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Oh, may God help all of us to glorify the Father, by thinking well of His only-begotten Son. Charles H. Fowler, Methodist Episcopal divine, was born 1837 in Burford, Ontario, Canada, was educated at Syracuse University and the Garrett Biblical Institute, Evanston, Ill.
Several times the monastery was in peril by reason of the wars between Wessex and Mercia. In A. D. 752, Cuthred of Wessex defeated Ethelbald of Mercia at Burford, hard by, and protected Abingdon from further aggressions. Twenty-five years later the decision of war was reversed.
Suffice it to say that he left an undying fame to future generations, and fell in the Wars of the Roses when fighting at the battle of Barnet against the very man he had set on the throne. The almshouses he built for Burford are still to be seen hard by the grand old church. "For who lived king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow?
"Yes, miss," said Burford. "He's as bad as you are, mother," said Peggy. So she went up to London and stayed the night at Sturrocks's alone, for the first time in her life.
It was in the year 1636 that Speaker Lenthall purchased Burford Priory.
A few miles away toward Burford is the quarry from which men say Christopher Wren brought some of the stone to raise St. Paul's Cathedral. Yet the local people do not care a bit for this beautiful freestone of the Cotswold Hills. They want to bring granite from afar for their village crosses, and ugly blue slates for the roofs of the houses.
The crushing defeat at Burford, though it had brought about revolts which stripped Mercia of all the conquests it had made, was far from having broken the Mercian power. Under the long reign of Offa, which went on from 758 to 796, it rose again to all but its old dominion.
Do you remember reading about Keats, that he wrote a lot of "Endymion" at Burford Bridge? It was only a little after ten o'clock when we passed the quaint-looking hotel there, but already at least a dozen motors were drawn up before it. I wanted to go in and ask if they show the room Lord Nelson used; but we had too many things to see.
"By God, it is the first time," Alison cried and turned on him so fiercely that he started back. There was a servant at the door saying something which went unheard. Then Susan Burford came into the room, an odd contrast in her placid simplicity to the amazed magnificence of Mr. Waverton or Alison's tremulous, furious beauty.
The only regret one feels on gazing at this grand old specimen of the toil of our simple ancestors is that it is seldom visited save by the natives of rural Burford, many of whom, alas! must realise but little the exceptional beauty and stateliness of the lovely old church with which they have been so familiar all their lives. A few years ago Mr.
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