Something better than tradition also declares that it was the seat of the first Bishop of Chichester, who, many hundred years ago, made it his episcopal capital.

Standing, at this day, upon that shingly beach, and looking round upon the dreary flat, with only a small straggling village, and a few scattered farm-houses, and an unpretending littlechurch far away among the trees, one can scarcely believe that it ever could have been the paradise of holy men who had the credit of always selecting the snuggest nooks in England as their abiding-places; but the fact is, that we cannot now form any opinion as to the eligibility of the actual site, because that has long since disappeared.

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sea has encroached so much upon that shore, that the cathedral or monastery (or whatever it was) has been long since entirely submerged, and small vessels now find an anchorage, with three fathoms water, in what is still known as "the Park," doubtless from having been at some remote period, before the sea swept over it, part of the episcopal domain. Perhaps, where the little coaster now casts her anchor, a few hundred yards from the beach, once roamed the deer, under the shadow of the trees, or even the cathedral or palace-wall itself. The remains of ancient buildings, nigh buried in the sand, are, it is said, to be still seen at low water.

But to-day we have cause more to rejoice over the present, than to mourn the past. This Selsey Bill, with its belongings, is a most dangerous locality for the unwary shipman. Look out seaward, and you will descry - scarcely, however, without the help of a glassa light-ship pitching in the troubled waters. She seems hull-down, she is so far from shore-some seven miles away. That is called the Owers' Light, off Selsey Bill. She is moored on the very elbow of a shoal, and between her and the shore on which we are standing it is scarcely safe for vessels to pass. There are intricate channels known to the skilful pilot, but the good old Bishop's domain is yet too near the

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surface of the water to make it anything but very hazardous for a stranger to get inshore of the Owers' Light. deed, even now at half ebb, the breakers are very plainly seen, while, at low water, much of the rocks is dry. Now the shoals and reefs, extending so far out to sea (in fact nearly seven miles from the shore), are, consequently, very treacherous. Lying as they do in the direct course of vessels coming through Spithead and bound to the Thames, or even in the way of vessels coming up channel round the back of the Wight, and vice versa, they have been the destruction of many a brave ship. From the stout man-of-war, running for Portsmouth to the collier-brig standing northward, many a sad tale is told of their perishing. Caught in a south-west. or south-easterly gale, and too near in shore, the wind and current carried them hopelessly in on the Owers (now one sheet of foam, because of the furious surf that breaks there), and they soon went to pieces.

It is because of this very going to pieces, and the hapless case of many a gallant heart, that we are down at Selsey Bill to-day. Look at that large, new-looking building, much resembling a comfortable, good-sized carriage house. It stands facing the sea, at about 150 yards from high watermark, and, with its flagstaff and ensign, is conspicuously seen. Around its open doors are grouped a number of boatmen, and preventive men from the neighbouring station, and the excitement amongst them evidently betokens something unusual. And so there is. A glance within those open doors explains it all. It is the life boathouse of the Royal National Institution, and there, high upon her launchingcarriage, rests the life-boat. We walk round her. Beautifully built, and as strong, and as complete as she can be put together, she looks fit for any weather. And then the name emblazoned on her bows, "Friend' (in commemoration of a handsome donation given to the Institution by members of the Society of Friends), seems so appropriate. But this is the occasion of her

quarterly exercise, and we shall see her better presently. She has everything on board-oars, masts, sails, rudder shipped and all, and is ready to run down to the water's edge at a moment's notice. And they do not wait long for that. Watch in hand, to note the time so occupied, the gallant chairman of the local committee gives the word to run her out, and launch her. In an instant, twice a score of stalwart arms are hauling at the ropes with a will. The boat and carriage together weigh some five tons; but this is nothing in such hands, and with a cheer she runs out upon the turf, and is soon ploughing through the deep shingle-bank beyond. One has now only to imagine a stranded vessel out there upon the reef, with the distress-signal in her rigging, and the great breakers beating so furiously over her that she cannot hold together perhaps an hour longer. One has only to imagine the sheets of spray so blinding the whole horizon, that we can scarcely make her out, and the gale blowing so madly that not another sound can be heard; and, if then we add to this the utter uselessness of any ordinary boat attempting to put out to rescue, and the sad looks of the fishermen, as they stand helpless on the beach, unable to render the slightest aid to their fellows perishing out there among the breakers-one, I say, has only to picture this, and then his heart will go with the life-boat, hurrying to the water's edge. And she is soon there. Those strong and willing arms force her through the heavy shingle, until they reach the declivity of the beach. Then she runs down by her own weight; her crew leap in and take the oars; the carriage runs partly into the sea, and, at a word, the pin is withdrawn, the carriage tilts up, and the boat glides off swiftly into the water. The men give way at the oars, and she is off. Only seven minutes have elapsed from the time she quitted the boathouse until she is afloat.

But the skies are clear and bright, and the sea is smooth to-day, and so she will only pull a little and cruise a little, and then come back to watch for a real need. And she presents a pretty sight. Every one of her crew (and she pulls twelve oars 1) has his life-belt on; and somehow this, taken in connexion with the unusually buoyant appearance of the boat herself, as she goes bounding along, occasions a wonderful confidence in her. Besides, she looks strong for the very wildest sea. Everything about her is the best that can be used, put together with the knowledge that precious lives depended on the work.

But now she is making sail. Her build is not perhaps favourable for sailing to windward, but yet she really makes her way upon a wind surprisingly. Her coxswain understands her capabilities, and knows just what she can do.

Ashore they are preparing for her return. A capstan is rigged out on the higher part of the beach; a line of portable skids is laid down, and, as soon as the boat touches the shingle, a purchasetackle is hooked on, the capstan manned, and the boat will be gradually drawn up until it reaches the carriage-which is presently done. After an hour's cruise she steers homeward. A little trouble to place her stem on the skid, and the windlass does the rest. The carriage tilts up the reverse way now, and becomes an inclined plane up which the life-boat is drawn ; the forewheels are connected, and she travels to her house again, ready for the next summons.

We return home, thankful that such a good work is going on for the humanity that prompted it-for the generosity that carries it out. The lives of those poor fellows to whom we owe so many of our luxuries are surely worth our caring for; and England, we feel sure, will never refuse to hold out a hand to succour them in an hour of peril.

1 With a coxswain and a bowman.

"BY St. Andrew," says Dugald Dalgetty in the "Legend of Montrose," when the seeming serving-man of Lord Menteith declines to help him to unbuckle the armour which he is feeling somewhat tight around his portly person after the feast in the Highland castle, "here's a common fellow, stipendiary "with four pounds a year and a livery"cloak, thinks himself too good to serve "Ritt-master Dugald Dalgetty of Drum"thwacket, who has studied humanity "at the Marischal College of Aberdeen, "and served half the princes of Europe." And all through the story the valiant Ritt-master keeps reminding those about him of this fact of his having studied at Marischal College as one of his chief distinctions. Even in that tremendous moment when, in the dungeon at Inverary, he astutely recognises the spy who has secretly entered to talk with him as being no other than the great Argyle himself, and, springing on his wily lordship, brings him to the ground, and, pinning him there by main strength, throttles him into capitulation-even in that tremendous moment the thought of the dear Alma Mater in the north country flashes through his stalwart mind, and it is with a quotation of Marischal College Latin that he negotiates with the prostrate Marquis. Blessings on thy memory, if only for Alma Mater's sake, thou shrewd and doughty Sir Dugald; and may thy last days have been peaceful, with the widow Strachan for thy spouse, in thy regained paternal estate of Drumthwacket! Great as is my veneration, on historical grounds, for the Presbyterian Marquis, whom men called Gillespie Grumach on account of the cast in his eye, I confess I can

never read how thou didst pin him in his own dungeon without forgetting altogether that it was the cause of Presbyterianism that was imperilled, and feeling my heart leap with glee that my fellow-collegian was uppermost.

As Marischal College was founded in 1593, and as Dalgetty left it at the age of eighteen, to carry the learning whilk he had acquired there, and his gentle bluid and designation, together with his pair of stalwart arms, and legs conform, into the German wars, it is a matter of easy calculation that this most celebrated of all the sons of Marischal College must have left its cloisters about 1620, and must have belonged to the latter end of its first generation of students. It is not creditable to the academic antiquarianism of the place that there has never been a search in the college-books for his matriculation-entry. But I would fain here rouse the academic antiquarianism of the place to a larger labour than this. Why have we not a history of Marischal College and University, or, at least, an Athenæ et Fasti of that venerable institution? Though the Ritt-master Dalgetty may be her most celebrated alumnus, and though she may have been chiefly heard of over the world at large in association with his name, yet, even before Sir Dugald sat at her bursars' table and there learnt that art of rapid mastication which he found so useful to him in after life, she had sent forth one or two sons of some note; and, if to these were added the much longer list of her eminent alumni from Sir Dugald's days down to the present time-ending, let us say, with that Sir James Outram, the Bayard of India, whom Sir Dugald himself would

have respected, albeit Outram's soldiership was of a more dashing and irregular type than that which Sir Dugald favoured, and his famous refusal of Indian prize-money would have seemed to Sir Dugald a piece of needless punctiliousness-then the roll of the notabilities of Marischal College might seem not an insignificant one. At all events, it is the bounden duty of any Anthony Wood that may be living now in Aberdeen to do his best to draw it up, imbedding it in such a text of the general history of the College as he can prepare. Or, if there is no one Anthony Wood to do the work, then let some local antiquarian society put their heads together, and at least give us a volume of Marischal College dates, documents, and lists of names, such as the King's College people have already executed for their institution. For, alas! the

history may now be rounded off and complete. Marischal College and University exists no longer in its separate identity. It was fused, a year or two ago, along with King's College, into the single University of Aberdeen. There is still a fine granite building called Marischal College, in which a portion of the work of the united University is carried on; but the real antique establishment-Dugald Dalgetty's Marischal College and mine-is no longer in rerum naturâ. apt, therefore, for the writing of its history.

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Ah! the massive old pile in the great space of ground entered by the old gateway from the Broadgate, how well I can see it yet! Not the fine modern building which visitors to Aberdeen now look at, and which was finished about 1842, at a cost of some £21,000; but its predecessor on the same site-a great, square, hulking, yet lofty, ancient lump of a building, impressive by its amorphous grey massiveness even in the daylight, but in winter-nights quite weirdly to look at in the dark space that enshrined it, with the few lights twinkling in some of its small windows, and the stars seeming to roll, soliciting astrological watch, over the battlements of

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its high observatory! There it had stood, the main part of it, the same through all the years since Dugald Dalgetty had seen it; and, mayhap, on the battlements of its left tower, astrologers, in the shape of mantled old professors, had watched, and, groping up the turret-stairs in the dark, one might encounter their professorial ghosts. And then the class-rooms as we sat in them by day-all old and quaint, though some older and quainter than othersand the great common hall, stretching the whole width of the main building in the first storey, with its old chimneypiece in the middle, on which were carved the arms of the Earls Marischal, with their noble motto of scorn for public opinion ("Aiunt: Quid aiunt? Aiant," or, in English, "They say: What say they? Let them say"), and its wainscoted walls hung with many old portraits of historical interest by George Jamesone and others. Among these was a portrait of Descartes, which I could never cease gazing at-it was such a queer, puckered old face. hair came down over the forehead, and the eyebrows were arched up to meet the hair, so that, between the two, the forehead, which was broad enough, had not an inch of visible height. But he looked a terribly determined intellectual little devil for all that; and, though I knew little about him, and rather wondered at first how any mortal, wherever he was born, could have had a name that seemed so like the plural of a wheeled vehicle, he and I took a fancy for each other. There were other portraits, some of them of old Aberdonians, or other Scotchmen, that interested me; but none, as far as I recollect, so much as this. And so, for four years, often in this public hall, but oftener still in the class-rooms where we were taught all that Marischal College had to teach, we wore the red gowns and the red velvet collars which were the compulsory costume of the Students of Arts, till one early spring-day we were ranged ceremoniously in the public hall, some eighteen or twenty of us who had completed the curriculum out of a class