half an hour earlier at night. We had the same kind of meat
every week-day in regular rotation, and less of it; our bread was cut
thicker, and spread with less butter; we were no longer permitted to
wander about the small town at our own sweet wills.

It became necessary to ask leave before we spent any money, and although
Augustus shared for the present our lessons with Mr. Bosanquet, he acted
as a kind of tyrannical overseer during the rest of the day.

One morning in June, about two months after Captain Knowlton's departure
from England, I was summoned to Mr. Turton's study, and I found him with
a more than usually grave face.

'Everard,' he said, 'you must be prepared for the most serious news.'

'Not about Captain Knowlton?' I cried, for it seemed that there was
really no one else in the world for whom I very much cared.

'What was the name of his vessel?' asked Mr. Turton.

'The _Seagull_. You don't mean that she has been wrecked?' I faltered.

'Unfortunately, that is the fact,' was the answer.

Turning aside, I leaned against the door with my face buried in my
sleeve.

Mr. Turton spoke kindly, as did Mrs. Turton in her rather cold,
unsympathetic way; but nothing that any one could say made the slightest
difference. I felt that I had lost my best and, indeed, my only friend.

(_Continued on page 22._)

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1805.

I.--IN THE PILLORY.

One summer's day in the year 1805, a farmer's wife, carrying a heavy
basket of eggs, was slowly trudging along a lane leading to the market
town, when a woman ran hastily to her, calling out as she passed, 'You
are in luck to-day, Mrs. Hodge! Eggs are so scarce that you can ask any
price you like.'

'Why is that?' asked Mrs. Hodge, surprised.

'Why?' laughed the woman. 'Because every one wants them! A man has just
been put in the pillory for speaking against the King, or the
Parliament, I don't rightly know which; but at any rate he is safe in
the pillory, and folk are having rare fun pelting him,' and the woman
passed on to join in what she called 'the fun!'

Mrs. Hodge, however, was a woman of a different sort. 'I will sell none
of my eggs for such cruel work as that,' she said resolutely. 'Sooner,
by far, would I take the whole lot back unsold, that I would, than
ill-treat an unfortunate man in that way.'

She had now reached the market-place, and there, on a platform raised
several feet above the ground, stood