FROM THE HEART OF THE WOLDS. 1 99 



ancestors of these rooks cawed overhead ; the beck ran then 

 as it runs now, but an impassable gulf separates the grave, self- 

 contained religion of the last prioress (which in these seclusions 

 mainly spent itself on the love of God), from the impulsive, 

 philanthropic character of religion at present. Missions, as- 

 sociations, and societies innumerable now dissipate the energies 

 of the serious-minded. Personality everywhere rebels against 

 the ecclesiastical organisation which would hold all men in 

 captivity round a central infallibility. Material civilisation in 

 too many hearts tramples down the religious sentiment itself. 

 Even while we linger by these verdant mounds the railway 

 whistle from afar penetrates the quiet valley, and at once helps 

 us to measure the interval between the nineteenth century and 

 the so-called ages of faith. Joanna Thompson in her sorrow 

 probably indulged in previsions of the future.* Her wildest 

 dream could hardly compass the free, active, inquiring England 

 of to-day. 



A mile and a-half more brings us to one of the best-wooded 

 villages of the Wolds. Swinhope, (the wild swine's retreat, or, 

 it may be, Sweyn's abode), lies in a hollow ; hall, parsonage, 

 and church well nigh smothered in fine old ashes and oaks. 

 Very few beeches are seen in this district, yet the beech pro- 

 bably grew here before the Conquest in vast woods similar to 

 those which are now seen across the German Ocean in Den- 

 mark. St. Helen, the mother of Constantine (who himself was 

 born at York), and the discoverer of the true Cross, is the 

 patron saint of this very small church, as of several others in 

 the neighbourhood. This fact seems to give an approximation 

 to the date at which many of the original churches of these 

 little villages were built, before Saxon, Dane, and devouring 

 Northman left their destructive traces behind, in the reddened 

 stones still to be seen in the church walls of the district (not- 

 ably at Clee), which have manifestly passed through the flames.* 



* She had a pension of 6 granted her after the dissolution of the Priory. 



