and has a shipyard; he builds fishing-boats, and yachts, and everything of the sort. It must be a very jolly place, I should think." "What did you say his name was?" the contractor asked, taking out his note-book and making an entry in it, "Joshua Dean? I may perhaps come across him some day. Jolly place? What! Well, not particularly so just at present. It's only a little fishing village, and a poor one, too; but it has great capabilities; fine sea-good sand for bathing nice rising ground, with capital sites for building. We shall make something of it by-andby. Some gentlemen that I am connected with have picked it out for a fashionable watering-place; they have bought a lot of land there, and are getting up a company- Sandy Frith Land, Building, and General Improvement and Investment Company, Limited.' The only thing I don't like about it is the name. Sandy Frith! It don't sound well, does it? I think we must change it. Something ending with ville would be more attractive. Abbotsville would do, perhaps, as it's not far from Abbotscliff." Tom Howard did not feel so sure about the improvements contemplated. He liked the idea of the fishing village and the shipyard best; and Sandy Frith was a much pleasanter name to his ears than anything ending with "ville." But as his opinion was not asked, and would not have had any weight, he did not give it; and Mr. Chaffin went on with evident satisfaction. "First thing to be done," he said, "will be to run ap a row of lodging-houses, three or four storeys high, facing the sea, and call it the Parade; circulating library at one corner, bazaar and wheel of fortune at the other. Company's hotel and billiardroom, of course; a crescent; baths and bathing machines, and as many doctors as we can get to go there, rent-free the first year if needful. We have had a lot of excursionists over already from neighbouring towns, and shall run one or two trains from London as soon as we get a little more advanced, just to advertise the place and make it known. I'm in hopes we shall find a spaw." "What's that?" said Tom. "A spaw! Why, mineral waters, of course-hot and cold-rising out of the ground naturally." "You could not make that, I suppose?" Tom suggested, his eyes twinkling. we can make "I don't know," Mr. Chaffin said; anything almost. We shall find one somehow or other, I dare say. The beach is the chief thing, however, in a watering-place, and that's capital. Just put those prospectuses in your pocket, and send them to your friends; it will be doing them a service. Shares may be had now at a moderate price; by-andby they will go up tremendously. It will pay, sir-it will pay well. What! Safe as a rock, too. Just look at the names on the directorate. Chairman, Michael Forard, Esq., of Castle Nubes, director of the Royal Abyssinian Banking Company and half a dozen others; that will show you the sort of man he is; Reginald Hoppus Quick, Esq., ditto, ditto; Sir Lupus McRavin, Bart.; G. O. Headlong, Esq., and so on. I'm a practical man myself, and would not be led away by anybody's name. Still, there they are. Then there's Oakenshore, the well-known timberdealer; Oram, one of the largest iron-masters in the kingdom; Glimmers, of the firm of Glimmers and Co., the great glass people-to say nothing of Stride, the secretary, a very active and intelligent fellow; has been secretary to two or three other companies before. Oh, yes; there will be fortunes made at Sandy Frith, I'll answer for it. What!" "Have you any shares ?" Tom asked. "Who? Me? No; I'm in a different position. I do the work, don't you see. I shall apply for the contract, and shall get it. I shall have to take some shares in part payment, no doubt, but I don't mind that." Mr. Chaffin was still enlarging upon the advantages which the first and early investors in the Sandy Frith Land, Building, and General Improvement and Investment Society might hope to derive from a bold and speculative policy under the splendid board of directors who had taken that village under their especial protection, when the train stopped at Abbotscliff station. "There he is," cried the contractor, pointing to a tall, lean, large-headed boy on the platform. "There's Marmy. Hi!" Marmy recognised his father's voice and style of address immediately, and came to the carriage, when Mr. Chaffin introduced him to Tom Howard. Chaffin junior nodded to him, and stood still looking at him as he alighted, until he saw him drag Mrs. Roseberry's hamper from under the seat, when he at once offered his assistance, and volunteered to take charge of the basket while its owner hurried away to look after the rest of his luggage. By the time he had found it, and had returned to the carriage door, the train was starting off again, and Tom could only say "Good-bye" to Mr. Chaffin as he passed, the latter calling to him to "take care of those papers, and give them out right and left among his friends and schoolfellows." Marmaduke also had some of the prospectuses, but he crumpled them up disrespectfully as soon as the train was out of sight, with the remark that that was shop, and he did not mean to have anything to do with the shop-not he. "How am I to get to the school?" Tom asked, looking from his luggage to young Chaffin. "What have you got in that hamper ?" said the other, without replying to his question. 'Guess," said Tom. 66 Cakes and oranges, and a bottle of wine, per haps." "There's no wine," said Tom. "That's a nuisance. Wine is not allowed in the boarding-house, of course, but we can always get it in if it comes." Before Tom could answer him, a porter, who had been looking at his name on his portmanteau, came up and said, "There's another hamper for you in the office, I think, just like the one you have got. It came down from London by the early train." "How can that be?" said the boy. "Let us go and look at it." The hamper was there sure enough, and the name upon it was sufficiently plain to be read without spectacles, as the porter facetiously remarked-"Tom Howard, Esq., The College, Abbotscliff. Carriage paid." "It must be from Mrs. Beverley," said Tom, with a look of great pleasure. "How very kind of her!" Then he thought of his mother. Probably this was her doing. She had not forgotten even so trifling a matter as a cake when preparing his things for school. No doubt she had asked Mrs. Beverley to provide one, and to send it direct to Abbotscliff. He did not care over much about cake, but he felt very glad to receive this token of his mother's care and kindness after she was gone away from him. He resolved to write by the very next post to Mrs. Roseberry at the Old Ship to tell her that the home cake had not really been forgotten, and to thank her again for her own present, which he had some hesitation about keeping now that the case was so materially altered, though he thought she would be offended if he should return it. As for himself, he felt that he should enjoy Mrs. Roseberry's cake all the more now that it was impossible for any shadow of reproach to be associated with it, which he could not help fancying had been the case in the landlady's mind when she gave it to him. Chaffin desired the porter to bring the two hampers up to the College immediately; and Tom, having put in a word for his portmanteau and book box, which his companion did not seem are so much about, started to walk thither, Chadın leading the way. "I say," said the elder boy, looking over his shoulder, "you are a lucky fellow." Two "Why am I lucky?" Tom asked. "Two hampers instead of one. Oh, I say! cakes. Why your father must be a pastrycook; ain't he?" "No," said Tom, laughing, but annoyed. "Oh, yes; he must be. You need not deny it. I fancy I see him—thin as a lath, with a white apron, and a little white cap upon his head, and his face all white with flour, and his sleeves tucked up-standing at a dresser and rolling out puff paste." The picture was so totally unlike the sober, grave, and somewhat stern appearance of his father, as he remembered him, that Tom Howard, in spite of his indignation, could not help laughing. "You seem to know all about it," he said. "I suppose you have a brother or an uncle, or somebody in that line yourself." Chaffin coloured up to the eyes. Tom's joke was too near the truth to be agreeable. He had, in fact, an uncle in London who was a baker, though he would not have had it known in the school for all the cakes that had ever been baked in his oven or sold in his shop. "Come, young chap," he said, "don't be saucy. My father is a gentleman, whatever yours may be." "I was only joking, of course," Tom answered; ," Tom answered; "and so were you. I don't know that it would matter much, though, if we were both of us pastrycooks' sons. We should not be any the worse for it. It's an honest trade if it's honestly foйowed." Chaffin did not seem to think much of that argument, and slouched along in silence with his hands in his pockets, the new boy following as before. "I suppose you know what you will have to do with those cakes?" Chaffin remarked. "Cut them up and eat them, I should think; that will soon be done with the help of some of the fellows." "Oh, ah, yes; but you'd better not be in a hurry. The first thing to be done will be to take a large slice of each and present it to Dr. Piercey, the head master, when he comes into school. Piercey is very fond of cake, and he expects every boy to give him a share of what he has. Paying tribute, we call it. It is a great shame, but we have to do it." Tom looked at the speaker with surprise. are joking," he said. "You "No, I'm not; upon my word I'm not. It's a fact, I assure you. But it's all the same to me. You need not believe it unless you like." He spoke so seriously that Tom, who was quite a novice in everything relating to boarding-school customs, might possibly have been deceived, but for the expression Chaffin had made use of-"You need not believe it unless you like." Why should he say that, Tom thought, if he had spoken truth? Needn't believe it? why it would be the greatest insult any one could offer not to believe a statement asserted upon honour. Tom thought over this, and answered presently: "As you give me the choice whether to believe it or not, I won't believe it." "All right," said the other; "it's your look out, not mine; but I wouldn't be in your place all the rest of the term if you don't give Piercey his share." Presently they met some of the fellows, who would have passed Chaffin without speaking; but they stopped on seeing our hero, and asked if he were a new boy. "Yes," said Chaffin, answering for him. "What's your name?" one of them said, addressing Tom. "Tom Howard," he replied, promptly, looking the inquirer full in the face, as much as to say, "What's yours?" Where do you come from?" was the next question. "My father brought him," Chaffin answered before he could speak for himself. The boys scanned the new-comer from head to foot, looked at each other and laughed, and then turned away without another word. "Who are they?" Tom asked, a little hurt by their behaviour. He had been going to shake hands with them, and they either did not, or would not, notice it. Monitors; sixth form boys; awful swells. I ought to have told them you were a marquis, and then perhaps they would have been more civil." "I'm very glad you did not," said Tom; 'though of course they need not have believed you; and if they had it would not have made any difference, I dare say." Soon afterwards they met another group of boys. They were younger, and stopped to speak to Tom; but as soon as Chaffin claimed the new boy as his own particular friend, having an eye perhaps to the hampers, they laughed and passed on. "I wonder whether I should have done better if I had come without an introduction?" Tom said to himself, remembering Captain Broad's advice about the choice of friends at school. He was still occupied with this reflection when they arrived at the College. Come, give us a taste of your quality.-Ibid. ABBOTSCLIFF was an old foundation school with a modern development, and generally went by the name of the College. It was well situated for health and amusements, but the spot was not one which would be selected in these days for such an establishment. The population of Abbotscliff was small, and although it had been intended by its founders as a day-school for the benefit of that town, the pupils now consisted almost exclusively of boarders. The school had formerly been a monastery, and there were revenues still attached to it which were sufficient to secure a liberal scale of remuneration for the masters. Of late years it had acquired a considerable reputation for scholarship and discipline, and the number of boys had increased, and was increasing rapidly. There were some remains of the old monastic buildings still in existence-a chapel, which had been restored and was in use for daily morning service, and a quadrangle and cloisters, which were but little used, the rooms surrounding them being dark and low. The principal buildings were of a later date, having been added from time to time to replace those which had fallen to decay, or to meet the requirements of increasing numbers. Detached from the rest of the building was a lofty but dilapidated tower, which had probably been designed partly as a mark for mariners at sea, and was still used as such by pilots. There was a winding staircase at one corner of this tower, and although the steps were broken and unsafe, they were still practicable for those who had nerve enough to ascend them, and who could trust themselves to make a long step now and then over a yawning gulf, and to look down from the high, crumbling walls without giddiness. The whole group of buildings, ancient and modern, stood upon the crown of a hill, and commanded a fine view of the coast, stretching away both to the east and west till bounded at each extreme by a projecting headland. Sandy Frith was not visible from this spot, but lay a little farther to the east, beyond the promontory by which it was protected from the winds coming from the Atlantic, as Mr. Chaffin's prospectuses did not fail to set forth. Tom Howard halted more than once while ascending the hill to look round at the wide expanse of sea spread out before him, and to speculate upon the whereabouts of the ship Neptune at that moment. The wind had moderated considerably during the night, and there was a gentle breeze now blowing off the land. The day was clear, and ships could be distinctly seen upon the horizon. It was just possible, Tom thought, that the ship in which his mother was might yet be in sight, and he looked with great interest upon one particular speck of white, upon which the sun was shining, and which betokened the position of a three-masted vessel in the extreme distance, hull down. It was no use giving way to such thoughts, however; his present business was to make the best use of his time as a schoolboy, and it was with that resolution that he turned and entered the boarding-house, on the books of which his name had been inscribed, at Abbotscliff. Chaffin followed him. Tom had begun to be a little suspicious of Chaffin; he felt inclined to give him half of one of his cakes and get rid of him, but the boy stuck closely to him. He could not follow him into the head master's presence, however, to which he was presently summoned for a short interview, nor into the house-master's study, in which he was afterwards received with great kindness by the tutor under whom he was to be placed. Dr. Piercey asked him a few questions, and with some words of kindness and encouragement dismissed him; but Mr. Grantly detained him to ask particulars of his previous history, and about his friends, and won the boy's heart at once by the interest he manifested in all belonging to him. "Have you any friends in the school?" Mr. Grantly asked. Tom answered in the negative, but, on second thoughts, he doubted whether that was a sufficiently correct answer, and went on to explain in what manner he had been introduced to Marmaduke Chaffin. "The Dook?" Mr. Grantly said, laughing; "have you made his acquaintance? Well, there are plenty of other boys nearer your own age, and you will soon get friendly with them. But don't take up too much with any till you know them; give them all a chance." Tom soon found out by what means his new acquaintance had gained for himself the nickname of the Dook. Chaffin was not a favourite with any of the boys; he was too pretentious. His father had risen from a comparatively humble position by his own energy, and would not have been ashamed to acknowledge it. But his son considered himself a gentleman born, and was rather obtrusive in asserting his position. Chaffin the elder was clever and industrious, a stirring practical man, who knew how to push his way in the world; not over-sensitive nor over-scrupulous, but one who would not be guilty of anything absolutely false or dishonest if he knew it. Chaffin the younger was idle and self-indulgent, and did not see the use of work, considering that his way was made for him, and that he would have nothing to do but to take care of his inheritance and to enjoy it. He had been brought up at an inferior school, and had been sent for a year or two to finish at Abbotscliff. At the former place he had been a triton among minnows; at the latter he was nobody. He sank into his natural position, and did not like it. Boys are anything but particular, as a rule, where their schoolfellows come from, or what their origin may have been, if only they themselves are generous and genial. Marmaduke Chaffin had indulged in a great deal of boasting about his father's riches and importance. He gave such wonderful accounts of the paternal mansion, horses, carriages, and servants, that his schoolfellows set him down at once as an impostor. It was true that the contractor possessed a great many vehicles of a heavy, lumbering kind, on which his name was written at full length, and these, with some latitude of expression, might be called carriages; and he had a great many powerful horses to draw them, and nobody could deny that they were horses; and he had clerks, and foremen, and labourers, who served him for their weekly hire, and, in that sense, were servants. Young Chaffin gave his descriptions in outline, and did not consider that he was guilty of falsehood in calling things by names too great for them. But the boys found him out, and turned his high-flown pretensions to ridicule. He went, therefore, by the name of the Dook. If a heavy cart passed along the road laden with bricks or rubbish, it was "one of the Dook's vehicles," and he was invited to get up and "roll in his carriage; if a team of dray-horses appeared it was the Dook's hunting stud; if a labourer, covered with soil or whitewash, came to the College on a job, Chaffin was sure to be told that one of his father's servants was there in livery. The little boys were the authors of these jokes; the seniors took no notice of Chaffin, and would have nothing to say to him. It was unfortunate for our friend Tom Howard that he should have made his first appearance at Abbotscliff under such auspices; but he knew nothing of " Marmadook's" character or antecedents, and was anxious to be on friendly terms with the youth on account of the kindness which his father had shown him at the Old Ship Hotel. Mr. Grantly was careful to say nothing which might prejudice one boy against another; but having heard how matters stood between Chaffin and our hero, he determined to watch over the new boy, to direct him, without appearing to do so, in the choice of companions, and quietly to bring him under better influences. He kept him with him till the bell rang for dinner, and then, with a few kind words, dismissed him. Tom thought he was again very fortunate in having met with such a friend. It was wonderful, he said to himself, how kind everybody was; he had not been twenty-four hours on shore in this new part of the world, and yet he had already made so many pleasant acquaintances. He counted them upon his fingers: the pilot, Mrs. Roseberry, Mr. Chaffin, Dr. Piercey, Mr. Grantly. He would have to begin upon the other hand before night, most likely. ILIES are among the most charming of our summer flowers. A French writer, describing the white lily, has truly said, "It is the king of flowers, whereas the rose is the queen." The late W. S. Landor, speaking of it, says, "Take the whole plant together, leaves and all, it is the most beautiful one upon earth, and its odour gives a full feast, the roses only a déjeûner." It is impossible to look at this noble and loving flower without thinking of the "lilies of the field" in that greatest and sweetest of sermons delivered by our Lord on the mount. Many are the conjectures, however, as to the species of lily to which the Divine words refer; some are of opinion that it was the white (Lilium candidum), others the crimson (Lilium chalcedonisum), and others say again, it was the orange lily, all of which are natives of the Holy Land. The white lily has been generally regarded as emblematical of purity and moral excellence, and was frequently placed by artists in the hands of female saints. It was a favourite flower with the ancient Greeks, and entered largely into their customs and superstitions. In the wedding ceremonies of the modern Greeks the priest is supplied with two chaplets of lilies and ears of corn, which he places on the heads of the bride and bridegroom as emblems of purity and abundance. It is the badge of St. Joseph, and was the national emblem of France till the year 1789, when the tricolour was introduced. In Germany, it would seem that the soul was thought to have the form of a flower, as a lily or a white rose. From the grave of one unjustly executed white lilies are supposed to spring up as a token of his innocence, and from that of a maiden three lilies, which no one, save her lover, may gather. In Swedish ballads limes and lilies grow out of graves. It is a German superstition, too, that on the chair of those that will soon die a white rose or lily appears. Shakespeare constantly refers to the lily, and always attaches to it the sweetest and choicest epithets. Spenser addresses it as "the lily, lady of the flow'ring field." And Cowper has not forgotten its charms: "The lily's height bespoke command, She seem'd designed for Flora's hand, The water-lily is another object of beauty. Its scientific name (Nymphæa alba) is so called from its inhabiting the water. It was formerly supposed that it sank below the surface of the water at night, and remained there till the following, morning, which illustrates the following lines of Moore: "Those virgin lilies all the night, Bathing their beauties in the lake, It is gathered in Germany with certain rites as a charm against witchcraft. It was also esteemed by the old Frisians to have magical powers. "I remember, when a boy," says Dr. Halbertsma, "that we were extremely careful in plucking and handling them; for if any one fell with such a flower in his possession he became immediately subject to fits." A sort of beer has been prepared from the stems of the white water-lily, which are also used in dyeing. A flower always welcomed with delight is the lily of the valley, with its snow-white and sweetly fragrant blossoms, half hidden in the dark-green leaves. Wordsworth has aptly described its mode of growth: "That shy plant, the lily of the valley, That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds In many parts of England it is called the May lily, under which term Bishop Mant speaks of it as "Our England's 'Lily of the May, Our Lily of the Vale!" One of its popular names is "Ladder to heaven," and in some places it is known as Lily-convally. It is dedicated to the Virgin, and has been regarded as symbolical of purity and holiness, its flowers being nicknamed "Virgin's tears." The Germans call it "Mai Blume," a name, however, which they also give to the kingcup. It is not without its superstitions. Thus, in Devonshire, it is considered unlucky to plant a bed of lilies of the valley, as the person doing so will probably die in the course of the ensuing twelve months. In some parts of St. Leonard's Forest, in Sussex, it grows freely, and a legendary story is there attached to it, It is said to have sprung from the blood of St. Leonard, who once encountered a mighty worm, or "fire-drake," in the forest, and fought with it for three whole successive days. days. Although the saint came off victorious, yet he was severely wounded in the struggle with his assailant, and wherever his blood fell there sprang up a profusion of lilies of the valley. It is mostly cultivated in this country, yet it grows freely in some of the German forests. In Hanover it is gathered by the people on Whitsun Monday, and towards evening, we are informed, there are very few houses to be found without it. The fritillary, that graceful little plant which belongs to the lily tribe, and adorns our meadows in the early spring-time, has been so called on account of its checkered petals, being derived from the Latin frittilaria. It is also termed snake's-head, from the marks on its petals resembling the scales on a snake's head. Guinea-hen is another name for it, from the supposed resemblance of the spots on its petals to this bird, which is a native of the Guinea Coast of Africa. * The "bold oxlip," as it is called by Shakespeare, is so like the primrose and cowslip, says Mr. Ellacombe, that it has been supposed to be a hybrid between the two. It is a gay and handsome plant, and much cultivated by the poor in their cottage gardens. It is alluded to in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (act 2, sc. ii.): "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, The polyanthus is a variety of the oxlip. In some parts of Europe it is called the "flower of St. Catherine," from the saint to whom it is dedicated. In Wiltshire the larger bindweed is called the lady's nightcap; and the lady's slipper, one of the most beautiful of our native plants, is so termed from the peculiar shape of the labellum of its flower. The campanula hybrida is in many localities popu larly nicknamed the lady's looking-glass, from the resemblance of its expanded flower to an ancient metallic mirror on its straight handle. It is also called Venus's looking-glass, a name given by Spenser to a magic mirror, in which a lady might see her destined husband. The Star of Bethlehem is supposed by Linnæus and others to be the dove's dung of Scripture. The root has been used in the time of scarcity. In 2 Kings vi. we read that a small quantity was sold for "five pieces of silver" at the siege of Samaria. It is called the Star of Bethlehem from its white stellate flowers, resembling the pictures of the star that pointed out the birth of Christ. It is called by the French La dame d'onze heures (eleven o'clock lady), as it opens its petals at that hour, and closes them at five. The columbine has long been one of the most favourite of our old-fashioned English flowers; and is so called, says Dr. Prior, "from the resemblance of its nectaries resembling the heads of pigeons in a ring round a dish, a favourite device of ancient artists; or, according to Lady Wilkinson, to the "figure of a hovering dove with expanded wings, which we obtain by pulling off a single petal with its attached sepals." Its latter name, aquilegia, however, is said to come from aquilegus, a water-carrier, in allusion to the water-holding powers of the flower. From "Brown's British Pastorals," it would appear that in bygone times it was the badge of a deserted lover : turn over in a similar manner to the caps of the ancient jesters. It was also anciently termed by some "a thankless flower"-why, is not so clear. Chapman says "What's that—a columbine? No that thankless flower grows not in my garden." Spenser, however, gave it a better character, for he places it among "his garden of sweet flowers." account of its sweet smell is the mignonette. It is a native of Egypt, whence it was brought through France a little more than a century ago. By the ancients it was called Reseda, from its sedative qualities. The wild mignonette blooms freely in our country hedges in summer time. Linnæus tells us "that its spike of blossoms always follows the course of the sun, even on a cloudy day, turning at sunrise to the east; at noon-day, looking up to the south; in the afternoon, marking the west; and with its half closed flowers at night, pointing duly to the north." It is in some places nicknamed "dyer's rocket, or yellow weed," from its leaves resembling those of the genuine rocket, and its being used by the dyers to dye woollen stuffs yellow. A flower that has become a universal favourite on The name marigold is said to have arisen from the popular tradition that the Virgin Mary wore this flower in her bosom. The garden marigold was a Popular flower with our ancestors, and held a prominent place in the adornment of their gardens. It is now, however, seldom seen. Shakespeare, speaking of it in his Winter's Tale (act iv. sc. 3), says:— "The marigold that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping. These are flowers of The French call the marigold Souci du jardin, and the Germans Goldblume. One of its popular names in this country is Goldings, from the yellow colour and flat round shape of its flowers. It was in days gone by also called Ruddes, and the author of the Grete Herball," in speaking of it, says, "Maydens make garlands of it, when they go to feestes, and bryde ales." In the reign of Henry VIII it was called Souvenir. Ladies wore wreaths of them intermixed with heartsease. The marigold is said to turn its face always to the sun. Hence Margaret of Orleans had for her device a marigold turning towards the sun, with the following words, "Je ne veux suivre que lui seul," meaning that she wished all her thoughts to be directed towards heaven, as the marigold is towards the sun. In America the marigold is called the "Death-flower," from a curious tradition that it sprang up on places where the blood of the unfortu nate Mexicans had been shed, who were destroyed by the Spaniards. The small Cape marigold (Calendula pluvialis) was termed by Linnæus the rainy marigold," because it is generally closed, not only during rain but when the weather is dull and cloudy. One of the showy flowers that adorns our hedges in summer time is the fox-glove, called also fingerflower, from the resemblance of its flower to the finger of a glove. In Norway it goes by the name of foxmusic and fox-bell. By the Saxons it was called finger-hut, and did not boast of a Latin appellation till Fuchs called it Digitalis. Wordsworth, speaking of it, says that bees "Will murmur by the hour in fox-glove bells." |