of Magdalen Tower. In the groves below and across the river
meadows all the birds were singing together. Beyond the glimmering
suburbs, St. Clement's and Cowley St. John, over the dark rise by
Bullingdon Green, the waning moon seemed to stand still and wait,
poised on her nether horn. Below her the morning sky waited, clean
and virginal, letting her veil of mist slip lower and lower until it
rested in folds upon Shotover. While it dropped a shaft of light
tore through it and smote flashing on the vane high above Taffy's
head, turning the dark side of the turrets to purple and casting
lilac shadows on the surplices of the choir. For a moment the whole
dewy shadow of the tower trembled on the western sky, and melted and
was gone as a flood of gold broke on the eastward-turned faces.
The clock below struck five and ceased. There was a sudden baring of
heads; a hush; and gently, borne aloft on boys' voices, clear and
strong, rose the first notes of the hymn--

"Te Deum Patrem colimus,
Te laudibus prosequimur,
Qui corpus cibo reficis,
Coelesti mentem gratia."

In the pauses Taffy heard, faint and far below, the noise of cowhorns
blown by the street boys gathered at the foot of the tower and beyond
the bridge. Close beside him a small urchin of a chorister was
singing away with the face of an ecstatic seraph; whence that ecstasy
arose the urchin would have been puzzled to tell. There flashed into
Taffy's brain the vision of the whole earth lauding and adoring--
sun-worshippers and Christians, priests and small children; nation
after nation prostrating itself and arising to join the chant--
"the differing world's agreeing sacrifice." Yes, it was Praise that
made men brothers; Praise, the creature's first and last act of
homage to his Creator; Praise that made him kin with the angels.
Praise had lifted this tower; had expressed itself in its soaring
pinnacles; and he for the moment was incorporate with the tower and
part of its builder's purpose. "Lord, make men as towers!"--he
remembered his father's prayer in the field by Tewkesbury, and at
last he understood. "All towers carry a lamp of some kind"--why, of
course they did. He looked about him. The small chorister's face
was glowing--

"Triune Deus, hominum
Salutis auctor optime,
Immensum hoc mysterium
Ovante lingua canimus!"

Silence--and then with a shout the tunable bells broke forth, rocking
the tower. S