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an eminence from which we enjoyed a fine prospect over open wold and sheltered dale. Fortunately, owing doubtless to the want of means, the majority of the churches in the Wolds have not been restored but merely repaired—a distinction with a vast difference. Said a passer-by, at another hamlet farther on our way, "I'm afraid you'll find our church very old-fashioned inside, we're too poor to restore it properly." For once I can exclaim, "Oh blessed poverty!"

Much good ink has been spilt on the vexed question of restoration, so many sins have been committed in its name, that the word has become hateful to antiquaries and archæologists. There is a charm quite incommunicable in words about an ancient fane whose walls are beautified by the bloom of ages, and are hallowed by the oft-repeated prayers of bygone generations of worshippers—generations who have added to its history in stone as the years rolled by. Time has given every such edifice a character of its own, just as it gives each human face its special character. It has imparted an individuality to it; past associations are gathered there, and a past atmosphere seems to be enclosed within. Whilst without, the summer suns and winter storms and frosts of unremembered years have left their mark, all of which give an ancient church a pathetic look, and a poetic charm to be felt rather than defined,—a charm that comes alone of age and old associations, and that therefore no new building, however architecturally perfect but with its history to make, can possibly possess.