i857-186a 285 sacristan at S. Paul's, Brighton, and who almost lived in the church, mooning about it in his cassock. One day a strong Evangelical minister came into S. Paul's and walked round it, grunting and growling at the Stations of the Cross, and when he reached the chancel gates his grunts and growls became very vociferous. The sacristan stole up behind him, and laying his hand on the cleric's shoulder, said : "If you want to unburden your soul, sir, there is a priest in the vestry who will hear your confession." The parson bolted. At this period the youth of England had gone Ruskin-mad ; and I was bitten as much as anyone. We had then staying in the college as boarder a young fellow of some private means, and he and I were crazed alike. We did up his room in true Ruskinesque taste, and we both dressed aesthetically, in knee-breeches and stockings and brown or claret-coloured velvet coats frogged with braid. Also we wore ties according to the colour of the season. Now it so fell out that one day old Squire Blencowe of The Hooke drove over to call, and insisted on carrying me off to dine, sleep and spend a day with him. I had to pack my valise in great haste, and I put in my dress suit, but—forgot a white tie. On getting ready for dinner, to my dismay I discovered that I was thus unprovided, so I had to go to dinner with a green tie, it being Trinity Season, and green the ecclesiastical colour. That finished my Ruskinism as far as dress was concerned. Mr. Blencowe was a strong old-fashioned Tory, and he took in daily St. James's Gazette ; but this did not reach him by post —a day late—but by the mail-coach that passed within half a mile of his house, and the paper was flung out where a lane from The Hooke debouched on the high road. Thither every morning ran a trusty dog of Mr. Blencowe's, picked up the newspaper and brought it to his master at the breakfast table. One day—this is Mr. Blencowe's own story—the dog returned without the St. James's Gazette. The old gentleman, distressed at not getting his newspaper, having done his breakfast, put on his hat, took his stick, and accompanied by Nero toddled down the lane. " Why, Nero, there is the paper, go fetch it, good dog ! " exclaimed the old man, pointing to the spot where daily—except
