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MILES LAMBERT'S THREE CHANCES.
anxious tutor that they would not run any risks, nor go near the edge of the cliffs, and then the two boys went out into the wind.
As long as they were in the comparative shelter of the farm buildings, and of a wall which bordered part of the road they had to follow, they did not meet the full force of the wind, but when they got out into the open fields which ran down to the cliffs—oh, how it blew !
Raymond, who, in his town-bred life, had scarcely hitherto known what wind was, was quite taken aback and almost frightened when the gale in its full force broke upon him. It quite took his breath away, and so bewildered him that he staggered back against the wall, and almost felt inclined for a minute to give up and go home again. He had never been so roughly assaulted in his life.
But Miles seized hold of his arm and pulled him forward, and after the first shock and astonishment were over he found he could breathe again, and began to think the struggle rather amusing and exciting after all.
The two boys toiled along in silence, for it was useless to try to speak, with the wind howling and whistling in the handkerchiefs round their heads, and the thunder of the sea sounding ever nearer and nearer.
They paused at last behind a mounded heap of stones which marked the neighbourhood of a disused quarry to rest a moment and take breath.
• This isn't Saturday; how do you come to be out so early?” asked Raymond, when he had found voice enough to speak.
• Why, about noon the wind veered round more to the west'ard, and set right into the shed where we were at work, till we'd enough to do to stand up against it, without doing much at the stone. And presently all the slates* began to dance on the roof overhead, and the whole place seemed like to come down about our ears. So Job Collins—that's the man I am working under-said we had better give over work, which I know I wasn't sorry to do for one; and that's how I am here, Master Raymond."
“Do you mean to say that the wind was actually strong enough to lift those great heavy stones?” asked young Layne, in astonishment.
Aye, that it was, and to blow the whole shed down too. We saw it go as we came over the hill. I never knew such a gale in all my life!”
“It will blow me over soon, I am sure,” said Raymond, “and I shall never be able to get up again. But I would not have missed it for anything. Just look how grandly those great clouds of spray are breaking over the Head there. I declare they look as if they would wash it all away! And how their white crests gleam against the black sky! If only Mr. Turner were here, what a picture he would make of it. We must try and paint it, Lambert, when we go home. 'Tis the finest sight I ever saw.”
It was indeed a magnificent and awful sight. The clouds of spray which the tortured sea threw up like giant fountains into the air at every plunge of its maddened waves over the jagged sunken rocks, and against the frowning cliff-walls of that iron-bound coast were caught by the wind and driven far inland. They had made the air so dense with salt sea mist and fog that, though only three o'clock on a June afternoon, it was as dark as a day in December. Through the misty air a perfect snowstorm of flakes of foam came driving, whirled hither and thither in a mad dance by the gale. One plunged right into Raymond Layne's face, and filled his eyes with stinging froth, and slid down his cheeks in a slimy lather which the wind dried almost as it fell.
Everything was dark. Sky, sea, and the barren ridge of coast on which they stood, all were enveloped in that strange dark haze of driving spray. The only light was the lurid gleam on the line of breakers along the coast and on the dazzling mountains of spray which threw themselves up against the black precipices of cliff, fell back and rushed up again undaunted, like a besieging army rolling itself against a city wall.
“ You are thinking how fine it all looks, Master Raymond,” said Miles, as he tightened the knot in his handkerchief and prepared to go on, "but I'm thinking of the vessels at sea.
“Oh, but there can't be any out on such a day as this—it's quite impossible.'
“I would not be too sure of that,” returned Miles. “Why, look, there's Job Collins ! What ever is he pointing out to sea like that for? Oh, if it should be a vessel !
Miles put his head down and started off at a run. Raymond struggled after him as fast as he
Some little way ahead of them a man standing on a knoll in a field which sloped down to the edge of the cliff, and pointing wildly at something out to sea.
* Not ordinary slates, but thin slabs of stone, with which roofs in Purbeck are covered.
PEEPS INTO WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
Reeps into Westminster Abbey.
Though now stained and tattered, they are full of interest, and could tell many a strange story of the
fortunes of the houses to which they belonged. By Evelyn L. FARRAR.
Underneath each is a shield containing the arms
of the knight who bore it, and these shields are PEEP IV.
fastened over the stalls. Below are seats for the ET us leave Edward the Con- monks, with curious carvings, most of them satires
fessor's chapel, and ascend the on the evils which then prevailed in the monasteries.
All round the chapel are niches, 107 in number, to make it a magnificent me- in each of which once stood the statue of a saint. morial in every detail, from the exquisite pendants A few of these are now missing, having been of the fan roof, to the carved seats for the monks destroyed by the Puritans as idolatrous, and some to sing in “as long as the world shall endure." are so mutilated that they cannot be identified, but You enter through massive brass gates, orna- by far the greater number remain, and can be mented with the
recognised by devices of the
their emblems. Founder, the
Among others initials R. H.,
notice the portcullis
ani St. Margaret and falcon de
W trampling rived from John
the dragon, of Gaunt, the
St. Katherine red and white
PUT with her broken roses of Lan
Do wheel, St. Secaster, the lions
bastian with of England and
and loy an executioner lilies of France,
ILLA on each side with the daisy
piercing him to representing
Jag death with arHenry's
rows, St. Nichother, Margaretha
Alas, the patron of Richmond.
Teivoll saint of little These gates are
lo dn children, holdin themselves a
Frode lliw ing up his hand complete work
cogo, in blessing over of art, and form
y el a baby in fitting en
s bobo basket, trance to this
Dorothea with most beautiful
the basket of chapel.
flowers and Down the
fruit from Parasides hang the
dise, and a very banners of the
curious womanKnights of the
saint with Bath, who were
beard. This formerly in
latter, who was stalled here. Tomb of Mary, Queen of Scots.
PEEPS INTO WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
was popularly known as St. Uncumber, and it was supposed that she obtained a beard in answer to her prayers, in order to escape being married. One empty niche bears the initials R. H., entwined with a pomegranate and a rose, and is without doubt intended to hold the statue of King Henry VI., whom an attempt was made to canonize.
Henry VII, and his wife, Elizabeth of York, whose union put an end to the long strife between the houses of York and Lancaster, lie in a beautiful and costly tomb surrounded by railings at the end of the chapel. The tomb is the work of Torregiano, that sculptor who once, in a fit of rage, broke the nose of his rival, Michael Angelo. The coppergilt figures of the king and queen at the top of the tomb are beautifully executed. All round are basreliefs of Henry's nine patron saints: St. Michael, St. John the Baptist, St. John the Evangelist, St. George with the Dragon, St. Antony with his pig, St. Edward, St. Vincent, St. Anne, St. Mary Magdalene, and St. Barbara, each with their own emblem. In the vault beneath, side by side with those of Henry and Elizabeth, is the huge coffin of James I., that strange mixture of folly and wisdom, whom Dean Williams, in his funeral sermon, likened in eight particulars to King Solomon.
On either side of the tomb are small chapels, each filled with a colossal monument. That on the right belongs to the Duke of Richmond* (1634), and that on the left to George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham (1628), the favourite “Steenie” of James I., who was murdered by the assassin Felton at Portsmouth. His children, in the quaint dress of the period, kneel in a row at his head. At the east end of Henry VII.'s chapel are three small recesses. In the first is the tomb, with its beautiful recumbent figure, of Antoine, Duc de Montpensier, younger brother of Louis Philippe, King of France, and also the tomb of Lady Augusta and Dean Stanley. There will shortly be a recumbent figure of the Dean also, opposite to that of the Duc de Montpensier. His grave is covered with flowers, constantly renewed, and among them is a beautiful china wreath from the Queen, who was much attached to him and Lady Augusta. He took the greatest possible interest in the Abbey, and constantly showed parties of people over it—often parties of children, Those who were privileged to - * The date of his death is given in a chronogram. translation of his epitaph (2 Sam. iii. 38) is: CHRUNOGS. AN IGNORATIS: VIA PRINCEPS ET VIR MAGNVS OBIIT HODIE.
The elongated letters are the Roman numerals, which, when extracted, and placed according to their value, give the date of his death:-M. DC. VVV, IIIIIII., 1,4, 1000 + 600 + 15 + 8 = 1623.
Stanlev's Memorials of Westminster Abbey.
listen to him then will ever remember those interesting and delightful occasions. In the window above this recess is depicted the fortunes of the Bruces, from whom Lady Augusta was descended, beginning with the famous story of King Robert watching the spider, and learning lessons of hope and patience from the persevering efforts of the insect to fix its tiny thread. In the central recess once rested the bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, with other regicides, but these were disinterred at the Restoration by the orders of Charles II., and, as a petty act of revenge, exposed at Tyburn, beheaded, and buried under the gallows. Only one of the Cromwell family has been left undisturbed, Elizabeth Claypole, Oliver's favourite daughter, who, on her deathbed, filled her father's heart with remorse and sorrow by rebuking him for the murder of Charles I. The last recess contains the tomb of Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, and an old wooden pulpit, creaking and rickety, in which Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury in Mary's reign, preached at the coronation and funeral of his godson, Edward VI. He it was who at first, in fear of the flames, signed a paper to deny his faith in the Protestant religion, but afterwards repented of his weakness, and suffered the pain of burning. When the fire was lighted as he stood at the stake, he thrust his right hand into the flames, and held it there till it was consumed, exclaiming repeatedly, “ This is the hand that offended!”
The altar in this chapel by Torregiano, was destroyed by the Puritans. Its place is supplied by a fine modern structure in marble, and in front of it is the grave of the boy king, Edward VI., the only sovereign in the Abbey who has his full titles. George II., his wife, Caroline of Anspach, and other royal personages, are also buried in this chapel. It is here that all the christenings of the Abbey take place, the confirmations, and most of the marriages.
In a small chapel adjoining that of Henry VII. is the grand tomb of the unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, erected by her son, James I. The features of the Queen in her effigy are copied from pictures, and she is in the dress of the period, with a coif and lace ruff. The crowned lion of Scotland lies at her feet. A photographed copy of James's letter, ordering the removal of his mother from Peterborough Cathedral to Westminster Abbey, hangs near the tomb.
The vault of Mary, Queen of Scots, is crowded with coffins, among others those of Henry, the eldest son of James I., whose early death destroyed the high hopes of which he gave promise; Mary, eldest daughter of Charles I.; and
Rupert, son of the Queen of Bohemia, the Prince of the Cavaliers. Three other children of Charles I. are also buried here : two infants, Charles and Anne, and Henry, Duke of Gloucester. This last was the boy who, at the age of seven, when charged by his father not to let himself be made king while his brothers were alive, looked up and said, “I will be torn in pieces first,” at which answer the king shed tears. There is a touching story of the death of the little Princess Anne. When told by one of her attendants to say her prayers, “I am not able,” saith she, to say my long prayer (meaning the Lord's Prayer); but I will say my short one, * Lighten mine eyes, O Lord, lest I sleep the sleep of death.' This done, the little lamb gave up the ghost.*
Besides these, heaped and crushed together are the small coffins of the ten children of James I., and the eighteen children of Queen Anne, of whom only one reached the age of eleven years.
There are two other royal monuments in this chapel : one that of Margaret Lennox, grandmother of James i., whose children kneel round, the daughters on one side, the sons on the other. One of her sons is Henry Darnley, the husband of Mary, Queen of Scots, who is marked by the fragments of a crown above his head.
The other tomb is that of Margaret Richmond, mother of Henry VII. Her marble figure, by Torregiano, is one of the most beautiful in the Abbey, representing her in the garb of an abbess, with folded hands, and a look of peace on her aged face. Every one who knew her loved her, and everything she said or did became her,” said Cardinal Fisher, when preaching her funeral
One memorial of her charity remains in the bread and meat given to the poor every week in the College Hall of Westminster, a charity which she endowed in the old Almonry. She it was who said that she would be willing to go as laundress to the army of Crusaders, in order to accompany them to the Holy Land. In front of the step of the old altar are buried Charles II., William III. and Mary, Queen Anne and her husband, George of Denmark, but they have no monuments, and merely their names are engraved on the stone.
There are two other monuments here: one to General Monk, who was the hero of the Restoration, and the means of restoring Charles II. to the throne; the other to Lady Walpole, wife of Sir Robert Walpole. Her gracefully-draped figure is copied from a famous statue of “Modesty” at Rome.
T seems very strange that the dis
ciples of Jesus should not have expected the resurrection of their Master, when He had so expressly told them that He should be put to death, and then should be raised again from the dead. But strange as it is, it is nevertheless true. When they saw Him expire on the cross they gave up all hope
everything was over, they thought. They could discern no light beyond the grave. And so when Mary Magdalene came and told them that she had seen Jesus alive, they did not believe her; they considered that she had been dreaming. And when two of the disciples came, close after Mary, and asserted the same thing, they did not believe them. They said that their tale was incredible. And it was not until Jesus appeared Himself and stood in the midst of them that their incredulity gave way, and they were convinced that their beloved Master Whom they had seen die was indeed alive again. Was it not strange? Well, at all events, their slowness to believe showed that the resurrection of Jesus was no made-up story, but a great event which did really and actually occur.
In order that the disciples might be quite sure, Jesus gave them many opportunities of convincing themselves of the truth of His resurrection, and that, during a space of forty days. He appeared to individuals—to Mary and Peter—then to two at a time, then to the whole body of the apostles, then to more than five hundred brethren at once. And His appearances lasted some time. He did not come and go, but He stayed talking, perhaps for hours; and on one occasion at least ate and drank with them. And some of them even touched His sacred body. Could they have any doubt that He whom they saw dead was now alive again? Of course not. You went to church last Sunday, I suppose? If there was only one clergyman, as might have been the case, and that your own clergyman, he was there present before you for a large part of two hours, praying and reading and preaching. Are you not ready to get up in a witness-box in a court of justice, and say you are perfectly sure he was alive that Sunday morning ? And yet you only saw him, and heard him. You did not touch him; and he did not eat in your
presence. Yet you are sure. Remember, then, that the disciples had more reason to believe in the resurrection of their Master than you have to believe that your clergyman was alive last Sunday morning.
Now, why was all this pains taken to make the disciples sure that Jesus had risen again from the dead? Because the resurrection of Jesus is of such yery, very great importance. In the first place, if Jesus has not risen from the dead, then all the work which He did upon earth has come to nought. God has not acknowledged it, and it is an entire failure. But by raising Jesus from the dead, God showed that He accepted His Son's redeeming work; and Jesus is now able to save to the uttermost all who put their trust in Him.
In the next place, we learn from the resurrection of Jesus that we too shall one day rise again from the dead. What becomes of us when we die, my dear children, if we are true disciples of Jesus? Why, our bodies turn to dust, and our spirits rest in “Paradise," waiting for the coming of the Lord. But when the resurrection-day arrives, the body rises out of the dust, and the righteous shine forth like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. And this hope and expectation makes us careful how we live. Think of that! If we are looking forward to that bright day when we shall stand in our glorious resurrection-bodies before the throne of Christ, we shall endeavour now, God helping us, to purify ourselves, even as He is pure.
impossible. When your dear father died he left but little money, and had it not been for your uncle's kindness in providing us both with a home, and you with a good education, I cannot tell what would have become of us; and now when he wishes you to learn farming, that you may take the farm after him, you cannot tell how much it pains me to see you set yourself against it in this determined way.'
“ Uncle has been good to me,” said George, reflectively, “and I wish I were rich to pay him back.”
“Money could never pay for the kindness and love he has bestowed on you. He would be far better repaid if you acted the part of a dutiful son, and attended to his wishes."
“ I should not ever make a good farmer. It is not likely when I hate it so.”
“I don't think you ever even tried to take an interest in it, George. Of course if you make up your mind to start with that you can only like one thing, you never will like anything else. But there is another way of looking at it. You talked only last Sunday of wishing to do God's will. It is not enough to do it when it is the same as your own. If you want to serve and please Him, you must be willing to give up your will when it is against His; and it certainly seems to be God's will that you should be a farmer. You cannot be an engineer since your uncle objects so strongly."
George said nothing, but looked thoughtfully at the little white clouds edged with pink that floated slowly across the sky.
The next few days George was very quiet. He walked silently in from school, instead of rushing in whistling or singing at the top of his voice. His uncle began to think he must be ill. But his mother said, “Let him be for a day or two."
At length one evening when he came to wish her “good night,” he lingered a minute, and then said, hesitatingly, “ I have given up the engineering, mother, and I'm going in for farming,” and then hurried out of the room. After that, if noise be indicative of good health, George was certainly not ill.
Not many weeks after this, George came home from school and found his mother in trouble with her sewing-machine. Do what she might, it would not work. But a little while before he would not have noticed there was anything wrong, but since the conversation narrated above he had been much more thoughtful and considerate to all about him.
“It is so tiresome just now,” she said. “I must get this work done by Saturday, and I am sure I
O; I hate farming and all to do with it. I can't bear cows, and sheep, and pigs. And as
for standing day after day, waiting for rain for the turnips or sun for the wheat, it is dreadful. I want to be
an engineer. I don't mind how | hard I work."
And George Somers threw himself back on the little horse-hair sofa, and looked very determined and not a little cross.
"I know you do, my boy," said his mother, who sat working by the window, “and I wish you could do what you want, but it is