additional vigour to their shouts, is a point we will not attempt to investigate.
The little church tower of Eveleigh rises from a low cliff some twenty feet above the level of the sea, and with a spring tide and a westerly wind its windows are often darkened by the showers of spray. Far on the deep it is a landmark to the hardy fishermen of that stormy coast; and many must have thought of their forefathers sleeping peacefully beneath its yew-trees’ shade before they found their own last resting-place in the treasure-house of the deep.
By its south side the clear waters of the Eve flow gently till they mingle with the sea some hundred yards lower down, for it wants three hours to high water.
Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver,
No more by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever,
quoted Frank from our greatest lyric poet, whatever the hydra-headed race of Scotch reviewers may say to the contrary.
Aloud he quoted them, for it is not enough that the eye should see and the mind grasp, the ear must hear them as well, or the beauty of their rhythm is lost. He believed himself alone, or rather he was too much occupied with his own thoughts to reflect whether he was alone or not. The elder boys were wandering along the shore, the younger ones constructing castles of sea-sand, in which they might bid momentary defiance to the rising tide. So he leant over the low churchyard wall, and dropping a few wild flowers dreamily into the stream beneath, he partly said and partly sung the beautiful words, lingering fondly over each cadence as it left his lips.
“You are not applying those words to yourself, I hope,” said a sweet voice behind him.
“And why do you hope so, Miss Clara?” said Frank, looking with his dark eyes steadily into her blue ones, and thereby causing the lids to be dropped over the same.
“Oh! it is so beautiful. I am sure you would like to see it again. I was just looking for a spot from which I could sketch the church.”
“Then, if you will allow me, I think I can show you the exact position from which it will make the best possible picture—that is, if you will not mind crossing the river. There is a boat a little higher up; then you can have a little bit of the stream in the foreground, and as much sea and sky as you like in the distance.”
“Thank you, I shall be very much obliged; for what has become of my brother I have not the remotest idea.”
“Oh, he has gone with Abbott to hunt for sea anemones.”
And they were ferried across the little stream; and when Clara saw the promised picture, she owned it could not be praised too highly.
