“Oh, Teddy, I couldn’t go to bed for thinking of your party and how much you must be enjoying yourself!  But what is the matter?  You look so—­funny!”

Somehow Everett found himself telling her the whole story, and never perhaps has humiliated mortal found a kinder little comforter.  Far from laughing at him, as he may have deserved, tears filled her pretty eyes at the recital of his unfortunate evening, and no amount of petting was deemed too much.  She took him to the drawing-room, where she had hitherto been sitting unplaiting her hair; stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, wheeled him up the easiest couch, and, signal proof of feminine heroism, braved the kitchen beetles to get him something to eat.

What a delightful impromptu picnic she spread out upon the sofa!  How capital was the cold beef and pickles, the gruyere cheese, the bottled beer!  How they laughed and enjoyed themselves, always with due consideration not to disturb the sleepers above.  How Everett, with the audacity born of the swing back of the pendulum, seized upon this occasion to—­

But no!  I did not undertake to give further developments; these must stand over to another time.

LEGEND OF AN ANCIENT MINSTER.

I.

Fairchester Abbey is noted for the mixed character of its architecture.  Such a confused blending of styles is very rarely to be met with in any of our English cathedrals.  There is no such thing as uniformity and no possibility of tracing out the original architect’s plan; it has been so altered by later builders.

The Norman pillars of the nave still remain, but they are surmounted by a vaulted Gothic roof.  The side aisles of the choir are also Norman, but this heavier work is most beautifully screened from view and completely panelled over with the light tracery of the later Perpendicular.

It is almost impossible to adequately describe the beauties of this noble choir.  The architect seems to have been inspired, in the face of unusual difficulty, to preserve all that was beautiful in the work of his predecessors, and to blend it in a marvellous manner with his more perfect conceptions.  There is nothing sombre or heavy about it.  It is a perfect network of tall, slender pillars and gauzy tracery, and at the east end there is the finest window to be seen in this country, harmonising in the colour of its glass with the rest of the building; shedding, in the sun’s rays, no gloomy, heavy colourings, but bright golden, creamy white, and even pink tints, on the receptive freestone, which, unlike marble, is not cold or forbidding, but naturally warm and pleasing to the eye.

To conclude this brief description, we can choose no better words than these:  “Gloria soli Deo.”

They occur on the roof of the choir at its junction with the nave, and explain the unity and harmony which exists amidst all this diversity.  Each successive architect worked with this one object in view, the glory of God alone, and so he did not ruthlessly destroy, but recognised the same purpose in the work of his predecessors and endeavoured to blend all into one harmonious whole, thus leaving for future ages a lesson written in stone which churchmen of the present day would do well to learn.