ul sound
May love and loyalty abound.

Ye people all who hear me ring
Be faithful to your God and King.

Such wondrous power to music's given
It elevates the soul to heaven.

If you have a judicious ear
You'll own my voice is sweet and clear.

Our voices shall with joyful sound
Make hills and valleys echo round.

In wedlock bands all ye who join,
With hands your hearts unite;
So shall our tuneful tongues combine
To laud the nuptial rite.

Ye ringers, all who prize
Your health and happiness,
Be sober, merry, wise,
And you'll the same possess.

Hardly less interesting than the church are the by-streets of Rye, so
old and simple and quiet and right; particularly perhaps Mermaid Street,
with its beautiful hospital. In the High Street, which is busier, is
the George Inn, the rare possessor of a large assembly room with a
musicians' gallery. One only of Rye's gates is standing--the Landgate;
but on the south rampart of the town is the Ypres Tower (called Wipers
by the prosaic inhabitants), a relic of the twelfth century, guarding
Rye once from perils by sea and now from perils by land. Standing by the
tower one may hear below shipbuilders busy at work and observe all the
low-pulsed life of the river. A mile or so away is Rye Harbour, and
beyond it the sea; across the intervening space runs a little train with
its freight of golf players. In the east stretches Romney Marsh to the
hills of Folkestone.

Extremes meet in Rye. When I was last there the passage of the Landgate
was made perilous by an approaching Panhard; the monastery of the
Augustine friars on Conduit Hill had become a Salvation Army barracks;
and in the doorway of the little fourteenth-century chapel of the
Carmelites, now a private house, in the church square, a perambulator
waited. Moreover, in the stately red house at the head of Mermaid Street
the author of _The Awkward Age_ prosecutes his fascinating analyses of
twentieth-century temperaments.

[Sidenote: RYE POTTERY]

Among the industries of Rye is the production of an ingenious variety of
pottery achieved by affixing to ordinary vessels of earthenware a veneer
of broken pieces of china--usually fragments of cups and saucers--in
definite patterns that sometimes reach a magnificence almost Persian.
For the most part the result is not perhaps beautiful, but it is always
gay, and the Rye potter who