God bless the king of the English,
The Lord of the land,
The Lord of the sea!

"I can imagine," said he, as he rose and stood before Alice, "King
Canute as a heavy-voiced basso. How he would bring out these words!

Great sea! the land on which I stand, is mine;
Its rocky shores before thy blows quail not.
Thou, too, O! sea, are part of my domain,
And, like the land, must bow to my command.
I'll sit me here! rise not, nor dare to touch,
With thy wet lips, the ermine of my robe!

"And," cried he, for the moment overcome by his enthusiasm, "how would
this sound sung in unison by five hundred well-trained voices?

For God alone is mighty,
The Lord of the sea,
The Lord of the land!
For He holds the waves of the ocean
In the hollow of His hand,
And the strength of the mightiest king
Is no more than a grain of sand.
For God alone is mighty,
The Lord of the sea,
The Lord of the land!"

As Quincy resumed his seat, Alice clapped her hands to show her
approbation of his oratorical effort. Then they both sat in silence for
a few minutes, each evidently absorbed in thought.

Suddenly Alice spoke:

"And now, Mr. Sawyer, will you let me ask you a serious question? If I
continue writing pieces like these, can I hope to earn enough from it to
support myself?"

Quincy thought for a moment, and then said, "I am afraid not. If you
would allow me to take them to Boston the next time I go I will try and
find out their market value, but editors usually say that poetry is a
drug, and they have ten times as much offered them as they can find room
for. On the other hand, stories, especially short ones, are eagerly
sought and good prices paid for them. Did you ever think of writing a
story, Miss Pettengill?"

"Oh, yes!" said Alice, "I have several blocked out, I call it, in my own
mind, but it is such a task for me to write that I dare not undertake
them. If I could afford to pay an amanuensis it would be different."

Quincy comprehended the situation in a moment. "I like to write, Miss
Pettengill," said he, "and time hangs heavily upon my hands. We are
likely to have a long spell of winter weather, during which I shall be
confined to the house as well as yourself. Take pity on me and give my
idle hands something to do."

"Oh, it would be too much to ask," said Alice.

"But you have not asked," answered Quincy. "I have offered you my
services with