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 noisy starlings—birds that strangely appear to prefer buildings to trees, and who made themselves much at home in the ruins.

Then we took a glance within the church, where several Bishops of Lincoln lie buried close to their palatial home. Fortunate beings those ancient bishops—to make the best of both worlds, and to ensure so many earthly good things on their way to heaven; to be the servant of Him who had not where to lay His head, and yet to sit on a throne, live in a palace, and enjoy a princely income; nevertheless, to talk of losing all for Christ, who said, "My kingdom is not of this world"! Strangely inconsistent is the creed of Christianity with the history of the Church. "Love your enemies" was the command of the Master. "Torture and burn them" was the order of the medieval Church—and is the servant greater than the Master?

Buckden church, though interesting, was hardly so much so as might have been expected; its open timber roof, however, was very fine, and was adorned with a series of sculptured angels that manifestly had once been coloured, but now had a faded look, and faded angels seem hardly appropriate; moreover, not one of the number had his (or her?) wings perfect; some had only one wing, and that broken, others were in a still worse plight, having no wings at all! But why should angels have wings? Is it that neither scholar nor artist can get beyond anthropomorphism? Wings are hardly spiritual appendages. The medieval craftsman, in representing angels so provided, must surely