ards
making our ancient streets and cities; and here we have evidence that
beautiful building is still possible if we will but have it. It may be
claimed that even the streets we build are historical as our old towns
are historical; that they are the outcome of the age we live in. And
truly this is so; and for this very reason we must needs be patient if
we cannot be hopeful.

But it is something to recognise the fact that we have in our old
buildings and streets records of unquestionable veracity, full of
character and meaning, and such as we are entirely unable, with all
our boasted advantages, to rival or even imitate. And more than this,
we have in most of the work that has been left to us examples of
craftsmanship, in every kind, which are invaluable as models of what
we once could do, and may do, under favourable conditions, again.

Let us then guard this goodly heritage for ourselves and our children
with jealous care, trusting that in fulness of time their handiwork
may be not unworthy to stand beside the best that has been
accomplished in the past. These storied towns may then be with us
still to teach what no history book can tell, and to inspire us with
the spirit of emulation for those qualities which sleep with the
Genius of the Past.

CHAPTER II

EVESHAM AND THE VALE

_Great Evesham's fertile glebe what tongue hath not extolled._
_As though to her alone belonged the crown of gold_.

--MICHAEL DRAYTON.

Evesham stands on a kind of peninsula formed by a deep loop of the
river Avon on its way from Stratford-on-Avon to Tewkesbury. The broad
vale in which it lies is enclosed by a semicircle of hills, which
provide a background to every varied landscape, and give a sense of
homeliness and seclusion which those who are familiar with unbroken
stretches of level country will at once recognise and appreciate. From
the east to the south-west range the Cotswolds, not striking in
outline but depending for their beauty in great part upon the play of
light and shade and the variety given by atmospheric effects. To
dwellers in the vale the appearance of the hills not only reflects the
feeling of the day but foretells the coming weather. When a delicate,
blue haze shrouds their forms, entirely obliterating the more distant
heights, the pleasure-seeker rests content in the promise of a fair
morn; but no pleasant expectations can be formed when, robed in
deepest purple, they seem to draw in and crowd