PORTS OF YOUTH. BY THOMAS B. REILLY. 蛋 NCONSTANT heart, so quickly moved, Gold tides, far out in the morning light, Of a magic coast, and a merry quest, Lit-sails dipping i' the far low west, Clear as the tones in a winding dusk The past will call in the wan, gray light Over a waste of beaches, where E'en when the slow, all-leveling night, Lures the will from its sentry-post Into the valley of sleep, Lo! a light and the distant scene That lies the mist and the moon between Clears, and the ports of youth are seen Shining over the deep. AN ENGLISH ANCHORESS. BY FRANCESCA M. STEELE. UINTON is a sleepy little town in the extreme north-east of Gloucestershire; its name has several derivations. Atkyns, in his History of Gloucestershire, says it is so called from the manor formerly belonging to a nunnery, 'queen' in Anglo-Saxon meaning woman; but from the time of Edward the Confessor Quinton or Quenintun, as it was then called, has been in lay hands, so this derivation seems far-fetched. Noatus, in his Worcestershire Nuggets, says it takes its name from the game of Quintain, which used to be played in Quinton Field, one of the three hamlets that make the parish of Quinton, Upper and Lower Quinton being the other two. This was a very popular game in the middle ages, and no doubt the future anchoress, with whom we are here concerned, frequently witnessed it before she left the world and, as the wife of Sir John Clopton, knight and soldier, lived at the manor-house and entertained his guests. The game was one likely to attract spectators as well as players, and at a quintain tournament a large party would doubtless meet at the hall. A strong post was placed in the ground, and on it was fixed a piece of wood turned by a spindle, at one end of which a bag of sand was suspended; the other end was broad enough to be struck by a spear when the player was in full gallop on horseback. This piece of wood was called the quintain, and the pressure of the spear caused it to whirl round quick enough to catch the horseman a bang on his back with the sand-bag if his horse's speed was less than that of the quintain. Sometimes he was unhorsed, and his discomfiture no doubt added to the pleasure of the spectators. It is rather a far-cry from this mediæval pastime to the life of a recluse, but it is with the anchoretic life of Dame Joan Clopton after she left the world on her husband's death, and was enclosed in a cell in the fine old church of Quinton, PORTS OF YOUTH. BY THOMAS B. REILLY. NCONSTANT heart, so quickly moved, Gold tides, far out in the morning light, Of a magic coast, and a merry quest, Clear as the tones in a winding dusk The past will call in the wan, gray light Over a waste of beaches, where E'en when the slow, all-leveling night, Lures the will from its sentry-post Into the valley of sleep, Lo! a light and the distant scene That lies the mist and the moon between Clears, and the ports of youth are seen Shining over the deep. AN ENGLISH ANCHORESS. BY FRANCESCA M. STEELE. UINTON is a sleepy little town in the extreme north-east of Gloucestershire; its name has several derivations. Atkyns, in his History of Gloucestershire, says it is so called from the manor formerly belonging to a nunnery, 'queen' in Anglo-Saxon meaning woman; but from the time of Edward the Confessor Quinton or Quenintun, as it was then called, has been in lay hands, so this derivation seems far-fetched. Noatus, in his Worcestershire Nuggets, says it takes its name from the game of Quintain, which used to be played in Quinton Field, one of the three hamlets that make the parish of Quinton, Upper and Lower Quinton being the other two. This was a very popular game in the middle ages, and no doubt the future anchoress, with whom we are here concerned, frequently witnessed it before she left the world and, as the wife of Sir John Clopton, knight and soldier, lived at the manor-house and entertained his guests. The game was one likely to attract spectators as well as players, and at a quintain tournament a large party would doubtless meet at the hall. A strong post was placed in the ground, and on it was fixed a piece of wood turned by a spindle, at one end of which a bag of sand was suspended; the other end was broad enough to be struck by a spear when the player was in full gallop on horseback. This piece of wood was called the quintain, and the pressure of the spear caused it to whirl round quick enough to catch the horseman a bang on his back with the sand-bag if his horse's speed was less than that of the quintain. Sometimes he was unhorsed, and his discomfiture no doubt added to the pleasure of the spectators. It is rather a far-cry from this mediæval pastime to the life of a recluse, but it is with the anchoretic life of Dame Joan Clopton after she left the world on her husband's death, and was enclosed in a cell in the fine old church of Quinton, that we are here concerned. Before passing to that we must relate a quaint legend concerning a former owner of Quinton Manor in the time of William the Conqueror. This was one Robert Marmion, who came over with the Conqueror and was given the Manor of Quinton and Tamworth Castle for his services. Not content with this he turned some nuns out of Polesworth Abbey and drove them to Oldbury. This abbey was dedicated to St. Edyth, a former abbess, and on her nuns being sent away she appeared one night, with her crosier in her hand, to Robert Marmion as he was asleep in Tamworth Castle and told him unless he restored the abbey he should have an evil death, and enforced her remarks with a blow from her crosier, after which she vanished. The next morning Robert Marmion sent for a priest, confessed his sin, and restored the abbey to the nuns, and moreover gave the advowson of Quinton Church to them. At the dissolution in Henry VIII.'s time it went to the dean and chapter of Worcester. It is an interesting old church, dedicated to St. Swithin, with late Norman arches and pillars on the south side of the nave, and traces on the west of the old Norman roof, with a steeped slope lower by many feet. The pillars and arches of the north side are poor; they are twelfth or early thirteenth century work. The tomb of Dame Joan Clopton is in what was formerly the Lady-chapel. It is of gray marble, with an inlaid brass effigy of the dame on the top and a most interesting inscription round it in Latin elegiacs, of which the following is a translation: "O Christ! grandson of Ann, have mercy on Joan Clopton, Who, as a widow, was consecrated to Thee and enclosed here; Her husband having died as a soldier. For Thy sake, Jesu, She made great sacrifices, generous to the miserable and to guests; * Inscription on brass of Dame Joan Clopton: "Christe nepos Anne Clopton miserere Joh'e, |