of the organ. It appealed to me a good deal: "Mid all the uneven strokes of time And man's discord, one strain above The melody of Jesus' love. Take then, my lips, good Lord: my heart, And weave them, with that leading part, In this little chapel, the only daughter of Addison lies buried. She lived to be an elderly woman, and never married. I was enchanted with St. Peter's Church in Northampton. It is an adorable little pile, so hoary and venerable, and with delicious Norman details in its caps and arches. When we walked in upon it the maids in waiting were evidently cleaning house, and everything except the altar seemed to be out on the glebe; the tall candlesticks leaned upon a mossy bank, and vases of wilted flowers tilted about at all angles. Inside the church it was really necessary to summon all one's antiquarian zeal to face the clouds of dust which greeted us. A pious thoroughness pervaded the work of brush and broom, to the great detriment of the atmosphere. But my zeal was equal to the emergency. I stood sneezing but entranced before the noble columns with their axe-cut ornament and the delightful grotesques peering out of the dim recesses of shadow. The medieval legend of St. Peter's has been translated by the scholarly vicar, Rev. R. M. Serjeantson, and is such a characteristic example of the miracle-working shrines and their origins that I give it here, in part, in the words of the old chronicle which is to be found in the Vitæ Sanctorum, a thirteenth century manuscript now in Trinity College, Dublin. At St. Peter's Church, Northampton, in the early days, a Norwegian servant of the priest Bruningus had a series of visions. Finally, while he was in the church one night, "there stood by him the celestial Being, glistening with clear light, saying to him, 'Rise and follow me,' and it seemed in his dream that he arose and followed Him, until he came to the place where the body of the blessed martyr lay beneath the pavement. Then his guide thus addressed him: Lo, here lies the chosen friend of God. Tell thy master, the priest Bruningus, for in this spot he will find him.' Therefore, when morning came, he told his master what he 66 had seen and heard." The master prayed and hesitated for a time, but, finally, taking a spade he enters the church, and after offering up a prayer, begins to dig." This practical step was soon rewarded by the tomb of the saint coming to light. "The tomb remained uncovered for several days, and aroused the wonder of the multitude, who flocked day by day to see it. The venerable priest, turning over and over in his mind what to do for the better showing forth of the glory of God," finally decided, to make a long story short, to experiment and see if the relics might not perform some miracles of healing. So Bruningus interviewed a lame girl in the village, named Alfgiva, whose lower limbs had been shrivelled in infancy, and who had never been able to move except by creeping. He told this girl to go on Easter Even to the church, and to remain in prayer, asking the holy saint to cure her infirmity. This the girl did, remaining alone in the church after all the priests had gone away. "She betook herself to earnest prayer, and, as she had been instructed, besought for the blessing of health, when suddenly in the silence of the dead of night, God, who deals strangely with his saints, had pity on her; and she saw the whole church lit up with celes |