Lives of the English Saints

t€RmiS SHIRKS

LIVES

THE ENGLISH SAINTS.

permit

ST. GTJNDLEUS. ST. EDELWALD.

ST. HELIEE. ST. BETTELIN.

ST. HEEBEET. ST. NEOT.

ST. BAETHOLOMEW.

MANSDWI H^BRBDITABXTNT TEKRAM, KT DKLECTABUN TUR IS
MULTITUDINE PACIS.

LONDON:

JAMES TOOVEY, 36, ST. JAMES'S STREET.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following Lives are the work of several
persons, who have written independently of
each other, though their views will be found
to be coincident on some important and diffi-
cult points which are brought into discussion
in the course of the narrative. The Legend
of St. Bettelin belongs to more than one
author.

Holy Thursday, 1844.

A LEGEND OF

HERMIT IN WALES, ABOUT A.D. 500.

THE Christian lives in the past and in the future, and
in the unseen; in a word, he lives in no small measure
in the unknown. And it is one of his duties, and a part
of his work, to make the unknown known ; to create
within him an image of what is absent, and to realize
by faith what he does not see. For this purpose he is
granted certain outlines and rudiments of the truth,
and from thence he learns to draw it out into its full
proportions and its substantial form, — to expand and
complete it ; whether it be the absolute and perfect
truth, or truth under a human dress, or truth in such
a shape as is most profitable for him. And the pro-
cess, by which the word which has been given him,
"returns not void," but brings forth and buds and is
accomplished and prospers, is Meditation.

It is Meditation1 which does for the Christian what
Investigation does for the children of men. Investiga-
tion may not be in his power, but he may always

1 Some excellent remarks on this subject will be found in the
Introduction to a work which has appeared since these pages
were sent to press, " Life of Christ, from the Latin of St.
Bonaventura."

B

2 ST. GUNDLETJS,

meditate. For Investigation he may possess no mate-
rials or instruments ; he needs but little aid or appliance
from without for Meditation. The barley loaves and
few small fishes are made to grow under his hand ; the
oil fills vessel after vessel till not an empty one remains ;
the water-pots become the wells of a costly liquor ; and
the very stones of the desert germinate and yield him
bread. He trades with his Lord's money as a good
steward ; that in the end his Lord may receive His
own with usury.

This is the way of the divinely illuminated mind,
whether in matters of sacred doctrine or of sacred
history. Here we are concerned with the latter. I
say then, when a true and loyal lover of the brethren
attempts to contemplate persons and events of time
past, and to bring them before him as actually existing
and occurring, it is plain, he is at loss about the details ;
he has no information about those innumerable acci-
dental points, which might have been or have happened
this wray or that way, but in the very person and the
very event did happen one way, — which were altogether
uncertain beforehand, but which have been rigidly
determined ever since. The scene, the parties, the
speeches, the grouping, the succession of particulars,
the beginning, the ending, matters such as these he is
obliged to imagine in one way, if he is to imagine them
at all. The case is the same in the art of- painting ;
the artist gives stature, gesture, feature, expression, to
his figures ; what sort of an abstraction or a nonentity
would he produce without this allowance ? it would be
like telling him to paint a dream, or relations and quali-
ties, or panic terrors, or scents and sounds, if you con-
fine him to truth in the mere letter ; or he must evade
the difficulty, with the village artist in the story, who

HERMIT IN WALES.

having to represent the overthrow of the Egyptians
in the sea, on their pursuing the Israelites, daubed a
board with red paint, with a nota lene that the Is-
raelites had got safe to land, and the Egyptians were all
drowned. Of necessity then does the painter allow
his imagination to assist his facts ; of necessity and
with full right ; and he will make use of this indulgence
well or ill, according to his talents, his knowledge, his
skill, his ethical peculiarities, his general cultivation
of mind.

In like manner, if we would meditate on any passage
of the gospel history, we must insert details indefinitely
many, in order to meditate at all ; we must fancy mo-
tives, feelings, meanings, words, acts, as our connecting
links between fact and fact as recorded. Hence holy
men have before now put dialogues into the mouths of
sacred persons, not wishing to intrude into things un-
known, not thinking to deceive others into a belief of their
own mental creations, but to impress upon themselves
and upon their brethren, as by a seal or mark, the sub-
stantiveness and reality of what Scripture has adum-
brated by one or two bold and severe lines. Ideas are
one and simple ; but they gain an entrance into our
minds, and live within us, by being broken into detail.

Hence it is, that so much has been said and believed
of a number of Saints with so little historical founda-
tion. It is not that we may lawfully despise or refuse
a great gift and benefit, historical testimony, and the
intellectual exercises which attend on it, study, re-
search, and criticism ; for in the hands of serious and
believing men they are of the highest value. "We do
not refuse them, but in the cases in question, we have
them not. The bulk of Christians have them not;
the multitude has them not ; the multitude forms its

4 ST. GUJNDLETTS,

view of the past, not from antiquities, not critically,
not in the letter ; but it developes its small portion of
true knowledge into something which is like the very
truth though it be not it, and which stands for the
truth when it is but like it. Its evidence is a legend ;
its facts are a symbol ; its history a representation ;
its drift is a moral.

Thus then is it with the biographies and reminis-
cences of the Saints. " Some there are which have no
memorial, and are as though they had never been ;"
others are known to have lived and died, and are known
in little else. They have left a name, but they have left
nothing besides. Or the place of their birth, or of
their abode, or of their death, or some one or other
striking incident of their life, gives a character to their
memory. Or they are known by martyrologies or ser-
vices, or by the traditions of a neighbourhood, or by the
title on the decorations of a Church. Or they are
known by certain miraculous interpositions which are
attributed to them. Or their deeds and sufferings be-
long to countries far away, and the report of them comes
musical and low over the broad sea. Such are some
of the small elements, which, when more is not known,
faith is fain to receive, love dwells on, meditation un-
folds, disposes, and forms ; till by the sympathy of many
minds, and the concert of many voices, and the lapse of
many years, a certain old figure is developed with
words and actions, a history and a character, — which is
indeed but the portrait of the original, yet is as much
as a portrait, an imitation rather than a copy, a likeness
on the whole, but in its particulars more or less the
work of imagination. It is but collateral and parallel
to the truth ; it is the truth under assumed conditions ;
it brings out a true idea, yet by inaccurate or defec-

HERMIT IN WALES. 5

tive means of exhibition ; it savours of the age, yet it
is the offspring from what is spiritual and everlasting.
It is the picture of a saint, who did other miracles,
if not these; who went through sufferings, who
wrought righteousness, who died in faith and peace,
— of this we are sure ; we are not sure, should it so
happen, of the when, the where, the how, the why,
and the whence.

Who, for instance, can reasonably find fault with the
Acts of St. Andrew, even though they be not authentic,
for describing the Apostle as saying on sight of his
cross, " Receive, 0 Cross, the disciple of Him who
once hung on thee, my Master Christ ?" For was not
the Saint sure to make an exclamation at the sight,
and must it not have been in substance such as this ?
And would much difference be found between his very
words when translated, and these imagined words, if
they be such, drawn from what is probable, and received
upon rumours issuing from the time and place ? And
when St. Agnes was brought into that horrible house of
devils, are we not quite sure that angels were with her,
even though we do not know any one of the details ?
What is there wanton then or superstitious in singing
the Antiphon, " Agnes entered the place of shame, and
found the Lord's angels waiting for her," even though
the fact come to us on no authority ? And again, what
matters it though the angel that accompanies us on our
way be not called Raphael, if there be such a protect-
ing spirit, who at G-od's bidding does not despise the
least of Christ's flock in their journeyings ? And what
is it to me though heretics have mixed the true history
of St. George with their own fables or impieties, if a
Christian Greorge, Saint and Martyr there was, as we
believe ?

6 . ST. GtTNDLEUS,

And we in after time, who look back upon the 10-
.gendary picture, cannot for very caution's sake and
reverence, reject the whole, part of which, we know
not how much, may be, or certainly is, true. Nor have
we means to separate ascertained fact from fiction ; the
one and the other are worked in together. We can do
nothing else but accept what has come down to us as
symbolical of the unknown, and use it in a religious
way for religious uses. At the best it is the true record
of a divine life ; but at the very worst it is not less
than the pious thoughts of religious minds, — thoughts
frequent, recurrent, habitual, of minds many in many
generations.

The brief notice of St. Gundleus, which is now to
follow, is an illustration of some of these remarks. It
will be but legendary ; it would be better, were it not
so ; but in fact, nothing remains on record except such
tokens and symbols of the plain truth, in honour of
one whose name has continued in the Church, and to
the glory of Him who wrote it in her catalogue.

St. Gundleus was a king or chieftain, whose territory
lay in Glamorganshire, and he lived about A.D. 500.
He was the father of the great St. Cadoc, and his wife
was Gladusa, the eldest of ten daughters of King Bra-
chan. Of these ladies one was St. Almehda ; another
St. Keyna ; a third, little deserving any honourable
memory herself, was the mother of St. David.

One night a supernatural voice broke in upon the
slumbers of St. Gundleus and Gladusa. " The King
of heaven, the Euler of earth, hath sent me hither :"
thus it spoke ; " that ye may turn to His ministry with
your whole heart. You He calls and invites, as He
hath chosen and redeemed you, when He mounted on

HERMIT IN WALES. 7

the Cross. I will show you the straight path, which
ye must keep, unto the inheritance of Grod : lift up
your minds, and for what is perishable, slight not your
souls. On the river's bank there is a rising ground ;
and where a white steed is standing, there is the place
of thy habitation."

The king arose in the morning; he gave up his
sovereignty to his son Cadoc ; he left his home, he
proceeded to the hill, and found the animal described.
There he built a Church, and there he began an absti-
nent and saintly life : his dress a haircloth ; his drink
water; his bread of barley mixed with wood ashes.
He rose at midnight and plunged into cold water ; and
by day he laboured for his livelihood. Holy Cadoc his
son, who at length became Abbot of Carvan, a neigh-
bouring monastery, often came to him, and made him
of good heart, reminding him that the crown is the
reward, not of beginners, but of those who persevere
in good things.

The hill wanted water ; St. Gundleus offered up
his prayers to God, and touched the dry soil with his
staff; a spring issued from it clear and unfailing.

When his end was approaching, he sent to St. Du-
bricius, Bishop of Llandaff, and to St. Cadoc his own
son. From the hands of the latter he received his last
communion, and he passed to the Lord on the 29th of
March, An angelic host was seen about his tomb, and
sick people, on invoking his intercession, were healed.

His Church, which became his shrine, was near the
sea and exposed to plunderers. Once when pirates
from the Orkneys had broken into it, and carried off
its contents, a storm overtook them on their return,
and, dashing their vessels against each other, sunk all
but two. At another time a robber, who had made off

ST. GUNDLETTS.

with a sacred chalice and vestments, was confronted by
the sea apparently mounting up againt him and over-
whelming him. He was forced back into the Church,
where he remained till morning, when he was arrested,
and, but for the Bishop of Llandaff, would have under-
gone capital punishment.

"Whether St. Grundleus led this very life, and wrought
these very miracles, I do not know ; but I do know
that they are Saints whom the Church so accounts,
and I believe that, though this account of him cannot
be proved, it is a symbol of what he did and what
he was, a picture of his saintliness, and a specimen of
his power.

of &t. Belter,

HERMIT IN JERSEY.

INTRODUCTION.

THE following pages are principally derived from the
Acts of St. Helier, published by the Bollandists among
the Lives of Saints honoured on the 16th of July. The
story is here called a legend, because from the mistakes
made by the author of the Acts, and from the distance
of time at which he lived from the age of the Saint,
many things which he advances rest on little authority.
[From the occurrence of the word Normannia, the Bol-
landists argue that he lived after the ninth century, at
least three hundred years after St. Helier. He also
mistakes Childebert the first for Childebert the second,
and places the events which he relates after Brunehault,
the famous queen of Austrasia. Again the vague words
Australis climatis fortissimus, applied to Sigebert,
looks very like a perversion of Austrasia, the ancient
name for the eastern part of Trance. On the other
hand, it is not by any means meant to assert that the
whole of the narrative is fiction. The author of the
Acts, from several notices which will appear in the
course of the legend, was acquainted with Jersey ; he

10 ST. HELIER,

therefore represents the traditions of his time current in
the island with respect to St. Helier. Traces of that
tradition remain to this day in the islands, and what is
now called St. Helier' s hermitage agrees completely
with the description of the place given in the Acts
printed by the Bollandists. Again the journey from
Terouenne (a town near Boulogne, destroyed by the
Emperor Charles V.) along the coast to Normandy, is
described with accuracy, and traces of the honour
formerly paid to the Saint in the diocese of Boulogne
are recorded in the commentary of the Bollandists pre-
fixed to the Acts. What is perhaps most important of
all, these Acts are corroborated by the early Acts of
St. Marculfus in many points, as for instance in the
story of the repulsion of the Saxon fleet, and in the
number of the inhabitants said to be in the islands.
The BollaDdists in the first volume of May assign the
life of St. Marculfus to a period not later than the year
640, within the first century after St. Helier flourished.
From all this, it appears probable that the leading facts
of the story are true. "We may even be warranted in
supposing that Grod was pleased, for the conversion of
the wild population of these islands, to work miracles
by the hand of his servant. It is however still an
open question, whether the particular miracles here
recorded were those worked by St. Helier ; and it may
here be observed that the miracles said to have oc-
curred before his baptism have less evidence than any
of the others, because the scene to which they are
referred lies at a distance from the island, in which it
appears that the author of the Acts wrote his account ;
they have not therefore the insular tradition in their
favour. In order to account for their appearance in the
Acts of the Saint, it is not necessary to accuse the

HEEMIT IN JEKSET. 11

autlior of dishonesty. In an age of faith, when mira-
cles were not considered as proofs of a system which
required no proof, but simply as instances of God's
power working through His Saints, men were not criti-
cal about believing a little more or a little less. Again,
there is no proof that the writers intended these stories
to be believed at all. Many of them may have been
merely legends, things worthy of being " read for ex-
ample of life and instruction of manners."1 Many a
wild and grotesque tale about the triumphs of Saints
and Angels over the powers of evil may have been told
to the novices by an aged monk at recreation-time
without being considered as an article of faith. Such
stories were only meant to be symbols of the invisible,
like the strange forms of devils which were sculptured
about the Church. As for St. Helier's carrying his
head in his hands, it may be observed that the writer
only represents the story as a conjecture of the priest
who attended on the Saint. And it may here be men-
tioned, that besides this of St. Helier, only three other
instances have been found by us of similar legends, the
well known story of St. Denys, that of St. Winifred,
and that of St. Liverius, martyred by the Huns at
Metz, A.D. 450, and mentioned in one Martyrology,2 on
the 25th of November. Of these four instances, that
which is the best known, seems, though occurring in
the Roman Breviary, to be tacitly or avowedly given
up by most writers on the subject ; and all, except the
instance of St. Winifred, which may perhaps be consi-
dered in another place, are introduced to account for
the removal of the body of a Saint from the place of
his martyrdom. If there were not also a want of evi-

1 Sixth Article. 2 V. Usuard. ed. Solltr, p. 700.

12 ST. HELIES,

dence for these stories, this alone would not of course
authorize us to mistrust them, for none would presume
to limit the power of Almighty (rod or His favours to
His Saints. As however they are related by writers
far distant from the time when the events are said to
have occurred, it may be allowed to class them among
mythic legends. Into this form threw itself the
strong belief of those faithful ages in the Christian
truth that the bodies of Saints, the temples of the
Holy Ghost, are under the special keeping of God, and
that these precious vessels are one day to be again
alive, and to be glorified for ever with the saintly souls,
which without them are not perfect. The bodies of
Saints have without doubt been kept incorrupt, as
though life was still in them, and the belief that they
had sometimes by God's power moved as though they
were alive, was only a step beyond that fact. Finally,
it may be well to mention, that as late as the year
1460, Henry VI. granted a favour to the Prior of the
Canons of St. Helier, on account of the miracles still
wrought by his intercession on the rocky islet where he
died.

HERMIT IK JERSEY. 13

A LEGEND OF ST. HELIER.

A great many hundred years ago, when Childebert
was king of the Pranks, there lived in the ancient town
of Tongres, a nobleman named Sigebert. He was one
of that race of blue-eyed and long-haired warriors, who
had left their own cold forests in the north of Ger-
many, to settle down in the rich plains which border
on the Rhine. Though he was a nobleman, he was
not created by letters patent like our dukes and earls,
but he was the chief of one of the many tribes of his
nation ; his pedigree, though it was not enrolled in a
herald's office, went as far back as Odin, the northern
hero. His lands were all won by his good sword, and
by the devotion of his followers, who loved him well,
for he was kind and gentle to them, though rough to
his enemies. His wife was a noble lady of Bavarian
race, called Leufgard, and very happy they were to-
gether, for she was a beautiful and loving woman, and
ever submissive to her lord's will. One thing however
was wanting to them : they had no child, and they at
length despaired of ever having any. As a last resource,
they applied to a holy man, who lived near them,
called Cunibert. Now you must know that at that
time the Pranks were a half heathen, half Christian
people. Clovis, their most powerful chieftain, had
become a Christian, and having been crowned and
anointed king, had established something like an or-
ganized kingdom, principally by the aid of the Church.
Great numbers of his followers had become Christian ;
but in this wholesale conversion, the fierce northern
warriors still remained half pagan, and some of them

14 ST. HELIER,

were not yet Christian even in name. Among these
unhappily were Sigebert and his wife ; they applied to
Cunibert rather as to a man who had power with God,
than because they believed in our holy faith. Cuni-
bert, who had long wished to convert the noble Ger-
mans, and had mourned over their perverseness, pro-
mised to pray for them, if they in return agreed to give
him the child who should be born, that he might offer
him up to God. They agreed to these terms, and in
due time the prayers of the holy man were heard, and
the lady bore a beautiful child. Before he was born,
however, Cunibert had gone to the Holy Land to visit
the tomb of our Lord, and he remained in the East for
three years. On his return, he claimed the fulfilment
of their engagement; but the lady looked into the
laughing eyes of her fair child, and could not find it in
her heart to part with him. And Sigebert laughed
aloud, and said that his son should be a warrior, and
wield a sword and spear, and ride on horseback, not sing
psalms and swing censers ; he should be brought up in
a palace, and wear golden bracelets, and long flowing
hair upon his head, as did his forefathers, not go about
with a shaven crown and be a poor man like Cunibert.
Thus did they stumble at the offence of the cross, as
the world has done from the first. Holy Mary went
on her way to Bethlehem poorly clad ; she had on a
peasant's garment, and the world swept by and did
not know that she was the rich casket which contained
the pearl of great price, which whosoever findeth will
sell all that he hath to buy.

Cunibert went away in sorrow, and probably gave
up all thoughts of ever winning that beautiful child to
Christ. But our blessed Lord, who was once himself
a little child, had not forgotten him. For seven years

HERMIT IN JERSEY. 15

of his life he continued the same Frankish boy ; his
limbs were strong and active, and every body loved
him when they saw him playing about on the green
sward. But all on a sudden, and without any apparent
cause, he seemed to wither away ; his strength forsook
him, and he became pale and weak. One day as he
was lying in pain on his mother's lap, he said, " O, give
me back to that holy man, by whose prayers I was
born, and to whom you promised me." His parents
saw that they could not struggle with the will of God,
and sent their son, lying on a litter, to Cunibert.
When the little boy saw Christ's servant, he said, " O,
holy man, by whose prayers I was born, have pity
upon me, and pray to your God to heal me." Then
Cunibert knelt down beside the child's bed, and God
heard his prayers, and the racking pains left him
and he became as well as ever. Then the holy man
took him to live with him, and gave him the name of
Helier, making him a catechumen or candidate for
Christian baptism. Then the boy was happy, for Cuni-
bert taught him his letters, and he was soon able to
read the Psalter, and to accompany his master when he
sang the hours in Church. Cunibert had nothing but
his own barley bread to give him, and except on feast-
days he ate but one meal a day ; but he liked this
better than the good cheer to which he had been accus-
tomed at the joyous warrior's banquet in his father's
hall.

All this while Helier was unbaptized ; his spiri-
tual guide said nothing to him about it, and Helier
wondered. He however remained in quiet patience,
trusting that God would bring him to the laver of re-
generation in His own good time. "What was Cuni-
bert's reason we cannot tell : perhaps he wished further

16 ST. HELIER,

to subdue the impatience of the Frankish blood which
ran in the boy's veins, or, as may by and bye appear
more likely, God had revealed to him what was His
gracious will with respect to that child. "What were
the mysterious movements of God's grace on the soul
of Helier, we who have enjoyed the inestimable privi-
lege of having from the first been taken up into the
kingdom of heaven, cannot of course understand. We
can only see the outward life of his soul and look on in
wonder ; for now that Holy Ghost, who of old moulded
the spirits of the prophets, and made St. John the
Baptist to be a dweller in the wilderness and a holy
eremite, dealt graciously with this child of pagan pa-
rents and made him give up the world to live a hard
and lonely life. He gave him favour with the poor
of the earth, among whom he had taken his place.
The wild German who was in process of settling down
from the savage forayer into the boor who tilled the
ground, the half- Christianized giant of the northern
forest, was attracted by the sanctity of this holy child,
who lived day and night in the courts of the Lord's
house. They brought him their sick and their blind,
and thought that there was virtue in the touch of his
little hand, and by the grace of God he healed them.
It might have been thought that the wonders thus
wrought by the hand of his child would have melted
Sigebert's heart ; but instead of seeing in all this the
power of the cross, he thought upon the charms and
mysterious rites of his northern forests, and his heart
was hardened. Then his clansmen came to him and
said, " Let us kill this wizard Cunibert, and get thee
back thy child ;" and he yielded to them and bade them
slay the holy man.

Now God was pleased to reveal to Cunibert what

HERMIT IN JERSEY. 17

was coming upon him, and in the morning after they
had sung matins together, he told the boy that his
death was at hand, and bade him fly away. The
child wept and said, " And will you not baptize me,
O my father ?" Cunibert replied, " God wills that an-
other hand should do that, O my son." And the boy
was very sorry and sore loath to part from his spiritual
guide, but too obedient to gainsay him. They remained
together all day in the Church, and only parted when
evening fell, and then each retired to his cell. Cunibert,
when he was alone, began as usual in quietness and peace
to sing psalms, and as he was singing the hundred
and first psalm, the wicked men entered. They rushed
fiercely up to him, and just as he had come to the words
" Quando venies ad me Domine," he bowed his head
and they smote him down, and immediately went away.
Helier, hearing a noise, came out of his little cell and
went to his master's chamber. He found him lying
dead, bathed in blood, but his countenance was placid,
and his finger was still upon the book, pointing to the
blessed words which were upon his lips when his spirit
passed away. Helier wept sore at the sight, and cried
aloud, " Wonderful is God in His Saints ; He will give
strength and power unto His people : blessed be God."
But he had no time to lose, for he knew that his kins-
men would not be long in coming to look for him : so
he covered the body of his dear master, as well as he
could with earth, and then with a sad heart he rushed
away.

It was the dead of night when he left the Church,
and he knew not where to go, but he went trusting in
God's guidance. He might have returned to his
mother's arms, but he preferred the dreary wild which
he was treading to the dangers of his father's palace.

c

18 ST. HELIEB,

For six days he wandered on and on through the
depths of pathless forests, dreading all the while to
hear his father's horsemen pursuing him. At length
he saw a distant town lying before him, and he lifted
up his hands up to God and said, " Lead me in Thy way,
and I will walk in Thy truth. Let my heart rejoice
that it may fear Thy name. My God, save me from
the hand of the sinner, and from the hand of mine evil
father, who worketh against Thy law, for Thou art He
on whom I wait." Having said this, he walked on,
and found himself in the town of Terouenne. He was
now almost spent with fatigue, and meeting a poor
widow, he applied to her for help. She took him into
her house and took care of him for two weeks. After
this, he asked her to show him some lonely place,
where he could serve God in quiet. She led him a
little way out of the town, to St. Mary's Church. The
house of God was the place to which he naturally
turned. His dwelling was in the porch of the Church,
and here he remained for five years, living as he had
done with Cunibert. The rain and the wet formed
deep pools about him, and his shoes were worn out, so
that the sharp pebbles were often stained with his
blood. But notwithstanding all these hardships, it
never struck him that he could go elsewhere, for the
only home that he had ever known was the Church,
except indeed his father's palace, and that of course
was out of the question. And the only guide whom he
had known was Cunibert, and now that he was gone,
he was ignorant where to look for another upon earth.
So during these five long years, he waited patiently,
trusting in God. When he wanted food he went to
th.e widow's house, and there too he had a wooden
pallet on which he stretched himself whenever he chose.

HERMIT IN JERSEY.

This way of life attracted the people of the place ; they
saw in the youth one whom. Christ had marked for His
own by suffering, and who crucified his body for the
Lord's sake. The sick and infirm learned to put faith in
his prayers, and God was pleased to hear them, as He
had done at Tongres, and healed them. At length, at
the end of five years, an incident happened which more
than ever raised his fame. The wife of a nobleman in
the town of Terouenne, named Kotaldus, was by a
dreadful accident the means of the death of her own
child. The first impulse of the poor father was to
rush to the Bishop of the place, and to implore him to
go to Helier, and to command him to pray that the
babe might return to life. Helier was filled with won-
der when he saw the Bishop approach him, and still
more when he heard his command ; but obedience was
natural to him, and he followed in silence to the
Church where the corpse of the little child lay stretched
upon a bier. Then Helier bethought himself that this
would be a sign whether the time was at hand when
Christ would regenerate his soul in the holy waters of
baptism. So he knelt down and lifted up his hands to
heaven and said, " O God, in whose hand is all power,
who didst raise the child on whom the door was closed
and the son of the widow of Nain when borne on the
bier, I pray thee, that if it is Thy will that I be made
a Christian, may it be Thy will also of Thy great
goodness that this child be raised to life." And when
he had done praying, the child began to move and to
cry for his mother.

The night after this miracle, Christ appeared in a
vision to Helier, and bade him go to Nanteuil, where a
man named Marculfus would baptize him, and teach him
what was to be his way of life. As soon as he arose in

20 ST. HELIEE,

the morning, Helier set about obeying this command.
It was not without tears that he took leave of the good
woman who had been as a mother to him for so long ;
but as soon as this parting was over, his heart was
glad, for he was on his way to be made a Christian.
The devil, however, who is ever roaming through the
world, seeking whom he may devour, made one last
effort to tempt him as he had tempted our blessed
Lord. At the end of a day's journey, when Helier
found himself near the little river Canche, the devil
met him in a bodily shape, and said to him, " Dear
youth, when thou mightest be rolling in all man-
ner of worldly wealth, why wilt thou roam about
alone, rushing after a visionary poverty ?" But Helier
knew the tempter by his advice; though he stood
alone on the banks of the solitary stream, he did not
fear him, and he pressed boldly on, saying, " Away
with thee to that toil which was laid upon thee from
the time that thou didst fall from heaven and lose the
name of Lucifer." Then the devil vanished away, and
Helier pursued his journey. He went on through the
district of Ponthieu into Normandy, and found St.
Marculfus at the Vaulxdunes, a range of low sandy
hills along the sea-shore.3

The holy man whom G-od assigned to Helier in place
of Cunibert, was one who was well able to enter into
the simplicity and fervour of the youth. He was fighting

3 This place, Vallesdunae, is thus described by Caenalis, de
Re Gallica, 2. p. 4. Ora ilia maritima quam appellant Vnlles-
dunse in Oximensi agro Gulielmi nothi victoria adversus Wido-
nem Burgundionum comites filium memorabilia. In the Chron-
icle of Normandy it is said to be three leagues from Caen, v.
Receuil des Hist. Tom. 11. p. 333, where also see a curious
description of the place from the Roman du Rom.

HERMIT IN JERSEY. 21

hard to root up the paganism which still lingered about
the diocese of Coutances. Having received a command
from God 'to build a monastery, he one morning
mounted his ass and journeyed up to Paris, where his
sanctity awed the mind of the savage Frankish king
Childebert, so that he came back to Coutances with a
grant of land at Nanteuil. Here on the borders of
that stormy sea, which was not so wild as the men
whom he had to rule, he built his Abbey. He would
sometimes retire into a lonely island off the coast,
which still bears his name, to serve God in solitude ;
still, however, he was always to be found on the main-
land whenever the service of God called him thither.
To him then Helier repaired, and 011 the day of our
Lord's nativity, in the Church of St. Mary, his soul
was washed in the healing waters of baptism. For this
Helier had longed with a patient longing, day and
night, and now that he was born anew to Christ, he
rejoiced with an unfeigned joy. He knew that God
could overstep the bounds which He has set to Himself,
and by a special grace keep from sin the soul of the un-
baptized, if he has the desire of baptism ; but he also
knew that regeneration, the proper gift of the gospel,
was only given through the channel of baptism. Nay,
though his body had been endued with virtue so as to
heal the sick, yet this was nothing to him, as long as
his soul lacked that illumination which is given by
water and the Spirit. As then Cornelius, though the
external gifts of the Holy Ghost had fallen upon him,
was baptized, so was Helier brought to the holy font
after so many years of waiting.

For three months he remained with Marculfus, but
he longed to be at work and to carry out the crucifixion
by which he had been crucified with Christ. He

22 ST. HELIEE,

begged of his new spiritual guide to point him out
some lonely spot, where he could remain serving Christ
with prayers and spiritual songs day and night.
"Woods and caves there were in plenty, where he might
take up his ahode ; there was the old forest of Scissay,
in the heart of which was still a pagan temple, where
the savage people worshipped. But Marculfus sent
him to live in a wilder spot than this. The Abbot of
ISTanteuil had so much to do on the mainland of the
Cotentin, that he could not as yet take into the range
of his labours the many islets which lie on that wild
coast. The cluster now called the Channel Islands,
was then a sort of legendary ground, a vague and
shifting spot, on the verge of Christendom, and as yet
untouched by the faith of Christ. Thither he sent
Helier, and with him a priest named Komardus, to
show the people of the islands what Christians were.
They had not very far to sail from France to Jersey,
for the islands were probably nearer to the mainland
than they are now, such changes have the waves caused
on the Norman coast. What is now St. Michael's bay,
was then a large forest, and the people of Guernsey
still have stories to tell about the time when their
island and the little isle of Herm were one. The place
to which they iirst came was Augia,4 for that is the

4 The author of the Acts of Helier calls the island Ag-naT
which is an evident mistake for Augia, a word derived from the
German aue, a meadow. There is another isle of Aug-ia, in
the lake of Constance, and the word forms part of the name of
no less than eight monasteries in the diocese of Constance. The
German names of these places are all compounds of are, or aue,
which is a proof of the etymology assigned to this name for Jersey.
There are places in Normandy with nearly or entirely the same
name, as Aug-ia, le pays d'Aug-e, and the monastery of Augum or
Eu, called also B. Maria Aug-ensis.

HERMIT IN JERSEY. 23

name which the Franks gave to Jersey on account of
its green meadows and well-watered valleys. Theirs
was in all likelihood the first Christian foot which
touched the ground of the island. It was the last
stronghold of the Celts, where dwelt a thin remnant of
the old race which the Franks had conquered. Here
then in the old haunt of Druid rites, did Helier find
himself, with the stone circles and the huge granite
altars of a worn-out faith all around him.

And now how was he to set up the cross over these
rude relics of an ancient world ? He began by bearing it
in his own flesh; he fasted and wept all day, and he sung
psalms and kept his thoughts ever fixed on God and on
all the wonders which Christ has wrought. No one who
dwelt in king's houses, clad in soft raiment, could have
hoped to win the hearts of the rough and simple feeders
of cattle who dwelt on the island. It was the rude
giant Christopher, says the legend, who bore the infant
Jesus, with the globe and cross in his hand, across the
swollen stream, and so by rough arts did Helier bring
Christ over the fretful waves to these poor islanders.
A common missionary might have preached to them
for many a year in vain, but Helier certainly took no
common way of teaching. He was to be the fore-
runner of the faith of Christ, and so, like John the
Baptist, he lived a supernatural life. The place of his
abode was as dreary as the wilderness on the banks of
the Jordan. About the middle of what is now St.
Aubin's bay, two huge rocks jut into the sea, divided
from each other by a dark chasm, and from the island
by a sort of causeway. At high tide, however, the
water rushes through this chasm, and completely sur-
rounds the rocks which are thus at certain times wholly
cut off from the shore and from each other. On the

24 ST. HELIER,

larger of these huge crags, may still be seen Heller's
hermitage.5 It is a rough pile of stones, built on a
ledge of the shelving rock, which itself forms one side
and the floor of the building. On the side nearest the
sea, the thick wall is pierced by an opening about as
large as the narrow loophole of one of the many watch
towers built on the headlands of the coast; and through
this, every wind that sweeps across the sea might
whistle at will. In a corner of this dreary abode, there
is a hole in the rock, now worn smooth, probably by
the monks and pilgrims of after times, and here, as
tradition says, did Helier stretch his limbs during the
few hours which he gave to sleep. For this dreary
place he gave up his father's palace ; and if any one is
tempted to ask why he took all this trouble, I would
bid him wait till the end of my story, and he will know.
The people of the island soon found out Helier ; it
did not require a long train of thought to make out
.that he was a man of God ; and two cripples, one a
paralytic, and the other a lame man, came to him, and
by the help of our blessed Lord he healed them. The
simple chronicler who has written the acts of our
Saint, has by chance here put in a few words which
mark the spot of the miracle. He says that those
people healed by Helier left the mark of their footsteps
on the rock ; now it happens that till a few years ago,

5 It is possible that the building which is now on the spot where
Helier lived, was afterwards built by the monks, and this must be
decided by a person learned in architecture. To a common obser-
ver it bears the marks of the highest antiquity, and is not at all
unlike the very ancient chapel called the Pauline, in the island
of Guernsey. At all events it would only make St. Helier's
hermitage indefinitely more austere if even this rude building was
wanting.

HERMIT IN JERSEY. 25

there were in a part of the island not far from his cell,
some strange marks, like the print of feet upon a hard
rock on the sea-shore. No one could tell whether they
were cut out by the hand of man, or were rude basins
worked out by the sea in a fantastic form. The poor
people of the island in after times told another tale
about these footsteps. They said that the blessed
Virgin had once appeared there, and had left the mark
of her feet upon the rock, and a small chapel was built
upon the spot.6 Now it may be that these mysterious
marks were neither left by the poor men whom Helier
healed, nor yet by that holy Virgin ; but still let us
not despise the simple tales of the peasantry ; there is
very often some truth hidden beneath them. Thus
in this case, we know that a long time after Helier' s
death, the people of the island still had stories to tell
about his miracles, and loved to connect with him
whatever appeared mysterious in their wild coast.
Again the rough Celtic name? of the man whom Helier
healed, grating unmusically in the midst of a Norman
legend, shews that the tale belonged to an earlier age ;
so that it is very likely that this story contains traces
of a real miracle done by God through Helier' s hand.
No one need pity the poor peasants for their faith.
He alone is to be pitied who thinks all truth fable
and all fable truth, and thus mistakes the fantastic
freaks of the tide of man's opinion for the truth itself,
which is founded on that rock which bears the print
of our Lord's ever-blessed footsteps.

6 The spot here meant is still called Le Havre des Pas. The
rock and the ruins of the chapel have been lately blown up, to
procure stone for the building- of a fort.
7 Ascretillus.

26 ST. HELIER,

Helier had lived three years on his barren rock, when
at length Marculfus found time to come and visit Jer-
sey. The object of Marculfus in coming to the island
was most likely to build a monastery there ; for that
had been found to be the only way of spreading light
among the benighted people. Many an idol had still
to be cut down by the zealous hand of a Saint ; Brit-
tany and the islands on its coast were especially a de-
batable ground between Christianity and heathenism.
The lives of the Saints of the period are full of stories
which shew the belief that evil beings still dwelt in the
wild caves and forests of the country. Strange tales of
wonderful voyages and of dragons destroyed by holy
men are mingled with the Acts of the Saints.8 And
indeed wre cannot tell how great may have been the
power of the Evil one on his own ground in a heathen
country, where he and his angels were worshipped, nor
how much strength the Saints put forth to drive him
out. At all events, it was found that the only way to
root idolatry out of the hearts of the people, was to
advance into the devil's ground and to plant an abbey
in that forest wrhere was an idol's temple. Many a
monastery has become the head quarters of religion in
the spot which was the seat of Druids ; and many
a hermit has won the veneration of the people by
dwelling alone in some place which the fisherman and
the peasant scarce durst approach, because it was be-

8 V. Acts of S. S. Sampson and Maclovius. In the former of
these traces are found of something- very like second sight, and
of an antagonist power granted to a Christian Abbot, v. p. 1 66
and 177. Acta S. S. Ben. vol. 1. Stories seem to have con-
nected St. Maclovius with Brendan's famous voyagre ; but little
credit however is yiven to them by the author of the Acts. Ibid,
p. 218.

HEEMIT

JERSEY. 27

lieved to be haunted. This was visibly setting up the
cross of Christ in triumph above the powers of wicked-
ness. Often again the monastery arose around the hut
of the hermit, whose holiness had drawn disciples
around him. Again about this time St. Maur and his
Benedictines arrived in France,9 and were favoured by
Childebert, the same king who had granted Nanteuil to
St, Marculfus. All this had raised high the monastic
order in France, and makes it the more likely that St.
Marculfus meant Helier to be the Abbot of a monastery
which was to be the centre of religion in the Channel
Islands. He looked upon himself as a missionary going
to evangelize men of Celtic race ; when he took leave
of his weeping brethren at Nanteuil, he said, " Breth-
ren, mourn not for me, I pray you, for if I live I will
not delay to return to you ; but I must preach the word
of God in other places, for therefore am I sent." Ac-
companied then by one of his priests, he went, say hia
Acts, "into the region of the Britons." Helier re-
ceived him with joy. St. Marculfus, however, hardly
knew his young disciple, so much was his countenance
changed by his devotional exercises and his hard life.
The cold west wind blows all across the Atlantic, often
in boisterous weather forcing the waves with a peculiar
hollow sound upon the rocky headlands, and through
the narrow entrances of the many bays around the
island ; and it had done sad havoc with Helier's slender
form and weather-beaten face. Long did they speak
together in the little hermitage on the rock. The same
old chronicler has told us what they spoke about ; they
related what God's grace had done for them, and how
He had given them power to foil the devil, who had

9 St. Maur came into France about 543.

28 ST. HELIEE,

tried to hurt their souls in this lonely place. All their
joy was in the triumph of the cross and in the advance
of Christ's kingdom.

St. Marculfus however could not remain long with
him ; very little is known about his labours in the
island and how far he succeeded in converting them.
He however probably did not do much, for some cause
which is not on record soon took him back to the main-
land. A few days however before he went, Grod en-
abled him by his prayers to do a signal service to the
poor islanders. Romardus was one day looking forth
on the wide waste of waters which surround the island,
and I dare say his eyes often turned to the mainland of
France, where the diocese of Coutances lay in the dis-
tance, and where now a sharp eye may faintly trace the
outline of the western towers of its cathedral. He
suddenly saw a vessel veering round one of the head-
lands which stretch into the sea, and soon after there
appeared a whole fleet scudding before the wind and
entering, their white sails filled with the breeze, into
the broad bay of St. Aubin's. On a nearer approach
he could see the fatal standard of the White Horse,
which betokened a Saxon fleet. It was very likely a
part of the band of adventurers which was at that time
spreading havoc on the shore of England. Eomardus
was dreadfully alarmed at the sight ; the poor people
of the islands were far too few in number to resist this
armed host. They were a peaceful race, engaged in
feeding the cattle for which the verdant valleys of the
island were famous, and utterly unable to fight these
iron Saxons.1 Eomardus went to Helier's cell, and
they both together went to Marculfus. He bade them

1 Divites pecoribus et aliis opibus.

HERMIT Iff JERSEY. 29

be of good cheer, and all three threw themselves upon
their knees on the top of the bare crag, and prayed to
God to turn away these blood-thirsty heathens from
the islands which were ready to receive the cross. The
prayer of a righteous man is very strong. Some of the
Saxon keels had already touched the strand, when there
gathered a black cloud in the heavens, and the sea
began to boil up fearfully, as any one who has seen the
white waves dashing on that coast can well believe.
In a short time the wrath of God had scattered the
heathen fleet ; some of the vessels were dashed against
each other ; others were swallowed up by the waves,
or broken in pieces against the many rocks which en-
circle that iron-bound coast. The men of the island had
crowded up to St. Marculfus to beg of him to pray to
his God for them ; they were but thirty men in num-
ber,2 but the Saint, pointing to the lew Saxons who
had landed, made the sign of the cross over these
trembling islanders, and bade them be of good cheer,
for God had given these savage plunderers into their
hands. And so it fell out, for the Saxons, dismayed by
the death or dispersion of their companions, and by
the unexpected resistance, became an easy prey. Three
days after this happened, Marculfus crossed over to
France, taking Eomardus with him, but still leaving
one of his disciples in the island to be Helier's spiritual
guide. He probably meant to return as soon as affairs
on the continent would allow him. St. Marculfus how-

2 The old Acts of St. Marculfus say : fertur etiam-que a mul-
tis asseritur nonplus triginta incolaruin temporibus illis in hac
insula demorari. As he is talking- of the men capable of bearing-
arms, this would make about thirty families. The same number-
is repeated in the later Acts, and in St. Helier's Life, except that
the latter says, triginta promiscui seius.

30 ST. HELIEE,

ever never again saw Helier in the flesh, though they
probably finished their earthly pilgrimage about the
same time ;s it was G-od's will that a man of another
race should found the first monastery in the Channel
Islands, and the Abbot of Nanteuil was never again
able to visit Jersey.4

Eor twelve long years after his spiritual father had
left him did Helier dwell on his barren rock. His
scanty history does not tell us expressly what he did,
nor whether he with his companion converted the
islanders to the Christian faith. His life is hid with
Christ in God. We are however told minutely how at
last he fell asleep, after his short but toilsome life. One
night when he was resting on his hard couch, our blessed
Lord for whom he had given up all things, appeared to
him in a vision, and smiling upon him, said, " Come to
me, my beloved one; three days hence, thou shalt depart
from this world with the adornment of thine own blood."
In the morning his spiritual guide came to him, as he
always did at the hour when the sea then,5 as now, left
bare the causeway between the land and the rock where
he dwelt. Helier then related to him the vision which
he had seen to his great grief, for he at once saw that
the end of his young disciple was near. On the third

3 St. Marculfus was ordained priest at thirty, and after this had
time to found an abbey, and evangelize a district, before St. Helier
knew him. Their acquaintance had lasted fifteen years when St.
Helier died. Their deaths could not therefore have been much
apart, and are generally placed about 558.

4 The Acts of St. Marculfus mention that he converted many of
the inhabitants of the island ; as however he appears to have re-
mained but a short time in the island, it seems likely that Helier
and the person whom his Acts call his pcedagogus, and who was
probably a priest, really made these converts.

5 Diluculo, recedente mari.

HEEMIT IN JEESET. 31

day Helier arose from his bed of rock, and looked out
upon the sea. A strong south-west wind was blowing,
and he saw that the sea was covered with ships running
before the breeze into the bay of St. Aubin's. He
knew that a fleet of Saxons was at hand, and his heart
told him that this was the summous of his Lord, and
that from these ruthless haters of Christianity he was
to meet his death. He went back into his cell that he
might die, as he had lived, in prayer. For some time
his abode remained unknown, so like was it in colour to
the grey cliff on which it was built. At last the cry or
the flight of the sea-birds who shared the rock with
Helier, called the attention of the pagans to the place,
and they descried the cell perched on the edge and
overhanging the tossing waves below. They were not
long in climbing the cliff, and entering his rude abode.
Neither silver nor gold was there to call forth their
thirst for spoil, and they gazed for some time upon
him, thinking him to be some poor madman. At length
the truth probably flashed across the mind of one of
these savages, that he was a Christian hermit, for he
rushed up to him and cut off his head with his sword,
and Helier immediately gave up his soul into the hands
of his Lord, who had summoned him to appear before
Him to receive the crown of martyrdom. Next morn-
ing his spiritual guide came down to the sea shore to
cross over to the hermitage ; when however he came
down to the beach, he saw lying on the sand the body
of his young disciple. He did not know how it came
there ; the tide might have floated it across the narrow
channel between the hermitage rock and the mainland.
But the head was resting so tranquilly on the breast
between the two hands, and its features still smiling so
sweetly, that he thought that Grod, to preserve the

32 ST. HELIER,

body of the Saint from infidel hands, had endued the
limbs with life to bear the head across to the shore.
Bitterly did the master weep over the scholar; he
called him aloud by the name of father, well knowing
that he had gained more from Helier than Helier from
him. He feared much that his precious body should
after all become the prey of the barbarians, and he
bore it in his arms into a little vessel which was lying
near. He laid his beloved burden upon the deck, and
sat down near it, watching it as a mother would do her
child. At length, however, exhausted with grief and
anxiety, he fell asleep. How long he slept he knew
not ; but when he awoke, he found himself on a coast
which he had never seen. The vessel was swiftly
gliding into a harbour, and men and women were
standing on the shore, with their eyes fixed upon this
strange sight, which they took for a phantom, a vessel
driving on without sail or helmsman, its whole crew a
sleeping man and a headless body. An invisible hand
had unmoored the vessel, and angels had guided it
through rapid current and past bristling rocks ; and it
swam on alone over the surface of the sea, till it came
safely to the harbour where the Saint was to rest.
And when the Bishop of the place heard the story, he
came down to the shore in his pontifical garments, and
with incense and chaunting they bore the body in
procession to the Church.6

But however this be, let us adore the wonderful
ways of Christ our God, who snatched this brand from
the burning to which by the wickedness of his parents

6 The Acts of St. Helier are so confused, that it is impossible
to make out what is the place here meant. The abbey of
Beaubee, in Normandy, possessed some of the relics of St.
Helier.

HERMIT IN JERSEY. 33

he seemed to be born. He in His great goodness bade
this beautiful flower spring from a rude stock, and
spread the sweet odour of His name in these distant
isles. He brought this son of a Frankish chieftain out
of his father's palace all across France, to die at the
hands of men of his race, in an attempt to teach His
faith to the poor remnant of the Celtic race in this
lonely island. Vague and dim is the Christianity
of this cluster of isles in those early times, when it is
uncertain whether they belonged to Dol or to Cou-
tances.7 But St. Helier is the first Christian on record

7 It is certain that in Norman times they were in the see of
Coutances, and this in itself makes it probable that they were
always a part of that diocese, for political changes do not seem
to have affected the state of dioceses marked out by the Church,
except by the consent of the Church. For instance, the parishes
of St. Sampson, of Rupes, and Palus Warnerii, were always
peculiars of the Bishop of Dol, though situated in the dioce&e
of Rouen, because they had once belonged to St. Sampson's
Abbey of Pentale, and that, though the Abbey itself was de-
stroyed by the Normans. — Gall. Christ. Tom. xi. 120. Again,
the Channel Islands themselves were never regularly transferred
to an English diocese, though the see of Coutances was lost to
the Kings of England. A papal bull allowed ships to go freely
to the islands in war time, apparently for the very purpose of
allowing the Bishop of Coutances to cross over when he pleased.
If then the islands had ever been in the diocese of Dol, it seems
likely that they would never have been transferred. The only
argument on the other side is, that Baldricus, Archbishop of
Dol, asserts that these islands were given to St. Sampson, by
king Childebert. I may, however, be asked, whether an Arch-
bishop of Dol in the twelfth century is very good authority for
an event of the sixth, especially, it may be added, at the height
of the dispute between Dol and Tours. Perhaps the most
likely account is, that in the stormy times of the Franks, the
islands never strictly formed any part of the diocese ; it is not on
record that St. Sampson made a pernument establishment in
D

34 ST. HELIER,

who strove to bend the stubbornness of the British
race, and to turn them from the worship of the fountain
and the rock to the faith of Christ. How many were
converted by him we cannot tell, but at all events it
was from him that they first gathered their ideas of
the Christain faith. His fasts and his prayers and his
innocent blood rose up before the Lord in behalf of
all these islands. In after times, things were much
changed in this little cluster of isles ; they were no
longer the same lonely spots as when Jersey had but
thirty men who could bear arms, and Guernsey was a
sacred island of Druids. In the many wars which the
men of Brittany waged against each other or their
neighbours, the isles were useful retreats for those of
Celtic race. Dukes of Brittany, Frankish counts, and
native lords appear amongst them ; and a JSTeustrian
Abbot8 came thither as an envoy from Charlemagne.
Hugged and stubborn was the Breton race, and loose
was its allegiance to Erance, whether a long-haired
Prank or a Carlovingian reigned at Paris. They could
hardly bow before the awful majesty of Charlemagne,
and the feeble princes of his race only calmed them by
opposing them as a barrier to the Normans. In these
stormy times of Brittany, the highlands were homes to
their brethren on the continent, and Saints of different
race from Helier came there, so that they seemed des-
tined to be torn from Coutances, the see which had
sent him forth. About the very time when St. Mar-
culfus died, St. Sampson came to Jersey with his cousin

them, though he certainly preached as a missionary in at least
one of them, apparently Alderney, and probably in more, v.
Act. S. S. Ben. Tom. 1. p. 184 ; and St. Maglorius had resigned
his bishoprick when he crossed over to Jersey.
8 V. Neustria Pia. p. 155,

HEBMIT IN JEESET. 35

Judael, a prince of British blood. Shortly after caine
St. Maglorius, who healed the Frankish couut Loyesco
of his leprosy, and to him was given half the island,
rich m woodlands and in fisheries. Here he built a fair
Abbey, where dwelt sixty monks ; in his day the faith
of Christ sunk deep into the minds of the islanders,
for the poor fishermen who in their frail barks had to
wrestle with that stormy sea, loved him well, and
willingly brought their fish to the Abbey, whose
vassals they were. Long afterwards they told how St.
Maglorius was kind to them, so that when one of them
was drowned, the Saint wept sore, and vowed a vow
never to eat fish again ; and when evening came, he
with all the monks went down to the shore chaunting
litanies ; then he threw himself upon the sandy beach,
and God heard his prayer, and was pleased to restore
the dead man to life. In Guernsey too,9 the Saint
healed the daughter of the native chieftain, and a field
there, where once stood a chapel of which he was the
patron, is still called after his name. All this seemed
to shew that another race than that of Helier was to

9 Bissargia insula eidem Sargise vicina, dives opum atque
frugum, a quodam viro nobili, qui vocabatur !Nivo, jure haere-
ditario tenebatur. Act. S. S. Ben. Saec. 1. vita St. Maglorii -29.
The author goes on to speak of the numerous ploughs and
vessels of the island, which description agrees much better with
Guernsey than with the far smaller island of Sark. A
learned friend in the Channel Islands, to whom these pages are
much indebted, has suggested that Bissargia or Ve-sargia, is a
Celtic diminutive, implying a larger Stirgia. That the Sargia of
the Acts is Jersey, is proved from its being called Javarsiacum,
v. Aim. Ben. ii. 655. Guernsey, as being the smaller island,
might therefore be called Bissargia. It is, however, very
probable that the names of these small islands may have been
confounded in those early times.

36 ST. HEL1EE,

possess the Channel Islands ; many of the numberless
clear fountains in the islands are still called after
Breton Saints, and many of the little chapels which
once studded the green valleys which run up and down
through the whole country, were dedicated to those
favourite patrons of the spot. The islands, with the
entire Cotentin, were formally given up to Brittany
when Charles the Bold gave to Salomon, a Celtic prince,
the golden circlet of a king. But after being bandied
about from Frank to Celt, the isles were finally gained
by William, second duke of Normandy, whose long
sword was used to settling accounts between Brittany
and France. Then came the time when churches and
chapels were dedicated in the names of St. Mary and
St. George, instead of St. Sampson and St. Anne, the
patron saints of Brittany. Then was Gruernsey really
the Holy Isle, when St. Michael's Abbey arose on the
hillock where the huge granite altar of the Druids
still remains to shew how the blessed Archangel has
triumphed over Satan ; and there also in times of
Norman rule was built the nunnery of St. Mary of
Lihou, in passing whose islet even now French vessels
vail their topmast, though only the ruins exist. Then
too it becomes clearer that through all these changes
the name of St. Helier had not been forgotten. The
Church of Coutances, which on the 16th of July cele-
brates the feast of the youthful martyr, was now without
doubt the see to which the Channel Islands belonged.
Even when the Celtic names lingered only in the lonely
places of nature, and the Norman manors of St. Ouen,
Anneville, and Saumarez, shewed that the soil was
possessed by lords of a different race, still St. Helier
was remembered. A monastery was founded after-
wards by William Fitz-Hamon, a Norman nobleman,

HERMIT IN JEESET. 37

on the fellow rock to that on which he lived, where
Elizabeth castle now stands ; and the rude steps which
lead to his hermitage are even now to be seen worn by
the steps of pilgrims in former times. There now
appear faint marks on the wall, as if the monks of St.
Helier had done their best to adorn it with frescoes,
and to turn it into a small chapel by raising an altar in
it. Well might they be grateful to him, for he sancti-
fied the island with his blood. Not only Jersey, but
the whole of the little group of islands was benefited
by him, for he first, as far as records tell us, crossed, in
the character of a servant of Christ, the stormy sea
which divides them from the mainland ; and the Abbot
of St. Michael, when every third year he bore the
Holy Sacrament, on Corpus-Christi day, through a
great part of Guernsey, might bless the memory of
Helier, whose blood had first made Christ known to
these lonely islands. Even now many a peasant in
the two largest islands of the Norman cluster, bears
the name of the Saint, though he most probably has
forgotten him to whom in great part he owes it that he
is a Christian.

HISTORY OF

HERMIT ON DERWENTWATER.
A.D. 687.

IT is not to be expected that much information should
remain to us respecting one whose aim when on earth
had been to retire from the world and to be unknown.
Such is the case of St. Herbert, a Priest and Con-
fessor, who in the latter part of the seventh century
led a solitary life on one of the islands of Derwent-
water, which still bears his name.

He is known to us only through his connexion with
St. Cuthbert, to whom he was long united by the ties
of religious friendship ; and all the records which
remain of his life are contained in the Histories of that
Saint. One, a life supposed to be written by a con-
temporary monk of Lindisfarne : the others, by the
venerable Bede ; first, a metrical history, principally of
his miracles, in Latin hexameters, in which as we might
expect, there is a poetical freedom in reporting the
words of the Saints ; a later and more full and exact
life, from which the narrative we are interested in, is
repeated almost in the same words, in the account of
St. Cuthbert, in the Ecclesiastical History, agreeing

ST. HERBERT. 39

also in substance, though more detailed and accurate
than the relation of the same event by the earlier
writer.

St. Herbert is described as a Priest, venerable for
the goodness of his life and character ; and, whilst his
friendship with St. Cuthbert of itself indicates his
sanctity, he is even said by the biographers of that
Saint, to have almost equalled him in holiness during
life, and from the chastening of a long and painful
illness, to have attained at death to an equal degree of
fitness for future glory. Yet St. Cuthbert became the
object of general veneration ; Herbert was almost
unknown ; for the one was called to positions of re^
sponsibility and public exertion, and endued with
powers and gifts fitting him for them : the other, so far
as we know, led a retired life, and was unendued with
extraordinary gifts.

Of St. Herbert's earlier history we know nothing.
Their friendship makes it probable that he had pre-
viously lived where he had had frequent opportunities
of intercourse with St. Cuthbert; in the monastery
(we might have supposed, but for the absence of any
record of him) of Melrose or Lindisfarne, in which,
previous to his retirement to solitude, St. Cuthbert' s
life had been spent, and over which he had successively
presided ; whilst the expressions of submission used to
him by Herbert fall in with the idea that he had been
under his authority.

It was, as the metrical life informs us, from the
advice of his spiritual friend and guide that he retired
to the cell on Derwentwater ; and that he had pre-
viously been in a religious society, is confirmed by the
circumstance that hermits usually were persons who
had spent some time in a monastery, and then, like

40 ST. HERBERT.

St. Cuthbert, sought a life which seemed to afford
opportunity for a more uninterrupted exercise of de-
votion and meditation. Some of the most holy men,
however, and the greatest fathers of the Church, gave
the preference to the life of monks in community, and
did not approve of the change to solitude, as depriving
a man of the opportunity of forming and exercising
the graces of the Christian character, and of benefiting
others by his gifts and labours. But, on the other
hand, St. Athanasius, one of the most sober and judi-
cious of them, and St. Jerome, the most accomplished,
wrote the Lives of the first hermits, St. Antony and
St. Hilarion. Perhaps we may say rightly that the
eremitical life can never be properly attempted without
a special divine inspiration, calling a man to it ; and
then it is not simply allowable, but a duty. Even
then it has often been found expedient not to adopt it
without the preparatory discipline of a religious society,
to learn self-control, severe hardihood in bearing with
privations, humility, submission, and affectionate for-
ge tfulness of self. That such a training had been
gone through by St. Herbert, seems implied in his re-
tirement being the consequence of the advice of St.
Cuthbert, whose own life had been one of so much
active exertion for the good of others ; and in the hu-
mility and affectionate submission which appear so
strongly to have marked his character.

The retreat selected by him was a place secured
from sudden or careless interruption, at the northern
extremity of an island lying nearly in the centre of the
Lake, which is almost five miles long and one and a
half in width, and closely surrounded by mountains.
The island itself is somewhat less than five acres in
extent, and apparently unproductive. The sound of

HERMIT ON DERWENTWATER. 41

the waterfalls on shore may be heard from it, swelling
soft or loud as borne upon the wind, and it is the very
spot which would be chosen by one who wished from
one station to study the whole circumference of the
Lake and the hills around it. At the same time the
low level of its position excludes from view the richer
flat grounds which adjoin the Lake, leaving only the
more wild and dreary portions of the scene.

It is often remarked that situations of great natural
beauty were selected by those who adopted the solitary
life ; as though the religious mind felt a sympathy
with the beauty of the natural objects which surrounded
it, as at all times it has delighted to raise up the forms of
grace and sublimity in works of art. And yet it seems
perhaps more in harmony with the ascetic life to sup-
pose that, though not indifferent to those beauties and
unconsciously influenced by them, and willing to speak
of them to others, the solitary would rather in his own
thoughts recur to the words which reminded him of
the time when all these things would be destroyed ;
and even when he most rejoiced in them, it would be
as suggesting the new and more glorious world to
which they would give place. " What need to tell,"
says St. Basil of his own hermitage, " of the exhala-
tions from the earth, or the breezes from the river ?
Another might admire the multitude of flowers and
singing birds, but leisure I have none forsuch thoughts."

We shall, however, form an inadequate idea of the
self-denial fof St. Herbert, unless we call to mind the
condition of the country to which he retired. It was
then occupied by a part of the Cymry, the remains of
the British tribes, and formed one of their petty king-
doms. They were indeed subject to the Saxons, but
foreigners in language and habits, and separated by the

42 ST. HEEBEET,

most bitter hostility. Eacli nation regarded the other
as worse than heathen, and exercised the greatest
cruelties towards them. Their Churches were not in
communion, and their common faith was forgotten. The
Britons in this country are said to have been ecclesias-
tically subject to St. Kentigern's see of Glasgow, but
they seem now to have been in a very ignorant, irre-
ligious, and almost barbarous condition. Nay, a por-
tion of them in the wilds of Cumberland, were actually
pagan. The Roman occupation of that district, being
for the mere purpose of a frontier against the Picts or
Caledonians, had never opened a way for the general
conversion and instruction of the inhabitants. Even
the professed Christians seem to have mingled heathen
customs and usages with their Christianity. It was
for a wild country with such inhabitants who would
look on a Saxon as a natural enemy, that Herbert
exchanged the society of his countrymen, and the inter-
course and sympathy of those B/eligious Houses which
were the seats of piety and brotherly love, and the
peaceful reward of labour and study. From the diffi-
culties and trials thus incurred, he gained a special
right to the title of Confessor by which he is designated
in the Marty rologies.

One tie, however, was retained, in a yearly meeting
with St. Cuthbert, with whom he then conferred as to
his religious state, communicating his failings and in-
firmities, and receiving directions and advice respecting
his everlasting well-being. A similar yearly visit is said
to have been made by St. Bega to St. Hilda ; and we
seem to have a parallel in later times in the friendship
of our own Hooker and Saravia, so beautifully described
by Walton, who says they were supposed to be Con-
fessors to each other. And such instances suggest the

HEKMIT ON DEBWENTWATER. 4d

means of a perfection of friendship among Christians
which otherwise could not exist. An unreserved con-
fidence being allowed, under circumstances so sacred as
to preclude the danger of familiarly speaking of our
faults, and producing the affectionate trust which arises
from the thought that all our known wrong doings
and failings have been confessed to one who yet loves
us and sympathises with us. St. Cuthbert had a sin-
gular power of thus influencing others, as Bede states,
in speaking of his preaching.

It was probably in the latter part of the year 686,
that the last interview of these holy friends took place
on earth. And this is the occasion of the mention of
St. Herbert in Bede's history, as being an instance of
the foreknowledge of the time of his death, vouchsafed
to St. Cuthbert.

The Saint had now been more than a year Bishop
of Lindisfarne, and was making a second visit to Car-
lisle, which, with the country fifteen miles round it,
had been given him by Egfrid, king of Northumbria.
His former visit had been abruptly terminated by the
death of the king, and he now returned, at the request
of the brethren of his monastery there, to ordain
Priests, and to give the religious habit and his bene-
diction to Ermenburga, the widow of Egfrid, who was
retiring to the Religious Society at Carlisle, over which
her sister presided.

Here, according to his yearly practice, St. Herbert
met him, desiring, by his wholesome exhortations, to
be more and more inflamed in his affection for heavenly
objects. After prayer, as was their rule, whilst they
were communing on spiritual subjects and (to adhere
to the language of the venerable Bede) were mutually
inebriating each other with draughts of heavenly life,

44 ST. HEBBEUT,

St. Cuthbert desiring (as his metrical life relates)
that that day, on which they had been mercifully
allowed to meet again, should be spent in the delights
of holy converse, said among other things, " Remember
at this time, my brother Herbert, to ask and say to me
all you wish ; for after our parting now we shall not
again see each other with the eyes of flesh in this
world ; for I know that the time of my departure is at
hand, and that I must shortly put off this tabernacle."

On this Herbert, falling at his feet, with groans and
tears, said, " For our Lord's sake, I beseech you not to
leave me, but remember your most faithful companion,
and entreat the mercy of Heaven, that we, who have
together served him on earth, may pass together to
behold his grace and glory in the heavens. You know
I have always studied to live according to your direc-
tion, and if from ignorance or infirmity I have in any
point failed, I have taken pains to chastise and amend
my fault according to the decision of your will."

The Bishop bent in prayer, and being immediately
informed by the Spirit that his request was granted,
said, " Bise up, my brother, and do not mourn, but
rather rejoice greatly, for the mercy of Heaven has
granted what we asked."

They separated, — St. Cuthbert to his See, which he
shortly afterwards resigned, and retired for the few
remaining months of his life to the cell in the island of
Earne, which he inhabited before his consecration.
Herbert to his island. The event verified the promise
and prediction. After this separation they never again
saw each other with the eyes of the body, but on one
and the same day, nay, at one and the same hour — on
Wednesday the twentieth of March, 687, their spirits
departing from the body were immediately united in

HERMIT ON DEEWENTWATEE. 45

the blessed vision of each other, and by the ministry of
angels translated together to the kingdom of Heaven.
Herbert, however, as Bede relates, was prepared by
long previous illness, from an appointment, we may
suppose, of Divine mercy, that in whatever degree he
fell short of the merits of the blessed Cuthbert, this
might be supplied by the chastening pains of length-
ened sickness ; so that equalling the grace of him who
had interceded for him, they might, as they had at one
and the same time departed from the body, be fitted to
be received into one undistinguished dwelling of ever-
lasting bliss.

Seven centuries had almost passed away, and the
remembrance of at least this event of St. Herbert's life
1 was lost in the country where he had died : for he was a
stranger, and under the alternate dominion of England
and Scotland, the people had changed their language
and habits, and were still in a poor and illiterate condi-
tion, when, A.D. 1374, the then Bishop of Carlisle,
Thomas de Appleby, issued a mandate for the yearly
commemoration of this event.

He states that in reading sacred books he had met
with this narrative in Bede's History, and, conceiving
that few if any were acquainted with it, " In order that
men might not be ignorant of what the Lord had
vouchsafed to reveal for the glory of His Saints," he
appointed that on the anniversary of their death, the
Vicar of Crosthwaite, the parish in which the Lake
lies, should proceed to St. Herbert's Isle, and there
celebrate with full chaunting the Mass of St. Cuthbert ;
adding an indulgence of forty days to all who should
on that day repair thither for devotion in honour of St.
Cuthbert, and in remembrance of Herbert. " What a
happy holy day must that have been for all these vales !"

46 ST. HERBERT,

says a gifted writer lately taken from us : " and how
joyous on a fine spring day must the Lake have ap-
peared with boats and banners from every chapelry !.....
and how must the Chapel have adorned that little isle,
giving a human and religious character to the soli-
tude I"1

The remains of a building are still visible among the
wood with which the island is covered, " making the
island," adds Southey, " mere wilderness as it has be-
come, more melancholy." Hutchinson, the Historian
of Cumberland, describes it in his time, fifty years ago,
as appearing to consist of two apartments, the outer
one about twenty-two feet by sixteen, which probably
had been the chapel ; the other, of narrower dimen-
sions, the cell. Of this smaller room the traces are
almost lost : the walls of the other remain to the height
of about three feet from the ground, built in the simple
way of the country, of unwrought slaty stones and
mortar ; heaps of stones from the building are lying
around, and all are now overgrown with ivy, moss, and
brambles, and clasped by the roots of trees which have
grown upon them.

It is in a state befitting the simplicity and unas-
suming character of so meek a Saint, who wished to be
withdrawn from public notice, and to be little thought
of, and whose wishes were fulfilled after death, as in
life. His name would have been unreported in his-
tory, except to shew the greatness of the revelations
made to his friend. It was in honour of St. Cuthbert
that the mass was said in the chapel of his isle, and the
very document which appoints it abstains from giving
him the title of Saint, which is uniformly added to

1 Southey 's Colloquies, vol. ii. p. 35.

HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER. 47

the name of Cuthbert : and Herbert is remembered
that St. Cuthbert may be honoured.

His name was added to the Martyrology of Usu-
ardus, in Greven's edition, A.D. 1516 to 1521. It is
given by Canisius in the German Martyrology, and by
Ferrarius in his General Catalogue — following an Eng-
lish Martyrology.

Since in this age we cannot join the yearly pageant
on his island, we will keep memory of him in the words
of a poet, who is his neighbour, and who has written
this inscription for the spot where was his hermi-
tage :—

If thou in the dear love of some one Friend

Hast been so happy that thou knowest what thoughts

Will sometimes in the Happiness of Love

Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence

This quiet spot : and, Stranger ! not unmoved

Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones,

The desolate ruins of St Herbert's cell.

Here stood his threshold ; here was spread the roof

That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man,

After long1 exercise in social cares

And offices humane, intent to adore

The Deity, with undistracted mind,

And meditate on everlasting things

In utter solitude. — But he had left

A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved

As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised

To heaven he knelt before the crucifix,

While o'er the Lake the cataract of Lodore

Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced

Along the beach of this small isle and thought

Of his Companion, he would pray that both

(Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled)

Might die iii the same moment. Nor in vaiu

48 ST. HERBERT.

So prayed he : — as our Chronicles report,
Though here the Hermit numbered his last day,
Far from St. Cuthbert, his beloved Friend,
Those holy Men hoth died in the same hour.2

3 Wordsworth's Poems, i. 299. ed. 1832.

HISTOET OF

dt etultoalU,

HERMIT AT FARNE,
A.D. 700.

THEEE is a small island off the coast of Northumber-
land, by name Farne, seven miles to the south of the
famous Holy Island, or Lindisfarne, and at the distance
of two miles from the mainland. It is encompassed by
a girdle of rocks, and once contained in it a mound of
a circular form, in which there lay a spot of ground
about seventy feet across, and to which St. Bede in a
passage presently to be quoted, gives the name of
" heights," and Camden that of " fortress." Here St.
Cuthbert lived a solitary life between his sojourn io
the monastery, and his elevation to the see, of Lin-
disfarne ; hither had he come to die ; here, according
to some accounts, he was originally buried. We are
accustomed to consider a hermitage as a rural retreat
in a wood, or beside a stream ; a wild pretty spot,
where the flowers fill the air with sweetness, and the
birds with melody. So it often was : and hard indeed
it should not be so. Hermits have privations enough
without being cut off from the sight of (rod's own
world, the type of glories unseen. However, otherwise
thought St. Cuthbert : accordingly he so contrived the
wall which circled round his inclosure, as to see no thin o-

' O

E

50 ST. EDELWALD,

out of doors but the blue sky or the heavy clouds over
his head.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage ;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage.

Such was the sentiment of a soldier of this world ;
the great combatants for the next have fulfilled it more
literally as well as more religiously. Edelwald suc-
ceeded Cuthbert in this uninviting abode. He had
been for many years a monk of Ripon, where St. Wil-
fred had founded a religious house, and afterwards was
buried. Felgeld succeeded Edelwald, and was an old
man of seventy in Bede's time, who perhaps on hia
information has recorded the following anecdote of the
Saint in his metrical account of St. Cuthbert' s miracles.
After mentioning St. Cuthbert and Felgeld, he pro-
ceeds : —

Between these comrades dear,
Zealous and true as they,
Thou, prudent Ethelwald, didst bear,
In that high home the sway.

A man, who ne'er, 'tis said,
Would of his graces tell,
Or with what arms he triumphed
Over the Dragon fell.

So down to us hath come

A memorable word,

Which in unguarded season from

His blessed lips was heard.

It chanced that as the Saint
Drank in with faithful ear
Of Angel tones the whispers faint,
Thus spoke a brother dear :

HERMIT AT FARNE. 51

** 0 why so many a pause
Thwarting thy words' full stream,
Till her dark line Oblivion draws
Across the broken theme ?"

He answered, " Till thou seal

To sounds of earth thine ear,

Sweet friend, bo sure thou ne'er shalt feel

Angelic voices near."

But then the Hermit blest

A sudden change came o'er ;

He shudders, sobs, and smites his breast,

Is mute, then speaks once more.

" 0 by the Name Most High,
What I hare now let fall,
Hush, till I lay me down to die,
A nd go the way of all."

Thus did a Saint in fear,

His gifts celestial hide;

Thus did an Angel standing near

Proclaim them far and wide.

Bede adds that in this respect Edelwald presented a
remarkable contrast to St. Cuthbert ; who when com-
memorating the trials of Christians in former ages, was
also in the habit of stating to others the sufferings and
graces wrought in himself by the mercy of Christ;1
" thus," he observes, " the One Spirit adorned the two
men with distinct gifts, and led them on to one king-
dom by a different path."

St. Cuthbert' s hermitage, though sufficiently well
contrived to keep out the view of the sea and rocks,

1 At pia Cuthbertus memorans ssepe acta priorum
JStheria sub laude, sui quoque Christus agonis
Ut fuerat socius, suerat subnectere paucis.

52 ST. EDELWALD,

and of the cliffs of the neighbouring land, was not
equally impervious to wind and water, which are of a
ruder nature, and intrude themselves into places where
the refined sense of sight and its delicate visions cannot
enter. The planks of his cottage parted, and let in
the discomforts of the external world without its com-
pensations. The occurrence which grew out of this
circumstance brings together the three successive in-
mates of the place, Cuthbert, Edelwald, and Felgeld, in
a very sacred way ; and as it comes to us on good evi-
dence, viz. the report of Bede from the mouth both of
Felgeld, and of a common friend of Felgeld and him-
self, it shall here be given as he has recorded it.2

" Nor do I think," says Venerable Bede, " I ought
to omit the heavenly miracle which the Divine mercy
shewed by means of the ruins of the holy oratory, in
which the venerable father went through his solitary
warfare in the service of the Lord. Whether it was
effected by the merits of the same blessed father Cuth-
bert, or his successor Ethelwald, a man equally devoted
to the Lord, the Searcher of the heart knows best.
There is no reason wrhy it may not be attributed to
either of the two, in conjunction with the faith of the
most holy father Felgeld ; through whom and in whom
the miraculous cure, which I mentioned, was effected.
He was the third person who became tenant of the
same place and its spiritual warfare, and, at present
more than seventy years old, is awaiting the end of this
life, in expectation of the heavenly one.

" When therefore God's servant Cuthbert had been
translated to the heavenly kingdom, and Ethelwald had

2 In\it. St. Cuthb. In the extracts which follow, Dr. Giles's
translation is used with some trifling variations.

HERMIT AT FAlltfE. 53

commenced his occupation of the same island and mon-
astery, after many years spent in conversation with the
monks, he gradually aspired to the rank of anchoritic
perfection. The walls of the aforesaid oratory, being
composed of planks somewhat carelessly put together,
had becomelooseaudtottering by age,and, as the planks
separated from one another, an opening was afforded
to the weather. The venerable man, whose aim was
rather the splendour of a heavenly than of an earthly
mansion, having taken hay, or clay, or whatever he
could get, had filled up the crevices, that he might not
be disturbed from the earnestness of his prayers by the
daily violence of the winds and storms. When Ethel-
\vald entered and saw these contrivances, he begged
the brethren who came thither to give him a calf's
skin, and fastened it with nails in the corner, where
himself and his predecessor used to kneel or stand
when they prayed, as a protection against the storm.

" Twelve years after, he also ascended to the joys of
the heavenly kingdom, and Felgeld became the third
inhabitant of the place. It then seemed good to the
right reverend Eadfrid, bishop of the Church of Lin-
disfarne, to restore from its foundation the time-worn
oratory. This being done, many devout persons begged
of Christ's holy servant Felgeld, to give them a small
portion of the relics of God's servant Cuthbert, or of
Ethelwald, his successor. He accordingly determined
to cut up the above-named calf's skin into pieces, and
give a portion to each. But he first experienced its
influence in his own person ; for his face was much
deformed by a swelling and a red patch. The symp-
toms of this deformity had become manifest long before
to the monks, whilst he was dwelling among them.
But now that he was living alone, and bestowed less

ST. EDELWALD.

care on his person, whilst he practised still greater
rigidities, and, like a prisoner, rarely enjoyed the sun
or air, the malady increased, and his face became one
large red swelling. Fearing, therefore, lest he should
be obliged to abandon the solitary life and return to
the monastery ; presuming in his faith, he trusted to
heal himself by the aid of those holy men whose house
he dwelt in, and whose holy life he sought to imitate ;
for he steeped a piece of the skin above mentioned in
water, and washed his face therewith ; whereupon, the
swelling was immediately healed, and the cicatrice dis-
appeared. This I was told, in the first instance, by a
religious priest of the monastery of Jarrow, who said
that he well knew Felgeld's face to have been in the
deformed and diseased state which I have described,
and that he saw it and felt it with his hand through
the window after he was cured. Felgeld afterwards
told me the same thing, confirming the report of the
priest, and asserting that his face was ever afterwards
free from the blemish during the many years that he
passed in that place. This he ascribed to the agency
of the Almighty grace, which both in this world heals
many, and in the world to come will heal all the mala-
dies of our minds and bodies, and, satisfying our desires
after good things, will crown us for ever with its mercy
and compassion."

It is better to use a contemporary's words than our
own, where the former are attainable ; for this reason,
I make a second quotation from the same revered
writer who has furnished the above narrative. The
passage occurs in the beginning of the fifth book of the
Ecclesiastical History : —

"The venerable Ethelwald," he says, "who had re-
ceived the priesthood in the monastery of Eipon, and

HERMIT AT -FABNE. <55

had, by actions worthy of the same, sanctified his holy
office, succeeded the man of God, Cuthbert, in the
exercise of a solitary life, having practised the same
before he was bishop, in the isle of Fame. For the
certain demonstration of the life which he led, and his
merit, I will relate one miracle of his, which was told
me by one of these brothers for and on whom the same
was wrought: viz. Gruthfrid, the venerable servant
and priest of Christ, who afterwards, as abbot, presided
over the brethren of the same church of Lindisfarne,
in which he had been educated.

" ' I came,' says he, ' to the island of Fame, with
two others of the brethren to speak with the most
reverend father, Ethelwald. Having been refreshed
with his discourse, and taken his blessing, as we were
returning home, on a sudden, when we were in the
midst of the sea, the fair weather which was wafting
us over was checked, and there ensued so great and
dismal a tempest, that neither the sails nor oars were
of any use to us, nor had we any thing to expect but
death. After long struggling with the winds and waves
to no effect, we looked behind us, to see whether it
were practicable at least to recover the island from
whence we came, but we found ourselves on all sides
so enveloped in the storm, that there was no hope of
escaping. But looking out as far as we could see, we
observed, on the island of Fame, father Ethelwald, be-
loved of Grod, come out of his cavern to watch our
course ; for, hearing the noise of the storm and raging
sea, he was come out to see what would become of us.
When he beheld us in distress and despair, he bowed
his knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, in
prayer for our life and safety ; upon which, the swell-
ing sea was calmed, so that the storm ceased on all

56 ST. EDELWALD.

Bides, and a fair wind attended us to tbe very snore.
When we had landed, and had dragged upon the shore
the small vessel that brought us, the storm, which had
ceased a short time for our sake, immediately returned,
and raged continually during the whole day ; so that it
plainly appeared that the brief cessation of the storm
had been granted by Heaven, at the request of the
man of Grod, in order that we might escape.' "

Edelwald lived twelve years in his (to human eyes)
dreary and forlorn abode ; dreary and forlorn, most
assuredly, if he had no companions, no converse, no
subjects of thought, besides those which the external
world supplied to him. On his death A.D. 699 or
700, his remains were taken to Lindisfarne, and buried
by the side of his master, St. Cuthbert. Here they
remained for near two centuries, when the ravages of
the Danes in the neighbourhood frightened the holy
household ; and Erdulf, Bishop, and Edred, Abbot of
Lindisfarne, migrated with the bodies of their saints to
the mainland. For a hundred years, the sacred relics
of Oswald, Aidan, Cuthbert, Bede, Edbert, Edfrid,
Ethelwold, and Edelwald, had no settled habitation ;
but on the transference of the see from Lindisfarne
to Durham, at the end of the tenth century, they were
brought home again, under the shadow of the new
Cathedral. There they remained till the changes of
the sixteenth century, when, with the relics of Cuth-
bert, Bede, Aidan, and the rest, they disappeared.

A. LEGEND OF

. asettdt'n,

HERMIT, AND PATRON OF STAFFORD,
TOWARDS A. D. 800.

BRIGHT luminaries in the heavens, which guide the
traveller across the desert, are found, when viewed
through a glass, to be double stars, not single, though
each seems to be one. Suns which reign separately in
their separate systems, far apart from each other, min-
gle their rays, as we see them, and blend their colours,
and are called by one name. They are confused, yet
they are used by the wayfaring man, who is not hurt
by his mistake.

So it is with the beacon light which the seaman
dimly discerns from afar. It has no definite outline,
and occupies no distinct spot in the horizon ; it can-
not be located amid the haze and gloom, but it gives
him direction and confidence.

So is it with his landmarks by day ; one, two, three
high trees are set on a hill, — nay, when close, we can
count a dozen, yet in the distance they look like one,
nor can we persuade ourselves that they are many.
What matters it to those who are tossing at sea, so long
as they remind them of the green home which they
are approaching, and shape their course towards it ?

58 ST. BETTELItf,

A nd so with the herbs of the field ; we call them
simples, and we use them in medicine as such, and
they do certainly put disease and pain to flight. Yet
they are compounded of many elements, and some
of these, not the whole plant, is the true restorative.
Often we do not know that this is the case ; but,
even when we do, we are not nearer to the knowledge
of what the healing element is, or how it may be
detached and used separately. We cannot extract the
true virtue of the medicine from the impure drug, and
we think it better to administer it in combination with
other elements which may be useless, or even inconve-
nient, than to wait till we can duly analyze it.

And to take a more sacred instance, and more closely
connected with the subject to which these remarks are
tending. It has before now happened, that profane or
fanatical violence has broken in upon the relics of the
Saints, and scattered them over land and water, or
mixed them with the dust of the earth, or even with
the mouldering bones of common men, nay of heretics
and sinners. Yet could it not destroy the virtue of the
relics ; it did but disperse and conceal them. They
did more, they were seen less. "What says St. Basil
about the Forty Martyrs, who were burned, and whose
relics were cast into the river, in the Licinian persecu-
tion ? " These are they who have taken occupation of
this our country, as a chain of fortresses, and secure
her against hostile invasion, not throwing themselves
upon one point, but quartered upon many homes and
the ornament of many places."

And what the malice of foes has done to the bodies
of the Saints, the inadvertence or ignorance of friends
has too often done to their memories. Through the twi-
light of ages, — in the mist of popular credulity or enthu-

HEBMIT AT STAEFOBD. 59

siasm, — amid the ambitious glare of modern lights, dark-
ening what they would illustrate, — the stars of the firma-
ment gleam feebly and fitfully; and we see a something
divine, yet we cannot say what it is : we cannot say
what, or where, or how it is, without uttering a mis-
take. There is no room for the exercise of reason — we
are in the region of faith. We must believe and act,
where we cannot discriminate ; we must be content to
take the history as sacred on the whole, and leave the
verification of particulars, as unnecessary for devotion,
and for criticism impossible.

This applies of course in no small degree to the
miraculous incidents which occur in the history of the
Saints. " Since what is extraordinary," says Bollandus,
"usually strikes the mind and is impressed on the
memory in an especial way, it follows that writers about
the Saints at times have been able to collect together
nothing but their miracles, their virtues and other hea-
venly endowments being altogether forgotten ; and
these miracles, often so exaggerated or deformed (as
the way of men is) with various adjuncts and circum-
stances, that by some persons they are considered as
nothing short of old women's tales. Often the same
miracles are given to various persons ; and though
God's unbounded goodness and power certainly need
not refuse this Saint the same favour which He has
already bestowed upon that, (for He applies the same
chastisements and punishments to the sins of various
persons) yet what happened to one has often in matter
of fact been attributed to others, first by word of
mouth, then in writing, through fault of the faculty of
memory, which is but feeble and easily confused in the
case of the many ; so that when inquiries are made
about a Saint, they attribute to him what they remem-

60 ST. BETTELIN,

ber to have heard at some time of another, especially
since the mind is less retentive of names than of things.
In this way, then, while various writers at one and the
same time have gone by popular fame, because there
were no other means of information, it has come to pass
that a story has been introduced into the history of
various Saints, which really belongs to one only, and
to him perhaps not in the manner in which it is re-
ported.

" Moreover it often happens that, without denying
that a certain miracle may have occurred, yet the occa-
sion and mode of its occurrence, as reported, may rea-
sonably create a doubt whether this particular conde-
scension, be it to man's necessity or his desire, became
the majesty of the Eternal. At the same time, since
His goodness is wonderful, and we are not able to
measure either the good things which He has prepared
in heaven for the holy souls He loves, or the extent of
His favours towards them on earth, such narratives are
not to be rejected at hazard, though they seem to us
incredible ; but rather to be reverently received, in
that they profess to issue from that Fountain of Divine
goodness, from which all our happiness must be de-
rived. Suppose the very things were not done ; yet
great things might have been done, and have been
done at other times. Beware then of denying them on
the ground that they could not or ought not to have
been done."

These remarks apply among others to St. Bettelin,
whose brief history is now to be given, though mir-
acles are not its characteristic. He is the Patron of
the town of Stafford, where he was once held in
great honour ; but little certain is known of him,
down to his very name. Various writers speak of Bet-

HERMIT AT STAFFORD. Gl

telin, Beccelin, Barthelm, Bertelin ; whether he owned
all these at once, or whether but some of them,
whether a portion of his history belongs to another
person, or whether it is altogether fabulous, is not
known. A life of him has come down to us, which is
attributed to Alexander, a Prior of Canons Eegular
of St. Augustine, in the beginning of the thirteenth
century ; but, though this Prior is well spoken of, little
credit can be placed in the letter of its statements.
Two other writers, Ingulphus and Felix, contain inci-
dental mention of him, which is more trustworthy.
We will put these notices together, under the guidance
of the learned Suyskin, the Bollandist.

Bettelin was a disciple of St. Guthlake's, in the
eighth century, and one of four who followed him in a
hermit's life, in the island of Croyland, on the southern
border of Lincolnshire. Cissahad been a pagan, of
noble blood and great in the world ; but had left all to
follow Christ and St. Guthlake, and succeeded him as
Abbot. Till the Danes came he lay in a high marble
tomb, on the right of his spiritual father in the Abbey
of Croyland. Egbert was more in St. Guthlake's con-
fidence than any of his brethren ; he may have been
his confessor. Tatwin had formerly been ferryman at
the passage from the mainland to the Island. These,
with Bettelin, who made the fourth, and came nearer
the Saint's person than the rest, lived in separate cot-
tages, close to Guthlake's oratory and under his
guidance. All this we learn from Ingulphus, himself
Abbot of Croyland, towards the end of the eleventh
century.

Something of a painful and a guilty nature hangs
over the first years of Bettelin ; legend and history
agree in testifying as much as this. It is sometimes

62 ST. BETTELIF,

said that no story is without foundation ; and at any
rate this maxim is so often true as to make it fair in a
particular case to be biassed primd facie by such re-
ports as are in circulation, though in details or in the
letter they may be simply untrue. Thus an alleged
fact against a man's character may be clearly disproved,
and yet may be the spontaneous result of a general and
prevalent impression founded on real facts. A states-
man may in his day be popularly considered timid,
when he is but prudent, or crafty, when he is but far-
seeing ; or a monarch indulging and paternal, though
he is weak ; or a commander cruel and relentless, be-
cause he is stern in manner and determined in purpose.
Here is a basis of truth, and a superstructure of error.
A rumour is spread that political parties are breaking
up, or that some illustrious person is estranged, or that
some foreign influence is at work in high places. It
may be formally and totally and truly contradicted ; it
may be possible to explain it, to shew how it originated,
to refer it to the malice or the impertinence of this or
that individual : and yet, though not a truth, it maybe
the shadow of a truth, unsubstantial, yet attached to it,
the exponent of facts which discover themselves in the
event. And in like manner the author of a marvellous
Life maybe proved to a demonstration to be an ignorant,
credulous monk, or a literary or ecclesiastical gossip ;
to be preaching to us his dreams, or to have saturated
himself with popular absurdities ; he may be cross-
examined, and made to contradict himself; or his own
story, as it stands, may be self- destructive ; and yet he
may be the index of a hidden fact, and may symbolize
a history' to which he does not testify.

Now as to St. Bettelin ; — some cloud, it has been
said, hung about his early years, which made him ever

HEEMIT AT STAFFOKD.

after a penitent. A wild extravagant tale is recorded
by Prior Alexander. We are told how that he was a
king's son, and noble in person, and a good Catholic; and
how he shrunk from the licence of his father's court ;
and how, to preserve his purity, he went over to Ire-
land, where he was received by a certain king or chief-
tain, who had a fair daughter ; and how in a strange
land he found the temptation, and fell beneath the sin,
which had frightened him from his own. He carried
off his beautiful mistress to England, and sought for
shelter and concealment in the woods. A wretched
childbirth followed, and a tragical issue. While the
father was seeking assistance, wolves devoured mother
and infant. Bettelin remained a penitent in the wild ;
till St. G-uthlake, who was leaving Eepton in Derby-
shire, where he had entered into both clerical and mo-
nastic orders, took him with him to Croyland.

Such is the fable ; but it so happens that we seem
to be able to produce in this instance the real facts of
the case, of which it is but the symbol and record ;
and though very different from the above, yet they are
so far like it, as, alas ! to be even more criminal and
dreadful than it. One Felix, a contemporary of St.
Guthlake, wrote the life of the latter, shortly after his
death, from the information of the Saint's disciples.
Among these was Bettelin ; from him, who was at
that time living with St. Guthlake on the most familiar
terms, Felix learned the account of St. Gruthlake's last
days upon earth. Now Felix also tells us, in an earlier
passage of the Saint's life, what the crime of Bettelin
was ; and, as it would appear, from Bettelin's own
mouth ; for there was no one else to tell him. If this be
so, we have both a warrant for the authenticity of the
story, and a great evidence of St. Bettelin's humility.

6i ST. BETTELTN",

" There was a certain clerk," says Felix, " byname
Beccelin, who offered himself for a servant to that
great man St. Guthlake, and proposed to live to God
holily, under his training. Into this person's heart
the evil spirit entered, and began to puff him up with
the pestilential conceits of vain glory ; and next,
after he had thus seduced him, he proceeded to suggest
to him to seize the deadly weapon, and to kill the
master, under whose training he had begun to live to
God, with the object, after taking him off, of succeed-
ing to his place, and receiving the veneration of kings
and princes. Accordingly, on a day when the afore-
named clerk had come, (as he was wont on the twen-
tieth day,) to shave Guthlake, the man of God, afflicted
by monstrous madness, and thirsting with exceeding
desire for his blood, he made up his mind to murder
him.

" Then the Saint of God, Guthlake, to whom the
Lord did never fail to impart a prescience of things to
come, having cognizance of the guilt of this new wick-
edness, began to question him. ' 0, my Beccelin !' he
said, ' why under this carnal breast hidest thou the old
enemy ? Why not vomit forth these pestilential waters
of bitter poison ? For I know that thou art deceived by
the evil spirit ; wherefore confess the guilty medita-
tions which our enemy, the accuser of the human race,
has sown within you, and turn away from them.' On
this, Beccelin, understanding that he had been seduced
by the evil spirit, cast himself at holy Guthlake' s feet,
acknowledging his sin with tears, and humbly asking
pardon. And the man of blessed memory not only
forgave him the fault, but even promised him his aid
in future troubles."
. Thus speaks a contemporary author, who knew the

HEEMIT AT STAFFORD. 65

parties ; and it is certainly a remarkable passage in St.
Guthlake's history, though that does not here concern
us, that through life, up to his very death-bed, he was
waited on in his bed-room by one who had all but
turned the barber's razor into a weapon for his destruc-
tion. There is nothing to shew that Bettelin did not
continue to shave him, as before this occurrence. As
to Bettelin himself, this part of his history reminds us
of St. Brice, though the offence of the latter was of a far
less serious die. Brice succeeded St. Martin in the see
of Tours ; but in St. Martin's life- time, his proud boyish
spirit shewed itself in a scorn and ridicule of the Saint,
which approached to the sin of the children who mocked
Elisha.

If Bettelin was called to a stern penitence for this
great sin, his master, who was to have been the victim
of the sin, became a pattern for the penitence. " Ee-
collecting," says Prior Alexander, " that the ancient
fathers went about their deserts in sheep-skins and
goat skins, not in linen or cloth, but made use of goat-
skins, raw and untanned, conforming themselves also
to our first parents, who, on their rejection from the
paradise of pleasure, received from God coats made of
skins, and knowing that the kingdom of God is not
meat and drink, they lived on barley bread and muddy
water, with great abstinence." On St. Guthlake's
death, Bettelin took the news, by the Saint's previous
directions, to St. Bega, Guthlake's sister.

What happened to Bettelin after that event does
not clearly appear. Ingulphus says that he remained
and died in Croyland ; and he speaks of the marble
tomb, which contained his relics, as well as Cissa's
near St. Cuthbert, in the Abbey of Croyland. And
this is not incompatible altogether with the legend

66 ST. BETTELIN,

which connects him with the town of Stafford, and
which is as follows : —

Where the town now stands, the river Sow formed
in those times an island which was called Bethney.
Here St. Bettelin stationed himself for some years,
and led a life so holy, that the place which profited
by his miraculous gifts in his lifetime, grew into a town
under his patronage after his death.

A wild, yet not unpleasing, fable is left us as a
record of the Saint's history in this retreat. He had
concealed his name when he took possession of the
island ; and on his father's death, who was king of those
parts, the usurper of St. Bettelin' s throne determined?
without knowing wrho he wras, and from inbred hatred,
as it appears, of religion, to eject him from his island
hermitage. However, perhaps the romantic narrative
which is now coming will run better in rhyme ; so we
set off thus : —

St. Bettelin's wonted prayers are o'er

And his matins are all said,
"Why kneeleth he still on his clay-cold floor

By the side of his iron bed ?
Ah ! well may he kneel to Christ in prayer,
For nought is around him but woe and fear ;
By to-morrow's sun the Saint must roam
Far from his cell and his long-loved home.
But who would drive this hermit good
From his islet home and his rough old wood ?
He is no man who hath sought the wild
In a wayward mood like a frolicsome child,
"Who hath wandered away from his mother's side
Deep in the merry greenwood to hide.
A golden crown he had cast away
To watch all night and to fast all day ;

HEBMIT AT STAFFORD. 67

He was of those whom the Lord doth drive

To the weary wild with devils to strive,

For the banner* d Gross must be every where,

Wherever the fiend doth make his lair,

And devils trembled and angels smil'd

When the hermit knelt in the weary wild;

While the peasant arose his beads to tell

When the hermit rang his vesper bell.

But what hath the world to do with him,

That it grudgeth his home by the river's brim ?

Hath it not woods and streams at will ?

But so it hath been and it must be still.

Earth may be broad and its bosom wide,

But the world cannot rest with the cross by its side :

And the king hath said with a scornful smile,

" The hermit hath chosen a fair green isle,

By the river clasp'd around ;
And the turf is soft round his sweet chapelle,

I warrant too he sleepeth well

To that gushing river's sound ;
A Saint should not dwell in so fair a scene ;
And that river sweet with its islet green,
I swear by high heaven it shall be mine
In spite of this hermit St. Betteline."
And he bade the hermit prove his right •
To his islet home in a deadly fight,
And if no champion can be found
He must quit by to-morrow his holy ground.
And who is there for Christ the Lord
To don his armour and draw his sword ?
And will not a knight put lance in rest
To do this hermit's poor behest ?
If for Christ they will not fight,
Foul shame on England's chivalry,
Their dancing plume and armour bright
Are but summer pageantry.
But let the worldlings pass along,
A Saint in prayer is wondrous strong.
" Lord," he saith, " I do not grieve
This sweet place for aye to leave,

68 ST. BETTELIK,

For if Thy love abide with me,
Barren cliff or flowery lea,
All is well that pleaseth Thee ;
But for Thy glory's sake arise,
Cast down the strong, confound the wise."
He rose from his knee, and then there stole
A low sweet voice to his inmost soul, —
" Man to Saints and Angels dear,
Christ in heaven hath heard thy prayer."
Oh ! how that whisper deep and calm,
Dropp'd on his weary heart like balm.
Then St. Betteline rose, for the morning red
Through his lattic'd window was sweetly shed.
On the red-tipped willow the dew-drop gloweth,
At his feet the happy river floweth,
And sweetly the lightly-passing breeze
Bendeth the wood anemones,
And all things seemed to his heart to tell,
Thou shall ring again thy chapel bell.
Then a man rode up to his lowly door,
One he had never seen before,
A low mean man, and his armour bright
Look'd all too large for his frame so slight ;
But his eye was clear and his voice was sweet,
And it made St. Betteline's bosom beat
As he spoke, and thus his greeting ran, —
" In the name of the Holy Trinity,
Hermit I come to fight for thee."
" Now Christ bless thee, thou little man,"

'Twas thus St. Betteline said,
And he murmur'd, as meekly he bow'd his head,
" The brightest sword may be stain'd with rust,
The horse and his rider be flung to the dust,
But in Christ alone I put my trust."
And then to the lists together they hied,
Where the king was seated in pomp and in pride.
And the courtiers cried with a merry shout,
*' The hermit hath brought us a champion stout/'
But, hark ! through the forest a trumpet rang,
All harshly it rose with a dissonant clang

HERMIT AT STAFFORD. 69

It had a wild and unearthly tone,

It seem'd by no Christian warrior blown,

And into the lists came a giant form

On a courser as black as a gathering storm ;

His vizor was clos'd, and no mortal sight

E'er saw the face of this wondrous wight,

But his red eye glow'd through that iron shroud,

As the lightning doth rend a midnight cloud ;

So sable a knight and courser, I ween,

In merry England never were seen j

A paynim knight he seem'd to be,

From a Moorish country beyond the sea.

Then loud laugh'd the giant as on he came

With his armour bright and his eye of flame,

And he look'd on his rival full scornfully,

For he hardly came up to the giant's knee ;

His vizor was up and it shewed to view

His fair long hair and his eye of blue ;

Instead of a war-horse he did bestride

A palfrey white which a girl might ride ;

But on his features there gleam' d the while

That nameless grace and unearthly smile,

Stern, yet ae holy virgin's faint,

Which good old monks have lov'd to paint

On the wan visage of a Soldier Saint.

And his trumpet tone rung loud and clear

With a thrilling sound on the 'wilder'd ear,

And each bad man in his inmost heart,

He knew not why, gave a sudden start.

The paynim had laugh'd with a scornful sound
As he look'd for an easy prey,

And he wheel'd his gallant courser round
And address'd him to the fray.

But what hath the dwarfish warrior done ?

He hath sat like a warrior carv'd in stone,

He mov'd not his head or his armed heel,

He mov'd not his hand to grasp the steel.

His long lance was pointing upwards still,

And the wind as it mov'd his banner at will

70 ST. BETTELTN.

Shew'd work'd on the folds an image g-ood,

The spotless lamb and the holy rood.

But men say that his stature so dwarfish and small,

None could tell how, seem'd stately and tall,

And all at once on his foe he turn'd

A face that with hidden lustre burn'd ;

Ah ! what aileth thee now, thou sable knight ?

Hath that trumpet tone unnerv'd thee quite

That the spear doth shake in thy hand for fear ?

The courser is stopp'd in his wild career,

And the rider is rolling afar on the ground ;

His armour doth ring with a hollow sound,

From the bars of his vizor a voice is heard,

But no man could tell that fearful word,

'Twas the cry of a fiend in agony,

Then vanish'd from earth his steed and he ;

The black knight had fallen before the glance

Of that angelic countenance.

But how hath the angel vanish'd away?

Oh ! how he went no mortal could say,

But a wild shriek rung through the misty air,

And each man said to his neighbour in fear

" St. Michael hath smitten the fiend with his spear."

"What makes the legend still more extravagant is,
that the miracle does not seem to have answered the
purpose of maintaining St. Bettelin in his insular po-
sition. For the Saint, in Plot's words, " disturbed
by some that envied his happiness, removed into some
desert mountainous places, where he ended his life,
leaving Bethnei to others, who afterwards built it, and
called it Stafford, there being a shallow place in the
river hereabout, that could easily be passed with the
help of a staff only." Ethelfleda built Stafford, the
widow of Ethelred, earl of Mercia, in 918. " Now
whereabout," Plot continues, " this desert place should

HEEMIT AT STAFFOKD. 71

be, that St. Bertelline went to, though histories are
silent, yet I have some grounds to think that it might
be about Throwley, Ham, and Dovedale ; and that this
was the St. Bertram who has a well, an ash, and a
tomb at Ham."

Yet, after all, some facts are needed, to account for
the honour in which St. Bettelin was held at Stafford.
Those facts, however, are not found in history. "We
know little or nothing more, than that he was the
patron of the town, where a Church was built un-
der his invocation. The fame of miracles would of
course explain an increase of devotion shewn to him
there, could we once trace the circumstances which
first introduced his name ecclesiastically into the place.

Of these miracles wrought in his Church, the record
of one remains, appended at a later date to the history
of Prior Alexander, and its matter-of-fact tone cu-
riously contrasts with the wild fable already related,
which goes immediately before it.

" There was," says the anonymous writer, " in the
town of Stafford, a man named Willmot, a cook by
trade. This man, for many years, almost sixteen, had
lost his sight, so as not to be able to go out of doors
without some one to lead him. At length, after many
years, he was brought to St. Bertellin's Church in the
same town, for the purpose of recovery ; and while he
knelt in prayer, before the altar of St. Bertellin, and
the priest, whose name was John Chrostias, offered up
the Eucharist in the mass to the Supreme Father, the
aforementioned blind man regained his sight, and first
saw that Venerable Sacrament, rendering thanks to the
Supreme (rod, who had renewed His ancient miracles,
for the love of blessed Bertellin. This miracle took
place in the year of our Lord 1386."

72 ST. BETTELOr.

And this is all that is known, and more than all, —
yet nothing to what the angels know, — of the life of a
servant of God, who sinned and repented, and did
penance and washed out his sins, and became a Saint,
and reigns with Christ in heaven.

of

INTRODUCTION.

IT is not pretended that every fact in the following
Legend can be supported on sound historical evidence.
"With the materials which we have, it would not only
be presumptuous, but impossible, to attempt to deter-
mine any thing with any certainty, respecting them ;
how much is true, how much fiction. It is enough
that we find them in the writings of men who were far
better able to know the certainty of what they said
than we can be. At the same time, there are certain
features in the authorities to which we refer, which
seem to call for some particular notice. There are five
old Lives of St. Neot extant ; one in Saxon, dating
about a hundred and fifty years after his death ; the
others, in Latin, written at various subsequent periods.
Now of these, the first thing we remark is a striking
disagreement iu the details of the several narratives.
The same sharp clear outline of a character is preserved
throughout, but the filling up of the picture seems to
vary with the taste and purpose of the writer. The
Saxon Life gives one miracle ; the early Latin Lives
give others ; while Eamsay of Croyland, the only one

74 ST. KEOT.

of them who proposes to relate ascertained facts,
omits all except the last appearance in the battle at
Ethendun, and acknowledges openly that, however true
the Cornish Legends may be, he cannot find sufficient
evidence to justify him in giving them a place in a
History constructed as his. Further, while all the
others have fallen into the grave anachronism of
placing St. Dunstan at Glastonbury, at the period of
St. Neot's residence there, Ramsay alone has avoided
this. Now of course this sort of scrupulousness infi-
nitely enhances the value of his testimony for what he
does say ; but it also indicates a doubt on his part, of
the entire credibility in all their parts of his materials.
And we observe again, of the other Lives, that all
their facts are related with extreme minuteness and
accuracy of detail. Now this, if not the highest evi-
dence in their favour, (which it may be) would seem
to indicate that they allowed themselves a latitude in
their narratives, and made free use of their imagination
to give poetic fulness to their compositions. In other
words, their Lives are not so much strict biographies,
as myths, edifying stories compiled from tradition,
and designed not so much to relate facts, as to produce
a religious impression on the mind of the hearer.
Under the most favourable circumstances, it is scarcely
conceivable that uninspired men could write a faithful
history of a miraculous life. Even ordinary history,
except mere annals, is all more or less fictitious ; that
is, the facts are related, not as they really happened,
but as they appeared to the writer ; as they happen to
illustrate his views or support his prejudices. And if
this is so of common facts, how much more so must it
be when all the power of the marvellous is thrown in
to stimulate the imagination. But to see fully the

INTEODUCTION. 75

difficulties under which the writers of these Lives
must have laboured, let us observe a few of the ways
in which we all, and time for us, treat the common
history and incidents of life.

First ; We all write Legends. Little as we may be
conscious of it, we all of us continually act on the very
same principle which made the Lives of Saints such as
we find them ; only perhaps less poetically.

"Who has not observed in himself, in his ordinary
dealings with the facts of every-day life, with the
sayings and doings of his acquaintance, in short, with
every thing which came before him as a fact, a dispo-
sition to forget the real order in which they appear,
and re-arrange them according to his theory of how
they ought to be ? Do we hear of a generous self-
denying action, in a short time the real doer and it are
forgotten ; it has become the property of the noblest
person we know ; so a jest we relate of the wittiest
person, frivolity of the most frivolous, and so on ; each
particular act we attribute to the person we conceive
most likely to have been the author of it. And this
does not arise from any wish to leave a false impression
scarcely from carelessness ; but only because facts re-
fuse to remain bare and isolated in our memory ; they
will arrange themselves under some law or other ; they
must illustrate something to us — some character — some
principle — or else we forget them. Facts are thus per-
petually, so to say, becoming unfixed and re- arranged
in a more conceptional order. In this way, we find
fragments of Jewish history in the Legends of Greece,
stories from Herodotus become naturalized in the tra-
dition of early Rome ; and the mythic exploits of the
northern heroes, adopted by the biographers of our
Saxon kings. So, uncertain traditions of miracles,

76 ST. NEOT.

with vague descriptions of name and place, are handed
down from generation to generation, and each set of
people, as they pass into their minds, naturally group
them round the great central figure of their admiration
or veneration, be he hero or be he saint. And so
with the great objects of national interest. Alfred —
"England's darling" — the noblest of the Saxon kings,
became mythic almost before his death ; and forthwith,
every institution that Englishmen most value, of law
or church, became appropriated to him. He divided
England into shires ; he established trial by jury ; he
destroyed wolves, and made the country so secure, that
golden bracelets hung untouched in the open road.
And when Oxford was founded, a century was added
to its age ; and it was discovered that Alfred had laid
the first stone of the first college, and that St. Neot
had been the first Professor of Theology.

2. Again even in these unpoetical times, go where
we will among the country villages, and we still find
superstition strong as ever, we must still confess that
the last victory of civilization is not yet won, and
romance is yet lingering in the embrace of nature.
The wild moor, the rock, the river, and the wood, have
still their legend, and the Fairy and the Saint yet find
a home when the earth is wild and beautiful. Of
course they will go with light and modern education,
and perhaps it is as well that it should be so. Even
Plato finds that Boreas and Orithuia is an allegory. But
it may still be asked whether there are not times when
the most civilized, the most enlightened philosopher,
looking at Nature as he has to do through his know-
ledge of Law, and Theory, and Principle, has not ex-
perienced very strange sensations in scenes of striking
beauty, in a thunder storm, or at the sight of the most

INTEODUCTIOff. 77

familiar place in the light of an unusual sky ? Who
is there that has searched and explored and dwindled
as he searched so low as never with Wordsworth -

to have " felt a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought
And rolls through all things "

If there be any with power of mind so great that they
can keep these deep emotions fresh and pure, and yet
leave them purely spiritual, let them do so. Such is
not the lot of ordinary men. For them at least Ploti-
nus expressed the very condition of their apprehending
them at all when he said, " that those only could be
said to have realized the spiritual, who had clothed it
in form of sense." And so ever children, and child-
like ages, who make up for the want of vigour in the
understanding by the strength of their faith and the
fervour of poetry and imagination, go out and robe
these vanishing feelings in shape and colour. The old
Greeks saw Naiads sporting in every fountain, and
when the breezes played among the branches of the
forest, they heard the Zephyrs whispering to the
Dryads ; and the Legends of Saints which still cling
to the scenes of their earthly glory, are but Christian
expressions of the same human instinct.

And those illusions, which excite the scorn

Or move the pity of unthinking minds,

Aye they not mainly outward ministers

Of Inward Conscience ? with whose service charged

78 ST. NEOT.

They come and go, appeared and disappear ;
Diverting evil purposes, remorse
Awakening, chastening an intemperate grief
Or pride of heart abating : and whene'er
For less important ends those phantoms move,
Who would forbid them if their presence serve
Among wild mountains and unpeopled heaths,
Filling a space else vacant to exalt
The form of Nature and enlarge her powers.1

3. Time in another way plays strange tricks with
facts, and is ever altering, shifting, and even changing
their nature in our memory. Every man's past life is
becoming mythic to him ; we cannot call up again the
feelings of our childhood, only we know that what then
seemed to us the bitterest misfortunes, we have since
learnt by change of character or circumstance, to think
very great blessings ; and even when there is no change,
and were they to recur again, they are such as we
should equally repine at, yet by mere lapse of time
sorrow is turned to pleasure, and the sharpest pang at
present becomes the most alluring object of our retro-
spect. The sick bed, the school trial, loss of friends,
pain and grief of every kind, become rounded off and
assume a soft and beautiful grace. " Time dissipates
to shining aether the hard angularity of facts;" the
harshest of them are smoothed and chastened off in the
past like the rough mountains and jagged rocks in the
distant horizon. And so it is with every other event
of our lives ; read a letter we wrote ten years ago, and
how impossible we find it to recognize the writer in our
altered selves. Incident after incident rises up and
bides its day, and then sinks back into the landscape.

1 Wordsworth, vol. vi. p. 145.

INTRODUCTION. 79

It changes by distance, and we change by age. "While
it was present it meant one thing, now it means an-
other, and to-morrow perhaps something else on the
point of vision alters. Even old nature endlessly and
patiently reproducing the same forms, the same beauties
cannot reproduce in us the same emotions we remember
in our childhood. Then all was Fairy -land ; now time
and custom have deadened our sense, and

The things which we have seen we now can see no more.

This is the true reason why men people past ages
with the superhuman and the marvellous. They feel
their own past was indeed something miraculous, and
they cannot adequately represent their feelings except
by borrowing from another order of beings.

Thus age after age springs up, and each succeeds to
the inheritance of all that went before it ; but each age
has its own feelings, its own character, its own necessi-
ties ; therefore receiving the accumulations of litera-
ture and history, it absorbs and fuses and remodels
them to meet the altered circumstances. The histories
of Greece and Rome are not yet exhausted, every new
historian finds something more in them. Alcibiades
and Catiline are not to us what they were to Thucydi-
des and Sallust, even though we use their eyes to look
at them. So it has been with facts, and so it always
shall be. It holds with the lives of individuals, it holds
with histories even where there is contemporary wri-
ting, and much more than either, when as with many
of the Lives of the Saints, we can only see them as
they appeared through the haze of several generations
with 110 other light but oral tradition.

And with the subject of the present memoir there is

80 ST. NEOT.

yet a further difficulty. The authority for the Cornish
Miracles, at least the early ones, is only the word of
his servant Barius. Now all accounts agree that St.
Neot strictly charged him to mention none of them
until his death, so that at any rate a long period must
have elapsed before they could be committed to writing
at all. Whether this was done however by any one
before the Saxon Life which we have was written, it is
impossible to tell. The writer makes no mention of any
other source but tradition. There may or may not
have been memorials preserved in the monastery ; but
if not the very earliest written account cannot date
earlier than a hundred and fifty years after his death.

Thus stands the case then. A considerable period
has elapsed from the death of a Saint, and certain per-
sons undertake to write an account of his very remark-
able life. We cannot suppose them ignorant of the
general difficulties of obtaining evidence on such sub-
jects ; what materials they worked with we have no
means of ascertaining; they do not mention any.
Now supposing them really to have been so vague as
they seem, let us ask ourselves what we should have
done under similar circumstances. Of course we should
attempt no more than what we do as it is, — if we could
not wrrite a Life we should write a Legend. And it is
mere assumption to take for granted that either they
or any other under similar circumstances ever intended
more. And this view seems confirmed if we look to
their purpose. The monks of the middle ages were not
mere dry annalists, who strung together hard catalogues
of facts for the philosophers of modern Europe to an-
alyze and distil and resolve into principles. Biography
and history were with them simple and direct methods
of teaching character. After all, the facts of a man's

INTRODUCTION. 81

life are but a set of phenomena, frail weary weeds in
which the idea of him clothes itself. Endless as the
circumstances of life are, the forms in which the same
idea may develope itself, given a knowledge of the me-
chanic forces, and we can calculate the velocities of
bodies under any conceivable condition. The smallest
arc of a curve is enough for the mathematician to com-
plete the figure. Take the character therefore and
the powers of a man for granted, and it is very ignorant
criticism to find fault with a writer because he embodies
them in this or that fact, unless we can be sure he
intended to leave a false impression.

What we have been saying then comes to this.
Here are certain facts put before us, of the truth or
falsehood of which we have no means of judging. We
know that such things have happened frequently both
among the Jews and in the history of the Church ; and
therefore there is no a priori objection to them. On
the other hand we are all disposed to be story tellers ;
it is next to impossible for tradition to keep facts to-
gether in their original form for any length of time ;
and in those days at any rate there was a strong poet-
ical as well as religious feeling among the people.
Therefore as the question, " were these things really
so ?" cannot be answered, it is no use to ask it. What
we should ask ourselves is, Have these things a mean-
ing ? Do they teach us any thing ? If they do, then as
far as we are concerned, it is no matter whether they
are true or not as facts ; if they do not, then let them
have all the sensible evidence of the events of yesterday,
and they are valueless.

A few remarks on the other authorities which we
have quoted, shall conclude this already too long pre-
face.

82 ST. NEOT.

The appearance at St. Peter's church at York is re-
lated in one of Alcuin's letters ; it is only a fragment
however, and preserved by William of Malm esbury, who
is the only authority for its genuineness. The story of
the enchanted raven is told by Asser, and is in that
part of his work which has never been questioned ; the
long passage however which is translated relating to
Alfred and St. Neot, there are some doubts about, as it
is not found in the earliest manuscript. That Hagnar
Lodbrog was murdered by Ella, and not in East Anglia
(as the Lives of St. Edmund say,) is concluded from
the Quida Lodbrokar, supposed to be the composition
of Aslauga, and the unanimous voice of the Danish
historians.

"What authority Ramsay had before him when wri-
ting his Life does not appear. It seems clear however
from the way in which he speaks, that he had such
( beyond what has come down to us), at least for the
Ethendun miracle. His account of this" is entirely
supported by Nicholas Harpsfeld, who makes long ex-
tracts from certain Annals of Winton. But of these
Annals nothing is now known. They cannot be found,
nor is it known what or where they were.

Dr. Whitaker seems successfully to have proved the
identity of St. JX~eot and Prince Athelstan of Kent. All
the Old Lives state positively that Neot was the eldest
son of Ethelwulf. That in Latin verse (the oldest of
the Latin Lives) that he was brought up a soldier.
Again, all the old historians agree that Ethelwulf had
but five sons. Athelstan by an early marriage ; Alfred
and his three brothers by a late. These four last sat
successively on the throne of England, and were buried
at Winton. Athelstan remains alone unaccounted for.
He disappears at once after the great battle of Sand-

INTRODUCTION. 83

wich, in 851. Dr. Whitaker's elaborate Life of St.
Neot however will abundantly supply any further curi-
osity on this subject, as well as on the other very
controverted one, the removal of the relics into
Huntingdonshire, which we have not alluded to, not
as questioning the fact, but because it is of no interest
except to an Antiquarian.

of

SECTION I.
PRINCE ATHELSTAN.

THE stars shone out on the bay of Sandwich, and the
song of revelry and mirth had succeeded to the war-
cry and the din of the battle. Twenty thousand North-
men lay dead and dying on the down and on the shore,
and the mead and the ale was flowing in the camp of
the Saxons. Yet was there one among the victors that
found no rest for his wearied spirit in the excitement
of the banquet ; the frantic festivities of his fierce
countrymen seemed not to him a fit mode of thanks-
giving, for deliverance from a ruthless heathen foe ;
and in the calm silence of the night, he sought to be-
alone with his God, to offer praise to Him for that
day's success. The eagle plume in his bonnet declared
him of the royal race of Cerdic, and though his person
was small, almost diminutive, yet his noble gait and
princely bearing seemed to say he was no degenerate
son of that illustrious family ; — it was Athelstan, the
Prince of Kent. Alone he stood upon the battle-field,
and would have prayed, but for the strange tumult pf

PRINCE ATHE1STAN. 85

disordered thoughts that pressed upon his spirit ; there
lay the dead and the dying ; and the dull moan of
agony, and the sharp cry of the parting soul, mixed
harshly with the howl of the gathering wolves, and the
shrill scream of the eagle and the sea fowl. It seemed
to his fevered imagination, as if the spirits of hell were
nocking there for their prey ; for the warriors that lay
there were heathen Danes, Odin's sworn slaves, and
bound with a deadly curse to blot out the name of
Christian in Saxon England. Yet was there calm
above, in the bright Heaven ; and the stars that shone
so silently, and the peaceful sea, told him that, though
man was wild and evil, yet was creation still fair — still
offered willing and obedient service to its Maker1,
The very drunken music of the war banquet became
pure in the night air, and fell with softening cadence
on his ear. The ripple washed upon the shore in
measured intervals ; and he felt as he listened, that
there are powers above, which man knows not of; a
will serenely working in this world of shadows which is
not man's will, as the waves of time roll on, and break
upon the shore of eternity.

Well had the young prince borne him that day in
the battle ; where the strife had been the hottest, there
had risen loudest the war-cry of Kent ; his hand had
been red with slaughter, and he repented not of this,
for he had done but his duty as a faithful servant of
the Cross ; yet he felt it was an awful thing to disem-
body a living soul. He had that day won a great vic-
tory ; the storm-cloud that threatened to wrap his
country in fire and desolation, was for a time dispersed ;
yet he feared still, for he remembered the prophecy of
Alcuin. England had had warning that . if she re-
pented not, she should be delivered into the hands of

86 ST. JTEOT.

the Heathen ; and England had given no credence but
went on still in wickedness.

Fifty years before had Lindisfarne felt the fury of
the Danes, and from amidst the smoking ruins rose the
prophet's voice : —

1 " Behold how the shrine of St. Cuthbert runs red
with the blood of God's priests, and the most holy
place in Britain is given over a prey into the hands of
the heathen. What meaneth that shower of blood
which I saw fall from the north, under a clear sky, on
the altar of St. Peter's Church, at York, but that by
the northern nations blood shall be shed in this land ?"

And to Ethelward, Archbishop of Canterbury, he
had written further, —

•" Now, because of the scourge which has already
fallen on parts of this island, in which our fathers have
lived three hundred and forty years, I would have you
know what Gildas, the wisest of the Britons says, that
these same Britons, because the nobles were corrupt
and avaricious, the bishops indolent, the people luxu-
rious and profligate, had lost their country. Beware,
therefore, how these same vices grow to a head among
ourselves ; that God in His mercy may yet preserve to
us in peace and comfort, that land which he has thought
fit to give to us."

2 And the sun had been darkened, and awful signs
and wonders had been seen in the heavens ; huge
sheets of lightning rushing through the air, and whirl-
winds, and fiery dragons flying across the heavens, and
these tokens had been followed by a great famine ; yet
for all this Athelstan knew that these warning voices

Alcuin Opera, vol. i. Epist. 9, and 12.
2 Saxon Chronicle.

PRINCE ATHELSTAN, 87

had not been heard ; that England had grown worse
instead of better. The treacheries of Offa to St. Ethel-
bert were unavenged ; the blood of the young St.
Kenelm still cried to heaven. The Thanes of Wessex,
who had restrained themselves under the strong
hand of the despotic Egbert, under the feebler rule of
his successor, had broken loose into every kind of law-
less violence ; for Ethelwulf had been dragged unwil-
lingly from the cloister to the throne, and the serene
quiet of a monastery had unfitted him for the control
of a fierce and turbulent nobility. Abbeys and monas-
teries were everywhere falling into decay ; scarce any
but the poor and the ignorant were to be found among
their inmates. An unnatural schism divided the
Church, and the Saxons, and the British of Wales and
Cornwall, lay mutually each under the curse of the
other. The Church herself, leant for her support on
the arm of the flesh ; and bishop Aelstan, of Shir-
borne, was Athelstan's colleague in command that very
day. But Athelstan had been trained in the way he
should go, by the venerable St. Swithun, his father,
king Ethelwulf s, dearest friend ; and under his tute-
lage, had learnt where to look for help in the day of
trouble. He would not trust in his bow ; it was not his
sword that could help him, but God's right hand, and
His arm and the might of His countenance. There-
fore, when God was wroth with His people, and had
sworn that unless they repented He would cut them
off, and they had not repented, He had sworn, and
would He not perform? "Without His favour, the
armies of the Saxons would be scattered like dust be-
fore the wind. There was yet time ; the last day of
trial was not yet past ; they had that day won a great
battle; but penitence, and prayer, and humiliation,

88 . ST. NEOT.

could alone avail to obtain that without which all else
was useless, and in the moment of victory, he felt its
uselessness. He remembered the lessons of his teacher,
that the truest warrior was he who warred with evil,
by prayer and fasting, in its immediate home, in the
heart of man ; and therefore, from his childhood, prince
Athelstan had longed to make his home in the seclusion
of the cloister. But he was then an only son ; and as
his father in like case had obeyed when so obliged, so
he, for his country's sake, had done what he conceived
his duty, and had grown up a warrior. But since that
time, king Ethelwulf had taken another wife, and four
goodly sons were born to him, and so was the bar
which existed between him and the hope of his youth,
taken away ; and early cravings and high aspirations
now in this solemn hour came streaming back upon his
soul ; he remembered where his royal ancestor, king
Ina, when tired of the vanity of a throne, had found
peace at last ; and how in the holy seclusion, king Offa,
had tried to wash away with tears the foul remembrance
of his crime. Might not he too do better for his coun-
try thus, as well as for himself? She had no lack of
warriors, but few and scanty indeed were her Saints ;
and never did devout lips at Easter Festival, crave
more eagerly for the holy wafer, than did now prince
Athelstan for the angelic food of fast and penance in
the monastic cell ; and he kneeled down there upon the
battle-field, and prayed for guidance. Now, whether
it was that a deep sleep fell upon him. or a bodily form
there presented itself to his waking senses, but an angel
from heaven appeared to him, and bade him be of good
heart, and go and do as he desired. He had chosen
the good part and God was with him.

GLASTONBT7RY ABBEY. 89

SECTION II.
GLASTONBURY ABBEY.

HERE therefore may properly be said to commence the
life of St. JN"eot. The princely warrior, who had well
and boldly fought the good fight with the worldly and
carnal servants of the Evil One, was now thought wor-
thy of the more honourable yet more dangerous post,
to fight him in spirit in his own dominions ; and as he
put off the world, so put he off with it, all to the last
link that bound him to it ; father and brothers, and
rank and wealth and kingdom, he forsook all, even his
name. Prince Athelstan became the monk Neotus ;
the very meaning of his new title " the renewed," im-
plies, that his past life was to be as though it had not
been ; or as the life of another man. In such change
is entire revolution of heart and hope and feeling. It
is indeed a death ; a resurrection, a change from earth
on earth to heaven on earth ; before he did his duty to
God in and through his duty to the world ; now what
he does for the world is but indirect, but he is permit-
ted a closer union, a more direct service to God. And
therefore those good men who gave their labours to
commemorate the life of this holy Saint, do properly
commence their task at this point ; and that we too
who are permitted to follow in their footsteps, may
labour in the same reverential spirit as they laboured ;
let us join with Abbot Ramsay of Croyland, and say, —
" Forasmuch as it has pleased Almighty God to re-
move that holy Saint, Neotus, to the blessed company
of Saints in heaven, I have undertaken to record such
actions as he performed while here on earth ; therefore

90 ST. NEOT,

with a deep sense of my own unworthiness for so high
a task, I pray to the Fountain of all mercies, that of
His infinite goodness He will deign to send me His
most gracious help, that I may be enabled to make
known such things as are handed down by tradition,
concerning this venerable man ; and that I may have
him for my protector and intercessor in all dangers."

The Abbey to which he retired was Glastonbury,then
under the charge of Abbot Edmund. From what we hear
of St. Neot's life there, this Abbey must have formed
some exception in point of order and discipline, to the
general character of the monasteries of the age ; and
perhaps this reason may have influenced him in his
election. But Glastonbury had long been a favourite
of the race of Cerdic ; Kentwin calls her the " Mother
of the Saints," and a charter of immunity and privilege,
granted her by Ina, stills exists. Most venerable of the
Abbeys of England, tradition assigned her for a founder,
St. Joseph of Arimathea ; and Holy Patrick spent the
last years of his eventful life within her walls. King
Jna thought God's blessing was with princes, who used
their power for the protection of His Church. In deep
faith, and generous spirit, heaped he his favour on this
holy place ; only entreating that there should be offered
daily prayer and supplication for the remission of his
sins, and the prosperity and future welfare of his king-
dom ; and because he felt a time might come, when
bold bad men should hold the power of the land, and
the spoiler might seek to lay his impious hands on
God's inheritance ; he solemnly guarded his bequests
by a fearful imprecation of God's vengeance on any
who should dare interfere with them. Tain precau-
tion! Nine centuries passed away, and there sat a king
on the throne of England, who hanged the last Abbot,

GLASTONBTTRY ABBEY. 91

because he lifted up his voice against sacrilege, and re-
fused to surrender the solemn trust which God had
given him. Alas for Glastonbury now ! her choirs
are silent ; the virgin of England lies in the dust ; her
holy places are desolate ; her altars are denied ; and
ivy hangs on the old walls ; the pale stars glimmer
through the broken arches on the tombs of the de-
parted Saints ; and the owl and the night-crow keep
their long watches in the deserted aisles, where for
fifteen hundred years by night and day there went up
ceaseless prayers to heaven for the prosperity of Eng-
land.

King Ina believed in the power of prayer, and did
what he did ; and prayer did Neot think surer safe-
guard than sword or shield ; therefore in his zeal and
earnestness to serve in this way, he strove to purify
himself, that so he might be heard. Accordingly with
the great St. Anthony for his model,

" From the day of his entrance he began sedulously
to attach himself to the most holy of those by whom he
was surrounded, and endeavoured to emulate their sev-
eral excellencies. Now in the flower of his youth he
climbed as it were step by step, the heights of sanctity ;
and gave himself up to do the work of heaven, in the
society of such men as he deemed the most devoted
servants of God. Like the bees who are wont to blend
together the savours of many kinds of flowers, lest the
taste be cloyed by a too uniformly simple sweetness ;
so did this holy man exhaust and appropriate to himself
the particular graces of each several individual, and
endeavour after every virtue of self-government ; arm-
ing himself thus at all points against the enemy of
mankind, lest by one slip or fall he might give him an
opportunity of reducing him entirely to his service.

92 BT. NEOT.

So therefore he imitated one man in his continence, a
second in affability and good temper, a third in severity,
a fourth in meekness and loving-kindness, a fifth in
passing sleepless nights in psalmody. Whoever was
most diligent in the study of holy scripture, in fasting
and prayer, in humility and mortification, sitting in
sackcloth and ashes ; in patient endurance or compas-
sionate forbearance, these he chose as his examples ;
and thus possessing in his own person all these vica-
rious graces, yet was he humble to every one, aifable in
conversation, considerate and kind in transacting busi-
ness, calm and dignified in appearance, grave in ges-
ture, sincere and upright, and from his cradle pure and
spotless."

His personal property, reserving only what was en-
tirely necessary for his support, he destributed among
the poor, and in supplying his necessities, even to his
abstemious biographer, his abstemiousness was remark-
able. Delicate meat was not for him ; even his coarse
black bread he sometimes denied himself that he might
have the more for the poor.

" Bidding his stomach fast long and late, he admin-
istered to his soul the daintiest morsels of heavenly
food.'1

He thought not of his royal origin ; he regretted not
the pomp and luxury of his youth ; in the dead of the
night he left his hard pallet, to oifer praise and thanks-
giving, and that none might know of these extraordi-
nary devotions, he would change his clothes, and dis-
guised as the meanest of the secular penitents, would
watch till daybreak in the Church, and then steal away
to his cell and resume his ordinary habit.

Only one relaxation he permitted himself in the
severity of his discipline ; and that was the society of

GLASTONBUBY ABBEY. 93

a dear friend ; Athelwold, afterwards Bishop of Win-
chester, spent his youth in the monastery of G-laston-
bury, and was the chosen associate of the royal Saint.
Among the many beautiful fragments of thought, which
yet shine out and smile upon us from out of those dark
times, not the least interesting is part of a conversation
between these two holy men. The question had turned
upon the position of man in the world, — what was his
business here ; and Neot illustrated his opinion from
our Lord's history.

" In the characters of Mary and Martha, may be
seen the two kinds of Christian life ; each a lawful and
each in its way a happy one ; the life of active labour
in the world, the contemplative life of retirement from
it. Martha is the first. She ministers to our Lord's
necessities, and her conduct is not displeasing ; but
Mary is thought deserving the higher praise, who
knows no place but the feet of Jesus, who knows no
business but to listen to his words. Let it be ours to
choose like Mary the one thing needful ; let us not be
like Martha troubled about many things. Do I then
recommend idleness ? Nay, for life is short, and labour
'is profitable, and idleness is destructive to the soul.
The choice is in the kind of work. Our work is the
spiritual work, to subdue the flesh and live after the
Spirit, to do the things of the Spirit. Ours is the good
part to seek only the way of eternal life, and pursue it
to the end, that so hereafter we may be found in the
number of those who have been obedient to their
Lord."

So taught Neot, and so he lived. Prom following
the example of others, he became himself an example
to all others, in fasting and prayer, in watchings often,
in giving of alms, in the care of the poor, in the stud/

94 ST. NEOT.

of holy scripture, and in all manner of holy conversa-
tion. Such unusual sanctity in so young a man soon
attracted general notice. His name spread far, and the
Bishop sent for him, and held long conversations with
him. On this occasion he was permitted to enter on
his Diaconate ; and received on his return to the
monastery, the office of Sacristan. There is but one
thing told of his conduct while holding this position,
— his reverential care of the holy vessels ; and this may
seem at first but a small matter, scarcely worth record-
ing, until we remember what these vessels are, and
what their use. Perhaps the words of an English poet
on this subject may lead us to a right appreciation of it.3

" Never was gold or silver graced thus

Before.
To bring this body and this blood to us

Is more

Than to crown kings
Or be made rings,
For star-like diamonds to glitter in.
* * * *

When the great King offers to come to me

As food,
Shall I suppose his carriages can be

Too good ?
No ! stars to gold
Turned never could
Be rich enough to be employed so.

If I might wish then, I would have this bread,

This wine,
Vesseled in what the sun might blush to shed

His shine

When he should see —
But till that be
I'll rest contented with it as it is.

3 Hervey, the Synagogue.

GLASTONBURY ABBEY. 95

Thus steadily trod Neot on the path of sanctity. He
used no adventitious means to rise to rank and place ;
he in the abbey walls was but as the meanest of the
people; earthly crown was his by birthright; glory
and honour he had won by talent and daring ; but he
knew that to that heavenly crown for which he strug-
gled, and the favour of Grod for which he thirsted,
there led but one way — the way of holiness.

So highly honourable was St. Neot's conduct, that
long before the ordinary period of his Diaconate ex-
pired, he was recommended for the office of Priest.
Unwillingly he accepted this new honour. So deeply
unworthy he felt himself, that it was almost by force
that he was at last induced to submit. " Surrounded
by Laity as well as Clergy, and rather dragged than
going of his own free will, he at length received his
ordination."

" Dissatisfied with his past conduct now as inade-
quate for his new calling, all that he had done before
he accounted as nothing. He redoubled his acts of
piety, and from holy became more holy. His firmness
became more enduring ; his abstinence longer ; hia
humility deeper; his garments of greater coarseness."

Now too he began to go about among the people
instructing and preaching to them.

" Like a never-failing fountain, he gave the thirsty
to drink large draughts of the word of God : by his
prayers he drove the evil spirits from such as were
possessed, and healed such as were diseased in body and
in soul." " The people nocked to him for comfort and
advice, and none who sought him ever returned empty.
With all he had learned to sympathize. E-ejoicing
with those that rejoiced, and weeping with those that
wept, he became all things to all men, that he might
win all to Christ."

96 , ST. FEOT.

,-. And as time went on, God left him not without
special mark of His favour, and not only thus enabled
him to scatter His benefits among the people ; but that
all men might know that such a life as his did indeed
raise its possessor above the weaknesses and imperfec-
tions of this mortal life, He began to work sensible
miracles by his hand.

It was the custom of the monks of the Abbey, at the
hour of mid-day, to retire alone to their several cells,
for private prayer and meditation. This hour was held
sacred, and no communication of any sort was per-
mitted among the brethren. Neot, whose cell was
nearest to the great gate of the monastery, was dis-
turbed in his devotions by a violent and continued
knocking. On repairing to the grating to ascertain the
cause, he discovered a person who might not be re-
fused, pressing in haste for admission ; he immediately
hurried to the door, but to his confusion and per-
plexity, he found that from the smallness of his stature
he was unable to reach the lock. The knocking now
became more violent, and Neot, in despair of natural
means of success, prayed to God for assistance. Imme-
diately the lock slid gently down the door, until it
reached the level of his girdle, and thus he was enabled
to open it without further difficulty. This remarkable
miracle is said to have been witnessed to by all the
brethren, for the lock continued in its place, and the
people flocked together from all quarters to see it.

ITEOT THE HERMIT. 97

SECTION III.
NEOT THE HERMIT.

HOLT are the characters of those whom Grod chooses
to do His work on earth. The powers of nature forgot
their wonted courses, and submitted to the will of St.
]N"eot, but long and arduous penance was yet before
him, ere his spirit should be sanctified to do the work
of an apostle. The hardy children of the race of the
Cymry, from their rocky fastnesses in Wales and Corn-
wall, still beheld with hatred the proud Saxon in the
halls of their own ancestors, and refused to recognize
them as brethren, even in the common ties of Christian
fellowship. Proudly they stood aloof from Christen-
dom, and because the Saxon was in communion with
Home, they denounced as Antichrist its holy bishop ;4
arrogantly vaunting to themselves the proud title of
the Apostolic Church of England. From the heights
of Dartmoor to where the restlesvs wares of the Atlantic
wash the far point of Tol Peden Penwith the crusading
armies of Egbert foundeasypassagethroughthedeserted
valleys, while in their inaccessible mountain fortresses,
the British laughed to scorn such efforts to subdue
them ; entangled in the deep ravines, and where ad-
vance had been so easy, finding bridges broken, valleys
closed up, and passes occupied by these hardy mountain
bands, retreat was now impossible ; troop after troop
of the invaders fell victims to the fury of the people,
and a miserable remnant of Egbert's gallant army only

4 Roger de Wendov. p. 91. Be'le Hist. Eccl. lib. ii. Wm.
Malmsbury. Also, Borlase. Hist, of the Antiquities of Cornwall.

H

98 ST. NEOT.

escaped to tell the fate of the last attempt that was
ever made by force of arms on the Cymry of the west.5
When the sword had failed, the Church was to be
successful, and this unnatural feud was now to end. A
humble monk was the chosen instrument of providence
to effect this great purpose ; and an angel was sent to
St. Neot, at Glastonbury, to bid him prepare -him self
for a long journey, into an unknown and barbarous
land. With unflinching trust, this servant of the Lord
obeyed His call. He made no difficulty ; he sought no
time for enquiry ; with but one companion, the faithful
Barius, having taken affectionate leave of his dear
friends, in his much loved monastery, he set out on
foot, in the direction the angel bade him. For many
days they walked on, over hill and dale, over moor and
down, and still the Spirit that moved the Saint, had
given no token that he had reached the appointed spot,
still urged him forward unremittingly. And they had
crossed the rich vales of Somersetshire, and from the
high ridge of Dartmoor, they gazed wistfully, for the
last time, on the spot they loved so dearly ; yet they
passed on, and now they had penetrated far into the
wilderness of Cornwall. Along the wild and desolate
range of moorland which divides the country, they were
wearily dragging themselves along, the third week
after their departure from Grlastonbury — avoiding the
town of Liskeard, where there lived a fierce chief, who
feared not God, and was a deadly enemy of the Saxons ;
they were traversing the southern edge of the moor

5 Malmsbury and Wendover say, that Eg-bert conquered Corn-
wall as well as Wales. It is clear that there was a desperate
slaughter, and that Egbert found it impossible to maintain his
ground.

NEOT THE HERMIT. 99

when, at an abrupt turn of a hill, they found them-
selves on the edge of a deep and narrow gorge, which
carries the water of a small river, from a neighbouring
morass to the sea. Broken into a succession of small
waterfalls, the stream rushed swiftly down the abrupt
side of a beautiful valley, and far below them wound
gracefully along the green strip of meadow land in the
bottom, while the luxuriant foliage of the dense masses
of wood which clothed its sides, showed in grateful
contrast to the long dreary tract over which they had
passed. On descending the side of the hill, they came
to a place where a rudely constructed basin received
the pure water of a fountain, which there first bubbled
into light, and, by virtue of a blessing from the good
St. G-ueryr, possessed a healing influence for all who
sought its aid in faith and confidence ; a small chapel
adjoining it, and sanctified by the presence of the relics
of the same saint, invited them to pause for their devo-
tion, and within its sacred walls, the same angel who
bade him go forth from Grlastonbury, now brought St.
Neot the welcome news that this was his journey's end.
Here, in this lonely spot, he was to spend seven years
in a hermit's cell, and live by the labour of his own
hands ; yet was he not unsupported by Him who had
sent him there. From the time of his arrival, to the
close of his trial, a continuous sensible miracle declared
the abiding presence of the favour of God. They had
spent one night there, and the Saint was in the chapel,
when Barius came in haste to tell him that three fish
were playing in the basin where the fountain rose. St.
Neot ordered him on no account to touch them, until
he should have himself enquired what this strange
thing might mean. In answer to his prayer, the same
angel appeared, and told him that the fish were there

100 ST. KEOT,

for his use, and that every morning one might be taken
and prepared for food ; if he faithfully obeyed this
command, the supply should never fail, and the same
number should even continue in the fountain. And
so it was, and ever the three fish were seen to play
there, and every morning one was taken and two were
left, and every evening were three fish leaping and
gamboling in the bubbling stream ; therefore did the
Saint offer nightly praise and thanksgiving, for this so
wonderful preservation ; and time went on, and ever
more and more did St. Neot's holiness grow and expand
and blossom. The fruit was yet to come.

" Here he exerted the strength he had acquired
before ; and exhibited in his own person the truth of
those things which he had learnt in Holy Scripture,
The thorns of riches choked him not ; the burdens of
this world retarded him not. Forgetting those things
which were behind, and reaching forward to those
which were before, he ever pressed forward to obtain
the prize of his high calling in Christ Jesus."
, His discipline was so strict, and continued with such
unrelaxing severity, that on a certain occasion he was
taken ill in consequence. The faithful Barius, ever
anxious to anticipate his master's smallest want, if by
any means some portion of the saintly radiance might
so be reflected upon him, was anxious to prepare some
food, to be ready for him on his awakening from a sleep
Into which, after nights of watchfulness, he had at
length fallen. Here, however, he was met by a diffi-
culty ; his master's illness had reduced him to a state
of extreme delicacy, and he was at a loss how he ought
to dress his food. Hastily and incautiously he resorted
to a dangerous expedient. Instead of one fish, he took
two from the basin, and roasting one ^nd boiling the

THE HERMIT. 101

other, he presented both to St. Neot for choice, on his
awaking from his sleep. In dismay and terror the
Saint learnt what had been done, and springing from
his couch, and ordering Barius instantly to replace both
fish as they were in the water, himself spent a night
and a day in prayer and humiliation. Then at length
were brought the welcome tidings of forgiveness ; and
Barius joyfully reported that both fish were swimming
in the water. After this, his illness left him, and the
supply in the fountain continued as before.

In the monastery of Grlastonbury he had learnt the
mode of self-discipline by which St. Patrick had at-
tained his saintly eminence, and now in his hermitage
he almost rivalled him in austerities. Every morning
St. Patrick repeated the Psalter through from end to
end, with the hymns and canticles, and two hundred
prayers. Every day he celebrated mass, and every
hour he drew the holy sign across his breast one hun-
dred times ; in the first watch of the night he sung a
hundred psalms, and knelt two hundred times upon the
ground ; and at cockcrow he stood in water, until he
had said his prayers. Similarly each morning went
St. Neot's orisons to heaven from out of his holy well ;
alike in summer and in the deep winter's cold, bare to
his waist, he too each day repeated the Psalter through.

One day when he was thus engaged in the depth of
winter, he was disturbed by suddenly hearing the noise
of a hunting party riding rapidly down the glen. Un-
willing that any earthly being should know of his aus-
terities, but only the One who is over all, he sprung
hastily from the water and was retiring to his home,
when he dropped one of his shoes. He did not wait to
pick it up, but hurried off and completed his devotions
in secret.

102

ST. TsTEOT.

" And when he had finished his psalms, and his
reading, and his prayers, with all diligence and care,
he remembered his shoe, and sent his servant to fetch
it. In the meantime a fox, wandering over hill and
vale, and curiously prying into every nook and corner,
had chanced to come to the place where the holy man
had been standing, and had lighted upon the shoe and
thought to carry it off. And an angel, who loved to
hover in hallowed places, and to breathe an atmosphere
which was sanctified by the devotions of Grod's Saints,
was present there invisibly and saw this thing, and he
would not that such an one as St. Neot should be mo-
lested even in so small a matter, so that he had sent
the sleep of death upon the fox, and Barius when he
came there found him dead, arrested at the instant of
his theft, yet holding the thongs of the shoe in his
mouth. Then he approached in fear and wonder, and
took the shoe and brought it to the holy man, and told
him all that happened."

And as such holy life receives such manifest tokens
of the Divine favour and protection, and extraordinary
powers display themselves, as the spirit becomes eman-
cipated from its thraldom to the flesh, so was it per-
mitted to exercise its ordinary influence in winning
others by its natural dignity and attractiveness. Few
persons ever visited St. Neot's valley except on hunting
parties, and another adventure from one of these befell
him, as he was engaged as before at his fountain. He
was standing by the water when a young and beautiful
fawn bounded from the adjoining thicket and panting
from weariness and terror sought a refuge at his feet.
Hitherto the poor creature had known man but as its
foe, but the serene countenance of the holy man had no
terror for the innocent and oppressed, and crouching

NEOT THE HEEMIT. 103

closely to him with upturned imploring eyes, it appeared
to beseech his protection. Not so the fierce and hun-
gry bloodhounds that followed hot behind. Nature
has nothing more terrible to savageness and cruelty
than the gentle majesty of virtue ; and the frightened
animals shrunk back cowed and overawed into the
wood. Up came the wild hunter and hallooed them to
the prey, but his hot spirit too was quenched in the
pure influences which flowed from the countenance of
the Saint ; he felt the warning, the mild rebuke cut
him to the heart, and in the first enthusiasm of repent-
ance, he hung up his horn as an offering at the shrine
of St. Petrox, and himself assumed the habit of a monk
and retired to the same monastery.

And angels sought fellowship with this blessed man,
and as the long period of his hermit life passed on, not
seldom was he favoured with their high and awful con-
versation. One more illustrious hunter visited the
shrine, and that was his young brother Prince Alfred.
In the boyish excitement of the chace he had penetrated
into these remote wildernesses beyond the boundaries
of his father's dominion ; but he left his sport, and
sought his saintly brother for advice and counsel. In
early childhood, this noble-hearted boy had learnt to
realize the hard lesson that " God scourgeth every son
whom he receiveth," and, when oppressed by the in-
firmity of the flesh, had solemnly prayed that God
would be pleased to send upon him some disorder,
which might the better enable him to subdue it ; and
God had heard his prayer, and had sent the ficus on him,
and afflicted him with very grievous sickness ; so
grievous indeed, and so severe, that he could no longer
bear it, and now, in St. Gueryr's shrine, with his
brother's intercession, he prayed that the waters of the

104? ST. FEOT.

well might exert their healing influence in his favour,
and that some other disorder in the room of this might
be sent on him, which he might be the better able to
endure ; and this prayer too was heard. And Alfred
went back on his way, and became king of England,
and Neot went strictly and holily on in his, and for
seven years never for one day relaxed the severity of
his discipline ; remembering the solemn words of his
great Master, " Whoso taketh not his cross and beareth
it after me, is not worthy of me." Each did his work
on earth ; and if any should ask what earthly work
St. Neot had hitherto done for England, in her many
trials and dangers, we answer, that though we see not
the under current of Providence, and know not in what
way the mysterious influence of Saints avail, yet we do
know that they are the salt of the earth : we do know
that ten righteous men would have saved the cities of
the plain, and that while just Lot continued within
their cursed walls, God himself declared that He could
do nothing.

However this be, as we have seen St. Neot hitherto
iii one form, we are now to see him in another. Hi-
therto, though his lamp shone brightly, it shone not
to the world. In the earth, but not of the earth, the
mysteries of the spirit had been in part unfolded to
him ; nature had reversed her laws for him ; angels
had been his companions ; and in their serene com-
pany, the chains of his earthly prison-house had burst
asunder and fallen off from him ; at length he was free.
How glorious a state for a frail child of Adam here on
earth ; yet was there a more glorious behind. For it
is more glorious for one who has tasted the heavenly
vision, and has had his dwelling in the mysterious
Presence ; his body on earth, his spirit beyond

NEOT THE HEEMIT. 105

stars to remember his brethren in captivity walking
among vain shadows in their prison cave, and disquiet-
ing themselves in vain, to forget his more immediate
and proper good, to disrobe himself and come down
among them, to sway and guide their feeble trembling
efforts in the right way. For it is written, that this
perplexing life riddle shall never find solution until
the Saints possess and rule the earth. Thus came
Neot back among mankind ; and that nothing should
be done disorderly, although he had received his Apos-
tolic commission from God himself, yet must it be
confirmed by the visible head of the Church on earth,
and he went to Rome to receive the benediction of
Pope Leo. Nearly two hundred years before a college
had been founded there, by the piety of the royal Ina,
for the instruction of the Anglo-Saxon students in
theology. To this place St. Neot proceeded, and spent
many months among them. The fame of the princely
anchorite had preceded him, and he was welcomed with
the warmest enthusiasm. The holy father gave his
fullest sanction to his purpose, and at length dismissed
him with his benediction, and the charge to preach the
word of God among the people. And now commencing
his labours, he did not return home immediately, but
made a missionary circuit, teaching among the uncon-
verted tribes of Prussia and northern Germany. The
same powers which had been granted to the earliest
apostles were continued to him, and wherever he went
he was enabled to work miracles, in attestation of the
truth of his mission. " For," says his biographer, " if
Christ be the head of the elect, and the faithful are
members of Him, according to the word of the apostle,
' We being many are one body in Christ,' what wonder
if such members as adhere to Him as their head, should

106 ST. NEOT.

receive peculiar virtues from that head. St. Neot
abides in Christ, and Christ in him ; since he has
made him thus to sparkle with miracles, in this fleeting
world of shadows."

SECTION IV.

THE MONASTERY.

AT the end of the year, the Saint returned to Neot-
stowe, not to resume his seclusion, but at length to
work the work which Grod had appointed for him,
peacefully to accomplish, by gentle means, what the
sword of Egbert had attempted so unsuccessfully, to
bring back the schismatic church of Cornwall into the
bosom of her mother, and through her to reduce the
country itself to peaceful submission to the princes of
West Saxony. As a first step to accomplish this pur-
pose, he designed erecting a monastery on the site of
his old hermitage, from whence, as from a great reser-
voir, would be poured out streams of missionaries
among the people. His journey to Home, its known
object, and the events which had ensued upon it, added
to his previous reputation, gave such publicity to his
undertaking, that no sooner was it known to have com-
menced, than a very remarkable success at once at-
tended it. " Many of the wealthiest nobles forsook the
world, and chose with him a life of voluntary hardship
and poverty. Many brought their children to him,
entreating earnestly that these at least might find a
refuge in his flock from the storms and troubles of this
wretched world, and be nourished up for the life

THE MONASTEBY. 107

eternal." The charity of the neighbouring people pro-
vided them with lands, which were kept in cultivation
by the lay brothers, for the support of the monastery,
and to supply the wants of the neighbouring poor.
And here, under the eye of the holy Saint, were bred
up those faithful children of the Church Catholic who
spread her truth with such success, that we hear no
more of Cornish schism ; and but a few years after,
the whole West peacefully submitted themselves to
the rule of a bishop sent by Saxon Edward. In spite,
however, of this success abroad, and indeed his general
popularity, St. Neot had difficulties of a private nature
to contend with, which gave yet further occasion for
the interference of Providence for his protection. The
fierce prince of Liskeard beheld with no small dis-
pleasure the rapid growth of a religious, and above all
a Saxon rival, in his immediate neighbourhood. His
Briton blood boiled with indignation, to see his enemy
thus eating away the very root and core of his own
authority, and attracting so unaccountably the hearts
and affections of his subjects. From his ignorance of
the secret of St. Neot's influence, he was at a loss which
way to oppose him. Open personal violence he could
not venture upon ; so that he had recourse instead, to
a system of galling and tyrannical oppression of the
inferior brethren of the House of Neotstowe. He
maintained that he had a right to the secular service
of all his subjects, and would forcibly compel them to
leave their own work, and labour for him. They culti-
vated his soil, attended his cattle, and, like slaves, were
made to engage in the most menial service. Now as
many of these brethren were members of the noblest
British families, chiefs, and the sons of chiefs, and, like
himself, descendants of Cadwallon, it may be sup-

108 ST. KEOT.

posed such treatment was no little trial of their Chris-
tian fortitude ; and indeed it was intended to alienate
their affections from their new master who was unable
or unwilling to protect them. So matters went on till
one harvest time, when, as usual, they were forced into
the prince's fields to carry his corn for him. It was a
very large harvest : they had loaded many wagons,
and were driving them home. The road lay along a
narrow ridge, with a precipice on one side sheer down
into the river. Exactly as they reached this point, a
violent squall springing up from the north-west sud-
denly catching the carts, overthrew them with all their
load at once into the river, where they were totally
destroyed. Such an event could not fail of its effect.
The prince regarded it as a judgment ; and as an intima-
tion that if he persisted in his tyranny, worse might
befall him. He withdrew his opposition, and from that
day forward never interfered again with the dependants
of St. Neot. On another occasion the cupidity of a
band of robbers was attracted by the lonely unpro-
tected situation of the monastery, and they carried off
the cattle which were used for the plough. The ser-
vants went out as usual to work in the morning, but
came back in dismay to their master, and told him they
could find no oxen ; the door of the stable was open,
and they were gone. He told them not to be down-
hearted, but to return to the field, and wait the issue.
They obeyed disconsolately; their plough was now
useless to them, and they were counting the weary
hours they must spend in digging over that rough field,
when on lifting up their eyes, they saw four beautiful
stags standing by it, and gracefully bending their heads
over the yoke. Hardly venturing to approach, they
gazed in mute astonishment, but the creatures' quiet

THE MONASTERY. 109

gentle manner showed so plainly they were waiting for
the yoke to be laid upon their necks, that at last they
ventured to go up and harness them ; without sign of
fear or resistance, they submitted with the most willing
gracefulness, and all that day and all the next, they
toiled at their unwonted labour. Par and wide spread
this strange story, and among those that heard of it,
were the very thieves who had been the occasion of
the miracle. Frantic with terror, not knowing what
might be in store for them, when such means were
taken to repair the mischief they had done, they hur-»
ried humbly to the feet of St. Neot, to confess their
sin and restore his property. And he received them,
and forgave them, and they in their zeal and sorrow
besought him that he would yet take further pity on
them ; they feared to return to the world, lest their old
habits returned upon them, and the devil regain the
mastery over their souls ; they would stay where they
were, under the shadow of the Saint, and become the
servants of him whom they had injured: and so it
was ; and these violent and lawless men became num-
bered among the faithful and the obedient, and in time
were raised to office in the sacred ministry. " Such,'*
exclaims his biographer, with a glow of enthusiasm,
" was the wonderful power of this holy Saint. He
saved the oxen from the thieves, the stags from their
savage nature, and the thieves themselves from the
power of the devil." And the stags went back to their
wood and became free again, but they never forgot
their lesson of humility, and carried to their deaths
upon their bodies the marks of what had befallen
them ; and long years after were seen young fawns,
sporting in the forests of Liskeard, with the white ring
where the yoke had pressed their ancestors, yet visibla
on their necks.

110 ST. NEOT.

SECTION T.

ALFRED AND NEOT.

TEN years before parted the two royal brethren, Alfred
and St. Neot. They were now to meet again ; and
one, alas, how changed ! Then we saw prince Alfred
in the glow of young enthusiasm, arming himself for
the fight, and setting out right nobly on the Christian
warrior's course, high in hope and rich in friends, and
in the favour of Grod and man ; now he comes back, a
proud, self-willed, overbearing monarch, his subjects
discontented at home, a fierce foe pressing on him from
without, seeking counsel of his long-neglected brother.
His father was dead, his three brothers all dead, and
these two stood alone, the sole surviving descendants
of the illustrious Cerdic. And one was speedily to be
gathered to his fathers, and on the other was the wrath
of Grod to be poured out, and he was to be purified in
the furnace of adversity. Long years after, he related
to his friend and confessor, bishop Asser, the stories
of his youth ; and he, as a warning for those in time
to come, recorded the history of the sin and of its
punishment.

" Not victory only over his enemies, and success in
difficulty, did Grod think fit to send on him, but He
permitted him often to be worn down by his enemies,
afflicted with adversities, depressed by the contempt of
his own subjects, that he might know that there is one
Lord of all, to whom every knee must bow, in whose
hand are the hearts of kings, who putteth down the
mighty from their seat, and exalteth the humble ; who

ALFRED AND NEOT. Ill

willeth sometimes that his faithful servants, while pros-
perous, shall be struck with the scourge of adversity ;
that in depression they may not despair of the mercy
of Grod, and when exalted to honour they may not be
puffed up, but may know to whom is due all that they
possess. This adversity indeed which befell the king,
came not on him undeservedly ; because in the begin-
ning of his reign, when he was yet young and inexpe-
rienced, such men of his kingdom as came to him re-
quiring assistance in their difficulties, and such as were
oppressed by those in authority and demanded justice
at his hands, he refused to listen to, or render them
any assistance, but took no account of them at all.
For this did that most blessed Saint Neotus, his nearest
kinsman, while yet alive in the flesh, grieve from the
bottom of his heart, and his prophetic spirit foretold
what must befall him for his misconduct. Nevertheless,
he regarded not the reproof of the man of Grod, and
refused to receive his words. Because, therefore, what-
ever sins man doth commit must of necessity be pun-
ished either in this world or in the world to come, the
true and holy Judge would not that this folly of the
king should go unpunished in this present life, to the
end, that he might spare him in the strict account here-
after."

How sad is the meeting between two brothers, or
men who for any ether reason have been very dear to
each other, when one has gone astray ! Sin has thrown
a broad gulf between their hearts, over which there is
no other bridge but penitence. Till then there can be
no more sympathy, no more confidence— remembering
what he once was, the presence of the friend of purer
days adds poignancy to the remorse of the guilty one.
His proud spirit chafes at the degradation he cannot

112 ST. NEOT.

chuse but feel. He seeks refuge from himself in an
assumption of reserve and haughtiness, and anger at
the reproaches he imagines he sees in every word and
glance, closes the avenues to better feelings. And the
other, — grief is all the feeling he can have. His affec-
tions yearn for the lost one, but they may not reap-
proach him except through God by prayer. While his
heart is bursting, his stern sense of duty forces him to
master it. Cold grave rebuke, advice, instruction, is
all he may give, but all more sternly far than if they
had never been to each other what they were. He
may not trust himself to be gentle.

So met Alfred and St. Neot, not as brothers, not in
the confiding affectionateness of mutual love ; but as
Saul came to Samuel, an unrepenting king to a saint
and prophet ; to ask a blessing, to receive a rebuke.
First instruction and counsel were tried. " The Saint
entertained him honourably, for as much as he was his
prince ; but because he governed not his people aright,
because he was haughty and forbidding in his manners,
and his rule austere and harsh— for these things did the
blessed Neot rebuke him and teach him what was the
duty of a Christian king." And it appears that for a
time at least his slumbering conscience was awakened,
for " he went to his house in awe and great fear ; and
from that time forward came frequently to see the
Saint, and seek from him advice and counsel."

Some men, when their hearts condemn them, seek to
forget themselves ; like Ahab who hated Micaiah be-
cause he prophesied evil concerning him, they fear
God's presence and shrink from every thing which re-
minds them of Him. These men are cowards, but men
of nobler natures, even while unrepentant and yet in
their sins, still will not wholly renounce their alle-

ALFRED AND NEOT.

113

glance. Though fallen, they dare look round them and
see where they stand. They know their state, but
they do not rest contented in it. Therefore they will
not yet cast off the last rope of their moorings ; and
while they have not energy enough to restrain their
passions, they seem still to seek the presence of those
who they know will not spare their censures. So Saul
clung to Samuel, so Joash to Elisha, so Nebuchadnezzar
to Daniel. And so now though " he departed not yet
from the evil of his doings," king Alfred came often to
see his brother.

At length came the last earthly interview, and the
prophecy of final vengeance,

" It came to pass on a day that the king went as he
was wont to see the man of God ; who, when he came
to him, among many other things, rebuked him again
for his misconduct. He set before him the pains of
eternal fire, and showed how those who are mighty
upon earth shall hereafter be mightily tormented. And
besides this, in the spirit of prophecy, he foretold to
him all which should befall him afterwards. * Thou
seest, O king, what now thou sufferest from thine ene-
mies, and thou shalt suffer more hereafter ; for in thy
kingdom thou art proud and tyrannical, whereas before
the eyes of the Divine Majesty thou oughtest rather
with the king and prophet David to have shown thyself
meek and humble. Therefore by a foreign nation that
knoweth not Christ, thou shalt be driven thence.
Alone thou shalt escape from thine enemies, and shalt
lie concealed under the hands of God, and so for thy
sins thou shalt remain many days. Nevertheless I have
obtained for thee by my prayers, that if thou wilt turn
from thine iniquities, God will yet have mercy on thee
and restore thee to thy state and sceptre. Now there-

ST. KEOT,

fore take tliou more wholesome counsel for thyself and
people, and send men to Rome with presents for our
most reverend Father there, and entreat him that he
will of his clemency be pleased to remit the tax upon
the English School. And behold I go the way of all
flesh ; our Lord Jesus Christ has revealed to me that I
am soon to depart hence. Now therefore when Divine
Providence shall have fulfilled its purpose concerning
thee, and shall have rightly punished thee for thy mis-
deeds, then be thou of good heart, and put thy trust in
Him who ruleth all things, and pray for his assistance ;
and the Almighty God, by me his servant, shall hear
thy prayers and restore thee again to thy place.' "

And now the day was spent, the evening was come.
He had finished his course, he had wrought his work,
and St. Neot was to die. He lived not to see the final
success of his mission, but the word was gone out, the
seed was sown, and in its good time the fruit came to
perfection. Such is ever the lot of G-od's workmen.
They sow and others reap, they lay the foundation,
others build the superstructure. A work which is to
endure must be done in faith, and the workman re-
ceives his reward, but not on earth. The monastery
of Neotstowe was but in its infancy when its founder
died ; but to this day men pray and praise in the house
which he provided them, and in his own saintly crown
in heaven shines the bright jewel of the recovered
Church of the West.

Soon after his last interview with king Alfred, St.
Neot was attacked by fever. He had been told before
that his course was ended, and he knew that this illness
was the signal of his departure. But one thing re-
mained for him, once more to receive the Holy Com-
munion; and then straightway in the presence of the

ALFRED AND NEOT. 115

assembled brethren, amidst the pealing of loud anthems
and prayers ascending round him up to heaven, he
surrendered his soul to God.

"With solemn pomp and fear his body was committed
to the earth. Gloriously, as when at evening light
clouds flock together to gaze at the departing sun, and
his last rays as they fall on them bathe them in unut-
terable splendour, were shed the last influences of this
holy man on those who crowded to his funeral. For
the bouses where Saints have had their dwelling place
are holy as they were holy. Those temples which so
large a measure of God's Spirit has deigned to hallow
by its presence, become impregnated by its blessed
influence, and are not as those of other men. The
spirit returns to Him who gave it, and the body to the
dust ; but it is ransomed from the power of corruption ;
though it dissolves it decays not. The natural body
shrinks and shrivels up like decaying leaves. These
holy tabernacles in decomposing shed round them
fragrance, like the flowers of paradise.

Multitudes of persons from all quarters came together
to take a last farewell of the person of their beloved St.
Neot, and all who came within the power of the rich
odour which exhaled from him as he lay there, became
divinely refreshed in soul and body. Those who had
diseases were healed every one ; they needed not so
much as to touch the body ; they gazed upon it, and
the evil spirit which tormented them fled away in terror
and dismay. Those that he won at his death were
more than those whom he won when he was living ;
and in a short time the number of persons who craved
admittance to his monastery became so great that it
was necessary to enlarge the Church. On this occa-
sion the body was moved " with great care and trenv

116 ST. NEOT.

bling ; with long watchings, and fasting and prayer, it
was taken from the place where it was first laid, and
re-buried on the nortli side of the high altar, where it
now lies. Again, when it was exposed the same rich
fragrance issued from it aud filled the Church, and
again did those holy relics answer to the devout ap-
proaches of the diseased by an immediate cure. And
for the merits of the same most holy Saint, the favour
and blessing of Almighty God yet rested on that spot,
and ceased not to be poured forth there in an&wer to
the prayers of the faithful."

SECTION VI.

THE DANES.

PROM the deep dungeons of Ella of Northumberland,
where serpents were writhing round him and fastening
their envenomed fangs into his flesh, rose the death
chaunt of Ragnar Lodbrog. Par over the wide waves
rolled the wild notes to the chamber of the Scalld
Aslauga, his sorceress consort. Swift sped she the
spear messenger among the fierce vikingr ; and the
nobles of Norway and of Denmark vowed a terrible
revenge. Three kings and nine earls joined their forces
to the sons of the murdered monarch, and the most
mighty armament that had ever left the shores of the
Baltic, now set sail for Northumberland. North and
south, east and west England was to be laid desolate ;
the hated name of Christian was to be blotted out, and
Odin's recreant slaves forced again to bend before the

THE DANES. 117

God of their ancestors. Hinguar and Hubba for re-
venge, Gruthrum, Healfden and Bagsar for booty and
conquest, and all maddened with savage superstition,
fell like a pack of howling wolves on the forces of
Northumberland. The enchanted standard of the
Haven, woven in one summer noon by B-agnar's daugh-
ters, floated in the van, and the foul bird, animated by
some infernal spirit, snuffed the coming carnage and
croaked and clapped its wings. The troops of the
Saxons were scattered like chaff. The murderous
tyrant Ella was flayed alive and flung a prey to the
eagle and the kite. The prophecy of Alcuin was terri-
bly fulfilled. The iniquity of the wretched Saxons
was now full, and vengeance drew a bloody pen across
the appalling amount.

And yet the most awful part of such national inflic-
tions is, that not the guilty only perish, but the undis-
criminating wave of calamity sweeps all alike before it,
the innocent with the wicked. On the monasteries fell
most heavily the Danish fury. They were reputed
rich ; they were defenceless ; above all, in them lay
the vital spirit of Christianity. Scarce one through all
England escaped. It would be sickening to follow
their course ; the scenes are of too uniformly horrible a
character. Yet some few instances of Christian hero-
ism flash out and call for eternal honour. The nun-
nery of Coldingham lay in the path of the Danes, and
full well knew Ebba, the abbess, that worse than death
awaited her flock. What were they to do ? Escape
they could not ; die by their own hands they might
not. She called the sisterhood together. It was after
vespers, and the Danes would be there the next morn-
ing. She said she knew of but one way ; she would
-set them the example, they might follow if they would.

118 , ST. ITEOT.

Their beauty was their worst enemy ; destroy that and
they were safe. She drew a knife from under her
robe, and herself severed her nose and lips. In silence
all followed her terrible example. The savage spoiler
came for his prey ; but when they looked for beauty,
to satiate their foul lust, they found but hideous and
ghastly figures, foul with blood. Back rushed the
baffled fiends, in mingled fear and loathing, and in
their disappointed fury, burnt that noble band of im-
maculates in the fires of their own abbey. Some gal-
lant stands were made in Mercia and East Anglia.
Priests and monks buckled on their armour, and went
out to the battle to be slain. Burrhed, of Mercia, fled
to Rome, and St. Edmund, of East Anglia, was barba-
rously murdered. The monks of Croyland, with Prior
Toly, went out and fought desperately, but they were
all destroyed, and the monastery, with all its occupants,
reduced to a heap of ashes. Abbot Theodore fell like
a Christian warrior; he .was slaughtered at his own
altar, celebrating mass. Of all the kingdoms of the Oc-
tarchy, Wessex alone remained untouched. Had" Alfred
but continued firm and steadfast, as he had begun,
who can tell but it might have yet been spared ? But
even this great prince too, for a while forgot himself.
St. JSTeot's warnings were despised, and now his threat-
enings were to be accomplished. For six years of his
reign, the stroke was delayed by the long-suffering of
God. At length it fell. By a long course of tyranny
and injustice, and perhaps even worse crimes, (for these
are hinted at) Alfred, once the darling of "West Saxony,
had alienated the affections of his people, and now he
was only hated and despised. In the spring of the
year 877, the armies of the Danes came down upon
him : his subjects deserted him, and submitted every-

THE DANES. 119

where to the invaders : he found himself, without
striking a blow, a fugitive and an outcast. St. Neot's
prophecy was fulfilled ; he was driven for a time from
the throne he had disgraced, and sunk to such abject
misery, that at one time no one of his subjects knew
where he was, or what had become of him.

In the marshes of Somersetshire, lay an island,
formed by the alluvial deposit of the Thone and the
Parret, of considerable extent ; a deep morass divided
it from the mainland, and its sides were covered with a
low rough copsewood ; the centre was open, and suffi-
ciently large to find employment for a neatherd. No
trace of it now remains. The soil has sunk ; the floods
wash over the whole, but to Alfred it furnished a
retreat from the pursuit of the Danes. Entirely alone,
he presented himself at the neatherd's cottage ; he said
he was an officer of the king's army, and requested the
shelter of their roof, till better times enabled him to
return to the world. Alfred's great error, as king, had
been neglect of his poorer subjects. With a singular
aptness of retribution, he was condemned to beg pro-
tection from one of the very poorest, and to receive it
only on condition of his performing the most menial
services for him. How hard a trial for one so little
used to self-restraint ! And yet he bore it uncomplain-
ingly ; and there was even worse in store for him.
The neatherd's wife one day left him in charge of the
cakes which were baking before the fire. Alfred's
thoughts unfortunately wandered ; his charge was neg-
lected, the cakes were burnt. The old woman had a
tongue, and was not sparing in the use of it ; indeed,
the legend says, she not only scolded, but struck the
king ; but he submitted with the most patient resigna-
tion ; a sure proof that he was returning to himself

120 ST. NEOT.

again. After this trial, the severest part of Alfred's
punishment was remitted. He found means of commu-
nicating with a few of his friends ; his wife and chil-
dren joined him, and a small body of his followers.
Together, they erected a fortification in the island, and
supported themselves by fishing, and pillaging from the
Danes. Marked as he had been by heaven from the
first, he was not now deserted in his affliction. One
holy Saint, while yet in the body, had foretold his
downfall; another, now in spirit, came to give him
hopes of restoration. "Men have entertained angels
unawares." One day in the depth of winter, his men
being all out fishing, he was sitting reading with his
wife, when a beggar knocked at the door, and entreated
charity for Christ's sake. Their stock of food was
scanty ; one loaf was all ; but Alfred took it, and
breaking it in two, with the words, " Blessed be God
in all his gifts," he gave half of it to the poor man,
adding that He who could feed five thousand men with
five loaves and two fishes, would make that sufficient
for his necessities. The beggar departed ; the king
resumed his reading, and presently fell asleep. In a
dream, the holy Cuthbert appeared to him ; he was the
poor beggar ; he had been sent to try him whether he
was indeed turned back from his evil ways. Nobly had
Alfred borne the trial : he should not lose his reward;
his restoration was at hand, and as a token that the
vision was indeed true, a multitude of fish should attend
the successful efforts of his servants. The king awoke :
his people returned, wondering that in spite of the cold
and severe frost their success had been so great. And
the spring of the year 878 drew on, and he had now
been nearly a year in exile, and St. Neot, the messen-
ger of wrath, came to confirm the glad tidings.

THE DA1STES.

121

Watchful and sleepless, the king was lying in his
bed, when, by permission of the merciful Grod, His
servant St. Neot appeared to him.

"Knowest thou not," he said, "how vain are the
thoughts of man. They who hope in the Lord shall
take courage, they shall make to themselves wings as
eagles, they shall fly and shall not faint. Now, there-
fore, up and be doing ; for thou shalt go forth to battle
with these heathens, and the Lord shall be with thee,
and they shall flee before thee. And king Gruthrum
and his nobles shall be humbled, and shall leave their
idols and be baptized. And behold, I will go with
thee, and with power from above I will lead thy forces
to the battle, and they shall be victorious. The seventh
week after Easter thou shalt go forth."

In the meantime, the Danes had been doing their
work most fearfully. Hinguar and Hubba, like two
incarnate fiends, had penetrated to Devonshire, sparing
neither sex nor age, pillaging, slaying, and burning all
before them : here, however, they met their first check.
St. Edmund's blood, which cried aloud to heaven, was
here to be avenged. Ragnar's fierce sons had run
their course. The scanty remnant of the faithful
Saxons were gathered with Odun, earl of Devon, in
the castle of Cynuit. The place was without water ;
and the camp of the Danes lay around it, secure of a
bloodless victory. Providence, however, had ordered
the issue otherwise. A fierce sally of the garrison, in
the grey of a March morning, as desperate as it was
unexpected, ended in the total rout of the Danish
forces ; Hinguar and Hubba were destroyed by the
sword of Odun, and the disenchanted raven, now life-
less, and with drooping wings, fell into the hands of
the conquerors. By this defeat, however, the Danish

122 ST. KEOT.

power was not materially weakened. The whole au-
thority was now centered in the person of Guthrum,
who lay with the large division of the army on the
Downs, in "Wiltshire. Fresh hordes were continually
arriving from the Baltic to recruit their losses, and
except from the spirit the Saxons had acquired from
the success in Devonshire, Alfred seemed no nearer
his throne than he had been the year preceding : he
had received a promise, however, and he believed.
And now Easter was passed, and his adventurous spirit
leading him to neglect no human means of success, in
the disguise of a harper, he visited in person the
Danish camp at Ethendun. He played and sung be-
fore Guthrum himself, and having made his observa-
tions, retired.

And then came Whitsuntide, " and the king rode
forth to Brixton, to Egbert's rock on the eastern side
of Selwood, and all Somersetshire, and all Wiltshire,
and all the men of Hampshire, who had not fled be-
yond the sea, came forth to meet him, and when they
saw him as it were come to life again, after so long
eclipse, they were filled with unrestrainable rapture."
For the tide had turned, the favour of God was coming
back upon them, and those men whom we lately left
desponding cowards, we welcome back the enthusiastic
heroes prepared to do all or die. A refreshing change.
Thus he found himself once more at the head of an
army, and resolved at once to bring matters to an issue.
Humanly speaking, success depended on the blow being
struck swiftly and promptly, before the Danes were
prepared to receive him, and he began his march im-
mediately, in the second week in May, 878. The
Danes were still at Ethendun, and he went directly
toward them. About five miles west of the spot where

THE DANES.

123

they lay, is the small village of Iley : here the Saxons
halted, the night preceding the last battle ; and Alfred
lay there in his tent, and again, as before, appeared the
.venerable figure of St. JN~eot.

" His form was like an angel of God ; his hair was
white as snow ; his garments glistening, and fragrant
of the odours of heaven ; he brought armour with him,
and thus addressed the king :— ' Rise up in haste, and
prepare for victory ; when thou earnest hither, I was
with thee, I supported thee ; now, therefore, on the
morrow go forth, thou and thy men of war, to the fight,
and the Lord shall be with you, even the Lord strong
and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle, who giveth vic-
tory to kings. And behold, I go before you to the
battle, and thy enemies shall fall by thy arm before
mine eyes, and thou shalt smite them with the edge of
the sword.' "

On the eastern slope of the high range of hills which
rise from the valley of the Avon, lay the camp of the
Danes ; so rapid, so energetic, had been Alfred's move-
ments, that he himself brought the tidings of his rising,
and no hint of danger had reached them to disturb
their quiet. There lay the vast army wrapped in neg-
ligent repose. The morning mist hung like a dull
heavy curtain over the camp. The damp pennons
drooped upon their staffs. The drowsy sentinels were
slumbering at their posts. Not a watch-dog barked,
not a note of alarm was given, while troop after troop
of the Saxons defiled silently over the brow of the hill,
and took their station on the summit of the slope.
Foremost rode king Alfred ; his small army was now
all disposed for the charge, and he briefly and impres-
sively addressed them. «' Heavily," he said, " has the
scourge of Grod fallen on us for our sins. Our homes

124 ST. NEOT.

are desolate, our fields wasted, our holy places are de-
stroyed, our priests are fled, and the hands of these
heathen hounds run red with the blood of our dearest
kinsmen. We have suffered, we have been forgiven*
The day of retribution is come. We alone remain of
all the armies of West Saxony ; but we are not alone,
for God is with us. He has said, and will he not per-
form ? This day shall the heathen be delivered into
your hands. On now, therefore, ye servants of the
Most High ! For your God and for your country, for
your hearth and for your homes, fall on and spare
not!" A thousand voices rent the sky, — " The Lord
shall give strength to His people. Blessed be God."
A thousand swords flashed back the red rays of the
rising sun. The mist rolled off; streamed out proudly
the royal standard in the morning breeze, and down
like a mountain torrent crashed the Saxons on their foe.
At that first awful shout, each slumbering Dane had
started into life in terrified surprise. At the first fierce
rush they fled in panic and fell in heaps under the
sword of the destroyer ; yet among their vast hosts
Alfred's army was but a small river to the broad
ocean, and their scattered bauds soon rallied with des-
perate fury. Hell sent her spirits to their aid, the
Totuns came flashing through the air, and Loki rode
upon his dragon steed and fought for Guthrum, and
backwards and forwards swayed the tide of the battle.
What awful figure is that which has seized king
Alfred's standard, and waves the Saxons on with ma-
jestic hand ? Aslauga's demons knew the servant of the
Mighty One, and fled back howling to their icy prisons.
Terror struck their weapons from the hands of the
Pagans ; they dared not look on him, but fled on every
Bide. None saw him come ; none save Alfred knew

THE DANES. 125

whence lie was ; but there stood Neot, once more upon
afield of battle in the same terrific majesty as the king
before had seen him. High he waved the royal stan-
dard, marshalling the Saxons on to victory. Fierce
and fast they followed on their fainting foe, and gave
no quarter. The measure they had dealt to others was
now dealt to them. Thousands upon thousands lay
dead ; but still pressed on that fearful standard bearer,
and thousands were yet to fall. And the sun rolled on
to the west through that long May day, and made no
comment. It went down, and that terrible carnage
had not ceased which has left so imperishable a record
in the memory of the Wiltshire peasant, that none ever
now pass Slaughter-ford without a shudder and a
prayer. Never again was Neot seen on earth.

A merry peal rung out from the bells of Wedmore,1
and fast came crowding in the people from all the
country round ; for this was the glad day when God's
servants in all the earth meet together to acknowledge
the glory of the Eternal Trinity ; and to offer prayers
for the defence of the true faith of the Church of Christ,
for ever and ever. And this day too in England were
to be offered public thanksgivings to God for its great
deliverance from the heathen. Scattered on the plain
before the town lay the tents of the Saxon army ; and
smiled in the bright sunshine ; and banners were
waving, and all were dressed in holiday array and
looked blithe and happy. Nature had dressed herself
in her gayest suit, the earth looked greener, the birds
carolled more livelily; all creation seemed to have

1 There is reason to think Westminster is the place intended by
this word.

126 ST. KEOT.

joined together in one glad tribute of thanksgiving.
The great Church was thronged with people ; knights
and earls, and all the chivalry of West Saxony were
gathered in the aisles for the festival, and to witness
the great offering which was to be made there that day.
Priests and Bishops so long lain in hiding places for
fear of the Danes, came forth again, and now stood
in their white robes before the altar. Breathless were
they all with expectation, as the great west door rolled
back, and the procession appeared. Two and two, with
slow and solemn step, a long row of men whose garb
announced them candidates for holy baptism, advanced
towards the font, king Alfred leading them ; and every
heart beat high, and every eye was fixed on that down-
cast man who walked hand in hand with him. There
was not one of them who knew not the fierce monarch
of the Danes, whose ear had not tingled at the name of
Guthrum : his head was bare ; the raven plume so
fearfully familiar amidst scenes of slaughter and deso-
lation, no longer waved over that princely forehead;
the eye that had flashed forth lightning fires, now
beamed with the mild light of penitence and hope.
Thirty of Norway's boldest sons attended him, with
like demeanour of submission, and the whole train
arranged themselves round the font, and knelt and
prayed. Then, from beside the high altar, rose the noble
bishop Wulfhen, and swept majestically down the
aisle, through the wondering multitude, until he reached
the kneeling group. With -stately step he passed
within the circle, and stood beside the font, while with
one consent, these haughty warriors forswore their gods,
and made profession of the Christian faith. Alfred
stood sponsor for the king, and the bishop sprinkled
him with the water of purification, and signed him with

THE DANES. 127

the sign of the cross, and he rose up from the ground,
Gruthrum no longer, but Christian Athelstan. Athel-
stan, of all names dearest to Alfred, as that which
had once belonged to his deliverer, now he chose for
his reconciled enemy, in the hope it might bring a
blessing on him. In like manner, the thirty warriors
were admitted into the Church of Christ, and then all
turned and took the oath of fealty to England's sove-
reign ; Danes and Saxons, joined in Christian brother-
hood, swore eternal peace, and loud pealed the organ
at that joyful sight, and from all the multitude assem-
bled, swelled up with one consent to the everlasting
God a hymn of gratitude and joy.

A. LEGEND OF

HERMIT AT FARNE, A.D. 1193,

ANT one who reads the Prophets will see that, while
all that relates to the humiliation of our most Blessed
Lord, is most literally fulfilled, the accomplishment of
those prophecies which foretell the external glories of
His Church is a matter of faith. "Where is the king-
dom of peace, of justice and righteousness which was
to trample upon the oppressor and the warrior ? The
Church is all this imperfectly, and in tendency ; the
wickedness of man has spoilt for a time the work of
God. But notwithstanding all this misery, the pro-
phecies of Christ's kingdom have found a more com-
plete accomplishment in Christ's Saints, who have all
been peaceful, compassionate and zealous for justice.
Kings and warriors have literally bowed down before
the Saints who have taken up against them the cause
of the poor and the widow. And so it may be also that
other parts of prophecy which are commonly interpreted
figuratively, have received in a measure a literal fulfil-
ment. For instance, those parts of scripture which
relate to the animal creation may have been fulfilled
much more literally than is commonly supposed, in some
of Christ's hidden Saints who have given up all for His

HERMIT AT FARNE, A.D. 1103. 129

sake. la proportion as the knowledge of the Lord has
filled the earth, so also may Christ's little ones have
walked unharmed among beasts of prey, or by their
gentleness won -to their sides the shyest of the inhabi-
tants of the forest or the rock. If Christ's servants
have for His sake dwelt in " the habitation of dragons
and the court of owls,"1 where " the wild beasts of the
desert met the wild beasts of the island," what wonder
if *' the beast of the field have honoured them, the
dragons and the owls,"2 " the cormorant and the bit-
tern."3 He who dwells for Christ's sake in the desert,
" where the satyrs cry unto their fellows," in the dry
places where he seeks rest who can find none, must not
be surprised if he sees strange shapes and hears start-
ling sounds. And many of the words and actions of
our blessed Lord seem to show that it is dangerous to
pronounce too soon that the language of scripture is
figurative, while at the same time they show such a
strange connexion between evil spirits and the animal
creation, that power over the one would seem to imply
a power over the other. During those wonderful days
which he spent in the wilderness, he was with the wild
beasts as well as with devils. He saw Satan fall like
lightning from heaven, and with His leave beings who
had once been angels entered into the filthiest of beasts.
So also the eyes of His Saints may have been opened
to see the shame of the fallen archangel ; and what
wonder if under shapeless and uncouth forms he strives
to scare from his knees the Saint whose prayers and
fasts abridge his usurped dominion.

So also other prophecies connected with the opening
of the invisible world upon the Saints, may have been

1 Is. xi. 6. 2 Is. xxxiv. 13, 14. 3 Is. xviii. 20. Is. xxxiv. 11.

K

130 ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

more literally fulfilled than is commonly believed. It
has been foretold that the sons and daughters of the
Church should prophesy, that the young men should
see visions and the old men dream dreams ; we need
not therefore be startled at meeting with such things in
the history of Christendom in any age. It is true indeed
that from the moment that our blessed Lord disappeared
from the sight of the disciples, that became an object of
faith which before had been seen and handled, even
the glorified body of Him who is at the right hand of
God ; yet we know that He has been pleased, to show
Himself in the reality of that body to His apostles, St.
Paul and St. John. Nay one day every eye shall see
Him ; there is therefore nothing contrary to faith in
supposing that even He may have appeared in visions
to His Saints.

All these openings of the invisible world, whether of
good or of evil beings, are of course subject to the pre-
sent imperfection of our nature, and yet this does not
interfere with the reality of them. Our notions of the
ever-blessed Trinity are most dark and imperfect, em-
bodied in human words and human ideas, and yet this
does not prevent there being in them a truthreal and ob-
jective, which we know can be as little the creation of
our mind as material things which we see and touch. So
again there have been false Christs and false teachers,
yet there is also the One True Christ with the holy
Doctors of the Church. The visions seen and the
voices heard by the Saints are expressed in terms, so
to speak, of Time and Space to which we are at pre-
sent bound, so that it is often hard to distinguish them
from the phantoms of imagination. The clear spiritual
vision which the Saints possess habitually, may enable
them to discern heavenly things so vividly that their

HERMIT AT FAIHS'E, A.D 1193. 131

meditations may sometimes take the nature of ecstacy,
without its being possible to fix the exact limits where
contemplation ends and vision begins. Again noises
are heard in the stillness of the night, which are
drowned in the busy hum of day ; and they may have
been mistaken for supernatural sounds ; the chill night
air may have cramped the limbs of a Saint as he knelt
on the cold stones before an altar, and he may have
attributed it to the agency of the wicked one. He may
in these instances have been sometimes right and at
other times wrong, but it would be foolish and faithless
to reject at once the notion that the devil had troubled
a Saint at his prayers. Here at least we cannot weigh
our enlightened experience against the testimony of a
superstitious monk in a benighted age, for what expe-
rience have we of nights spent on the cold ground in
prayer ? As well might the Indian prince urge the ex-
perience of his tender limbs against the fact that the
hardy Englishman ever has to bear the pinching of ice
and snow. Again let no one trouble himself about the
danger of fanaticism ; these are not practical questions
to us ; when we have hermits and monks among us,
then let us begin to be anxious about drawing the line
between false visions and true.

All this is a fitting introduction to the life of a Saint
which contains in it many startling and even grotesque
stories, which yet rest on contemporary authority. No
flaw is to be found in dates,* and many personages flit

4 The date of St. Bartholomew's death is remarkably fixed by
the circumstance mentioned in his life, that he died in a year on
which the Feast of St. John Baptist was on the seventh Thurs-
day after Ascension-day, which must therefore have fallen on
the sixth of May, and Easter on the twenty-eighth of March.

132 ST. BAKTHOLOMEW.

across the wild scene who appear elsewhere as real
beings of flesh and blood in the pages of history. The
life of St. Bartholomew is written by a monk, who
mentions several persons from whom he had heard
what he relates, and who had got their intelligence
from the lips of the Saint himself. The stories rest on
various authorities, some on the testimony of the rude
fishermen who lived on his island, others on that of his
friends ; but it is time that the reader should judge for
himself.

1. Brother Bartholomew in the world.

Among the hermits of the twelfth century, Bar-
tholomew is a remarkable personage ; his character
stands out clear and distinct amidst the strange tales
told about him, one not unvarying. We may feel start-
led and disgusted that such a figure with an ill smell of
goatskins should come betwixt the wind and our no-
bility ; but, turn away as we will, there he still stands
to reproach our sloth and luxury, the genuine product

This only happened twice in the twelfth century, viz. in 1 182
and 1193. Thus far the Bollandists; but the date is still fur-
ther fixed to 1193 by the fact that he was forty- two years and
six months in the island of Fame ; now if he had died in 1182, he
would have left Durham in 1140, which cannot be, as it is ex-
pressly stated that he quitted the monastery under Prior Lau-
rence, who did not succeed to the office till 1149. There is a
manuscript in the Bodleian Library in which the life of the
Saint is inscribed by the author, to Bertram, Prior of Durham.
This proves that the life was written under the very Prior, in
•whose time the Saint died. The same manuscript gives the
name of the author at full length, and verifies the conjecture of
the Bollandists that it was Galfridus.

HEUHir AT FAH^E, A,D. 1193. 133

of an age of faith. He was not always St. Bartholo-
mew ; his parents, whose condition is unknown, gave
him the name of Tosti. He was born at Whitby, in
Yorkshire, in the early part of the twelfth century.
The north of England, in the reign of our early Norman
kings, was the stronghold of all that was Saxon ; this
circumstance, as well as his name, makes it probable
that he was of old English blood ; but his companions
laughed at the quaint sound of the Saxon boy's name,
and his parents changed it for the Norman name of
William. In his boyhood and youth he was of a wild
and stubborn character, brought on probably by the
jests of his playfellows, and he cared but little about
spiritual things. Our blessed Lord however did not
leave him without warning. One night he dreamed
that he was in a place of surpassing beauty, and that
there rose before him an intense light, like a cloud of
dazzling white, or the dawn of a beautiful day. As he
gazed on its splendour, he saw our blessed Lord stand-
ing on high, and near Him Mary His mother, and the
apostles Peter and John. Then the blessed Virgin
looked upon him with a sweet countenance and bade
the Apostles lead him to her. When he stood before
her who was called by Christ the mother of His beloved
disciple, and who is the mother of all whom He has
loved eternally, then with a sweet voice she said to
him, Follow thou the steps of my Son, that He may
have pity on thee, and pray humbly to Him who is
merciful. Then William fell on his face and cried
three times, Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me; and
the Lord lifted up His hand and blessed him. Twice
did this vision appear to him in his sleep, and once
when he was awake ; but great as was the impression
made upon his mind, it bore no open fruit till many

131' ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

years after. Instead of seeking quiet in the bosom of a
monastery, his spirit was still restless and untamed.
He left his country, and in quest of adventures went
into Norway,. then the refuge of many discontented
spirits of Saxon blood.5 He had not long been there
however, when he put himself under the direction of a
priest of the country, and made such spiritual progress
under him, that the Bishop of the place ordained him
priest. Still there was much in him to subdue ; his
spirit was one which delighted to wrestle with the
storms which howl through the forests of those savage
regions, and his curiosity was roused by the dark su-
perstitions which lingered among them. He was once
walking with a youth, who suddenly exclaimed that he
saw an evil spirit. Friend, I would fain see him, was
the answer of the priest. The youth said, Put thy feet
upon mine, that thou touch not the ground, and thou
shalt see him not only now but always. Then William
laughed aloud when he thought of the strange com-
panion which his friend wished to provide for him.
He afterwards used to relate that he bethought himself
just in time that his faith would be in danger, if he, a
Christian priest, had an evil spirit ever before his eyes.
This seems to have contributed to sober his mind, and
he began to think of settling in life, as it is called.
The marriage of priests, though forbidden by the
canons, was not then so uncommon as it afterwards be-
came ; and he cast his eyes on one of the fair damsels
of Norway. The maiden smiled upon him, and the
father favoured his suit, but Christ had other views for

5 Simeon Dunelm. in. ann. 1074. The same authority states
that English priests were in great request in Norway.

HERMIT AT TA.RNE, A.D. 1193. 135

His servant, and from some unknown cause, lie left
JN'orway unmarried.

Three years had passed over him since he quitted
his native country, and he came back to it a priest and
an altered man ; and almost as soon as he had landed
in England he for a few days officiated in a Church in
Northumberland. Still however he had not found his
place in Christ's kingdom ; the vision with which his
Lord had favoured him in his youth rushed upon his
mind. This seemed to mark him out for some extra-
ordinary mode of life, and with the energy which ever
characterized him, he at once set out for Durham,
where he entered as a novice the Cathedral monastery.
Here when with his newly shaven head and his Bene-
dictine habit, he entered the Church with the rest of
the novices, and as was the custom at Durham, pros-
trated himself before the high altar ; it seemed as if
the figure on the crucifix stretched out its arms to wel-
come this new soldier of the cross. The name which
he took in religion was Bartholomew, after the holy
Apostle, and he soon won the hearts of the brethren
by the gentleness which now appeared in his character,
and by his fervour at the divine office. He had re-
mained for a year in the monastery, training up his
soul to obedience and humility, when he was called
away to another and sterner scene. St. Cuthbert
appeared to him one night in a dream, and bade him
go to the island of Fame to lead the life of a hermit.
Next morning he enquired of the brethren where this
island lay, for he had never heard of it. He then went
to Prior Laurence and begged for leave to quit the
monastery, to live henceforth on that spot where St.
Cuthbert lived and died. The good Prior shook his
head : a hermit's life was not one for a novice, nor was

136 ST. BAETHOLOMEW.

Fame so pleasant an abode as one who tad never seen
it might fancy. Brother Bartholomew's earnestness
however at length prevailed, and with the Prior's
leave, and the prayers of the convent, he set out for
his new abode, early in December, 1151, and in the
first week of Advent.

2. Of the isle in which brother Bartholomew lived.

If ever monks had a prospect of happiness, it was
the monks of St. Mary and St. Cuthbert at Durham.
The lazy old canons had been expelled and provided
for elsewhere to make room for them, and the discipline
of their monastery was at its height under a holy and
learned Prior. The munificence of Kings and Bishops
had placed them above secular cares ; streams were
bridged over, mills erected, and fish-ponds dug, for
their sole use.6 Villages were assigned to them,7
where dwelt forty merchants to supply their wants, free
of all the customs and tolls paid to the Bishop. Splen-
did buildings were rising about them on every side,
and their chapter house had been but lately finished
for their use.8 Their altars blazed with gold and jewels,
and on the high altar was a famous crucifix, adorned
with gems by William the Conqueror. A greater con-
trast to this religious house than Bartholomew's new
dwelling place can hardly be conceived. The island of
Fame is described^ as a circle of solid rock, the top of
which is thinly strewn over with a layer of barren soiL

6 See for instance the account of Ralph Flambard's works,
Anglia Sac. p. 708.

7 Cart. ap. Du^dale, vol. i. p. 237.

8 A-nglia Sac. vol. i. 709.
' This account applies only to the times of Galfridus.

HERMIT AT FAR^E, A. D. 1193. 137

On its south side it is separated by a channel of about
two miles in breadth from the shore ; to the east and
west a belt of rocks protect it from the fury of the sea,
while on the north it lies open to the whole force of the
waves, in the midst of which it lies like the broken and
defenceless hull of a shipwrecked vessel. Sometimes
when the tide rises higher than usual, and the wild
storms of that rugged coast come in to its aid, the
waves make an inroad on the land, and the salt foam
is blown over the whole island, wetting the shivering
inhabitant to the skin, and penetrating the crevices of
his habitation. Near the shelving beach which formed
the landing-place, was a low hut of unhewn stone and
turf, built by St. Cuthbert. A narrow path leads up
through the rock into St. Cuthbert's chapel ; it was situ-
ated in a hollow so shut in on all sides by walls of naked
rock, that nothing could be seen from thence of the wide
waste of waters around, or of the landward prospect on
the other side. St. Cuthbert was said by his own labour
to have deepened the hollow, so that when he knelt in
prayer he could see nothing but the blue sky, bright
with stars, far over his head, or resting with its lowering
clouds on the edge of this rocky chamber. Here also
by his prayers a clear stream gushed from the hard
rock, according to the promise of the Lord that He
would give waters in the wilderness, and that it should
spring forth to give drink to His people, to His chosen.
Hough as was the material of which the island was
formed, two springs welled from the depths of the rock,
to which the sailors often came to water their ships ;
and this seems to have been the only natural production
on the spot which could be obtained without toil.
This unpromising place was not likely to attract inha-

138 ST. T3ABTHOLOMEW.

bitants or visitors, and pirates, sailors and fishermen
seem to have been its chief occasional inmates.

Besides the drawbacks which have been mentioned,
the place had an ill name, which would of itself have
kept it lonely. It was said by the people of the coun-
try to be haunted. The islets around it were especially
said to be the habitation of demons, and no fisherman
would have dared to moor his skiff to them after night-
fall. On one islet all shipwrecked mariners were
buried, and there above all, the howls of evil spirits
were said to have been heard mingling with the rise
and fall of the blasts which swept over the long grass
upon their graves. Here also amidst the fantastic
wreaths of mist, the fishermen used to see strange
figures clad in the hoods of monks, and with long
beards pendant from their foul features, riding on goats
and brandishing spears among the tombs ; till crosses
were planted in the sand all round the spot, and the
demons as soon as they saw them, flitted around and
wheeled away into the darkness. It is hard to say why
demons should be supposed to haunt the graves of
Christian mariners, but there were other and better
reasons for thinking that the hermits of St. Cuthbert's
isle were disturbed in their devotions by evil spirits.
Christian corpses were more likely to scare away than
to invite devils ; but Satan would have an object in
frightening away the Saint whose prayers were a thorn
in his side. " He who," says the old monk, whose nar-
rative wre follow, " is led by the Spirit into the wilder-
ness, must of necessity be tempted by the devil, and
either practise himself in virtue, or quit this place
which is made for virtue." The advance of Christian-
ity had scared away the evil one, so that he hid himself
in these lonely islets, as he had retired into the sandy

HERMIT AT FARXE, A. D. 1193. 139

deserts of the Thebais, to the wonderful rock of St.
Michael in JSTormandy, or the shaggy wood from the
depths of which he was driven by St. Seine.

3. How Bartholomew lived in Ms hermitage.

Bartholomew did not find himself alone in his new
abode ; a monk named Ebwin had established himself
there before him. He had probably also belonged to
the convent of Durham, the authorities of which were
still the spiritual superiors of the hermits of Fame.
From this person the new inmate obtained by no means
a hearty welcome ; he was so much of a hermit that he
would have no one to share his solitude, not even an-
other hermit. Very few men can bear to be alone ;
and without a special vocation, none should make the
attempt. Even our blessed Lord did not go into the
wilderness without being led thither by the Spirit.
Many men however from fanaticism, and wilfulness, or
because their temper has been soured by the ill treat-
ment of the world, have lived and died in solitude.
This is one of the strange freaks of ill-guided human
nature, and can only be distinguished from religious
loveliness by its fruits. Ebwin could live alone, but he
could not bear to have a rival in his loneliness. He
troubled Bartholomew's peace by bitter taunts, intend-
ing to teaze him into anger, or to scare him away alto-
gether. He however failed in his object ; a few years
before he might have succeeded, but Bartholomew had
learned to discipline himself to patience and meekness
in the monastery of Durham. His patient endurance
wore out the obstinacy of his companion ; the island
could well have supported both, but Ebwin did not

140 ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

love partnership, and fairly quitted Fame, leaving him
alone.

The reader probably is curious to know what the
brother Bartholomew could find to do in his new abode.
The question however is easily answered ; he had as
much to do as any labourer who has to work for his
daily bread. He had a cow to tend, and a field, which
must be dug and be sown with barley, and his crops
were to be reaped and gathered in when the harvest
time came round. A strange labourer indeed he was
with his monkish mantle, over which was thrown a
rough and sleeveless cloak lined with shaggy skin !
When he laid down the spade or reaping hook, his
labours were not over ; he had a boat in which he
wrestled with the wild waves which run violently
among the islets and rocks along the coast, or paddled
over the smooth sea when it lay bright and glittering
beneath the summer sun. Thus he was fisherman,
grazier and labourer all at once, and as will appear by
and by, he combined the office of pilot as well. But
whatever he was doing, the wind might drive the rain
and the spray, and the sun might shed its burning
beams upon his head, which was never covered by cowl
or cap. This however was but his external employ-
ment. There are wonders in the spiritual world of
which men unused to meditation have no conception,
and which are to be the employment of the blessed in
heaven. Even on earth the holy doctors have spent
their lives in drawing them out in words ; the che-
rubim desire to look into them ; no one then need be
surprised if a hermit could find occupation in wondering
at such mysteries as the Holy Trinity and all the
events involved in the Incarnation of the Lord. Every
day he offered up the immaculate Lamb in sacrifice to

HERMIT AT FARNE, A.D 1193. 141

His Father on the altar of St. Cuthbert's oratory. All
day long, whatever he was doing, and a great part of
every night, he was either singing the psalms of David
or kneeling in intercessory prayer. The words of the
psalms were sweeter than honey to his throat, and he
felt them burning in his heart the more he repeated
them, so that he said the whole psalter every day once,
twice, or even three times.

While he was thus striving to have his conversation
in heaven, he took care to take up his cross with Christ,
lest his troubles should degenerate into a luxurious
self-contemplation. He who suffers with the Lord feels
quite sure of the reality of heaven, and Bartholomew
bearing his cross over the rugged stones of Fame, sym-
pathized, so to speak, with Him who was dead and is
alive, in a way which few can understand. A rough
shirt of hair was worn by him next to his skin ; the
few hours which he could spare from psalmody and
prayer during the night, were spent upon a pallet from
which the hardiest of the world's soldiers would have
shrunk. It was simply a few bed coverings thrown
upon a hurdle ; surely no very loud alarum would be
needed to rouse a man from such a bed as this. Long
fasts and a perpetual abstinence from meat subdued his
body to his soul ; for the first few years of his sojourn
on the island, he used to eat the fish which he had
caught by his own labour ; but he afterwards gave up
even this poor indulgence. Prayer and fasting are the
weapons appointed by our blessed Lord to subdue every
kind of evil spirit. He Himself, though clothed in the
flesh that had sinned was invincible, because He was
the Lord from heaven ; and yet He fasted for forty-
days, and at last felt the pangs of hunger before he en-
countered the wily tempter. How then could His ser-

142 ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

vant fare in the place of devils without putting on the
armour which the Lord had sanctified for his use.

4. Sow brother Bartholomew was not always alone.

Stem as was his mode of life, Bartholomew's body
was not worn, nor his spirit broken ; his face, instead
of being pale and emaciated, had a healthful colour ;
" so that," says the monk, " one would have supposed
him to have pampered his body on dainties." Sadness
he ever accounted to be a sin, and his blithe counte-
nance and cheerful speech bore witness to the doctrine
which he professed. And he soon found that hermit
as he was, he would have numerous opportunities of
testing his kindness of heart and sweetness of temper.
The island had ever been from time to time visited by
Norwegian and Danish sailors, and the poor fishermen
who lived on the opposite coast often came to pray in
St. Cuthbert's oratory before they began their work of
toilsome labour. These were the poor ones of the
earth, and the hermit delighted in instructing them.
When the northern sailors were windbound in this
rugged part, he soothed their impatience and even from
his own little store contrived to help them when their
provisions failed. He once even killed his cow, when
he had nothing else to set before some poor strangers
who had nothing to eat. His kindness won the hearts
of the rough sailors, and his holiness taught them reve-
rence for the Lord whose servant he was. Christ also
enlightened the hermit's soul, so that he was able to
foretell the dangers of the weather ; and if he bade
them go in God's name and blessed them, they would
always set sail though the black clouds scudded across

HERMIT AT FAENE, A.D. 1103. 143

the sky, and the winds howled and the waves were
dashed against the capes which stretched beyond each
other along the shore. They applied to him in every
difficulty, and he thus had numerous opportunities of
tempering their ferocity; they believed that all his
warnings came to pass, and hardly durst disobey him.
On one occasion a boy, belonging to a vessel, had gone
down into the boat to fish, and had forgotten to tie it
to the stern ; the consequence was, that the boy was
carried off by the current among the rocks and shoals.
The poor sailors as usual came to the hermit's cell, and
cried out, " Brother Bartholomew, come and help us."
He came out smiling and said, "Why do ye call me,
and what will ye have me do ?" On hearing of their
trouble, he accompanied them on board their vessel,
and (though it does not appear how) the boy and the
boat soon appeared safe and sound. The captain im-
mediately seized on the lad and took up a stick to pun-
ish him severely. The hermit stayed the hand of the
brutal man, and bade him remember that no one was
to be punished in this holy island. The captain replied
that he was not in the island, but on the deck of his
vessel : and although the holy man foretold that he
should suffer for his cruelty, he beat the boy unmerci-
fully. When the vessel returned, the sailors told bro-
ther Bartholomew that the captain had died the second
day of the voyage. It was not long however before
the fame of his sanctity brought visitors of a different
stamp from his poor friends the sailors. Every man
who lives under a sense of right and wrong must often
have been troubled not only with temptations to visita-
tions of duty, but with perplexities as to what in parti-
cular cases is his duty. He who lets himself quietly
float down the stream of life, knows nothing of the

144 ST. 33ABTHOLOMEW.

mysteries of his own being, and of the troubles which
may arise in the soul of a Christian apparently without
external cause ; but they who venture more boldly
forth for Christ's sake, soon find that they have an in-
ward as well as an outward cross to bear. " They who
go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business
in great waters, these men see the wonders of the Lord
in the deep." The soul of the penitent too is in fearful
need of guidance when first the whole horrors of sin
bursts upon it. For cases such as these, Christianity
has created a science of spiritual things, and all the
fearful diseases of the religious mind have been ex-
amined and classified by Catholic doctors. Yet after
all none is so well qualified to carry the theory of this
science into practice as he who has learnt by intense
self-examination, and by spiritual asceticism to know
himself and the wiles of the tempter. It is a gentle
craft which soothes the aching soul, and pours oil and
wine into the wounds of him who has been half dead ;
and Bartholomew soon found that his fame as a physi-
cian brought men from all parts to kneel at his feet.
Men of all ranks came before him in this tribunal of con-
fession, and many a high born oppressor of the poor
bowed down, and trembled before the goat-skin garment
of the poor hermit. Whobut such a confessor could have
forced men like the wild border barons of the north
to relax their iron grasp on the spoils of the poor and
to atone for their sins by penance ? Nor was this all :
many a poor monk who was afflicted with dryness of
heart, and went through his offices with listlessness and
distaste, was taught by him to be patient till Christ
visited his soul with the waters of consolation.

The sweet gentleness of his temper was such that it
appeared in his countenance and his gait. Even the

HEEMIT AT FARNE, A. D. 1193. 145

wild birds 011 the sea shore learned not to fly away at
the approach of the figure, which glided gently by
them on the sea-shore, or so often remained immovable
wrapt in contemplation. The habits of the sea gulls
and cormorants which abound on that lonely island
seem to have struck Galfridus with admiration. The
eyder ducks especially raised his wonder ; they came
regularly at certain seasons in large flocks to deposit
their eggs, and while sitting on their nests never feared
the approach or even the touch of man. When how-
ever the young ones were hatched, they became as wild
as ever, and the whole party took to the waters again,
and migrated from the island. Bartholomew allowed
no one to cast stones at the birds ; he even tamed one
of them, which came regularly to feed out of his hand
every day. Unfortunately however when he was out
fishing, a hawk pursued this poor bird into the chapel,
and killed it, leaving the feathers and the bones lying
on the portal of the holy place. The assassin however
could not find his way out of the chapel, and kept
wheeling round and round the building, beating against
the windows and the walls. At this time brother Bar-
tholomew entered and found the cruel bird with its
talons and bill still bloody. He mourned bitterly over
the fate of his poor favourite, and caught the hawk ;
he kept it for two days without food, to punish it for
its crime, and then, seized with compassion, let go his
guilty prisoner. At another time the Saint was sitting
on the sea shore, when he was surprised to feel a cor-
morant close by his side, pulling with its bill the corner
of his garment. He rose and followed the bird along
the beach, till he came to a hole in the rock down which
one of the young ones had fallen. He soon extricated

L

146 ST. BAETHOLOHEW.

the trembling bird from its danger, and restored it to
its mother.

As brother Bartholomew had taken upon himself
that mode of life of which our blessed Lord gave a
model when he retired into the wilderness, so he suf-
fered also the same sort of temptations. The wild and
lonely island on which he served Christ, had always, as
we have said, the reputation of being the special abode
of evil spirits. Desolate places have often an ill name ;
amid the hum of worldly occupations and the glare of
day, Satan appears not, for men think not of him, and
why should he arouse them from their security ? but
when men of God retire into desolate places to serve
Christ, then Satan unmasks himself, for they have no
lethargy in which he would leave them, and they have
ventured into the wilderness, his own peculiar dwelling
place. They are his open ^enemies, and he has been
known to meet them openly. As the devil under loath-
some shapes had striven to frighten away St. Antony,
so he attacked Bartholomew. Foul and hideous shapes
of wild beasts seemed to frisk about him when he was
at his prayers ; and frightful visages grinned upon him
out of the darkness. He often felt a hand plucking his
cowl when he was on his knees, and even at the very
altar the devil strove to divert his attention by seizing
the border of his chasuble. One dark morning, when
matins were over, and the lamp in the oratory was ex-
tinguished, as he was lying prostrate on the steps of
St. Mary's altar, he felt a weight over all his limbs and
a choking sensation in his throat, which he ever attri-
buted to the evil spirit. For some time he was unable
to speak, but at last he shook off the impediment, and
cried upon St. Mary for help. This is but a specimen
of the attacks under which he suffered, and against

HERMIT AT FARNE, A. D. 1193. 147

which his only weapons were the sign of the cross and
the holy water, with which lie sprinkled his cell.

5. How Prior Thomas lived and died at Fame.

For five years did the hermit remain at Earne, the
only inhabitant of the island ; but events were taking
place at Durham which were to furnish him with a
companion in his hermitage. The Prior Laurence had
died in the meanwhile, and had been succeeded by
Prior Absolon, who had died also, and had left the dig-
nity to a brother of the monastery, named Thomas.
Up to this time internal peace seems to have reigned at
Durham, but now they had got a Bishop who seemed
anxious to be Bishop and Prior at once. The Priors
of Durham were great men indeed : when William of
Carilpho replaced the secular canons with lay monks of
St. Benedict, he gave the Prior all the ancient rights of
the dean and chapter, and many more besides. Many
fair manors and broad lands were then given to the
convent and carefully separated from the property of
the see. Over these the Prior had the rights of a feu-
dal baron, with Sak and Sok, Tol and Theam, and
Infangthief, and1 all the various powers which have to
our ears a most barbarous sound, but which neverthe-
less conveyed a most substantial privilege. Besides
which the Prior sat in a stall on the left hand side of
the choir, with all the rights of an Abbot ; he appointed
all the officials of the convent, and he officiated at the

1 Sok and Sak imply the right of holding a court, Tol, that
of levying tolls. Theatn that of restraining and judging bonds-
men. Infangthief, that of punishing a thief caught on one's
own fief.

148 ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

altars of the Cathedrals as in his own Church. But
though the Prior of Durham was a great man, the
Bishop was a greater, and a prelate now sate on the
throne who was disposed to make the most of his
authority. Hugh Pudsey had been vehemently opposed
by the Cistercian interest, that is, by Henry Arch-
bishop of York, and by St. Bernard, but on the death
of Eugenius had succeeded in obtaining the confirma-
tion of his election from his successor. He was a mag-
nificent prelate, and afterwards offered Richard to ac-
company him at the head of his own troops to the Holy
Land. The warlike monarch however preferred the
Bishop's money to his personal services, and left him
behind as High Justiciar of England. It should be
said, however, for Hugh Pudsey, that the monks do not
seem to have disliked, though they feared him; at
least he did not go so far as his successor, who turned
away the water courses of the monks, attempted to
force his way into the chapter, and all but plucked the
Prior down from the altar one feast of St. Cuthbert.2
However Hugh Pudsey seems to have reigned absolute
in the Abbey, and when the Prior Thomas opposed his
will, the monks were weak enough to allow him to be
deposed in direct violation of their original charter.
Thomas, weary of the bickerings and cabals among
which he had been living, determined to spend the rest
of his days in strict penitence at Fame.

The coming of this new inmate was a trial to Bar-
tholomew ; he had as yet been uncontrolled in his re-
ligious exercises, he had now to consult the comfort of
another. It was now to be proved whether he was so
wedded to his austerities as not to give up as many of

2 Angliu Sacra, vol. i. 728.

HEEMIT AT FA.ENE, A.D. 1193. 149

them as were shown to be against the will of God. He
began well, for he threw oif the hair shirt which he
had now worn for five years, because from long usage
it had become foul and fetid, and would disgust his
companion. An unhappy cause of discussion however
occurred, which marred the harmony even of this small
society. Thomas could not bear the long fasts to which
Bartholomew was accustomed, and Bartholomew would
not remain at his meals so long as Thomas wished.
The ex-Prior, though the brother in every respect gave
up to his will, grew angry and called him a hypocrite.
Bartholomew remained silent under his reproaches, but
could not wait to endure them ; he fled back to the
monastery of Durham, and the brethren were one day
astonished to see this strange figure rise up as it were
from the invisible world among them. Thomas imme-
diately recognized his fault, and bewailed the loss of
his companion with tears. It was not however till the
Prior entreated, and the convent commanded, and the
Bishop warned, that brother Bartholomew could be
prevailed upon to return to Fame. This affair was
however of use to both : Thomas learned to command
his temper, and Bartholomew also learned a lesson of
patience. From that day forth they lived together in the
greatest harmony. Another advantage was gained ;
the convent promised to supply them with a stock of
provisions and a suit of clothes every year, so that he
could now give alms and better supply the wants of his
friends the sailors from the produce of his own labour.
It is not known how long Thomas remained on the
island ; it is probable however that his weary pilgrim-
age was soon ended. The closing scene of it is all that
is recorded. A brother of the convent, who was pre-
sent, relates that while angels floated befores the eyes of

150 ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

the dying man, Bartholomew, who was watching by his
side, saw a foul and hideous monster crouching in a
corner of the room, and mourning over the future glory
of the soul which was passing away ; and it was some
time before he could drive it away with the holy water
which lav as usual near the bed of death.

6. How brother Bartholomew closed his days in peace.

The even tenor of a hermit's life does not admit of
much variety, and little remains to be told though he
lived in all forty-two years and six months on the
island. Towards the close of his life the invisible
world seems several times to have opened upon him in
visions. "William, a monk of Durham, related to Gal-
fridus, how in the dead of night he was reciting with
Bartholomew the office of the blessed Yirgin, when he
saw through the east window the sky shining with an
intense supernatural blaze, which lighted the whole of
the dark oratory. The same brother also related to
Galfridus a vision which he had heard from the her-
mit's lips. Bartholomew said that on the joyful night
of our Lord's nativity, after having said the midnight
mass, he had quitted St. Cuthbert's chapel to see if
morning had yet dawned upon the sea, and it was time
to begin the second mass ; on returning to the oratory
he was astonished to see at the altar a priest of a vene-
rable aspect in pontifical vestments ready to officiate.
In awe and wonder he drew near, and the priest went
through the Holy Sacrifice, and then vanished away
leaving on Bartholomew's mind the certainty that the
blessed Cuthbert had descended to officiate in the
chapel in which he had passed so many hours when on

HERMIT AT PARNE, A.D. 1193. 151

earth. All these things prepared the hermit to expect
his end, and he felt quite sure that he was to die, when
one night as he was watching in prayer, his bell rung
three times with a low and gentle sound, though no
human hand had touched it. Shortly after this, on
Ascension-day, 1193, he fell ill, though his disease
seems to have been old age rather than any other. He
told some of his visitors that his end was approaching,
and the brethren of Lindisfarne from that moment often
came to see him ; some monks of Coldingham whom he
especially loved, also came to visit him for the last time.
For seven weeks during which his illness lasted, he
neither ate nor drank. For many years before, he had
had no bed but the hard ground, and now he would not
allow one to be made, but remained in a sitting posture,
sometimes even rising and walking about. But what-
ever he did he was wrapt in prayer, and hardly spoke
at all. Shortly before he died, the brethren who were
standing around were frightened by strange and loud
noises on the roof, and one fancied that a shapeless
form had alighted on the ground, close behind him.
The servant of G-od roused himself, and said, " "Wretch,
what dost thou here ? thou hast lost thy labour, for
thou canst find nothing in me." The brethren asked
him where he would be buried ; he answered, " I
would have my body lie here, where I hope that my
spirit will be received by its Creator, and where I have
fought during a very little time for the Lord, and have
suffered many tribulations for that consolation which
is in heaven." On the feast of the Nativity of St. John
Baptist, he fell asleep in the Lord. As soon as his
soul had passed away, a brother of Lindisfarne dreamed
that Bartholomew was dead. He immediately aroused
the convent, and a party of monks at once manned a

152 ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

little vessel, and crossed the waters which separate
Earne from the Holy Island. When these hooded
sailors had brought their vessel into the little harbour?
they found that the brother had spoken truth. Bar-
tholomew was lying dead ; not far from him, they
found a stone coffin which he had some time before
procured. "When it had arrived, he had laid himself
down full length within it, and had found that it was
too short. With his own hands he then had chis-
elled out the stone till it was large enough to contain
his whole body. In this coffin which he had prepared,
they now laid him with many tears.3 He was buried
on the south side of the chapel, close to the fountain
which sprung from the earth at St. Cuthbert's prayers.
There his body probably still lies, forgotten and un-
known. The spirit however of the holy men who once
lived in Fame seems still to dwell there. It was on
Bartholomew's island that that Christian maiden lived
who not many years ago ventured her life to save the
crew of a shipwrecked vessel, and whom Glod has now
taken to Himself.

3 This last circumstance is mentioned in the Bodleian manu-
script before mentioned. The Bollandists unfortunately lost the
last pages of their manuscript, and therefore only copied the close
of the Saint's life from Capgrave. It should be added, that the
Bollandists mention several English martyrologies in which St.
Bartholomew is named on the 24th of June.

LIVES

THE ENGLISH SAINTS.

St. flauIinuB. St. ©stoitt.

St. etrtotn. St.

St. i^t^elfjurga. St.

St. ©stoaltr. St.

UANSCETI H^REDITABUNT TEKRAM, ET DELECTABUNTUR IX
MULTITUDINE PACIS.

LONDON:
JAMES TOOVEY, 192, PICCADILLY.

1844.

LONDON7 :

Printed by S. & J. BENTLEY, WILSON, and FLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane,

CONTENTS.

ST. PAULINUS, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, DIED 644 ... 1
ST. EDWIN, KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND, DIED 633 . . 21

ST. ETHELBURGA, QUEEN, DIED 633 43

ST. OSWALD, KING AND MARTYR, DIED 642 ... 49
ST. OSWIN, KING AND MARTYR, DIED 651 . . . .77
ST. EBBA, VIRGIN AND ABBESS, DIED 683 .... 105
ST. ADAMNAN, MONK OF COLDINGHAM, DIED 689 . . .119
ST. BEG A, VIRGIN AND ABBESS, DIED 650 . . . .135

THE LIFE OF

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, A.D. 644.

To the ecclesiastical scholar there is something mourn-
fully striking in the sight of a modern map of his
native country. Travelling northward from the metro-
polis, on the western side of the island, his eye runs
through an almost continuous chain of manufacturing
towns, the spiritual destitution of whose dense popula-
tion presents problems, both of a political and ecclesias-
tical kind, as difficult as they are distressing, and which
seem to stand out the more distinctly from the back-
ground of wealth, luxury, and refinement created by
these very multitudes. On this side there is little to
remind us of the labors of St. Chad or St. Wil-
frid. Whereas, if we look down the eastern shore of
England, the eye is still conducted pleasantly from one
holy home to another, always finding nigh at hand some
monument of old munificence, some beautiful relic of
catholic ages. Cambridge and Ely, Peterborough and
Lincoln, seem to afford resting-points to the eye between
London and York; and the view of that wonderful
minster rising far off above the woody level is most
grateful after the unsightly disorder of those huge towns,
which only seems to typify the moral disorder, the civil
discontent and religious discord of the people within.

2 ST. PAULINUS,

But we should be unearnest men indeed if the feelings
excited by such prospects rested in mere antiquarian
regrets, or were the parents of no worthier offspring
than a few architectural societies, through whose well-
meant labors catholic ceremonial might shoot far ahead
of catholic austerity, and so afford Satan a convenient
hold to frustrate the revival of catholic truth amongst
us. Rather we would hope by setting forth the deeds
of the old missionary monks and holy founders of these
glorious abbies to provoke our own generation to a godly
jealousy, and to plead the cause of our manufacturing
districts most effectually by adorning the memory of
those whose peaceful and conventual cities are after all
but so many witnesses of what the old Saints did against
difficulties hardly less than ours. And especially
the monastic character of the early Saxon Church, by
which the England of ancient times was subdued to the
Cross, may intimate to us that, however lawful it may
be in itself and, if so be, of primitive warrant, yet a
sturdier weapon than a married clergy can alone hope to
convert (for we may not use a milder word) the crowded
multitudes of modern England.

Such thoughts naturally come to mind when we pre-
pare to relate the acts of St. Paulinus of York. From
the persecution of Diocletian, during which the father
of Constantine died at York, we pass over the fortunes
of that famous city, till the Easter Sunday of 627, when
Paulinus baptized St. Edwin in his rude cathedral of
wood, which through the grateful care of that monarch
and the diligence of St. Oswald grew from its humble
beginnings, and after multiplied changes, additions, and
restorations, remains amongst us at this day, acknow-
ledged as one of the most exquisite ecclesiastical build-
ings of Christendom.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 3

The early history of St. Paulinus, before he was con-
nected with England, is told in few words. He was in
all probability a monk,1 and apparently of the same
house with St. Augustine of Canterbury. It was in the
first year of the seventh century that the English arch-
bishop sent his two ambassadors, Lawrence and Peter, to
plead with the holy father, St. Gregory, for fresh laborers
in the vineyard ; and, after a year's delay at Home, the
pope sent back the messengers accompanied by twelve
new apostles, many of whom were ordained to shine as
lights in the Saxon Church, and by holy living and holy
suffering to adorn the doctrine of God their Saviour in
all things. For among the twelve were Mellitus, Justus,
and Paulinus.

Their journey, if we may judge by the pope's com-
mendatory letters, partook of that irregularity which
characterized all travelling in religious ages, when
various shrines and places gifted with miracle attracted
the pilgrim to the right or left, especially when bound
on a difficult and perilous enterprise to extend the
Church of Christ. It would seem that these holy
monks (as we have ventured to assume that they were)
passed by Marseilles, through a portion of the diocese of
Tholouse, afterwards the scene of the great St. Dominic's
labors among the heretic Albigenses, up the Saone,
northward as far as Metz, and thence to Paris, where
they were commended to the pious hospitality of king
Clothaire, and Brunichildis, who had been formerly the
queenly hostess of Augustine. They arrived in Kent in
601, and appear to have been honorably received by the
good king Ethelbert, and his consort Adilberga, to both

1 Bum fuisse monachum probabile, at exploratum non est. — Malill.
Index SS. prcetermiss. in scec. Ben. ii.

4 ST. PAULINUS,

of whom the pope had written, comparing them respect-
ively to Constantine and Helena : though the personal
character of the Saxon king seems to have had more of
earnestness and sterling worth about it than that of the
great emperor. The comparison, perhaps, was meant for
the public rather than the private character of the king.
Truly the Church of Christ has antiquities of a more
touching sort than those which the regal succession of
any nation has to boast, even as her spiritual descent is
more unbroken. The very monastic house, from which
St. Gregory sent forth Augustine, and afterwards these
new fellow-laborers, still remains set apart for sacred
uses. With the Coliseum on its right and the gardens
of the Caesars on its left, and almost in view of the old
Church of St. Clement where the Pelagian heresy, the
offspring of a British monk, was formally condemned,
the same site is at this day occupied by the white-robed
Camaldolese. -There at this day the simple-mannered
and kind-hearted children of St. Romuald contemplate
in silent austerity the mysteries of the catholic faith,
while the solitary palm-tree on the hill close by stands
like a beacon in the garden of the Passionists, who pray
specially for England. From that same house of St.
Gregory, where his altar and his rude dormitory still
exist, the sixteenth Gregory has been raised to fill the
chair of St. Peter ; yet when he dwells in the lordly
Vatican, it is within the Saxon suburb of Rome, the
Borgo (Burgh) where the English pilgrims once resided,
and within which St. Peter's is included. Surely one
may dwell innocently on these little things, when our
isolation presses heavily upon us : it is a relief even for
the imagination to play with names and places which
testify conjointly of England and of catholic unity.
And we too are, in one sense, the children of that house,

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 5

for we are living on the labors of the monks who came
therefrom. Though fearful storms have swept by, and
the sacrilege of schism is in our ears and before our
eyes, we are struggling to maintain ourselves under the
shadow of the tree which they planted. Woe unto us
if we be not "watchful, and strengthen the things
which remain, that are ready to die," lest peradventure
our works be not " found perfect before God."

The next twenty-four years of Paulinus' life are in-
volved in obscurity. He disappears entirely from our
view, or to speak more wisely, is hidden with God, till
625. Yet it is not difficult to conjecture that his
days were spent in active toil for the Church, for he
lived among great deeds, and was an eyewitness of
many things which gave consistency and character to
the Saxon Church. The death of the great St. Gre-
gory would hardly be unfelt by the Kentish laborers.
The synod of Augustine's Oak drew a formal line be-
tween the British and the Saxon Christians. The con-
version of king Sebert, the building of Westminster
Abbey and St. Paul's, and the founding of Ely, the
erection of the see of Rochester, and the death of St.
Augustine, were all notable events which mark those
four-and-twenty years in the history of our Church.
But, if it was allowed to St. Paulinus to behold the
Church thus taking shape and gathering strength, and
doubtless himself to aid in the labor, there were darker
scenes of which he was also a witness. Whether
during that unhappy year after the apostacy of the
kings Paulinus retired with Justus and Mellitus, an
action which we do not know enough of to condemn,
(for those we should sit in judgment on were Saints,)
or whether he remained with St. Lawrence, we are not
told : but, at all events, on Eadbald's repentance he

6 ST. PAULINUS,

would without question be found in Kent, and during
the five years which succeeded he probably labored for
St. Lawrence.

There are few of the Saints in whose lives we do not
find some such unhistorical interval as this ; and, if it
makes no show on the pages of history, perhaps it may
generally have been the most momentous period of their
lives. Whether it has been spent in ascetic retirement
or outward conflict, it has often been the season of pro-
bation, the vigil of their Christian knighthood, on
which their whole future depended. Who knows what
combats pass in these mystic deserts, or what gifts are
won, communicating joy and health and sudden ala-
crity to the whole body of Christ ? St. Paul's days
were not wasted in Arabia : and, to venture further,
our Lord in St. Joseph's house was about His Heavenly
Father's business. To us moderns this peculiarity in
the lives of the Saints may suggest very wholesome
thoughts. It rebukes that restless temper which be-
gins by making all our good unsound, because it sets
up our own will rather than God's will as the rule
of the good we propose to do ; and ends by an irritable,
schismatical and carnal spirit of proselytism, and a
fretful course of duty self-imposed, because through
disuse it has lost all faith in its invisible weapons of
prayer and fasting and virginity for Christ's sake.
Yet this very characteristic of the Saints' lives is, like
most other things about them, singularly Christlike,
reminding us of that silent but pregnant interval of
eighteen years between His disputing with the doctors
and His baptism by St. John, which the Evangelist
comprehends in the one mystery of His obedience to
His two creatures, St. Mary and St. Joseph, an interval
wherein every day was full of actions which, because of

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 7

the Incarnation, were infinite humiliations, and each
one by itself, as Liguori says, therefore sufficient for the
redemption of the world.

It was in the year 625 that the ambassadors of king
Edwin, yet a pagan, arrived in Kent to demand of
king Eadbald the hand of his sister Ethelburga in
marriage. Tempting as was the offer, from Edwin's
fame and his spreading conquests, the Kentish mon-
arch replied that it was not lawful to give a Chris-
tian virgin in marriage to a heathen, lest the faith
and sacraments of the Heavenly King should be pro-
faned by the company of a king who knew not the
worship of the true God. Edwin was a man of no
common temper, and with the natural sympathy which
great minds have with high feelings took no offence
at the rough answer. He sent a second time to pro-
mise that he would take no steps against the Chris-
tian faith, but that he would grant to the princess,
her priests and her whole retinue, the free exercise of
their own religion, and that should the new faith be
found on examination holier and more worthy of God
he would himself embrace it. This reply was consi-
dered satisfactory. Eadbald and Ethelburga might
think it was a case to which the apostle's rule would
apply, that the believing wife should sanctify the un-
believing husband. Moreover, it would of course be
remembered by both of them that it was a woman
who had paved the way for the introduction of the
Gospel into Kent, and that by her marriage with an
unbeliever. And, doubtless, they acted under the ad-
vice of St. Justus, their spiritual pastor : he would
view it in the light of a means for amplifying the
Holy Church, and for such an end Ethelburga would
be willing to venture her worldly comfort by placing

8 , ST. PAULINUS,

herself in so difficult a position as that of a Christian
queen in a heathen court.

It now became the duty of St. Justus to fix upon some
new and worthy spiritual father, to whose care he should
commit the Kentish princess, to guide her along the dif-
ficult way which for Christ's sake she was prepared to
tread. He chose Paulinus, which would imply that he
had already perceived in him some eminent qualifica-
tions for positions of trust and difficulty. In compliance
with the recommendation of St. Gregory, given so far
back as 601, Paulinus was ordained bishop of York,
which see was to enjoy metropolitan honors. Of the
life and demeanor of Paulinus in the heathen court we
know next to nothing. But from what Bede says it
would appear that he did not confine himself to build-
ing up Ethelburga and her Christian attendants in their
most holy faith, but also labored zealously as a mission-
ary bishop. His labors at that time were not blessed
with any great success ; for while Bede testifies of him
that he labored long time in the word, yet he adds that
it fell out as the apostle said, " The god of this world
blinded the minds of them that believed not, lest the
light of the glorious Gospel of Christ should shine unto
them." It is probable, however, that the exertions of
Paulinus were silently bringing things into that mature
state, which afterwards made the conversion of the
Northumbrians almost national ; for the very language
used at the conference of Godmundingham implies that
the false religion had been for some length of time con-
fronted with the Gospel, so that room had been given
for a general scepticism to get root, and gain ground
even among the priests.

Meanwhile pope Boniface was not unmindful of his
office of universal bishop, nor inclined to neglect the

ARCHBISHOP OP YORK. 9

new church of St. Gregory's founding. In this same
year he addressed letters to Edwin and Ethelburga, both
of them noble compositions, and well deserving a place
in that magnificent collection of Christian documents,
the pontifical epistles.

It is not a little touching to contemplate the affec-
tionate earnestness of these two letters, and to reflect
upon the high sense of duty which prompted and sus-
tained so minute a vigilance over the interests of the
Gospel throughout the breadth of Western Christendom.
The marriages of the little kings of the Saxon hept-
archy, with its fluctuating policy and its shifting
boundaries, were not overlooked at Rome. " The piety
of Boniface," says Alford 2, " passed the Alps and ocean
that he might hasten the reward of faith in the northern
part of the island, and that the provincials of Alia,
whom Rome had erewhile seen in her forum, might have
a new commerce with the chief city. It was not there-
fore Gaul, it was not Spain, it was not Germany, it was
not the nearer inhabitants of Italy, who were anxious
for the salvation of the Northumbrians, for they1 had not
the bowels of a parent; but it was Rome, to whom
Christ had given the prefecture of His sheep in Peter
the chief. She, though more remote in place, yet by
the privilege of her dignity, 4by the necessity of her
office, and finally by the excellency of her love, was
nearer to us in this kind of affection. Hence the reader
may clearly understand who is the genuine mother of
this island, and to whom it owes the birth of faith, to
eastern Asia, or to western Rome. Truly, if she only,
in Solomon's judgment, was the mother, whose bowels
were moved, then this pious care lest Britain should

2 ii. 216. ed. Leod.

10 ST. PAULINUS,

perish shews that, not of Asia or of Greece, but of
Rome only ought we to say, ' She is the mother
thereof.' "

It was now the second year of Paulinus' residence at
the Northumbrian court. The interesting events of this
year and the following (627), so well known through
the touching narrative of St. Bede, belong rather to the
life of St. Edwin than of Paulinus, notwithstanding that
they are among the most important which befell the
holy bishop. The attempted murder of St. Edwin, the
queen's safe delivery on the night of Easter Sunday,
the king's victory over Quichelm, and the unlooked-for
fulfilment of a heavenly vision, as they chiefly illus-
trate the personal character of St. Edwin, so they are
related in his life. It is sufficient to say here, that the
infant princess Eanflede, with twelve of her family, were
the first-fruits of the Northumbrian mission, and were
baptized on Whitsunday in 626 ; and that on Easter
Sunday (627) king Edwin was himself baptized by
Paulinus in his wooden cathedral, dedicated to St. Peter.

The six years which intervened between the baptism
and the death of St. Edwin were in a Christian point of
view most important to the north of England. It would
seem as though the king made continual progresses
through his dominions, taking Paulinus with him, and
lending to his missionary labors the support of his
presence and favor. First, going northward, we hear of
the bishop being compelled to stop six-and-thirty days
at one place in Northumberland, catechising the new
converts, and baptizing them in the river Glen, near the
village of Yeverin, where Edwin had a country-seat.
But it would seem from the narrative of Bede that he
reaped a yet greater harvest in Yorkshire itself, where
the pure and beautiful river Swale was his font, in whose

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 11

rocky pools near Catterick Bridge, anciently Cataract,
he baptized great multitudes of the Deiri, turning them,
according to St. Gregory's prediction, from the wrath of
God (de ira Dei). At Campodunum, where Edwin's
palace stood, Paulinus built a church of stone, which was
burnt by the pagans who killed St. Edwin. It was
dedicated to St. Alban, for England had Christian anti-
quities even to the companions of St. Augustine ; and
Camden speaks of the black burnt appearance of the
stones remaining in his day.

The conversion of the East Saxons and their king
Eorpwald was brought about by the pious industry of
Edwin, and seems to have taken place no long time3
after his baptism. But the year after was marked by a
still more signal success attending the preaching of
Paulinus, in the conversion of Blecca, the governor of
Lincoln, and the introduction of the Gospel into the
parts south of the Humber. At Lincoln he built an-
other church of stone, of beautiful workmanship, which
was roofless in Bede's time, but visited by the faith-
ful because of the power of miracle which resided
there. From Lincolnshire the holy bishop extended
his missionary labors into Nottinghamshire, baptizing
great multitudes in the river Trent, and consecrating a
church to our blessed Lady at Southwell.4 And thus
our Saint became the father of three famous ecclesias-
tical buildings, which have come down to our times,
the cathedrals of York and Lincoln, and the mins-
ter of Southwell.

3 Father Cressy however puts it under 632, after Alford ; yet the
narrative of Bede would seem to bring it nearer to Edwin's baptism,
and as if in the fervor of his recent conversion.

4 It is Camden's conjecture that the Tiovulfingacestir of Bede was
Southwell.

12 ST. PAUL:

The new church at Lincoln, even in its infancy, wit-
BCWed a scene of no little interest in English church
history, the consecration of Honoring Arch hi shop of
Canterbury, by St. Paulinus. It seems scarcely possible
in the conflict of authorities to settle in what yea/ this
took place. Baronius is clearly right in saying that the
pall was not sent to Paulinus before 033 : and, appa-
.y for the mere purpose of avoiding a difficulty,
Harpgfield, Parker and Godwin fix the death of St.
-; to 034 ; but, as appears from the pope's !<
. Edwin in 633, Honoring was already Archbishop
anterbury, and the pall is sent to the two arch-
bishops at once. Justus died, according to the
prohable account, in 628, and without supposing a va-
cancy of five years, it seems to agree better with the
geveral narratives to fix the consecration of Honorius to
620 : and either the original instructions from Korne,
on which St. Justus acted in consecrating Paulinus, or
fresh commands sent on the death of St. Justus, may have
warranted Paulinus in consecrating Honorius, arid the
pope's formal rule in 633, that when either of the arch-
bishops returned to his Maker the survivor should or-
dain another in his room, may have been rather provid-
ing for a difficulty already experienced than a mere rule
enacted for the first time, and apart from circumstances,
•ion of the date may stand, the

fact is undoubted that the first Archbishop of York
eonfecrated the fifth Archbishop of Canterbury in the
new and beautiful stone church of Lincoln.

How briefly, and almost abruptly, does history ap-
pear to sum up in its straightforward narrative the
work of six K . \ monks, accustomed to

••vhat we should think the dry th<; Mar-

tyrology read during their i: .1. the list of names

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 13

and places and simple facts could supply ample matter
for devotional meditation. The mould in which the
lives of all the Saints is cast, notwithstanding an appa-
rently infinite diversity, is, after all, one and the same,
the likeness of their Lord; and to men whoso thoughts
were conversant with that all day, each fact in the
Martyrology was, so to speak, a key to itself: it opened
out long trains of mingled thought and prayer, and cast
the reader and the hearer more completely into the
times and position of the Saint than lahored accuracy
of description or animation of style could possihly do.
To us, unfortunately, the connection between our own
days and those of the Saints has been rudely sundered ;
and there is a romance about the past which goes far to
destroy the real application of its ensamples to ourselves.
Yet let an\ one, by a steady effort, realize to himself the
rough, tiresome, commonplace difficulties which Paulinus
had to overcome in evangelizing our northern counties,
the rudeness of the times, the ignorance of the people,
the inveteracy of their superstitions, their cold a ml unini-
pre>sivo temper so discouraging to a hot-hearted Roman,
the want of elergy, the absence of all the consolations
which a missionary derives either from the splendid ce-
remonial of the rhurch, or in these days from rapid
eommunieation with the faithful in other parts. Those,
ami a host of others whieh these suggest, eould only be
overeoiuo by the single minded energy of earnest faith ;
and if multitudes, almost whole towns, exist now in
those same northern counties to be rescued either from
the delusions of schism, or even a neglected state of
heathenism, the example of Paulinas may be of service
to ourselves. A modern priest in a modern parish is
first startled and (hen disheartened by the complicated
errors of doctrine and discipline, and the end mosiK i-

14 ST. PATJLINUS,

that lie becomes entangled in some part of the vicious
system round him, and, as though the world's eye
paralysed him, learns to acquiesce in the wretched, low
views and principles which prevail about him. Now
however seemingly different his outward position is,
nevertheless it is substantially the same with that of a
missionary ; and faith in the Church system, even the
little faith which he has, brings about changes which
surprise himself. But they who are tied to the world
are tied to the times, and the doctrine that this or that
is unfit for these times eats out the very heart of faith.
Hence it is that the most successful missionaries have
generally been monks. Monks do not believe in the
world • its ways do not fetter them ; its example does
not overawe them. They do what we should call odd
unpractical things, and, strange to say ! these very
things succeed through the hearty good-will with which
they are pushed forward; while the more intelligible
discretion of their contemporaries receives the admira-
tion of the world, and bequeaths nothing to posterity.
Their singularity, like Samson's lock, appears to contain
their strength.

Unlike the labors of many of the missionary Saints,
the toils of St. Paulinus do not seem to have been
accompanied, so far as we know, by any copious dis-
play of miraculous power ; at least not in any such
way as to have come strikingly forward to account
for the great success of his preaching. The conversion
of St. Edwin did certainly involve a supernatural know-
ledge of past circumstances ; and the way in which
St. Bede mentions the fame of the ruined walls of
Lincoln Church, as gifted with a miraculous influence,
would lead one to connect it with Paulinus.

But the time of his labors in the north was fast

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 15

drawing to a close. A rebellion, for so it is termed
by Bede, broke out against St. Edwin, headed by Cad-
walla, the savage king of the Britons, whose Christian
profession seems only to have exasperated him the more
against the Saxons, and Penda, a man of the Mercian
blood royal, and an idolater. A battle took place at
Heathfield, near the banks of the Don : it was fatal to
St. Edwin, who was slain there, and extremely disas-
trous to the Church ; for it would appear as though it
led to a complete persecution of the Northumbrian
Christians. One would have imagined that Paulinus
would have remained with his church, specially where
there seemed so good a chance of winning the crown
of martyrdom, for which the Saints in all ages were
athirst. This, however, was not the case. Reverting
to his first office of guardian of Ethelburga, he took
ship under the escort of Bassus, one of St. Edwin's most
valiant warriors, and sailed into Kent. We have not
enough information left us to decide upon the grounds
of his retiring from the persecution. We know from the
position he afterwards held in Kent that he was fully
justified in what he did, and that his contemporaries
saw nothing in his conduct inconsistent with his sanc-
tity ; and of course, as in the case of the patriarchs of
the Old Testament, we should in every instance fear to
pass a censure upon any one whom the veneration of
catholics has canonized. The question of courting or
shunning persecution was, we know, debated very early •
and undoubted Saints in quite primitive times adopted
opposite lines of action. The example of our Blessed
Lord would seem on the whole to favor the shunning of
persecution : yet as the Spirit drove Him into the wil-
derness to be tempted, and as another time He set His
face stedfastly to go up to Jerusalem, so doubtless the

16 ST. PAULINUS,

inward illumination of His Spirit guides His Saints
both when they advance and when they retire, as is so
beautifully exemplified in the lives of St. Polycarp and
St. Cyprian.

We must, therefore, follow Paulinus into Kent, not
without casting a wistful and curious eye upon the de-
serted see of York, and the young Northumbrian church.
History, however, is grudging of its materials : there
is the good and holy James, the deacon of Paulinus,
who was seen helping his bishop to baptize the mul-
titudes in the Trent, he is still on the banks of the
Swale by Catterick bridge, catechising and baptizing
in spite of the persecution, " an ecclesiastical man and
a holy, abiding long time in the church' of York,
and rescuing much prey from the old enemy." His
is the only figure visible on the scene ; and yet a very
interesting one ; for the good deacon was a sweet singer
too, and he was permitted to see peace restored to his
church ; and then, a delightful task ! he taught the
Yorkshiremen to sing as they did at Rome and Can-
terbury, till at last he was very old j and then he fol-
lowed the way of his forefathers : and the labors and
the sufferings and the good deeds of James, the deacon
of Paulinus, are hidden with Christ in God.

Thus Paulinus, after his eight years in the north,
is now in Kent again ; and we may be sure he was
welcome to Honorius, whom he had consecrated himself
at Lincoln ; and we may be sure, too, that he had
done what was right and holy in leaving York, for it
chanced that when he came into Kent the see of
Rochester was vacant ; Romanus, the bishop, being
drowned in the Mediterranean while on an embassy
to Rome. St. Honorius therefore requested Paulinus,
or rather, as Bede says, invited him, and king Eadbald

ARCHBISHOP OF YOEK. 17

seconded the invitation, to take charge of the widowed
church of Rochester • for there was no controversy yet
between the crosses of Canterbury and York : the
ages of the Church when crosses struggled for prece-
dence were yet to come, and bad as they were, com-
pared with what had been, they were better a good deal
than ages when crosses were put by altogether, because
the world had settled all controversy between Canter-
bury and York by taking the precedence itself.

So Paulinus mounted the throne of Rochester ; and
as before he had labored twenty-four years in Kent in
silence and obscurity, so far as history can tell, he now
labors in the same parts again for eleven years, edifying
and consolidating the Kentish church, we know not how,
till in 644 he passed to heaven, "with the fruit of his
glorious labor," and, like the prophet, bequeathed
nothing but his mantle, the first pall of York, which he
left to the church of Rochester.

He does not seem to have been always resident at
Rochester ; perhaps he exercised episcopal superintend-
ence in other parts, as a kind of spiritual vicar. For it
appears that he lived for a considerable time at Glaston-
bury, where he caused the wattled walls of the old
church to be taken down, and built up from the ground
of solid timber, and covered with lead. Indeed Paulinus
seems to have been a great church-builder, raising and
adorning the material fabric no less than building up
the edifice of holy souls. This wooden church of Grlas-
tonbury remained as Paulinus left it, till it was burned
down in the reign of Henry the First.

He died on the 10th of October, and was buried in
the sacristy of the blessed apostle 'St. Andrew at
Rochester. And we read (Capgrave ap. Cressy) that,
when Gundulph was bishop of Rochester, Lanfranc

18 ST. PAULINTJS,

took down the old church, and taking up the bones of
St. Paulinus put them into a chest. There was present
at this ceremony a woman grievously afflicted in body,
and with her conscience burdened with a certain sin. At
the sepulchre she vowed that, if by the merits of Pauli-
nus God would free her from her disease, she would
never again commit the sin of which she had been
guilty ; whereupon she was immediately healed.

Do we seem to have but little to say of so famous a
Saint, and he too the first archbishop of York, and the
apostle of Northumberland? Do not let us think
this : think what our island was in the first half of the
seventh century : this good man left the quietness and
the glory, the examples and the ceremonies of Rome,
and labored forty and three years for us English : forty
and three years, let us count them out, and dwell on
them in love, for it was not little which he did, witness
York and Lincoln and Southwell ; and though the Trent
and the Swale and the Glen have flowed on and changed
their waters many times, yet the souls regenerated in
them are, in goodly sheaves we trust, laid up in the
earner of the Lord. Therefore let us bless the memory
of Paulinus, not only for the eight years' labor which we
know of, but for the struggles and the toils of the silent
thirty-five. Thus is it ever with the Saints : what we
know of them is but a sample of what they were ;
bunches of the grapes of Eschcol, brought out by the
Holy Church for the wonder and veneration of her sons.

It is singular that such labors as those of Paulinus
should have been so little illustrated by the working of
miracles ; and it is disappointing that no traits should
have been recorded of his personal character which
might have brought him nearer to us, who cannot even
see the cross which Camden saw at Dewsbury on the

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 19

Calder, with the brief but sufficient inscription, Pauli-
nus hie prsedicavit et celebravit. When we look back,
all we see is what the old man saw who spoke with
Deda abbot of Peartney, a Bishop at noonday on the
banks of the Trent, very tall, with somewhat of a stoop,
black hair, an emaciated face, a very thin and aquiline
nose, with something both venerable and awe-inspiring*
in his aspect j and that was St. Paulinus of York bap-
tizing the Nottinghamshire men.

THE LIFE OF

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND, A.D. 633.

MOST beautiful is the diversity in the lives of the Saints.
Some shine apart, like single stars discerned through the
clouds of a troubled night, while others gather in mani-
fold constellations, touching one upon another in a line
of shapely splendor across the sky, both equally, though
in different ways, illustrating our Lord's gracious pro-
mise that He would be with His Church to the end of
time. And, if in writing the lives of single Saints it is
hard to keep the biography from running into a gene-
ral history of the age, so with a cluster of Saints, living
with and acting upon each other, it is hard to make the
account of one complete without forestalling and bor-
rowing from another. Thus in the life of St. Paulinus
we have already virtually included much of the life of
Edwin, and in the life of Edwin we must in like manner
almost complete the life of his holy consort St. Ethel-
burga.

There is, however, in Edwin a very strongly marked
personal character, much beyond what is common in the
lives of Saints of whose inward conflicts we know so
little ; and this will give an interest to the narrative of
quite a different kind from that which engages our at-
tention to the life of St. Paulinus, In the one case it

22 ST. EDWIN,

is the building up of an infant church, the beginnings
of what was afterwards famous and magnificent : in the
other it is the temper, the character, the actions, the
changeful fortunes of the Saint himself.

Alia, the king of the Deiri, died in 589, leaving an
infant son, three years old. This infant was St. Edwin,
in whom was fulfilled the prophecy of St. Gregory that
Alleluias should soon be sung in the kingdom of Alia.
Of course it was not likely in those times that an infant
should take quiet possession of his hereditary throne, if
indeed the Saxon thrones of that day could be called
hereditary at all. Ethelfrid, the cruel king of the Ber-
nicians, usurped the throne of Alia, and constituted
himself the guardian of the young child. Without as-
suming any unusually rigorous treatment on the part of
Ethelfrid, it is obvious that the position which Edwin
occupied in his court would be likely to try and bring
out the powers of his character, and, being a school of
suffering, to form him in virtue and fit him for great
things. The child grew up, eminent for virtues and
winning graces, and so gained upon the affections of all
that as he grew to man's estate he became an object of
fear and jealousy to Ethelfrid. Meanwhile he married
Quenburga, the daughter of Ceorl the Mercian king.
This possibly added to his influence, for soon after Ethel-
frid upon some false charge or other banished Edwin
from his court, notwithstanding that Ethelfrid's own
queen was Acca, Edwin's sister, through which marriage
the tyrant had probably wished to give some appearance
of legitimate right to his usurpation.

Under whatever irksome restraints Edwin had lived
in the court, his life now became one of great suffering,
want, and danger, which the company of Quenburga
and his solicitude for her safety would greatly enhance.

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 23

He lived in constant dread of assassination, and kept
moving from place to place, disguised in a peasant's
dress, until at length he threw himself upon the genero-
sity of Redwald, the king of the East Angles, by whom
he was hospitably and even royally entertained ; and it
was probably in the court of Redwald that his sons
Offrid and Edfrid were born, and that their mother
Quenburga died. His conduct while at the East An-
glian court was such as to spread his fame all over the
island, and it is said that reading shared with martial
exercises all his leisure hours : though kings' courts
were not the common homes for students in the seventh
century. Of course his growing renown would make
him still more an object of jealous hatred to the usurper
Ethelfrid, who employed spies and assassins to take
him off. By some means or other Edwin baffled his
persecutor, till Ethelfrid came to the resolution of send-
ing a messenger to Redwald to buy his guest. Redwald
rejecting the odious offer, Ethelfrid menaced him with
war, and ultimately so won upon the fears of Redwald
that he consented to betray a single stranger rather than
bring his whole kingdom into trouble. By the change
in Redwald's demeanor Edwin perceived that something
was wrong, for persecution and living in the midst of
enemies had greatly quickened his suspicions, and had
bred in him a caution which is afterwards very percep-
tible in the matter of his conversion, yet wholly unac-
companied with coldness, as caution mostly is in base
natures. Meanwhile a friend of Edwin's discovered the
secret treaty made between Ethelfrid and Redwald ; and
coming into his chamber just as he was retiring to bed,
in the first hour of the night, he informed him of his
danger, saying, "If you wish, I will this very hour
take you out of the province, and lead you into places

24 ST. EDWIN,

where neither Ethelfrid nor Redwald shall be able to
find you." But amid persecution Edwin had not learned
distrust. He answered, "Truly I am obliged to you
for your good intentions ; but I cannot do what you
suggest, and be the first to break the covenant which I
have entered into with so great a king, seeing he has
done me no ill yet, nor shown me any unfriendliness.
Rather, if I must die, let him, sooner than a more
ignoble person, deliver me to death. And indeed
whither shall I fly, when for so many years I have gone
as a vagabond through every province of Britain to
evade the snares of my enemies?"

When his friend had left him, Edwin went forth and
sat down sorrowful before the palace, perplexed with
opposite thoughts, and at a loss what to do or which
way to turn. He was probably by this time a widower,
and that bereavement may have added to the natural
pensiveness and hesitation which belonged to his cha-
racter, and so long delayed his acceptance of the Gospel.
It is scarcely possible we should not hear of his queen
afterwards, if she had not died before this ; and in-
deed, in his answer to his friend, mingling with a noble
trust and a resolution to abide honorably by his pro-
mise, we may discover something of a broken spirit.
Now, putting aside the Gospel, it is plain that in the
world's acceptation of the term Edwin was no common
man. Cradled in adversity, tried by the hourly irk-
someness and petty rigors and disquieting restraints of
Ethelfrid's court, proved yet more fiercely by the hard-
ships of wandering and poverty, quietly dedicating his
time to study, rather than either seeking his throne
through busy schemes and plottings or burying his
griefs in merriment and dissipation when harbored in
the court of Redwald, and, when the dark cloud came

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 25

over him, keeping his honor, giving way to sadness
rather than anger, a sadness too, as his whole life tes-
tifies, no way akin to cowardice, the Northumbrian
prince shone forth with virtues almost above a heathen.
There had been to him a sanctification in suffering,
even before he found the Cross ; and suffering, because
it had not wrought in him selfishness and meanness
and a low cunning, had wrought nobleness and tender-
ness and a trust in others.

The use he had made of God's dispensations, like the
alms and prayers of the unregenerate Cornelius, earned
him a further grace, though the great grace was still
deferred. While he sat, in anguish of mind and with a
half unsettled purpose, before the palace of Kedwald
in the dark night, God looked down upon His creature
whom he had ordained as a chosen instrument through
whom to give the Cross to the Englishmen of the north.
Suddenly there was a silence in the night, or something
in the silence of an unwonted sort, which riveted his
attention, and through the darkness he saw a person
approach him, whom he knew not, and whose appear-
ance for some reason or other, perhaps the instinctive
knowledge and feeling of an unearthly presence, alarm-
ed him not a little. The stranger drew near, and salut-
ing him, asked him wherefore he sat wakeful upon the
stone at an hour when others were in deep sleep. Edwin
with the abruptness of a startled person said it was
nothing to him, whether he chose to pass the night in
the palace or out of doors. The stranger answered •.
" Think not that I am ignorant of the cause of thy
sadness and watching, and thy sitting here alone and
out of doors. I know most surely who thou art, and
wherefore thou grievest, and what ills thou fearest are
nigh falling upon thee. But tell me, what reward

26 ST. EDWIN,

wouldst thou give the man, if one there be, who
shouldst free thee from these anxieties, and persuade
Redwald neither to injure thee himself, nor deliver thee
to thine enemies to be slain." Edwin replied that
he would give all that he possessed to any one who
should confer such a benefit upon him ; whereupon
the stranger said, " And what if he promise thee of a
surety that thou shalt be a king, and overcome thine
enemies, so that thou shalt excel in power not only
all thine own ancestors, but even all those who have ever
been kings in England 1 " Edwin, recovering his self-
possession during these interrogations, promised without
hesitation to reward most worthily any one who should
confer such benefits upon him. Then the stranger for
the third time said, " If however he, who foretelleth
thee such and so great goods as really about to come,
can likewise counsel thee better and more wisely about
thy life and salvation than any of thine ancestors or
relations ever heard, wilt thou consent to obey him, and
to follow his salutary admonitions 1 " Again Edwin
unhesitatingly promised that he would follow in all
things the teaching of the person who should from his
present low estate raise him to a throne. When the
prince had thus answered, the stranger laid his right
hand on his head, saying, " When this sign shall be
given unto thee, remember this hour and this discourse,
and delay not to fulfil what thou hast now promised."
Having uttered these words the stranger, whether it
were an Angel of the Most High, or the spirit of a just
man sent on that gracious embassy, disappeared so
immediately as to convince the prince that he had
held converse with some spiritual being.

Meanwhile God was making use of human instru-
ments to bring about what his messenger had foretold.

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 27

Redwald had communicated to his queen the secret
agreement which he had made with Ethelfrid ; but she,
equally anxious for the honor of her royal husband
and the safety of her guest, persuaded the king to
abandon a design so unworthy of himself. Edwin was
still sitting pensive and doubting, before the palace,
when the same friend, who had warned him at night-
fall, found him and gave him the welcome information
of the change wrought in Redwald's purpose through
the intercession of the queen. Ethelfrid, enraged at
the failure of his design, fulfilled his threat, and made
war on Redwald, who indeed had sent a personal
defiance to Ethelfrid, as soon as he had abandoned his
first dishonorable intention : so short is the passage
between a sinful purpose half formed, and what a man
fancies is righteous indignation against his tempter !
In this contest Edwin was no mean ally, for his prowess
in riding and throwing the lance are specially men-
tioned among the causes of Ethelfrid's first jealousy
against him. Redwald, scarcely giving the usurper
time to muster his forces, gave him battle on the
banks of the Idle in Nottinghamshire. Ethelfrid be-
haved with singular bravery, and with his own hand
slew Rainer, the son of Redwald ; this loss so exas-
perated the king of the East Anglians that, redoubling
his efforts, he became master of the field. Ethelfrid
was slain on the spot, and Edwin recovered his throne ;
while by the death of Rainer he likewise became heir
to Redwald. Oswald and Ebba, the children of Ethel-
frid, fled from the country, fearing the anger of their
uncle Edwin, whose sister Acca was their mother. This
battle is usually placed in the year 617, when Edwin
was about thirty-one years old.

Edwin was not a likely person to forget the super-

28 ST. EDWIN,

natural vision, and the covenanted sign; much was
fulfilled already, but there was more to come, and with
his pensive disposition he doubtless pondered it often
in his heart. Meanwhile his career of conquest began,
and his fame was spread all round. In 620 he reco-
vered the south-western parts of Yorkshire and the
country about Leeds from Cadwan the king of the
Britons, who had taken it, together with most of the
modern diocese of Ripon, from Ethelfrid. In 621 he
took advantage of a quarrel between Ferquhard, the
Pictish king, and his nobles, and gained a considerable
accession of territory. In the next year he made him-
self master of the islands of Anglesey and Man. In
624 Redwald died, and the people, passing over his son
Erpenwald, offered their crown to Edwin. Edwin seems
to have behaved towards Erpenwald with a generosity
not common in those times, but worthy of his own
noble character. He made himself lord paramount of
the East Anglian kingdom, but left to Erpenwald the
insignia of royal power. And now he assumed the title
of Sovereign of the English nation, which Ethelbert
had borne before. Thus rapidly and completely were
the words of the heavenly messenger accomplished.
The exile at the palace door at dead of night in seven
short years is, and not by empty title only, Sovereign
of the English nation : " for promotion cometh neither
from the east nor from the west, nor yet from the south.
And why 1 Grod is the Judge ; He putteth down one,
and setteth up another :" and Edwin was a chosen
vessel in His hands for the welfare of our dear country.
Edwin was now resting from his conquests j and it
seemed natural for a powerful monarch to wish to con-
solidate his kingdom, and to ally himself with another
regal house. The resolution was natural, yet God was

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 29

working in it ; and through it the Divine purpose was
secretly advancing towards its gracious end. In 625 it
was that Edwin sent his ambassadors into Kent to de-
mand of Eadbald his sister Ethelburga in marriage.
The first repulse which Edwin met with neither angered
nor discouraged him. He was not one to esteem a
bride the less highly because she preferred the dictates
of conscience to a splendid alliance, or the honor of
her God to her own aggrandizement. As we have seen
in the life of St. Paulinus, consent was ultimately
given, and St. Paulinus himself came with the royal
virgin to preserve and build up the queen and her
Christian attendants in their most holy faith. This
marriage took place in the eighth year of the
reign of pope Boniface the fifth, and in that same
year he wrote both to Edwin and St. Ethelburga.
In his letter to the king he dwells upon the in-
comprehensibility of the Godhead, and holds up
for Edwin's imitation the conversion of Eadbald his
brother-in-law. He exhorts him to rid himself of idle
and hurtful superstitions, but to take upon himself the
sign of the Cross, and not to refuse to listen to the
preachers of the Gospel ; and finally he presents him
with a shirt with a single gold ornament upon it, and
a garment of Ancyra, together with the blessing of the
prince of the Apostles. This letter can hardly have
failed to make a deep impression upon a mind so seri-
ous as Edwin's. The selfish, unzealous indifference of
polytheism is notorious : the love of souls is a grace ex-
clusively belonging to the Church of Christ. What
then must Edwin have thought of the vast power of
faith and the intense charity which such a phenomenon
as the papacy presented to the eye of a heathen ? Rome
had no interest in the matter. Here was no priesthood

30 ST. EDWIN,

to aggrandize, as men coarsely and stupidly speak, here
were no revenues to be received, no secular claims to
establish, no ambition to satisfy. On the very face of it
Christianity came to the heathen as something so differ-
ent from the manifold forms of false religion round
them, as to arrest attention and engage enquiry • and
it was the mysterious interest which the Roman bishop
took in their conversion which was the most outward
and striking characteristic of the new religion. It per-
plexed them ; and their perplexity led them on ; and
this would not be lost upon one like Edwin.

Still he delayed. There was none of that greedy
credulity, of that facile acquiescence, of mental weak-
ness overawed by the tremendous doctrines of the Gos-
pel, of an unreasoning appetite for prodigies, which
people now-a-days believe made up the characters of the
old Saints. On the contrary there is something quite
striking, indeed one might almost say unaccountable,
in the long hesitation of Edwin, and in the intellectual
way (to use a modern word) in which he set about
his enquiry. There is nothing on the face of the his-
tory which adequately explains it j for his whole life
goes against the supposition of anything like a cold
temperament or a distrusting heart. Rather one may
conjecture the cause to have been this : that he was
a very pious heathen, a religious man as far as he knew
and believed, one who had sought consolation in reli-
gious observances during his long troubles, and whose
thoughts from the pressure of circumstances had been
a good deal turned towards the invisible world. This
would agree with all we know of him, and explain what
is the most difficult point in his character. For to a
man who first reads the history of Edwin's conversion
there will mostly come a feeling of disappointment at

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 31

the protracted hesitation and apparent indifference
which he exhibited. But if our conjecture be true that
he had been what men call a bigoted, that is, a sincere
religionist in his dark way, even the wretched obser-
vances of his false faith would, and rightly, have no
small value in his sight ; and, as he did not hold them
cheap, he would not lightly abandon them. Supposing
this to be the case, it is obvious that the daily quiet
example of his Christian consort, and the eminent vir-
tues of St. Paulinus, would help on his conversion more
than miracles or startling Providences. He was not
ready for them yet : doubtless the preparation of his
heart had been long going on before St. Paulinus gave
him the sign of the heavenly vision.

The growth of Edwin's power had not been observed
by his neighbours without envy and disquietude, which
led in 626 to an atrocious attempt on his life, on
the part of Quichelm the king of the West Saxons.
He sent to Edwin a messenger of the name of Eumer,
who found the king at Aldby on the Derwent, not far
from York. While he pretended to be doing homage,
the assassin suddenly drew a poisoned dagger from
under his garment, and fell upon the king. Lilla,
Edwin's favorite minister, threw himself between his
master and Eumer, and the weapon passed through his
body, making even a slight wound in Edwin's flesh ;
and it was not until he had slain Forthhere, one of the
king's soldiers, that the murderer was slain himself.
This narrow escape was on Easter Sunday. It happened
that St. Ethelburga was at that time pregnant and near
to her delivery, and the shock bringing on the pains
of travail 1 she was that night delivered of a daughter

1 Such is the way in which Bede's narrative is usually taken ; both

32 ST. EDWIN,

named Eanflede. Edwin, in the presence of St. Paulinus,
returned thanks to his false gods for the queen's safe
delivery ; but the Saint boldly affirmed the blessing
to have been an answer to some special prayers of his.
The Bishop's life had been such as to clear him from
any suspicion of craft or untruth, and his words made
a deep impression on the king. It is said that Edwin
took pleasure in his words, and promised that he would
renounce his idols and serve Christ, if, as a sign, vic-
tory was accorded to him over the base Quichelm,
and, as a present earnest, he delivered the infant prin-
cess to St. Paulinus to be consecrated to Christ. She,
with twelve others of her family, was baptized on the
following Whitsunday, to the joy of Paulinus and the
great consolation of St. Ethelburga.

At Whitsuntide the king, being recovered of his
wound, notwithstanding the poison in which the blade
had been dipped, marched ^against the West Saxons,
and by God's help utterly subdued his enemies. Yet
not even then did he perform the promise which he
had given to St. Paulinus.2 A change of religion seem-
ed a grave matter even to a conscientious heathen. He
did not forget or neglect his promise, but he made
Paulinus instruct him in the Christian faith on the one
hand, while on the other he conferred with the wisest
persons of his court on this momentous subject. The
natural pensiveness of his disposition showed itself very

Alford and Cressy take it so, but Alban Butler makes the birth of the
daughter to have been on Easter Eve, which suits Bede's word pepe-
rerat much better, and what he says afterwards of the easy delivery.

2 The quo tempore of Bede would seem to imply that the letters of
pope Boniface came during Edwin's suspense after his victory over
Quichelm : but the victory was in 626, and that was the first year of
the pontificate of Honorius.

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 33

strongly ; for not content to be instructed and to hold
conferences, he withdrew a great deal from public, and
sat by himself for long together in silent conflict. Per-
haps what he had seen in the court of Redwald was a
stumbling-block in his way, and had done an injury
to the cause of Christ in Edwin's mind. For Redwald
had himself received the sacrament of regeneration in
Kent, but on his return to his own country was seduced
from the faith, and in the darkness of his mind pro-
fessed both the Gospel and idolatry at once, having a
temple wherein was one altar to Christ, and a " small "
one, a characteristic difference, whereon to sacrifice to
devils. This would of course bring about a very wretch-
ed state of things among the East Saxons, and would
be not unlikely to take from the majestic and imposing
appearance of the Gospel in Edwin's mind, even when
it was afterwards brought before him as it really is in
itself. The heavenly vision, also, would doubtless be con-
tinually in his mind during these silent retirements and
lonely meditations. The oracle had been amply ful-
filled in all that was promised to temporal dignity and
extended sway ; what was there in the circumstances
about him which might be a fulfilling of the part which
spoke of salvation 1 What had come nigh him or gather-
ed round him, apart from his increased dominions and
magnificence 1 A Christian queen, a handful of Kent-
ish believers, an Italian bishop — what were these to
the Northumbrian king ? What place had they in the
designs of Heaven 1 Were they connected with the
vision 1 Truly Edwin had need to sit alone and be
silent : he was in the hand of God j the shadow of the
Cross fell upon his very hearth, and he was beginning
to perceive it.

But now the hour of grace was come. Whether it

D

34 ST. EDWIN,

were that some prayer of perplexity was that moment
offered up, we know not : but while he sat alone, and
pondered the new religion, the vision came and found
him out. St. Paulinus entered, laid his right hand on
his head, and guided by divine inspiration, asked him
if he knew that sign. Edwin recognized the token ;
he trembled like an aspen leaf, and would have fallen
down at the bishop's feet. But the holy man raised
him up, and with an encouraging manner addressed him
thus ; " See, you have by God's assistance escaped the
enemies whom you feared ; behold, you have through
His bounty received the kingdom which you desired.
Take heed that you delay not that third thing which
you promised, namely, to embrace the faith and keep
the commandments of Him who hath out of temporal
distresses raised you to a temporal kingdom, and who
will also free you from the perpetual torments of evil
and make you partaker with Himself of His heavenly
kingdom, provided only you henceforth conform your-
self to His will, which I preach to you." Edwin re-
plied that he was ready at once to submit to the faith
of Christ, which the bishop taught.

But it seemed a small thing to him, after all his de-
lay and these convincing proofs, to come emptyhanded,
so to speak, to the holy sacrament. He would fain his
friends and counsellors should share with him the grace
of God and the benefits of the blessed laver. He pro-
posed, therefore, to hold a conference with his nobles,
and endeavor to persuade them to come with him to be
cleansed in Christ, the fount of life. This famous con-
ference took place at Godmundingham, not far from
York. The nobles doubtless had many times been pre-
sent at the preaching of St. Paulinus, for Edwin as-
sumed that they knew something of the new religion

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 35

proposed to them. He began by asking them all round
what each one thought of the unheard of doctrine and
new worship of the Divinity which was proposed. The
chief priest, Coifi, was the first who answered, " See, 0
king, what manner of thing this is which is now preach-
ed to us ; for I candidly profess that for what I see the
religion we have held hitherto has neither power nor
profit in it. None of your subjects has more studiously
attended to the worship of the gods than myself, and
yet there are many who receive greater gifts and higher
dignities from you than I do, and succeed better in all
matters where anything is to be achieved or gained.
Now if the gods were worth anything, of course they
would rather help me, who have served them so care-
fully. Wherefore if we find on examination the new
things, which are preached to us, worthier and stronger,
let us make as much haste as ever we can to receive
them." It was an odd test which poor Goifi hit upon
to try a religion, and his disappointed ambition comes
to the surface with a very natural, if not dignified,
candor. Yet after all, though it has seldom been re-
lated without a passing sneer, is the unhelpfulness of
the idols set forth in so very different a way from what
it is on more than one occasion in the Old Testament 1

Another of the king's chief counsellors, assenting to
the words of Coifi, said, " 0 king, the present life of
man on earth seems to me, in comparison of the unknown
time, as though when you are sitting at supper with
your generals and counsellors in the winter time, when
the fire is kindled in the midst and the room made
warm, while out of doors the wintry rain and snow are
whirling about, and a sparrow comes and flies quickly
through the hall, coming in at one door and escaping by
another. For the moment during which it is within, it

36 ST. EDWIN,

is not touched by the winter storm, but the little space
of quiet being run out in a moment, it glides back into
the winter whence it came. So seems man's life for
awhile, but what shall follow or what went before, we
know nothing of. Wherefore if this new doctrine in-
form us any the more certainly about it, it seems worthy
of being followed."

The council seems to have been quite unanimous :
what Coifi had said would doubtless come home to
some j while the touching confession of ignorance, so
beautifully made by the nameless speaker, would find the
better natures, and be as it were a voice to what they
had all along been feeling. Coifi however, as was natu-
ral in a priest, wished to hear St. Paulinus more at
length, on the subject of the new faith. The holy
bishop at the king's command having addressed the
council, Coifi exclaimed, "I have long perceived that
there was nothing in what we have been worshipping,
because the more diligently I sought for truth in
that worship, the less I found it. But now I openly
declare that in this preaching shines forth that truth
which is able to give us life, salvation, and eternal
blessedness. Wherefore I propose, 0 king, that we im-
mediately curse and burn the temples and altars which
we have fruitlessly consecrated."

Thus ended the famous debate of Godmundingham ;
and before the council broke up, Edwin gave St. Pauli-
nus liberty to preach the Gospel, and openly renouncing
idolatry, he proclaimed his own submission to the faith
of Christ. Then arose the question, who was to dese-
crate the enclosures of the idol temples? the ardent
Coifi offered himself for that service, " for," said he, " who
is fitter than myself to give that example to all, and to
destroy through the wisdom that God hath given me

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 37

those things which I worshipped in my folly ?" So say-
ing, he requested of the king arms and a stallion, there-
by to show more signally his contempt for his former
superstitions, which forbade a priest to carry arms, and
allowed him to ride on a mare only. Then he went
forth with his lance in rest, and rode to the idol temple.
The people, seeing his strange unpriestly guise, believed
he was gone mad ; but when he approached the temple
he threw his spear into it, and, "much rejoicing in the
acknowledgment of the true God," he gave orders to his
companions to burn the temple with all its enclosures.
And thus fell the false gods of the Yorkshiremen, to rise
again, yet only for a little while.

The facility with which in this and some other cases
a large body of people renounced their ancient religion
has sometimes provoked a sneer. Yet surely most un-
reasonably. To deem the persons so converted insincere
or indifferent is to underrate the divine character of the
Gospel, and to disbelieve the promise which Christ made
of being ever with His Church : that a sudden inspira-
tion should light upon a multitude of men is of course in
one sense miraculous ; but does not the Gospel lead us
to look for miracles in the conversion of the heathen 1
and, when we call such a thing miraculous, do we mean
anything further than that it is a more palpable display
of God's power than the equally supernatural work of
convincing the intellect and preparing the heart of an
individual ? It does not follow that Edwin's conversion
was the only sincere one, because in his case only we
know something of the protracted processes through
which he was brought to the knowledge of the truth
and the acceptance of it. The nameless speaker at the
conference would probably imbibe the faith more readily
than Edwin, from his imaginative turn of mind and the

38 ST. EDWIN,

melancholy tenderness so visible in his speech. Neither
must we forget, what history of course can take no cog-
nizance of, the daily operation of the preaching of Pau-
linus, the example of Ethelburga, the converse of her
Christian attendants, the sight of Christian ceremonial,
the presence of Christian emblems. The fact that, as
Bede says, the nobles universally submitted to the faith,
and also a great many of the people, may perhaps inti-
mate that the movement began, just where all these
things were more specially present, — in the court, and
how long it may have been going on even before the con-
ference of Grodmundingham of course we cannot tell.

Notwithstanding Edwin's many conferences with St.
Paulinus, he required a yet more perfect instruction in
the mysteries of the faith, before he was fit to receive
the sacrament of regeneration. During this interval he
had a wooden church or oratory erected at York, which
was to be the chief city of the bishopric. It was on
Easter Sunday, which in 627 fell on the 12th of April,
that Edwin was baptized in the wooden church dedicated
to St. Peter ; and either then, or shortly afterwards, his
sons Offrid and Eadfrid, which Quenburga bore him in
his banishment, were also received into the Christian
Church, and Iflfi, the son of Offrid. His sons Ethelhun
and Wuscfrea, and his daughter Etheldrith, the children
of St. Ethelburga, were all afterwards baptized ; but
Ethelhun and Etheldrith, says Bede, were taken out of
this life in their baptismal white, and buried in the
church at York. A large and noble church of stone
now began to rise over the wooden oratory ; six years
was Edwin building it, yet when he died the wall had
not reached its proper height, and the completion of it
was reserved for his great successor St. Oswald. The
success which the Gospel had in Northumberland, the

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 39

labors of St. Paulinus in Yorkshire, the conversion of
Lincolnshire, and the building of Southwell in Notting-
hamshire, are the chief events of the next six years, and
belong rather to the life of the bishop than of the king.
Edwin seems to have had a taste for magnificence ; for
not only in war, but also in peace, his banners were borne
before him, and even when he walked the streets the en-
sign, called by the Romans Tufa, was borne before
him. There was probably as much wise policy as per-
sonal love of dignity, in general so distasteful to the
Saints, in this practice. Indeed he seems to have been
a most able king, and the account of the state of his
dominions is very unlike our usual notion of the north-
ern counties of England in the seventh century. It was
said proverbially that a woman with her new-born child
might traverse the island from sea to sea, and no one
hurt her. Whenever he perceived a clear spring near
the highway, such was his paternal solicitude for the
good of his people that he had stakes driven into the
ground, and brazen saucers hung upon them, that they
who travelled by might slake their thirst, — a beautiful
instance of his characteristic thoughtfulness ! And
such was the mingled dread and affection which he
inspired that no one dared to injure or remove the
vessels.

In 632 the holy father Honorius, who at that time
ruled the Apostolic See, sent a letter of exhortation to
Edwin, in which he greatly praises his orthodoxy and
the inflamed fire of his faith, and warns him to persevere
to the end in order that he may reach the blessed man-
sions of the world to come, and then says, "Be oft-
times occupied in the reading of your preacher, my lord
Gregory, of apostolical memory, and keep before your
eyes the zealousness of his doctrine, which he willingly

40 ST. EDWIN,

employed for your souls, so that his prayers may aug-
ment your realm and people, and present you unblame-
able before Almighty God." The pope at the same
time sent palls to Honorius of Canterbury, and Pau-
linus.

The life and reign of Edwin now drew to a close.
In 633 a rebellion broke out against him, the chiefs
of which were Cadwalla the British king, and Penda
one of the Mercian blood royal. A battle took place at
Heathfield on the Don, on the 12th of October. The
contest was severe : Offrid, the gallant son of Edwin,
making a fierce charge upon the enemy was killed ;
and the king himself was shortly afterwards slain by
the hand of the heathen Penda, whence he has been
honored with the title of Martyr. He died in the 47th
year of his age, and the 17th year of his reign. After
the admonition of pope Honorius it is interesting to
read that the head of Edwin was brought to York, and
was buried in the porch of the new church, named, in
affectionate honor of the great pontiff, the porch of St.
Gregory.

The life of St. Edwin does not seem like a story of
the seventh century. But if it is devoid of the interest
borrowed from the signs and wonders which in so many
cases it pleased the Head of the Church to work by the
hands of His Saints, it has a special edification of its
own for our times. To our narrow view it appears ast
though the age of miracle and prodigy and strange
interventions and unearthly judgments was of necessity
destitute of scrutiny, firmness, delay, intellectual hesi-
tation and the conscientious exercise of humble judg-
ment. Now it is only necessary to put St. Edwin's life
by the side of St. Oswald's to see how false this is.
Both were eminent Saints ; the lives of both are for

KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 41

the most part drawn from the same sources ; yet one
seems to move along a track of miracles, the other
to exhibit the gradual submission of a powerful in-
tellect to the faith of Christ. In a word there is, in
appearance, something modern about St. Edwin's life,
such as may to a certain class of minds suggest thoughts
which it were well they should improve upon.

THE LIFE OF

g>t IBtfjeifiu

QUEEN, A.D. 633.

WITH what tenderness does Holy Church console the
faithful by retrieving the good from out the dishearten-
ing multitude of evil, and in holyday and liturgy ex-
posing it, as though it were some precious relic, to the
veneration of catholics in the lives of the Saints ! We
learn to reverence the memory of the holy bishop who
founded the Northumbrian church; we follow him
amid his labors, from the Swale to the Glen, from York
to Lincoln, from Lincoln to Nottingham. He did his
part of the work ; but neither do we forget the great
and strong-minded Edwin ; he was a king ; he had
his work to do, and he did it in a kingly way. One
would think the mitred clerk and the crowned layman
were enough to keep alive in our minds the great
mercy of God in planting the Cross in the North of
England. But no ! the eye of the Church finds out
the gentle queen, the saintly Ethelburga, passing her
silent years in the court of a heathen husband. Had
not she too her work to do 1 and did she not do it ? and
had she not a very noble heart ] So she too is given us
to venerate ; though we know but little of her, that
little is enough to give us wholesome thoughts; and
though her meek life is told in her husband's life, yet
there is enough about her to let her shine like a star

44 ST. ETHELBURGA, QUEEN.

apart, a star not to be overlooked, because an essential
feature in the holy groupe of Edwin and Paulinus,
Oswald, Aidan and Oswin, and the rest who in that
century worked the work of God in the dark North.

The Church, who every vespers recites the Magni-
ficat of our blessed Lady, could not overlook the holy
women, the ascetic virgins, the pure wives, the saintly
mothers, who, like Mary, have in one sense conceived
the Lord, and brought Him forth anew to His Church
in every age. The Gospel came into Kent through a
woman : it came into Yorkshire through a woman
too ; and as by a blessed woman the world received the
Saviour, so has it been said that nothing great has
been done in the Church, but what a woman has had
part therein. " For first many of them descended into
the amphitheatres with the martyrs; others disputed
with the anchorets the possession of the desert. Pre-
sently Constantine unfolded the Labarum on the Capi-
tol, while St. Helena raised the Cross on the walls of
Jerusalem. Clovis at Tolbiac invoked the god of Clo-
tilda ; the tears of Monica redeemed the errors of Au-
gustine. Jerome dedicated the Vulgate to the piety
of two Roman ladies, Paula and Eustochium. St. Basil
and St. Benedict, the first legislators of the monastic
life, were succoured by Macrina and Scholastica their
sisters. Later on, the Countess Matilda sustained with
her chaste hands the tottering throne of Gregory the
seventh. The wisdom of queen Blanche administered
the realm of St. Louis : Joan of Arc saved France ;
Isabella of Castille presided over the discovery of the
New World. To come nearer still to our own times,
one sees St. Theresa mingling with a groupe of bishops,
doctors and founders of Orders to work a thorough
reformation of catholic society. St. Francis of Sales

ST. ETHELBITRGA, QUEEN. 45

cultivated the soul of Madame de Chantal as a chosen
flower, and St. Vincent of Paul confided to Louisa de
Marillac that most admirable of his designs, the esta-
blishment of the Sisters of Charity." 1 And amid this
galaxy we may dare to place our English Ethelburga.

St. Ethelburga was the daughter of king Ethelbert,
of blessed memory, and of his queen Bertha. Her life
was as it were her mother's life over again. Bertha,
with her bishop Luidhard, consented to yoke herself
with a heathen husband for the Lord's sake and the
amplifying of His Church : her daughter Ethelburga,
with the bishop Paulinus, did for York what her mo-
ther had done for Canterbury. What a sweet picture
it is, a Christian virgin led like a lamb to a lot from
which her own heart shrunk, but with a shepherd by
her side, a Christian bishop, to keep her from the
wolves ! What a contrast to the rudeness and the
wassail and the strife of a heathen court ! Fair as the
moon, yet for the inward might of truth terrible as
an army with banners, and each of the two finally en-
slaving the kingdoms whither they were led ! We
know nothing of the early years of Ethelburga. There
can be little doubt but that she was most tenderly
guarded by her mother, and most carefully instructed
by St. Luidhard. The obstinate refusal of her brother
Eadbald to submit to the faith would render her still
more precious in the eyes of Bertha, and she doubtless
grew up in secret holiness. How she passed the in-
terval between Eadbald's accession and his conversion
we do not know ; but here also there can be but little
doubt that the eye of St. Laurence would watch over

1 Ozanam. Philos. Cath. du xiii. siecle, ap. Ratisbonne. Vie de
S. Bernard, i. xxxv.

46 ST. ETHELBURGA, QUEEN.

the princess with the vigilance of a father and the
affection of a mother, while the idolatry and incest
of her brother daily vexed her righteous soul. Her
girlhood, therefore, was hardly spent in peace. She
witnessed scenes which must have aided materially in
forming her character and establishing her faith : and
we are not taken by surprise either at the first indig-
nant impulse with which she rejected the hand of
Edwin, nor at her unhesitating compliance when it
came before her in the light of a sacrifice for the love
of God. A fearful sacrifice indeed, for what honor,
peace, comfort, could there be for the Kentish virgin
in the court of the heathen north ! What consolation
in the prospect of a mother's office, or what certainty
of ultimately doing good, when her husband was such
an one as the strong warrior, the proud conqueror, the
pomp-loving king !

But she made the sacrifice ; she went forth ; Pauli-
nus was her Luidhard ; and York became as Canter-
bury, a conquest of the faith. Yet think of her
position as a queen before her husband's conversion :
what numberless positions of a distressing kind would
she be placed in almost daily, from the mere force of
circumstances ! What temptations to act one way for
peace sake, when truth led her the other ! What per-
plexing questions of compliance or non-compliance !
What a puzzle to draw the line between singularity and
concession ! And a woman to be placed in such a posi-
tion ! Yet by her unaffectedness and boldness, by the
armour of righteousness on the right hand and on the
left, God's Providence overshadowing her in the per-
son and presence of St. Paulinus, she came forth tri-
umphant. Her life is rather to be imagined than told :
her feelings at the attempted assassination of St. Edwin,

ST. ETHELBURGA, QUEEN. 47

at the baptism of Eanflede, at the conversion of the
king, may readily be conceived. And then those six
years of royal progresses, of river-sides thronged with
candidates for baptism, of good Paulinus preaching and
converting up and down, of the fair minster of York
rising higher and higher, a Christian queen the orna-
ment of a Christian court, a Christian mother with her
children Christians also, what happiness was hers ;
happiness earned by humble efforts, and enjoyed with
like humility : three canonized Saints meeting in al-
most daily converse, a king, a bishop, and a queen,
unconscious as the Saints ever are of their own high en-
dowments, and who would have been stricken to the
ground at the thought of being hereafter venerated by
the catholics of all times and lands, — what a picture it
is, a page of the seventh century !

Those six years were not a dream. Yet they were
but a transient reality. They came in the middle of
her life like a bright noon between two storms ; yet
doubtless they developed many graces which had been
sown during adverse times and difficult trials. How-
ever, sunshine seldom lasts long with Saints ; the
Gospel is a religion of suffering, for this plain reason,
that to suffer is to be Christlike. Edwin was slain ;
the wild beasts were loose in the Northumbrian church ;
and her shepherd Paulinus withdrew her from their
fangs. History has preserved the name of Edwin's
favorite captain, the loyal Bassus, beneath whose escort
the bishop and the queen took ship, and coasted Eng-
land till they came to Kent. Her welcome from Ead-
bald would doubtless be all which a sister would re-
quire. But Ethelburga had done with courts ; she
had entered one only for the love of God and in con-
formity to His will; and when she now dedicated her-

48 ST. ETHELBURGA, QUEEN.

self to the monastic state, was she not probably doing
nothing more than reverting to the wishes of her
younger days, fulfilling in Kent in her widowhood
what she had perhaps thought of in Kent in her vir-
ginity 1 Her children disposed of, she built a monas-
tery at Liming with Eadbald's consent and assistance,
and gave herself up to holy poverty. She is said to
have been the first Saxon widow who took the veil,
and in the Martyrology is called the Mother of many
virgins and widows. She put on her earthly crown for
the love of Christ, she wore it for His Church, she put
it off for the greater love she bore Him, and she now
reigns with Him in heaven. May her merits and in-
tercession avail with Him for those fair districts of the
North among which she went as an obedient Angel to
plant the blessed Rood !

THE LIFE OF

§bt. ©stoalir,

KING AND MARTYR, A.D. 642.

ST. EDWIN and St. Oswald were uncle and nephew by
blood ; they were in their political relations what the
world calls enemies ; and they were both saints in the
Catholic Church. For the Church knows nothing of
time or place or temporary relations, but gathers up
all that was holy and self-denying and Christlike in the
past, and solemnly enshrines it for the comfort and sup-
port of her children in all ages. We may now pursue
the history of the Northumbrian Church in the life of
St. Oswald.

It will be remembered that when king Ethelfrid was
slain, and St. Edwin gained possession of his throne in
617, Ethelfrid's three sons, Eanfrid, Oswald and Oswy,
fled into Scotland, which was to be to them what the
court of their father had been to St. Edwin, a school of
adversity, training them to fill high places. In Scot-
land they learned the Christian faith, and received the
sacrament of regeneration. From Oswald's subsequent
intercourse with the Scotch we may gather that the
youthful princes found a kind and hospitable refuge
there, and that the time of their banishment was not
on the whole a period of suffering and hardship. St.
Bede speaks as though Oswald had been personally
popular with his hosts. On the death of St. Edwin

£

50 ST. OSWALD,

the three princes naturally returned home, as Edwin's
queen and youthful children had retired into the south.
Osric, the cousin of St. Edwin, and a convert of St.
Paulinus, succeeded to the kingdom of the Deiri, and
Eanfrid, the eldest son of Ethelfrid, to the throne of
Bernicia. Both kings, deprived of the safeguard of
adversity, fell away from the faith, and returned to
the licentious abominations of idolatry. Meanwhile the
Northumbrian Church and kingdom were being laid
waste by the fierce and brutal Cadwalla, who slew Osric
the summer after his accession, being made the instru-
ment of Heaven to punish that unhappy king's apo-
stasy. Soon after, Eanfrid, going to Cadwalla with only
twelve soldiers in order to sue for peace, was also cruelly
put to death ; and Oswald became the rightful monarch
of the Northumbrians.

Nothing could appear to human eyes less hopeful
than the infant Church of Paulinus after the death
of St. Edwin : the holy archbishop himself gone on
other duties : the kingdom divided, and that between
two apostates : and the country occupied by the ruth-
less invader Cadwalla. The light of the Gospel seemed
wellnigh extinct. Such a terrible impression did that
year leave upon people's minds that it was called the
accursed year j and historians, with a common consent
as touching as it is significant, shrunk from reckoning
it as the reign of Osric and Eanfrid, but added it as a
ninth year to the eight of St. Oswald. But it is mostly
when a branch of His Church is shorn of human powers,
like Gideon's army, that God is pleased to intervene, in
order that men may acknowledge, what they are ever
forgetting, that the Church is a divine institution and
that all our strength and all our gifts are from above.
He had taken St. Edwin to Himself : St. Paulinus was

KING AND MARTYR. 51

removed, absent in body though doubtless powerfully
present in spirit, and the intercessions of the dead and
the living were heard in behalf of the Church those two
saints had planted. St. Oswald was raised to carry on
the work which St. Edwin had begun, and to carry it
on in a manner so different as to lead us to muse on the
Divine government of the Church. Considering that it
was the foundation of a new Church among a people of
strong feelings, fierce prejudices and rugged ways, it is,
to say the least, very striking that there should have
been such a comparatively small display of miraculous
powers. The calm, dubious, searching, contemplative,
intellectual spirit which reigns through the lives of
Saints Edwin and Paulinus, and comes uppermost in
the famous conference held by the king, is certainly
not what we usually find to prevail during the begin-
nings of the faith amid a barbarous nation. It gives
a very special and marked character to the rise of the
Northumbrian Church. But when we pass from the
days of Edwin to those of Oswald, we enter quite a
different atmosphere. The Church lived on through
the lonely ministrations of James the deacon, whose
spirit was possibly cheered by some such supernatural
assurance as Elijah received of the many among the
people who had not bowed the knee to Baal. And
with the accession of Oswald the mighty Hand and
stretched out Arm come forth visibly in behalf of the
Church. Miracles and visions abound. The personal
character of the king seems almost lost in the display
of supernatural interference. The wide possessions
and extended power of St. Edwin, won by active saga-
city and assiduous enterprise, are regained by the aus-
tere, ascetic Oswald.

Seventeen years prince Oswald spent in banishment

52 ST. OSWALD,

among the Scots; and it was probably in 635 that his
brother Eanfrid was murdered. The apostasy and
punishment of Osric and Eanfrid would of course make
a deep impression on the pious mind of Oswald ; and the
quiet confidence of faith with which he appears to have
acted might lead one to suppose that he looked upon
the recent disasters as rising rather from his brother's
sin than from Cadwalla's power, and that he feared
God's anger more than the invader's overwhelming
force. Immediately on Eanfrid's death he collected
what few forces he could, and encamped against Cad-
walla near the brook called Denisburn, at no great dis-
tance from the Roman wall. His " little flock of kids,"
like Israel before the army of Benhadad, were in no
wise dismayed : their leader, says William of Malmes-
bury, was armed with faith rather than weapons : jus-
tice and the blessing of God were his allies. He had
learned his faith amid the zealous and devout Scots,
and the celestial guardians of that people were now per-
mitted to succour and console him. The evening before
the battle, and close to Cadwalla's camp, Oswald caused
a rude Cross of wood to be reared, and with his own
hands held it up while the cavity was filled in with
earth. No sooner did it stand erect than the king cried
out to the army with a loud voice, " Let us all bend our
knees, and pray unto the Lord, omnipotent, living and
true, to defend us by His pitifulness from our proud
and fierce enemy -} for He Himself knoweth that our
war is a just war for the safety of our nation." When
the king's devotions were finished he retired to his
tent ; and during the night slept peacefully, as being in
the hands of God and beneath the custody of good
Angels. As he slept St. Columba appeared to him, and
assured him, not only of victory on the morrow, but also

KING AND MARTYR. 53

of a happy reign. This vision Oswald himself related to
Failbey, abbot of lona, who told it to St. Adamnan his
successor ; and it is by him inserted in his life of St.
Columba.1 At break of day the battle took place,
when Oswald obtained a complete victory, and the Cum-
brian tyrant was left dead on the field. The name of
the place where the battle was fought was Hevenfeld,
or Heaven's Field, a name which, as St. Bede says, was
a sort of prophecy that in times to come the sign of
our redemption should be set up there. The exact
site is not known, but it appears to have been only a
few miles from Hexham.

This, like St. Edwin's battle on the river Idle, was
a new beginning for the Northumbrian Church ; only
that as Oswald's life was full of wonders, so his reign
commenced with the setting up of this famous and won-
derworking Cross at Hevenfeld. So many and great
were the miracles wrought both at the place and by
fragments of the Cross, that in Bede's time it was com-
mon to cut off small chips of the wood and soak them
in water, and men or cattle diseased were healed either
by drinking of the water or being sprinkled with it.
The monks of Hexham were wont to repair thither on
the eve of St. Oswald's martyrdom, to keep the vigil
there for the health of his soul, to sing psalms, and say
mass for him in the morning. This ritual would of
course assume a different form in proportion as the
Church, by miracles wrought by Grod at St. Oswald's
intercession or through means of his relics, came to
ascertain that he was admitted into the noble army
of martyrs. One of the miracles wrought by St. Os-
wald's Cross took place in Bede's own days. One of the

1 Chaloner, ii. 67. Brit. Sanct.

54 ST. OSWALD,

monks of Hexham, whose name was Bothelm, walking
incautiously on some ice during the night, fell and
broke his arm. The fracture was such as to cause the
most excruciating pain ; and hearing that one of the
brethren was going to Hevenfeld, he asked him to
bring him a piece of the venerable wood, saying, that
he had faith that God would heal him by means of it.
In the evening the monk returned ; the patient seems
to have been in the refectory with the rest, and the
monk gave him some old moss which he had scraped
from the surface of the wood, which seems to imply
a carefulness lest the Cross should be consumed by the
frequent cutting of chips from it. Bothelm at the time
put the moss into his bosom, and for some cause or
other omitted to take it out when he lay down to
sleep. But in the middle of the night he awoke, feeling
something cold touching his side ; and reaching out
his hand to ascertain what it was, he found his arm
restored whole as if it had never been broken.

Oswald was now in full possession of the Northum-
brian kingdom ; and his first care was to provide for
the Church. The first foundation of it had been in
the southern province at York, and that by a Roman
missionary : the second foundation was in the northern
province, and by Scotch missionaries opposed to the
Roman rites and customs. On looking round him Os-
wald found indeed a Church, but without a ruler. We
might have supposed it would have been most natural
for him to have recalled St. Paulinus : but either there
were political objections to that, as the archbishop was
the guardian of St. Edwin's children, or Oswald him-
self might be prejudiced in favor of the Scottish
usages. Anyhow he betook himself to the Scotch
Church for missionaries. This might have been a

KING AND MARTYR. 55

serious tiling for the future welfare of the whole Saxon
Church ; and it is never to be forgotten that the avert-
ing of schism and the restoration of uniformity by sub-
mission, as was most natural, to the Roman customs,
were among the obligations we are under to St. Wilfrid,
aided surely in no small degree by the dying injunctions
of the great St. Cuthbert, himself a Scot, and brought
up in Scottish usages.

There appears to have been, even at that time, the
same national character in the Scotch Church, the same
mixture of zeal and obstinacy, of austerity and harsh-
ness, which distinguished it in after days, and which
came out so fearfully in the great struggle, when almost
the entire nation threw off the yoke of Christ. The
whole conduct of the dispute about Easter and the ton-
sure was strongly marked with the Scotch characteristics.
A backwardness to adapt itself to circumstances, some-
thing like fierceness, an inclination to sectarianism, were
from time to time apparent, compensated by a devout
adherence to old traditions, a hatred of change, a sted-
fast orthodoxy, a very high standard of holiness, a severe
asceticism. No two tempers could be more opposed than
those of the Churches of Rome and Scotland at the time
of which we are now writing, and there can be little
doubt which was the higher and more catholic of the
two. Yet Bede himself, who was very far from under-
rating the differences, bears testimony to the noble and
self-denying character of the Scotch missionaries, and
the extreme devotion of their lives.

It was to this Church of Scotland, his own mother in
the faith, that Oswald now turned; and from which
came forth a company of saints, whose names are still
held in deserved esteem, reverence, and love among the
inhabitants of the northern shires of England. To the

56 ST. OSWALD,

old Scotch Church England owes Lindisfarne, and there-
fore all the catholic glories of the palatinate of Dur-
ham.

Oswald's first request for a missionary was answered
by the sending of Gorman. His mission entirely failed,
and he himself retreated into Scotland. It does not ex-
actly appear what the cause of his failure was. Some
attribute it to his ignorance of the Saxon language ;
but from his own complaint it would rather seem that
he had endeavoured to introduce all at once a severe
discipline which the untutored minds and rough natures
of the Saxons could not endure. He seems to have been
deficient in winningness ; and to have been unequal to
the task of so blending suavity with strictness as not to
introduce laxity. He comes out quite as the representa-
tive of the less pleasing characteristics of the old Scotch
Church. There is nothing which the world has so dog-
gedly continued to misunderstand as the conduct of
missionaries among barbarians and misbelievers. It is
ever demanding in their conduct towards their converts
a strictness which it calls gloom and bigotry when
brought near to itself; and unable to comprehend the
pliancy there is in Christian wisdom, and what a depth
there is in the very simplicity of its policy, men cry out
against what they call lax accommodations and a be-
traying of the truth. Yet it is not a little significant
that the very persons who have been mostly accused of
this have been in their treatment of themselves most
selfdenying and austere. A strict discipline is not the
remedy for a long chronic disorder of laxity and remiss-
ness. It amounts to an excommunication ; and destroys
souls by repelling them from the very shadow of the in-
fluence under which its object is to bring them. Of
course it is a difficult thing to raise the standard of

KING AND MARTYR. 57

holiness in a Church, a see, a parish or a monastery,
without somewhat terrifying the minds of men ; yet
it is possible, and it is needful, to find the means of
doing so without the sudden introduction of such a se-
vere and ascetic discipline as one hopes to come to at
the last. The lives of half the Saints on record were
spent in the successful solution of this problem : mis-
sionaries among the heathen, Bishops in sees wasted
with simony, priests in parishes lost in ignorant super-
stitions, abbots in dissolute monasteries. And it may
be that this is the very problem which is to be some-
how or other solved in our own days among us descend-
ants of those very Saxons whom the zeal of Gorman
failed to convert, but whom the gentle rigors of St.
Aidan built up as living stones into a very great and
glorious Church. The tender but pure system of disci-
pline introduced into Italy by St. Alfonso toward the
conclusion of the last century,2 though it met with cla-
mor and opposition from the rigid party, has probably
been one main cause of the singular revival of spiritu-
ality in that part of the Church.

On the return of Corman a synod was held in which
he stated the impossibility of converting the Saxons.
This was a serious matter to the synod, who were ex-
tremely desirous to grant Oswald's request and to
spread the light of the truth among their neighbours.
Among the members of the council was the monk Aidan,
who addressed Corman in these words. f: My brother, it
seems to me that you were harsher than is right with
untaught hearers, and did not according to apostolic
discipline hold forth first the milk of gentler doctrine,
until nourished by degrees with the word of God they

2 His Theologia Moralis was first published in 1753.

58 ST. OSWALD,

should be capable of imbibing more perfect precepts and
attaining loftier practice." No sooner had he said this
than the council cried out that Aidan ought to be made
a bishop and sent to teach the unbelievers, in that God
had filled him specially with the grace of discretion,
which is the mother of the virtues. And so Oswald was
provided with another St. Paulinus in the person of St.
Aidan, whose successors included York within their see
for thirty years, while that famous city remained without
its pall for 135 years after Paulinus had gone to Ro-
chester.

St. Aidan appears to have been left to fix his see
where he pleased ; and he chose the island of Lindis-
farne, which was at no great distance from Bamborough,
Oswald's royal city. The eight years of Oswald's reign
were almost entirely taken up with the holy and happy
duty of assisting his bishop. Churches were built in
many places : public schools established : monasteries
founded, and among them the famous abbey of Hexham,
and the regular monastic discipline of the Scots intro-
duced into them. Daily, says the venerable Bede, did
holy Scotchmen pass the borders preaching the Gospel
all over Northumbria, and baptizing their converts.
Very beautiful it was to see the humility of the good
king. St. Aidan not being able to speak with fluency
in English, Oswald interpreted his sermons to his gene-
rals and ministers, having learned the Scotch language
thoroughly during his years of exile. Indeed Oswald
seems to have taken no delight in the splendors of
royalty ; but, foregoing the state in which St. Edwin
lived, he appears before us more like a bishop than a
king in all but the peculiar functions of that sacred
office. Even when his earthly kingdom was larger
than that of his predecessors, he was humble and

KING AND MARTYR. 59

attentive to pilgrims and the poor, and a great alms-
giver. His conquests do not appear to have cost him
long or bloody wars, or to have been acquired by worldly
subtilty, but rather to have fallen upon him by way of
natural consequence, as an adding of all other things
to one who so eminently followed first the kingdom of
God and His righteousness. That he was not a person
of what historians call weak piety and womanish super-
stitions is plain from his effecting that great work
which even St. Edwin had failed to bring about, and
which is specially referred to St. Oswald, namely, the
moulding the two adverse bodies of his population, the
Deiri and the Bernicians, into one united, happy and
peaceful people.

Although St. Aidan had fixed his see at Lindisfarne,
and Oswald his capital at Bamborough, the king was
not unmindful of the city of York. He completed the
church of St. Peter there, which St. Edwin had begun
to build over the wooden oratory of Paulinus, but had
left unfinished at his death. Still though Oswald did
not neglect his southern people the Deiri, yet his chief
labors seem to have been among the Bernicians. There
was good reason for this.3 From the labors of St.
Paulinus the southern province was in some measure
supplied with churches, schools, oratories and crosses,
whereas the Bernicians were almost wholly destitute of
them. Cadwalla's army of occupation seems also to
have been mainly fixed in Bernicia, and thus the ves-
tiges of Christianity had been much more completely
effaced there than among the Deiri.

Soon after his accession Oswald went to the court
of the West Saxons to demand of Kinegils his daughter

3 Alford sub anno 635.

60 .ST. OSWALD,

Kyneburga in marriage. This princess is not to be
confounded with the saint of that name the daughter of
king Penda of Mercia, and the foundress of Caistor
nunnery on the river Nen. It so happened that when
Oswald was at the West Saxon court the most holy
bishop Birinus came to preach the Gospel to Kinegils ;
and that monarch becoming a convert to the faith,
Oswald was his sponsor at the font, the spiritual father
of the man whose son-in-law he soon afterwards became,
and thus the name of our saint is connected with the
foundation of the see of Dorchester. But these events
belong to the life of St. Birinus.

The reign, therefore, of king Oswald was by no
means an unimportant one in an historical or political
point of view. He was, as men speak, a successful
conqueror, a skilful statesman, and an enlightened im-
prover of his dominions. Yet is it true that his life
to our eyes resembles more the life of an ecclesiastic
than of a king : — to our eyes, for with us the world
and its concerns have encroached so fearfully upon the
business of our lives that to set apart anything like
a fair portion of time to devotional exercises or the
mortifications of penance is considered proper only for
ecclesiastics j and thus have men come to the error of
confounding the clergy with the Church, until, per-
ceiving the consequences of such a mistake, they charge
the ambition of priests with inventing and fostering
what was but the stupid and perverse misconception
of the slothful laity. Few things are more striking
in the lives of the saints, than the wonderful manner
in which kings and pontiffs were enabled to sanctify
themselves beneath the pressure of secular business.
We are told of St. Antoninus of Florence, a most ener-
getic and sedulous bishop, that over and above the

KING AND MARTYR. 61

Church offices, he contrived to recite daily the office
of our Lady and the seven penitential psalms, together
with the office for the dead twice a week, and on every
feast-day the whole psalter. And yet this was the man
who from an abiding sense of his being the accountable
person at the last day would scarcely permit his vicar
to relieve him of the smallest of his episcopal duties
in that large and busy see. There is scarcely any limit
to what an earnest will may do : and surely there is
a grave lesson to us in all this. For how do we mo-
derns mostly fritter our time away, making a business
of things childishly unimportant, and calling upon the
exercises of a devotional life to give way at almost
every turn to imaginary duties, which suit our restless
tempers better than the solitude and silence and secret
contemplation wherein the life of the soul consists !

King Oswald was not idle when he was interpreting
the Scotch sermons of St. Aidan. But much of his
time was spent in occupations which had even less
reference to this world than that edifying work of
humility and love. He was, as all saints have been,
a lover of heavenly contemplation ; and he was wont
to tell his bishops that it had pleased God at many
times so to purge his bodily vision that he had clearly
beheld the splendor of the angels and spirits, whose
offices and orders were likely to be favorite subjects
of meditation to a mind constituted as his was. Feel-
ing how intimately allied the grace of chastity was
with this blissful communion with the world of spirit
he prevailed upon his queen to consent to their living,
a life of continence, that so they might more resemble
those happy spirits who neither marry nor are given in
marriage, and might the rather become to them an
object of special love, ministry and protection.

62 ST. OSWALD,

His hours of devotion were stolen from sleep rather
than from the toils of government. He rose at mid-
night for the nocturns and lauds, and when the office
was over he remained in prayer till it was day. Such
a habit of recollection and prayer did the holy king
attain that in all times and places he was praying ; and
whenever he sat down it came natural to him to turn
up his hands upon his knees in act of prayer : an atti-
tude which is not unfrequently to be seen in old illu-
minations. It became, St. Bede tells us, a popular
proverb that king Oswald died in prayer ; for when
he was surrounded by the weapons of his enemies he
cried, as he fell to the ground, " Lord ! have mercy on
their souls !" a petition which might perhaps have a
double reference, as well to those of his own soldiers
who perished as to his enemies who slew him.

As it was thus vouchsafed him at the close of his
life to copy the example of our Blessed Lord, so on
another occasion was it permitted him to act over again
the part of holy David, and yet therein to copy our
Lord also. During his reign there broke out a dreadful
pestilence among his people, so that nothing was to be
seen all round but funerals, nothing heard but the
lamentations of the affrighted survivors. This mourn-
ful spectacle weighed heavy on the spirit of king Os-
wald ; and though it does not appear that the plague
was lying on the people because of the monarch's sins,
yet he humbly entreated God to take himself and his
family as victims of the cruel disease, and to spare his
people. Of course none but a very holy person could
venture without profaneness on such a prayer as this :
and like St. Paul's supplication for Israel, it was perhaps
offered up under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. To
pray for the high and awful privileges of suffering is

KING AND MARTYR. 63

something more than to covet them. Love will prompt
even those whose obedience is but scant and sorry mea-
sure to covet earnestly for poverty, contempt, obscurity,
loneliness and pain, who yet would feel that it was un-
becoming for men of their poor attainments to pray
directly for such things, lest the petition should spring
from a momentary heat, not from a bold and stedfast
tranquillity, and then it would be so very dreadful were
God to answer it, and we to fail beneath the trial.

But what is so bold as simplicity and a single heart?
It was in this temper that Oswald offered up his ven-
turous prayer ; and most graciously, because most
literally, was it answered. He was seized by the plague
with unusual violence ; it would seem from the narra-
tive as though there was something unusual in the seve-
rity of the attack. Yet who so joyful as the suffering
king ? It was so directly a visitation of God, as to
be a great consolation to one who thirsted after that
blessed Presence as the hart desireth the water-brooks.
And there he lay upon his cross, an acceptable expia-
tion, through the meritorious intercession of his Lord,
for the sins of his people. While he thus lay expecting
death, offering his life for the life of others, he beheld
in an ecstasy three figures of unearthly form and sta-
ture, who came to his bedside, and spoke comfortable
words to him. At length one of them said, "Thy pray-
ers and meekness, 0 king, are accepted with God ; thou
belongest to us, for as a reward of thy faith, charity and
piety thou shall shortly be crowned with an immortal
crown. But not at present : God giveth thee now both
thy life and thy subjects' lives : thou art ready to die
a martyr for them; but thou shalt soon die far more
happily as a martyr for God." After this the vision
disappeared, leaving the king full of inward joy and

64 ST. OSWALD,

consolation. His bodily health was now restored ;
the infection went no further, for the plague was stayed
in the person of the saint, and the angel of wrath ap-
peased by his self-sacrifice.4

The same heroic simplicity characterized his giving
of alms. Indeed there seems hardly any virtue which
calls more for the readiness and singlemindedness of
faith than almsgiving. There are so many apparent
reasons against it : the brevity and absoluteness of the
evangelical rule so little squares with the circumstances
of society in any age : it seems to be so constantly on
the point of sacrificing discretion to impulse, that re-
ally a person to be a cheerful and hearty almsgiver
must have advanced some way towards that childlike
temper which is the perfection of our regenerate na-
ture. People forget that He who gives His sunshine
and His rain to the evil and good is set before us
as our pattern in the corporal and spiritual works
of mercy. The generosity of the world — and it has
its ages of generosity — invents for itself a cumbrous
and slowly-moving system, a huge and complicated
apparatus for dispensing alms ; but all which it attains
is the neglect of some deserving objects through fear
of blessing any undeserving, an end not worth attain-
ing, if it were right, but which, if we are to copy
God, is absolutely wrong. At best heartiness evaporates
in the long and secular process, and secrecy which is
the life of evangelical alms is rendered most difficult,
and self-forgetfulness in the matter wellnigh impossible ;

4 This story is given on the authority of Capgrave, not of Bede :
not that there seems any reason for doubting its truth ; yet as the rest
of St. Oswald's life (except what is said of his frequently seeing
Angels) is supported by the unimpeachable testimony of Bede, it
seemed better to mark what was not.

KING AND MARTYR. 65

yet surely even self-forgetfulness, which is something
more than secrecy, is plainly intimated in our Saviour's
words.

A popular book descants with almost contemptuous
pity on the mistaken philanthropy of St. Charles Bor-
romeo. To such minds the following anecdote of St.
Oswald will seem to record nothing beyond an unwise
impulse countenanced by a superstitious bishop. How-
ever, it will be both soothing and edifying to those
who have felt how hard it is to restrain those impulses
to feed the hungry and to clothe the naked, when the
occasions present themselves, or, say rather, are provi-
dentially brought to us, on days when the Church is
in joy and at feast for some great thing wrought for
her by her Lord. It was on Easterday that king Os-
wald sat at dinner with a fitting Easter guest, the holy
bishop Aidan. Before him stood a silver dish full of
kingly dainties, and they were on the point of lifting
up their hands to bless the bread, when suddenly a
servitor appeared who filled a characteristic office in the
royal household — to look out for and relieve the poor.
He knew his master too well to fear it would be any
disturbance to him at his feast to tell him that the
streets about the palace were thronged with poor ask-
ing an alms of the king. Oswald's eyes fell on the
silver dish and the royal dainties, and without a mo-
ment's hesitation he ordered the dainties to be divided
among the poor, and the sumptuous dish to be cut in
pieces and distributed amongst them. Probably as he
spoke he raised his right hand to make some gesture
to the servant, possibly pointing to the lordly dish.
St. Aidan was at his side : delighted with the pious act
he seized his master's hand, and said, " May this hand
never perish !" and the bishop's benediction was ful-

66 ST. OSWALD,

filled, for the hand and arm, severed from his body in
the battle, remained uncorrupted down to St. Bede's
time, and received the veneration of the faithful in St.
Peter's church at Bamborough. No doubt the common
fare which was left for the king was better seasoned
than the dainties he had given to the poor : and a
merry heart was Oswald's Easter feast that year.

These are but grapes from Eschcol, samples of what
the good king Oswald did and said during the eight
years of his earthly reign : enough is left on record for
the love and homage of the faithful, the rest is known
to God; some going before the martyr to judgment,
and some following after ; for if sinners bequeath their
sins in legacy to their descendants, much more do the
mighty relics of the Saints continue to edify and bless
the Church.

The reign of this holy king closed in the year 642.
Penda, the pagan tyrant who had slain St. Edwin, in-
vaded the dominions of St. Oswald. A battle was fought
at Maserfeld on the 5th of August, Oswald being thirty-
eight years of age. The hour predicted by the three
heavenly personages was now come, when he was to be
offered up a martyr to God. Many persons find a
difficulty in the use of the word martyr, as sanctioned
by the Church. They would have it restricted to such
as made a theological confession of the faith before the
tribunal of heathen magistrates, and suffered unto death
for such confession. Yet surely this is a narrow view to
take of the matter. Whosoever witnesses to Christ by
his death is in some sense a martyr, and as such wit-
ness may take almost innumerable shapes and be capa-
ble of manifold degrees, so in a fuller or remoter sense,
from the quiet death-bed of a Saint to the shows of the
amphitheatre, may the word martyrdom be applied to

KING AND MARTYR. 67

the dying confession of a Christian. There can be
little deubt that Penda's hatred of Oswald arose in no
slight measure from his being a Christian ; and the
interests of the Church seemed humanly speaking to be
involved in the success of Oswald.

However, Oswald was slain upon the field. His forces
were far inferior to the pagan army, and it pleased God
to take him to Himself. When the weapons of his
enemies were bristling above his head, and he was over-
shadowed with them as by a grove of trees, he prayed
the prayer before alluded to, and breathed his last
beneath a multitude of wounds. There seems in the
reverence paid to him in after-ages something of affec-
tion mingled as for a young person ; and his youth
is dwelt upon as if it were a resting point for love.
So when he is said to have appeared to Earnan the
monk of Lindisfarne together with St. Cuthbert in
Durham abbey, he was clothed in a red robe, his face
was long, his stature tall, his beard scarcely visible from
his youth, and altogether a most beautiful young man ;
and the monk seems to bring out his youth in contrast
with the venerable and awe-inspiring visage of the
mighty Cuthbert.

There is a controversy respecting Maserfeld, the scene
of Oswald's martyrdom. Camden, Capgrave, Raine
and others place it at Oswestry in Shropshire, and the
name certainly goes someway toward a proof of their
opinion. Alban Butler, Powel and Cowper place it at
Winwick in Lancashire, and for their view there is an
inscription on the outside of the south wall of the parish
church : and certainly Winwick was in aftertimes dis-
tinguished by a special devotion for St. Oswald.

No sooner was Oswald dead than the brutal Penda
caused his head and arms to be severed from his body

68 ST. OSWALD,

and stuck on poles. They appear to have remained
on the battle-field till the following year, when Oswy
removed them, and sent the head to Lindisfarne. But
the lives of Saints in many cases do not end with their
deaths : their influence over the visible Church is often
more signally exerted through their relics than it was
in their sojourn upon earth. Somewhat of that power
which they now have in their glorified state is permit-
ted to be transfused into their mortal remains, and
through them to act upon the Church. Many of the
Saints have lived and died almost in obscurity, whose
relics have worked wonders for centuries ; God who
saw them in secret while on earth thus manifesting
them openly after He has taken them from us.

The rest of St. Oswald's relics were afterwards trans-
lated by queen Ofthrida the daughter of Oswy, and
niece of the Saint, to her favorite monastery of Bard-
ney in Lincolnshire. The car freighted with this pre-
cious burden arrived at the gates of the monastery when
it was growing dusk. The monks, though they acknow-
ledged his sanctity, refused to admit the relics on the
ground of his having reigned over them as a foreigner.
This was an unexpected obstacle. Meanwhile a large
tent was pitched over the car to protect the sacred
remains from the dew, and to show at least some reve-
rence towards them. As the night became dark, a long
luminous pillar stood over the car, and seemed to reach
to heaven. It was seen far and wide, so that wellnigh
all the inhabitants of Lincolnshire were witnesses of this
miraculous attestation of king Oswald's sanctity. It
is not impossible that the refusal of the monks of Bard-
ney to admit the relics on the previous evening had
some connexion with St. Oswald's adoption of the
Scotch usages. His being a foreigner in an ecclesias-

KING AND MARTYR. 69

tical sense would sink deeper in the minds of holy
brethren given up, like the angels, to perpetual li-
turgy and divine ceremonial, than his merely being a
temporal ruler usurping the throne of St. Edwin's
children. However this may be, the miraculous splen-
dor which rested during the night above the relics
seemed clearly a heavenly token, to which they joy-
fully submitted, and prayed with much earnestness
to be allowed now to receive into their monastery the
remains of one so dear to God. The bones were care-
fully washed, and deposited in a shrine within the
Church, above which was hung a banner of purple
and of gold. The water in which the relics had been
washed was poured out reverently in a corner of the
consecrated enclosure, and the earth which it had
moistened was gifted with the power of casting out
devils.

Even the ground where it fell received into it a power
of miracle. Men scraped up the dust, and putting
it into water administered it to their sick, and they
were healed : it being no wonder, as Bede beautifully
remarks, that it should work this kind of miracles,
inasmuch as when alive the Saint had been so distin-
guished for his care of the poor and ailing. We are told
on the same authority, that not very long after his death
and the removal of his relics a traveller was journeying
near the place where he fell. His horse through fatigue
or some other cause was seized with a violent fit, and
rolled on the ground foaming. The rider expected every
moment to see the beast die, when to his astonishment it
happened to roll upon the very spot where Oswald fell,
and immediately the fit ceased, and after turning quietly
from side to side the horse rose and began to eat the
grass. The traveller did not know he was on the spot

70 ST. OSWALD,

where the king was slain ; but there was something
so evidently miraculous in the cure that he felt con-
vinced there was some special sanctity in the place,
and carefully set a mark upon it that he might know
it again. Such was the turn of men's minds in ages
when the invisible world was so much more vividly
realized than it is now, when the blinding veils of
science falsely so called intervene to rescue men from
the irksome contemplation of the awful realities of the
unseen world. At the inn where the traveller halted
for the evening, the landlord's niece lay sick of the
palsy, and while the people in the house were deploring
her illness, he recounted what had happened to his
horse. Faith was not wanting in the people : the pa-
tient was taken in a cart, and laid down on the spot
where Oswald died, there fell asleep, and awoke cured
of her infirmity, returning on foot to the house.

Another traveller, of whom Bede speaks, was passing
by the battle-field, when he observed a place round
which the herbage was unusually green. He, arguing
as the other had done, concluded that the soldier slain
there, whoever he was, was the holiest man of the host :
whereupon he put a quantity of the earth into a linen
cloth, intending to use it for the cure of sick people.
At night he came to a village, and was invited into a
house where the master was feasting his neighbors, and
he hung the cloth containing the earth upon a post in
the wall. The house was thatched and the walls merely
wattled, and a huge fire burned in the centre. From
the carelessness of conviviality the fire seems to have
been neglected, and some sparks communicating with
the thatch a conflagration ensued. The house was en-
tirely burned down, except the post on which the earth
was hung, and that remained miraculously untouched

KING AND MARTYR. 71

by the flames. In consequence of these two miracles
pilgrims began to frequent the place where St. Oswald
fell, either for the cure of their own infirmities, or to
fetch earth for the healing of their relatives.

When queen Ofthrida, who removed St. Oswald's
relics to Bardney, was once upon a visit at that mo-
nastery, there came to stay with her an abbess, the
venerable Ethelhilda. In conversation the abbess men-
tioned how she had seen the luminous column which
stood over the body of Oswald, when it was excluded
from the monastery : the queen in turn related how
even the dust of the pavement, whereon the water in
which his bones had been washed was poured, had
healed many sick people. Ethelhilda before her de-
parture from Bardney requested that some of the dust
might be given her. This she deposited as a rich trea-
sure in a casket and went her way. Soon after there
came to her monastery a guest who was possessed with
a devil , and the night of his arrival the evil spirit
took him so that he foamed at the mouth, and gnashed
his teeth, and all his limbs were distorted. No one
being able to hold him, alarm was given to the abbess,
who going with one of the nuns to the door of the
man's apartment called for a priest to go with her to
her guest. The exorcisms of the priest proved un-
availing. At last the abbess bethought her of the
sacred dust. No sooner was it brought into the porch
of the room where the sufferer was than the convulsions
ceased. The man sat up and sighing deeply, like one
wearied, said, " Now am I sound, and have received the
senses of my mind." Whereupon he was asked how he
had come to himself, and he answered, " Presently when
that virgin came with the casket to the threshold the
spirits who vexed me disappeared." The abbess gave

72 ST. OSWALD,

him a little of the holy dust, and he was never troubled
by his enemy again.

In the monastery of Bardney before mentioned there
was a little boy who had been long tormented by the
ague. One day when he was mournfully anticipating
the periodical return of his fit, a monk said to him,
" Child ! shall I tell you how to get rid of this infir-
mity ? Rise, go into the church, and sit by Oswald's
tomb, stay there quietly, and do not leave the place.
Do not stir till the hour of the return of the fever is
past ; then I will come in and fetch you away." The
boy did so j the disease did not fall on him while he
sat by the Saint's grave, and after persevering in this
devotion two or three days the ague left him altogether.

But it was not only in England that many wonders
were wrought by his relics. In Ireland also and in
Germany were miracles performed through the inter-
cession of St. Oswald. Wilbrord was wont to speak of
what prodigies had been performed among the Frisons,
and it formed part of that holy man's conversation with
Wilfrid while the latter stayed with him. And one
miracle specially Wilbrord related, as having happened
in Ireland when he was a priest. A great pestilence
broke out, and among its victims was a certain scholar,
addicted to worldly literature, but hitherto not con-
cerned about his soul. As his death drew near, the
scholar's mind became overshadowed by the fear of hell.
In his terror he sent for Wilbrord who was in the
neighborhood, and with a broken voice complained to
him ; " My disease increases, and I am now about to
die ; and I doubt not that after the death of my body,
my soul will be carried away into the torments of hell,
for although I have studied divinity, yet have I been
engaged in vice rather than in keeping the Divine laws.

KING AND MARTYR. 73

But I am resolved, if God's mercy should spare me, to
correct my evil habits and submit my whole life to the
Divine Will. Yet I know I do not deserve to have
my life prolonged, neither can I expect it except
through the aid of those who have faithfully served
God. We have heard, for it is everywhere spoken of,
that there has been in your country a wonderfully holy
king, called Oswald, the excellency of whose faith and
holiness has even after death been attested by many
miracles. I pray you, if you have any of his relics,
bring them to me ; peradventure the Lord will please
for his merits to have pity upon me." Wilbrord an-
swered that he had some of the stake on which his head
was impaled ; and asked him if he had faith in God's
goodness and the holiness of St. Oswald. The sufferer
replied that he had : whereupon Wilbrord blessed some
water and put a chip of the holy oak into it, and the
sick man drank, and was healed. Through Divine grace
he kept his vow, and became an eminent servant of God.

Thus did it please God to glorify His servant St.
Oswald. Of his blessed relics nothing more need now
be said, except that when the monks fled from Lindis-
farne it seems that St. Oswald's head was put into the
same coffin with the body of the mighty Cuthbert, and
with it performed the same long and mysterious pil-
grimage from east to west, and back again to the east,
until it reposed in the lordly abbey of Durham. " Deus,
qui glorificatur in consilio sanctorum, magnus et terri-
bilis super omnes qui in circuitu ejus."

It would seem that public and authorized reverence
was soon paid to the relics of St. Oswald, and we know
that they were carried about during the Danish inva-
sion, in such way as to show that they were very much
set by. But there is a miracle, or as the modern

74 ST. OSWALD,

Italians would more correctly say, a grazia, recorded
in the fourth book of St. Bede's history, which seems
to be connected with the first public celebration of St.
Oswald's day. The monastery of Selsey, founded by
St. Wilfrid, was ravaged in 681 by a fierce pestilence
while Eappa was abbot. The monks, in order to depre-
cate the Divine Wrath, set apart three days for solemn
fasting and prayer. At this time there was in the
monastery a little Saxon boy, recently converted, and
who was confined to his bed by the plague. He was a
boy of unusually gentle disposition and mild demeanor,
and a deep reverence for the faith he had lately learn-
ed ; and altogether one whose simplicity would render
him a likely person to be favored with a heavenly
vision. While he was lying alone in the infirmary
about seven in the morning of the second fast-day,
there appeared to him in vision two wonderful person-
ages, who saluted him very lovingly, and said, " You
are uneasy about death, young child ; but do not fear
it, for we are come to carry you to-day to the heavenly
kingdom. However you must first wait till the masses
are said, and you must receive the viaticum of the
Lord's Body and Blood, and so freed at once from
infirmity and death, you shall be carried up to the
eternal joys of heaven. Now, then, call the priest
Eappa and tell him that the Lord has heard your
prayers, and turned a gracious eye on your devotion
and fasting : no one therefore of this monastery, or its
neighboring possessions, shall henceforth die of this
plague. All who are at present laboring under it,
among your people, shall recover from their sickness,
except yourself, and you shall this day be freed by
death, and taken to the vision of our Lord Christ,
whom you have faithfully served. The Divine mercy

KING AND MARTYR. 75

has granted this through the intercession of the reli-
gious king Oswald, dear to God, who formerly reigned
over the Northumbrians with the authority both of
temporal power and Christian sanctity, which leads to
an eternal kingdom. For it was on this same day that
that king was slain in battle by the infidels, and was
presently assumed to the eternal joys of souls, and en-
rolled among the armies of the elect. Let them consult
their books, which contain the obituaries, and they will
find that he was on this day taken out of the world. Let
them then say mass in all the oratories of this monas-
tery, as well in thanksgiving for their prayers being
heard, as in commemoration of king Oswald, who once
governed their nation. On this account it was that he
suppliaritly offered up his prayers for them as for
strangers of his people, and let all the brethren be con-
vened in church, and let them all communicate in the
Heavenly Sacrifice, and give over fasting, and refresh
their bodies with food."

These words the little Saxon boy duly related to
Eappa, who made particular inquiries as to the dress
and appearance of the persons who had appeared to
him. The boy told him that they were noble and
beautiful beyond what he could have conceived, and
that the one was bearded, but the other shorn like
a clerk, and that one was called Peter and the other
Paul, and that Jesus had sent them to protect the
monastery. Eappa, referring to the chronicles, found
that it was really the anniversary of St. Oswald's death.
The masses were said, all communicated, the little boy
received the viaticum, and the fast was broken ; and
before sunset the boy died, and the plague ceased, and
ever after St. Oswald's day was observed, and a very
solemn mass celebrated thereon.

THE LIFE OF

§bt. ©stotn,

KING AND MARTYR, A.D. 651.

IT is impossible to write of that fair portion of our
native land, which was the kingdom of St. Edwin, St.
Oswald and St. Oswin, without reflecting upon its pre-
sent state and the changes it has undergone. It is
no longer the land of greenwood, blythe forester and
openhearted baron and wandering balladmonger : but
the world must change, if for no other reason at least
for this, that it may sicken its children of putting con-
fidence in it, and too much work lies before us of the
nineteenth century to allow us to stand still to be
merely poetical in our regrets. So let the baron go,
and the balladmonger, though there might be much
about them which was the type of a healthier and
heartier state of things. But Northumberland is no
longer the land of royal monasteries, of sacred shrines,
of ennobling traditions, of active Catholicism, or an
effective Church. It is a region of ecclesiastical ruins,
of upbraiding memorials of the past, with materials
which Churchmen in their present position have no
room to act upon, however zealous and self-denying
they may be. Using the word Northumberland in its
old sense, not for the modern county only, the face of
the land is literally darkened, the sun obscured, the

78 ST. OS WIN,

verdure tinged, the waters dyed, by the consequences
of that mineral wealth for which it is now so famous
the whole world over. And more than this — what con-
cerns us more nearly is that there are cumbrous clouds
of population, almost homeless, swaying here and there
as the changes and the swervings of trade and employ-
ment propel them ; a sight sufficient to paralyze the
parish priest, a monster which the mere parochial sys-
tem cannot dream of coping with ; and contemporane-
ously with this new startling phenomenon, so well has
Satan contrived his schemes that the ecclesiastical
wealth of the palatinate is drained off from its proper
localities just when it was most wanted. How easy
does it seem for our holy mother the Church to pour
forth an itinerant army of rough and eloquent friars
into this mass of sin, wretchedness and disorder, and
by God's help to make it instinct with catholic life
and purity, how sure the results, how infinitely bless-
ed ! Yet are we so tied and bound by our sins, by
a poor feeble unhealthful system which is the conse-
quence of sin, that we must needs sit still and with
drooping hearts confide to money and to stone chapels
and material school-houses the mission given at the
first, and for ever, to flesh and blood, to living apo-
stolic teachers. But let us be content : mayhap we
have not vital heat and active nerve enough within
us to throw out such a power of ardent life as would
be necessary to compass these huge masses of people ;
for the present let it suffice us to be working that way,
and seek for consolation from those wells of hope for
the future, the actual deeds and sufferings of a better
past : and with this thought let us go to the scanty
notices which we have left of Oswin, the humble and
the affable, who ruled the kingdom of Northumberland

KING AND MARTYR. 79

in the seventh age. And as to the trammels of our
ailing system, think what thousands of monks are
chanting every tierce, Memor fui judiciorum tuorum a
seeculo, Domine ; et consolatus sum.

When the monk of Tynemouth was asked by his
brethren to write the life and martyrdom of St. Oswin],
he found in the reign of king Stephen a copiousness
and a scarcity of materials. It was hard to say which
of the two embarrassed him most ; for on the one hand
Bede had said very little, and what Bede had not said
was very likely apocryphal, and on the other there was
a great desire to write a life, an edifying life, of a Saint
so highly venerated among the northern catholics.
However he resolved to follow Bede, and to dilate only
upon those many miracles which had been wrought
through the intercession or by the relics of St. Oswin.
We must be content therefore to take St. Oswin as one
of the cases not uncommon in hagiology, where what
is actually known 'of the Saint is quite disproportioned
to the extent and degree of veneration paid to him by
Christians. This may be partly owing to the copious-
ness of posthumous miracles, as with the nameless re-
mains of martyrs in the catacombs to which some arbi-
trary title, as of a Christian virtue, has been given ;
and partly to the fact that where an immediate and
widely-spread popular devotion to a saint arose, men
did not at first think of recording what everybody about
them knew without reading.

Oswin was the son of Osric king of the Deiri, the
monarch who unhappily apostatized from the faith, and
was afterwards slain by the bloody Cadwalla of Cum-

1 Published by the Surtees Society from the MS. Cotton, Julius,
A. X.

80 ST. OS WIN,

berland. At the time of his father's death Oswin ap-
pears to have been quite a child, so that, being beneath the
notice of the vindictive conqueror, his friends managed
to carry him off among the West Saxons. It would
seem that he was baptized while young, either before
his father was slain, or when he was first taken among
the Christian subjects of Kinegils. He lived in exile
for ten long years, greatly edifying those among whom
he dwelt. He was very beautiful, tall of stature, and of
a particularly engaging address ; but these things, which
to most young men are calamities as being so many
occasions of falling, he turned to the glory of God.
Among other virtues he was so conspicuous for the
grace of chastity that his biographer compares him to
Joseph while dwelling among the Egyptians. Among
posterity generally his more especial grace was thought
to be humility : and indeed it is very observable how
intimately connected a lowly mind seems to be with
pure thoughts, so that one virtue appears to follow as
a consequence upon the other. For bashfulness which
is the shield of purity is close upon humility.

Like so many other of the Saxon kings, Oswin learned
the art of reigning in the school of exile. After the
death of St. Oswald Oswy became king of the Bernicians ;
Oswin returned from exile, and either by Oswy's adop-
tion, as some say, or by the election of the nobles, ac-
cording to others, was raised to the throne of the Deiri.
When we come within the sphere of the Church, how the
jarring sounds of earthly strife seem all stilled ! Saint
reigns after Saint among the Northumbrians, yet the
reign of one is the exile of the other ; the term of power
with the one is exactly the term of depression with the
other. Yet the exile is God's school : there the Saint
was made, and Oswald seems as it were the stern author

KING AND MARTYK. 81

of the sanctity of Oswin. So it was with Oswald him-
self : the death of the blessed Edwin opens the gates of
his native land to the fugitive prince, the future king and
Saint. Thus is evil temporary : thus even in time is
the Church anticipating the eternal order of things,
weeding out evil from the creation of God, gathering it
into bundles, and burning it. Thus while history is a
continuous record of splendid sins, the lives of the Saints
have also their continuity ; to the world's eye much is
left out of what forms the history of a nation, but holy
legends teach us to see the course of things more as
Angels see it, laying bare the footprints of the Most
High, and revealing the under-current of history, slow
and tranquil and imperturbed as the peace which is
around the Throne Invisible. The secular details of
Oswin's reign are not preserved to us; doubtless they
were full of that consistency and sagacity which high
principle invariably displays. The general results, how-
ever, are told us ; they were peace, order, and the hap-
piness of those beneath his sway. We may be sure also
that ecclesiastical matters prospered under his care ; for
there existed the closest friendship between the sove-
reign and the holy bishop Aidan. Oswin's biographer,
the monk of Tynemouth, beautifully exclaims, " 0 man
full of piety ! 0 worthy of a crown ! In that time the
most blessed bishop Aidan ruled with his pastoral care
the province of the Northumbrians. He was a Scot by
birth, catholic in his faith. St. Oswald the king had
raised him to the episcopate, and by his preaching Di-
vine grace had converted no small number of the people
to the faith of Christ. It was this holy man's custom
to teach the people committed to his charge, not in the
Church only, but seeing how tender the young faith yet
was, he went about the province entering the houses of

82 ST. OSWIN,

the believers, and sowing the seed of the divine word in
the field of their hearts, as each one was able to receive
it. This man, so careful of the flock entrusted to him,
used often to come to St. Oswin king of the Deiri, and
stay with him on account of the sweet odor of his sanc-
tity. He admonished him to persevere in good works,
and always to be advancing to better things, and the
summits of perfection, and, taught by the Holy Spirit,
he forewarned him how that he must pass to the hea-
venly kingdom through martyrdom. The king, receiving
him as a Saint, gave diligent heed to his preaching the
words of life ; and holding himself in devout subjection
to that most beloved father, he corrected at his reproof
whatsoever he had done amiss. The bishop indeed was
beyond measure delighted with the humility and obe-
dience of the king, and often held familiar converse with
him about the contempt of the world, the sweetness of a
heavenly life and the glory of the Saints. The king was
by no means a forgetful hearer of the word of God, but
a zealous doer of the same ; and according as he had
learned from his good master, he took care of all with a
fatherlike affection, benignantly relieving the poor and
especially strangers, feeding the hungry, clothing the
naked, and bestowing favors with alacrity upon all who
asked them. There was between them such a confede-
racy of mutual love, that the king held the holy bishop
for an Angel, and obeyed his suggestions as though they
were inspired. The bishop on the other hand loved the
king as though he were part of his own soul, one while
upbraiding him as a son if he were too much occupied,
as men are wont to be, in secular matters, another while
cherishing and inflaming him like a dear friend with
spiritual conversation."2

2 Vita S. Oswini, c. i. sub fin.

KING AND MARTYR. 83

A most beautiful example of this intercourse between
the bishop and the king has been left on record for our
edification. We have already alluded to St. Aidan's
custom of making circuits through his diocese and en-
tering houses and catechizing. These pastoral journeys
he mostly performed on foot, after the example of our
Blessed Lord, of whom we read only once that He rode
upon an ass, entering His own city in such meek tri-
umphal guise that the prophet's words might be ful-
filled. Personal fatigue and hardship and what the
world would call loss of time were not the only disad-
vantages which the holy prelate sustained. The fre-
quent rivers and streams of the northern shires of Eng-
land, for the most part rapid and stony, were to be
forded often at the risk of life. To save the bishop from
this peril, as well as to lighten his labors, Oswin made
him a present of a very valuable horse, which St. Aidan
accepted. Possibly the bishop put less value upon it
than the king, for riding would not be so favorable as
walking to the constant self-recollection and mental
prayer which he doubtless practised on his journeys,
making the intervals of passage from place to place in
some measure to compensate the loss of that former mo-
nastic leisure which he had cheerfully given up for the
edification of his neighbour. However this may be, Os-
win's horse did not stay long with St. Aidan. For soon
after the present had been made, the bishop mounted on
his horse, adorned with rich and royal trappings, met a
beggar who asked him for an alms. The Saint with the
utmost alacrity dismounted from his steed, and pre-
sented it with all its furniture to the poor man. Either
that day or shortly afterwards St. Aidan was to dine
with the king : before dinner some one told Oswin of
what was perhaps considered the slight put by the

84: ST. OSWIN,

bishop on the royal beneficence. As they were going to
the banquet Oswin said, " My Lord Bishop ! why did
you give to a poor man that royal horse which it was
more fitting to keep for your own use ? Have we not
plenty of horses of less price and of commoner sorts
which would have been good enough for gifts to the poor
without your giving them that one which I had parti-
cularly selected for your own possession V Whether the
king spoke as if nettled by the apparent slight, or com-
plainingly as if hurt by the want of attachment shown
in parting so lightly with a friend's gift, we are not told ;
but the bishop was ready with his answer, " What is that
you say, 0 king ? Is that foal of a mare dearer to you
than that son of God ?" meaning the beggar. It would
seem from the narrative that Oswin was somewhat out of
temper, and was brooding over the matter in his mind.
For when they entered the banquet-room the bishop went
and sat down in his accustomed place, while the king,
who had just returned from hunting, stood and warmed
himself at the fire. Perhaps there was something of an
inward struggle going on. If so, it soon was over ; for as
he stood by the fire, he pondered the bishop's words, and
suddenly ungirding his sword and giving it to a servant,
he fell down at St. Aidan's feet and besought his for-
giveness. " Never again," said the humbled king, " will
I say any more of this, or take upon myself to judge
what or how much of my treasure you bestow upon the
sons of God." The bishop was much moved, and start-
ing up he raised his sovereign, declaring that he was
entirely reconciled to him, and begging that he would
be seated and enjoy the banquet, Oswin did as the
bishop said, and with the elasticity of spirits which ever
follows close upon humbling ourselves to confess what we
have done wrong, the king grew merry at the feast. But

KING AND MARTYR. 85

the countenance of the bishop saddened, and the more
lighthearted the good king became, so much the more
was St. Aidan lost in silence and sorrow, and kept shed-
ding tears. It chanced that a priest sat near, a Scot,
who asked his bishop in the Scottish tongue, which the
king did not understand, why he wept. " I know well,"
said Aidan, " that the king will not live long ; for never
have I seen before a prince so humble ; wherefore I feel
assured that he will soon be taken out of this life, for
this nation is not worthy to have such a sovereign."
This, whether it were prophecy, or that foreboding which
men seem naturally to have when they look on great
goodness, was too truly fulfilled.

Such was the intercourse between bishop and king,
when both were Saints ; and the monk of Tynemouth
beautifully comments on it. " Truly the strict demand
of equity is that the inferior should be willingly subject
to the power of the superior. Nevertheless growth in
righteousness brings it about that an equal sometimes
submits to an equal ; but that the superior should
humble himself before the inferior comes only from
the perfection of consummate righteousness. Where-
fore the Great Creator humbling Himself to the bap-
tism of His inferior creature, when the other shrunk,
said, Suffer it to be so now, for thus it becometh us
to fulfil all righteousness, as though He meant by the
superior humbling himself to the inferior. This per-
fection of righteousness in the blessed king Oswin, taught
not by literary profession but by the unction of the
Holy Paraclete, when forgetful of his regal majesty he
lay at his bishop's feet, not only called out the wonder-
ing admiration of the wild people which he governed,
but even kindled in religious fathers by his example
a love of humiliation. But the bishops of those days

86 ST. OS WIN,

were not, as now,3 pre-eminent in the insolent affluence
of wealth, or the pompous luxury of precious vestments,
even beyond secular folk, but poor in spirit, poor in
means, and so easily open to contempt ; and on that very
account it was all the more laudable to pay reverence
unto them." 4

Oswin's biographer goes on to say that there were on
record many other examples of his great humility, but
that he will not relate them lest he should dwell too
much on one of his virtues to the depreciation of the
rest. One may regret that the good monk has robbed
us through such an ill-founded apprehension. Next to
humility mercifulness is counted as a special grace of
Oswin's, mercifulness not only in the giving of alms,
but in what often involves greater self-sacrifice and pa-
tience and alacrity, — in succouring the oppressed. At
the same time he exhibited firmness and even forward-
ness (acredo) in repressing those who were disobedient
to his laws. Neither were the interior exercises of a
spiritual life forgotten ; he watched, he fasted, he
prayed ; and it was in those things and out of those
things that he got his humility. Such were the virtues
with which " that soul devoted to God was green as the
spring, becomingly and abundantly."

It would appear as if Oswy almost from the very first
found it hard to brook the division of the kingdom,
which the rule of St. Oswald had moulded into one.
If then it were he who raised Oswin to the throne of
the Deiri, he must have quickly repented of his own
measure j or if the elevation of our Saint were owing
to the election of the nobles, it was probably distasteful
to Oswy at the outset, but that circumstances controlled

3 i. e. in the days of King Stephen.

4 Vit. Osw. c. ii. sub fin.

KING AND MARTYR. 87

his opposition or made it necessary for him to dissemble.
The very sanctity of Oswin, being in the mouths of all,
Bernicians as well as Deiri, was gall to Oswy, and fos-
tered his malignant envy. As the monk words it, Oswy
tried the serpent, before he took to the lion. In other
words, he endeavoured for long to compass the death of
Oswin by subtlety. But the love and fidelity of all
around him was a shield which the dagger of the as-
sassin could never penetrate. Sometimes the schemes
of Oswy were detected or anticipated by the shrewd-
ness of his intended victim : at other times Oswin
was warned of them by the very men who were com-
pelled to act as the instruments of Oswy. Thus passed
seven years of outward peace and outward glory for
Oswin ; but we learn from this that even the throne
was as it were a school of affliction. The continual
sense of insecurity, the harassing continuance of sus-
picion, the weary diligence of warding off blows, the
restlessness of being on the watch, the wretched feeling
of having one enemy, of being a hunted thing, — such
was the ermine which lined St. Oswin's crown ; the
very kind of life which God gave his servant David
wherewithal to sanctify himself.

It is said that the reverence, which the character
of St. Aidan compelled even from the dark-minded
Oswy, was the main cause that for seven years outward
peace was kept. Two years followed of still greater
trial for Oswin. We are not told why; only it is
recorded that these two years were more troubled than
the foregoing ones : possibly the impatience of envy
was unable to wear its disguise any longer, and broke
out into more frequent displays of malignity. Besides
which Oswy was enraged at being baffled by the sa-
gacious gentleness of his enemy, and in half abhorrence

88 ST. OSWIN,

of his own meanness took refuge in the more masculine
wickedness of open rage. To borrow the monk's simi-
litude of the animals, weary and ashamed of crawling
he resolved to roar and to devour j and at last gathered
together an army for Oswin's destruction.

Oswin likewise collected some forces, but so incon-
siderable that it would appear as though he came rather
to deprecate war than to make it. He met Oswy at Wilfar's
Hill, about ten miles from Catterick, near the pleasant
Swale, in whose clear waters St. Paulinus had baptized
the Saxon peasantry of Yorkshire. Seeing the inferiority
of his forces and yet their desperate resolution to sell their
lives for their king, and considering that it was per-
sonal affection to himself which animated them, Oswin
paused. The bloody slaughter which must ensue over-
shadowed his gentle spirit, and he could not endure to
be the cause of death to so many, whether of his own
little chivalrous band, or of his foes.5 He therefore
determined to withdraw from the field and disband his
troops. If it was his crown which Oswy wanted, it
was not much for him to resign it, and live in ob-
scurity ; but if it were his life as well as his crown,
why then, if we live, we live unto the Lord, and if we
die, we die unto the Lord, therefore he could part with
that also. He called his little army together and spoke
to some such effect as this j I say, to some such effect., for
the monk's narrative seems a little more florid than the
original legend probably was. " I thank you, my most
faithful captains and strenuous soldiers, for your good-
will towards me ; but far be it from me that for my

5 Though Bede's narrative quite admits of this turn, yet it treats
Oswin's flight rather as an act of prudence than of heroic virtue. Not
so the monk of Tynemouth. Of course both may be, and most proba-
bly are, true together.

KING AND MARTYR. 89

sake only such danger should be run by you who from
a poor exile made me 6 into a king. I prefer therefore
to return into exile, nay, even to die, than to hazard so
many lives. Let me in peace, and not in war, embrace
the divine sentence against myself, conveyed to me
by the mouth of the blessed bishop Aidan that through
martyrdom must I enter the joys of heaven. I refuse
not to end my earthly life in such order and time as
Christ shall will." The soldiers seeing how earnestly
their king coveted to depart and be with Christ, were
wounded " with a deep wound in their hearts," and all
with one accord went down on their knees before him,
and wept, and prayed to fight for him. " Haply we
may conquer • we may break even through yon wedges
of men ; but if not, let us die, and not pass into a
proverb as deserters of our king." But Oswin was
unmoved. He saw that it was himself and not his
people who were aimed at, that Oswy would not ravage
the country or oppress the people even for his own
sake, and that by forbidding the battle he was not
abandoning his subjects to the horrors of a cruel in-
vasion. He explained this to his men, and concluded
by saying, " I pant after martyrdom and the joys of the
heavenly kingdom."

When he had said this, he prayed solemnly to God
and said, " Father of mercy and God of all consolation,
whose Son is the Angel of great counsels, whose Spirit
is the Comforter in difficulties, grant me in this strait
to choose the better way. For if I fight, I shall be
guilty before Thee of the shedding of blood. Tf I fly,
I shall be counted to have degenerated from the no-
bility of my parents, and to have fallen short of my

6 The monk of Tynemouth therefore refers Oswin's exaltation to
the election of the nobles, not to Oswy's voluntary choice.

90 . ST. OSWIN,

station. Flying, I displease men : fighting, I am dis-
pleasing unto Thee." And so, says the monk, he fixed
his anchor in God.

Oswin, disbanding his forces, chose one companion of
his exile, a faithful adherent named Tondhere the son of
Tylsius. With him he passed that evening from Wilfar's
Hill to the village of Gilling on the west border of York-
shire, which lies in a green and blythe valley of consi-
derable depth, not far from Richmond. The estate, or
to use a later word, the fief of Gilling, he had lately con-
ferred upon count Hunwald, as one of his most attached
courtiers ; and that he should turn out a traitor proves
in what a state of insecurity Oswin must have passed
his days, and how completely the meshes of his enemy
encompassed him round about. So true it is, as with
their Head, so with the Saints, their foes are they of
their own household, and their wounds are received in
the house of their friends. It is not probable that
Oswin expected to escape death, though it was his duty
to shun it ; for all that he said showed him to be com-
pletely and calmly possessed by the presentiment of its
nearness. Hunwald received him into his house, and
promised to conceal him.

Meanwhile Oswy was not altogether satisfied. True
it was that he was master of the kingdom of the Deiri
without opposition : but was his usurpation likely to
be stable while one so ardently beloved as Oswin was
lying somewhere in exile 1 And was not his own per-
sonal hatred to be satisfied1? In truth he had been
baulked of half his prey. He therefore commissioned
count Ethelwin, one of his officers, to take a troop
of soldiers, seek for the fugitive king, and kill him.
The search was not long ; for the detestable Hunwald
betrayed his guest. Ethelwin surrounded the castle

KING AND MARTYR. 91

with his soldiers in the silence of the night, while Hun-
wald was paying the homage of his lips to his kind
master. Ethelwin entered and notified to Oswin the
fatal sentence of the conqueror. At first the king was
disturbed with the suddenness of the event and the
additional distress of having been betrayed by one
under such great obligations to him. But, recovering
his calmness and his dignity, he fortified his breast
and tongue with the sign of the Cross, and said to
Ethelwin, " The sentence of your king depends upon
the permission of my King." He entreated the count
to spare the life of his faithful servant Tondhere ; but
he refused to survive his master. Both were slain
together, and buried together, at Gilling on the 20th
day of August, 651, A.D.

So far as appears, St. Oswin remained unmarried.
We may suppose that one who all his life long so earn-
estly coveted the best gifts was not likely to be without
a holy ambition for the coronal of virgins, and that in
virginity, that great fountain of almsgiving, and pre-
ceptress of humility, his holy soul would much delight.
There are some of the Saints whose lives seem to have
been moulded by a heavenly vision or some superna-
tural intimation of their own destiny. This touch of
the invisible world appears to draw them apart, to
give a direction to their lives, a tone to their character,
to be to them as it were a kind of individual sacrament
vouchsafed to them. They seem to sit all their days
beneath the shadow of this sacred revelation, and to
sanctify themselves in its secret presence. Perhaps too
it will be generally found that the Saints whose lives
have this peculiar feature most strongly (for in its mea-
sure may it not be the portion of all great Saints ?) have
been more especially distinguished by humility and a

92 ST. OSWIN,

mortified spirit. Thus with St. Oswin the heavenly in-
timation given him through St. Aidan that he should
suffer martyrdom would doubtless haunt him perpe-
tually, and be to a good man a constant source of self-
restraint and gentleness. For to be entrusted with a
secret of the Lord seems to bring the Divine Presence
nearer, and the abiding sense of that Presence would
be sure to humble a man exceedingly. The secret life
of sovereigns has generally been very different from
the show of court-days; and as with St. Oswin, so in
many signal cases has it pleased God by His grace to
make it a long hidden martyrdom of pain and care,
and suffering for the faith, and austere self-discipline.
Blessed are the monarchs whose brows are girt with the
crown of thorns, though we see but the diadem of gold !
Soon after Oswin's death, the monk of Tynemouth
would have it immediately afterwards, his remains were
translated from Gilling to Tynemouth, where St. Os-
wald had founded a monastery. It was deposited in a
chapel built beneath a rock on the north side of the
river, an oratory of our Blessed Lady ; and for some
time his place of sepulture was reverently visited. But
the Gospel suffered continual eclipses, partial or total,
on the sea-coasts of Northumberland from the frequent
landings and invasions of the heathen Danes ; so that
in course of time the exact place of St. Oswin's burial
was forgotten, and so remained until the eleventh cen-
tury. There was at that time at Tynemouth a man of
the name of Edmund, a very pious person who led a
monkish life and wore a monkish dress, and continued
day and night in devotion to Christ and the holy
Mother. He did not belong to any monastery, profess-
ed no rule, and was not bound by any regular disci-
pline. But though living in the world he was as a

KING AND MARTYR, 93

monk among its crowds. It happened that after a
vigil he fell asleep in the Church, and as he slept there
appeared to him in a dream a person of a vivid color
and vigorous frame, tall of stature, and with a heavenly
effulgence round him. Edmund gazed earnestly upon
him, but, awe-struck by the majesty of his angelic
countenance, did not venture to enquire who he was.
At length the man called : " Brother Edmund ! Bro-
ther Edmund !" Then Edmund with all reverence
replied, " Who art thou, my lord T " I am king Os-
win slain by Oswy through the detestable treachery of
count Hunwald, and I lie in this Church unknown to
all. Rise therefore and go to the bishop Egelwin, and
tell him to seek my body beneath the pavement of this
oratory, and let him raise it up and re-inter it more
becomingly in this same chapel T In consequence of this
the body was sought, and found. Judith the daughter
of Baldwin earl of Flanders, and wife of Tosti earl of
Northumberland, washed the martyr's hair still stained
by blood ; but except the hair and bones all had gone
to dust. The feast of St. Oswin is kept on the 20th
of August, it being the day of the solemn translation
of his relics from the old oratory into the new Church
of Our Lady at Tynemouth.

It would appear that Oswy afterwards repented of
his crime, which William of Malmesbury imputes to
malicious mischief-makers inciting him against St. Os-
win. However, Eanfleda his queen, St. Edwin's daugh-
ter, got permission from her husband to found a monas-
tery at Gilling wherein prayers should be said for the
repose of Oswin's soul, and for the pardon of the guilty
Oswy. It was one of the many holy houses which
fell before the ruthless Danes.

Let us quote once more the words of the devoted

94

monk of TynemouthJ " The Martyr in his glory still in-
vites the wealthy by his example to the tranquil joys of
paradise. For he did not attempt the way of sanctity,
compelled by the urgency of poverty, or, as men are
wont, by the feebleness of ailing health ; but, freely
drawn by the sole contemplation of the Creator, he
lived in the purple of a king, as David did, poor and
sorrowing ; poor in spirit even while he abounded
in the wealth and delicacy of a monarch ; sorrowful in
spirit, because he trusted not his heart to his abun-
dance of good things. For the more he abounded,
the less desire had he for his abundance. In the midst
of a noisy court, which was ever too much for him,
he fled far off, and remained in the solitude of his mind,
even when his subjects thronged about him. Abroad
he carried himself in a kingly way, but inwardly he
was a king over his own affections, courageously exer-
cising himself in the love of humility and poverty.
He girded himself up to all spiritual exercises, but
seemed to pour out his whole being in the corporal
works of mercy. His plenty was the needy man's
supply : the superfluities of the rich he deemed the
necessaries of the poor. He thought a king owed most
to those who could do least for him, and that justice
was meant specially for the oppressed. And so was
the holy king Oswin, because his people deserved not
such a lord, slain by the sword of envy, and translated
to the companies of the blessed Angels."

7 This monk was original!)7- of St. Alban's, then prior of Wymunde-
ham ; he came to Tynemouth to give himself more completely up to
the austerities of penance. What is said in the text of ailing health is
touching, when we know that the writer suffered greatly at Tyne-
mouth, and was restored to health through the intercession of his
patron St. Oswin.

KING AND MARTYR. 95

Very many graces are said to have been granted at
the tomb of the royal martyr, and through his potent
intercession. A life of St. Oswin would be scarcely
complete, if some mention was not made of these.
Perhaps it would be a simpler and more religious tem-
per which would regard such things as miracles really
accorded to the pleading and merits of the blessed
Saint ; there is, through God's mercy, a growing incli-
nation among us to take these things reverentially,
when there seems tolerable historical evidence in favor
of them ; and at any rate there is among many more a
growing disinclination to speak lightly of such matters,
and put them rudely aside. There is a pious suspense
of mind which is surely an acceptable temper, more ac-
ceptable, it may be, than that mere hunger for the mar-
vellous, which is very far indeed from calm discerning
faith. However, we do not pretend, to relate the fol-
lowing miracles either as sacred facts or as mere devo-
tional fictions ; they have an interest of another sort,
which does not affect their possibly more solemn cha-
racter, and for this lower interest we shall now put
them before the reader.

If it evidence a poorer temper of mind and an age
of cold hearts and incredulous intellects, yet surely it
is allowable and edifying to dwell on the humanizing
influences which the beliefs and devotions of the ca-
tholic Church have had on rough ages and among tur-
bulent nations. It is not the less God's mercy, though
there may be a more direct and awful manifestation of
Him in such things. For many a long year of fear
and vexatious misrule the " Peace of the martyr " was a
pleasant and a safe shade under which the dwellers on
the bleak sea-shore of Durham and Northumberland
were glad to cluster like an affrighted sheep-flock ; a

96 ST. OS WIN,

shadow cast by St. Oswin's memory from our Lady's
House at Tynemouth far to the Cleveland Hills, and
northward to the Tweed. The charities of life took
root there with an assurance which the troubled times
could not warrant : unnamed, unnumbered acts of peace,
goodness, fidelity, restitution, self-restraint, were (so to
speak) solemnized for the comfort of men through the
" Peace of the martyr." It was the Church making the
world endurable — her work in all ages, the way thereof,
with fruitful diversity, different in every age,

We proceed then to relate three miracles, which
particularly exemplify this. Let it be remembered that
by miracles men are not only helped, but they are also
taught. When, therefore, to the readers of one age the
miracles of another long past away appear so grotesque
as to provoke amusement, their seeming eccentricity
is no ground for rejecting them. If men are to be
taught, the teaching will be shaped for them, adapted
to their way of looking at things, corresponding to their
habits of thought, and as it were echoing the actual life
and manners of the times. Supposing a miracle wrought
for the conversion of a barbarous people, will it not
almost certainly have a barbarous aspect, and be what a
philosophical age would deem a gross display of super-
natural power or goodness 1 A barbarian doubting of
the Gospel would, as in numberless recorded instances,
put its truth to a gross, carnal, rude test — something
the satisfaction of which would make a rude man be-
lieve ; the missionary is inspired to accept the test, to
venture his preaching upon it, works the required mira-
cle, asked not in wantonness, but as a child would seek
unwonted assurance for some unwonted promise ; and is
the miracle so wrought, so fitting for its purpose, thus
actually bringing men into the Church of God, a suitable

KING AND MARTYR. 97

or decorous theme for elegant derision or playfully con-
temptuous narrative among the children of those bar-
barian ancestors whose simple-mannered ignorance it
overruled to such a mighty and blissful end ? Whether
then the following miracles were wrought or not, they
were believed; and such a faith would in rude times
exert a most holy influence over manners and conduct,
and in some sense vicariously discharge the sweetest
office of law, while law was not yet come of age to dis-
charge its own duties, namely, that of securing the hap-
piness of private life, fostering and guaranteeing all the
rights, jurisdictions, privileges, and subordinations of
conjugal, filial, and fraternal piety, while it also inspired,
ennobled, and insured all the gentle hallowing restraints
of what is called with an expressive homeliness, — good
neighborhood.

There is such a Christian virtue as hospitality, and
the self-denial it for the most part involves may be that
which chiefly gives it its Christian character. It was a
virtue much needed in unsettled times, and much prac-
tised. When people saw graces given to strangers at
the tombs of their own local Saints, they received a
strong admonition to hospitality, most vividly conveyed.
The following is a specimen of many such. There was
a man of Norwich who had a profound reverence for the
holy places where our Lord had trodden, spoken and
acted when on earth. Three times did his pious thirst
after those far-off fountains of prayer and tears drive
him over land and sea to Jerusalem, long, arduous, peri-
lous as the pilgrimage was. Returning home after his
third visit, he determined to go northward to pay his
devotions at St. Andrew's in Scotland, a place then re-
garded with singular veneration. He had, from long
usage, become so accustomed to foreign diet that the

98 ST. OSWIN,

rough cheer of English plenty threw him into a violent
illness ; this was accompanied every fifteen or sixteen
days with excruciating spasms, and to gain relief from
these seems to have been one, though not the sole ob-
ject of this fresh pilgrimage to St. Andrew's. On his
journey he passed through Newcastle-ou-Tyne. In that
town dwelt a man named Daniel, whose wife was a very
godly woman, and specially devoted to the entertain-
ment and care of strangers ; for which purpose she had
built a house apart from her own dwelling. Here she
received the Norwich pilgrim, and ministered to him
with her own hands ; and here he was seized with his
fit of spasms. It wounded the heart of his hostess to
hear how the poor pilgrim filled the house with his
pitiful cries. She consoled him to the best of her
power, and furnished him with such comforts as she
could, till after long agony his exhausted body found
a little respite in sleep. In his sleep he dreamed a
dream, or saw a vision. A man of a reverend counte-
nance appeared to him, and asked him if he wished to
recover from his sickness. " Yes, sir," he replied, " I
covet it ardently." " Rise then in the morning," was
the answer, " and hasten to St. Oswin, the king and
martyr, so that on Tuesday next you may be present
at the feast of the Invention of his relics, and by his
merits there obtain the health you desire." The sick
man inquired, " But who are you, sir, who promise me
such good things f " What have you to do with me ?
Go in faith and be healed." " Yet, sir," persisted the
pilgrim, " I beseech you do not be angry, but tell me
who you are, that by the authority of your name I may
be assured of the solidity of your promise." Then the
figure answered, " I am Aidan formerly the bishop of
St. Oswin, and that you may believe, I will now by my

KING AND MARTYR. 99

touch cure the pain in your head, leaving you to be
healed of your inward spasms by St. Oswin." So say-
ing he pressed upon the nose of the sleeping man, and
immediately a copious flow of blood took place, which
relieved his head. There was a maid watching by his
bed-side, and when she saw her patient covered with
blood she called her mistress, who at the request of the
sick man sent for the priest of the parish. To him
he related the vision, saying that Oswin he had heard
a little of, but he did not so much as know the name
of Aidan. As he was unable to walk, one of the neigh-
bors kindly offered to take him to Tynemouth in his
boat. They arrived there while the monks were in
chapter, and laid the sufferer at the martyr's tomb,
where he was presently healed of his disease.

If there ever was an age when Church holydays were
multiplied to idleness and grew to be a burden to the
land, there certainly have been ages when they were most
kindly interruptions of the oppressive toils of poverty,
most merciful restraints on landlords, and gentle mitiga-
tions of the hardships of the over-tasked peasantry.
Now let us see how it was believed that St. Oswin inter-
fered to vindicate for the poor the safe rest of his own
festivals. Once, when all agricultural labor was sus-
pended, a greedy clerk would not lose the day, but
housed his grain. He was worldly wise ; people noticed
him, but in those days they would not envy such an one.
Shortly by some accident his barn took fire, and all
his grain was burned. Accident translated into the
language of those times was St. Oswin's vengeance.
Again, when Archarius was prior of Tynemouth, there
dwelt there for a little while a most expert goldsmith
of the name of Baldwin, whom the prior took into his
service to re-gild the martyr's shrine. St. Oswin's day

100 ST. OSWIN,

came round ; there was feasting and praying and holy-
day at Tynemouth. Baldwin among the rest went to
the feasting, and being an unsuspicious man, besides
that it was St. Oswin's day, he did not close his shop-
door so carefully as he might have done. His shop was
close to the church, and among the crowds a thief ma-
naged to approach it unperceived, and carry away all
the valuables he could lay hands on. This was a sacri-
legious breach of the " Martyr's Peace." The public road
was open to the thief ; he ran till he came to the limits
of the " Peace," the border of the sanctuary, and there,
though there was an open unhindered way before him,
he could not move a step, but was miraculously rooted
to the ground. Yet, though he could not advance,
he could go here and there within the Peace as he
pleased ; but it was invisibly fenced, and he could not
pass the bounds. However, he betook himself to a little
inn within the purlieus, where, by his startled face, the
levity of his deportment, and the incoherency of his
speech, something was suspected, and he was arrested.
Meanwhile Baldwin had become acquainted with his
loss, and with a heavy heart was complaining at the
martyr's tomb, when the news came that the thief had
been found, and his goods restored. The criminal was
immediately hung, and the people feared, and glorified
God for the wonderful protection of St. Oswin's Peace.

How beautiful it is amid the dazzling brightness, the
wassail and the tournament, of the middle ages to catch
a glimpse of some details of the unnamed poor ! How
touching when those details tell how the poor ran to their
Church as their natural refuge, and how the Church suc-
coured, comforted, avenged the wrongs of the slighted
cottager, the helpless woman, the toil-worn serf ! Here
is a legend of St. Oswin's shrine, which is quite a Chris-

KING AND MARTYR. 101

tian poem, very beautiful indeed. In the reign of
William Rufus there was war on the Scottish border.
William came to Newcastle-on-Tyne inflamed with un-
governable passion. The Scots had wasted the country
all round, and were then butchering old and young,
priest and layman, in the poor city of Durham. Wil-
liam advanced, and they fled before him, for they heard
of his burning rage. Meanwhile there came fifty of
William's ships to the mouth of the Tyne, laden with
corn from the West Angles to supply the king during
the Scottish war. The mariners were a rude ungodly
company, and as the king had left Newcastle, and there
was no one to restrain them, they plundered the houses
round about, and did not fear to violate St. Os win's
Peace. There was an old woman, so weak and old that
she was obliged to support herself on a staff; each year
she consumed wholly with great pains and weary dili-
gence in weaving a poor little web ; it was her annual
hope and harvest, and the year's web was now lying
finished by her. Whether she was walking on the shore
carrying her web to sell it, or whether she was in her
cottage, does not appear from the narrative ; but at any
rate she was attacked by one of the sailors, but firmly
as she grasped her precious web he tore it out of her
hands. She wept and sobbed, and besought him by her
patron St. Oswin that he would give her back the web ;
the sailor scoffed both at St. Oswin and herself. The
indignant old woman with much effort hobbled up to
the monastery, and went to the martyr's tomb, and beg-
ged him to redress her wrongs. " God," says the monk,
" who despiseth not the tears of widows, heard the old
woman's tearful sobs through the merits of the holy
martyr." But she left the tomb dejected : no answer
came to her prayers ; night passed, and the web was

102 ST. OSWIN,

not returned, and morning brought a fair wind. She
saw the white sails proudly set, and the fleet sweep down
the sea towards Lindisfarne : her web was there, her
one web, her year's livelihood ; St. Oswin had not
heard her prayer. The ships at length disappeared ;
they made a prosperous voyage to Coquet Island, a little
to the north of Tynemouth. It is a rocky place, but the
sea was calm, and the sailors careless. Now, without
a wind or a cloud the sea began to grow ; and billows
rose and rose, and the heavy swell thundered on the
Coquet rocks. It seemed like a miracle, so tranquil, so
beautiful the day. Still the sea rose, the ships were
entangled among the shoals, they dashed one against
another, were broken and sunk, and all hands perished.
The north wind came, and the wrecks and corpses were
all drifted ashore near Tynemouth. Not a thing stolen
but what the sea gave it up again faithfully, for it was
doing a divine work. The cottagers had hid themselves
in the woods and caves, fearing the return of the sailors.
They had returned in another guise than they expected,
a piteous return. Then the people left their coverts
and came down to the shore, and each scrupulously con-
fined himself to taking up what had belonged to him.
Harmless on the wet sand lay a corpse with the old wo-
man's web in its hand ; her lameness made her late, and
she was among the last to recover her property. " 0
cruelest of men," she said to the dead sailor, " yesterday
I asked you and you would not hear me ; I asked my
lord and patron, and he has heard me. Now you give
up unwittingly the web you stole most wittingly ; now
you pay in death the penalty you deserved to pay when
alive, because you despised the Saint in me." The monk
draws a conclusion to this effect : let no one think the
Saints ever turn their ears from the desire of the poor ;

KING AND MARTYR. 103

they only delay in order to answer their prayers more
wonderfully. Such was a monkish doctrine in the
Middle Ages ; what wonder the poor so loved the
monks 1

THE POOR IN THE MIDDLE AGES.

It is the Past ye worship ; ye do well, —

If the sweet dues of reverence which ye pay

Be equably disposed, nor lean one way

For lack of balance in your thoughts. To spell

The Past in its significance, to ponder,

In the embrace of judgment, fear and love

In the disguises of those days, — should move

More than the weak idolatry of wonder,

Or beauty-stricken eye : they should grow part

Of the outgoings of your daily heart ; —

And be not scared by show of kings and knights,

As if those times were in such gauds embraced ;

Remember that the People claim a Past,

And that the Poor of Christ have lineal rights.

They, in whose hearts those mighty times have wrought

Most deeply, have upon their aspect gazed

As on an eclipse, with their eye upraised

Through the subduing mean of sombre thought.

And then it is a very fearful vision

To see the uncounted Poor, who strayed forlorn

As an untended herd, with natures worn

To heartlessness through every-day collision

With arrogance and wrong. Proud knights, fair dames,

And all the pomp of old chivalric names,

Fade, like a mimic show, from off the past ;

And to the Christian's eye ungathered flowers

Of suffering meekly borne, in lowliest bowers,

With solemn life fill in the populous waste.

104 ST. OSWIN.

Such are the thoughts which a catholic may well have
when he is humbly venturing to interpret the ways of
God, pleading with people to have reverent thoughts
about things which God may have used, and so are sacred
evermore, and trying to win their love to all the benign
and humanizing functions of the Church, even to such
old realities and local blessings as Saint Oswin's Peace.

THE LIFE OF

. 26i)i>a,

VIRGIN AND ABBESS, A.D. 683.

THE royal house of Northumbria was fertile in Saints.
St. Edwin and St. Oswald, St. Oswin and St. Ebba, and
then that Saint, dedicated in her cradle, the blessed
Abbess Elfleda, were all kinsfolk. It would be interest-
ing, on an extensive view of the history of the Saints, to
see how in one age one particular class of society, and in
another age a different class, furnished the Church with
Saints. At one time royalty seemed the chief fountain,
as prolific as the episcopate itself; at another time doc-
tors were given to the Church, not luminary after lumi-
nary, but many together as if one called out the other :
another while the Saints are found mostly to have sanc-
tified themselves in pastoral and parochial labors ;* then
again they are hermits in the woods and caves, or such

1 This has been especially the case in the later ages of the Church,
and is, perhaps, an index of not a very favorable or healthy state of
things. Most of those for whose beatification processes are now
forming are parish or missionary priests : it is long since the Church
canonized a doctor, so that the Jesuits may well have wished to have
their gentle-spirited Bellarmme among the publicly honored Saints if
so it might have been. The title of Doctor has been loudly claimed for
St. Alphonso Liguori ; surely most unreasonably. Expertness and
erudition in the authorities of Moral Theology can hardly establish that
claim for any one; and whoever reads St. Alphonso's polemical and
dogmatical treatises will see that the title of Doctor can hardly belong

106 ST. EBB A,

as have climbed the heights of heroic penance in the
religious orders, or such as have divined the wants
of their times and been themselves the founders of
new communities. Then again at another season by
some mysterious impulse the Church lengthens her
cords and pushes out her boundaries here and there,
and a band of missionaries swell the noble army of
martyrs or of confessors. Now, without putting out
of sight the blessed Paraclete who dwells within the
Church and moves her as He listeth and causes that all
her motions are mysterious and imperfectly compre-
hended, we may find some reasons why this should be
so ; and at any rate draw one lesson from that striking
feature of the sacred history of the Saxon Heptarchy ; for
the numerous royal Saints which adorn it do certainly
give it a very marked and special character. The lesson
is this, that high station and worldly grandeur only or
chiefly produce Saints, when such station and grandeur
do of themselves involve hardship, suffering and inse-
curity ; so that it must be suffering, either imposed by
God, or suffering self-imposed, whereby men are sancti-
fied. And it is important to note this whenever we
can ; because, though one would think it written as with
a sunbeam on the pages of the New Testament, an age
of luxury, domestic peace and social comforts would fain
denounce the bare enunciation of it as a heresy which —
strange perversion of words ! — brings to nought the doc-
trine of the Cross.

As in primitive times the bishop's throne did but
raise a man more into the view of his persecutors, so in

to that blessed Saint, whose seraphic heart was best outpoured upon
the Passion, the Nativity, and Sacramental Presence of our Lord, and
the honor of His ever- virgin Mother. It is said the Congrega-
tion have refused the claim which the Redemptorista set up for their
holy founder.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 107

the seventh century in England to be a prince or a prin-
cess was only to be more liable to vicissitude and a dis-
turbed life than the humbler ranks of people were.
Exile, deposition and murder were the foremost retinue
of a king, arid of course his wife and children, his bro-
thers and sisters, shared his changeful fortunes. But of
all the members of the royal households the princesses
seem to have been in the most unfavorable position.
Not only was the weakness of their sex to confront the
rough manners of the times, but they were looked upon
for the most part as means of consolidating and extend-
ing power by being given in marriage to other princes,
pagan it might be, or ruthless and profligate even though
Christian by name. Thus, if a royal maiden wished to
dedicate herself to holy virginity, she became at once, as
the world counts things, useless to her family ; a means
of influence was wasted ; her father or her brother had
an alliance the less, if she was allowed to take the veil.
And yet it was under these very circumstances that the
Saxon abbesses, the wise spiritual mothers of our first
monasteries, were mostly of royal blood ; and in the
sackcloth of penance, not with the patronage of power,
our queens were nursing mothers to the Saxon Church.
One of these holy abbesses was St. Ebba, of Coldingham,
the scanty notices of whose hidden life we are now to
put together.

St. Ebba was the daughter of king Ethelfrid, and the sis-
ter of St. Oswald and half-sister of king Os wy. Of her early
life nothing whatever is known except that from her in-
fancy she was very religiously disposed, and averse to the
pomps and pleasures which her rank opened out to her.
Doubtless the example of her brother St. Oswald, and
the conversation of St. Aidan during that holy prelate's
visits to the court, went far to aid the work of divine

108 ST. EBBA,

grace within her soul. But the ruling desire of her
heart was to consecrate herself as a virgin to the perpe-
tual service of her heavenly Spouse. This was, says the
author of her life,2 in an age when persons of high birth
esteemed their nobility to consist principally in the
humble service of our Lord, and those were most highly
exalted, who with greatest submission undertook the
Cross of Christ. At that time innumerable congrega-
tions both of men and women were sprinkled through
the whole island, severally embracing the spiritual war-
fare of our Lord. Yea, sometimes in the same place
persons of both sexes, men and virgins, under the go-
vernment of one spiritual father, or one spiritual mother,
armed with the sword of the Spirit, did exercise the
combats of chastity against the powers of darkness, ene-
mies thereto. The institute and practice of these was
imitated by St. Ebba, who for the love she bore to the
Son of God even in the flower of her youth contemned
whatsoever was great or desirable in the world. She
preferred the service of our Lord before secular nobility,
spiritual poverty before riches, and voluntary abjection
before honors. For though descended from royal pa-
rents, yet by faith she overcame the world ; by virtues,
beauty ; and by spiritual graces, her own sex.

When it has pleased God to inspire any of His ser-
vants to attempt some great thing for His sake, His
Providence for the most part so orders it that some
temptation shall intervene to try the strength and hearti-
ness of the resolution. If the temptation is overcome,
so much the higher place does His servant take ; and if
the resolution gives way in the trial, there is often mercy
in it even then : for men, especially when entering on a
course of penance, will attempt things which in them it

2 Translated in Cressy, xviii. 14.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 109

is immodest to attempt, and betrays an inadequate sense
of their former demerits ; and it seems better to fail in
carrying out a holy resolution than to carry it out and
then apostatize from the state of life to which it has
solemnly committed us. The most marked temptations
of the Saints have generally been contemporary with the
signal acts of virtue which afterwards rendered their
memory dear to the Church. Thus the youthful Ebba
was not allowed quietly to satisfy her thirst" for holy vir-
ginity ; the dazzling oifers of the world must come and
try her strength ; the snare of seeking what is now-a-
days called a more extended sphere of usefulness must
tempt the simplicity of her self-renunciation. Alas !
what a miserable, dwarfish standard of religious practice
do these smooth words bring about among us now ! The
highest notion we are allowed to have of rank, wealth
and mental powers is that they should be exercised to
the full as means of influence for good ends. The world
understands this and does not quarrel with the doctrine.
But where is there about this teaching that foolishness
in men's eyes which must ever mark the science of the
Cross ? Self-abjection surely is the highest of all obla-
tions : to forget the world or to hate it are better far
than to work for it. One is the taste of ordinary Chris-
tians : the other the object of the Saints. We read of
St. Arsenius that when he became a monk he studied to
the utmost to conceal his immense learning, and was
ever humbling himself to seek spiritual advice from the
most simple of his brethren. Rodriguez remarks of St.
Jerome, that though of noble birth there is not so much
as a covert allusion to it in all his voluminous writings,
full as they are of autobiography : and the flights of the
holy abbot Pinuphius 3 from what would be considered
3 Cassian, Inst. iv. 30.

110 ST. EBBA,

his sphere of duty, however improper objects for our
imitation, exhibit a view widely different from that
whose tyrannous reign would now cramp the energies of
good men and keep them in an ineffective mediocrity
from which the world has nothing to fear.

The temptation of St. Ebba came from the offer of a
splendid marriage. Her suitor was no less a person than
Edan the king of the Scotch. Of course the induce-
ments were many ; the strengthening of her family, the
almost unlimited means of doing good and serving the
Church, the religious advantages of being among the
Scotch at that time, whose fervent zeal and purity were
famous, and to whose usages her brother Oswy was al-
most bigotedly attached. The vulgar allurements of
power and royalty would not touch her ; and for the
other motives the simplicity of a self-renouncing spirit
was too much. She rejected her royal suitor, and from
the hands of St. Finan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, she re-
ceived the veil in token that she was now married once
for all to a heavenly Spouse. In proportion as a Chris-
tian receives any gift from the Lord, does he feel a
growing desire to impart it unto others : this it is which
breeds that love of souls, whose crowning point is mar-
tyrdom. We read that Ebba was not content to dedicate
her own virginity to Christ, but that she longed to draw
with her a band of virgins into the same divine espou-
sals. Her brother Oswy furthered her project, and with
his assistance she founded a nunnery in Durham, on the
river Darwent, at a place still called Ebchester.

As the royal house of Northumbria may almost be
called a family of Saints, and as it was by Oswy's aid
that Ebba founded her first nunnery, it may be allowed
us to take this opportunity of saying something of that
king. Considering his deep repentance, and the signal

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. Ill

services he afterwards rendered to the Church, it is
painful to keep his reign in the background, and leave
his memory under the dark shadow which the death of
St. Oswin casts upon it. It would indeed be contrary to
the charity of the Saints that their lives should bring
up Oswy's atrocious crime, and put out of view his peni-
tence, and the virtues of his after-life. It is natural we
should wish to adorn, so far as truth will allow, the
chronicles of our Saxon kings, when, besides many Saints,
seven kings before Oeolwulph laid down the purple for
the coarse garment of the ascetic monk.

It is not an uncommon thing both in history and in
life to see a man working towards a much coveted end
by every means, right or wrong ; and when the station
is gained, the ambition satisfied, and the hunger of sin
stayed, the man's nature seems to right itself, as though
the disturbing force were removed ; or perhaps the very
responsibility of his office, as has been the case with
some bishops, acts as a sort of moral stimulus, and
makes him discharge with nobility the duties of a
station which he arrived at through ignoble ways and a
mean ambition. But this sort of silent growing change
is something very different from Christian penitence :
it wants its roughness, its completeness, its self-re-
venge ; and the early Saxon character would either
have gone on from bad to worse, or have changed for
the better in a more real and Christian way. So it was
with Oswy, when he was roused from that dream of am-
bition or of angry passions which brought about the mur-
der of St. Oswin. He seems to have become a real, hearty
penitent, and to have devoted himself in every way to
serve the holy Church. It was chiefly through Oswy that
the Middle Angles were converted to the faith; for
when the young king Peada came to sue for the hand

112 ST. EBBA,

of Alcfleda, his natural daughter, Oswy refused to give
her to a pagan, and persuaded Peada to be instructed in
the faith : which he cordially embraced, being urged in
addition by the friendship of Oswy's son Alfrid who had
married his sister Kyneburga, herself a Saint. Neither
was Oswy less successful in re-establishing the Gospel
among the East Saxons, who had exiled their bishop
Mellitus. Sigebert their king was closely united to Os-
wy in the bonds of friendship, and was accustomed to
pay frequent visits at the Northumbrian court. Oswy
lost no opportunity of urging upon him the excellency
of the Christian faith. He unveiled the stupid errors of
idolatry, and spoke of the spiritual majesty of God and
the terrors of His future Judgment, until Sigebert's
heart was touched, and he received the sacrament of
Baptism from the hands of St. Finan, and from Oswy
the holy bishop Cedd, who accompanied him into his
kingdom. Oswy's piety was again displayed on the oc-
casion of his victory over king Penda. He consecrated
his infant daughter Elfleda to the perpetual service of
Christ ; he also set aside twelve small estates where twelve
bands of monks were always to reside, and pray for the
peace of the nation. The king moreover took a warm
interest in ecclesiastical matters, and was devotedly at-
tached to the Scotch usages, as we learn from the part he
took in the disputes between St. Colman and St. Wilfrid :
though he was in the end completely convinced by St.
Wilfrid's reasons, and gave up his former opinion in a
way which reflected the greatest credit upon himself.
He seems to have been a man so completely in earnest,
that he entered into the love and reverence for the Holy
See, with a zeal equal to that which he had before shown
towards the Scotch usages in which he had been brought
up. He sent Wighard to Rome to be consecrated arch-

VIEGIN AND ABBESS. 113

bishop by pope Vitalian ; and, Wighard dying before his
consecration, the holy father addressed a letter to the
king : and finally, when Oswy died, he was preparing to
quit his kingdom and go on pilgrimage to Rome and
end his days among the holy places, with St. Wilfrid for
his companion. He was buried in Whitby abbey, and
the opinion which men had of his sanctity is sufficiently
shown by his being mentioned in the English Martyro-
logy on the 15th of February.

From this digression, which seemed but an act of
equity to her half-brother, we may now return to St.
Ebba. How long she stayed at the newly founded nun-
nery of Ebchester we do not know. It appears however
that for some reason or other she left it, and founded
the famous double monastery of Coldingham in Berwick-
shire, where two distinct communities, of men and women,
lived under her single government as abbess. It was in
this monastery that Ebba received St. Etheldreda of Ely,
and taught her the monastic discipline ; and the very
fact that such an eminent Saint was formed under her
spiritual guidance gives us some idea of the wisdom,
discretion and holiness of Ebba herself. Indeed we are
told that the whole kingdom regarded Ebba as a spi-
ritual mother, and that the reputation of her sanctity
was spread far and wide. And one fact is recorded
which of itself speaks volumes. It is well known that
St. Cuthbert carried the jealousy of intercourse with
women, characteristic of all the Saints, to a very extra-
ordinary pitch. It appeared as though he could say
with the patriarch Job, " I made a covenant with mine
eyes ; why then should I think upon a maid T And
for many ages after females were not admitted into his
sanctuary. Yet such was the reputation of St. Ebba's
sanctity, and the spiritual wisdom of her discourse, that

114 ST. EBBA,

St. Bede informs us that when she sent messengers to
the man of God, desiring him to come to her monastery,
he went and stopped several days, in conversation with
her, going out of the gates at nightfall and spending the
hours of darkness in prayer, either up to his neck in the
water, or in the chilly air.

It would seem that in the case of Coldingham the
plan of a double community did not at first succeed.
It is obvious that St. Ebba would be compelled to en-
trust a great portion of the government to inferior
officers who were males. Anyhow the monastery, even
under her rule, fell into such a state of lukewarm re-
missness as to provoke the Divine vengeance. We can-
not for a moment suppose that the holy mother either
caused or countenanced such a state of things, but
somehow or other it was maintained in spite of her ;
indeed they managed to keep her in ignorance of it.
Meanwhile it pleased God to reveal to the austere and
devout St. Adamnan the future destruction of the
whole monastery by fire ; yet even this awful judg-
ment carried with it an attestation to the sanctity of
Ebba : for it was promised that this great judgment
should not be in her time. St. Adamnan did not ven-
ture at first to reveal this sad secret to his abbess. His
mind was burdened with it, as the young Samuel's with
the knowledge of Eli's gloomy fortunes. But among
his brother monks it was too much for him to keep
silence from good words ; his heart grew hot within
him, and at last he spake with his tongue. The matter
soon came to the ears of the abbess. She sent for St.
Adamnan, and enquired minutely of the vision, asking
why he had not made her acquainted with it sooner.
He said he had concealed it in order to spare her the
affliction, and that furthermore it had been made

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 115

known to him that this ruin would not happen in
her days. The very knowledge of the revelation pro-
duced a temporary return to strictness ; but after the
death of the holy abbess the prophecy was fulfilled.
Yet was it rather a fiery baptism than a fierce destruc-
tion to that holy house ; for the chastity of St. Ebba
of the seventh century seems to have descended upon
her namesake, the sainted abbess of Goldingham in the
ninth, whose daring piety suggested to her nuns that
they should all disfigure and mutilate their features
with a razor, when the Danes were coming upon them,
in order to quench the brutal lusts of their ferocious
assailants, and so preserve their chastity.

Doubtless, amid the peaceful exercises of her monas-
tic home, Ebba's declining years were saddened by the
knowledge of what was coming upon her beloved Col-
dingham. Added to this there would be the harassing
suspicion of a continued laxity which it was difficult
to trace out, and eradicate from her community : and
the Saints have at once such acquaintance with them-
selves, and such a clear vision of the real hatefulness
of sin, that they seem to ordinary Christians to become
untruthful in their excess of self-reproach. Ebba would
no doubt be full of self-accusation. She would consider
her sins, her misgovernment, her want of vigilance, to be
the cause of this laxity. She would dwell upon her
own demerits, and by a kind of natural effort, such as
humility is wont to put forth, she would remove out of
sight the heavenly intimation of the delayed judgment,
and refuse to be consoled by it. But if she wept the
more, and prayed the more, if she redoubled her austeri-
ties till her cell was stained with the blood of the secret
discipline, she would act not the less but the more ener-
getically for her increased penance. Age, which even

116 ST. EBBA,

to Saints is often allotted as a 'time of rest, a tranquil
antechamber of the new world so soon to be entered,
was no interval of rest to her. A long, weary, thank-
less task was hers. She had to fight with a corrupt
community, to struggle with untoward nuns and stub-
born monks, to be baffled yet not to faint, repulsed but
returning to the attack, to keep the heart of the mother
while discharging the vindictive office of the judge.
Endless were the things which exercised her weary vigi-
lance,— cold or hurried recitation of the office, irrever-
ent celebration of the mass, want of plainness in the
refectory, languor in the manual labor, evasions of holy
obedience, the spirit of self-seeking, which amidst the
bare walls, unfurnished cells 'and hard life of a monas-
tery finds nutriment enough. So went the years of
Ebba's age : not in tranquil meditation on the Song of
Songs, not in the spiritual delights of cloistered seclu-
sion, not in the gentle ascents of mystic contemplation,
not in rapture, repose or the sweet forestallings of
heavenly espousals, but wrestling with the evil and the
foul spirits who possessed her monastery, bruised and
wounded and wearied, and meeting death while yet
covered with the dust and blood of battle, and the con-
test's unseemly disarray, and victory not yet certified.
Strange harbour for a gentle nun was that old age of
hers ! Yet was she more than conqueror. She sancti-
fied herself in that unseasonable strife, for it was merci-
fully sent her to trade with and multiply her merits.
And if judgment still came on Coldingham, who knows
what good she may have done to single souls, how many
became penitents and passed away in peace before the
fire came, or how great the remnant was of those who
suffered the loss yet held them fast by God, took the
judgment and glorified Him in it, and grew in the spirit

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 117

of compunction1? Who knows if the holy priest who
told St. Bede of St. Adamnan's prophecy was not one
of those with whom the abbess travailed in birth a
second time till Christ was formed in them ? Certainly
it is recorded that partly through the revelation given
to St. Adamnan, and partly through the judicious rigors
of the holy abbess, a great though not lasting reforma-
tion took place at Coldingham, and that she did not
live to witness its second degeneracy : though its future
strictness and purity after its punishment may have
been earned by the blessed intercession of its sainted
foundress, when she was called to her reward. "Full
of virtues and good works she departed to her heavenly
Spouse" on the 25th of August 683 or 84, about four
years before St. Cuthbert. She was buried in her own
monastery; miracles were wrought through her inter-
cession, and apparitions of the blessed abbess were
vouchsafed, which are recorded in her life, and other
tokens given, whereby the Church was certified of her
sanctity, and enrolled her among the Saxon Saints.

THE LIFE OF

Sbt. atramnan,

MONK OF COLDINGHAM, A.D. 689.

OF this blessed Saint and the heights of his heroic
penance very little is known, but enough to make us
wish to know more. A brief notice of him will natu-
rally follow the life of St. Ebba. There are, however,
two remarks suggested by his life, on which it may not
be amiss to say a few words, considering the practical
end which these memoirs of the Saints have in view.

First we may observe that what little is known of
St. Adamnan is connected with the decay of fervor in
the monastery of Coldingham. To a pious person,
surely, no matter what his opinions may be, the dege-
neracy of religious institutes and orders must be a
humbling and distressing subject for reflection. Yet
by literary men of later days, and especially by pro-
testants and other heretics, this degeneracy has been
laid hold of with almost a desperate eagerness either
for the purpose of sneering at religion altogether, or
vilifying the holy Roman Church, or discountenancing
the strictness of catholic morals. Now let it be ad-
mitted fully that this degeneracy is a fact, and that
it has taken place in many instances almost incredibly
soon after the first fervor of a new institute, always ex-
cepting, as truth compels us, the most noble and glori-

120 ST. ADAMNAN,

ous company of St. Ignatius, which, next to the visible
Church, may perhaps be considered the greatest stand-
ing miracle in the world. History certainly bears
witness to this decay ; but it must not be stated in
the exaggerated way usual to many. It was not till
the end of the tenth century that the decline of mo-
nastic fervor began to lead to abuses and corruptions ;
and for at least six centuries what almost miraculous
perfection, heavenly love, self-crucifying austerities,
mystical union with God, and stout-hearted defence of
the orthodox faith reigned among the quietly succeed-
ing generations of the Egyptian cenobites and solita-
ries ? In the thirteenth century again the Church in-
terfered, and at her touch, as if with the rod of Moses,
there sprung forth those copious streams which satisfied
the extraordinary thirst of Christendom in those times.
The revered names of St. Dominic and St. Francis may
remind us of what that age did. And when was the
Church of Rome ever so great, ever so obviously the
mother of Saints, or when did she ever so wonderfully
develope the hidden life within her, as in the sixteenth
century 1 St. Ignatius, St. Francis Xavier, St. Francis
Borgia, St. Francis of Sales, St. Philip Neri, St. Felix
of Cantalice, and many others, sprung almost simul-
taneously from the bosom of a Church so utterly cor-
rupt and anti-Christian that part of mankind deemed
it necessary to fall off from her lest their souls should
not be saved ! Stated then fairly and moderately, let
the fact of monastic degeneracy be admitted, and what
follows 1 Is it anything more than an illustration
of the catholic doctrine of original sin 1 Is it a fit
or decent subject of triumph to miserable sinners who
share personally in the corruption of their fellows ?
When such boastings are introduced into historical

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 121

panegyrics of constitutions, parliaments, monarchies,
republics, federacies and the like, what is it but an a
fortiori argument against such mere worldly institu-
tions? If a company of men or women leave their
homes, enter upon a joyless life of poverty, singleness
and obedience, to work, to beg, to pray, to sing, to
watch, to fast, to scourge themselves, and behold ! in
a century or so, they degenerate and abandon the strict-
ness of their institute, what must become of a corpo-
ration gathered together for gain and for aggrandize-
ment? Either it must grow corrupt in a still shorter
time, or, as the other alternative, having been corrupt
from the beginning, as being secular, it will proceed
to such an extremity of wickedness that nations, or
kings, or people, as the case may be, will rise and tread
it out of the earth as something to be endured no
longer. Surely there is something stupid, as well as
unmanly, in this fierce exultation over the degeneracy
of monastic orders. Roman law, the feudal system,
chivalry, the municipalities of the middle ages — what
light must such a course of reasoning throw on these
things, so often set forth and illustrated with all the
splendors of historical eloquence ? One would imagine
that to be a really philosophically historian heart and
feeling were required, a strong sense of fellowship with
our kind, a humbling acknowledgment of what is evil,
and above all an assiduous detection of what is, through
God's mercy, honorable, pure and good ; and what a
different object would the Church of the dark ages
be in a history written on principles like these ?

But readers as well as writers have often exhibited
a strange delight in these labored invectives against
monastic degeneracy ; and this is very natural. It
would be very unpleasant for us to pray so many hours,

122 ST. ADAMNAN,

to get up at nights, to fare badly, to sleep on boards,
to be poor, to have somebody else's will to do instead
of our own, to spend summer days amid the fumes of
crowded hospitals, to wear hair-shirts and so forth ;
and we cannot help feeling a little angry with people
who did so ; because, however clear it may be that it
was all part and parcel of Romish corruption, there is
a kind of lingering irritable feeling within us that
there was, on the face of it to say the least, something
more evangelical about such a life than about days
spent in the luxurious houses, the costly furniture,
varied meals, literary pastimes, elegant entertainments,
smooth conventions, of modern society, notwithstanding
the Sunday sermon, the carriage, the stove, the cushion,
and, the pew — our admonitions of the unseen world,
our demonstrations of faith in the truth of the Gospel.
Well — but let readers think a little. The monastic
orders grew very corrupt j yet still it may not follow
that there is any inexorable necessity of leading a com-
fortable life. The Dominicans began to eat flesh !
The Carmelites to put on shoes ! The Cluniacs
to wear leather garments and to have more than
two dressed dishes ! But supposing all these things
were. declinations from a rule they were bound to keep,
did they, even the congregations which remained un-
reformed, did they subside into an easy indulgent life,
and put the awkward precepts of the Gospel out of
sight as we do ? Do people, when they read of an
order declining from its rule, and moralize on it, rather
than on themselves, as readers are unhappily prone to
do, do they remember that in that fallen monastery
were nocturns, and the diurnal hours, and fasts, and
vigils, and silence, and celibacy, and sundry other very
mortifying observances] A sandalled Carmelite cannot

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 123

be brought to the level of modern comfort, self-indul-
gence, or even of idleness, generally considered the ex-
clusive characteristic of a monk. Take the Benedictine
congregations in all their changes, from Bernon of Gigni
to John de Ranee of La Trappe, and the life which the
easiest among them led was something far more peniten-
tial, austere, devoted and unearthly, than what we should
deem the very heights of a rigid perfection. It were
better to take shame to ourselves : the life of the least
strict order would be, it is feared, an impracticable
standard of holiness for us, accustomed to the hourly
exercise of freedom and selfwill.

It is quite conceivable, however, that a catholic
reader should feel pained and in a degree perplexed
when the lives of the Saints bring him into immediate
contact with any flagrant instance of monastic dege-
neracy, as in this case of Coldingham while under the
government of St. Ebba. But it does not follow that
a state of laxity has grown up in the abbey while
under the rule of the Saint. It may many times be an
evil of old standing, too far gone to admit of remedy,
and perhaps even brought to a head by the energetic
measures of reform attempted by the superior. And
again the horror and hatred of sin produced in an earn-
est and sensitive mind by the sight of degeneracy may
not unfrequently have been God's instrument in excit-
ing that eminent spirit of compunction which distin-
guishes the Saints who have lived amidst such unhappy
circumstances, and at the same time the decay of fervor
among those around them and their own inability to
stem the gathering torrent may have been the special
trials designed for their sanctification. St. Benedict
might have set his affections too strongly on his be-
loved abbey of Monte Cassino, and we know how he

124 ST. ADAMNAN,

was tried by the distressing foreknowledge of its
destruction. In the same way many of the circulars
addressed by St. Alphonso Liguori to his congregation
of Redemptorists exhibit not unfrequently almost an
anguish of spirit at the creeping in of any little custom
which threatened to mar the perfectness of poverty and
self-renunciation, such as using carriages on mission,
paying any distinctive attention to the father who
preached the evening sermon, putting mouldings above
the doors of their cells, and the like. Moreover the
whole history of Robert and the monks of Molesme
shows that a community bent on laxity can always be
more than a match for the abbot, no matter whether
judicious gentleness or judicious severity come upper-
most in his character. Innocent the Third was foiled
over and over again in trying to compel the Roman
nuns to keep cloister ; and when at length three car-
dinals effected it, it was only through the help of the
wonder-working Dominic. Thus a corrupt or dege-
nerate community under the governance of a Saint
does not afford any ground for imputing feebleness
or fault to the superior ; it may be in the one case
the trial which perfects his holiness, or in the other
the very originating cause, speaking humanly, of his
greater strictness and thirst after perfection.

We have not forgotten St. Adamnan all this while.
His being known to us only through the degeneracy of
the house of which he was a son has led us to make
this first prefatory remark on the subject of monastic
degeneracy altogether. We have still another obser-
vation to make, but it is wholly connected with the
Saint himself.

We started by saying that very little is known of
St. Adamnan ; but it so happens that that little is

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 125

of a peculiarly instructive nature to ourselves, giving
us a lesson where perhaps we most of all need it,
namely, by illustrating the character of true Christian
repentance. Sacramental Confession does not exist
among us as a system : penance has no tribunals in
the Anglican Church. Of course many consequences
result from this, such as that it makes our ecclesiastical
system so startlingly unlike anything primitive that
the long prevalent arrogation to ourselves of a primi-
tive model seems an almost unaccountable infatuation.
This is perhaps not of paramount importance to a com-
munity which has a duty nearer home and more at
hand, that is, reconciliation with the present catholic
Church. But those consequences of wanting Confession
which have to do with the character of our practical
religion, and the peril and safety of our souls, are of
paramount importance. Now one of the features of
modern religion (we are not speaking of catholic coun-
tries), which would have struck the ancient Christians
as a perplexity, is this : an immense body of baptized
Christians lead the years of early manhood in negli-
gence, irreverence, nay even in the mortal sins of un-
chastity j dissipation is a weary thing in its own
nature, and in time such men grow more staid, more
outwardly moral, more decorously respectful towards
the ordinances of religion ; they enter on their profes-
sions, marry, settle in life, and by an imperceptible
process slide into good Christian people. There is no
violent sundering between their past lives and their
new ones ; no strongly marked penances ; no suspi-
cion that penances are needed ; no notion of the self-
revenge of godly sorrow ; they think, and people say
it for them, that everybody has a certain amount
of wildness which he must run through ; that there

126 ST. ADAMNAN,

is nothing shocking if only a man run through it
in youth, and then all is as it should be; with no other
change than such as time and selfishness will naturally
bring about, the dissolute, unchaste youth becomes all
that we can desire and esteem as a professional married
man. These smooth transmutations in baptized persons
not excommunicated would surely have been a perfect
puzzle to a man of the second century, till he came
to understand them ; and then as surely they would
have been a perfect abomination, so very little would
they meet with his ideas of Christian repentance.
What would have been his criticism on the ecclesias-
tical system which presented such a phenomenon it
may be as well not to conjecture. Of course it is clear
that sacramental Confession would soon purge the at-
mosphere of such phenomena. To those, then, who
will receive it, St. Adamnan may read a lesson on the
entireness, completeness, energy, and enduring self-re-
venge of penance j the more so as this is all we know
about him, except that Grod seems to have set His seal
upon the blessed Saint's austerity, by favoring him with
the revelation of the tremendous judgment about to fall
on his brother monks of Coldingham.

St. Adamnan of Coldingham was a Scot by birth.
It is not known how old he was when he took the
monastic habit ; but we are informed that during his
youth he had committed some mortal sin of a very
grievous kind. It is spoken of by St. Bede as a single
action, not as an habitual course of wickedness j and
therefore putting it at the worst as a deed of bloodshed,
and comparing the circumstances of his times with the
circumstances of ours, it can hardly have been so bad
as a long deliberate indulged habit of unchastity in
young persons enjoying the advantages of a Christian

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 127

education. It can hardly have been so bad, one would
think, in the eye of the Church, and as a single act
it can not have had that utterly debasing influence over
his whole nature which a sinful habit must inevitably
exercise. However, it pleased God to give Adamnan deep
and keen sentiments of compunction, apparently as soon
as the fever of temptation had subsided and he had come
to a right mind. He is described as being most " dire-
fully horrified" at his sin, especially when he thought
of the intolerable strictness of the judgment to come.

What is the first step which a rightly instructed
Christian must take, when it pleases God to give him
the grace of compunction ? Clearly he must resort to
the consolations of the Gospel and the merits of the
Saviour as laid up in the sacrament of penance. The
" albs of his baptism " have become filthy ; great are
the mercies of God that the sackcloth of the penitent
is left for him. Adamnan with befitting humility re-
paired to a priest whom he judged competent to in-
struct him in the way of salvation, and begged to learn
in what way he could best avoid the wrath to come.
When the priest had heard his confession, he said, " A
great wound requires a careful healing ; you must
therefore be as instant as ' you can in fasts, psalms and
prayers, in order that by preoccupying the Face of the1
Lord in confession, you may come to find Him pro-
pitious." Adamnan, youth as he was, saw nothing
stern in the unworldly life laid down for him; the
horrors of a stained conscience had quite eclipsed the
gay temptations of opening manhood, and the sunny
prospects of the almost untried world. Doubtless it
was not altogether the expected fulfilment of boyhood's

1 Ps. xciv. Vulg.

128 ST. ADAMNAN,

day-dreams ; but the fetters of sin — they were galling
him, and everything seemed light in comparison of
them. He answered as a young man was likely to
do, readily and generously, yet with something of for-
wardness ; it was not unlike the answer of the royal-
hearted brothers that would have the right and the
left of their Blessed Lord, and who did through His
grace, and acceptance of their forwardness, come to sit
on heavenly thrones. " I am a youth," said Adamnan
boldly, " and I am vigorous in body ; whatever you
shall impose upon me, I can easily endure to go through
with it, if only I may be saved in the day of the Lord ;
nay, I could do it though I were to pass the whole
night in prayer standing, and spend the whole week in
abstinence." Many repentances begin as promisingly
as this, with a good hatred of half-measures j perhaps
that so few go on as well may be owing in part to the
want of intelligent confessors and directors.

Adamnan fortunately had met with a wise and holy
priest. He satisfied his penitent's craving for austerity,
while he restrained what was but impulse in it. " It is
too much," said the good man, " for you to go the whole
week without food ; it is enough for you to fast two or
three days in it j do this for the present : I will return
to you in a short time, and then I will explain to you
more fully what you are to do, and how long your pen-
ance is to last." Having then described to him the me-
thod of his penance (mensura pcenitendi) the priest de-
parted, and Adamnan began his new life. Meanwhile
some sudden business called his confessor over to Ire-
land, of which country he was a native, and there he
died. Adamnan seems to have regarded this event as a
token that it was God's will his penance should last his
whole lifetime, and he ever after regarded the priest's

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 129

injunction to go on till he came again, as a sacred com-
mand. He led a life of the strictest continence, took
the monastic habit and vows, often spent entire nights
in prayer, and ate only on Thursdays and Sundays,
taking no sustenance of any kind during the rest of the
week. This very austere life which was at first sus-
tained by the fear of the Divine Wrath became in a while
easy through the sweetness of the Divine Love, while he
was cheered by looking out for the promised reward in
the life to come. It did not seem to him servile to
ponder his reward \ he did not refine upon his religious
feelings, but loving God with all his heart and soul, and
shewing forth the reality of that love by the self-chas-
tisements of penance, he could say with the psalmist,
Inclinavi cor meum ad faciendas justificationes tuas in
seternum, propter retributionem.

Such was the repentance of Adamnan : such was the
repentance of a Christian in the seventh century : and
though some may say that the doctrine of penance was
very corrupt in St. Adamnan's days, there certainly
were a great many things in it strikingly resembling
St. Paul's carefulness, clearing of themselves, indigna-
tion, fear, vehement desire, zeal and revenge, whereof
he speaks to the Corinthians. There was plainly a
new self and an old self in Adamnan, cognizable by
himself and his acquaintances j and it is the want of
this which makes us fear so sadly for the unsoundness
of that quiet gradual complacent change which lifts
the character with years (as if time itself were a sa-
crament) from the impure dissolute youth to the sober
husband, moral citizen and kind neighbour. Time has
a healing power, but its healing is not sacramental.
We are not saying that penance is not true penance
if it falls short of St. Adamnan's, or that it must needs

K

130 ST. ADAMNAN,

take the peculiar shape of his austerities. There are
ordinary Christians who serve God acceptably without
being called to the eminences of the Saints. Penance
may be true penance, and yet have none of that hero-
icity in it which the promoter of the faith would de-
mand if canonization were claimed for the penitent.
It is the substantial, real, vigorous doctrine implied in
such a penance, illustrated, embodied and expounded by
it, which we would fain recall. If men would only
learn to humble themselves by Confession, faith in the
ecclesiastical absolutions would grow in them as a mat-
ter of course, and the moral effects of Confession on
their own characters would be found more momentous
than they could have conceived beforehand.

For how many years St. Adamnan led this austere
life we are not told, nor how long he was an inmate of
the cells of Coldingham. But St. Bede says that it was
for a long time. Now it happened after this long time
that Adamnan and another monk had to make a jour-
ney, possibly on some business connected with the mo-
nastery. Their business finished, they returned to Cold-
ingham. At some distance the noble abbey with its
towers and tall roofs and manifold pile came into view,
and at the sight of the lofty buildings Adamnan began
to weep bitterly ; for we read of him before this that
God had endowed him with the gift of tears, in all ages so
characteristic of the Saints. His companion naturally
demanded why a prospect, which should cheer him, on
the contrary made him weep. " The time comes," re-
plied Adamnan, " when a devouring fire shall destroy all
these buildings which you see, both private and public."
Probably Adamnan's reputation for sanctity was such
that his words did not fall lightly to the ground among
his brethren at Coldingham. At any rate his compa-

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 131

nion on this occasion seems to have questioned him no
further, but as soon as they arrived at the monastery he
related them to St. Ebba the abbess.

St. Ebba was greatly troubled within herself at this
disquieting relation ; she sent for Adamnan, and ques-
tioned him strictly as to the meaning of his words. The
holy monk replied as follows : " Not long since while I
was spending the night in watching and psalmody, sud-
denly I saw a person whom I did not know standing by
me •, when I was as it were terrified by his presence, he
told me not to fear, and speaking to me in a familiar
tone he said, 'You do well in not spending in sleep this
quiet time of night, but in being instant in watches and
prayers.' I answered him that I had much need to be
instant in salutary watches that I might sedulously de-
precate the divine anger for my wanderings. He added,
' What you say is true ; you and many have need to re-
deem your sins by good works, and when they cease from
the labors of temporal things, then to toil the more
readily through the appetite of eternal goods ; but very
few indeed do so : I have but now visited and examined
the whole monastery in order, I have inspected the cells
and the beds, and I have found none out of the whole
number, except yourself, occupied about the health of
his soul ; but all, men and women alike, are either
slothfully asleep in bed, or watch in order to sin. Nay,
the very cells that were built for praying or reading are
now turned into resorts for eating, drinking, talking,
and other enticements. The virgins, too, dedicated to
God, put off the reverence of their profession, and when-
ever they have time, take pains in weaving fine robes
either to adorn themselves as brides to the great peril
of their monastic state, or to win the admiration of
strangers. Wherefore a heavy vengeance of savage fire

132 ST. ADAMNAN,

is deservedly prepared for this place and the inhabiters
of it.'"

Such was Adamnan's tale ; and no doubt it sounded
very dreadful to the ears of the holy abbess. " Why did
you not tell me of it sooner 1" she demanded. To this
the monk humbly replied, " I was afraid, because of my
reverence for you, as I thought you would be excessively
disturbed by it j and yet you may have this consolation,
that the plague will not come in your days."

The seventh century was not an age of sneering, na-
tural as that facile sin is to all ages. When Adamnan's
communication with St. Ebba was known throughout
the monastery, fear came upon all ; austerity, penance,
self-chastisement, prayer, fast and vigil, became the
order of the day, and doubtless many thought and read
of Nineveh. This however was not of long continuance,
and it seems in a measure to have been kept up by the
example and authority of the abbess ; for we are told
that after her death things relapsed into their old cor-
rupt state, and the monks grew more and more wicked.
An interval of security had elapsed, and probably Adam-
nan's prophecy had come to be disbelieved. However,
while the monks of Coldingham were crying peace, the
destruction came. The monastery was reduced to ashes
in 686, and it is said, on what authority does not ap-
pear, first that Adamnan survived the burning of Cold-
ingham three years, dying in 689 ; and secondly, that it
was in consequence of the degeneracy of Coldingham,
which he attributed to its being a double monastery of
monk's and nuns, that St. Cuthbert made his stringent
laws against women so much as coming to hear mass in
the church where his monks celebrated. This is hardly
likely, for, although St. Cuthbert was distinguished by
an unusual jealousy on this point, a reference to the

MONK OF COLDINGHAM. 133

table of penances in St. Columban's Rule will show that
he was only carrying out what he had been accustomed
to at Melrose and had been derived from lona. This
account of St. Adamnan's vision was told to St. Bede by
Edgils, a priest who, leaving Coldingham at the fire,
took up his abode in the monastery of Wearmouth, and
whom St. Bede describes as his most reverend brother
priest* The divine judgments are indeed mercies.
Though at times God seems to cover Himself with a
cloud that our prayer should not pass through, yet His
compassions are new every morning. The storm broke
over Coldingham, but it cleared away. When the wild
Danes came, St. Ebba's monastery was still a living
mother of Saints, and Adamnan, the penitent, the pro-
phet, unforgotten.

THE LIFE OF

VIRGIN AND ABBESS, A.D. 650.

ANY one climbing the brow of Hawcoat immediately to
the west of Furness Abbey, and seating himself at the
foot of the modern tower where the monks' chair origin-
ally was, may see one of the most magnificent views in
the north of England. And if the chair of the good
Camaldolese above Naples commands a prospect more
beautiful, though less extensive, the view from Hawcoat
will be at least more interesting to an English catholic.
He is sitting on the west side of the peninsula of Fur-
ness. At his feet, supposing the tide to be high, is the
estuary of the Duddon running up into the mountains
till the silver gleam of the waters is lost in a purple
gorge. Before him the sun is setting over the Scotch
hills beyond the Solway, and through the bright haze the
peaks of the Isle of Man are flushed with a deep gold.
On his right are the mountains which embrace within
their many arms the English lakes ; the blue sea
studded with white sails is on his left in front ; and
round the base of the shadowy Black Combe he per-
ceives a region, comparatively flat, intervening between
the roots of the mountains and the ever-foamy line of
the Atlantic. It is watered by the Mite, the Irt, and
the Esk, uniting in the sandlocked pool of Ravenglass,

136 ST. BEG A,

and is striped brilliantly with yellow corn-fields and
ruddy fallows, up to the very headland of St. Bees.

Such was the view which the old monks of Furness
loved, and to which they came through the woody path,
having erected a stone chair for the tranquil enjoyment
of the scene. But Furness is a ruin, where the simple-
mannered Cistercians served God, and so are the aisles
of the woody Calder. Still* the name of Copeland
Forest belongs to the region, still the uncertain legend
of St. Bega hangs like a mist over the place, and still
upon her holy headland is a school for Christian doc-
trine. The desolation of modern change has not quite
trodden out all the footsteps of the catholic past.

We have now to tell the legend of St. Bees, so far as
it may be told, so far as history can take cognizance of
it. There seems to have been more than one St. Bega }
for if, as Alford thinks, St. Heyne, the first nun in
Northumberland, and who received the veil from St.
Aidan, is the same with St. Bega, then she can hardly be
the Bega who succeeded St. Hilda at Hacanos, for that St.
Bega died a hundred years after St. Aidan, and yet she
is generally taken to be the same. Mabillon makes
her to die at Hacanos, Alban Butler at Calcaria, sup-
posed to be Tadcaster. It seems next to impossible to
reconcile the chronology or conflicting statements which
have come down to us, and it is therefore but right to
advertise the reader that the following pages can make
no claim to historical accuracy. They follow for the
most part the monkish legend printed from the Cot-
tonian MSS. (Faust. B. 4. fol. 122—139) among the
Carlisle tracts j and at any rate put the reader in pos-
session of what St. Bega's own monks believed about
their holy foundress some centuries later than her own
time. The devotion to her was very great through the

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 137

north of England ; she is connected with both the
western and eastern coasts, and her headland is still
crowned with a religious college called after her name •
so that it is interesting at any rate to know what the
monks had collected about her from the three sources
which the life specifies, chronicles, authentic histories,
and the tradition of trustworthy people. The monk
compiled his biography for the edification of the sons
of the Church ; the same end may hold good still ;
and it should be remembered that if we cannot prove
our facts by the usual historical evidence, neither is
there anything to throw discredit upon them. The
only doubt is whether we are not relating the acts of
two Saints in the life of one.

Bega was the daughter of an Irish king, possibly
Donald the third, possessed of great and widely spread
influence in the early part of the seventh century. He
was a Christian, and an earnest man to boot, and Bega
was baptized as an infant, and taught in her tender
years the mysteries of the faith. In very childhood
God inspired her with an ardent love of holy virginity,
and she seems to have been almost preserved from the
pollution of impure thoughts. As a girl she avoided
all public amusements, and, fearing lest idleness should
prove a source of sin, she was studious to fill up the
whole of her time with some employment. A weary
spirit she knew to be the sleep of the soul, and praying
with the psalmist, Dormitavit anima mea prse tsedio,
confirma me in verbis Tuis, she devoted a large portion
of her time to the study of holy books ; and when her
mind required relaxation she worked gold fringes, and
was singularly skilful in a method of interweaving gold
and jewels. While others were engaged in the pursuits
and recreations of youth, she was to be found making

138 ST. BEGA,

decorations for the church ; for as yet the worship of
domestic comfort was unknown, and the broidery frame
was filled with costly silks arid metal threads, not for
the furniture of a palace, but as frontals for the altar,
or other holy purposes. If time be of all talents one of
the most fearful committed to our charge, and it be
still true that the righteous are scarcely saved, what are
we to think of a state of things when the young females
of a country should spend more than a third of their
time in multiplying by frivolous industry the gay and
costly adornments of private ease and luxury ? It was
not so with Bega. She was busy with her embroidery
and her golden fringe ; but it was for the worship of
God. And therefore instead of dissipation of mind,
visible in levity of conversation, she learned in her
work how to have a spirit self-recollected, an aptitude
for mental prayer, a carefulness of speech, and a virginal
modesty which won the hearts of all who approached
her.

Such was she in her girlhood ; but riper age brought
fresh cares upon her. She was eminent for her beauty,
and that is a fearful gift in a king's court. Offers of
marriage poured in upon her from Irish and foreign
princes ; the suitors sent her magnificent presents,
bracelets, and earrings, and cloth of gold, and rings
studded with precious stones. But all these things
she counted as loss for the love of Christ, and its
surpassing excellency. True it is, that as a princess
she was ofttimes obliged to go about in robes adorned
with gold, yet it was a self-denial to her, a mortification
rather than a thing she prized, for notwithstanding this
outward seeming of regal pomp, the glory of the king's
daughter was all within. Her thoughts were ever run-
ning upon the excellences of a monastic life j to be a

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 139

nun was more after her heart than to be a queen, for
that sweet truth was never out of her mind that the
Angels neither marry nor are given in marriage ; and
she would fain be as they, if so be it would please God
to give her the peerless gift, and who that heartily
covets it is not assisted thereto ? 0 quam pulchra est
casta generatio cum claritate ! immortalis enim est
memoria illius : quoniam apud Deum nota est et
apud homines.

This panting after holy virginity, for which many of
the Saints have been so conspicuous almost from their
cradles, seems unreal to the children of the world. Of
course it does : they cannot even put themselves for a
moment in the position of those who so feel. It would
require a transposing of all their affections quite out of
the question in their case, even in imagination, a new
nomenclature both for things earthly and things hea-
venly, a new measure and a new balance, which even
they who fall and by God's grace rise again do but
handle clumsily for a long while. How do all graces
seem even to such penitents as nothing, because they
can never attain that one so fair, so bright, so beautiful !
What is there in penance so productive of humility as
the keen rankling thought that the virgin's crown is
lost ? And if they are blessed who so learn to humble
and to afflict themselves, if they are blessed who are the
least in the kingdom of Heaven, is it too much to kneel
with lowliest veneration and a supplicating spirit before
the altars of the virgin Saints, where God is honored
in His servants, praying Him to quicken their pre-
vailing prayers that we may have nerve to bring
our penance to a safe issue, and so attain unto our
rest?

The case being so with the most sweet gift of vir-

140 ST. BEG A,

ginity, Bega, says her biographer in his touching
way,1 "studied to hear the bleating of the heavenly Lamb,
with the ear of hearing ; and to weave herself a nuptial
robe from Its fleece, that she might be able to go forth
to Its nuptials, like a bride ornamented with her jewels,
to see her Betrothed decorated with a crown, and to be
clothed by Him with the garment of salvation, and that
she might deserve to be surrounded by the robe of eter-
nal gladness. Despising thus all the allurements of this
impure world, its vanities and false delusions, the vene-
rable virgin, offering up her virginity one day to God,
bound herself by a vow that she would not contract nor
experience the bands of marriage with any one, by her
own will, that2 not knowing the marriage-bed in sin
she might have fruit in respect of holy souls."

While she was meditating upon this vow of chastity,
which possibly she had not made formally, a person
suddenly stood before her, of an agreeable aspect and
reverendly clothed. Whether it was one of the blessed
Angels, or one of the departed Saints, or some holy man
to whom the secrets of her mind had been revealed, we
are. not told. He seemed to know all that was passing
in her thoughts, and admonished her to keep the laud-
able vow of chastity. And before leaving her he gave
her a bracelet with a cross graved upon it, saying, " Re-
ceive this blessed gift sent to you by the Lord God, by
which you may know that you are for His service and
that He is your Spouse. Place it therefore as a sign
upon your heart and upon your arm, that you may
admit no one else beside Him." When he had uttered
these words he disappeared, leaving the holy virgin
overwhelmed with spiritual consolation. Indeed she

1 Mr. Tomlinson's Trans, in the Carlisle Tracts, p. 4.

2 This is the third antiphon in the Commune Virginum.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 141

needed now more than ordinary strength in order to
overcome the world and carry out her brave and godly
purpose.

From what follows we must suppose either that the
Irish king, her father, had fallen off from his first fervor
in the faith, or that the monkish historian has at the
outset somewhat exaggerated his submission to the di-
vine law. It fell out that the fame of her beauty and
maidenly bearing was carried as far as to the court of
Norway. The report of her virtues, together with the
power and wealth of her father, induced the prince, the
heir to the throne, to desire her for his bride. Where-
upon he sent some ambassadors into Ireland, whose first
duty was to see and judge whether the beauty and ac-
quirements of the princess came at all near to what was
reported of her, and if it were so, then to ask her in
marriage from her father. The ambassadors found that
so far from having exaggerated, fame had even fallen
short of the loveliness and grace of Bega ; and without
any further scruple they demanded her in marriage for
the heir of Norway. Her father, having already suffi-
cient alliances among the Irish chieftains, was ambitious
to extend his influence beyond the seas, and he lent a
willing, nay, even a greedy ear to the proposals of the
Norwegian ambassadors. He sent them to their own
country loaded with presents, and with a message to the
prince that if he would come himself into Ireland and
espouse his daughter, he would give her honorably to
him : for that it was not dignified or safe to send a
young damsel of such high birth and quality into a dis-
tant land under other escort than that of her husband.

The Norwegian prince admitted the justice and pro-
priety of the Irish king's demand. The matter was
debated in the council of his father, and it was deter-

142 ST. BEGA,

mined that the prince should sail for Ireland and espouse
the lovely Bega. The winds were fair and the seas
calm, and in a short time the prince and his train set
foot upon the Irish shores. On the day of their landing,
the king gave them a magnificent reception, and a
sumptuous banquet ; and as it was now eventide it was
unanimously agreed to defer all mention of the business
on which they had come till the morrow. Then fol-
lowed a scene of wassail and of riot, such as have been
too characteristic of the free and ungrudging hospitality
of the Irish ; but which ill accords with our notions of
a king given up to the divine law. It appears that
when the night was far advanced the feast was over, and
the sober and the drunken locked in deep sleep.

But the holy Bega — she was no stranger to all that
was going on about her. Alas ! she knew too well the
purport of the prince's visit ; she knew the ambition of
her father ; she knew that to all appearance the secret
wish of her heart, her holy covetousness, was not to be
satisfied. As her biographer says, she was exceedingly
troubled within herself, fearing and imagining that the
lily of her secluded garden was about to be immediately
plucked and defiled, and that her precious treasure, pre-
served with great care and much labor in an earthen
vessel, yea, if I may so say, in a vase of glass, was about
to be snatched away.

Indeed her case seemed desperate ; the palace gates
were locked ; there were sentries at all the avenues lead-
ing to it ; the watchmen trode heavily and regularly, all
were wide awake, as though the evening's debauch ren-
dered double vigilance necessary. The bravest men in
Ireland were on their accustomed guard round the bed-
side of the king, and in all the passages of his dwelling,
with a dagger on their thighs, a battleaxe on their

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 143

shoulders, and a javelin in their hands. And if she
could have penetrated beyond the palace, what then1?
Where should she lie hid 1 She knew her father's tem-
per ; he would drag her from the very altars of a con-
vent if she took refuge there. Besides he had passed hia
royal word to the Norwegian prince, and even a parent
is ruthless where honor is at stake. She knew what
the keeping of a royal word had once done, when he
who gave it was ashamed to break it before the chief
estates of Galilee. There was but one solitary means of
escape to which Bega could betake herself; it was to
prayer, the prayer of faith. She mourned in her prayer
and was vexed ; the enemy cried so, and the ungodly
came on so fast. She mourned in her prayer, for Satan
already rejoiced at his approaching victory ; she mourn-
ed for the dove's wing, and marvellously was the dove's
wing given to her.

The time of night is described as being that when
drowsiness comes strongest upon men who are keep-
ing vigils. But Bega had no temptation to drowsiness,
for her spirit was galled and vexed. She poured out
her heart like water, offering up her prayer with the
choice offering of holy tears ; and she said, " 0 Lord
Jesus Christ, the Son of God and of the Virgin, the
author and lover, inspirer and consecrator, preserver
and crowner of virginity, as Thou knowest how, as it
pleaseth Thee, and as Thou art able to do, preserve in
me untouched the resolution I have taken, that I may
dedicate it to Thee in the heart, and in the flesh of in-
tegrity. For Thou, author of nature, didst, in the time
of the natural law, bedeck Thy shepherd Abel with a
double wreath, namely, of virginity and of martyrdom ;
Thou, under the written law, didst snatch away to the
heavens, Elijah, clothed in the whiteness of integrity ;

144 ST. BEGA,

Thou didst send before Thee, Thy Baptist and precur-
sor John, ignorant of stain, and of snowy chastity.
Thou also didst set forth the main hope of the world,
our Lady, as a most beautiful and special mirror for
grace and honor among virgins, out of whose womb,
taking upon Thyself the failings of our nature, like
a bridegroom going forth from his nuptial couch, Thou
didst appear a Saviour to the world. Thou also, call-
ing Thy beloved John from the nuptials to the wed-
ding feast of the Lamb, hast preserved him for ever,
blooming in the unfading flower of virginity, and hast
delivered to him to be guarded, the box of Thy oint-
ments, the propitiation of human reconciliation. Thou
hast crowned Agnes, Agatha, Lucia and Catherine, and
very many others wrestling in the faith of Thy name
for their chastity, and hast magnified Thy blessed name
by these triumphant signs. Therefore I pray, by the
grace of these, that I, Thine handmaid, may find favor
in Thine eyes, that Thou mayest be a helper to me in
what I ought to do in my trouble ; that Thou being
my Benefactor, Leader, Ruler and Protector, I may
render to Thee the vow which my lips have pro-
nounced."3

Thus she prayed, and sorrowed deeply ; for her fa-
ther was an austere man, and of an inflexible will, and
she knew it was hopeless to attempt to divert him
from his purpose. But if Satan rejoiced in the pro-
spect of frustrating a pure and holy resolution so fatal
to his kingdom, the heavenly Angels were only the
more intent upon the custody of this precious flower
in the garden of their Lord. In the deep stillness of
the night, when her prayer was concluded, there came

3 Mr. Tomlinson's Trans, pp. 8, 9, J 0.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 145

a sounding Voice, which said, " Fear not, Bega, most
beloved friend ; thy prayer is heard. Hearken, 0
daughter, consider and incline thine ear. Forget also
thine own people and thy father's house. Thou shalt
have a house not made with hands, now prepared for
thee in heaven. It behoveth thee, then, to go from
kingdom to kingdom, from thy people to another peo-
ple, from land to land, from Ireland to Britain, which
is called England, and there thy days being ended in
good, I will take thee into the fellowship of Angels.
Arise, therefore, and take the bracelet by which thou
art pledged to Me, and descending to the sea, thou
shalt find a ship ready prepared, which will transport
thee into Britain."

The virgin rose : her sorrows were past, the rain of
her tears was over and gone, for the voice of her turtle
had sounded in the land. She thought not of the dif-
ficulties, but in the energy of faith she rose and de-
scended. A deep unnatural slumber oppressed the
guards, as though they too had been revellers. At the
touch of the mysterious bracelet the portals flew open,
till the virgin stood free in the cold and refreshing
air. The seaside was soon gained ; the ship was there,
and she was received on board without hesitation or
objection. Every step was smoothed by miracles ; for
she had the faith of Abraham, meriting to be called as
Abraham was called, and strengthened to obey the call ;
for she left her father's house, and went out not know-
ing whither, except that God was everywhere. The
tender maiden was a true daughter of Sarah, for over-
whelming as was the darkness of her prospects and her
divine visitation past belief, yet she was not afraid with
any amazement.

Now let us pause upon this act of Bega. It is worth

L

ST. BEGA,

lie to examine it, even though it cause us to digress,
course one would deprecate anything like an apo-
itic tone or a patronizing explanation when speak-
ing of the blessed Saints whom the Catholic Church
holds up to our affectionate reverence. Yet when men
have departed so far from catholic principles that they
have to learn them again painfully, syllable by syl-
lable, as though it were a foreign language, it is ob-
vious that they are wholly incompetent in a great num-
ber of instances to understand, much less set a value
upon, the deeds of our catholic ancestors. One great
object in writing the lives of the Saints is to recall,
so far as may be, the old catholic temper, to have the
old weights and measures of catholic morality recog-
nized as standards. It will not therefore be out of
place, though it seems a cold interruption of a religious
narrative, to say something on the propriety of this act
of St. Bega.

She fled by night from her father's house to avoid
a marriage to which his word was pledged : she con-
sulted neither priest, nor kindred : she went she knew
not where, imprudently, the world would say, and
under the influence of a heated imagination : and the
very first step of this extraordinary line of conduct
was to entrust herself, a helpless virgin, to the com-
pany of rude mariners, who must obviously have been
ignorant of her rank. This is one way of stating the
facts : and admitting her to have been sincerely con-
scientious, was she not neglecting a plain duty ? Was
it not an offence against natural piety ? Was it not,
at best, seeking after what is only a counsel of perfec-
tion through a manifest breach of an actual command-
ment ? Was it not doing evil that good might come ?
Now let it be premised that no one pretends to say

VIEGIN AND ABBESS. 147

that all the heroic actions of the Saints are imitable
by us : this is a caution which cannot be too fre-
quently repeated ; one of the greatest illusions of the
devil is to persuade unformed penitents to attempt
single actions of the Saints. For, first of all, what was
with them the general result of their whole conduct,
or a harmonious part of a consistent conduct, may be
with us an irregular, disconnected act, and therefore
something totally different from what it was in them :
and again, we cannot tell in their case how far they
were inspired, in what singular ways they were im-
pressed or with what degree of clearness the Holy
Spirit vouchsafed to make His Will known to them.
Admitting then that the actions of the Saints are not
always imitable, we would contend that Bega was justi-
fied in this act of flying from her father's house to ful-
fil her vow of virginity; and as the objection which
may be raised against this single act will apply to the
whole monastic system and the teaching of monastic
writers, it may be worth while to say a little more
about it.

There are two things concerning a holy life, the
neglect or adoption of which must entirely change the
character of a man's religion, and however little con-
nected they may seem when first stated, they are in
reality closely bound together, the one leading to,
strengthening, sustaining and perfecting the other.
They are Confession, and the practice of Election, both
as to the general state of life which it is expedient for
us to lead, and also as to the management of particular
occurrences with which we have to deal. If Confession
is disused, the inward life of the soul loses what may
be called its sacramental character; everything is dis-
placed, cause and effect disjoined and transposed ; and

148 ST. BEGA,

the medicines of penance taken at random are convert-
ed into the poison of self-will. The practice of electing
one rather than another line of life or conduct, and
making that election a solemn ritual act, under the
spiritual guidance of another, and according to sys-
tematic rules, has for one of its chief results a strict
conscientiousness in the details of everyday duty, and
is closely connected with the grace of final perseverance
according to the text, Cor ingrediens duas vias non
habebit successus. Now it is here that Confession and
Election are so intimately united ; for it is clear that
conscientiousness in details is equally the moral result
of doing everything as knowing it will have to be ho-
nestly and with much shame revealed to another. In-
deed the very nature of sacramental Confession is of
itself calculated to bring about such a conscientiousness,
as being an awful, though mercifully permitted, antici-
pation and rehearsal of the last judgment. Although,
as Suarez says, secular persons remaining in the world
may find the greatest benefit from Election, for it pre-
pares them for temptations and the surprises of sin, and
is also a remedy to be administered to those who have
been great sinners,4 yet it is obvious that it is an indis-
pensable duty when they come to decide such questions
as whether they shall marry, or go into holy orders, or
enter a monastery.

St. Ignatius in his Spiritual Exercises notes two
ways in which a general or particular Election may be
made ; one by an impartial deliberation with prayer and
a weighing of and reasoning upon the opposite views of
the question ; another when the mind is clearly and
unmistakeably impressed from above with the convic-

4 Of what importance then to us in our present state !

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 149

tion that it ought to make such a choice. The latter
is of course supernatural, and is unlikely to occur to one
not in the habit of timidly and sensitively looking out
for God's Will in every matter, great or small, and being
tranquil and indifferent as to the consequences which
the choice may bring upon one's self. Such was the kind
of Election in which for the most part those vows of
virginity, so frequent in the lives of the Saints, took
their rise. So at the very outset any measures taken
because of them are not to be judged as acts of the
Saint's own will, or private deliberation, or original
bent of mind : and this must alter our way of looking
at them very materially. We live in times when men
are apt first to choose, and then (speaking even of good
men) in the second place to see what they can make of
their own choice so as to glorify God, to edify His
Church, and save their souls. The Saints began with a
quiet and total indifferency to all ways and states of
life, sought first how they with their turn of mind
could glorify God, and then simply chose upon that
investigation, embracing their state of life with the
quiet ardor of self-renunciation. Now the first line of
conduct is so sadly below the last that they who pursue
the one can hardly, even by a mental effort, be com-
petent judges of what they did who embraced the other.
This is very much to be remembered.

The question at issue is thus, and equitably, put upon
very different grounds : it is taken to a higher and more
competent court. Supposing then a Saint to have a
vocation brought before him by a supernatural impres-
sion, vision or voice, and by applying to this impression
the usual tests for discerning spirits, to find it no
illusion of Satan, but really from God, surely all other
duties are immediately superseded, in the same ivay

150 ST. BEGA,

(we do not speak of degree) that they were in the Old
Testament times when God's will was distinctly revealed
about any matter. Still it is not, so to speak, a new
revelation, but a special guidance given to an individual
respecting the application to his own case of rules
already given. The case before us, for instance, is the
desertion of parents : we read in Scripture such pas-
sages as these, Qui non odit patrem suum et matrem,
fratres et sorores, adhuc autem et animam suam, non
potest Meus esse discipulus. Sine ut mortui sepeliant
mortuos suos. Qui dixerunt patri suo, et matri suae,
Nescio vos • et fratribus suis, Ignoro vos ; et nescierunt
filios suos, hi custodierunt eloquium Tuum, et pactum
Tuum servaverunt. 5 Consistently with this, great
writers have taught that in the election of our state
God's vocation, conscientiously ascertained so far as we
can, is to supersede the claims even of our parents to
control our choice. Ab hoc concilio amovendi sunt
carnis propinqui, says St. Thomas.6 Their view was some
such as this, — God is the God of order, and as the Church
is so far as possible a copy of Heaven, it is instinct with
the highest and most beautiful order, which can only be
preserved by a renunciation of self-will, and an election
of a state of life, for every member of the body not
obeying his special vocation is a dislocated limb, useless
himself, and impeding and encumbering the functions
of the members near him. Acting upon this view, such
men as SS. Thomas Aquinas, Peter of Alcantara,
Francis Xavier, Louis Bertrandi, and others, embraced
the monastic life without so much as communicating

5 St. Luke, xiv. 26, ix. 60 ; Deut. xxxiii. 9.

6 The whole of this matter is discussed by St. Thomas in the Se-
cunda Secundse, quaest. 186—189. Also by Rodriguez, 2, v. 7 ;
and by St. Alphonso, Practica di amar. cap. xi.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 151

their design to their parents. Neither was this a view
of late ages only : it seems to follow necessarily upon
a belief that the apostolic life may be and ought to have
been lived in the Church in all ages. Cassian relates of
Apollonius a story which shows how natural the " Sine
ut mortui sepeliant mortuos suos" came to the old Saints
of Egypt. The brother of that great abbot, knocking at
his cell-door, importuned him to come and render him
assistance in trouble. The abbot demanded why he
came to him rather than to his other brother, who was
a secular person : the reply was that the other brother
had (the abbot not knowing it) been dead fifteen years ;
and I, rejoined the abbot, have been dead twenty, for so
long is it since I interred myself in this cell.

This digression may perhaps be forgiven as suggest-
ing the thought whether it is wiser to assume the
reasoning of our own times as a premiss, and judge
the Saints accordingly, rather than to try, though the
effort be humbling at first, to enter into the principles
which led to their actions, with a view, not only of
judging them correctly, but of judging ourselves by
them. Alas ! they who nowadays study in the lives of
the Saints are travellers in a foreign country • there is
neither profit nor pleasure till the first irksomeness of a
new language and strange manners is worn off. Yet we
speak of them as though they were altogether such
persons as ourselves.

But to return. We left the Irish princess embarking
on a strange ship, leaving rank, luxury, home, kindred,
all things, for her exceeding love of holy virginity.
One who so loved chaste virginity must have been a
person of keen, intense affections, and doubtless felt as
few can feel towards those she left behind. But she
might remember perhaps how the heavenly Spouse of

152 ST. BEGA,

virgin souls had left His Mother at the age of twelve,
without a farewell, and kept her sorrowing three long-
days ; and how the first time He preached the Gospel it
was at a marriage feast, and in roughly sounding words
to His Blessed Mother ; and so St. Bega might take
heart. For the Lord allowed not the plea of those who
would first go and bid them farewell that are at home
before they followed Him. St. Cyril7 says of the man
who promised to follow Christ if he might bid his kindred
farewell, " This promise is worthy of our admiration and
full of all praise ; but to bid farewell to those who are at
home, to get leave from them, shows that he was still
somehow divided from the Lord, in that he had not yet
resolved to make his venture with his whole heart. For
to wish to consult relations, who would not agree to his
proposal, betokens one somewhat wavering. Wherefore
our Lord condemns this, saying, No man, having put
his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the
Kingdom of God. He puts his hand to the plough
who is ambitious to follow, yet looks back again when
he seeks an excuse for delay in returning home, and
consulting with his friends." But Bega made her
venture with a whole heart. Great and dazzling was
all that she left behind, but greater still and brighter
the prize of holy virginity after which she pressed
through the dreary prospect before her.

The Irish seas are not often calm ; and Bega's voyage
seems to have been attended with considerable danger.
The voyage was prosperous and the wind favorable till
they neared the English shore, that part of the Cumber-
land coast which went by the name of Copeland ; there,
whether from the violence of the storm or clumsy pilot-

7 Aur. Cat. in loc. Oxf. Tr.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 153

ing, the vessel was almost lost among the rocks which
lay round a jutting headland. Bega, it is said, made
a vow that if she was preserved she would build a holy
house upon that headland, where still stands to this day
the college of St. Bees. She did land in safety, and the
memorial of her vow still lives upon that beautiful
shore, and the house upon her headland is one of the
fountains which supply with clergy the northern shires
of England. •

Bega's first business, after disembarkation, was to
examine the surrounding country. It was covered with
dusky, tangled wood, running down even to the sea-
coast, as may still be seen in some places where the
trees from the continual action of the fierce west winds
and the splashing of the salt spray throw out their half-
leaved branches to the east, and look as if they had
been cut in a stiff form by artificial means. The coun-
try too was thinly peopled, and the presence of the
solemn sounding sea, and the silence of the umbrageous
woods, rendered it a fit place wherein to dedicate a
solitary life to God. There she constructed a cell, or,
as others think, adapted a seaside cave for her hermitage.
" There," says her biographer, " she passed many years in
the struggle of most strict conversation, laboring a long
time for the Lord. Therefore she sat in solitude, and
raising herself above herself, she had leisure, and saw
how the Lord Himself is God, tasting frequently how
pleasant and sweet He is to all who hope in Him."

Daily, rising above the level of the green tree tops,
she saw the purple peaks and ridges; beyond those
beautiful mountains St. Oswald was ruling in sanctity
and peace, and St. Aidan making his episcopal visita-
tions on foot, entering the scattered farms, teaching the
little children, and leaving heavenly peace behind him

154 ST. BEGA,

whithersoever he went. The king in his bright crown,
the weary footsore bishop, — each in their way are doing
the work of God, and spreading the Redeemer's king-
dom. And Bega too, beyond the mountains, — she in her
way is doing the same work. While she sings the
divine praises, and her meditations are differently at-
tuned, sometimes by the heavy thunder of the rolling
sea, sometimes by the scarcely whispering winds or deep
voices of the wood-pigeons in the trees, she is spreading
the Redeemer's kingdom. Her prayers, her interces-
sions, her acts of austerity, her self-imposed loneliness,
her virginal sacrifice, are communicating secret vigor to
the whole Church, and have power in the invisible world
to bring out gifts for her fellow-men. For to love God
is the first commandment, and activity for our neigh-
bors, without the love of God, is not the keeping of the
second.

But Bega's life in Copeland forest was not wholly in
her Psalter. Tradition assigns her other occupations.8
She was skilled in the knowledge of medicinal plants,
and applied her knowledge to relieve the ailments of
the few poor who then inhabited that woody region.
She perhaps was the first on that coast who gathered
the rosy carrageen, and bleached it white, as a sovereign
recipe for many ills, well known at this day among the
cottagers of Furness, who go forth to gather it, or send
their little children, when a rough sea and a west wind
have strewed it on the beach. It was said too that
she lived in supernatural familiarity with the creatures,
the sea-birds and the wolves, and that they in part
supplied her with her food. How touching is the com-
munion with nature which has always characterized the

8 Mr. Tomlinson's Tract, p. 12. These traditions are not noticed
in the Cottonian MS., of which Mr. T.'s tract is mostly a translation.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 155

Saints ! As in the Holy Scriptures we read of beasts
and birds commissioned to fulfil the office of angels in
ministering to the heirs of salvation, so in the records
of the Church we find the same things occurring to the
Saints. If the lions reverenced the virgin Daniel, they
showed a like veneration for the Christian martyrs in
the bloody amphitheatres. A savage bear licked the
wounds of St. Andronicus, a lioness crouched at the feet
of St. Tarachus, a raven defended the unburied body of
St. Vincent. St. Martin commanded the serpents and
they obeyed him, St. Antony of Padua called on the
fishes to come to his preaching when : the heretics
despised it, and St. Francis, above all, lived in closest
communion with the inferior animals. ' The swallows
of Alviano, the water-bird of Rieti, the pheasant of
Sienna, the wolf of Gubbio, the falcon of Laverna —
there are strange and sweet records how all these did
homage to the blessed St. Francis. Neither are such
things as these merely the legends of late superstitious
ages. The lives of the Egyptian fathers are full of
such things ; St. Athanasius records them of St. Antony ;
and early in the fourth century St. Macrina, the grand-
mother of the great Basil, taking refuge with her hus-
band in the forests of Pontus during persecution, was
miraculously fed by stags, and St. Gregory Nazianzen
has recorded the miracle. And the patterns of all
these things are in the Scripture histories. This is one
of the ways in which from time to time sanctity is
permitted to retrieve portions of that state in which
man was in Eden, and surely such records may be a
great consolation to us of weak faith as showing that
the manner of life the world speaks against, of self-
denial, solitude, voluntary discomfort, fast, vigil, and
virginity, is in reality that life wherein we are truly

156 ST. BEG A,

working our way back to the Eden whence we have
wandered, as well as imitating Him whose merciful
assumption of our nature pledges to us at the last even
more than the Eden we have lost. Such miracles are
not merely interesting, romantic, poetical, but they
solemnly attest the power and heavenliness of that sys-
tem of catholic morals, so often stigmatized as degrad-
ing, servile and superstitious ; and it is as attestations
of this that we should keep them in view, and bring
them into notice. It is in vain for any criticism to
make an impression upon the number, the prevalence in
all countries and in all ages, and the authentic records
of these legends : and how then shall we gainsay that
system under which such miracles took place, such mi-
racles as Scripture had already given us patterns of,
such miracles as both for greatness and for number
our Blessed Lord Himself taught us to expect after He
was ascended up on high 1

Did the homeless Bega begin to make her seaside
cave a home 1 Did something like a local affection
steal upon her, and tell her how hard it was to be
wholly detached from the creatures, and that there was
a poetry in a holy life which might come to be sought
for its own sake, and so do a mischief 1 Or did God
please to try His servant further, because she had
strength to bear it ? However this may be, her long
residence in the solitudes of Copeland came to an end.
She had been called away from her father's house, and
now she was to leave the cave and woods so dear to her.
Probably through the envy of the devil, angry at being
worsted in his strife with a weak and lonely woman,
the shores of Copeland became infested by pirates.
These were wild beasts with whom no communion
could be held. True it was she had nothing of riches

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 157

to tempt them, nothing bright or fair but the miracu-
lous bracelet of her spiritual espousals. But her trea-
sure was her chastity ; and so disquieted was the holy
virgin by the presence of these terrible marauders, that
she consulted God, and was commanded by revelation
to fly from the place j an injunction which she seems to
have obeyed with such promptitude that she left behind
the bracelet she so much prized. This fearful alarm
which invaded the quietness of her beloved hermitage,
the hardship of this new exile, were to Bega but fresh
proofs of the love of her heavenly Spouse, drawing her
more closely to Himself, and making her realize still
further that life is but a pilgrimage to Him, through
which His justifications were to be the subject of her
songs. Of the wicked it is said that their houses are
safe from fear, and that the rod of God is not upon
them : but the Saints have another heritage than this.

Bega turned her footsteps eastward. By what path
she crossed the mountains, or whether she skirted them
by the lowlands lying between the Solway and the hills,
and so entered Northumberland by the romantic valleys
of the Tyne, we are not told. Probably while she tended
some of the sick poor she had heard of Oswald and the
blessed Aidan, whose names and good deeds would doubt-
less reach the opposite coast, notwithstanding the thin-
ness of the inhabitants and the infrequency of commu-
nication. To St. Aidan, however, she bent her steps.
" To him," says the monk,9 " as to the brideman of her
Bridegroom, Bega the bride of Christ, drawing near, dis-
closed every secret of her soul, and those divine things
that were wrought about her ; and sought counsel from
him after what manner she might draw the bands of love

p. 13.

158 ST. BEG A,

and obedience towards her heavenly Spouse more tightly.
The man of God, then, like an excellent watchman on
the walls of Jerusalem, seeing her seeking and desiring
to find her Beloved, struck her more deeply and wounded
her with the dart of divine love, and taking off the ex-
pallium of the dress she had hitherto worn, clothed her
with a new garment of salvation. For the holy bishop,
according to the custom, blessed and consecrated the
holy and uncorrupt virgin as the spouse of Christ, and
new bride of the Lamb. But he put upon her head a
veil for a royal diadem, and a black garment for the
purple robe, before which the region of the Northum-
brians had no nun, as Bede the historian testifies.10 The
Saint certainly did well in this towards her, in order that
she might thereafter preserve that sanctity, under a
solemn vow, which she had hitherto kept by her own
deliberate resolve ; and that what she had taken up to
be maintained by her conduct in secret, she might now
show in public, even by her outward dress. And the
holy presul inflamed the virgin lamp which shone before
by itself, with the breath of his holy exhortation, that it
might shine more and more, and become inextinguish-
able before the coming of the Bridegroom, and adminis-
tered to it in prayer the fire of divine love, the oil of
good works, and the wick of pious devotion."

This was a great change in Bega's life. Deep as had
been her peace upon the wooded shores of Copeland, she
now enjoyed an inward peace which was deeper far.
Selfwill is apt to mingle even with the best of our deeds ;
it not unfrequently mars penance, heartily taken up
and austerely carried through. St. Mary Magdalene of
Pazzi said there was more merit in bearing a sickness

10 i. e. on the supposition that Bega is identical with Heru. Bede
iv. 23.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 159

with conformity to God's Will than in a life of self-im-
posed austerities, and more consolation too, for in the one
case we know the Will of God, and in the other we can-
not tell how far we may be self-willed : and if ever she
saw any of the novices, of whom she was mistress, ac-
quiring a love of prayer and seeming to prefer it to obe-
dience and the external offices of the convent, she was
accustomed to load them with external offices beyond
any others, in order to mortify that dangerous self-will
which was growing up even with the love of prayer.
There is no doubt then that Bega was now in a much
more advantageous position. She was not left to regu-
late herself, to choose austerities and to take upon her-
self the responsibility of a religious life. St. Aidan was
her bishop, and obedience to him was clearly the will of
God. No sooner was she clothed in her black dress than
she entered a haven of peace : she was like a pilot re-
signing the helm to another now that the mouth of the
harbor is gained. For obedience is like Eden, a place,
if not of carelessness, yet of childlike security.

Surely that solitary virgin, of royal blood, with her
veiled head and long black robe, must have been an edi-
fying sight to the Northumbrians ; and yet a strange one
too, for it was the first nun seen in the north of Eng-
land ; and the very sight of her among the half-taught
people must have been as impressive as one of St.
Aidan's sermons. The first nun was she in those goodly
shires so soon to be peopled with the spiritual children
of St. Hilda. If it be correct that her first nunnery was
somewhere on the northern bank of the Wear, she did
not stay long there, and perhaps did not make any esta-
blishment. We must follow her elsewhere.

In the beautiful bay of the Tees, when the sun goes
down behind the inland village of Hart, a golden splen-

160 ' ST. BEGA,

dor lights up the northern promontory of that crescent
of bright waters. Less bold than the shadowy cliffs of
Yorkshire where the Cleveland hills run down into the
sea, there is something singularly striking in the Dur-
ham promontory, running far out into the waves which
make almost incessant thunder among the fretted arches
which the tide has scooped out for itself. The town of
Hartlepool does not stand at quite the extremity of the
cape, but a space of green turf intervenes, without a tree,
between the sea and the church of St. Hilda, whose low
massy tower with its flying buttresses may be seen far off.
This peninsula, or island as it was of old, went by the
name of Heortheu or Hertesie, that is, the island of stags.
And this was the gift which Bega received from St. Os-
wald. At that time probably the coast was covered
with dense forests, and trees grew where the sea is now
master. Any one walking from Seaton Carew to Har-
tlepool at low tide may perceive that the beach for a
great distance is composed of the roots of trees, and pos-
sibly the swampy shallow, which, before the new harbor
was completed, rendered the approach to Hartlepool so
wearisomely circuitous at high tide, may have reached
to the sea northward as well as southward, and present-
ing no barrier to the stags may yet have stayed the
hunter, and so rendered that woody cape a favorite haunt
with those animals. But there came one now to that
secluded promontory whose feet had been nimble as harts'
feet to fly from the danger of the impure pirates, and
whose soul longed after God even more than any hart
had ever desired the safe shelter of that forest.

Behold then the blessed Bega at Hartlepool, sicut cer-
vus ad fontes aquarum ! How much there would be to
remind her of her beloved Copeland ! Here were no
suns setting in the sea, and she who had been accus-

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 161

tomed to see the great orb sink down in the Atlantic
must now look westward towards her ancient solitude,
while the sun sets over the inland ridge of Hart. But
the cape of Hartlepool was no solitude. By the aid
of St. Oswald, and under the counsel of St. Aidan, Bega
built a monastery, not perhaps such a lordly structure as
Coldingham, but still a monastery of great note. Let
it be remembered that she was the first nun Northum-
berland had ever seen. There were worldly-wise people
in those days as well as now, and a very unpractical and
hopeless thing in their eyes would be the single woman
in her black serge. Yet so it was — and perhaps we may
learn something by it — Christians effect wonderful
things when their will is hearty and single. Bega
built a great monastery ; she built it within as well as
without ; she not only raised the house, but filled it
with nuns. Something was there so beautiful and con-
vincing in the evangelical character of a nun that the
new house of Hartlepool was not only thronged with
world-renouncing virgins, but it was the cause of an
outbreak of zeal and holy love, like the zeal of " She-
chaniah the son of Jehiel, one of the sons of Elam," in the
days of Ezra, who proposed the putting away of strange
wives j for Bega's biographer tells us that " not only
many virgins were brought after her to the Heavenly
King, invited and stirred up by her exhortation and
example, but also many converts, repenting of their mar-
ried state and secular conversation, were offered in joy
and exultation in the temple to the Divine King, and
subjected to His service. So the bride of Christ, who
languished for the love of her Bridegroom, ardently
wished to be supported by flowers, to be surrounded by
apple-trees."

They who among flowers and sweet rushes and green

M

162 ST. BEGA,

boughs thread the passages and mount the staircases
of the Jesuits' College at Rome on the feast of St.
Aloysius, and see his poor bedroom now converted into
a gaily decorated chapel, and the place crowded with
Roman boys thinking of him with love and honor for
his wonderful chastity, feel a strange pleasure in the
contrast when their eyes light upon a picture of the
youthful noble performing menial offices in the college
kitchen. The Irish princess affords us the same ex-
ample of a humility delighting in abject places and oc-
cupations. While the nunnery of Hartlepool was build-
ing, she was too weak to labor with her hands, but she
made herself the slave of the workmen. She cooked
their provisions for them, carried their dinners to them
so that their work might be as little interrupted as
possible, and, as the monk says, she was ever minister-
ing and running backwards and forwards, like a bee
laden with honey. At length the holy house was
finished, the workmen dismissed, the nuns come, and
Bega become an abbess in the Church of Christ. But
there was still work to be done, work in which her
old skill in broidery would help her. The church was
built, but there were frontals, corporals, curtains, copes,
chasubles, and a hundred things wanted in the way of
decoration ; and accordingly the whole place was full of
gentle nuns, spinning, and weaving, and sewing, and
copying patterns, and yet the while silent and recol-
lected, their hearts stayed on God and occupied with
the sweets of celestial meditation. For notwithstand-
ing all this other work, and the wants and unsettled-
ness of a new monastery, " she urged them most fer-
vently to the keeping of fasts and watchings, to the
singing of hymns and psalms, and spiritual songs, and to
the study of holy reading ; so that she was the admira-

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 163

tion of the whole congregation. But among the other
gifts of virtue with which the Divine Grace had endowed
her, she exceeded in humility beyond the standard of
nature and human habit. Thus she did Martha's work
that she might not neglect Mary's holy rest, nor, on the
other hand, contemn a necessary service on account of
Mary's sabbath. And because she was accepted by
God and man, she enlarged her monastery with pos-
sessions given by princes ; to wit, first, by St. Oswald,
and afterwards by St. Oswin, the future martyr."

It would have been interesting to know what kind
of a rule St. Aidan gave to this first Northumbrian
nunnery, how far it was his own drawing up, or how
far copied from rules already existing, or how far mo-
dified by the suggestions of the blessed abbess herself.
We should wish to know whether strict cloister was
prescribed, or whether the nuns were occupied in works
of mercy outside their walls, and whether there was any
conventual hospitality connected with the peculiarly
safe and inviting anchorage of the bay, so greatly
needed along that bleak and repulsive coast, and which
one wild night so often fills with shipping even in the
present days of improved navigation. However there
were doubtless the offices of the Church, and mental
prayer, and examinations of conscience, and humilia-
tions in chapter, and a covetousness of chastity, and a
love of Christ-like poverty, and a prompt self-abasing
obedience : and a blessed thing, surely a very blessed
thing it was for the rough-mannered Northumbrians to
have such a heaven on earth amongst them, as that
community of gentle women, a beacon on the rocks
of that sea-fretted promontory, whose far-off light it
was very pleasant to look back upon, knowing it was
the first light of the kind which had shone among

164 ST. BEGA,

the people of those various and beautiful shires of the
north.

Meanwhile Christian things were growing among the
Northumbrians ; and greatly gladdened, no doubt, was
the heart of good St. Aidan, and a cause of very unen-
vious joy was it to the abbess of Hartlepool. There
came another holy woman into the diocese of Lindis-
farne, by the bishop's invitation ; and he gave her a site
somewhere on the banks of the woodland Wear, with
its thin streams and broad beds of gravel. Perhaps it
might be close to Wearmouth, for Sunderland church
was dedicated to St. Hilda, and St. Hilda was the
stranger freshly come among the Northumbrians to
emulate the example of Bega.

Meanwhile Bega grew a little discontented with her
position ; for there are circumstances in which even
Saints do not fear to want resignation, or at least to do
their best to effect a change, and their example in this
respect is not likely to be pernicious to the world at
large. What Saints find it hard to submit to is a
position which seems to distract them from the single
thought of God and love of their heavenly Spouse.
They are not backward to sacrifice the joys of secret
contemplation, the raptures of prayer, the delights of
the cloister, where the needs of the faith or the welfare
of their neighbors call them to serve God in another
way. Even Mary went out in haste when once she had
ascertained her Lord's call. But when their present
circumstances involve them in cares wholly or partially
secular, and attach them too much to the creature when
they would be entirely devoted to the service of the
Creator, when the perfection which they covet seems to
recede from them, holy persons have felt such a yearn-
ing after heavenly things that they have considered it

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 165

an imperative duty to divest themselves of offices and
responsibilities which seem to drag their souls earth-
wards. How inconsistent is all this, a man of the
world will say ; what guarantee is there that these rest-
less Saints are not after all worshipping self-will, which
it is the primary object of a monk or nun to renounce ?
How can they be sure of it themselves 1 Are not these
vagaries of the old abbesses just what we see among
unsettled but well-meaning religious women of our own
times 1 To this we may answer, Certainly not : for the
catholic system is a whole, and one part succours the
other, or is the complement of the other. Under it
there were then, and there are to-day for such as are
blessed enough to live under it, such things as disci-
pline, superiors, obedience, confessors, spiritual directors,
the obligation of vows, limited and strictly defined dis-
pensing powers, and so forth, — very uncouth and harsh-
sounding words to modern ears, menacing and despotic
things which Lutheran laxity and protestant freedom and
the pewholders of popular chapels will find it very diffi-
cult to live under. Indeed the monastic system alto-
gether is to heresy very much what an exhausted
receiver would be to any luckless animal whom the
cruel philanthropy of science thought it needful to im-
prison therein. Nuns were not the patronesses of their
bishops and confessors, nor the self-appointed judges of
their doctrines, nor the loquacious admirers of their
sermons, but very humble, sad, downcast sort of people
who never imagined they had a word to say for them-
selves when they received an over-harsh reproof or a
disagreeable order. At least good nuns, true nuns,
were such as this ; and perhaps enough has been said
to make it clear that Bega was a very pattern of nuns.
But what was Bega's grievance ? Alas ! a very sub-

166 ST. BEG A,

tie and refined one, many people will think. How-
ever, imaginary and wilful conceit or not, what troubled
Bega was this : — she admired, as her biographer most
aptly words it, to see how when she had gone through
so much to put off the world, behold ! she had now put
it on again very unexpectedly in the shape of a Chris-
tian abbacy. In other words St. Bega came to think
that Church preferment was only the world in sheep's
clothing. Whatever comes of this doctrine, in holding
which the abbess of Hartlepool has been by no means
singular, she did her best to get out of the snare in a
lawful way. There must be abbesses, there must be
bishops, and in fact prelates of all sorts ; the Church
could not get on without them. It cannot be supposed
but that this objection would present itself to Bega's
mind ; but she would probably dispose of it by a truism
equally obvious, that there would always be plenty of
persons, and good persons too, who would be ready to
accept prelacies, and to fill them edifyingly. Yet for
all that there may be higher offices in the Church than
visible prelacies, and higher hearts to be called to them.
Bega felt her dignity and power both dangerous and
distressing : how was she to exercise absolute control
over many nuns, who thought herself less than the least,
and the chief of sinners ? how was she to endure marks
of homage and respect, the highest place in chapter, and
a special stall in the choir, when she pined to be abject
and dishonored as Christ was ? how was she, with a
mother's charity, to see that the cellarer provided for
the bodily necessities of her community, when she craved
after the poverty of Christ ? how was she to impose
penances on the erring, when her whole nature shrunk
from it ? Her self-abasement was too great, too perfect,
too heavenly, to allow her to be fit to fill high places,

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 167

and exercise authority. No, says her faithful monk,
" she, who washed her feet from all the dust of earthly
ministration, was troubled within herself, because she
thought she had as it were again defiled them under the
cares of her office. For she remembered the voice of
that turtle that she used to hear in her own country,
that light whispering that she felt breathing in the in-
terior of her cell, and saying, Who will give me to be
as I was in former times, when God was secretly in
my tabernacle, when I was intoxicated with the plenty
of His House, and He gave me to drink of the torrent
of His pleasure ? While she frequently turned these
things over in her mind, her spirit was troubled within
her, because, considering how to relinquish every ex-
ternal business and all the ministry of Martha, and
choosing Mary's best part which shall not be taken
away, the renunciation of the government of the mo-
nastery which she had built, without any retractation,
sat upon her mind."

Abbots and bishops seeking to lay down their crosiers
and mitres to copy the humility and low estate of
Christ, and popes grudging the dispensation lest the
Church should suffer loss through lack of these good
men's services, and the abbots and the bishops growing
urgent and almost clamorous, and the popes loving
them the more for their want of prompt submission in
such a matter, and at length wisely dreading to interfere
with a divine vocation, and reluctantly giving way —
this is an edifying contest which has been many times
renewed in every age of the Catholic Church. Indeed
it is almost one of those few characteristics which give
a tangible unity to the lives of the Saints amid their
astonishing diversity. The like contest now took place
between Bega and St. Aidan. The bishop refused to

168 ST. BEGA,

give her a dispensation, or to allow her abdication.
His reluctance was most natural ; for though Bega in
her own estimation was the chief of sinners, to others
she was a manifest vessel of God's election. Such a
beginning would not promise well for Northumbrian
nunneries, yet after all what could promise better ?
But Bega's importunity was in the end more than a
match for the bishop's reluctance. She gave him no
rest ; the historian distinctly states, that, not content
with seasonable requests, she was unseasonably urgent
about it — instans inopportune — so strongly was she
bent upon it. At length St. Aidan gave way, and
Bega laid down her dignity to her own infinite con-
tentment and exceeding joy.

Most inconsistent Saint ! She loved her nuns
quite as well as her own soul. She procures the
stranger from the banks of the Wear, the blessed Hilda,
to be unanimously elected abbess, her election to be
more than willingly confirmed by St. Aidan ; and St.
Hilda resolutely refusing the proffered dignity, Bega
forces it upon her with most earnest supplications, as
though her acceptance of it would make her conscience
more than easy about her resignation and the welfare of
the spiritual children whom she had gathered together.
" The altercation between these friends of God," says
the chronicler, " was sufficiently humble and friendly,
seeing that each preferred the life of the other to her
own ; nor was there less strife between them about not
receiving preferment than is wont to arise among the
ambitious, infected with the poison of sirnoniacal heresy,
about obtaining advancement. Yet the humility of
Bega in this -part was victorious, and Hilda's obedience,
although unwilling, still submitted to be conquered."
Hartlep;,ol certainly witnessed strange scenes in that

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 169

seventh century ; the picturesque peninsula, the green
turf glistening with the eyes of wild thyme which the
salt spray spares, the broad sunny bay, the many-
chambered rocks resonant for ever with the sea's in-
nocuous thunder, the white climbing columns of angry
foam which the children watch so long and so delight-
edly, these are all still there ; but the nunnery is gone,
and St. Bega is gone, and St. Hilda, and the gentle
community, and the matins and the diurnal hours, and
the mental prayer, and the examinations of conscience,
and the humiliations in chapter, and all the holy and
beautiful theology of monastic vows ; these are gone,
and much more is gone with them, which would be a
blessing to Hartlepool, even though it does not miss
them, for there are stages when disease has gone so far
that the patients do not dream they are so near being
incurable. Such was Hartlepool in the seventh cen-
tury ; the bustling port, the new harbor, the railway,
the growing town enlarging itself to meet its novel
position, are doubtless things of Christian import and
furnish grave questions for the Church to solve. Cer-
tainly opening ou* eyes to the merits of the past ought
to do anything but blind us to the real advantages of
the present, yet there is a Christian admonition too in
getting ourselves to imagine Hartlepool as it was when
the staffs were but half dispossessed, and the first nun

O J-

of the north was the crosiered queen of that fair penin-
sula.

The endowments of the Saints are very various. The
gifts requisite for founding a monastery and sheltering
it in its feeble beginnings are quite different from those
required for the government of an established and tho-
roughly furnished community. They are of a much
rarer kind ; and it would appear, from many instances,

170 ST. BEGA,

that where they have been given God does not suffer the
possessors of them to rest. They are, as it were, driven
forth and driven forth perpetually to make new begin-
nings, and so fulfil their functions in the Church. An
active yet very settled disposition, forbearing patience,
power of influencing others, a quickness, almost inven-
tive, to detect ways and means, an aptness to use them,
a dexterity in converting seeming obstacles into real
succors, a calm foresight and a very gentle determina-
tion,— these seem on the whole the qualities required
in a founder. St. Theresa, for example, had a singular
talent that way, which may be discerned even through
the modest concealments of her autobiography, and her
accounts of her sixteen chief foundations, written in obe-
dience to the orders of her confessors. Francis Garcia of
Toledo, the Dominican, and father Ripaldi, the Jesuit.
Thus also we read of St. David before he settled at
Ross, that he " went about preaching and founding mo-
nasteries," which seems a strange method of expression
at first sight, and of St. Lugid we read that he founded
a hundred monasteries. So in like manner was Bega
driven forth, from Copeland by the pirates, from Hartle-
pool by her own humility and thirst for perfection,
from both places doubtless by God's vocation. So long
as there were the obstacles, perplexities, and anxieties
of a new foundation to cope with, so long Bega found
no danger or distress in being foremost. It was no
more than the privilege of laboring and suffering above
others. But when quietness brought dignity, honor
and power, her lowliness took the alarm. Her subse-
quent history is very obscure, obscure as the holy abbess
would have wished it to be, when she bade Hilda fare-
well, and left her hard-won promontory behind. But
it seems not improbable that she too had the gift of

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 171

making foundations. Beal, or Beag Hall, near Pomfret,
is supposed by some to have been one of her founda-
tions j11 and her name is connected with three other
places in Yorkshire, viz. Tadcaster, Newton Kyme and
Aberford. However it seems agreed, on the whole,
though not without dissentient voices, that when she
left Hartlepool she went to Calcaria, and further that
Calcaria is Tadcaster, a town nine miles south of York,
and near the river Wharfe. At Tadcaster she " built
herself a mansion, and led a life of great perfection there
for a long time." But it does not appear whether the
mansion for herself was a monastery, or simply a her-
mitage • but one would infer from the mention of her
great perfection, and from her having resigned the go-
vernment of Hartlepool because it stood in the way of
her perfection, that her life at Tadcaster was that of a
hermit. What interior trials she suffered, what heights
she climbed, and to what a union with God the blessed
virgin now attained, is unknown to any but the Spirit who
led her as He pleased along the paths of perfection, and
in a measure possibly to her Guardian Angel. Enough
for us that she lives to intercede with our Intercessor
for the Church of those parts which she illustrated by
her sanctity.

One pleasure there was which Bega did not think it
well to deny herself : a visit, said to have been annual,12
to her successor St. Hilda, then abbess of the famous
monastery of Whitby. During the seven years of St.
Hilda's weary sickness the monk says that Bega "vi-
sited her frequently and dwelt a long time with her."
This looks as if either the visit had never been a formal
yearly courtesy, or at least very naturally ceased to be

11 Mr. Tomlinson states that there is no evidence of this, p. 17.

12 See No. iv. of this work, p. 42.

172

ST. BEGA,

so when it pleased God to subject St. Hilda to such
long and acute sufferings. Evident it is that there
was a most dear and holy friendship between those
great Saints, such as would not steal the hearts of either
from their heavenly Spouse, but would spur the emu-
lous feet of both in the way of perfection.

St. Hilda in the last year of her life founded a nun-
nery at Hackness j thither St. Bega came, on a visit to
the nuns, a few days before St. Hilda's death. The
abbess was not at Hackness herself, but, as it would
appear, at Whitby, and had left a nun named Freitha
to govern the new community for the time. Hackness,
it must be remembered, is thirteen miles from Whitby.
Now one night about cock-crowing, that is, before ma-
tins, Bega was lying in the dormitory at Hackness.
Suddenly she heard in the spirit the great bell of
Whitby convent, which was tolled to call the com-
munity together when any of them was dead ; and
above she beheld an immense light pouring down from
heaven, and filling every part of the building, the roof
of which seemed to be entirely taken away, and amid
the intolerable blaze she discerned what she was given to
understand was the soul of St. Hilda, borne by Angels
into heaven, and overpassing the realms of purgatory.
When she came to herself, Bega, uncertain whether she
had dreamed a dream or seen a vision, felt inwardly
sure that God had taken St. Hilda to herself. Half in
sorrow, half in fear, she awakened Freitha, and the
whole community rose up, and for the rest of the night
sang psalms and said prayers for the repose of their
blessed mother's soul. In the morning some of the
monks came from Whitby to acquaint them with the
decease of the abbess, which took place at the very
hour when it had been revealed to Bega.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 173

In its outward circumstances this holy legend looks
at first sight like a modern ghost story. Of course it is
really a very different thing, if for no other reason, at
least for this, that the two persons concerned were
blessed Saints of the holy Church. But the legend is
interesting for another reason, and on such a subject-
matter by interesting is meant edifying. If by ob-
servant classification important laws are come at in
human sciences, perhaps by a reverent and minute at-
tention to all that is preternatural in the lives of the
Saints a serious man might come to learn a great deal
that was very solemn indeed, and which would serve for
the illustration of many principles of ascetic and still
more of mystic theology handed down by the anchorets
and monks and spiritual masters of the Church. So
far as many actions are concerned, which seem to the
world as if reversing right and wrong, there is most un-
deniably a singular uniformity visible in the endless
variety of the lives of the Saints ; and it may be that
there is a similar uniformity in the preternatural vi-
sions, revelations, and the like, which are so seemingly
various in sacred histories ; and if it be so it must be ex-
tremely instructive, though it demands a most reve-
rential study as remembering Whose dealings they are
which we are venturing to gaze upon. Now there has
been hardly any kind of visions, so obviously making a
class, as the visions of disembodied spirits either at the
moment of departure or issuing out of purgatory ; and
this revelation made to St. Bega of her friend's decease,
having been shared by so many other Saints both an-
cient and modern, is more interesting than if it were
some distinctive favor granted to herself only. Thus
St. Kentigern saw the angels carrying up to heaven the
soul of the great St. David at the very hour of his

174 ST. BEGA,

death ; St. Benedict saw the soul of St. Scholastica his
sister pass upwards like a dove, and though his own
soul was not seen, yet the luminous track by which it
ascended was visible to some of his monks ; and when
those who revere the primitive ages of the Church
feel backward to admit the many stories told of St.
Theresa and St. Mary Magdalene of Pazzi seeing souls
liberated from purgatory, they should remember how
St. Perpetua early in the third century saw the soul of
her little brother Dinocrates issuing purified from an
intermediate place of darkness, when she interceded for
him in prison after her first glorious confession. Per-
haps it may incline some readers to think more wor-
thily of what is here but an obscure English legend,
resting on evidence not particularly clear, if we go a
little out of our way, and put side by side with it a
story, strikingly similar in all points, told of no less a
Saint than St. Benedict and by no less a doctor than
St. Gregory the Great, whose memory may well be
blessed among Englishmen.

Among the early Benedictine monasteries was that of
St. Sebastian in Campania ; Mabillon calls it thirty
miles from Monte Cassino. The abbot of this monas-
tery, Servandus, a deacon, was an intimate friend of St.
Benedict, and St. Gregory tells us they used often to
meet to hold spiritual conferences and thus to give each
other the sweet food of the heavenly country in pious
discourses. One night after they had separated, St.
Benedict remained in the upper part of the tower in
which he generally dwelt, and Servandus went to rest
at the bottom, there being a staircase communicating
between the two apartments. It was not yet time for
matins, but Benedict was one whose eyes full often pre-
vented the night-watches. He was standing at his

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 175

window, possibly that the chill night-air might dispel
his drowsiness, and there he prayed to God. It was a
calm night, and suddenly a great light was poured
down from heaven, which absorbed all the darkness,
till the night became even more radiant than the na-
tural day. It seemed to St. Benedict that the whole
world was so collected under that light and illumined
by it, that he saw it all at one simultaneous glance,
like our blessed Lord's vision from the top of Quaren-
tana. While the Saint stood gazing on this vision he
saw a fiery sphere traversing the brightness, and ascend-
ing up to heaven. It was borne by angels, and in it
St. Benedict discerned what he recognized to be the
soul of Germanus, bishop of Capua. We say recognized,
as the nearest word to express the meaning, remember-
ing the recognition of Moses and Elias by St. Peter,
which was perhaps not miraculous but according to
some laws of the spiritual world of which we know
nothing. St. Benedict immediately called Servandus to
ascend the tower, that he might be a witness of the
revelation. Servandus, either arriving as the vision was
fading or seeing as much with his bodily eye as the in-
ward illumination of his soul allowed, beheld some small
portion of the exceeding brightness. Forthwith St.
Benedict despatched some one from the neighboring
town to the city of Capua, where he learned that the
holy Germanus had departed to a better life at the very
hour at which the Saint had been favored with the vi-
sion. And are not all holy men the servants of Him
who spake in old time by vision unto His Saints ?

After the death of St. Hilda Bega returned no more
to Tadcaster ; but abode in the nunnery of Hackness.
At her friend's death, whom she did not long survive,
she had led a monastic life for more than thirty years ;

176 ST. BEG A,

and it may have been some presentiment or foreknow-
ledge of her own coming departure which induced her
to remain among St. Hilda's children at Hackness. She
entered into her rest on the 31st of October : her bio-
grapher says, " aptly enough, while she was observing
the Vigil of All Saints she quitted the world to join
their society, that, winter coming upon the earth, all
winter might pass away from her, leaving it • and the
rain might cease and depart, that eternal spring might
shine upon her, and the bloom of roses and the lilies of
the valley might appear to her in heaven."

After this the Danes came down like a flood upon
the land, and the relics no less than the records of many
of the Saints were lost, arid their holy houses burnt and
plundered, and the Church had much ado, not without
miraculous helps, to retrieve what she did retrieve when
something like peaceful times came back to her. The
very local features of the ancient sanctity were worn
out from the face of the land, and in many places ir-
recoverably obliterated. A very awful judgment it was,
and it was truly wonderful how well the Church reco-
vered from it. Amidst the confusion all tradition of
St. Bega's burial was lost ; the quiet houses which St.
Hilda planted were overwhelmed by the marauding
bands, and became miserable desolations instead of
goodly homes perpetually vocal with divine psalmody.
" The precious pearl lay hid in the heart of the earth,"
so the monk speaks of St. Bega's body ; and so time went
on till the twelfth century, somewhere about 460 years
after her death, and then it was revealed to some holy
men, probably devoted to the memory of the Saint, that
she lay buried in the cemetery at Hackness. Supposing
the veneration shown by the catholic Church for the
Saints, and the honors paid to their relics, to be, as

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 177

dogmatic writers teach, a necessary growth of the doc-
trine of the Incarnation, these discoveries of particular
relics at particular times may all have been provi-
dentially ordered so as to meet certain emergencies in
the Church, and to reinforce her life and vigor at a
given season. The holy men were not disobedient to
the admonition ; they repaired to the cemetery at Hack-
ness, and after much digging they found a sarcophagus
on the lid of which were the words, Hoc est sepulchrum
Begu. On removing the lid a small clod (gleba) of her
body was found, and a veil upon her head hardly cor-
rupted at all ; and a sweet odor breathed from her relics,
which were transported to the monastery in solemn pro-
cession.

The Cell or Priory of St. Bega on the headland which
bears her name on the Cumbrian coast was built in the
reign of Henry the First, and a monk named Robert
was the first prior. Many miracles were wrought at
her intercession in the country round about; and to
swear on the bracelet of St. Bega was the most solemn
of all oaths, which few durst break, for many and well
authenticated were the instances in which immediate
and signal vengeance had fallen upon the offenders.
The bracelet appears to have been found by the people
after her precipitate flight. It would be cherished first
as an affecting memorial of a benefactress, and then
held in reverence as the authentic relic of a Saint.
There are many interesting traces of the way in which
this mysterious bracelet acted as something humanizing
in that wild district, and stood in the stead of law dur-
ing times in which law's voice, however majestic, was
too calm to be heard. It would be beyond the scope of
this memoir to give a detailed account of these mira-
cles, resting as they do on very slight evidence, and all

N

178 ST. BEG A,

tending one way, namely to show how the devotion to
St. Bega was, independent of higher ends to separate
souls, a great power of civilization in the region where
she had dedicated herself to God in a solitary and vir-
gin life. One miracle, however, may be related, not as
resting on better evidence than the others, but partly as
having a singular poetical beauty, and partly as being a
thing not at all unlikely to happen (though there is no
proof that it did happen in this case) in rude times
when the quiet hand of social order could not make it-
self felt, and the monuments of ancient piety were likely
to be lost amid the covetous knights and rough-handed
barons, who looked with jaundiced eye on the fair fields
and good broad lands which had been severed from their
patrimony and given to the Church by their more de-
vout ancestors.

The story runs thus. Ranulph Meschines was a very
great man in Copeland, and at one time a very good
man, which is not often the case with great men. He
had a special devotion to St. Bega, as was natural for a
Copeland man ; and he thought it very wrong the Saint
should have no shrine in those parts where she had led
such a marvellous and holy life. But Ranulph did not
content himself with thinking about the matter. There
was a much shorter interval between word and deed
then than there unhappily is in our days. Ranulph
started off to York, — he could not go to a better place ;
— there he went to the monastery of our Blessed Lady,
— whose monks so fit as St. Mary's to serve a Saint
like Bega, a virgin too herself of royal lineage 1 there
he asked for some monks and got them. He carried
his prize into Copeland; the goodly town of Kirkby
stood on or near the site of Bega's hermitage, and luckily
it was his own town, houses, people and all, and he gave

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 179

it with sundry lands to God and St. Mary, and built a
cell in honor of St. Bega, and the place was called
Kirkby Begog, now St. Bees. Afterwards Ranulph
wished he had waited a little longer, and he began
to open his ears to what worldly people said about the
holy friars, and to think that monks were very useless
people, and he had not even the consolation of know-
ing what a great many people would be of his opinion
in times to come. However Ranulph wished he had
his lands back again : the oftener he looked on the
goodly crops in the monks' fields, probably much better
cultivated than his own, the more protestant he grew.
As was said before, in those days men acted upon their
thoughts with a rapidity unknown at present : he had
made a mistake certainly in bringing these monks into
Copeland ; the next best thing was to starve them out.
Ranulph was assuredly, as modern historians speak, in
advance of his age ; he anticipated exactly (for there is
a striking uniformity in wickedness irrespective of cen-
turies) the line of conduct which Henry the Eighth
adopted, only Ranulph was not a king, so he could not
hang the prior of St. Bees. Like Henry, Ranulph
wished to have the lands of the Church, and yet to be
quite orthodox • so he was obliged, as it would have
been very unseemly then to have laid violent hands on
the monks, to descend to the more commonplace remedy
of a law-suit, which must have been both tedious and
mortifying to a strong-handed man like Ranulph. Still
monks were the order of the day then, so nothing else
would do. After many delays, which no doubt teased
the poor monks as well as chafed Ranulph, the lawyers
fixed a day for the final and peremptory decision, and
summoned the country people to be eye-witnesses of the
settling of the boundaries, so that it might become a

180 ST. BEGA,

matter of notoriety and not be called in question again.
Ranulph did not want the church or the conventual
precinct : they would be awkward property to a man of
his turn of mind ; he would be content with the lands.
The unhappy monks, frightened by Ranulph' and bewil-
dered by law, thought the best thing they could do was
to invocate St. Bega, i. e. to put their trust in God, for
which the other was only a roundabout method of ex-
pression, which the reader may or may not approve.
Well — the day came, and the monks, and the lawyers,
and the country people, and Ranulph too. Doubtless
nobody stayed at home in Copeland but those who were
too old or too young to leave ; and perhaps we should
not be mistaken in divining that the sympathies of the
rustics were all with the monks, for it was only the
love of the poor, ignorant, uneducated, superstitious
people, which kept monks uppermost so long. Now,
if Bega was to appear to settle the question herself, in
what possible form could she come better or more aptly
or with more unmistakeable figure, virgin as she was,
than in whitest chastest snow ? 13 Nobody could doubt
what that meant : and so it was : down came a most
sudden and unlooked-for fall of whitest snow : moun-
tains and tree-tops, house-roofs and sea-shore, all through
Copeland were covered with dazzling snow : but every
rood which the monks claimed was most accurately
marked out : not a flake fell thereon : all Copeland
was white, and the sea was blue, and the monks'
lands, like a colored province in a map, all of radiant
green. Thus there could be no question but that Bega
had herself put a most summary stop to the law-suit j

13 The reader may remember the beautiful tradition of the Basilica
of Santa Maria Maggiore at Rome, otherwise St. Mary ad Nives.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 181

the monks thought, for they tell us so, of Gideon's
fleece ; the rustics were convinced ; the lawyers did not,
perhaps durst not, say they were not ; and it was plain
the less Ranulph said the better, for he was not in a
particularly pleasant or dignified position. This story
is interesting as showing a somewhat strange relation
between a convent and its "pious founder:"14 it may
be hoped such relative positions were not common in
those days. It is certainly in that point of view a very
ugly story.

It has already been mentioned that on the headland
of St. Bees there is still a school of Christian doctrine,
something like a local connection, a frail yet unbroken
tradition, between old times and our own. And it is
said l5 that at this day the inhabitants of the neighbor-
ing villages resort to the Church of St. Bees at Easter
for the purpose of communicating, and that from a con-
siderable distance, insomuch that the village is quite
crowded, and the clergy are obliged to have an early
Communion in addition to the one which follows morn-
ing prayers. There is something very, very mournful
in the way in which we are driven to cherish even
such poor acknowledgments of love for the Catholic
Past.

By the kind permission of the author we are allowed
to reprint entire Mr. Wordsworth's beautiful stanzas on
St. Bees, written, be it observed, so long ago as 1833.
The date is noticed as giving a fresh instance of the

14 Nicholson and Burns make William Meschines, Ranulph's brother,
the founder or restorer (if the Danes had destroyed a previous cell) of
St. Bees.

15 By Mr. Tomlinson, note, p. 80.

\
182 ST. BEGA,

remarkable way in which his poems did in divers places
anticipate the revival of catholic doctrines among us.
When any one considers the tone of sneering which was
almost universal in English authors when treating of a
religious past with which they did not sympathize, the
tone of these verses is very striking indeed, the more
striking since Mr. Wordsworth's works prove him to be
very little in sympathy with Roman doctrine on the
whole. Yet the affectionate reverence for the catholic
past, the humble consciousness of a loss sustained by
ourselves, the readiness to put a good construction on
what he cannot wholly receive, are in this poem in very
edifying contrast with even the half irreverent sportive-
ness of Mr. Southey's pen when employed on similar
subject-matters. The poet, it may be observed, assumes
on the authority of county historians a Cell of St. Bega
destroyed by the Danes, and so traces the history of
the sacred headland down to the modern college. The
reader, acquainted with Mr. Wordsworth's poems, will
find an alteration in the last stanza ; it has been printed
as it is here given at the request of the author himself.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 183

STANZAS

SUGGESTED IN A STEAM-BOAT OFF ST. BEES' HEADS, ON THE COAST
OF CUMBERLAND.

IF Life were slumber on a bed of down,

Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown,

Sad were our lot : no hunter of the hare

Exults like him whose javelin from the lair

Has roused the lion ; no one plucks the rose,

Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows

'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries,

With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees,

For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees.

This independence upon oar and sail,
This new indifference to breeze or gale,
This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea,
And regular as if locked in certainty —
Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm !
That Courage may find something to perform ;
That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze
At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas,
Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees.

Dread cliff of Baruth ! that wild wish may sleep,
Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep
Breathed the same element ; too many wrecks
Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks
Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought
Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought :
With thy stern aspect better far agrees
Utterance of thanks that we have passed with ease,
As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees.

184 ST. BEGA,

Yet, while each useful Art augments her store,

What boots the gain if Nature should lose more ?

And Wisdom, that once held a Christian place

In man's intelligence sublimed by grace ?

When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast,

Tempestuous winds her holy errand crossed :

She knelt in prayer — the waves their wrath appease ;

And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees,

Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. Bees.

" Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand,"

Who in these Wilds then struggled for command ;

The strong were merciless, without hope the weak ;

Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break,

And as a cresset true that darts its length

Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength ;

Guiding the mariner through troubled seas,

And cheering oft his peaceful reveries,

Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St. Bees.

To aid the Votaress, miracles believed

Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved ;

So piety took root ; and Song might tell

What humanizing virtues near her cell

Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around ;

How savage bosoms melted at the sound

Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies

Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees,

From her religious Mansion of St. Bees.

When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love,

Was glorified, and took its place, above

The silent stars, among the angelic quire,

Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire,

And perished utterly ; but her good deeds

Had sown the spot that witnessed them, with seeds

Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze

With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas,

And lo ! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees.

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 185

There are the naked clothed, the hungry fed ;
And Charity extendeth to the dead
Her intercessions made for the soul's rest
Of tardy penitents ; or for the best
Among the good (when love might else have slept,
Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept.
Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees,
Who, to that service bound by venial fees,
Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees.

Are not, in sooth, their requiems sacred ties

Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies,

Subdued, composed, and formalized by art,

To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart?

The prayer for them whose hour is passed away

Says to the Living, profit while ye may !

A little part, and that the worst, he sees

Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys

That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees.

Conscience, the timid being's inmost light,
Hope of the dawn and solace of the night,
Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray
In many an hour when judgment goes astray.
Ah ! scorn not hastily their rule who try
Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify ;
Consume with zeal, in winged ecstasies
Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries,
Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees.

Yet none so prompt to succour and protect
The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked
On the bare coast ; nor do they grudge the boon
Which staff and cockle-hat and sandal shoon
Claim for the pilgrim : and, though chidings sharp
May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp,
It is not then when, swept with sportive ease,
It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees,
Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees.

186 ST. BEGA,

How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice
What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice,
Imploring or commanding with meet pride,
Summoned the chiefs to lay their feuds aside,
And under one blest ensign serve the Lord
In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword !
Flaming till thou from Panym hands release
That Tomb, dread centre of all sanctities
Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees.

But look we now to them whose minds from far
Follow the fortunes which they may not share.
While in Judea Fancy loves to roam,
She helps to make a Holy-land at home :
The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites
To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights ;
And wedded life, through scriptural mysteries,
Heavenward ascends with all her charities,
Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees.

Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors,
And to green meadows changed the swampy shores ?
Thinned the rank woods ; and for the cheerful grange
Made room where wolf and boar were used to range ?
Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains
Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains ?
The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please,
For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies
Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees !

But all availed not ; by a mandate given
Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven
Forth from their cells ; their ancient House laid low
In Reformation's sweeping overthrow.
But now once more the local Heart revives,
The inextinguishable Spirit strives.
Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas,
And cleared a way for the first votaries,
Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees !

VIRGIN AND ABBESS. 187

Alas ! the Genius of our age, from Schools
Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules ;
Would merge, Idolatress of formal skill,
In her own systems God's Eternal Will.
To Her despising faith in things unseen
Matter and Spirit are as one Machine.
Better, if Reason's triumphs match with these,
Her flight before the bold credulities
That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees.

1833.

THE END.

LONDON :

PRINTED BT S. & J. BEKTUET, WILSON,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.