him. The living Present that overshadows him is a great and solemn vitality, whose breath and pulse he feels all alive and stirring upon him. And, what is more, and the special thought that touches him, this breath and pulse have the glow and throb of twenty successive human generations. Through all these long ages they have breathed and beat without a break. Here is this grand old church, built and baptised by that fair-haired, blue-eyed, good-hearted Saxon woman. Wulfruna. Ever since she had her flaxen-haired baby christened in it, up to this day, the little bleating lambs of Christ's flock have been brought to this font. Ever since her day, fathers and mothers, young men and young maidens, and children of all years, have gathered within these walls for worship. The Norman Conquest, the Wars of the Roses and of the Revolution; the changes of dynasties, governments, and of religions even, have not broken up or sundered the line of this pious succession with the gap of one silent Sunday. Who can stand in such a building and, as it were, put his hand to this day's link of such an electric chain of life, and not feel a thrill coming down it all the way from the Saxon Heptarchy? Look at this town around it. Few in England wear seemingly more antiquity in general aspect. Here are houses built in Elizabeth's day. But what is Elizabeth's day compared with the date of the
