The ceiling is painted blue, with stars and feathery clouds--clearly a representation of the heavens--and it seemed an age since we had seen them, too. There are many elaborate carvings; the massive Jacobean cover over the baptismal font, the fine black-oak bench-ends of the seventeenth century, and a splendid coffer in the vestry, are all treasures worthy of notice. A Bible with heavy wooden covers is chained to a solid oaken stand--suggestive of the days when a man's piety might lead him to steal the rare copies of the Scripture. A beautifully wrought though scarred and dilapidated alabaster tomb has recumbent figures of a knight and his lady in costumes of the time of Richard II., and another tomb bears some very quaint devices, among them an owl with a crown upon its head. It is our third visit to Doncaster, and the giant church tower has become a familiar object. Its very stateliness is exaggerated by the dead level of the town and today it rises dim and vast against the leaden, rain-swept sky, but though it is easily the most conspicuous object in the town, the fine old church does not constitute Doncaster's chief claim to fame. Here is the horse-racing center of Yorkshire, and on its "Leger Day" it is probably the liveliest town in England. The car shops of the Great Northern Railway keep it quietly busy for the rest of the year. But as the racing center of a horse-loving shire, it would be strange if it had not acquired during the ages a reputation for conviviality. That it had such a reputation a century or more ago is evidenced by the example of its mayor, set forth by a ballad-maker of the period: "The Doncaster mayor he sits in his chair, His mills they merrily go; His nose doth shine with drinking wine, And the gout is in his great toe." We pass on to the southward and pause in the main street of the quiet village of Scrooby, just on the Yorkshire border, where good authorities insist the idea of American colonization was first conceived. Here Elder Brewster, one of the chief founders of the Plymouth Colony, was born in 1567, and here he passed his boyhood days. The manor-house where he lived and where he met Rev. John Robinson and William Bradford is no longer standing; but it is not unreasonable to suppose that the plan of leaving England for the new world may have been consummated here by these earnest men, who held themselves persecuted for righteousness' sake. After varied fortunes they sailed on the Mayflower in 1620.