upon the Seven Last Words,
would have seemed as novel to the early Christians as it does now to the
Low Church portion of our beautifully consistent Establishment."

"Though the symbol was always probably in private use among the early
Christians," struck in the truth-seeker, "I believe its first public
appearance would not date further back than its triumphant one upon the
Roman eagles. In the Catacombs, I'm told, the Virgin and Child appear in
the oldest work, or symbolism--the Cross never save as executed by late
hands."

"May there not be subjective reasons for that?" asked my porcelain
widow. "I mean for the modern adoration of the Cross? Do you not think
we are much softer hearted, much more keenly susceptible of all the
finer emotions than were those old Greek, Roman, and Jewish converts?
One feels the same thing, it seems to me, in mystic reading. The old
visions were triumphant, simple, or, so to say, material--the very A B C
of mysticism; while the visions of later mystics are complicated,
involved, like the soul-life of this time, often agonizing beyond
natural power of endurance. And the stigmatized saints are of these
later times."

"And then," said the art-student, "I think they didn't realize in those
early days how long time was going to be, and how tough and many-headed,
evil. The faith was but young then. Perhaps they couldn't have borne to
know the length and fluctuations of the fight--and they felt so sure of
speedy victory, that our Lord's resurrection and ascension appealed to
them more keenly than His passion."

"All reasonable theories," replied my neighbor. "But, apropos of some of
the legends concerning the Tragedy of the Cross, the weeping willow, the
trembling aspen, the robin redbreast, the red crossbill, the passion
flower, and so many more, I hardly know a more naive example of the way
in which our forefathers pressed the exterior world into testimony for
their belief than occurs in an old picture in an Augustinian monastery
in Sussex.

"It is a fresco on the wall of a chamber--subject, the Nativity--and the
animals therein are made to publish the event in words supposed to
resemble their characteristic sounds and cries. A cock, crowing, is
perched at the top, and a label from out his mouth has the words,
'Christus natus est!' 'Quando, quando?' quacks the duck. Hoarsely the
raven, 'In hae nocte.' 'Ubi? ubi?' inquires the cow. And, 'Bethlehem,'
bleats out the lamb."

"Oh, Mrs. Stai