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We had hardly turned off like this before there broke out such a flood of melody about us, as can be only said to baffle description, to exceed imagination, and to lose beauty even in the recollection. Most of us know the rapturous fervour of Shelley's or Wordsworth's delight in the skylark, but no poet has described anything like the sensation of this music. It sprang up on all sides, and burst as if by preconceived plan or a leader's command, and the air was flooded. We were conscious of not hearing one solitary voice to start the choir, but the whole chorus of thousands broke out together. We stood entranced. It seemed as if it might be choirs of angels, the music was so strange and beautiful and so mysterious. The light was just strong enough to show that it was five minutes to two, but, strain our eyes as we would, we could not for more than an hour detect a single bird. Salisbury is famous for larks, but Salisbury Plain seems to be crowded with them. Certainly one will never forget such an impressive circumstance as this. As we recovered from the shock, our first thoughts were of what they lose who see only a limited sphere of nature, and if clouds and rain had then come up we should have felt more than content to have made our expedition.

We strolled on, resting here and there, to pass the time, on a rail; noticing the fire of some watcher at the 'Ambrosial stones,' now only two miles off, or watching the brightening of the sky above the sun. Once there passed us as we rested a phantom party of five, gliding without action of limbs rapidly over the turf; but, as they stood out against the sky, showing us that they were not phantom Druids on bicycles, but men on their legs walking to Stonehenge.

When we had passed the last of the mysterious tumuli that dot the plain, and neared the end of our walk, we detected from various uncouth figures lying about that several people had brought their beds with them and made (half) a night of it. It was anything but the desolate spot one might expect : carts and ponies were about, and forty or fifty people here and there—some already taking up position, though there was an hour before the sun would rise.

It was now light, and we strolled about, renewing our acquaintance with the place and watching the company arrive. It was a curious collection. There was the clergyman and his wife who had driven to Amesbury overnight and failed to get beds; there was the party which came from London on purpose, one of them making observations with plumb-line and compass; there were the two photographers and their instruments; the man who was anxious to tell you he was 'here last year;' working men, idle men, women, girls, and children-a most mixed company. By sunrise there must have been a hundred and twenty or thirty of us, and most of these came pouring in from all sides during the last hour. It was difficult to realize that it was the middle of the night to most Britons, and the waggonettes and carriages must have been more numerous than usual in the day. Most of these

enthusiasts were anything but conducive to the genius loci, but it would require a great deal to throw altogether into the background the feeling that is produced by the awfully solemn stones, and the wide and dreary plain in which they stand. There is indeed something most impressive and mysterious in this giant temple, set up in the open plain, so full of suggestion to the fancy which tries to picture the scene in which they figured on such a morning as this more than 2,000 years ago. How strange an alteration! Then, perhaps, a countless crowd of beings, blindly true to the horrible rites of their ignorant superstition, waiting in breathless expectation for the advent of their object of worship, and watching with awe and reverence the preparations of the white-robed priests. Shall we presume to imagine the poor victims, if such there were, trembling in their bonds and counting the last moments of their life-but no! the contemplation is too horrible, and we will leave the veil which utter ignorance has compelled us to draw over such an incident, and thankfully remind ourselves how such heathen orgies have been wiped away by the triumph of civilization and the spread of truth.

But see the light wreath of cloud, a mere breath of vapour hitherto unnoticed in the sky, is now gilded with the light of the sun, and time warns us that we must take up our position.

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The altar stone' is now all but covered by the fallen stones of the great trilithon which formerly overshadowed it, and there is only room for three to stand upon it; but just below, by standing on tiptoe, or if we sit upon the fallen stones, we may place our eye at the correct point for the observation. As we look up the middle of the temple and through the central of three remaining arches of the outer circle, a frame is formed to our picture by the lintel and uprights, and in its centre at a distance of about a hundred yards, carrying the line over the slaughter stone,' which lies midway, we see the huge bowing stone,' standing black and frowning in front of us. It is roughly shaped to a point, and the line of the horizon exactly touches its apex. There is no fear of unpunctuality in our spectacle, and at eight minutes to four (about eight minutes after Greenwich time of sunrise) the first rays are detected by an eager watcher, and at once we all see a line of gold on the horizon, a considerable way to the left of the stone's apex. It is a thrilling moment, as the sun glides majestically on his upward path. But it is not until the whole orb, slightly flattened by the refraction of the air, has come into view, that the requirements are fulfilled, and then the coincidence is exact, and the sun appears as if balanced on the apex of the stone, the line of horizon being drawn a tangent to them both. It is perhaps possible to imagine the effect, but to an actual spectator the picture is most impressive, and the dark masses of the bowing stone and the frame add brilliancy and completeness to the effect. It was a curious circumstance that two birds remained on the point of the stone during the time, and their

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outline was clearly seen against the disc of the sun. Last year a crow that occupied this position, and if such a circumstance occurred during the observations of the Druids it could not have been difficult to draw an augury of some kind or other; but in 1876 it is probable that none of the spectators felt any such inclination to be superstitious; and as the sun rolled upwards, throwing long shadows from the stones across the plain, the assembly quickly dispersed, gratified by as great a reward for their trouble as can possibly be imagined. One member of the company, whom we recognised as the author of a learned treatise on the place, endeavoured to test the statements that are made as to observations from certain other points in the precincts, and expressed himself satisfied with the result, but I cannot say precisely what they were. One I believe was, that standing in a depression in the vallum which surrounded the temple, the sun, on his first appearance, would be seen over the bowing stone.'

It is said that from various points in the precincts, which are marked by stones or depressions in the earth, one might observe other peculiar crises in the sun's procedure. For instance, from one it might be seen to set at the summer solstice, from others to rise or set at the winter solstice, in particular relation to other features of the temple. Of this I have had no experience. That the angle formed by a line drawn from the impost of the outer circle to the impost of the great trilithon above the altar stone' is the exact angle at which equator and ecliptic cross, or that the number of stones in the temple was mystical and related to the days of the year, would with the above facts support the theory that the worship of the sun was the designed intention of the temple; but such an observation as we were favoured with on June 21st is by itself an ample proof that some such reverence for the sun was the prevailing cause of the peculiar arrangements of the place.

It would detain us too long to work out any theory as to the designs of the place, particularly as such a subject does not enter into the intention of this paper, but it would seem to be most interesting to attempt, beginning from the history of Jacob, or the second verse of Deut. xxvii., to show how the ancient custom of erecting great stones as monuments of the worship of the true GOD, when brought under the bane of idolatry, was adopted in the worship of the 'hosts of heaven.' One might then review the existing monuments of the kind, such as Colonel Forbes Leslie noticed in India, and develop ample ground for speculation as to their introduction into England. The subject would be very full of interest, as would also be the more remote one of the anointing of such stones with oil, by which an ingenious theory has been supported which endeavours to account for one of the names of Stonehenge, viz. the ambrosial stones.' * But so much has been already written on the subject that it would be difficult to find new matter.

*

Surely they must be so called from Aurelius Ambrosius.-ED.

However, there the stones stand, and are likely to remain for years to come; and as long as they exist they are sure to cause unlimited speculation and conjecture, but will remain a mysterious wonder still.

Certainly we have no hesitation in advising any one who would see them aright' to take such an opportunity as the one described in this paper. The longest day is of course the correct day to go, and it adds to the romance to see them then; but for a day or two before and after the variations in the sun's position would be so small as to be unnoticeable by the eye; and if one consented to sacrifice some of the poetry of the occasion, one would be rewarded by the greater quiet and solitude of the place, which would undoubtedly add very largely to the impressiveness of the scene.

It only remains to state that, though the day was now very hot, the walk home through the Woodfords in the early morning was delightful, and that we reached home by a little after seven, and in time for the early service in the Cathedral; thus completing to the letter the plan we had set before us.

SEPTUAGESIMA LECTURES, DELIVERED IN THE CHURCH OF ALL SAINTS, MARGARET STREET, 1877.

BY THE REV. A. R. ASHWELL, M. A., CANON OF CHICHESTER.
LECTURE III.-THE LIMITATIONS OF PRESENT KNOWLEDGE.

1 Cor. xiii. 9.

'We know in part, and we prophesy in part.'

DURING the last two Sundays, my brethren, we have been considering the information which it has pleased Almighty God to give us upon two of the most stupendous questions which the mind of man can ask. In doing this we have been following the guidance given to us by the Church into which we have been baptized. Every Septuagesima Sunday the Church causes us to read once more that great record which certifies us that evil is no part of the original creation. Every Sexagesima the Church causes us to read also that subsequent record in which God teaches us how it was that, in spite of His having made all things good, evil found an entrance into His world, and into our nature :---' an enemy hath done this.' It is now Quinquagesima Sunday, and it seems to me that the special point upon which the Epistle for the day fixes our attention is calculated to follow up the teaching of these last two Sundays with a singular appropriateness. In those two great lessons, God has been answering, as I said, two of the most anxious questions which man can ask. But a further question arises; and it is this-Does the information given in these two histories tell us all? It tells us enough to give us two things, trust and hope. It tells us enough to give us trust in our God, that He doeth all things

well. It tells us enough to give us hope for ourselves, that He Who made us for Himself, and in His image, will not desert us, but help us out of the dangers and the miseries which sin has inflicted on us. But does it therefore tell us ALL? Does it tell us how it came to pass that the evil one was suffered to interfere? Does it tell us where he came from? How he came to have this terrible hostility to God and God's creation, and especially against us, God's image? Ah, no; these and many more difficulties remain yet unsolved before we have seen all round this strange mystery, this mystery of evil, and suffering, and sorrow. Enough is given us to set us on our way with hope and trust. Enough is not given us to satisfy all questions, or to enable us to say our knowledge is complete.

What then? Are we to turn away disappointed, and reject what is given to us because it does not go further? There are, as we well know, many who are disposed to act thus and say, 'Because there are difficulties yet unsolved, therefore I will not accept what I am told. The information which is incomplete is condemned by the very fact of its incompleteness. Tell me all, and then I may attend to you.' But as it seems to me that a person who speaks thus ought first to satisfy himself upon another question, namely, what does God Himself tell us about His information? Does God say that it is complete enough to solve all difficulties? Because if God Himself nowhere professes that it is intended to do so, if God on the contrary Himself says that it is only partial, we may indeed be very sorry that we have not fuller light, but that is no disparagement to the truth or accuracy of what we have.

Now, as I said above, the Epistle of to-day follows up the teaching of the two last Sundays with exactly what is wanted, namely this authoritative declaration of God by the mouth of St. Paul, not only that our information is partial, but that in this world it cannot help being so, and must always be so. The objections I have alluded to are nothing new. They are at least as old as the beginning of Christianity. S. Paul had to meet the same sort of thing in his day, and in his Epistle to the Corinthians he not only meets them in the way I have stated, but he has left us the most vivid portrait possible of the kind of persons who made these objections. In the Epistle of to-day we have exactly the teaching which is wanted to show us in what spirit to receive and to regard what we have been learning during the two Sundays that are past. Let us then try and consider:

I. What sort of people it was that S. Paul was writing to.

II. In what spirit they were acting towards the teaching they had received, and

III. In what light S. Paul told them they were to regard such revelation as God had been pleased to make to them.

The subject forms an appropriate sequel to the two lectures already given, and will complete the course of our Septuagesima teaching.

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