The record-union., 1894-07-28

more as we progressed.
/ found him to have some time been
| profound student, and to still be keen
critic of ecclesiastic architecture and art,
and wonderful storehouse of profane
and religious history. The different Pc
riods, their relations and contrasts, and
| the false notes of "restorers" were all as
an open book to him.
Clearly, masterfully, ne traced the vari-
GUS examples in church architecture
| from the time of the old Saxon builders,
down past the early Norman workers
and the transitional Norman, and along
through the splendid development of
| first and middle Pointed, Perpendicular
| and the modern Gothic, Interviewing the
! whole with a world OF legend and fact
from the time of Lucius in the second
century, to that of Victoria in this.
One day at Winchester as l was marvel
ing at his knowledge, he involuntarily
exclaimed:
Nonsense! Tut, tut, tut! / helped
DR.. Jeune plan all the restorations for the
cathedral of
He never finished that sentence as he
had begun it. What he did say was only:
II mean castle of air! Tut, tut !!
Nonsense Bah %
Pressing him was useless. AS we
neared the West of England cluster of
cathedrals his iraseibility, nervousness
and cunning returned in full force.
Leaving Salisbury, we visited that
"* Z mysterie of the human hand
The pride of Bristowe and the Westerne
Land"
ST. Mary Redcliff Church, at Bristol,
"the fairest, the godlieSt, and the most
famous parish church in England" with
| its sad memories of Chatterton; and at
the Bristol railway station l accidentally
noticed that Kirby Dorklin had secured
our bookings through Gloucester to Wor-
cester, although he knew, from my in
terminable praises of Gloucester ca
thedral, that L desired to visit and study
it more than any other sacred edifice in
| England.
kept silent, resolved to meet cunning
| with Stratagem.
1t was night; we were both exceedingly
tired; | tucked up the old gentleman
carefully in our travelling rugs, and he
was soon sound asleep.
sent a message from the first tele-
graph station, ordering carriage to be
IN readiness at Gloucester. On arrival
there L waited in my seat until the train
was just on the point of departure; and
then with lively scramble and unfeel-
ing hellos of "Worcesterr' l rushed my
easy and drowsy victim out of his snug
corner, through the din and clamor of the
station platform, and, finally, into tran
quill apartment of the ancient New
1nn," where, unconscious of the ruse
| which had been perpetrated upon him, he
slept sweetly as a child until morn.
''In moment In momentW shouted
| Kirby Dorklin, in response to my gentle
tapping at the door OF his chamber the
next morning. "Ahr' he continued
gaily, ''at old Worcester Cathedral we
shall find the tomb of King John, the
most ancient regal monument in Eng
landr'
.'But we will first see the tomb of the
murdered Edward here. at Gloucester"
| l answered back as cheerily.
| There was at first loud snort within
the apartment. Then my uncle retorted
| fiercely:
"Here-in-Gloucester? ?"
Certainly, Gloucester. You booked
| from Bristol to Gloucester, didn't you?'
! We are at the most charming of all
ancient inns of England-the New Inn,'
on Northgate street, you know; built
during the abbacy of Thomas Sebroke,
over $50 years ago, to house the pilgrims
to Edwards tomb"
There was ominous silence in Kirby
| DOrklinS room.
Think of itp 1 continued enthusi-
astically. What an experience to pass
night in hostel more than halt thou
sand years old; TO perhaps sleep in the
very bed where pilgrim princes and pre-
lates have slept; to-"
"Damnation! Bahp' roared Kirby
Dorklin, as l heard the huge inner iron
| bolt of the door crash into its socket.
Come, now; make haste! Let's have
an early breakfast. l want you to point
out to me all the interesting things about
/ DR.. Jeune's restorations ~
There was no answer from Kirby
Dorklin's room.
"If you won't come." continued prod
dinghy, ''Ill hunt up "'tother one'' and
get her to act as my guideI'
There was now cOmmingled uproar of
snortings, stormings, eXasperated excla-
nations and crashing furniture in Kirby
| Dorklin'S room.
1 waited long time for the resumption
of tranquility, which evidently finally
resulted more from exhaustion than the
| calming of Kirby Dorklin's spirit; and
| then, after various efforts to rescue the
| self-made prisoner from himself, with
hearty assurances that his breakfast
should be served at his door and with as
cheering parting words as could muster,
/ descended into the vine-embowered
court of the ancient inn.
Never elsewhere can be seen such
radiant tumble of old corners, little
arches, rose-covered galleries. protruding
upper stories, peep-holes of tiny-paned
windows, fantastic dormers and gables,
low and shadowy offices, strange sos
| tries," shining taD-roomS and wealth of
foliage and chubby checked barmaids, to
highten the mysteries, cheer and charm
OF the typical old English inn as was here.
The gray cathedral town, far from the
ways OF travel, rich in history, legend
ana the quaint old architecture OF the long
ago. and still simple and peaceful in its
provincial coloring and ways, at last won
me from the cosy breakfast-room, out
| upon old Northgate street, on past the
ancient city Gross" along dim West
/ gate street, through the narrow passage
or ''slype' of College Court, and into the
shadowy and sunshine-dappled cathedral
close.
1t was glorious morning, and 1 was
glad l was alone. l endeavored to an
aiyze my strange sense of elation and my
stranger indifference to Kirby Dorklin's
savagery and discontinue. But / found
that my tinge of regret was as fieeting as
the gentle breeze whispering among the
lines of st. Mary's square and the
dreamy, restful close.
| AS l wandered about the exterior of
the massive pile another curious feeling
possessed me. l could not see where,
when nor how, but an impression. pre-
sentiment or a conviction seized me that
right there, near me. something was TO be
discovered, revealed, or was to occur,
which would happily affect my eccentric
uncle's strangely ordered life as we'll as
my own.
This was so strong upon me that I
looked up startled into the windows of
| the fine old fourteenth century houses
which huddled upon the close and the
square, half expecting the embarrass-e