this determined manner, and he had the good sense to keep it to himself; but he could no more have talked of other things, as Robert did, than he could have flown upon the wings of the sea-bird which skimmed past them; and yet this was the only way to act a part that was at once both manly and kind.

Philip, although he also directed his steps the same way, knew little about the reason why they should return, and cared less. To him there was infinite amusement any way, in clambering occasionally half way up the cliff, then overtaking the party by double speed; and then, when he did keep on the shore, tempting the capricious waves to follow and catch him if they could.

The waves were not so capricious, however, but that they gained rapidly and steadily upon the shore, so that a very narrow strip remained for the party to walk upon, compared with the space they had recently enjoyed. The sisters, if they noticed this at all, thought it was occasioned by the bend of the coast, for Robert had succeeded so well in his endeavours to inspire them with confidence, that so long as his voice remained cheerful, and his manner self-possessed, they entertained not a thought of danger, nor, indeed, were aware that any danger was at hand.

There was but one point-one little spot along the shore, to which Robert attached any importance. Once safely past that, and all would be well. It was a little gully or creek, where the land was broken and irregular; and here, he very naturally thought, the sea would soonest reach the cliff. But then, here also, from the nature of the land, there might be a means of escape, by clambering up the side of the cliff. So Robert looked anxiously onward for this point, though he ceased not for a moment to amuse and interest his sisters, speaking all the time in the clearest, liveliest tones of his fine manly voice.

At last, on turning suddenly round a slight bend of the coast, the little hollow or bay became visible. Robert thought there was a good deal of white foam about it, and he could not see anything at all likely to prove a pathway above. Kitty, too, disturbed his composure by calling

out, "Look there, Robert, we shall have to wade through the water-I am quite sure we shall!"

"And if we have," said Robert, "what of that? Your little feet will skim through it like yon sea-bird; and as for Helen, I will carry her on my back."

The tone in which Robert spoke reassured his sisters again; so much so, that Kitty actually clapped her hands, exclaiming "That would be charming fun!" To which Robert replied by snatching her up playfully, as a sort of preliminary movement, and running with her nearly to the spot where the waves were already rolling in rather more than he had expected. He knew that when he did so the others would follow, and that thus a little time would be gained.

It appeared, on reaching this spot, that a very narrow passage, from rock to rock, was all that was necessary to be made good, in order to secure the safety of the whole party. There were some fragments of broken timber laid about, and many loose stones of considerable size. With these, it struck Robert, that he could very soon construct a sort of bridge, on which his sisters might pass over without so much as wetting their feet. He, therefore, placed Kitty on the sand, and telling them what he was about to do, busied himself immediately in collecting together such materials as he could find, the two girls helping him as well as they could.

But, where was Seymour all this while, and what was he doing? Robert was startled on turning round to catch a view of his countenance. It was absolutely white with terror and agony. From the first moment when the party turned back, he had given himself up to being swallowed in by the sea. Every roll of the waves, every burst of the heavy breakers, seemed like the roar of an enemy about to devour him in its horrid jaws. sisters, too, his brothers—almost all he loved best in the world-all appeared to him about to share the same dreadful doom; and so strong was this impression, so terrible the working of fear in his distempered mind, that the spectacle of what Robert was about, and the really trifling nature of the difficulty which they all had now to encounter, served in no

His

degree to dispel his fears, or to soothe the agony he was enduring.

Notwithstanding Robert's sound and excellent sense, he was a good while constructing his bridge, and the tide was gaining upon him all the time.

"You must make it very wide," said Kitty, looking on; "for see, Robert-do see the water is rolling in there, too. If we had been quick, and gone over at once,--"

But before Kitty had done speaking, a loud voice called out-" What are you all

about?'

66

Building a bridge," screamed Kitty, for it was Philip who shouted to them from an elevated position which he had reached on the side of the cliff.

"They can't get this way, that's clear," said he, as he sprang down like a goat, and was soon upon the beach with the others.

Robert was still busy, very busy, indeed, so much so, that he failed to observe what was going on.

"Come, Kitty," said Philip, stooping down, "you spring upon my back."

"Take Helen first," whispered the child. "She is rather frightened. I am not at all."

So Philip snatched up his sister Helen, and carried her across, sometimes wading knee deep in the water, and sometimes edging towards the foot of the cliff, so as to escape the splash of a breaking wave.

Kitty watched the process with intense anxiety. She had just said she was not at all afraid; but her blanched cheek and quivering lip now told a different story. Her turn came, however, very quickly, for Helen was soon standing almost dry upon the shore, while Philip dashed back amongst the waves, really quite enjoying the exploit.

"You are very wet about the legs, dear Philip," said Kitty, in a most pathetic tone as he approached her. "Do you think I shall be wet, too? Is the water very cold?" she added, grasping his neck so tightly with her small arms that her brother declared he should be suffocated, if he was not drowned. But Kitty spoke no more, and she also was soon set safely down beside her sister Helen.

Robert, on awaking to a sense of what was going on, felt first surprised, then amused; and bursting into a loud laugh,

he threw down a block of stone intended for the foundation of his bridge, exclaiming as he did so, "What a fool I have been to stand here contriving, while you were acting!" After which he also dashed through the water, and was soon beside his sisters.

Seymour alone was now left. Had no previous terror filled his mind, he would have thought little more of crossing the water than his brothers thought of it; but when once his mind was taken possession of by this feeling, all attempts to call back anything like manly resolution were in vain. Utterly fruitless, then, were all the loud callings of his brothers to him to come over- -all the imploring attitudes and gestures of his sisters. He who would have walked through the furnace had there been a moral cause for doing so, dared not trust himself to the shallow waves of the foaming sea, though he had just seen how lightly they might be encountered by others.

Robert wished, for Seymour's own sake, that he would come over unassisted, and therefore he called to him the more earnestly. But Seymour thought it was because of greater danger, and he was the more afraid to go. Philip had no such scruples about his brother's dignity and credit; but, dashing through once more, he snatched the terrified boy upon his shoulders and bore him harmless through. Indeed, to Philip the whole affair was so amusing, and so little fraught with anything like danger, that he could not refrain from his accustomed jokes at his brother's expense. So, carrying him on his back a great deal further along the shore than was necessary, he called out lustily-" Three cheers for the admiral!" and then, lifting him with all his might, acted the best representation he could of an electioneering chairing, with plentiful hurrahs and shouts, too, that startled the sea-gulls from the rocking waves.

This day, then, which had begun so pleasantly, only added another of those dark pages to poor Seymour's experience, which threatened to fill up, in a considerable degree, the volume of his life. But he was beginning to have practical things to think of that were enough, and sometimes a little too much, to fill each passing moment with its full saare of bitterness.

Though nearer and nearer drew the time of his departure from home, and more and more fixed the chains which were still not finally rivetted, Seymour made no absolute resistance, nor, in justice to his parents, it must be stated, ever made them really acquainted with the state of his own feelings on the subject. Those who observe little of human nature may think this improbable those who watch it narrowly will know better; for how many voluntary victims may be found, even in the kindest families, who go on to their graves complaining that all things were against them in early life, when they never made any full and clear explanation at home, either of what were their own real wishes, or what were their sufferings from the wishes of others.

But with all this, Seymour was not learning the virtue of practical obedience. He was rebelling every moment in his heart, and working in many indirect ways with a hope that grew fainter every day as to any real good to be attained.

Philip," said Seymour, one evening, as they strolled along the shore together, and he spoke very seriously, for his heart was heavy and sad,-" Philip, don't you think you could persuade papa and mamma to let you change places with me, even yet? I am sure you would make a better admiral than I ever shall."

"And you a better parson than I shall make," said Philip, laughing. "That's clear enough."

"Then do try what you can do," added Seymour.

"You are so very grave about the matter," said Philip.

"It is a grave subject," observed his brother, "in whatever light you look at it." "It doesn't seem so very grave to me." "Not yet, perhaps. But it will, I hope, sometime; that is, if you do take upon yourself the holy office you are contemplating."

"Don't talk in that canting way, Seymy. It reminds me of the old conventicle. You know it is not in my nature to contemplate anything, as you call it; and as to a holy office, I never look at it in that light, or I should give the thing up at once."

"And yet that is the only way to make the office either respectable in the sight of others, or tolerable to oneself. I know

I should think it holy, and should desire to think it so, if I were in your place." "Perhaps so; but you and are very different."

"That is the sole reason why I ask you now to make one last effort to bring about an exchange between us."

"It would be of no use; not the least in the world."

"But do try, dear Philip, just once. Do try, as you love me, and desire my happiness."

"Why, look you, Seymy, you may take my pulpit any day, and preach in it as often and as long as you like. But as to the navy, I tell you what, my boy, I once caught a sight of that old uncle of ours, the admiral, with his goldheaded cane, and ruffled shirt, and gouty legs. Did you ever see him?"

"Yes, many times."

"And did you like the look of him?" "No, not at all."

"Well, if my being an admiral must depend upon pleasing that old fellow, I can't do it, Seymy; and that's enough." "But can you do the other?" "What?"

"Study for the Church?"

"I can go to college. I don't think the fellows there study much. They eat, and drink, and row-I can do all that with any of them.”

"But you must do something else, or you will be disgraced."

"Not much of it, I fancy. Do you think Wellesborough studies, or Page, or Jackson?"

"They are not in the Church yet."

"No, but they will be; and where they can pass, I can follow. At least it is so in riding, I know, and a little beyond. them I can go at a leap."

"And when you are in the Church, as you call it, Philip, what do you mean to do?"

"Oh! attend to parish business, to be sure; make myself comfortable; and shoot, when the season comes,-perhaps hunt a little too."

Seymour could not help smiling at the difference of their tastes-at the wide extremes at which they lived in thought and feeling; but he felt secretly more disposed to sigh than smile, at the idea that this was all which entered into his

brother's calculations. He thought, too, with how much he himself would have invested the sacred office, had it been his privilege to contemplate it as his own. The subject was altogether a very sad one to him. Could his brother have been brought seriously to contemplate the change he proposed, so that the Church and the Admiralty might still have been retained in the family, all might have been well; but Philip, as he grew older, did not altogether dislike the comforts which his own destination had in store; and, therefore, he was wary about exchanging them for those which were less certain. In fact, as he grew older, it was evident that his own future grew less disagreeable in contemplation. Many other fine spirited fellows, he thought, went into the Church -it was a gentlemanly calling, at all events, and saved a man a good deal of trouble, in keeping up appearances.

But Philip has not got into the Church yet. There are a good many things to be done first. Above all, there is his college life to lead, for which, however, he is preparing as fast as a most patient tutor can prepare him; only that the boy has already got his head filled with dogs, and horses, races, and grooms; and the tutor finds them rather inconvenient, as well as boisterous companions, in the hours of study. Somewhat expensive, too, the young man's tastes begin to be, so that altogether it is a serious matter getting Philip Clifton into the Church.

To the oldest brother these tastes were becoming particularly serious, when considered in connection with the general circumstances of his family. Robert was now old enough to take these into calculation, and he did so with a gravity which often called forth a laugh from Philip at the "old man as he was pleased to designate his brother. Such laughter, however, seldom lasted long, for Robert had something about him which equally disarmed ridicule, and commanded respect. Besides which, he had early become so responsible an agent in the pecuniary transactions of the household, that selfinterest, if Philip ever acknowledged such an influence, dictated a manner calculated to conciliate, rather than offend, or repel.

Mr. Clifton, like many half-invalids,

unacquainted with the nature or the cause of their own malady, was becoming rather difficult to do with in the office, and often charged his son with blame which was wholly undeserved. The clerks were becoming dissatisfied, and often went to Robert to complain. The affairs of the business were falling into more confusion than Robert knew how to bring into order, scarcely even to understand. His father, too, forgot himself sometimes, but more frequently changed his mind without sufficient cause, giving orders and revoking them in a hurried, vacillating manner, which put every body out of temper, and himself most of all; so that poor Robert seemed to have a weight upon his young shoulders heavier at times than he knew how to bear. And all the while he did not like the business-almost hated it, and wished himself anywhere but in that dark dull office, amongst account-books, and invoices of things that were to him little better than filthy and disgusting; such as tallow, and other commodities, which, touched in detail, are supposed to degrade the character, but dealt with in the mass seem to give it dignity and worth.

Robert Clifton had so much to do with things of this kind, so little with his favourite objects of pursuit; he was so pressed down, too, by heavy galling cares, that a premature old age seemed to be creeping over him; and his once athletic form grew spare and meagre in its proportions. His face also was too pale and sharp for perfect health and his heavy black hair sometimes cast a shadow over his fine brow so deep that a mother's heart might well have sunk within her at the sight. But Robert did not complain: he was only out of his element, that was all.

:

"That was all," the mother would have said; hundreds of grave kind experienced friends would have said that was nothing compared with duty-duty to a well-regulated mind was paramount. Robert Clifton knew this as well as the gravest of them all he knew it practically, for he acted upon it every day; but it made his cheek pale nevertheless-yes, and his heart a little heavy sometimes; but he was getting himself "schooled in," he said, and when youth was over, and those silly fancies which floated through his brain had all passed by, he should do very well.