Little by little Christianity discovers itself as no single stream of sacred water, limited by the shores of a prescribed religious territory. Here and there in the wider landscape it is gradually pushing a way out into the unconsecrated ground of the temporal domain, welling up through the ancient crust of Feudalism—bursting through it, submerging it, carrying it away, now gently and almost imperceptibly piecemeal, now in sweeping and irresistible torrents, passionate against its long subjection and suppression. This activity recognizes no national or geographical limits—it reveals itself now here, now there, fertilizing far distant spots of varying soil—some instantly generous to its live-giving influence, some slow to respond. Now watch its effect upon the inhabitants of the territories through which it newly flows. Some, watching its uprising through the barren soil, stand amazed—doubtful. See them slowly approach it, and gaze upon it, awe-struck; they stoop, timorously—and drink; they pause—and stoop to drink again. Presently their singing eyes declare the secret they have won from it; a moment or two of forgetful, selfish joy—and they turn away and hurry to impart the wonderful discovery to their comrades. So by degrees they come, a straggling, jostling, motley crowd—some doubting, some fearing, some realizing. Now see their priests hurrying, perturbed, to behold the rumoured wonder. What! The sacred river has burst its banks! Hasten to guard it from the profane thirst of the multitude, and confine it to its sacred keeping! Impossible! Its upwelling pools and flowing tributaries are already too many—the priestly keepers now too few to preserve the discovered waters. For, as they stand watching, troubled and amazed, behold the streamlets spreading themselves ever further, breaking forth unbidden, in every direction. They consult together. What shall be done? Counsel must be taken of their superiors, for this is too much for the lesser orders to cope with. And so, as we watch the scene, we listen to the busy plans of princes of church and state, of Popes and Kings. Some would set about damming up these new unbiddable by-streams at their places of egress; others would divert their courses, turning them back into the parent-current. Too late! too late! Proclaim then, broadcast, that the people shall not drink at these waters, on pain of damnation. Meanwhile, hasten to secrete them again by some means—for if the once rare and sacred treasure, jealously guarded, comes, by superabundance, to be common and general, what function is left for the votaries consecrated to its preservation?