would say, thoroughly well. In addition to his two services he opened a school-chapel at Bremshill for afternoon service. When one of his books made a good profit, the first thing he did was to raise the stipend of his curate. While residing at Eversley he had also to find a home, first at Cambridge, then at Chester, then at Westminster. His Cambridge work, which cost him the hardest labour, was the least satisfactory. With nature, human nature, and religion he was thoroughly familiar; but he was unaccustomed, except in the rare instance of Hypatia, to deal with the phenomena of history, and he had some idea, hardly very intelligible either to himself or others, of applying scientific laws to the facts of history. He was a popular lecturer at Cambridge, and filled his classroom. The only occasion on which we ever saw him on the platform was at the Southampton Church Congress. He then spoke of his boys' at Cambridge, a term which he was very fond of applying to them. He had a curious sinuous motion of the body, the movement was quite serpentine, when he made a speech, and his stammering, which often gave him great trouble, appeared on such occasions entirely to vanish. But wherever Kingsley went he left the full impress of his character. You should talk to the

There have been few men

Chester people about him. with such an entourage of friends, from the Queen and the Prince to the Hampshire ditcher and delver.

Those who knew least of him as a great and famous man loved him for his goodness and sympathy. He himself was greater than any of his books; and his life may be studied, and in very much copied, as the best book of all.

The Seaside in Spring.

EAS

ASTER often falls early, and most people have formed the habit of going out of town at Easter. We would recommend them to go straight off to the seaside.

It

One of the hardest worked men in London lays down the hygienic rule, that he requires three months' holiday in the autumn and three weeks at Easter. is a very liberal allowance, but perhaps a chronic state of tension and pressure could hardly be maintained upon less. When a man has been at work since November, and has before him the height of the London season, he is wise to interpose a brief season of rest if he has the chance. He should make the rest and retirement as absolute as possible, more especially if he has books, briefs, sermons, and speeches to attend to. He can procure this absolute rest anywhere on the coast. Fashion has inexorably decreed that the coast should be frequented in the autumn and deserted in the spring. Yet we venture to assert that the seaside at spring is more delightful than at

If the winds are bleak,

any other time of the year. the rocks gather the sunshine and screen you against the blast. In the sweet mild moods of wayward April, a day on calm water, when you breathe the iodine and the ozone, has a most exhilarating and tonic effect. In these gentle southern climates the wild flowers blossom with gay profusion, and you welcome the stately blooms of the garden and the conservatory. The oceanic atmosphere is a true restorative after the fogs and fatigues of London, a true renovant against the coming crush of the season. Moreover, there are special advantages attending the seaside in spring. You do not make one of a horde in the annual irruption. You find the natives a mild-eyed, mild-voiced race, unlike the creatures of prey who have to make the brief season yield profits that must last the whole year. You pay local prices, not fancy prices. You make friends with the hardy, honest race whom we especially love, the simple fisher-folk. All through the winter we have had our fish for breakfast-sole, whiting, fresh herring fit for a king, golden mullet, and silvery mackerel. The fishermen who have been obliged to lie up for the winter are now mending their nets, and bringing their black boats down to the beach. This is the season of the year when they will look upon you more as friends than fares. But wherever you take your walks abroad, far inland or along the coast-line, you

will find a hearty welcome.

You are the herald and

The winter, with its

harbinger of a happier day. scarcity and anxiety, is departing, and the bounteous summer is not far off. That sweet warm sunshine seems to lift the burden from life, and imparts to it breadth and freedom. Summer and autumn-winter as well-you may enjoy the coast, but there is only one spring-time of the year, as of life, and the seaside. is then at its best and purest.

The economic aspect of the subject has been hinted at, and may rightly receive some more attention. Visits at the seaside might be more equalised, and be distributed over a larger space of time. The instinct of migration to the waterside is very strong on all of us Britishers. If you examine, as so many of us have been doing lately, the map of Eastern Europe, you will see how the Greeks have everywhere loved the seaboard, while the slower Slavonic race invariably retreat inland towards the hills. We are like the Greeks; and in such matters of good taste, Greek instincts are invariably right. No paterfamilias who has been in the habit of taking his belongings annually to the seaside would willingly forego that great advantage. That annual trip both prolongs and intensifies existence. But times are hard; trade is dull; foreign securities are depreciated. Fixed incomes, in many cases, have sadly diminished. P. F. is not quite sure that he will be able to afford the