previous age, but the details are the imagining of the coming epoch. Beyond this central tower stretches the long roof of the south-eastern wing, forming a large courtyard with a noble barn on the eastern side. Yes, it is well worth a visit. Standing in these lonely meadows, with gently-sloping pastures and copses scattered around, the Blackwater gleaming across the uplands and distant marshes below, the "wine dark" sea, as old Homer calls it, hardening the horizon beyond-let us think of the men who lived here and planned this pleasant home to dwell in. No common man was Henry Marney, of the ancient line of the Marignys or De Marinis. Although the name of his family does not occur in the roll of Battle Abbey, it was accepted in his own time that Master Marney's ancestors came over with the Conqueror. In the chapel, which the first Baron of his house restored, if he did not entirely rebuild it, there is a fine altar-tomb of Sir William Marney, who died in 1414. The sight of this ancestral monument, at that time rich in colour and gilding, with the silver lion rampant gleaming in the ruddy field on the knightly breastplate, familiar as it must have been from earliest boyhood, doubtless suggested to young Henry Marney the resolve that he also would have a sumptuous tomb and win his gilded spurs. We in this age of change hardly realise what an influence must be exercised on a serious, young, and determined mind, by the constant sight of memorials of men distinguished in former ages, and whose blood still flows in the veins of the boy who worships daily, it may be, beside some noble figure sheathed in steel and rich in the gorgeous trappings of living chivalry. Henry Marney associated that figure with the most serious moments of his young life. As the chauntry priest sang the masses for the dead, while the evening sun blazed on the mailed hands clasped in prayer, and on the tranquil face which steadfastly gazed to heaven from out the pointed helm and gilded camail, over which the trim moustache fell so comely, thoughts must have stolen over him which made him forget for the moment the last flight of his Gerfalcon or the splendid run of yesterday. Boys think sometimes more than they let us know, than they know themselves

perhaps, and good is absorbed by means our rapid age counts little of.

Before middle life Master Marney was sheriff of his county. As his property was small, this shows he was made of stuff to wear well. There were far richer men than he. His neighbours, the Darcys of Danbury and the Fortescues of Faulkbourn, were richer and of equal birth. From Sheriff he became Steward of the Household of the good Duchess of Richmond (mother of Henry VII.), and Privy Councillor to that king. Shortly afterwards he was appointed Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and executor to the will of the king's mother. He was no carpet knight either. The battle of Stoke was no child's play, and at the battle of the Spurs, the knight without fear and without reproach, the gentle Bayard" himself, was chased by the Essex knight, by this time become a great man indeed, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Lord Privy Seal, Captain of the Body Guard of Henry VIII., and a peer of the realm by the style of Baron Marney of Layer Marney. The wistful possibilities of the boy had become the glorious realities of the man.

Before entering Layer Marney Towers we turn aside to visit Layer Marney Church. We advance up the in awe before the noble figures. The ancient knight of Chaucer's days; the father who flouted the mighty Wolsey at the height of his power, and chased the very ideal of French chivalry from off the field; the son so early cut off,

the last of his race and name. There they lie, their hands clasped in prayer, sword on thigh, and gilded spur on heel. The most distinguished, as becomes him, wrapped in his Garter robes and sleeping under a canopy of splendid richness and tender colour. Who could think to find such a gem in the quiet Essex upland, full twelve miles from Maldon and at least six from the nearest station? There is not even a hamlet nearer than a mile. We are glad we have come on this expedition. Here are monuments which would grace Westminster Abbey; which might be reproduced in South Kensington Museum, and even would compare with the best from the Low Countries, France, and Italy.

What makes the monument of the first Lord Marney so beautiful is the colour. Alabaster and marble are cold, but the delicate creamy tone of the rich terra-cotta gives a flush of warmth even to the black marble figure which it supports and overshadows.

Yes, we are glad we have come. Silently we gaze at those presentments of old time. They are real; they lived, they fought, they loved; they lived the social life of their time, and were leaders in it. Such monuments are living history. Silently we gaze, and deeply think. There is the same figure on which Lord Marney used to look, familiar alike to father and son. There is the warrior and statesman gathered to his rest before the noble hall hard by had reached a quarter of its proportions. There is the son who only lived a year to enjoy the title his father won, and then for ever the name perished. Sic trans

"Stick-in-the-mud, ahoy! Wake up, old man; wake up! "Eh!-What!-Why! Hullo, so you've come back, eh?" "Come back! We should just think so. Why, isn't the dinner ready? And the fire is not even lighted! You are a ―.

But we had better stop here. We have had a very long walk his time, and no mistake. We deserved a little repose.

CHAPTER XI.

FROM VIRLEY CREEK TO THE COLNE.

IN spite of the jeers of the others they were obliged to confess that they did not know half as much about Layer Marney as we did. They had rowed up as far as Virley, and being tired had bought photographs of the Towers and tried to talk as if they knew all about it. This day may count as one of our boating expeditions ashore, and none the less interesting on that account. Next morning we started with the first of the ebb, and with a breeze E. by S. it was a dead beat down to the red and white Bench Head Buoy. By the way, these buoys are not very easy to distinguish, as regards colour at any rate. The North Buxey Buoy is especially poor in this respect, and a small buoy into the bargain.

Instead of going down the regular channel it is possible to go to the north of the Bench Head in 6ft. of water lowest springs, but the passage is very narrow, and has a sharp turn just south of the white Fishery Buoy on the west side of the Colne; it is better, therefore, to run no risks, seeing we are strangers, and to keep to the proper channel.

As the wind is dead ahead, and the tide is setting out strong, we must be careful not to reach overmuch inside of the line we already indicated, viz., the North-West Knowl Buoy (red and white striped), in line with the Red Eagle Buoy, until we are abreast of the Bench Head Buoy, when we can go to the southward of this line, but only to within a cable's length of the west

of the North-West Knowl, for the bank takes a turn to the northward here, and shoals to 12ft. close to the buoy.

From a distance all the buoys are deceptive, and as it is quite easy to get aground anywhere about this patchy entrance to the Colne and Blackwater, great care must be taken not to confuse the buoys. The Knowl Buoy is a really fine fellow, and has a kind of apron on him, on which his name is painted; there is no mistaking this mark. The Bar Buoy is also a conspicuous one, with its staff and globe on the top. When once these two are made out the rest follow naturally. In hazy weather the shore is decidedly vague all round here; in fact, from the Knowl Buoy it is difficult to see any leading marks if there is much haze about. The buoys are the best guides.

Mersea Island.

Colne Point.

Entrance to the Colne, off Colne Point, Brightlingsea.

It took us about an hour to beat down from our anchorage in Mersea quarters to the North-West Knowl, but now we have a fine breeze up the Colne.

After leaving the red buoy on our starboard our chart marks only one more buoy on either side. As a matter of fact there are at least two on the starboard in addition to the one already marked, and three on the port. The channel narrows very fast, until off Mersea Point it is barely a quarter of a mile wide at low water, but it widens out a little more afterwards where the Pyefleet joins the Colne.

The entrance to the river is rather pretty, with Mersea Island on the port, and the hill, with the martello tower on the top, on the starboard.

We have a choice of creeks to explore when once we are inside the Colne. Brightlingsea lies on our right and the Pyefleet on