When he learns that they are of the race of Angles, his propensity to pun—ever the weakness of the scholar—finds a rare opportunity. “The Angles,” cried he, “should be _angels_. From Deira come they? They shall be snatched _de ira Dei_—from the wrath of God. And their king, say you, is Ella? _Hallelujah_ shall be sung in Ella’s land.” Thus out of his infinite pity for the afflicted and distressed, Gregory’s heart begins to yearn towards the far-off islanders still in heathen bondage. The old stories tell us that he purchased the slaves, clothed them and taught them, and sent them back to England. Several times he begs to be allowed to visit England in order to realize his old wish, but Rome cannot spare him. In the fullness of time he becomes Pope, and though the triple crown is on his head and he is surrounded with the splendour of a sovereign, he does not forget the beautiful barbarians in their island home, and he only waits a favourable opportunity to send a mission to them. The long-looked-for opportunity soon arrives. Ethelred of Kent weds the fair daughter of the King of the Franks, and the marriage contract guarantees the Christian princess the right to exercise her religion unmolested. She brings in her train a single priest, and in the little church of St. Martin’s, Canterbury—built in Roman times, and still remaining as the oldest Christian church in the land—she kneels before the altar, and prays oft and earnestly that the land of her adoption may be won for Christ. She pleads with her noble-minded husband to forsake his gods and embrace the new faith. He hears, and he ponders, and at length, in answer to her prayers, sends a message to Rome, inviting Gregory to send the mission which he has long contemplated. And now let the pageant proceed. Splendid and imposing it is. Somewhere on the Isle of Thanet, where Cæsar’s legions had landed, and Hengist and Horsa had drawn their keels ashore, a double throne is set up beneath the open sky. Ethelbert and his chiefs will meet the monks under no roof, lest witchcraft should prevail. Beneath the canopy of heaven king and queen—he willing to be convinced, but withal calmly critical; she, prayerfully expectant—seat themselves. They have hardly done so before the voices of the monks chanting a psalm are borne on the breeze. Louder and louder it swells as the procession draws near, headed by a picture of the Saviour and a silver crucifix.