for the Stewart episode, were the only really unpopular work that fell to our share, though the monotony of endless hooks and eyes and "warriors' belts" sometimes elicited a few murmurs of protest. Otherwise, the charm of the unexpected carried us over dull epochs of stuff garments for rustics, black habits for nuns, archers' jerkins, and herdsmen's cloaks, interspersed with brilliant intervals of fairies' "flower dresses, rainbowhued, jewelled cloaks, knights' surcoats bright with silver, blue, and gold, and once the costume of a principalAgricola's tunic in white, blue, and orange-was entrusted to us for the finishing touches. It was interesting, later on, to recognise in their entirety costumes of which we had only made part, quite ignorant of the scheme of the completed garment. Once or twice a gorgeous dummy, in full dress, was placed on the central landing to serve the double of attracting volunteers and encouraging workers.

the jewellers at first, until they heard the report of their first party. "Well, was it very exciting?" "No; we made things like tartlets, out of string and cardboard," was the disillusioned reply. It is only fair to add that later on the jewellers were advanced to the more congenial task of gilding the "tartlets" and adorning them with precious stones of coloured glass; and the result was quite barbarically splendid!

Tea was always provided, and made a welcome break in the work on cold winter or hot summer afternoons, whilst the conveners made it a point of honour to supplement the commons of bread and butter with a weekly variety in cakes.

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"Episode No.-, Novice (or Norman, or Warrior).-Please call on Thursday at 3 P.M. to choose your costume. Bring this card with you."

So ran the legend on the post-cards which admitted expectant groups of men, women, and children,-potential monks, nuns, fairies, ancient Britons,

&c. to the Pageant House Committee Room, transformed since the latter half of June into a ready-made clothing dépôt. A bored but stalwart attendant guarded the door, letting in five or six at a time of the patiently waiting crowd. Our turn at last: "Novice? Pass in, please. Don't let in more than five," warns the harassed official who sits just inside the door, counting change, writing receipts, recording names, with unremitting diligence.

One half of the room is fenced off by a low counter, and behind this are the Cos-. tume Mistress and two of her assistants; gowns, tunics, nuns' habits, chorus robes, hang in apparent confusion from three or four long clothesracks. The counter is spread with belts and pockets, gay caps of scarlet, blue, and yellow, gold banded, or jewelled and with pendent veils; on a sidetable lies a mass of "chainarmour." The corner of the room is given over to shoes: stacks of brown felt slippers, white linen bathing shoes, Roman buskins, sandals, in bewildering variety.

Not much time is allowed for display, though the dispensers are courteous and patient. "Novice? Oh, yes -bring some gowns, please let me see, you're medium height." Two or three white robes are cursorily measured against the candidate: "This'll do (they are made in three sizes)—"if it is too long you can turn it up;

white boots or shoes, please.

Now for the head-dress-where are those wimples, Miss Brown? All given out? Run to the workroom, please, for more." Down comes the messenger with a handful of strips and squares of white calico, to which are added a heap of small white woollen veils"You put them on like this.' The Costume Mistress deftly pins a strip round her head, a square under her chin, drapes the veil over both, and smiles silently at the victim, who inwardly vows: "I shall see if I can't show a little more hair!" "Next, please!"

"Next" are ten little girls from a Council School, very rosy and excited, as they give in their names. "And what are you?" "Norman children," cry the shrill voices in unison. The attendant brings a pile of gay dresses, which are allotted to the delighted applicants in the same haphazard fashion; some pairs of the unsubstantial white shoes are distributed in accordance with the apparent sizes of of the wearers' small feet, and the party file out, hugging their treasures. "There are six

boys waiting outside from the Grammar School-they've been there half an hour," reports Cerberus. "Send them in then "-and in tumble a group of very shy boys, aged variously from eight to thirteen. Having declared themselves to be "tenants' children-Norman," they are first supplied with sandals, mere soles with strings attached, and instructed how to fasten them on. The smallest boy, with

deputy-head, and leaders of groups, was in full working order, and recruits were coming in from all quarters.

Friends meeting in the streets no longer asked, "How are you?" but, "What are you?"

Shop - assistants, chatting during a lull in business, set aside the discussion of cricket averages for the more burning topic of their costume and duties as legionaries, archers, or Ironsides. School-children danced quaint measures along the narrow pavements as they hurried to or from their schools. The Pageant spirit was abroad in earnest.

What unforgettable evenings were spent in the spacious meadow, with its girdle of coppice skirting the taller forest-trees that defined the horizon.

and

Offices, mills, shops, schools poured out their toilworn contingents into the woodland silence of the great Park, rich with the mingled scents of hay and limes and of wild-flowers, and above all of masses of honeysuckle, whose perfume, barely perceptible during the heat of the day, becomes so insistently sweet when the dew is falling.

In those first days of selection and instruction, what an unpromising mass of raw material it seemed: shy, awkward men, huddling shamefacedly together; girls, giggling or tongue-tied; children, running, scrambling, wrestling, screaming, doing anything but attend to the business in hand. And then, how interesting to

see this apparently hopeless material turned to account and brought into line by the skilful hand of our Master. Children, imbued with a sense of responsibility as "group-leaders amongst their small companions, became punctual and important. The men were roused to activity and selfassertion on being told off as "dog-boys," "falconers," or "knights"; and summoned up courage to stroll about by twos and threes, or even to walk the "stage" alone, instead of cling ing together like a swarm of bees. The women and girls, more easily adaptive, grouped themselves into "families," and learned to run and cheer, to look sorry, eager, or amused, at command.

It was not all plain sailing by any means. For instance, it took many attempts to teach the Roman soldiers and other crowds to murmur naturally. "Forty, forty, forty,' was one prescribed formula, to be rapidly muttered by all till no articulate sound was distinguishable. "Not always forty,"

the Master would say patiently: and then next time an isolated voice would come in with a too distinct "sixty."

For a long time the "crowds" could not remember to "spread" and to break into small groups, but would arrange themselves in long inartistic lines, or massed in one corner of the field. How the Master's aides, megaphone in hand, rushed about exhorting, shifting, inspiring, sometimes reproaching these unpliant auxiliaries, till

at last the hard lesson was properly learnt.

The trials of those who had speaking parts were great, though they also furnished much entertainment to the spectators. For necessary criticism was bestowed by the Master without respect of person: be the delinquent master or schoolboy, parson or farm-labourer, the fault must be corrected.

"That won't do at all," would be the crushing verdict; "you mustn't speak from your head; you will never be heard," and then would follow an admirable object-lesson, which the pupil, with ever-increasing nervousness, must imitate over and over again till he had caught the exact intonation.

Discipline was always maintained, but praise and encouragement were generously meted out, lest the actors might become unduly depressed. "You have all done very well," was much more frequently heard than a scathing and well-merited criticism which one night struck dismay into all hearts: "That was very bad; it was enough to make an audience weep with misery!" The offenders did not say much, but they evidently thought the more, and never again brought upon themselves such a severe rebuke.

Week followed week, and fine weather was succeeded by a long spell of heavy rains, but still the rehearsals went steadily on. The field became familiar, its trees and approaches even acquired names, and the performers met or emerged

with the ease of long usage from the "Grove," the "Spinney," the "Firs," or the "Passage." Meanwhile piles of timber gave place to a forest of upright posts, and by degrees the fabric of the Grand Stand arosewould it had been silently! the grassy "stage" was intersected with white lines, dots, and mystic numbers, between which the performers practised various systems of marching and wheeling, for the Grand Finale; and suddenly—almost before they realised the fact

the Dress Rehearsals were upon them, and the very eve of the Pageant itself was at hand.

Amongst the vast audiences who admired the punctual and well-planned entrances of the different groups of performers, few could have guessed the excursions and alarums which preceded those entrances, in the jealously guarded precincts of the adjoining Performers' Field. The companies of fairies, gathered in their several hidingplaces until the telephone should summon them to appear, had to be collected from every quarter by the warning voice of the stage-manager's megaphone, as well as by the personal exertions of his subordinates. As one episode drew up at its entrance, the succeeding one had to be summoned to its

assembly-pole," and the next in order reminded that its members must not linger too long in the tea-tent, or gazing through the peep-holes in the boundary hedge.

It was no easy task to disentangle a complete episode