Trembling with awe, the King fell at the feet of the Bishop, who lifted him up, and said

'Be of good cheer, Edwin; the Lord Whom I serve hath delivered thee out of the hand of the enemies whom thou didst fear, and He hath given thee the kingdom which thou didst desire. Defer not then to do the thing which thou didst promise.'

How was that token known to Paulinus? Was it revealed to him in a dream, as some say? Had Edwin meationed it to his wife or to any other, through whom it had come to Paulinus' knowledge? Others think the stranger who made the prediction was Paulinus himself, or some Christian at Redwald's court; but this supposition only disposes of one marvel by another, for he who foretold the greatness of the exiled wanderer must have been endowed with the spirit of prophecy. We must be content to leave this among other unexplained mysteries of forecast or intention. Edwin then assembled his Witan at Godmundingham in Yorkshire, to consider of the new law and new worship.

Among them arose Coifi, the High Priest of Woden, and true Yorkshire Englishman as he was, based his adherence to his gods on what could be got by them. None,' he said, 'had served them more faithfully than he;' but there were many men much richer and more favoured by the King than himself, and he therefore concluded that they did not profit a man at all.

An old Thane, of more generous, poetical, thoughtful mould, spoke next in a speech of exceeding beauty, which I will read in Wordsworth's paraphrase, which really is almost exact:

'Man's life is like a sparrow, mighty King,
That, while at banquet with your chiefs, you sit,
Housed near a blazing fire, is seen to flit
Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering,

Here did it enter, there, on hasty wing

Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold.

But whence it came we know not, nor behold

Whither it goes. Even such, that transient thing
The human soul, not utterly unknown,

While in the body lodged, her warm abode.
But from what world she came, what woe or weal
On her departure waits, no tonue hath shown
This mystery if the stranger can reveal
His be a welcome cordially bestowed.'

What a picture! of the long, low, timber-built hall, with the red firelight, and the torches glowing on the long ranks of feasting warriors, and the little bird dashing in from one unglazed window, its white breast and fluttering wings gleaming for a moment as 'from winter it comes, to winter it goes,' and rushes forth in terror into the darkness, while, amid the mirth and minstrelsy, that old man's eye follows, and likens it to his own yearning spirit, doubtful of, or dissatisfied with, the dim notion of Woden's Hall of slaughter. His words are like those of the Apocryphal Wisdom. 'As when a

bird hath flown through the air, there is no token of her way to be found, but the light air being beaten with the stroke of her wings, and parted with the violent noise and motion of them is passed through, and therein afterwards no sign when she went is to be found .. even so we in like manner, as soon as we were born, began to draw to our end.'

No wonder that, as Mr. Palgrave puts the conclusion of the speech, the Thane declared

"But if this pale Paulinus

Have somewhat more to tell,
Some news of whence and whither,
And where the soul may dwell;
If on that outer darkness

The sun of hope may shine,
He makes life worth the living-
I take his God for mine!'

Paulinus, thus invited, preached in words of power, and Coifi cried out: 'Now I see the truth. Long I have known that it was not with us; now I see it shining clearly. Let us burn down the temples and altars which we have hallowed, but which do us no good.' Then Edwin solemnly gave his word to worship the God of Paulinus and no other; and added: Who will be the first to cast down the altar of Woden and the hedge round it?'

'That will I!' cried Coifi.

Priests were forbidden to mount any steed save a mare, or to carry weapons, but Coifi at once leapt upon the King's own horse, seized a spear, galloped to the enclosure, and hurled the spear into it. Many hands then tore down altar and hedge, and a few days after a little wooden church was raised at the old Roman colony of Eboracum, or York, where the cathedral now stands. There, after instruction, the King was baptised, and with him his two sons by his first wife, his grand-niece Hilda, and the Chief of his Witan.

It was a noble reign that ensued. It was remembered as a time when a woman with a babe in her arms might safely walk from sea to sea. At every spring of fresh water the King hung a brazen drinking cup on a post, and such was the respect in which he was held, that not one was stolen during his time.

Paulinus preached and baptised, assisted by his deacon James, in many parts of the united kingdom of Northumberland; and the foundations of York Cathedral in stone were laid. East Anglia felt Edwin's influence. Eorpwald, Redwald's son, was heartily a Christian, but was murdered by one of his heathen subjects. However, his half-brother Sigebert came back from exile among the Franks a hearty Christian, and with Felix, a Bishop from Burgundy, founded a diocese at Dunwich on the Suffolk coast, a place since nearly devoured by the sea; and Fursey, an Irish monk, founded a cell at Burghcastle, in Suffolk.

A terrible reverse was, however, coming. Cadwallon, King of Gwynedd or North Wales, had been defeated by Edwin and driven into Ireland, whence he returned, breathing revenge, fire, and slaughter, and, although a Christian, allied himself with the terrible and fierce Anglian, Penda, King of Mercia, or the Marchland, bordering on all the other kingdoms. Together they attacked Edwin, and at Heathfield, in Yorkshire, on the 12th of October, 633, the great and good King Edwin, together with his son Osfrid, was slain, and the army broken up. The kingdom was overrun by Penda and Cadwallon, and such was Welsh hatred and revenge that the cruelties of these Christians were worse than those of the heathen Angles.

Edwin's head was brought to York, and his widow and her children fled by sea, together with Paulinus, taking with him a gold cross and chalice. They were kindly received at Canterbury, where they met messengers bringing too late a pall for Paulinus as Archbishop of York, as well as one for Honorius, the new Primate at Canterbury. Paulinus devoted himself to the deserted see of Rochester, and Ethelburga founded a nunnery.

THE CHIEF FIGURE OF OBER-AMMERGAU.

1890.

He is represented, and, I should presume, conceived, not, if one may so put it, from His own point of view-hardly, perhaps, from such insight as St. John may have brought to bear on His feelings and experiences—but as He may have seemed to a humble and adoring, if ignorant, disciple. There is no attempt, by a risky hit of striking genius, to guess at what may have been thought and felt. That which could be seen is shown, and, in this one instance, this study from without, rather than from within, seems artistically right, since, though it leaves, of course, a sense of incompleteness, it brings the impossible within the region of possible art. His relations to man are given, though His communion with His Father, with Himself, is told rather than shown, indicated rather than expressed.

But how to tell what can be seen? In the first place, it is original and unexpected. The emotional, half-effeminate ideal that has inspired so much art must be forgotten. This is not the sheep before her shearers. It is perhaps not fully the Man of Sorrows. Upon this magnificent Being all visible and representable suffering must fall harmless, and, if the inconceivable weight of the sins of the world is there, you only see the strength that bears it up.

This splendid person, tall, stately, graceful, mauly, and strong, above all things unaffected, with every look and gesture absolutely in good taste; with a voice like a trumpet, and with a face sometimes most beautiful, and always dignified and worthy-inspires awe rather than pity.

You see the ideal of a popular champion standing up against usurped authority and blind precedent; the Friend of Man; perhaps ideal Humanity fighting death and sin, but fighting with the assured certainty of final success; the Rock on which the waves beat in vain ; a suggestion of One in Whom is no variableness nor shadow of turning. For, though it may be felt that such absolute calm can hardly be pourtrayed without a certain touch of stoical pride and coldness, the success is—the wonder is—that the idea is conveyed of a Being personally and essentially above and beyond every one else; aloof and apart, in Himself, not more intellectual, not more like a prophet, not more spiritual, not angelic in any sense which that word bears in ordinary art; but other, other than His angry judges, other than His adoring disciples, other than Man. This is He of Whom it is written.

It appears to me that to have conveyed this impression is a marvellous success. Pages might be written as to the methods in which the success is attained; many criticisms of detail might be offered; and the whole subject is full of artistic, ethical, and theological interest of the highest kind.

But the one great fact remains, unexpected beforehand, perhaps hardly fully felt at the time in difficulties of seeing and hearing, that, back upon the mind in silent hours there comes, may it be said with all reverence, the impulse to say, in a sense never before experienced, 'We have seen the Lord.'

CHELSEA CHINA.