lace as well
as the flood of summer and winter visitors. The origin of Scarborough's
popularity was undoubtedly due to the chalybeate waters of the Spa,
discovered in 1620, almost at the same time as those of Tunbridge Wells
and Epsom.

The unmistakable signs of antiquity in the narrow streets adjoining the
harbour irresistibly remind one of the days when sea-bathing had still
to be popularized, when the efficacy of Scarborough's medicinal spring
had not been discovered, of the days when the place bore as little
resemblance to its present size or appearance as the fishing-town at
Robin Hood's Bay.

We do not know that Piers Gaveston, Sir Hugh Cholmley, and other
notabilities who have left their mark on the pages of Scarborough's
history, might not, were they with us to-day, welcome the pierrot, the
switchback, the restaurant, and other means by which pleasure-loving
visitors wile away their hardly-earned holidays; but for my part the
story of Scarborough's Mayor who was tossed in a blanket is far more
entertaining than the songs of nigger minstrels or any of the commercial
attempts to amuse.

This strangely improper procedure with one who held the highest office
in the municipality took place in the reign of James II., and the King's
leanings towards Popery were the cause of all the trouble.

On April 27, 1688, a declaration for liberty of conscience was
published, and by royal command the said declaration was to be read in
every Protestant church in the land. Mr. Thomas Aislabie, the Mayor of
Scarborough, duly received a copy of the document, and, having handed it
to the clergyman, Mr. Noel Boteler, ordered him to read it in church on
the following Sunday morning. There seems little doubt that the worthy
Mr. Boteler at once recognised a wily move on the part of the King, who
under the cover of general tolerance would foster the growth of the
Roman religion until such time as the Catholics had attained sufficient
power to suppress Protestantism. Mr. Mayor was therefore informed that
the declaration would not be read. On Sunday morning (August 11) when
the omission had been made, the Mayor left his pew, and, stick in hand,
walked up the aisle, seized the minister, and caned him as he stood at
his reading-desk. Scenes of such a nature did not occur every day even
in 1688, and the storm of indignation and excitement among the members
of the congregation did not subside so quickly as it had risen.

The cause of the po