of Cicero, and recited her rules correctly. She liked Latin; its exactness suited her. Mrs. Bryden was wrong when she said that the girl studied Greek. Dr. Gaston had longed to teach her that golden tongue, but here William Douglas had interfered. "Teach her Latin if you like, but not Greek," he said. "It would injure the child-make what is called a blue-stocking of her, I suppose and it is my duty to stand between her and injury."

Ah! ah! you want to make a belle of her, do you?" said the cheery chaplain.

"I said it was my duty; I did not say it was my wish," replied the moody father. "If I could have my wish, Anne should never know what a lover is all her life long."

my duty to keep her from making herself positively unattractive."

"Greek need not do that," said Dr. Gaston, shortly.

"It need not, but it does. Let me ask you one question: did you ever fall in love, or come anywhere near falling in love, with a girl who understood Greek?"

"That is because only the homely ones take to it," replied the chaplain, fencing a little.

Aft

But Anne was not taught Greek. er Cicero she took up algebra, then astronomy. After that she read aloud from a ponderous Shakspeare, and the old man corrected her accentuation, and questioned her on the meanings. A number of the grand old plays the girl knew almost entirely by heart; they had been her readingbooks from childhood. The down-pouring light of the vivid morning sunshine and the up-coming white glare of the ice below And you and met and shone full upon her face and figure as she bent over the old volume laid open on the table before her, one hand supporting her brow, the other resting on the yellow page. Her hands were firm, white,

"What! you do not wish to have her marry, then? There are happy marriages. Come, Douglas, don't be morbid."

"I know what men are.

I are no better."

"But she may love." "Ah! there it is; she may. And that is what I meant when I said that it was

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