Great power, great responsibility

Something that we may do in life, whether deliberately, being told so or inevitably in time. Something like Peter Parker being made to care for himself and his aunt after his uncle’s demise. Or Jesus taking on the responsibility of helping others out. Like any nurse and coach do and should.

A tough thing to do. Sometimes some people do take on responsibilities at will like trying to study well despite or because of setbacks. Some do it as told like if a manager tells you what to do. Some learn from experience. Some do it within time like completing a project after recovering from sickness.

But it’s something people will do.

Damn those wolves

Bear in mind that some of the Christian and Zoroastrian distrust for wolves still holds today. There are people who do welcome wolves but there are others who don’t especially if they farm. As if the suspicion of wolves taking sheep makes sense.

And most especially the wolf in sheep’s clothing. As if Caitlin Snow tries to appear good to the Justice League even though she secretly steals and kills people and livestock that once caught she got kicked out for it. The farmer will always find ways to deter wolves.

Let’s not forget that if it weren’t for farmers constantly guarding livestock, we wouldn’t get leather, cheese, meat and wool which some people continue to rely on and treasure. As if Superman’s often wary of Caitlin Snow, seeing as she’s able to kill livestock in wolf form.

Again wolves can’t be trusted in those cases and neither does Caitlin (especially if she’s caught dead threatening to kill Amanda Waller).

Religious in Scandinavia

Based on what I’ve read, there are still religious people in Scandinavia. There’s even a report about a Finnish couple translating the Bible in Samburu. I’ve even been to those websites before.

But that would involve realising that those guys are still out there. Especially in the Bible Belt and to some extent, in other enclaves. And I’m not mistaken, there’s a well-known Sami preacher.

Trying to convert his people to Christianity and successfully so. Christians aren’t gone in not only Scandinavia but also the Netherlands for as long as Bible belts exist.

Twenty years in the Church (Google Books)



A Land rich in hospitals shows there is charity somewhere, and a land rich in churches shows that there is piety somewhere; but it by no means follows, that every good institution was the immediate work of a good motive or a good man.

St. John’s Church, in the new district of Lachford, is quite a case in point. “Never,” said Mr. Burcham, “did I see so much of the corrupt motives of human nature as in getting up that church. Lachford was a close borough—some drunken freemen, and some sharp attorneys, who led them like brutes by the chain of their vices, could return two members to Parliament. Beer decided the freemen; the freemen decided the election.

Lachford was also close in another respect: old Dr. Vine had had it all to himself for many years—a very good man out of the pulpit, a very useless man in. He preached Tillotsonian sermons through an eyeglass, and through his nose: still there was no alternative; for, those who drank “Church and State” felt it more than their politics were worth to go anywhere else, however desirous they might be. Strange, horrible things were done in those days. “In turning out an old chest in the Town Hall,” said the clerk, “what do you think it was brimful of? Why, certificates of A B or C D having received the Sacrament so as to be eligible for office under the old Test Act!”—The Dean Rural visiting the same church was answered by the Rector himself, when complaining of the dust and cobwebs, “Why, the fact is, our sexton is such a drunken sot we can do no better I”

Then, Lachford Church was very heavy for the voice; and as the Doctor had little energy, and read in a most drowsy and monotonous manner, the service was as sleepy a performance as can well be imagined. One old woman, whom the Doctor was visiting in a kind and consoling way — for, with all the errors of my brethren, by the bedside even of the dying pauper I am proud to declare that even the worst of us is seen to some advantage—said, “Sir, I haven’t had half a night’s sleep this week, but please God I hear one of your sermons next Sunday, then I knows I shall have a good nap.” This story circulated widely in a sense less complimentary than the poor woman intended.

To all this stagnation, if we add the fact that there were some 5000 souls under this one pastor, and only the few who were literary ever heard him preach in their own tongue, we shall not be surprised to find that while the Church party in Lachford had gone on talking about building one new church, the Dissenters had actually built five new chapels.

I said there was piety “somewhere,” or we never


should have had our new church after all. So, every year the piety of the Bishop dictated a hint at the spiritual destitution of Lachford. Then the piety of the Archdeacon suggested another hint. These dignitaries used to be received at the Rectory, as also was “the deputation” from the societies, all very hospitably; so, sometimes they, and sometimes any other clergyman, who had happened to put a note of admiration in his Clergy List opposite the name of the one Lachford and the one Church!—or, opposite the one Dr. Vine and 5000 souls! also inquired if no new church were in contemplation.

The piety of each of these parties, I say, came in aid. In course of time newspaper paragraphs more and more frequently announced church building in other places—ay, and in other parts of the same diocese: so, all conspired to say that things could not remain as they were—not for decency’s sake, not for proper public spirit. There were not a few good Christian people whose piety also helped the cause; but the greater help was when the public spirit came into play, with bustling self-importance and neck-and-neck rivalry—no weak powers in a country town.

It so happened, fortunately, that Mr. Burcham the schoolmaster, and his friend Mr. Challen, the timbermerchant, were churchwardens at the same time. Mr. Burcham was always praising Mr. Challen, and Mr. Challen as frequently lauded the public spirit of Mr. Burcham; and one day, over a friendly glass, some one said, “Now if this long-talked-of church doesn’t come to something in your year of office, gentlemen, it never will at all.” A short pithy sentence has something ominous and something stirring in it; so this mere quiz and banter acted on the ambition of this dealer in timber and this flogger of boys, like the witch’s salutation in Macbeth. “Then,” said Mr. Burcham, “I should like to be the man to lay the foundation-stone.” “And I,” said Mr. Challen, “would give 20/. to put the weathercock on the spire.”

From that hour Messrs. Burcham and Challen vowed they would immortalise themselves. “They didn’t mind if they did something the world called rash.” It was rash—very rash, indeed—and much moral courage was required at that time of day for such men to give anything above 51. for a church. If the recorded fact that “This was built when Caius and Manlius were consuls,” looked well in ancient times, what greater honour than a black board and gold letters bracketing the brotherly names of Burcham and of Challen? So they went about and talked for some few days about there being no public spirit in the town—meaning, of course, that they engrossed it all in their own persons; and eventually, after some conference with the Rector, Mr. Challen, being mayor, called a public meeting, with long notice, “to consider the propriety of having a new church to relieve the spiritual destitution of the poor of Lachford.”

Meanwhile, two or three more, to whom “time was no object,” seeing they rarely did anything with it, were added to their councils: and then Mr. Burcham gave a cabinet-dinner to Mr. Challen, and Mr. Challen had a yet larger party for Mr. Burcham. “Success to the new church,” was drunk: as also “Church and State,” which Mr. Burcham hoped never might dissolve partner


ship: though, probably, whereabouts they were joined, and the precise cuts that would part them, and which had the best of the bargain, he had never inquired.

After these two dinners, the new church had come to be talked of so much, that our churchwardens seemed taken at their word, and pledged in honour, as publicspirited men, to carry it through. They began for the honour of the borough, and were obliged to go on for the honour of themselves. In politics they were Tories—not that either of them could very accurately rehearse the articles of his political belief—few Lachford people could; but they voted on the Tory side, and were shown up at every slip in The Whig, a Dissenters’ paper. So, soon there appeared an article, saying that “the Church party of Lachford having, like Rip Van Winkle, been sound asleep for the last twenty years, was likely to be thoroughly roused up by a Tory Mayor and a Tory Schoolmaster, the latter ambitious of laying the first stone; but the Mayor, with his every-day eye to the main chance, had bargained to put a bran new weathercock (typical of his own political career) on the top of the spire, as soon as ever—not before—the said spire was built.—Very generous of him, no doubt.”

Soon after, the Tory paper replied to their “foulmouthed contemporary” in a way that pledged the whole Tory party to back up the Mayor.

By this time there was a new motive power, a new stream running through the town of Lachford; or let us say, a new current and a valuable trade-wind had set in. So, the masons, the architects, the builders, and the owners of building-land, were not long in swelling this stream and in adding their puff to this trade-wind, on purpose that it might turn their little machinery, or swell their sails, and bring grist to their respective mills. But, of all eye teeth, those of the landowners were set the sharpest. Every damp pit for “rubbish to be shot” rose wonderfully in value; as also did quarry-stone; and owners grew churchmen and charitable all in a day.

One man, whose field seemed to be the identical place that Deucalion and Pyrrha strewed with stone, seemed wonderfully liberal in offering part as a present for the church, though Mr. Challen winked and said a church would give tenfold value to the remainder.

Another said he would subscribe 50/. if the church were built on his ground; at the same time asking a price to repay the 50/. and something more. And as to the stone that was offered, some of it was quite a geological curiosity, and a fine exemplification of what building-stone ought not to be.

Homer’s race of “inventive men” is not extinct. The inventive powers of half the town and trade of Lachford were tried to turn this move to their own private account, and with just as little regard for the church as the turnspit dog has for the cook. If it is a sign something is going to happen when men talk to each other at the corners of the street, all was going well no doubt: for, Lachford people talked of nothing else. Indeed, the new church was a positive gain in that dull town, if it were only to divert and ventilate the people’s mind; for “there never was such a place for talking about each other’s concerns as our town of Lachford.”

Lachford diversions were rarities. Lachford fair was


a time to look forward to, certainly, as also was the fair ball, where the county quadrille kept as clear from the town quadrille as if there were a dread of some epidemic. This past, there was nothing to talk of, except “how dull everything was,” up to Christmas; and then, only the fat beasts and plums and raisins, all holly and red berries, till they came to ring out the old year—as if they had had enough of the old gentleman—and to ring in the new year—as if they had everything to hope from the young one.

What wonder, then, that the idea of a Church Meeting— ay, and the Bishop to preside, supported by one of the borough members at least, and ever so many county gentlemen—that this should excite pleasurable sensations in the minds of all parties?

The day for the great Church Meeting dawned at last. Every one in the town had offered a luncheon to some friends from the country. The three Misses E. wouldn’t rest till they had prevailed on their papa, a county magistrate, to come; though, he said, he knew it would end in their getting some money out of his pocket. Then Mrs. Vine was to fill the Rectory with Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth, who “had plenty of money if they would but part with it;” Mrs. Lyte, who subscribed to everything; and Mrs. Dyne, who, she was sure, ought to subscribe, for she was the widow of a canon genteelly provided for. This coterie was specially invited to lunch with the Bishop, the Archdeacon, and the first families of the county, who would thus see that our Rector’s wife could introduce great people as well as they could.

The Mayor had a splendid luncheon in the Hall, and the timber-yard coat was taken off and the mayor’s robes put on; and little Mr. Challen was for that day allowed to hand round the old corporation tankards to the first people in the land. Then the bells were set ringing, vehicles rattled in, all the town looked out, and the excitement was pretty general that day.

Mr. Challen was a practical man, of tangible results in pounds, shillings, and pence. Mr. Burcham was the same: he delighted in what he called business, and he would stick on “extras” cruelly; but for all that, when a father turned bankrupt I have known him give the boy the run of the school and the “run of his teeth” for nothing. So there might have been worse men than these to build a church.— Well, these two gentlemen had resolved on a surprise and an impression, no less than this: —

“The Churchwardens of Lachford: 251. Mr. Challen; 251. Mr. Burcham!”

All this they kept to themselves.

Just as the clock struck two, the Bishop of Z. was ushered by the Rector into the Mayor’s room, adjoining the Hall, and he at once smiled so courteously on Mr. Challen—whose face became as red as his robes — that the little man expected the pleasure of a long and flattering conversation. But no man ever went straighter to the point than the Bishop of Z., and no man could convey more without even speaking at all. So, Mr. Challen, all in a minute, found himself drawn into a quiet corner, and heard in a most confidential whisper, “Have you any paper for subscriptions, Mr. Mayor?”

“Yes, my lord, I have a”


“Headed with anything, Mr. Mayor?”

“Certainly, my lord; done in a minute:—The Churchwardens of Lachford, 25/. each.”

“Allow me—The Churchwardens of Lachford, con” jointly, 50/.—thus—much better—you see. Have this paper ready till I ask for it”—still all in a whisper—and then in the same breath, aloud —” It is your time, I think, now Mr. Mayor. So, we will proceed to your Hall for this most important business.”

All this, with his lordship, was the work of half a minute. The Town Hall was crowded with persons who came, because others came, “to make a day of it,” or because the Bishop was expected, not one in twenty caring the least whether a church were built or not. The description of a public meeting in the Acts of the Apostles is true to life,—” Some cried one thing, some another; and the more part knew not wherefore they were come together.”

The Bishop took the chair, and, after all had joined in a Collect for Divine Aid, Mr. Challen was asked to tell the purport of the meeting, and then four or five others rose in turn, with the usual slips of paper twirling in their fingers, and enlarged on the spiritual destitution of the poor, and the efforts made for church extension in other places; and then the Bishop, with his usual tact, and a little touch of satire at the same time, spoke.

“It was, indeed, high time he was sent for. From Lachford lips he had now heard that one part of the town was as little Christian as Timbuctoo; that pews were squared and red-curtained; and the poor had been treated much like the red men of North America, giving place

before the white till they disappeared altogether. However, he must not now be severe, though Lachford had for years been the crying shame of the diocese, because the present meeting had virtually acknowledged the duty of providing for those they had so ruthlessly thrust out. And first and foremost (“Where’s that paper?” he said, aside), “here are your respected churchwardens setting a most excellent example, and one of these gentlemen also, your mayor—your mayor — yes — (as if a bright idea struck him) therefore the representative of Her Majesty; so nothing could be more in character with the present movement, for our friend Mr. Challen,” he said, slowly and gracefully, every eye in the room having time to centre its rays on the little man’s rubicund countenance, “combined Church and State in his own person. Delightful that the movement should have originated in the laity — (here was a hit at the Rector)—a fact that while it made us, in some respects, he feared, blush for the past, also gave bright hopes of the future. However, he would say no more. There had been words enough—: now, my good Christian friends, for deeds. Yes, action, action, action! and the first to ‘rush into the breach’ were (holding up the paper, and shaking and cracking it, while pulling out his eye-glass) — were —

“The Churchwardens of Lachford . . . £50.'” “Hurray!” cried Sam Richards, Mr. Challen’s foreman in the timber-yard, digging his neighbour in the ribs. “Hurray! hurray!” vociferated Mr. Burcham’s first class, who had been sucking lollipops all the time. Of course everybody then hurrayed—nothing is more catching. “Well done our side!” shouted, gruffly and half

The Church of All Saints, East Budleigh, Part 2 (Google Books)

C 8. 8i in. (1, 4.)

Single row of leaves arranged vertically, inclining alternately to right and to left, and slightly overlapping each other.

D 1. 11J. (6, modern.)

In centre a shield bearing arms of the St. Clere family (a sun countercharged). Above it, the upper half of the figure of an angel, with bare head, and facing left. Curly hair. Hands shown holding shield. Wears a loose robe, continued for a very short distance below shield. Collar and cuffs turn over. Wings displayed over each shoulder, as though attached to the head. Below a floriated scroll.

D 2. 16i in. (1, 2, 3.)
Design similar to C 7.

D 3. 17 in. (2, 5.)

Divided into two squares. Upper sub-divided by bend dexter, lower by bend sinister. The interspaces occupied by floriated ornaments like half flowers.

D 4. 16f in. (1, 3.)

Design somewhat similar to B 4, except that the half circle is placed at the upper part, and of vesica shape.

D 5. 16J in. (1, 3, 5.)

Two unequal-sized square panels: upper (larger) similar to corresponding one of B 3. Lower has an architectural flower.

D 6. 16f in. (1, 2, 3.)

Upright double symmetrical leaf-like scroll ornament.

D 7. 12 in. (1, 3.)

Divided by oblique lines into five compartments, three being oblique squares, and two triangular (above and below), occupied by floriated ornaments.

D 8. 6 in. (1, 2, 3.)

Plain roundels, arranged vertically, and touching each other. Border on one side only. Is the narrowest pewend in the church.

E 1. 12 in. (4, 6.)

Full length figure of an angel, with wings, three-quarter face looking to left. Long loose habit reaching to the feet; high up in the neck and with loose sleeves—no hands shown.

Bears a shield (in centre of panel) containing arms of the St. Clere family. Lower fifth, contains a square formal architectural leaf.2

E 2. 16 in. (4)

Divided into two squares. In the lower is an architectural flower, with the petals much crumpled. The upper is divided by a cross saltire, containing formal half flowers, similar in character to that in the lower division.

E 3. 16 in. (1, 3, 7.) Vide plate 5.

Large-sized female head and neck in upper half, in profile, looking to right; wearing close-fitting cap, completely enveloping hair and ears. Neck rests in an ornament shaped like a cornucopaeia, and terminating in a flower. On the restored portion the letters A. W. are incised.

E 4. 16f in. (1, 2, 3, 4.)

Double symmetrical scroll-like ornament. Carving poor and shallow.

E 5. 16f in. (1, 3, 4.)

Two square divisions. Upper occupied by two vertical fish-like bodies, placed symmetrically, and facing each other. Mouths wide open, showing teeth; upper jaws connected by a ring. Between the two is a vertical ornamental standard. Lower divided by bend dexter, with floriated ornaments in the spaces.

E 6. 16f in. (1.)

Of similar design to C 7.

E 7. 11J in. (1, 4, 7.)

Leaves arranged vertically and alternately—terminating in an alligator-like head, with open mouth displaying large teeth.

E 8. 9 in. (1, 4.)
Stalk and leaves.

F 1. llf in. (5.) Vide plate 6, a.

At base, a sitting figure almost nude (has a sash round the waist), with a grotesque face. Upholds a shield, charged above with a greyhound current (rather mutilated), below an owl. In upper part of panel is a helmet inclined, and surmounted with crest of a dog. Eepresents the arms of the Ford family. The Fords were related by marriage to the St. Clere family. a Vide illustration in D. A. xxii. 280.

F 2. 16| in. (No stamp mark.)

Panel divided into spaces by a cross saltire above and below, united in the centre. The middle interspace occupied by a full face with arabesque border. The other divisions contain floriated ornaments. Two formal flowers at base.

F 3. 16 J in. (4.)

Two and a half circular compartments, sub-divided into vesica-shaped spaces (6 in all) containing floriated ornaments.

F 4. 16 J in. (No stamp mark.)

Upper half contains female figure to the waist. Body in full front, but head in profile to the left, and covered with cap of folded material, fitting closely. Under garment rises high in the neck, and is fastened by a plain band-like brooch. Tight-fitting dress, cut low and square in the front, with a loose piece over the shoulders like a sash. In lower half a decorated scroll-like ornament.

F 5. 161 in- 0. 2, 3, 4, 5.)

Long saltire-wise cross. Upper division contains an ungainly-looking head with long hair, and wearing a flat cap (coronet ?). Face in profile to the left. The other spaces contain floriated ornaments.

F 6. 111 in. (1, 2, 3, 4, 5.)

Panel divided symmetrically into spaces, formed by half circles in apposition at their convex surfaces, and terminating above in a circular compartment containing a head in profile, similar to, but smaller than that in F 5. All the spaces occupied by formal floriated ornaments. Apparently by the same carver as F 5.

F 7. 8 in. (1, 2, 3, 5.) Vide plate 6, b.

In upper fourth of panel the head and shoulders of a female figure (?), remarkably well designed and carved. The face in profile to the left. Head covered with a close-fitting decorated cap, concealing the hair and ears. Over this, tilted forwards, is a hat of soft material, with turned-up brim, and decorated with a feather. It is retained in place by a band, passing round the back of the head. Dress high up in neck. Tightfitting jacket, with shoulder-pieces. In lower threefourths a branched foliated stem. Border of similar design to A 2 and A 6.

F 8. 17 in. (1, 3, 5.) Vide plate 4.

A half-length female figure, shown above a hatch or hall-door (?), occupies the upper part of the panel. Face in profile, looking towards the left, at the representation of a large bird, trussed ready for cooking, and suspended in the left-hand upper corner. Head covered with a close-fitting cap, formed of one piece folded, or of bands, united at their edges. In shape it is similar to the diamond headdress of the Tudor period, there being a slight angle in the centre of the forehead; the border passes almost directly backwards to the temples, from whence two lappets project forwards, towards the lower part of the cheek (covering the ears), the hair being shown in the angle so formed. The cap has a decorated edging (of lace ?). A wide ornamental band or carcanet surrounds the neck. The gown, cut low and square in front, displays a portion of the under – garment. There is a broad-shaped waistband; this and the edging of the gown are of decorated material; otherwise the latter is plain. The sleeves are rolled up above the elbow, so as to leave the arms bare. A platter is held in the left hand, while the right is employed in grasping the tail of a dog, occupying the lower part of the panel. This animal has a long body, with smooth skin; the tail is long, and so is the head, with its long flap ears. It is apparently intended to represent a turnspit dog, although the forelegs are not depicted of the form generally possessed by that race.3

F 9. 16J in. (1.)

Very large leaves. Lower part of panel plain. Border unlike that of any other, consisting of plain, undecorated roundels.

F 10. 16f in. (1.)

Long bend sinister, with contorted foliated ornaments in the divisions.

F 11. 15J in. (1, 3, 4.)

Two squares, each containing a large formal architectural leaf.

* Vide illustration and description in Jesse’s Anecdotes of Dogs (Bonn’s ed.), 418. The dog worked inside a hollow drum like :\ squirrel in its cage, and when once in motion had to continue running. ” When we consider that a large solid piece of beef would take at least three hours before it was properly roasted, we may form some idea of the task a dog had to perform in turning a wheel during that time.” In Chambers’s Book of Days (i. 490) there is an engraving of a dog so employed.

F12. 12 in. (4.)

Two squares; upper divided by bend sinister, with floriated ornaments; lower contains full flower.

G 1. 16J in. (1, 6.)
Massive leaves.

G 2. 17 in. (1, 3, 4.)

Interlacing stalks, not symmetrical.

G 3. 16| in. (1, 3.)

Scroll, with flower-like ornaments; in the upper left angle a small face upturned, with wing-like ornaments on either side.

G 4. 16J in. (No stamp-mark.)

Interlacing bands or stalks, not symmetrical.

G 5. 16f in. (1, 3.)

A large bearded head in profile, facing left, situated in the concavity of an arabesque ornament, and terminating in a scroll-like decoration. It bears some resemblance to, and has been called, the decorated head of an Indian.

G6. 17 in. (1,4.)

Long bend sinister dividing floriated ornaments.

G 7. 16f in. (4, 6.)

A large shield of oblique form, containing the arms of the St. Clere family, with various quarterings (of the Courtenay, Chiverton, and Yarty families). At base, a contorted, scroll-like ornament. Above it is a halflength figure, with face in profile to the right; head covered with a close-fitting cap, with a protecting knob behind. Habit rather loose, folded across the breast, and with a deeply cut scalloped border. Upper part of sleeve puffed, rest closely-fitting, with turned-up cuff.

G8. 17 in. (1,4.)

General design and treatment similar to B 4.

G 9. 16J in. (1, 4, 6.)

Upright fish-like figure, terminating below in an ordinary fish tail; above in the head of an animal with mouth open, showing large tongue. Scroll-like ornaments attached to lower part of body.

The Living Church, Volume 111 (Google Books)

Do Animals Survive?
By the Rev. Desmond Morse-Boycott
THERE is one subject upon which
no clergyman will ever preach, yet
it is a matter of moment to many.
That pal of yours, with his quaint frisky
ways, so faithful, that makes you some
times say: “The more I see of man, the
more I like my dog.” That well-loved,
quiet cat, that seems to you almost human,
to which you talk so tenderly and which
seems to understand. Have they any after
A poignant moment comes when you
look into their wistful eyes for the last
time and you have a big, big heart-ache
which lasts a long, long time. (I have got
one now myself.)
Parson will not preach on this theme
because he isn’t sure of his ground. I am
going to write about it, nevertheless; and,
naturally, “beg the question” about an
after-life at all. I assume that to be true.
If it is, as I believe, then I want to know
if some classes of animals who grow up
in close and intimate contact with human
beings and minister to them, love and are
loved, can have a sharing of the life be
yond and partake of the joy of reunion.
And I am not going to be side-tracked by
somebody’s facetious remark: “What
about alligators?” I am thinking only of
those animals which seem to develop the
rudiments of a soul. Like the government
I am all against sharks, here and here
after, but I am all for my cat and dog.
They also are of my family.
“Rudiments of a soul.” Why, some dogs
surely have souls. The best-loved dogs in
the world are those noble creatures of
Grand St. Bernard, the bleak, sequestered
monastery on an Alpine Pass of great
height between Switzerland and Italy.
These are monk-dogs in the canine world,
sharing with their human brethren the
perils of an angelical life of mercy. Cour
age, hardiness, and self-sacrifice are re
quired of both monks and dogs even unto
death. In the Alps the dogs can only live
about ten years, when they have to be
“put to sleep” because of rheumatism.
Only an unusually strong monk can him
self live there for much more than 15
years. When I last visited the monastery
a bronzed monk, wearing a biretta, was
sitting at a wide-open window, deeply en
grossed in study. In the courtyard there
were a dozen beautiful, burly dogs, with a
far-away look in their eyes, as if they
were hearing distant cries for succor and
realized that they were consecrated dogs
set apart, with consecrated men, for a
high and holy task. They had a quite
human dignity when one threw them
bread. There was none of the greedy
scramble that my own dog would indulge
Then there are the two immortal
“Anglo-Catholic” dogs named Righ and
Spcireag, meaning, respectively, King and
a Little Hawk. As you walk in Holborn
remember how often its streets were trod
Ay the persecuted vicar of St. Alban’s, Fr.
Mackonochie, who, worn out by endless
law-suits during many years of the middleend of last century, brought against him
for adhering to High Church principles,
retired at length to Scotland. On the 15th
of December, 1887, he went for a long
walk, accompanied by the terrier and deerhound of the Bishop of Argyll and the
Isles, of whom he was very fond, and who
were his constant walking companions.
Snow came on. He never returned. Shep
herds and gillies sought unceasingly for
two days and nights. Returning, sick at
heart, they saw the silhouette of the deerhound sitting bolt upright against the
snowy background. There, in a snowy
wreath, lay the weary body of the priest,
his head pillowed on his hand, spotless
snow veiling his features. There, while the
snow thundered over the mountains, the
dogs had kept their vigil, nor would they
now let any disturb the “sleeper” until
they heard the voice of their master, the
Bishop. These famous dogs had a special
memorial in St. Alban’s, Holborn, until
the most part of it was destroyed in the
So far, how easy it has been to write
this article ; but now must I venture out
upon uncharted theological seas (remem
bering warily the sharks and alligators
aforesaid). What, if any, hints or tokens
have we in the Scriptures that there is an
after-life for soulful, as distinct from
soulless beasts ? There is the deeply al
legorical story of the Ark, the symbol oi
salvation, which gave survival to beasts
as well as man. There are the mysterious
words of St. Paul: “For the earnest ex
pectation of the creature waiteth for the
manifestation of the sons of God.”
There are, lastly, the tender words ot
Christ, that the fall of the sparrow is
broken. There is a tradition among
migratory birds to pause at Grand St.
Bernard and seek for shelter from storm.
Then all the windows are thrown open
and clouds of birds flutter in. They will
never accept any food, but allow the monk<
to take them in their hands and stroke
them. It has been noticed, time and again,
that when they fly away they sing, as if
in thanks to their hosts. And that remind>
Have you ever read the Benedicite in the
service of Matins in the Prayer Book?
It is relevant to your dog and cat and bird.

They should know better

I think if Christians struggle with accepting that God gets angry real easily, then it’s their fault why they should know better. They’re the ones who read the Bibles, apologetics and have a personal relationship that they should accept that God loses his temper a lot. But ironically they don’t like that fact.

Even if they (should) know better than atheists do. Frankly the latter really don’t know any better. To put it this way, it’s Tim Drake who should know any better being Black Canary’s nephew and Stephanie’s boyriend that he should’ve learnt to be more responsible for his own faults like listlessness. But he doesn’t.

And why he’s often insensitive to their anger. Christians are surprisingly insensitive to God’s anger and the fact about it. Even if they’re the ones who should know better and should’ve been more aware of and perhaps accepting of his tendency towards wrath than anybody else do. But it’s a responsibility they don’t commit to.