“Edward,” said Mrs. Ashton, as they passed the end of West Street, “you are fond of history; and it will, perhaps, interest you to hear that near this spot is still standing the inn which afforded a temporary shelter to the unfortunate king Charles II., after the battle of Worcester, when he fled from his rebel-subjects to the continent. His faithful friends, colonel Gunton and lord Wilmot, had laid a plan for his escape, in which they were aided by a man, named Tattersal, the master of a coal-brig, who promised to conduct king Charles in safety across the Channel. Accordingly, he was brought in disguise over the hills to Brighton, to await the sailing of the vessel; but greatly to the alarm of all parties concerned, the owner of the inn immediately recognized his royal guest. Smith, for that was his name, would not, however, betray his sovereign: notwithstanding the enormous sum offered for his capture, he kept his secret inviolable; and, at five in the morning, Charles embarked with a favourable wind, and landed the next day at Fescamp in Normandy.” “That was nobly done,” said Edward, “I hope, when king Charles was restored to his country and kingdom, he did not forget those who had befriended him in his misfortunes.” “I do not know,” said Mrs. Ashton, “how it fared with the innkeeper; but Nicholas Tattersal’s fidelity was rewarded by an annuity of one hundred pounds being settled on himself and heirs. Some of Tattersal’s descendants are yet living in the town; but the pension has been, from what cause I know not, discontinued.” “Mamma,” said Lewis, as they again drew near home, “can you tell me how far it is from Kemp-Town to Brunswick Terrace? for I suppose that takes in the whole of Brighton, from east to west.” “Yes,” said his mother, “the distance is not less than two miles and a half; and from our present place of residence, the Steyne, to the extremity of the parish, on the London road, is about one mile and a quarter. Formerly, East Street, West Street, and North Street were boundaries of the town, so you may judge how greatly it is increased. But, Lewis, the clock has struck two, and we must lose no time in preparing for dinner.” “Two o’clock!” said Edward; “only four more hours to wait, and then papa and Helen will be here.” CHAPTER VI. “I wonder,” said Lewis, as the basket of shells and sea-weed was placed on the table, “what can be the use of the hard names people always give to their shells. I think it would be much better to call them by some name which should describe the shell, and which every body could understand.” “And in saying this, Lewis,” said Mrs. Ashton, “you have furnished an argument in favour of systems and classifications.” “How so, mamma? When you spoke to us the other day of the little purple-ocean snail-shell, I formed a much better idea of it than if you had called it by some Latin name, which I could not understand.”