- LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO . 
 
 1
 
 16032
 
 SAINT CUTHBERT'S BIRDS
 
 LEQENDS 
 
 or 
 
 SAINTS & 
 BIRDS 
 
 . :. ----- BY A . A . HILTON 
 
 London: WELLS GARDNER, DARTON & CO., LTD., 
 3 Paternoster Buildings, E.C., and 44 Victoria 
 Street, S.W.
 
 TTo nt (Branfcmotber
 
 ^*>ijmtrT in TT.Taat i 
 
 ontents 
 
 S. KENTIGERN AND THE ROBIN 
 
 THE BIRDS OF S. MILBURGH AND SOME OTHERS 
 
 s. CUTHBERT'S BIRDS 
 ANGUS, SERVANT OF GOD 
 KIERAN AND THE CUCKOO 
 S. GUTHLAC AND THE RAVENS 
 THE CURLEW'S NEST 
 SS. COMGALL AND ISIDORE 
 S. COLUMBA AND THE CRANE - 
 THE ROBIN AND THE WREN - 
 
 3 
 
 '3 
 23 
 33 
 45 
 53 
 61 
 69 
 77 
 85
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 S. KENETH OF THE GULLS - 95 
 
 S. FRANCIS - 103 
 
 S. COLUMBANUS - 113 
 
 S. HUGH AND HIS SWAN 123 
 
 A CHRISTMAS TALE 133 
 
 A TABLE OF THE SAINTS WITH THEIR DAYS AND 
 
 MONTHS 141 
 
 NOTES ON THE EMBLEMS AND SHRINES OF THE 
 
 SAINTS - 143 
 
 SOME WORDS EXPLAINED - 151
 
 ons. 
 
 S. CUTH BERT'S BIRDS - - - Frontispiece 
 
 Facing page 
 
 S. KENTIGERN 3 
 
 S. KENTIGERN AND THE ROBIN - - - - - 9 
 
 S. MILBURGH 13 
 
 THE BIRDS LOVED HER 19 
 
 S. CUTHBERT AMONG HIS SHEEP - - - - 29 
 
 ANGUS, SERVANT OF GOD - - - 33 
 
 KIERAN AND THE CUCKOO 45 
 
 S. GUTHLAC 53 
 
 THE RAVENS 56 
 
 THE CURLEW'S NEST - 6 1 
 
 THE ANGEL PLOUGHING THE FIELD - - - - 69 
 
 S. ISIDORE 72
 
 Illustrations 
 
 Facing fas* 
 
 THE CRANE - 77 
 
 S. COLUMBA - - ?8 
 
 THE ROBIN AND THE WREN - - 85 
 S. CARILEFF - 
 
 S. KENETH - - 95 
 
 THE BABY WITH THE GULLS 9 8 
 
 S. FRANCIS 103 
 
 FRANCIS THE LITTLE POOR MAN - Io6 
 
 S. COLUMBANUS ... - - 113 
 
 COLUMBANUS IN THE BOAT Il6 
 
 S. HUGH AND HIS SWAN - 123 
 
 A CHRISTMAS TALE 133 
 
 THE CHILD STRETCHED FORTH HIS LITTLE HANDS - 136 
 
 CHAPTER HEADINGS, ETC.
 
 SAINT KENTIQERN.
 
 )N days of yore the holy man Servan lived 
 in that northern part of Scotland among 
 the people called Picts. His home was at 
 Culross, overlooking the blue waters of the 
 Firth of Forth. 
 
 To his cell little lads were wont to come 
 for learning. He taught them to love God 
 and their feUow-men ; to love also the 
 beasts and birds and flowers which God in His mercy 
 and goodness has created to gladden the hearts and eyes 
 of the dwellers upon earth. He would tell them how 
 God grieved when He saw His animals cruelly used 
 the asses and oxen driven by cruel blows, the birds 
 caught in snares, and the fair flowers pulled up and 
 
 (3)
 
 S, ftentfgern 
 
 trampled underfoot in wanton mischief. For it was an 
 ox and an ass, he bid them remember, that first saw the 
 little Christ child. It. was our Blessed Lord Himself who 
 said that even a sparrow should not fall on the ground 
 without the Father, thereby showing the Fatherhood of 
 God to be over all His creatures ; and of the flowers our 
 Lord said that even Solomon in all his glory was not 
 arrayed in such beauty as the lilies of the fields. Where- 
 fore, said Servan, we ought so to live that we kill not 
 nor hurt any living creature needlessly, for though 
 man alone is made after the Divine image, yet each 
 beast and bird and flower hath in it somewhat Divine, 
 for it is the work of Divine Hands. How great a sin, 
 then, he would say, rests on those who, not for food nor 
 having need, wilfully destroy God's handiwork ! 
 
 Now, one day when Servan was saying matins he 
 heard angels singing ; it seemed to him that their voices 
 sounded as if they sang down by the sea. Therefore, 
 when he had done the office he left his cell, wandering 
 down to the shore, so that, perchance, he might see 
 these heavenly visitants, whose sweet voices had so 
 charmed his ear. But nought did he see but the waves, 
 and nought met his ear but the sound of their lapping 
 as they rolled to and fro over the sand. Then Servan 
 waited, for, thought he, may be the angels will sing 
 
 (4)'
 
 HnC> tbe IRobin 
 
 again, and he listened. At last he heard a faint cry, and 
 it was not the cry of the seabirds nor the song of the 
 angels, but the wail of a tiny baby. So Servan searched 
 until he came upon a young mother rocking her child 
 to rest. The little one wept, and the girl-mother's tears 
 fell also. When she saw Servan she would have fled. 
 
 But Servan's heart was filled with great tenderness 
 towards all those who were weak and sorrowful, and, 
 hearing that they were homeless, he bade the girl come 
 to his cell, where she and her child should rest and be 
 fed. At that she raised her sad eyes to his face. 
 
 " Wherefore dost thou scorn me not ? " she said. 
 " Men have dealt hardly with me hitherto." 
 
 Then Servan smiled. 
 
 " I serve Him whose daughter thou art," he said ; 
 whereat she marvelled, for did this man indeed know 
 her father's name ? 
 
 And she trembled, for her father was King of the 
 Picts, and had bade her go from him because she had 
 sinned, and she dreaded lest he should find and slay her 
 and her child. But Servan spake of her heavenly 
 Father. 
 
 Then he led them to his cell, feeling glad and happy 
 that the angels' song had taken him to the seashore, and 
 he made the girl and her baby welcome for the sake of 
 
 (5)
 
 S. Ifcentfgern 
 
 the Blessed Mary and her sweet Son. So they stayed 
 with Servan, who taught the girl the faith of Christ ; 
 then he baptized them, calling her Tanca and the baby 
 Kentigern. But as little Kentigern grew older Servan 
 loved him so dearly that he called him " Mungho," 
 which means " dearest," to show the love he bore him. 
 
 Now the other lads at Culross grew jealous of Kenti- 
 gern, because they knew that Servan loved him, and 
 they sought some means whereby they might hurt him. 
 They forgot the old man's teaching, so powerful for evil 
 is this spirit of jealousy ; they did not remember that 
 Servan loved Kentigern because he had taught him since 
 he was a helpless baby, and that Kentigern had no one 
 whom he might call father. Nor did they remember 
 how just Servan was to them all, giving praise or blame 
 where it was due, showing no preference, for in their 
 hearts they knew that Kentigern was loved because he 
 deserved to be, and this knowledge did not please them. 
 
 At Culross was a robin, and this bird was tame, as 
 robins ofttimes are. It would eat from Servan's hand, 
 and was wont to perch on his shoulder. While he sang 
 the psalms of David the robin would twitter and flap his 
 wings after the manner of birds when they are pleased. 
 
 Servan loved the little redbreast, and told the boys 
 how, when our Blessed Lord hung on the rood, it was 
 
 (6)
 
 tbe 1RoMn 
 
 said that a small bird tried to staunch the blood flowing 
 from His wounded side, so evermore this bird the 
 robin bears the stain of the sacred blood on its own 
 soft breast. 
 
 But these boys, thinking how best they might hurt 
 Kentigern and make Servan angry with him, agreed to 
 kill the robin, afterwards saying that Kentigern had 
 slain it, therefore they wrung the neck of the little bird. 
 
 When Kentigern came into that place where the boys 
 were wont to play he found the body of the robin the 
 little head hanging limp, the bright eyes closed, the 
 pretty red breast all dusty and bedraggled. He took it 
 in his hand, wondering what evil chance had befallen it, 
 grieving as he thought how sad Servan would be when 
 no redbreast hopped to greet him when he came from 
 church. While he stood thus, one and another of the 
 boys passed by. 
 
 " See," they said, " how Kentigern has killed the 
 robin ! " 
 
 Then was Kentigern minded to fight them, for he 
 knew they accused him wrongly ; but his eyes turned 
 to the red feathers, and he thought of our Blessed Lord 
 who was put to death for the wrongdoing of others, so 
 instead of hitting the lads he fell on his knees and 
 prayed. And he prayed, if it might be, that God, with 
 
 (7)
 
 S. Ikentiaern 
 
 JANUMY 13: 
 
 SAINT 
 
 KENTIGERN 
 
 OBIITADdOi 
 
 whom all things are possible, would give life to the bird ; 
 and he made the sign of the cross over the little body 
 
 (8)
 
 Hn& tbe IRobln 
 
 lying in his hand, when, behold, the small wings quivered 
 and the eyes opened, and soon the robin was preening 
 his ruffled feathers. 
 
 Now, it would be too long a tale to tell how Kentigern 
 grew up, and how when this robin died from old age 
 other birds came to sing with Servan when he chanted 
 the psalms ; but this much shall be told, which is, that 
 when Kentigern was come to man's estate he was called 
 to be Bishop over Strathclyde or Cumbria on the west 
 coast of Britain. Here he laboured long and well. To 
 this day churches in Cumberland are named after him 
 for his honour. To Wales, too, he went ; he was driven 
 there by one who usurped the throne of Strathclyde. 
 In Wales he lived with S. David, until the Prince of 
 Denbigh gave him lands whereon he built the monastery 
 of Llan-Elwy. Then, when he went back to Cumbria, 
 he left one called Asaph as head over Llan-Elwy, and 
 S. Asaph it is now called after him, to whom Kentigern 
 gave the charge when he returned to his bishopric of 
 Glasgow. 
 
 And this is what Kentigern said to the monks of Llan- 
 Elwy ere he left them : " Do you therefore, most be- 
 loved ones, stand firm in the faith, quit you like men 
 and be comforted, and seek always that everything be 
 done in charity." 
 
 (9)
 
 S.
 
 -A I - lgj> f 
 
 ?>VK\<W)V?$. 
 
 HERE are three Saints who have their 
 days in February who, like Saint 
 Servan of Culross, loved birds. 
 
 Their names are Aventine, Bal- 
 domer, and Milburgh. Aventine, in- 
 deed, loved all creatures so dearly 
 that it is told of him even that one 
 day, when he trod upon a snake and 
 crushed it, he bent over it, cherishing it until life re- 
 turned and it glided away. 
 
 He lived in the sixth century, being Abbot of a monas- 
 tery in France ; this monastery was at Troyes. He used 
 to spend all the money he could collect in redeeming 
 captives, and one day it chanced that a band of soldiers 
 
 (13)
 
 S. 
 
 passed through Troyes bearing with them a captive boy. 
 Aventine, liking his gentle face and pious mien, gave 
 them money for his ransom, and they left the boy behind 
 when they pursued their journey. He was called Fidolus, 
 and to him Aventine taught the Faith and made him a 
 monk, loving him as if he were his son. 
 
 Then, when Aventine grew old and would rest from 
 his labours, spending his last years in prayer ere he 
 should be called from the earth, he left the monastery 
 to the care of Fidolus, whom the monks liked well, and 
 retreated to the forest. 
 
 Here he lived for many years in quiet contemplation, 
 having the birds and beasts for his friends. A monk 
 from the monastery used to bring to the old man what 
 food he had need of, but ofttimes, in dipping his pitcher 
 into the river for water, tiny fish would get caught 
 therein. These Aventine would take back to the river, 
 for he would neither hurt nor destroy any creature save 
 from necessity. And the animals knew this, and loved 
 the gentle hermit ; so that stags chased by the hunters 
 would take refuge in his cell, while Aventine protected 
 them from their pursuers. 
 
 Now, one night there came a bear to his cell and beat 
 at the door as though it would have broken it down. 
 It was a stormy night, and the noise of the rain and the 
 
 (14)
 
 Bnfc some tbers 
 
 sobbing of the wind in the tree branches mingled with 
 the roar of the beast outside. Aventine was an old man 
 and a feeble, so he made fast the door and prayed that 
 the fury of the beast as he thought should not be 
 allowed to harm him. And the night passed and the 
 storm ceased, while the faint streaks of dawn showed in 
 the eastern sky ; then did the hermit unbolt his door, 
 and behold, on the threshold lay the bear, quiet and 
 still. 
 
 Now, when he saw Aventine he crouched at his feet, 
 and then began to lick them in token of goodwill ; then 
 he raised one of his huge paws, looking at the hermit as 
 much as to say : " Why, master, didst thou bolt thy 
 door against me ? " And Aventine saw that embedded 
 in the great pad of his foot was a cruel thorn ; wherefore 
 he was sorry that he had bolted his door against the bear, 
 and said : " Poor beast ! thou wast in pain and didst 
 seek relief, while I thought thou wast raging for my 
 life." 
 
 Then he took the paw and, holding it, drew forth the 
 splinter, the bear suffering him gladly ; then he bathed 
 the wound and bandaged the paw, and soon the bear 
 limped back into the forest. 
 
 When Aventine ate, he used to break some of the 
 bread into small crumbs ; these he held in his hand, and 
 
 (iS)
 
 S. fl&tlburgb 
 
 all the birds in the forest would fly to him, perching on 
 his fingers or head and shoulders with fluttering wings 
 and much chirping. 
 
 Each day the birds ate of his breakfast and sang their 
 songs of praise ; and when the last crumb had been 
 swallowed they would fly to the tree branches and there 
 sing their thanksgiving, so that the forest glades re- 
 echoed with the antiphons of the feathered choir. 
 
 These things did the hermit, for the love he bore 
 towards all creatures. 
 
 Saint Baldomer, too, fed the wild birds with crumbs, 
 saying, " Eat, little creatures, eat and praise the Lord," 
 while they came full of trust, and perched on his fingers. 
 Now, Baldomer was a blacksmith, who lived at Lyons. 
 He led a simple life, being, says one who wrote of him, 
 " in chastity clean, in friendship firm, in charity benign, 
 in reading intent, in watchings solicitous, in almsgiving 
 prompt." 
 
 So that we see how those who incline to love God's 
 creatures, being tender towards the birds and beasts, 
 are also imbued with other graces, keeping His com- 
 mandments by living in purity, being faithful in friend- 
 ship, loving their neighbours, being charitable in alms- 
 giving, reading the Scriptures. For it seems that if men 
 have mercy and compassion for the weakest of God's 
 
 16)
 
 some tbers 
 
 creatures, they must of necessity learn to love all that 
 He has made, being filled with Charity to all mankind. 
 
 And now we come to Milburgh, who is of our own 
 country. 
 
 She was the eldest daughter of Merewald ; Domneva 
 was her mother's name. From her earliest years Mil- 
 burgh loved God ; in her work and in her play the child 
 sought to do all to His honour ; she loved our Blessed 
 Lord, and wished to live but to do Him service. There- 
 fore, when she grew up she sought not the pleasures and 
 attractions of the world, which she counted as nought, 
 being, she thought, hindrances to the worship of God, 
 for those whose minds are filled with worldly desires do 
 not long after heavenly things. 
 
 So Milburgh, who wished to devote herself both body 
 and soul to her Lord, went to Wenlock in Shropshire. 
 Here she gathered round her maidens like unto herself, 
 and founded an Abbey for religious virgins. She was a 
 wise and gentle mother to her spiritual daughters ; 
 under her rule the Abbey prospered exceedingly. 
 
 She was very humble, for it is ever the best of God's 
 servants who are least precious in their own sight, and 
 this humblenQss made her like unto the modest violet 
 which hides its head beneath its leaves, yet sends forth 
 a sweet fragrance to gladden the hearts of the passers by. 
 c (17)
 
 S. /BMlburgb 
 
 Februarys 
 J fbuTCjb 
 CenTun? 
 
 Even so from the saintly life of Milburgh emanated a 
 fragrance which helped and strengthened all those who 
 
 (18)
 
 Hn& some tfoers 
 
 came nigh unto her. She was able, by God's grace, to 
 give light to the blind and life to the dead ; not only 
 did she restore bodily gifts, but spiritual as well, lead- 
 ing those who walked in darkness to the true light, and 
 others from the death of sin to a life of righteousness. 
 
 Over the fowls of the air, too, she had a strange power ; 
 the birds loved her. When she called they would come 
 circling and swooping around her : the small sparrows, 
 the soaring lark, the robin redbreast, the chaffinches 
 and tits. 
 
 Round her feet the starlings would hop, ever busy, 
 while the thrushes sang to her and the blackbirds piped 
 cheerily. 
 
 The rooks, too, chattering to each other as they put 
 their babies to bed in the untidy homes they had made 
 in the trees, all seemed to know and love her. The wood- 
 pigeons would coo to her and to each other ; you may 
 hear them to this day in Shropshire and Wales telling 
 the Welsh folk to steal the Englishmen's cows, saying : 
 
 " Take two coos. Taffy, 
 Take two coos, Taffy, 
 Two-o." 
 
 In Cumberland, too, they say the same, thinking per- 
 haps of the days when Britons lived there, and there 
 
 (19)
 
 S. 
 
 were great fights between them and the strangers who 
 came to their shores. 
 
 Now, Milburgh loved the wood-pigeons, although they 
 said that, and she felt sorry that they were wont to 
 devour the tender young corn in the fields and eat the 
 cabbages in the poor folk's gardens. 
 
 So each day she fed all those pigeons who came to 
 the Abbey, and they became her pensioners, leaving 
 so long as she lived the young cabbages and tender 
 corn to grow strong and large, meet for the food of man. 
 
 Thus lived Milburgh until the time for her death drew 
 near, when she gathered together the Sisters, telling 
 them that death had called her, and besought them to 
 have ever before them these two sayings : 
 
 "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." 
 "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the 
 children of God." 
 
 Then she died in peace. 
 
 (20)
 
 S. Cutbbcrt's Bivbs
 
 N the seventh century a little lad kept watch 
 over the sheep in the valley of Lauderdale. 
 This valley, which is in the country we now 
 call Scotland, was in those days part of the 
 kingdom of Northumbria. 
 
 Now, the shepherd boy was called Cuth- 
 bert. He was left an orphan when but a 
 tiny babe, and a good woman watched over 
 his childhood. 
 
 He was a strong child, and tales are told of him how 
 he delighted to walk on his hands and turn somersaults, 
 as boys will. As he grew older he was chief among the 
 lads of his own age in running, jumping, and wrestling ; 
 he practised these arts meaning to be a fighting man, 
 
 (23)
 
 S, Cutbbert's 
 
 which of a surety he was, yet not in the way he dreamed 
 when wrestling with the other lads in Lauderdale. For 
 one night, as he watched among his sheep, he knelt to 
 pray. The night was dark and overcast, no light from 
 moon or stars ; but suddenly Cuthbert perceived a ray 
 of light which grew brighter and brighter, while upon 
 this ray angels descended. The boy gazed, scarce be- 
 lieving his own eyesight the while the light continued. 
 Then he saw these angels ascending, bearing with them 
 one whom seemingly they had come to meet ; and from 
 the one who was with them also issued a heavenly light. 
 Then Cuthbert wondered what this vision might por- 
 tend. In the morning he was told how the holy Aidan 
 of Lindisfarne had died during the night, so he judged 
 he had seen the Bishop's soul with the angels. Hence- 
 forth he was filled with a desire to become like unto him ; 
 so he went to Melrose, where novices were taught. Here 
 he became the beloved pupil of the Abbot Eata. Nor is 
 that wonderful, for Cuthbert, in his vigorous body, had a 
 strong mind and a great desire to serve his Lord faith- 
 fully. He would walk to and fro among the people, 
 seeking to win the heathen to Christ, preaching to and 
 confessing those who were in the faith. No storm 
 daunted him. In the wild, rough days of the drear 
 November or through the deep snows of winter he would 
 
 (24)
 
 S. Cutbbert's JBirfcs 
 
 cross the moors alone to the distant glens and valleys 
 where he might win even one soul to Christ. Often 
 hungry, often thirsty, sometimes so weary that scarce 
 could he struggle on, yet he never turned back. Among 
 those outlying hills and dales were those who, professing 
 Christ in name, were apt to fall again into idolatrous 
 ways, and to them Cuthbert went forth. 
 
 He, too, like Servan of Culross and many another 
 saintly man, loved animals and birds. It is told of him 
 how one night he went out to pray, as was his wont 
 oftentimes, and another monk followed him to see the 
 reason thereof. 
 
 He found Cuthbert kneeling nigh unto a stream pray- 
 ing ; and because the night was bitter and he had come 
 through the wet grass, Cuthbert's feet were numbed and 
 frozen by the cold. But presently two otters came from 
 the water and licked Cuthbert's cold feet the while he 
 prayed. They licked them until they were warm and 
 dry, wiping them with their hair. Then that monk stole 
 away, marvelling that Cuthbert liked to pray in the cold 
 air instead of in his warm cell, marvelling also at the 
 otters' kindness. 
 
 Now, when Cuthbert was not yet thirty, Eata became 
 Abbot of Lindisfarne, taking Cuthbert with him as Prior. 
 At Lindisfarne, as at Melrose, Cuthbert laboured with 
 
 (25)
 
 5. Cutbbert's 
 
 the same zeal for the souls of his fellow-men. For twelve 
 years he was Prior at Lindisfarne ; then he betook him- 
 self to a small island seen from Lindisfarne, and called 
 Fame. None dwelt thereon, for it was said to be the 
 haunt of evil spirits. But nought evil disturbed Cuth- 
 bert during his sojourn there ; instead, the wild birds 
 dwelt with him, becoming gentle and familiar with the 
 saint. To his influence folk attribute the tame ways of 
 these sea-birds, for generations of them have shown 
 friendliness to man since S. Cuthbert dwelt among them. 
 But now folk seek to steal the nests and shoot the birds, 
 forgetting the saint's love for them, forgetting also the 
 promise that he made to them that men should not 
 destroy their homes. " S. Cuthbert's Birds " they are 
 called, and are not to be found in any other place in 
 the British Isles. On the same island, too, are certain 
 smaU shells which folk call " S. Cuthbert's Beads." 
 
 Now, Cuthbert did not withdraw to Fame to be away 
 from mankind ; he used to receive people there, build- 
 ing a place where boats might anchor, and a refectory 
 and guest-chamber for the pilgrims who came there to 
 seek his aid. 
 
 Here many a sin and sorrow laden heart found com- 
 fort, going away cheered by the love and wisdom of the 
 saint. Here also came Herbert, who was of all Cuth- 
 
 (26)
 
 S. Gutbbert's 
 
 bert's friends the best beloved. Each year the priest 
 Herbert left his island in the peaceful Lake Derwent- 
 water to go to that other isle in the Northern Sea. 
 Then would the friends join together in peaceful and 
 loving converse, speaking of the joys of the life to 
 come, while the great waves beat against the lonely 
 rock. 
 
 Thus eight years were passed, until came the day 
 when the King of the Northumbrians, with his nobles 
 and almost all the community of Lindisfarne, came to 
 Cuthbert, beseeching him to accept Episcopal dignity. 
 He had no wish to leave his dear island, but at last he 
 was persuaded to become Bishop, although it was to 
 Lindisfarne where he had lived as Prior that he now 
 went as Abbot and Bishop, and not to Hexham, which 
 had been first offered to him. 
 
 Here, as Bishop, he worked as he had done when he 
 was a monk, Prior, and hermit. As of old, he wandered 
 over hill and dale, sleeping under the boughs of the 
 trees ; for food, content with a crust of bread or the 
 herbs of the fields ; for drink, the pure water of the 
 streams. His friendships continued : those he had loved 
 when a little shepherd boy he loved still, now he was 
 raised to the dignity of Bishop. As in his childhood he 
 had faithfully watched over his earthly master's sheep, 
 
 (27)
 
 S. Cutbbert's Birfcs 
 
 CQarch 20 
 S:Cuthbert 
 ofD'ndis(arne 
 A.D.657 
 
 so in the prime of his age he was a loving shepherd to 
 the sheep of his heavenly Master. 
 
 (28)
 
 S. Cutbbert's Bfrfcs 
 
 After celebrating the Feast of the Nativity in A.D. 686, 
 he felt that the end was coming ; not for long would 
 he be spared to labour in this world. He again with- 
 drew to the quietude of Fame ; here he would breathe 
 his last. The monks from the Abbey came often to see 
 him during this long, painful illness, and Cuthbert him- 
 self gave them instructions for his burial. He told them 
 to place his body in a linen cloth, which, he said, " I was 
 unwilling to wear in my lifetime ; but out of affection 
 to its donor, Verca the Abbess, favoured of God, I have 
 kept it for my winding-sheet." 
 
 So he was laid to rest wrapped in the linen shroud 
 given to him by his friend Verca. And on the same day 
 and at the same hour that Cuthbert died his dear friend 
 Herbert passed from this world. 
 
 Some time before Herbert had asked Cuthbert to pray 
 to God to grant him the desire he had to die when his 
 friend should leave this earth. Then Cuthbert had 
 prayed that Herbert might have his wish : and, behold ! 
 so it was, for though they never met again in this world, 
 yet in the hour of death they were united Cuthbert 
 dying on that granite rock in the storm-tossed sea, 
 Herbert closing his eyes in sleep on the peaceful isle in 
 the quiet lake, surrounded by the wondrous be.auty oi 
 the Fells. 
 
 (29)
 
 Hn0us, Servant of <5ob
 
 |N Ireland in the ninth century there dwelt 
 those holy men, lay-brothers of the monas- 
 teries, who are known as Culdees. 
 
 " Servants of God " (Cele De) they called 
 themselves, for were not they doing His work 
 even though their tasks were humble and 
 they gained no honour thereby. Not as the 
 world counts honour, that is ; for in the 
 sight of God every work worthily done is pleasing 
 to Him and honourable to the worker thereof, be 
 it ever so lowly. And these lay-brothers served 
 their Lord by taking care of His sick children men 
 and women loathesome with the scourge of leprosy, 
 
 D (33)
 
 Bnous, Servant of <3ot> 
 
 sore with wounds, wrapped in foul clouts ; these were 
 the charge of the " Servants of God." 
 
 For few cared for the task of washing these poor crea- 
 tures, few wished to bind their wounds, few even cared 
 perhaps that they died untended, not cheered by hear- 
 ing the Gospel Story. They were outcasts maybe for 
 their own sins, or maybe for their fathers' they suffered ; 
 but leprosy, like sin, is infectious and therefore to be 
 shunned. Though it is to be feared that more folk shun 
 leprosy than sin. 
 
 Now the Saints of God have ever been those who dared 
 to heal the bodies and souls of their fellow-men. Follow- 
 ing the example of Him the Sinless One, who was a 
 Friend of sinners, who healed the sick on the Sabbath 
 day, they too have been the friends of the sick and sin- 
 laden souls, and to nearly every monastery a hospital 
 was attached for the ill, the poor, and the lepers. 
 
 These hospitals were the care of the Servants of God ; 
 there was such a hospital at Armagh, another at Clon- 
 macnois, standing apart from the main buildings. Conn- 
 of-the-Poor was the name given to the head of the 
 Culdees at Clonmacnois, because he laboured among 
 those who lacked the riches of this earth ; and to show 
 how folk respected their work it is told that when the 
 fierce Danes came to pillage Armagh they found there 
 
 (34)
 
 Hngus, Servant of Ooo 
 
 the little hospital of sick and dying poor, and spared the 
 lives of the Culdees who ministered there. 
 
 But it is of Angus that I am going to tell you. Angus 
 lived in the ninth century, and he, like many another 
 man in the isle of Saints, was fond of learning. 
 
 When he was quite a young man, he was nigh to a 
 place called Coolbanagher in Queen's county, and he 
 went into the Churchyard to pray. While there he had 
 a vision of angels surrounding a certain tomb there. 
 He wondered what this might portend, and why this 
 vision had been vouchsafed to him. Then when he came 
 from the Churchyard he asked whose body lay in that 
 grave. 
 
 " But a poor old man who dwelt in this place," he 
 was told. 
 
 " What good work hath he done ? " asked Angus. 
 
 " Nay," said the Priest, for of him Angus asked this. 
 " I know of none, save that it was his custom to tell 
 the names of the Saints of the world, so many of them 
 as he could remember, at sunset and sunrise." 
 
 At that Angus said : 
 
 " Ah ! he that should make a poem in praise of all 
 the Saints would doubtless please God, seeing that the 
 Angels take account of this poor man." 
 
 And he walked away, communing within himself as 
 (35)
 
 Bn0u8 t Servant of 
 
 to whether he might not sing the praises of the Saints of 
 God ; while the Priest gazed after him, wondering at his 
 saying, for he had seen no Angel vision around the poor 
 man's grave. 
 
 Then Angus set himself to study. Long he worked 
 and hard, for he craved to praise his Lord in the lives 
 of the Saints. 
 
 He was not a Culdee at this time ; perhaps he thought 
 that God had set him a more noble task than to tend the 
 Lepers or perform menial work, for the labour of the brain 
 is counted by some to rank higher than that of the hands. 
 
 Be that as it may, at this time his whole heart was 
 set upon writing this beautiful song of the praise of the 
 Saints ; and from early morn to late eve he studied for 
 this end. 
 
 In the fresh dewy mornings he thought upon the 
 Saints ; the great sun rising into glory and warmth was 
 to him a symbol of the way the Gospel, carried by the 
 Saints, spread its warmth over all lands, sending light 
 into dark places, melting cold hearts by its soft rays. 
 In the evening, when the sky reddened in the west and 
 the sun sank slowly, he still thought upon the Saints. 
 
 " Tis the Light of the Gospel going to far places," he 
 thought, " even as Columcille carried the message to 
 Hii : as Columban told it to the people of Gaul." 
 
 (36)
 
 Hngus, Servant of (Bob 
 
 The birds for he loved the feathered songsters sang 
 to him songs of the Saints; the green grass of the 
 Emerald Isle told him of their hopefulness ; the white 
 daisy blossoms of their purity ; the red roses of their 
 martyrdom. The mighty oak trees spake of their 
 strength ; all nature seemed to him to be singing the 
 praises of the Saints. 
 
 Thus it was that after a time Angus became cele- 
 brated for his learning. He, thinking upon the Saints 
 so much, preached about them, exhorting others to 
 follow their example, to take the sweetness of those holy 
 lives and make it their own, even as the bee gathers 
 honey from the flower. And great company of people 
 came to hear him whithersoever he went. 
 
 Now Angus was a humble-minded man : he loved to 
 sing the praises of others, he rejoiced that he should have 
 been, as he thought, set apart by God to tell the glory 
 of the Saints ; but when he found that folk came to hear 
 him, thinking more of what he said than of those of 
 whom he told them, he was troubled. 
 
 " Praised be God in His Saints," he thought; " but 
 these folk seek to glorify the creature rather than the 
 Creator ; and I, who am not even the least of His Saints, 
 but a weak, erring man, receive praise of them." 
 
 So he disguised himself and went secretly away. 
 
 (37)
 
 Hngus, Servant of 0ot> 
 
 He came to the gate of a monastery at Tallaght, nigh 
 to Dublin. Here he humbly begged leave to enter as a 
 lay-brother ; he was willing, he said, to perform the 
 most laborious tasks, all he asked for was to be admitted 
 as a serving-man. Here he laboured faithfully and well, 
 not, indeed, having to tend the sick as did most Culdees 
 for Angus was one of them now ; but having his work in 
 the farmyard and the fields. 
 
 He cut the golden corn when the ripe ears were heavy 
 with grain ; he bore the sheaves on his shoulders in 
 harvest time to the granary ; his arm wielded the flail 
 as he threshed the wheat. 
 
 He kept the birds away when the trees were laden 
 with fruit, but he gave them of his grain' when the snow 
 covered the ground. And the birds loved him, and would 
 perch on his shoulders as he worked, singing sweet songs 
 to him ; or in the harvest time they would flutter round 
 the granary, watching as he threshed the corn, knowing 
 that a portion of it would be set aside for them. It is 
 told how, chopping wood one day, he cut his hand and 
 the red blood flowed, redder than the breasts of the 
 robins perched near to him, and how the little birds 
 crowded round him, uttering loud cries because their 
 friend was hurt, for " the little Redbreast teacheth 
 Charitie." 
 
 (38)
 
 Hngus, Servant of 
 
 But with all this labour he had no time for writing 
 the praises of the Saints. He lived with the birds and 
 beasts for his companions for seven years, just a humble 
 serving-man, and though oftentimes his heart yearned 
 to be at his study, yet he felt then that he was doing 
 well to live as a Culdee. 
 
 It was on this wise that it was found that the habit 
 clothing this poor lay- brother was the covering of Angus, 
 that learned man whom crowds had flocked to hear. 
 
 One day, as he was busy in the barn, he heard the 
 sound of bitter weeping. He looked round, wondering 
 who the unhappy one might be, and at last, hidden be- 
 neath some straw, he found a little lad. The child was 
 a scholar from the monastery school, who did not know 
 his lesson and had hidden from his master. He raised 
 his tear-stained face to Angus, and began to tremble, 
 for he was frightened at being discovered. And some- 
 thing in the large tear- dimmed eyes lifted to his re- 
 minded Angus of a leveret he had once taken from a 
 snare, so he spake gently to the runaway. 
 
 The child begged Angus to let him hide in that barn. 
 " The lesson was hard," he sobbed, " and I could not 
 learn it. I cannot understand great and difficult 
 matters." 
 
 Then Angus was sorry for the child, for he was not 
 
 (39)
 
 au0us, Servant of 
 
 clever, and so soon as he had part of his lesson perfect 
 he straightway forgot it while he tried to learn the rest. 
 He was willing to learn and did his best, but, indeed, 
 as he said, " great and difficult matters were not for 
 him." 
 
 " And if I know it not, I shall be beaten," he said, his 
 lips trembling. " Many stripes have I already received. 
 They think I am idle, though 'tis not so. But my brain 
 gets a- weary of this learning." 
 
 And he drew his hand across his eyes. Angus looked 
 at the spare little body and white face of the boy. 
 
 " Stripes will drive more learning from that clouded 
 brain of thine," he thought, " than all the blows in the 
 world will put into it." But aloud he said, " Come then, 
 and see if I can teach thee thy lesson." And he held 
 out his arms. 
 
 Then the child nestled to him while Angus bade him 
 dry his tears and be comforted. Over and over again 
 he crooned the lesson, softly singing to the child in his 
 arms, and the weary look left the boy's face while Angus 
 talked gently to him, and the difficult parts became easy 
 when Angus taught him, so that presently he fell asleep, 
 the tired brain luUed to rest by the Brother's crooning. 
 But still Angus sang on, looking through the granary door 
 to the sweet still world beyond while the boy slumbered. 
 
 (40)
 
 Hngus, Servant of <3oo 
 
 And Angus thought of the song of the Praises of 
 the Saints which he yet had not written, wondering if, 
 after all, he had chosen rightly. 
 
 " For seven years have I laboured here, doing what 
 even this child could do had he the bodily strength 
 yet hath God given me the brain wherewith to study." 
 And he was perplexed whether he ought to have hidden 
 himself because of the praise of men. 
 
 Then the child awoke, for Angus had ceased his 
 crooning. He gazed wistfully at the man. 
 
 " Thou must be happy," he said, " to labour in the 
 fields, with the dear birds to sing to thee." 
 
 Angus smiled. 
 
 " Yet would I be more happy were I studying," he 
 said. 
 
 " Thou lovest books ? " asked the child, amazed. 
 
 " Yea, I love them." 
 
 " / love the beasts and the birds and the fields," said 
 the boy ; " learning brings but pain." And again that 
 weary look came into his eyes. 
 
 But Angus bade him go to the school, as now he knew 
 his task. The child went, and said his lesson, repeating 
 it perfectly, and his master wondered how he came to 
 know it so well. 
 
 Then the boy told of Angus.
 
 HHQUS, Servant of 0oo 
 
 " He cannot be a serving-man," mused the Abbot, 
 " seeing he hath done wonders with this child, for 
 no teacher hath taught him so well hitherto." And 
 he ran to the barn. 
 
 Well, there he found Angus, and knew he was the 
 man whom all folk praised for his learning seven years 
 ago, and he embraced him joyfully. 
 
 But he rebuked Angus for his false humility in hiding 
 away from them all that time. " Thou hast not added 
 to thy talent," he said. 
 
 And Angus received the rebuke in silence, for he, 
 too, had thought the same while the child lay sleeping 
 in his arms. 
 
 So it was that Angus the Culdee returned to his study ; 
 and in an old poem- written in praise of his learning he is 
 called " The Bright Sun of the Western World." 
 
 (42)
 
 Ikievan anb the Cucfcoo
 
 &-the 
 GucKoo. 
 
 HIS is a tale of a Saint who lived in 
 the sixth century. His name was 
 Kieran, and by some he was called 
 " the first-born of the Saints of 
 Ireland." 
 
 Even when a little child he showed 
 his love for animals. It is told how 
 one day he wept to see a hawk 
 circling above a little bird, then suddenly swoop down 
 upon its prey. But bethinking himself that our Lord 
 had promised even to remove mountains for those who 
 ask in faith, he fell on his knees beseeching God to save 
 that tiny bird. And the hawk opened its talons and 
 the bird fluttered down to earth, frightened but unhurt, 
 
 (45)
 
 IKferan anfc tbe Cucfeoo 
 
 while Kieran wept no more, but was glad that its life 
 was spared. 
 
 When Kieran grew up he went into a lonely place, 
 afterwards called Saighir, so that he could live, a life of 
 prayer away from the haunts of men. It is told of him 
 that he " began by occupying a cell in the midst of a 
 dense wood," where the wild creatures of the forest 
 gathered round him. Now those who live in solitude and 
 quiet have ever been the ones to tame the wild animals : 
 the timid among the creatures who would be frightened 
 away by noise and rough treatment, overcome their 
 shyness when they are gently handled by some Hermit 
 Saint. . 
 
 The squirrels, leaping from branch to branch in the 
 trees, would pause to watch Kieran, their bright eyes 
 twinkling, until, after a while, they would take nuts 
 from his hand. And Kieran, who as a child had wept 
 over the bird in the clutches of the hawk, loved the 
 feathered songsters who greeted him each morning with 
 their songs of praise ; while at first, in the solitude of 
 Saighir, his principal attendant was a boar, while for 
 monks he had a fox, a wolf, and a doe. 
 
 But after a time folk heard of the Hermit ; his fame 
 spread, and many came to visit him. Then disciples 
 gathered round him, so that Kieran had to build a 
 
 (46)
 
 Ifcieran an& tbe Cucfeoo 
 
 monastery. Besides having the care of the monks he 
 used to preach the Gospel to the heathen in Ossory, and 
 he is said to have been the founder of that see and the 
 first Bishop there. He also founded a Convent, of which, 
 some say, his mother was the Abbess. 
 
 Now, one day a Chief in that neighbourhood came to 
 the Convent, and he carried off one of the nuns. Kieran 
 pursued the Chief until he came to the place where he 
 dwelt and whither he had carried the maiden. At first 
 no heed was taken when the Saint tried to, gain admit- 
 tance to the home of the Chief, but at last a messenger 
 was sent to know what he wanted. 
 
 " I demand that the Nun thy master hath with him 
 shall be returned to the Convent whence he took her," 
 replied Kieran. 
 
 The Chief laughed at this message. 
 
 " Go, tell Father Abbot that unless the Cuckoo rouses 
 me from sleep to-morrow I will not restore the maid." 
 
 And he laughed again, those that were with him laugh- 
 ing also at this answer. For they thought that it was 
 impossible that a cuckoo's voice should be heard in mid- 
 winter. 
 
 " The Cuckoo has flown far from these shores ere now," 
 said they ; " 'tis not likely it will return at the crying 
 of a maid or the entreaties of that Priest." 
 
 (47)
 
 Ifcferan ant> tbe Cucfeoo 
 
 But these rude men forgot as they jested that which 
 Kieran, who believed in God, ever remembered, so when 
 the churlish message came that he had best be gone 
 for unless the Cuckoo should sing the maid would be 
 kept there he said quietly : 
 
 " All things are possible to God. He will send the 
 bird rather than that one hair of that poor maiden's 
 head be injured." 
 
 And, having gained the Chief's promise that the Nun 
 should remain alone until the morning, Kieran went 
 through the snow to the house where he was to lodge 
 that night, his head bowed in prayer. 
 
 Now, all that night no snow fell, and in the morning 
 a bird perched on a tree growing nigh to the Chief's 
 window. 
 
 " Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo," sounded through the 
 clear frosty air. It was the note of the Cuckoo as she 
 sings in April and May when first she comes to these 
 isles, and so shrill she sang that not only did the Chief 
 awake at the noise, but his servants also. And they 
 were all astonished at the sight. 
 
 Then the Chief called the Abbot. 
 
 " Take back the girl," he said, "for I will have 
 nought to do with her." 
 
 So it was that Kieran returned with the Nun, who 
 (48)
 
 Ifcieran anfc tbc Cuckoo 
 
 was received with much joy by the Abbess of the 
 Convent. 
 
 Now, it is thought by some that Kieran crossed the 
 sea to Cornwall, where he ended his days ; and as Irish 
 Saints went great journeys to spread the faith among 
 other peoples, we may rightly think that in Cornwall 
 this " first-born of the Irish Saints had rest." 
 
 (49)
 
 S. (Butblac
 
 u 
 
 fcw 
 
 Spirit Quth^c 
 
 !>E of whom I write was a hermit, who 
 had his dwelling in desolate mid- Eng- 
 land. This bleak fen district was indeed 
 the " dismal swamp," where black 
 streams wandered, oozing in stagnant 
 morasses round the roots of the alder 
 and willow trees. Reed and sedge grew 
 there amidst the floating peat all that remained of the 
 vast forests of oak, hazel, and yew, which had sunk 
 beneath the sea as year upon year passed by. Trees, 
 torn down by flood and storm, dammed the waters back 
 upon the land. Will-o'-the-wisp lights shone forth by 
 night, warnings which were needless, for no travellers 
 set foot in this land of marsh and mud, where even the 
 sky seemed less blue than in fairer climes. 
 
 (53)
 
 S, (Butblac 
 
 Yet to this fen came Guthlac, monk of the monastery 
 of Repton, having permission to seek that wilderness for 
 which his soul longed. And he asked of one called 
 Tatwin, who dwelt on the edge of the fenland, whether 
 he knew of any land in that morass which might serve 
 him for a dwelling. Then Tatwin told him that there 
 was, indeed, an island, yet because of its loneliness no 
 man dare live there. " Strange tales," said Tatwin, 
 " are told of this land. Demons torment those who 
 dwell there, making the dreary night a terror with their 
 howlings." " I fear no demons," answered Guthlac, " so 
 show me the way thither." So they rowed through the 
 fens until they came to the island called Crowland or 
 Croyland, known to few but Tatwin. On the Feast of 
 Saint Bartholomew did Guthlac first see the place where 
 he was to dwell all his life. 
 
 Now, after he had settled there he was tormented at 
 night by strange noises ; fierce-eyed, hairy men, with 
 teeth like horse-tusks, having crooked shanks and de- 
 formed feet, came to him. And they tugged and pulled 
 him from his hut, leading him to the fen, where they let 
 him sink in the dark waters, or dragging him through 
 reed and thorn until his body was torn and bleeding, 
 or carrying him on great wings through the cold regions 
 of the air until he fell trembling and shivering, so chill 
 
 (54)
 
 Hnfc tbe 1Rav>ens 
 
 he was. These, then, were the demons of which Tatwin 
 had spoken ; yet some folk hold them to have been 
 naught evil, but simply the cries of the water-wolf, and 
 the moaning of the wind in the alder trees, which were 
 thought to be the shrieks of demons by those whom the 
 marsh fever had laid low. And, maybe, the burning 
 heat and trembling cold of an ague fit caused Guthlac to 
 imagine he was being dragged through brambles or 
 carried through the cold air. But he persevered and 
 dwelt on in that land. 
 
 Now, the wild birds of the fens came to him, and he 
 fed them. We are told how the ravens teased him, for 
 they came to steal from the men who sometimes came 
 to Guthlac for the teaching he was ever ready to give 
 to them. 
 
 Over the fens came the ravens, with their necks and 
 feet drawn in ; they floated high in the air, steady and 
 self-possessed, then on a sudden off they flew, swooping 
 down upon Guthlac and his friends. 
 
 " Cawruk ! cawruk ! " they cried, then flew off with 
 some treasure. But Guthlac told them that it was not 
 kind to do this, whereat the ravens listened, sitting upon 
 the alder boughs, and it seemed as if they understood 
 the Saint, for after having communed with each other, 
 they flew down with what they had taken, giving it back 
 
 (55)
 
 S. (Butblac 
 
 to the Saint. Therefore Guthlac praised the ravens, and 
 the ravens bowed their heads and flapped their wings, 
 making obeisance to him. 
 
 Now, one day a holy man named Wilfred came to 
 visit Guthlac. He sat speaking with him on that island 
 in the dismal swamp, when the ravens came, as was 
 their wont, crying " Cawruk ! " And Wilfred deemed 
 those cries to bode evil, but Guthlac told him not so. 
 " The raven speaks but after his kind," saith he, " and 
 willeth no ill to any. The good God gave them those 
 hoarse voices and clothed them with sombre feathers. 
 Blessed be His Holy Name who hath given us eyes to 
 see, and wit to perceive the beauty of yonder raven's 
 wings as the sun shines upon them." And another time 
 two swallows came to Guthlac, perching upon his 
 shoulders. They lifted up their voices, singing joyously. 
 Then said Wilfred, for he chanced to be there again : 
 
 " I marvel at these birds. Tell me wherefore comes it 
 that the wild birds so tamely sit upon thee ? " 
 
 To whom Guthlac made reply : 
 
 " Hast thou not learned, Brother Wilfred, in Holy 
 Writ, that with him who has led his life after God's will 
 the wild beasts and wild birds are tame ? " 
 
 Thus dwelt Guthlac in the fens. After his death 
 monks came to the isle whereon he had dwelt, and 
 
 (56)
 
 S. (Butblac 
 
 driving great piles deep into the morass, they built the 
 great Abbey of Croyland that abbey which became a 
 sanctuary for all who were desolate and oppressed. 
 Wherefore let us give thanks to God who gave Guthlac 
 grace to persevere, and ourselves learn not to be lightly 
 turned from well-doing. For had the Hermit Guthlac 
 forsaken this place where he proposed to lead a holy 
 life, in prayer serving God, because of night fears or 
 marsh fever, the Abbey of Croyland would not have 
 been built. 
 
 (58)
 
 Curlew's Best
 
 HIS is a tale of Saint Beuno. He was 
 the son of Hywgi ap Gwynllyw 
 Filwr ap Glywys ap Tegid ap 
 Cadell Deyrnllwg, and his mother's 
 name was Perfferen. She was 
 daughter to Llewddyn Luyddog, 
 of Dinas Eiddyn in the North. 
 
 And his father's brother was 
 Saint Cattwg of Llancarvan, and his mother was 
 related to Saint Kentigern of Strathclyde ; and as 
 he had Saint Gwynllyw Filwr and his wife Gwladys 
 for grandparents, we may see that he came of a 
 family of Saints. 
 
 He was a native of Powys, and Tangwn, son of the 
 (61)
 
 Curlew's IRest 
 
 bard-saint Talhaiarn, taught him when he was a child. 
 Beuno would listen to the songs Tangwn sang songs 
 made by Talhaiarn, or maybe by Taliessin, that bard of 
 the " Radiant Brow." Perhaps Tangwn told little 
 Beuno the tale of how the magpie tried to teach the 
 woodpigeon to build a tidy nest. This is the tale. 
 Once upon a time there lived a magpie who was sorry 
 to see that the woodpigeon did not know how to build 
 a tidy nest, and he said he would teach his friend. So 
 he began to show how the nest should be made, and 
 the pigeon sat on a tree, looking on. As the lesson pro- 
 ceeded the woodpigeon bowed to the magpie, cooing : 
 
 " Mi wn, Mi wn, Mi wn." 
 / know, I know, I know. 
 
 The magpie was pleased to think that his friend was 
 so apt a pupil, but then, before he had time to utter 
 another word of instruction, that pigeon bowed again, 
 exclaiming : " I know, I know, I know." 
 
 Well, at last the magpie became angry. 
 
 " Since you know, do it then," he said. 
 
 And that is why the woodpigeon's nest is so untidy 
 even to this day, for the pigeon thought he was too 
 clever to need teaching. Thus a saying has arisen which 
 is quoted to those folk who think they know all about 
 
 (62)
 
 ZTbe Curlew's IRest 
 
 subjects of which they are ignorant : "As the Wood- 
 pigeon said to the Magpie, I know ! " 
 
 When Beuno was a man, Ynyr Gwent, son-in-law to 
 Vortimer, gave him a piece of land and the people 
 dwelling on it, to form a sacred tribe. Here Beuno 
 lived for some time, but later on he went to Berriew, in 
 Montgomeryshire, where he was again given some land. 
 Now, naturally the Welsh folk hated the Saxons, the 
 conquering tribes who had come to Britain to slay the 
 British people, driving all those they did not kill into 
 the fastnesses of the hills of Wales and Cornwall ; and 
 Beuno hated even the sound of a Saxon voice. 
 
 Now, it happened that while he was in Berriew one 
 day he heard a Saxon shouting. The man was urging 
 his dogs to pursue a hare on the farther bank of the 
 Severn. The Saxon words annoyed Beuno ; he thought 
 how the Saxons had hounded down the Welsh folk as 
 this one was seeking to slay the hare, and, being angry, 
 he turned to his disciples, saying : 
 
 " My sons, put on your shoes and let us leave this 
 place, for the nation of this man hath a strange language 
 which is abominable, and I heard his voice. They have 
 invaded this land, and will keep it." 
 
 So they departed from Berriew, going first to stay 
 with Saint Tyssilio, and afterwards to Gwyddelwern, in 
 
 (63)
 
 ZTbe Curlew's West 
 
 Merioneth. Beuno did not stay long at Gwyddelwern, 
 but went to Flintshire. It was while he was there that 
 he healed Winifred, the virtuous daughter of Teuyth, 
 the man with whom he lodged. 
 
 It happened on this wise. One day, when Winifred's 
 father and mother were absent, a youth of royal blood who 
 was out hunting grew thirsty, and coming to Teuyth' s 
 home asked for water wherewith to quench his thirst. 
 
 Winifred was alone, and the youth, perceiving her 
 great beauty, began to speak to her in a manner that 
 was not fitting. The maiden, wishful to escape his 
 insults, ran from him to the little chapel where Beuno 
 was, but the young man pursued her to the chapel door, 
 where he struck her with his sword in anger that she 
 had run from him. He struck deeper than he meant 
 the red blood flowed from the throat of the girl, who fell 
 to the ground. Hearing an outcry, Beuno hastened 
 from the chapel. There, fallen across the doorway, lay 
 Winifred, the maiden he had taught, while the young 
 man was hastily galloping away, and where the blood 
 trickled to the ground a spring of clear water bubbled 
 up. Under Beuno's loving care Winifred soon recovered, 
 but to this day there is the famous well of Saint Winifred 
 that holy well in Flintshire, where sick and infirm 
 people may bathe in its healing waters. 
 
 (64)
 
 
 Ube Curlew's Best 
 
 Saint Beuno moved from place to place until at last 
 he went to Clynnog, and here he ended his days. 
 
 Now, while he lived at Clynnog on Sundays he used 
 to go to preach at Llanddwyn, off the coast of Anglesey. 
 He used to walk on the sea to cross from the mainland, 
 as easily, we are told, as if it had been dry land. And 
 with him he carried the book from which he used to 
 preach and read to the people. In those days all books 
 had to be written by hand, and if a copy were lost it 
 would take months, perhaps years, to re- write it. So 
 books were very rare and precious. The Irish Saints 
 used to carry their books in satchels ; these satchels 
 they hung from their girdles, so that the books should 
 be in no danger of being lost. Perhaps Beuno did not 
 possess a satchel ; anyhow, this Sunday he started to 
 walk on the sea carrying his book under his arm. 
 
 Coming back again the waves were higher, so that he 
 found it more difficult to walk than he had on his out- 
 ward journey. However, he struggled on, and had 
 nearly crossed to Clynnog when he perceived that his 
 book had gone. 
 
 Well, there was a sad time then ! Poor Saint Beuno 
 knew that the waves would toss the book about, maybe 
 carry it away to Ireland, or even it might be 
 washed ashore and get into the hands of i Saxon. And 
 
 F (6 5 )
 
 TTbe Curlew's 1Rest 
 
 he was much troubled. However, he felt that as the 
 waves were getting more rough and boisterous all the 
 time he had better make for Clynnog, trusting that when 
 he went to Anglesey again he might find the book had 
 been washed ashore there. 
 
 So, much troubled, in heaviness of heart, he made for 
 the land. When he reached it, he saw a curlew sitting 
 on a stone, and, being fond of birds, he spoke to it. 
 
 '.' Brother Curlew, tell me if ever thou findest a book 
 in thy flight over the waves," he said jestingly. And 
 the curlew opened his mouth and cried after the manner 
 of curlews. 
 
 " Thou could' st carry it well in that long beak of 
 thine," said Beuno, and again the curlew cried. But as 
 the Saint drew nigh to the bird, he saw that on the stone 
 by its side lay the book he had lost. 
 
 " Brother Curlew," he exclaimed, " for' this service 
 that thou hast rendered me I will ask the Creator's 
 especial protection for thee and thine." 
 
 And he fell on his knees in the sand. 
 
 Then he took the book with him ; and we may hope 
 that, learning wisdom, he made a satchel to carry it in 
 before he crossed the sea to Llanddwyn again. 
 
 But his prayer for the curlew was answered, for that 
 is the reason why it is hard to find the curlew's nest, 
 even to this day. 
 
 (66)
 
 Saints Comgall anb Jsibore
 
 EAR the tale of one Comgall, an Irish- 
 man, how he and his monks were one 
 day walking by the side of a lake. 
 On the lake were some swans ; and 
 when the monks saw them, they asked 
 Comgall whether they might try to 
 get the birds to come to them. 
 Comgall gave them leave, so they felt for some crusts 
 of bread to throw on to the water. But having none, 
 they called to the birds. Yet farther away floated the 
 swans, heeding them not. Then the monks turned to 
 Comgall. 
 
 " Father, if thou callest to them, perchance they will 
 come," said they. Therefore, being asked, Comgall called, 
 
 (69)
 
 SS, Cornwall ant> 
 
 and the swans came to him. Nay, one even fluttered 
 to his lap and let him stroke its soft white feathers. 
 
 And that is the tale of Comgall and the swans ; but 
 because it is so short a story, hear one now of a Saint 
 who dwelt in another country. 
 
 In the twelfth century there lived in Spain a peasant 
 called Isidore. He spent his days ploughing his master's 
 fields, watching his master's crops, having no thought 
 but that of doing his duty faithfully. But the 
 Church, following the example of our Blessed Lord, her 
 Founder, who chose to be born in lowly state, has ever 
 liked to show honour to those simple souls who, having 
 no riches nor possessions, no rank nor title, yet are called 
 to be Saints. So it is that Isidore the peasant was 
 chosen to be patron of a royal city the capital of Spain. 
 And as each fifteenth of May comes round, in Madrid 
 they hold a festival, keeping the Feast Day of the peasant 
 Saint. Now, Isidore was but a day labourer, going forth 
 to his work until the evening, work which he did well 
 and diligently. Yet slanderous tongues sought to make 
 mischief by saying that Isidore came late to his work, 
 never telling how he worked longer and more diligently 
 than his fellows. 
 
 Therefore his master inquired of him wherefore he 
 came not early to work as did his fellow labourers.
 
 5S. Cornwall anfc 
 
 " Sir," said Isidore, " truly I am at my work later 
 than some of the others ; but I do my best to make up 
 for the few minutes spent in prayer. If my work 
 seemeth unfavourable to thee, or thou thinkest I have 
 defrauded thee in any matter, I pray thee say so, for 
 gladly will I repay thee from my private store." 
 
 Then, knowing that Isidore worked well, that he rose 
 early to go into Madrid to hear Mass, which might make 
 him later at his work, his master said naught. But one 
 day he rose early and went into the fields to watch 
 Isidore. He saw Isidore trudging to church so soon as 
 the dawn appeared, and marked his return. He was 
 later than his fellows, wherefore his master was angry 
 and went to tell him so. Isidore was ploughing, his 
 little son running at the heads of the oxen ; but in the 
 same field, ploughing another furrow, was a second 
 plough. The master stood amazed : this plough was 
 drawn by snow-white oxen, while for ploughman was a 
 radiant angel. Up and down went this heavenly plough, 
 cutting clean furrows. But as the master approached 
 the vision faded from his sight. 
 
 " Isidore," he called, " who ploughs the field with 
 thee ? " 
 
 " No one, sir," said Isidore, amazed ; "I work alone, 
 and know of none save God to whom I look for strength."
 
 SS* Comoall anfc 3sit>ore 
 
 Therefore the master said no more, but returned home 
 pondering the matter deeply. 
 
 Isidore was a kind-hearted man ; he loved the patient 
 oxen who pulled his plough, and the ass who carried the 
 corn to be ground at the mill. Holy beasts, he called 
 them, for was not our Lord born in a stable, the home 
 of the oxen and asses ? and did not an ass bear Him 
 on that Palm Sunday ? And ofttimes looking upon the 
 Cross which the ass has on its back, " Happy beast," 
 he would say, " on whom God has traced the symbol 
 of Redemption, for, because one of thy kind bore thy 
 Saviour, all of thee are blessed." 
 
 It is told how one day Isidore and his little son 
 were going to the mill. They had the ass with them, 
 carrying a sack of corn, gleanings from the fields which 
 Isidore's wife had made. It was winter time ; snow 
 covered the ground and sparkled on the tree boughs, 
 and it was difficult for beast and bird to find food. As 
 they went along the birds hovered near, as though they 
 knew that in that sack was a store of food. Presently 
 some pigeons came flying, vainly searching for food. 
 
 So Isidore told the boy to stop the ass, and making a 
 hole in the sack he took out some handfuls of wheat 
 for the hungry birds. 
 
 " They need it as much as we do," said he ; then he 
 (72)
 
 SS, Cornwall ant> Ssffcore 
 
 and the boy went on their journey, leaving the feathered 
 folk eating happily. At the age of forty Isidore died : 
 he was buried in the cemetery of Saint Andre. All who 
 knew him loved him greatly, for he was a true and 
 faithful servant of God, who had laboured earnestly to 
 serve his heavenly Master. 
 
 (74)
 
 S. Columba
 
 'E of whom I write was the first Christian 
 who taught the Catholic Faith to the 
 Pagan tribes of North Britain. On a 
 hillside at a place called Gartan, in Erin 
 or Ireland, he was born, in a wild dis- 
 trict of lakes and mountains, the haunt 
 of wolves and other wild beasts. 
 Columba or Columcille is the name by which we know 
 him, and as one has written of him, " Meet was it that 
 the simple and innocent man, who by his dove-like ways 
 made in himself a dwelling-place for the Holy Spirit, 
 should be called by that name," for " he was angelic of 
 aspect, clean in speech, holy in deed, of excellent dis- 
 position, great in counsel." This name, meaning " Dove 
 of the Church," was given to him when a little boy by 
 
 (77)
 
 5. Columba 
 
 other children because he used to come from the Church 
 to join in their games. 
 
 " Is it from the Church that our little Colum comes 
 to-day ? " they would say ; for from his childhood 
 Columba loved God, and thus it was that this name 
 clung to him throughout his life. 
 
 There are so many beautiful stories about this Saint, 
 that it would take pages were I to tell you half of them. 
 
 But when he was about forty years old it chanced 
 that Columba stayed with one Saint Finnian of Moville, 
 who had a very precious copy of the Psalter. Columba 
 loved books, which were rare in those days, as they all 
 had to be written by hand ; therefore he sat up at night 
 copying Saint Finnian's Psalter. When Finnian knew of 
 this he was angry, and asked King Dermot to take away 
 the copy Saint Columba had made and give it to him. 
 
 Then Saint Columba said that he had laboured for 
 the sake of the people, for their instruction it was that 
 he so diligently made copies of the Holy Scriptures. 
 Nevertheless, the King would not grant the copy to 
 Columba. " To every cow her own calf," said he, mean- 
 ing that the copy must go with Saint Finnian's Psalter. 
 
 Then the tribe of Saint Columba for he was of a 
 princely house made war against the King, and there 
 was a great battle, wherein many were slain. 
 
 (78)
 
 S.COLUmbA. 
 June 9? AD597.
 
 S. Columba 
 
 Therefore Saint Columba afterwards, being ashamed 
 that his quarrel had caused the death of so many people, 
 did great penance by leaving his beloved Ireland. To 
 Alba Scotland he sailed, to the pagan Northmen, 
 hoping to win as many and more souls to Christ as there 
 had been lives lost in that battle before he would again 
 look upon his native land. He landed at a place called 
 Hii which was afterwards called Hii-colum-kille, and 
 is now lona. 
 
 Like all good men, Columba held that to love God 
 truly we must needs love His creatures : Columba loved 
 all Nature the hills, trees, lakes, beasts, and every 
 beautiful thing God has made ; and he wrote about them, 
 for he was one of the greatest poets of those times. 
 But perhaps he loved the birds best, for the birds had 
 wings and could cross " the salt main on which the sea- 
 gulls cry," to the coast of Erin, to those beloved shores 
 about which he had written as he sailed from them 
 
 " From the plank of the oak where in sorrow I lie, 
 
 I am straining my sight through the water and wind, 
 And large is the tear from the soft grey eye 
 
 Looking back on the land that it leaves behind." 
 
 It was when he was living in lona that on a certain day 
 he called one of the brethren of the monastery to him 
 and said : 
 
 (80)
 
 Hnt> tbe Crane 
 
 " On the third day from this now dawning, thou must 
 keep a look out in the western part of this isle, sitting 
 on the sea-shore : for from the northern region of 
 Ireland a certain guest, a crane, driven by the wind, 
 will arrive very weary after the ninth hour of the day. 
 And, being exhausted, it will fall and lie before thee on 
 the shore, and thou wilt take care to lift it up kindly 
 and carry it to the Hospice. There thou wilt carefully 
 harbour it and feed it for three days and three nights, 
 when, refreshed, it will stay no longer with us, but re- 
 turn to the sweet country Ireland, whence it came. And 
 I earnestly commend it to thee for that it came from 
 the place of our own fatherland." 
 
 The brother obeyed, and on the third day after the 
 ninth hour he awaited the coming of the expected guest ; 
 and when it came he lifted it from where it fell and, 
 carrying it with him, fed it in its hunger. Then Columba, 
 knowing all things would befall as he had predicted, did 
 not inquire of that brother about the crane, but said : 
 
 " God bless thee, my son, because thou hast well 
 attended our guest. Nevertheless it will not tarry long 
 in exile." And after three days, raising itself on high, 
 it winged its way back to Ireland, in a straight flight 
 upon a calm day. Now, when Columba was an old man 
 he knew that his departure was at hand. His exile was 
 G (81)
 
 S. Columba 
 
 over ; now, indeed, might his soul return to its Father- 
 land not to Erin, which was but the fatherland of his 
 body, but to that Fatherland to which Death, the 
 messenger, summons all holy souls. 
 
 And he went one day to bless the granary, he and his 
 servant Diormit. When he was there, he gave thanks to 
 God that there was store of food for his monks when he 
 should go from them. Coming from the granary, being 
 weary, he rested upon the roadside, Diormit weeping by 
 him, at the thought that his master was dying. While 
 he sat there resting, the white horse which carried pails 
 of milk from the byre to the monastery came running 
 to the saint. And he put his head against Columba's 
 breast, whinnying and shedding large tears ; for in some 
 wise he knew his master would soon go from him. 
 Diormit would have driven the horse away, but Columba 
 forbade him, saying, " Let him alone, for he loves me. 
 Thou, man as thou art, knew naught of my departure 
 but what I told thee ; but to this brute beast the Creator 
 Himself has clearly in some way revealed that his master 
 is about to go from him." 
 
 So saying, he blessed his servant the horse as it sadly 
 turned to go away from him. And that night the soul 
 of the Blessed Columba departed, as he had told Diormit 
 his servant. 
 
 (82)
 
 IRobtn anb the Wren
 
 SOB
 
 T has been said that " The robin and the wren 
 are God Almighty's cock and hen." And per- 
 haps it is for this reason that folk love the 
 robin redbreast and the tiny wren. The wren, 
 indeed, although it is so small, has been called 
 the King Bird. There are two tales this time 
 tales of holy men who loved these little 
 birds ; and the first tale may be called Robin 
 Redbreast's Corn. It is told how a monk sailed to 
 Brittany. He came across the sea from Britain with 
 some disciples, brother monks who wanted to form a 
 monastery, with him as their head. Not much is known 
 about Leonore, for that was his name, before he crossed 
 the waters which divide Great Britain from that little 
 
 (85)
 
 IRobin ant) tbe Wren 
 
 Britain. It is thought that he may have learned from 
 Saint Iltut of Wales, and been ordained priest by Saint 
 Dubricius. 
 
 But we know that he went to Brittany, and that there 
 he wanted to build a church, where he and his Brethren 
 might worship God. They thought, too, that they might 
 teach the people of Christ, for in those days there were 
 many who yet worshipped false gods. 
 
 Therefore Leonore and the Brothers built a little 
 chapel ; simple and rude it might be, but it was all they 
 could do. Here they hung a bell, and the solemn tolling 
 was heard across the moorland, and perchance made 
 those heathen wonder who the God could be whom these 
 men worshipped daily. 
 
 The Brothers then put their dwelling in order ; they 
 cut the heather and turf ready for fuel for the cold 
 winter months ; they brought stone to build walls. 
 Where the land was swampy they drained it. Many 
 things they did to make their habitation comfortable. 
 One of them, skilled in working, fashioned a plough ; 
 with this the Brethren managed to plough some of 
 the land. Then came sowing-time, but they had no 
 wheat. 
 
 " Where," said one of the Brethren, " can grain be 
 found ? The land, indeed, is ready, ploughed with much 
 
 (86)
 
 IRobtn ant) tbe IHren 
 
 labour, but what avails it if there be no seed ? Truly 
 our labour is in vain." For in that wild place the 
 people knew naught about corn. 
 
 " God will help us," said Leonore ; " the ground is 
 ready. He will send the grain." 
 
 Now, while he spake flying through the air came a 
 robin. This robin alighted upon the cross which the 
 monks had raised by the wayside, and Leonore, raising 
 his eyes, perceived that the bird carried in his beak a 
 wheat-ear fuh 1 of golden grain. 
 
 Then he called to the robin, whereat the bird fluttered 
 to him, allowing the wheat-ear to be taken from him. 
 
 " If this be sown," said Leonore, " at harvest time we 
 shall have many more wheat-ears." 
 
 And he straightway fell on to his knees, praising God 
 for His goodness, as did they all, while the little robin 
 sang merrily, praising Him too. 
 
 Then the wheat was planted, and in due time yielded 
 increase, so that in years to come the land was golden 
 with waving corn. 
 
 And the Brothers preached and taught, so that in 
 after days many churches were built among the wheat- 
 fields, many bells rang 
 
 "At morn 
 
 With a thought of God 
 O'er the golden corn." 
 
 (8?)
 
 TRobin ant) tbe Mren 
 
 Now, by this tale we may learn that small beginnings 
 
 are not to be despised. There is an old proverb 
 
 
 
 " Get thy spindle and distaff ready, 
 And God will send the Flax." 
 
 And this saying and robin redbreast's corn teach us 
 the same lesson never to wait to begin work for God, 
 because the beginning may seem small. Rather set to 
 work, trusting to God that He will prosper and continue 
 it to His glory, although it may be by other hands and 
 in other days than ours. " Let a man do his work ; the 
 fruit of it is the care of Another than he." 
 
 Now about the little wren. In France, in the sixth 
 century, lived one Saint Carileff . He dwelt in a monas- 
 tery ; but the fame of this monastery having spread 
 through the country, many pilgrims resorted thither. 
 Therefore Carileff and a companion departed thence to 
 seek a quieter spot. They wandered on until they came 
 upon the ruins of a Roman villa, and here they abode. 
 Now, nigh unto the ruins grew a vineyard, but it had 
 long been neglected, long had the vines run wild. 
 Carileff set to work to remedy this, pruning the vines 
 and tying them up. 
 
 One spring day, as he worked among them, the sun 
 shone so brightly that he took off his hood, hanging it 
 
 (88)
 
 ?MV^V 
 
 -f-\f?_ 
 
 StCARILEFF 
 AD.S4O.
 
 ZTbc TRobin anfc tbe TKHren 
 
 upon an oak-tree, that he might be cooler whilst he 
 laboured. 
 
 At the end of the day, when the sun was sinking, he 
 went to get his hood again. But a tiny face peeped out 
 from between the folds ; two bright eyes timidly gazed 
 at him. It was a little wren, who thought she had 
 found a soft nest wherein to lay her eggs and rear her 
 babies. 
 
 When she saw Carileff she withdrew farther into the 
 hood, for it is ever the nature of a wren to hide rather 
 than to fly from danger. But Carileff spoke to her, 
 whistling to her in tones as sweet as her own. And 
 he left the hood hanging there ; while ere long six 
 nestlings appeared, and the wren would allow the 
 Saint to stroke them. 
 
 One day Carileff returned to the monastery whence 
 he came, to tell the Abbot the tale of Jenny Wren. The 
 Abbot said : 
 
 " That is no accident, my son. Return thither, for a 
 great monastery will arise some day where the little 
 wren nested in thy hood." So Carileff returned and 
 abode there. 
 
 Other animals loved Carileff. It is told how a noble 
 buffalo from the forest would come and allow him to 
 pat it and rub its shaggy neck. Each day the buffalo 
 
 (90)
 
 IRobin ant) tbe 
 
 came to be stroked between its horns or on its 
 strong neck ; then it would gallop back to the forest. 
 
 But one day King Childebert hunted in the wood, 
 and hearing that a buffalo, already rare in the forests 
 of Gaul, had been seen, he wished to kill it. Therefore 
 the dogs were loosed, and the chase began. On and on 
 fled the buffalo until he came to his friend Carileff ; 
 there he stayed, feeling that he was safe with the holy 
 man. Then the king and the huntsmen appeared ; the 
 king was angry to see the buffalo standing there, Carileff 
 kneeling in prayer by its side, and he would have slain 
 the beast. 
 
 But Carileff spoke gently to the king, so that after 
 a while he promised to let the buffalo go unhurt. Not 
 only that, but his heart was so won by the saint's 
 courage and piety that he furthermore promised to him 
 as much land as he could in a day ride round on an ass. 
 On the land so obtained was built the abbey, round 
 which has sprung up the city of Calais. So here is 
 another tale of a small beginning, showing that even the 
 smallest of God's creatures may reveal His Will to those 
 who will understand it.
 
 S. Iftenetb
 
 OU have heard many tales of the 
 kindness of Saints to birds, now you 
 shall be told about some birds being 
 kind to a Saint. These birds were 
 the seagulls, those gulls which are to 
 be seen flying round the coast cry- 
 ing, " hyuk-kak-kah," or hovering 
 over the newly made furrows, as 
 they follow the plough, seeking for worms in the fresh 
 brown soil. 
 
 Now, these seagulls were resting on the rocks of Gower, 
 in Glamorganshire, for they had been inland for a long 
 fly, trying to find suitable places on marshy moors where 
 they might build their nests when the spring came. 
 And as they rested, many of them standing on one leg, 
 
 (95)
 
 S. ftenetb 
 
 others preening their feathers, one of them perceived 
 something on the sea sailing towards them. 
 
 It was small, and it was tossed gently up and down 
 by the waves. Then the gulls thought that they would 
 go closer to it, thinking, perchance, it might contain 
 something good for food. So they flew off, circling round 
 and round, until they hovered over what they had come 
 to see. 
 
 What they saw was a coracle, a little wicker boat 
 covered with hide, and inside it lay a baby. He was 
 fast asleep, for the waves had rocked the tiny boat, 
 lulling him to rest as peacefully as a babe in its cradle, 
 watched over by its mother. And the sea sang slumber 
 songs to him, murmuring softly. 
 
 When the gulls saw him they wondered, for they had 
 never before seen so small a craft containing so small a 
 sailor. Men they knew, both on land and on sea ; 
 babies they had seen when they flew inland, but never 
 alone as was this one. Now, this poor little one had 
 been cast out because his parents had sinned, and set 
 adrift in the osier coracle to float where the wind and 
 the waves carried him. Therefore the gulls, being tender- 
 hearted birds, took counsel together. " He is so small," 
 said they, " he cannot hurt us ; and by next spring, when 
 we nest, perchance he will be grown and will have left us." 
 
 (96)
 
 f tbe Gulls 
 
 So they fluttered down, taking hold of the coracle 
 with their beaks that so they might guide it to shore. 
 When they reached the beach and the boat lay still on 
 the sand, little Keneth awoke. He wanted more rock- 
 ing ; he wanted some one to gently pat him ; most of 
 all he wanted his mother ; so he began to cry. 
 
 This puzzled the gulls : it was so different from their 
 own cry of " hyuk-kak-kah." Some of them, indeed, 
 flew away, afraid. But the wise ones saw that all the 
 baby seemed able to do was to open his mouth wide, 
 and wrinkle his little face he could not even stand, 
 neither could he hurt them with his tiny fists. So they 
 thought they would carry him to their ledge of rock ; 
 they raised him from the coracle, bearing him up with 
 their claws and beaks ; and thus they were able to put 
 him on the rock. And Keneth wept no longer, for the 
 gulls built him a soft nest from their breast feathers, 
 and being warm, he slept again. Then those sea-birds 
 gathered round him ; they were proud of their new 
 nestling. 
 
 " He must be fed," said they, wondering what they 
 should give him. While they wondered, a very old gull, 
 who had not been out to sea with them because her 
 wings were getting feeble and she had needed rest after 
 her long inland flight, came to know what they had 
 
 H (97)
 
 S. Ifcenetb 
 
 found. She was looking at the baby, when she heard 
 them talk of food for him. Then she told how, when 
 nigh to the haunts of men, she had learned that human 
 babes were fed on milk. And she said that, perhaps, 
 the Forest Doe which sometimes came to nibble the 
 short grass on the top of the cliffs, would help them. 
 So the gulls made another nest for Keneth, where the 
 Doe came, and here he lived. He was both healthy and 
 happy, living there with those gulls, nestling against 
 their soft feathers when he was cold, while when the 
 wind blew they sheltered him with their wings. The 
 Doe, too, often came to see him, and he throve and 
 grew big, cared for by his animal foster-mother. 
 
 Now, one day a shepherd was walking along the cliff, 
 seeking for one of his sheep ; and as he walked he per- 
 ceived Keneth, and wondered how so small a babe could 
 live on those rocks. Marvelling greatly, he picked up 
 the little one, and carried him home to his wife, saying, 
 " Here is a lamb for thee to cherish." 
 
 And the wife was pleased, for her own cradle stood 
 empty, and she longed for a babe to fill her empty arms 
 and bring comfort to her sorrowing heart. So she laid 
 little Keneth in the cradle of the baby who had died. 
 
 But the gulls were sorrowful when they saw the 
 shepherd take Keneth, and followed after him. When 
 
 (98)
 
 S, IKenetb 
 
 they saw the cradle and Keneth lying in it, they swooped 
 down upon it, and taking hold of it were able to carry 
 it away. Back to the cliffs they took Keneth ; but 
 whether he lived there with them until he was grown a 
 big boy I do not know. Rather, I think, did that shep- 
 herd's wife come to seek him, and one day perchance 
 when the seagulls had gone to that marsh where they 
 built their nests Keneth toddled home with her to 
 learn those things which boys must know. But we hear 
 of him again as the Hermit 'of Gower. Years afterwards 
 he returned to the cliffs where the seagulls lived. Here 
 in his old age, after many years of well-doing, loved and 
 revered by all who knew him, he ended his days, passing 
 his remaining years in the company of the friends of his 
 babyhood the sea-birds and the forest deer. 
 
 (100)
 
 jfrancis
 
 VER seven hundred years ago was 
 Francis born in Assisi, the quaint 
 Umbrian town among the rocks. His 
 father's name was Bernardone, and 
 his mother was called Pica. It was 
 while his father, who was a cloth 
 merchant, was selling his goods in 
 
 France that the little baby came, and when Bernardone 
 
 reached home he bade them call the boy Francesco, the 
 
 Frenchman. 
 
 Now, as the little Francis grew he showed that he was 
 
 loving and merry and gay ; this joy, indeed, lasted 
 
 throughout his life. 
 
 But for a time his high spirits led him to make friends 
 
 with youths who were careless and even bad. Francis
 
 S. jfrancis 
 
 himself did not fall into sin, and as he grew older he 
 cared not for all the foolish gaiety and mad pranks of 
 his friends, but began to think more of serious things. 
 
 And so he gave up all that the world holds dear, filled 
 with the one hope that he, a weak, erring man, might 
 so be enabled by the grace of God as to lead the same 
 holy, beautiful, and sorrowful life that our Blessed Lord 
 lived upon earth " as poor, yet making many rich ; as 
 sorrowful, yet always rejoicing ; as having nothing, and 
 yet possessing all things." 
 
 To resemble our Blessed Lord in His humanity was 
 the burning desire of Francis' heart, as it should be the 
 desire of all who are " called to be Saints." It was one 
 day in the Church of Saint Mary of the Angels that the 
 message came to him : " Provide neither gold nor silver 
 nor brass in your purses, nor scrip for your journey, 
 neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves," so 
 read the Gospeller from the Holy Gospel ; therefore 
 Francis cast away his shoes from off his feet and went 
 barefoot, clad in a coarse brown habit, girded by a rough 
 cord. To this day the brethren of the Order of Brothers 
 Minor which he founded are habited thus, and they are 
 known as " Franciscans," or the Friars of Saint Francis. 
 
 Now, of all the Saints whose stories you have heard 
 Francis is perhaps the one who best loved the birds and 
 (104)
 
 S. jfrancfs 
 
 beasts and flowers. He was so gracious and loving to 
 all things, that it is not to be wondered that he loved 
 God's creatures, and that in a time when most men were 
 given over to bloodshed and plunder, caring naught for 
 the weak things of the earth. 
 
 The tender flowers Francis loved, and he used to say 
 to the brother gardener that he ought always to make 
 a fair pleasaunce in some part of the garden, there to 
 plant sweet-smelling herbs and fair flowers, that whoso 
 looked upon them might glorify God. 
 
 One day he saw a lamb feeding among a herd of goats, 
 and this little white lamb put him in mind of our Lord 
 among the Pharisees. Therefore Francis would fain 
 have bought that innocent creature, only naught had 
 he to offer for it but his brown habit. Then a merchant 
 came and, buying the lamb, he gave it to the Saint, 
 who took it with him and preached to the people 
 of the Lamb of God, the while they looked upon the 
 little lamb in his arms. 
 
 Afterwards he left it to the care of some holy women, 
 and when it waxed strong they sheared it, making 
 Francis a gown from its wool. Then there were the 
 sister-bees, as he called them ; for these he set honey 
 and wine in the winter ; the brother-ass on which he 
 rode ; the leveret which was brought to him alive one 
 
 (105)
 
 S. jfrancis 
 
 day by a friend who wished to give the Saint some food. 
 But when Francis saw the baby hare, his heart was filled 
 with pity. 
 
 " Little brother leveret, come to me," he said, " why 
 didst thou suffer thyself to be taken ? " 
 
 And the leveret, escaping from the hands of him who 
 held it, ran to the Saint, hiding in the folds of his gown. 
 Then Francis bade it begone, so little brother leveret 
 went back to his home unhurt. 
 
 Another day, when he was teaching the people in a 
 town called Savurniano, a company of swallows build- 
 ing their nests filled the air with their joyous twittering, 
 insomuch that Francis could not be heard ; so he spake 
 to them. 
 
 " Little sisters," he said, ""it is now time that I should 
 speak. As you have had your turn, listen now to the 
 word of God," and the swallows, obeying him, were 
 silent. 
 
 Now, as he came away from that town he saw by 
 the roadside trees growing, and on the branches of the 
 trees a great company of birds, well-nigh without num- 
 ber ; then Francis said to the Brethren that were with 
 him : 
 
 " Wait for me by the wayside, and I will go and 
 preach unto my little sisters the birds." 
 
 (106)
 
 Francis. 
 The Litlfe Poor 
 Man of A
 
 S* ffrancfs 
 
 And he went to the trees and began to preach to the 
 birds ; then those birds which were on the branches 
 flew to the ground the better to hear him, and there they 
 stayed until he made an end of preaching, staying still 
 and quiet until he gave them his blessing. This is what 
 he said to them : 
 
 " My little sisters the birds, much beholden are ye to 
 God your Creator ; in every place ought ye to praise 
 Him always, for He hath given you liberty to fly whither 
 ye will. Raiment also hath He given you, double and 
 threefold. Moreover, in the ark of Noah He preserved 
 your kind, so that ye still might inhabit the earth. Still 
 more are you bounden to Him for the air, which He 
 hath given you as your portion. Beyond all this ye 
 sow not, neither reap, but God feeds you and gives you 
 streams and fountains for your drink ; the mountains 
 and valleys He gives you for your refuge, the tall trees 
 whereon to make your nests. God clotheth you, you 
 and your children, because ye know not how to spin. 
 Wherefore must not your Creator love you greatly, see- 
 ing He hath bestowed so many benefits upon you ? 
 Therefore beware of the sin of ingratitude, my little 
 sisters, and take heed always to give God praise." Then, 
 as the Saint ceased speaking, those birds began to open 
 their beaks and stretch their necks and spread out their 
 (108)
 
 S. ffrancis 
 
 wings, showing by their joy and the songs they sang 
 that what Francis had spoken pleased them well. And 
 Francis rejoiced with them and was glad, praising God 
 for the sweet friendliness of the birds ; then, after he 
 had made the sign of the Cross over them, the birds 
 arose with much singing, and dividing into four com- 
 panies they flew east, west, north, and south, singing 
 wondrous songs. 
 
 And this manner of their flight signified, we are told, 
 that even as Saint Francis, the standard-bearer of the 
 Cross of Christ, had preached to the birds, making over 
 them the sacred sign, so should he and the Brothers 
 preach the Cross throughout the world the Brothers, 
 as the birds, having naught of their own in this world, 
 but committing their lives wholly unto God's providence; 
 the Brothers also, as the birds, going east, west, north, 
 and south in great joy. 
 
 (109)
 
 Columbanue
 
 Book 
 
 J>tcljef 
 
 __ 
 CofumB>nus. 
 
 'OU have heard of Saint Kentigern, 
 who preached the faith to the 
 people of Strathclyde, or Cumbria; 
 of Saint Cuthbert, who laboured 
 for Northumbrian folk; of Guthlac, 
 who lived in the fens and in whose 
 honour Croyland Abbey was built ; 
 of Columba, who left Ireland, 
 going to Scotland to win souls for Christ. Hear now 
 of another saint, an Irishman, as was Columba, bear- 
 ing the same name too, for he also was called Colum- 
 banus, or Columban, which in Latin is Columba, a 
 dove. 
 
 But this Columba was born twenty-two years after
 
 S, Golumbatvus 
 
 Columcille the Dove of the Church and though they 
 bore the same name, held the same Faith, and preached 
 the same* Gospel, one of them took the glad tidings to 
 North Britain, the other journeyed over sea and land 
 to France and Italy. Ireland has been called the Isle 
 of Saints, because of the number of holy, men and women 
 who lived there, and these men remembered our Lord's 
 command, "Go ye into all the world and preach the 
 Gospel to the whole creation " ; so that all over Europe 
 we find the monasteries that they built, the churches 
 and bishoprics that they founded. From Iceland in the 
 north, through England, France, Switzerland, Austria, 
 and Germany, to Italy in the south, there are many 
 places which might not have known the Faith had not 
 God put it into the hearts of these men from that small 
 green island in the Atlantic Ocean to go forth in His 
 name, preaching the Gospel. 
 
 Saint Columban's home was in the west of Leinster, 
 and he was taught at a small school on the island of 
 Cleenish, in Lough Erne, by a Saint who was a disciple 
 of Saint Finnian of Clonard. From Cleenish he went to 
 study at Beannchoir (Bangor), in County Down. Saint 
 Comgall, of whom you have heard in the tale of the 
 swans, was the head and founder of Bangor. Here 
 Columban lived for a while, studying under Comgall. 
 
 (114)
 
 S. Columbanus 
 
 But often he thought that a voice called to him, and he 
 could not forget its message, " Get thee out of thy coun- 
 try and from thy kindred and from thy father's house, 
 unto a land that I will show thee." 
 
 Thus Columban, as Abraham of old, thought the 
 Voice spake to him, and a desire came upon him to obey 
 the command. 
 
 But at first Comgall begged him not to go. Why not 
 stay in Ireland and teach there ? But in Columban's 
 ears the message rang clear, " Get thee out of thy 
 country." 
 
 Then Columban's will prevailed against Comgall's, 
 and sorrowfully the Abbot bade him good-bye, bidding 
 him go forth in Christ's name. 
 
 So Columban sailed from Ireland with twelve monks, 
 whom Saint Comgall had given to him for companions 
 in his journeying, Columban being at this time about 
 thirty years old. To Scotland first they went, where 
 perchance Columban saw his great namesake, and from 
 England they sailed to Gaul, which in those days was 
 the name for France. 
 
 Now, Gaul at this time was in a very troublous" state : 
 three brothers were Kings there, each ruling over a 
 different part and ofttimes quarrelling. The people of 
 Gaul were not altogether heathen ; they knew of Christ, 
 
 (115)
 
 S. Columbanus 
 
 but heeded not His precepts, neither obeyed His laws, 
 and Columban wished to turn their hearts from evil 
 and bring them into the paths of godliness. 
 
 But for a while the saint could not teach the people, 
 for he did not speak the same language ; neither could 
 the Gauls understand Irish nor yet Latin, which was 
 the speech of the Church. Yet they watched the monks, 
 wondering who they could be and whence they came, 
 these men clad in coarse woollen habits, worn over 
 white tunics, with staves in their hands and leathern 
 water-bottles, relic-cases, writing-tablets, and wallets 
 hanging from their girdles or strapped to their 
 shoulders. 
 
 At last Columban could both understand and speak 
 to the people, so when they asked, " Whence comest 
 thou ? " he answered, " I am an Irish pilgrim, and my 
 speech and actions are like my name, which in Latin is 
 Columba a dove." 
 
 And it was because he was so gentle and dove-like 
 that those wild Gauls allowed him and his fellows to 
 dwell there. 
 
 Now, Columban was sad to see the wicked ways of 
 
 the three Kings, and he rebuked them. One of them 
 
 listened to his words, at length telling the Saint that he 
 
 would give him whatever he should ask if he would 
 
 (116)
 
 SAintCaumban. 
 AD. 615
 
 S. Columbanus 
 
 but stay in Gaul and help him to rule his part of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 But Columban told him that they wished not for 
 earthly comforts. " We are followers of Jesus Christ, 
 who saith, ' Whosoever will be My disciple, let him deny 
 himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.' ' 
 
 When the King heard that, he still entreated the 
 monks to remain, so they settled at a place called 
 Annegray, on the borders of Alsace and Burgundy. 
 Here they built their monastery ; here they lived on 
 the wild fruit and herbs, often hungry for want of 
 food. 
 
 Like most Saints, Columban loved animals, and it is 
 told of him how the wild forest beasts would come to 
 him and obeyed his voice. One day many wolves came 
 to him with intent to kill him, but when Columban 
 spake to them they harmed him not, but went back 
 into the forest. It was a wolf who lived high among 
 the rocks whither Columban used to go to pray who 
 gave up her den for an oratory for him, never hurting 
 him when he rested and prayed there. The birds loved 
 him, fluttering down from the trees to perch on his 
 shoulders ; the timid, bright-eyed squirrels ran to him, 
 playing at hide-and-seek in his cowl. Here he and the 
 brethren dwelt for some years ; here he gave them their 
 (118)
 
 S. Columbanus 
 
 rule, bidding them wear white garments in token of the 
 purity in which their lives should be spent. Two other 
 monasteries he founded in Gaul Fontaines and Luxeuil 
 ere he was called to labour in other lands. It is too 
 long a tale to tell how or why he left Annegray, or of 
 the trouble he went through ere on his journey to Italy 
 he parted with one of the brethren, Saint Gall, who 
 stayed in Switzerland, Columban going on to Milan. 
 In Italy he laboured until his working time was over. 
 At a place called Bobio his pilgrim feet had rest ere 
 death came for him. Here the copy of the Gospels 
 which he had carried in his wallet from Ireland re- 
 mained, among other precious books, for the library at 
 Bobio was one of the greatest there was. 
 
 Even after all these years some of the books remain 
 carefully treasured at Milan, at Turin, and at Rome. 
 And in one of the books which was taken to Bobio 
 from Ireland in the ninth century, and is now at 
 Milan, was found the hymn " Sancti Venite Christ! 
 corpus sumete."* 
 
 And the legend is that this Irish hymn was first heard 
 by the great Saint Patrick as he drew nigh to a church 
 wherein the Holy Sacrifice was being offered, but those 
 who sang it were the angels. 
 
 * Hymn 313, A. and M. 
 (H9)
 
 S. Columbanus 
 
 We often sing this hymn, for a good man called 
 Dr. Neale put it into English for us. Therefore when 
 
 we sing 
 
 "Draw nigh and take the Body of the Lord, 
 And drink the holy Blood for you outpoured," 
 
 let us remember to thank Him, who " His Saints in this 
 world rules and shields," for the lives of the men He 
 called from Ireland to be labourers in His vineyard. 
 
 (120)
 
 S. fmgb
 
 wan. 
 
 UGH, Bishop of Lincoln, who lived in 
 the twelfth century, was not an English- 
 man by birth. His father was a knight 
 of Burgundy, and Hugh lost his mother 
 when he was very young. At eight 
 years old he was sent to a Convent of 
 Regular Canons, near to his home, to be 
 brought up a monk. 
 
 Every happy game was denied to the little eight- year- 
 old boy : he must neither run, laugh, or joke as did 
 other children. 
 
 " Hugh, I bring you up for Christ," said his master, 
 the monk who taught him. " No jokes for you." 
 (123)
 
 S. 
 
 Now, this treatment would have broken the spirit of 
 many boys, but Hugh bent under the vigorous discipline, 
 becoming obedient, loving, and guileless. 
 
 When he was nineteen he was taken one day to 
 the Grande Chartreuse monastery, near Grenoble. He 
 looked at the pine- clad Alps with their snowy summits, 
 and the loveliness and grandeur of the scene impressed 
 him. He loved the sombre pine woods and the dazzling 
 snow, and would fain have become a monk at Chartreuse. 
 His companions thought the life of a Carthusian Monk 
 would be too hard for him. 
 
 " I have lived simply from my childhood," said 
 Hugh. 
 
 Yet he went back to the Convent for a while ; but the 
 rich plains of his native Burgundy did not draw him as 
 did the rugged mountains round the Grande Chartreuse, 
 so after a while he went there and asked to be admitted 
 as a Carthusian Monk. 
 
 Ten happy years were spent there ; then the call 
 came. He was to leave those snow-clad summits, 
 thundering avalanches, the blue gentians and Alpine 
 roses, for a Somerset valley ; to leave that again for the 
 desolate fens of Lincolnshire, where instead of crisp air 
 and glittering mountains he would have the raw fogs 
 and damp marshes of an English fen. 
 (124)
 
 Hnfc bis Swan 
 
 At Witham, in Somersetshire, Henry II, King of 
 England, had founded the first Carthusian Abbey on 
 English soil. As it had not prospered under the first 
 two Priors, the Bishop of Bath was sent to the Grande 
 Chartreuse to ask for a Monk who was thoroughly 
 imbued with the spirit of the Carthusian Order to come 
 to Witham to build the foundations of a thriving Com- 
 munity. Hugh was chosen to go. Hugh, who loved 
 the Grande Chartreuse and its solitude so greatly ; 
 but better than the mountains, better than the mon- 
 astery Hugh loved his Saviour, so when he was convinced 
 that duty called him to England on his Master's service, 
 he bid farewell to the life he loved so well and set forth 
 on his journey. 
 
 When he was established at Witham he saw that 
 much reform was needed to make the English Com- 
 munity like the Grande Chartreuse. Now even the 
 English folk in the twelfth century were suspicious of 
 anything that was new the people who lived round 
 Witham did not like the idea of a new Community of 
 Religious in England. 
 
 " Let the Carthusian Monks stay in their own land," 
 they thought ; and Hugh's heart may have echoed that 
 wish as he toiled under the dull sky, and the heavy 
 rains of an English autumn. He saw that the actual 
 
 (125)
 
 S. 
 
 building needed to be bettered and enlarged, so he set 
 to work, carrying the stones and kneading the mortar 
 himself. And the folk round Witham took note of this ; 
 they also saw that the Carthusian rule which they 
 thought too severe for any man did not tend to make 
 Hugh gloomy, sombre, or severe. Instead this man, 
 strict as was his own life, had ever a tender word and a 
 gentle smile for others ; and when he spoke to them 
 in his broken English, his sweet face expressed all 
 that his halting tongue could not utter. So prejudice 
 wore away, and the house at Witham became a busy 
 hive where industry, devotion, and harmony reigned 
 supreme. 
 
 Now it so happened that for two years the see of 
 Lincoln had been vacant, and during those years 
 Henry II had taken the money belonging to it ; but 
 after a while he felt that it would not do to leave it 
 longer without a Bishop, and he therefore told the 
 Chapter to consider whether Hugh, Prior of Witham, 
 might not well become Bishop of Lincoln ; for Henry 
 had a great respect for Hugh. So the Chapter dutifully 
 elected the Prior. Hugh, however, did not like this. 
 " You have chosen me at the bidding of the King," 
 he said. " And I will not come to Lincoln, for perhaps 
 in your hearts you know of one you would rather have 
 
 (126)
 
 Bnt> bis Swan 
 
 than I. Choose for your Bishop one whom you judge 
 most worthy to Shepherd the flock of Christ, and not at 
 the bidding of an earthly king." 
 
 But the Chapter again elected Hugh, this time con- 
 vincing him that it was by their own wish, and not 
 simply to gain favour with the King, that they asked 
 him to be their Bishop. 
 
 At Lincoln, as at Witham, Hugh found much to be 
 done. He saw that the Foresters who were overseers 
 of the Royal Chases often oppressed the poor, treating 
 them with great cruelty. He excommunicated the 
 Chief Forester. Henry was angry at this ; that a 
 Bishop who owed his preferment to the King should 
 dare to excommunicate a Royal Forester, was unheard- 
 of impudence, and he remonstrated with Hugh. 
 
 But Hugh was firm, explaining that though Henry 
 had temporal power over the Foresters to appoint 
 or dismiss them, he had the spiritual authority over their 
 souls, and the King was forced to submit. Again, 
 later on, Henry urged the Bishop to give a Prebendal 
 stall to one of his Courtiers. But Hugh said : " The 
 King has the means of rewarding his servants without 
 burdening the Church with them ; a prebend's stall is 
 for a Clerk, not a Courtier." 
 
 Now Hugh loved animals and birds. He had a 
 (127)
 
 S. 
 
 Swan which lived in the moat, and when he walked near 
 to the moat the swan would come to him and put its 
 head up the Bishop's sleeve, so that he might caress it. 
 It fed from Hugh's hand, and would swim along in the 
 water while the Bishop walked on the pathway by the 
 moat. 
 
 It used to go off into the Fens, sometimes, but it 
 always returned to Hugh. Indeed, once or twice, 
 the return of the Swan was at the same time as the 
 return of the Bishop from a Lenten Retreat, so that 
 folks used to say that the coming of the Swan was a sure 
 sign of the coming of the Bishop. 
 
 Hugh lived on at Lincoln when Richard Cceur de 
 Lion was King, until John reigned. King John sent 
 him to France to conclude a treaty of peace between 
 that country and England ; and Hugh went once more 
 to see his beloved mountains and pine forests round the 
 Grande Chartreuse. 
 
 He did not reach Lincoln alive. On his way through 
 London he fell ill of a fever and there died, peacefully 
 and fearlessly as he had lived. 
 
 His body they took to Lincoln for burial. 
 
 Thus died Hugh, Monk of the Grande Chartreuse ; 
 Bishop of Lincoln ; by some called " Hammer-King," 
 because of his fearless dealings with Kings. 
 (128)
 
 Hnt> bis Swan 
 
 And Richard, himself " Lion-Hearted," is reported to 
 have said of him, " If all the Bishops in my realm were 
 like that man, Kings and Princes would be powerless 
 against them." 
 
 (129)
 
 Christmas
 
 3$ 
 
 3SP 
 
 ITHERTO there has been a legend of a 
 Saint for each month, sometimes more 
 than one, but for bleak December, when 
 the birds sit huddled together on the 
 bare tree branches, and the ground is 
 frozen hard, there is no other Saint of 
 whom to tell you no Saint, that is, of 
 whom any kindness done to beast or 
 bird is recorded, and whose day is in December. 
 But this is the month of the Nativity ; in it 
 our Blessed Lord came from heaven to be born 
 as a little helpless baby in the stable at Bethlehem, 
 so that all folk might know and love Him and be 
 redeemed from their sins. Therefore, as December 
 is our Blessed Lord's birthday month, hear more tales 
 of one who was His true disciple, Francis of Assisi. 
 
 (133)
 
 H Cbristmas Uale 
 
 Now, Francis was always mindful of the pattern life 
 of our Lord, always loving to His creatures, so it was 
 small wonder that on Christ's birthday the Saint should 
 wish that people should be kind to each other and to the 
 beasts and birds, for he had more reverence for Christmas 
 than for any other festival, and this is what he said : 
 
 " I would," said he, " that all governors of the towns 
 and the lords of castles and villages should be bound 
 every year on Christmas Day to compel men to throw 
 wheat and other grain, so that our sister larks and the 
 other birds might have food on so solemn a day. And 
 for the reverence of the Son of God, Who rested on that 
 night between the ox and the ass in the manger, whoever 
 shall have oxen and asses should on that night give them 
 good fodder. Also on Christmas Day the rich men 
 should give food to their poorer neighbours." And 
 it was a great delight to Francis to make in the churches 
 of the Order a representation of the manger at Beth- 
 lehem, on the Feast of the Nativity. For himself loving 
 our Blessed Lord so greatly, the Saint fain would have 
 led all folk to do likewise, and he judged that the sight 
 of however lowly a presentation of the Christ-child in 
 His crib might win more hearts than much preaching. 
 
 So one year, on the Eve of the Feast, this was done 
 in the hermitage of Greccio. The peasants wended 
 (i34)
 
 H Cbristmas Uale 
 
 their way to Greccio, singing carols as they went through 
 the forest, for Francis loved to hear the melodies of 
 both birds and men, being himself ever the most joyous 
 of God's servants. Then, when they had come to the 
 church, they found a stable with an ox and an ass tied 
 to the manger, and Saint Francis spake to them about 
 that inn at Bethlehem and of the Christ- child and His 
 sweet Mother, so that the hearts of all who heard him 
 were touched, and the tears ran down the faces of the 
 men and women. Even the little children wept tears 
 of joy and thankfulness. 
 
 Now, as a knight called Giovanni, who had given the 
 ox and the ass and stable, watched Francis kneeling by 
 the empty manger, a wonderful thing happened. For 
 it seemed to him that he saw in the manger a most fair 
 Child lying. And the Child, waking from slumber and 
 perceiving the Saint bending over the manger, his face 
 aflame with joy, stretched forth Its little hands to him. 
 
 To this day in England and other lands, if you were 
 to go into some churches on Christmas Eve, you might 
 see an image of the stable at Bethlehem, as in those 
 days long ago when Francis, the little Bedesman of 
 Christ, thought that to see the lowly manger might 
 save folk from falling into the grievous heresy of denying 
 that the Son of God was born of a virgin for our salvation. 
 
 (135)
 
 H Cbrietmas Uale 
 
 It was at Alvernia, that rock which towers above the 
 valley of the Arno, that Saint Francis received such 
 token from his Lord as to be made perfect in outward 
 likeness to his Saviour in so far as a frail man may 
 resemble Him who is both God and man, and it happened 
 in this wise : 
 
 Francis, with three of his brethren that were most 
 dear to him, went up to Alvernia to keep the forty days' 
 Fast of Saint Michael and All Angels, for this lonely 
 rock had been given to him for a hermitage. Now, as 
 Francis rested under an oak, for the way was steep and 
 stony, the birds flew down to him, fluttering on to 
 his head and his shoulders, even into his lap and about 
 his feet. 
 
 " Not ill-pleased is our Lord that we have come to 
 dwell here, I think," said Francis, " seeing with what 
 glee our little sisters the birds greet us." 
 
 Then he arose and wended his way up the mountain- 
 track, the birds circling round him in much joy. 
 
 And the brethren built him a cell at Alvernia, where 
 he might dwell alone in prayer, for it had been shown 
 to Francis that soon he would die. A while later the 
 Saint abode in a yet more lonely spot, communing 
 with his Saviour, his only companion a falcon. 
 
 Here it was on the day of Holy Cross that the trans- 
 
 (136)
 
 Andll?eC[?i id stretched 
 j? His fttlfe hands.
 
 H Cbristmas Uale 
 
 figuration befell him, for early in the morning, kneeling 
 with his face turned towards the Sacred East, Francis 
 besought the Lord Jesus to grant him two graces 
 before he died. And the one grace was that he might 
 feel in his body the torture which his Lord had borne for 
 him in His Passion ; the other was that he might feel 
 in his heart the exceeding love for which Christ was 
 willing to bear such torture. Even so was it granted to 
 Francis ; for in his hands and feet were imprinted the 
 marks of the cruel nails, in his side was the gash of the 
 spear-thrust. But of the agony and rapture of those 
 wounds no tongue can tell. 
 
 And thus was the little poor man of Christ trans- 
 figured into the visible semblance of Him he loved so 
 well, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. 
 
 (138)
 
 H ZTable of tbe Saints 
 witb tbeir S>a$ ano /IDontbs 
 
 * 
 
 Betes on tbe 
 Emblems ano Sbrines ot tbe Saints
 
 a Sable of tbe Saints 
 witb tbeir 2>a0 anfc flDontbs 
 
 January 
 
 
 
 1 3 th 
 
 S. Kentigern 
 
 6th and 7th century. 
 
 February 
 
 
 
 4th 
 
 S. Aventine 
 
 6th century. 
 
 23rd 
 
 S. Milburgh 
 
 7th century. 
 
 27th 
 
 S. Baldomer 
 
 7th century. 
 
 March 
 
 
 
 5th 
 
 S. Kieran 
 
 6th century. 
 
 nth 
 
 S. Angus of Keld 
 
 9th century. 
 
 2Oth 
 
 S. Cuthbert 
 
 7th century. 
 
 April 
 
 
 
 nth 
 
 S. Guthlac 
 
 8th century. 
 
 2ISt 
 
 S. Beuno 
 
 6th to 7th century. 
 
 May 
 
 
 
 zoth 
 
 S. Comgall 
 
 6th century. 
 
 loth 
 
 S. Isidore 
 
 1 2th century. 
 
 June 
 
 
 
 9th 
 
 S. Columba 
 
 6th century. 
 
 (141)
 
 H lable of tbe Saints 
 
 July- 
 
 ist S. CarilefE 
 ist S. Leonore 
 
 August 
 
 ist S. Keneth 
 
 October 
 
 4th S. Francis 
 
 November 
 
 1 7th S. Hugh 
 
 2 ist S. Columbanus 
 
 6th century. 
 6th century. 
 
 6th century. 
 1 3th century. 
 
 1 2th century. 
 6th century. 
 
 (142)
 
 IRotes 
 
 ON THE EMBLEMS OF THE SAINTS 
 
 When Saints were painted in pictures, carved in stone, 
 or portrayed in stained glass, people found it necessary to 
 put certain signs which would distinguish one Saint from 
 another. 
 
 In representing two bishops, for instance, it would be 
 difficult to paint them in such a way that those who looked 
 at them might at once say, " This is Saint Cuthbert," or 
 " That is Saint Kentigern." So it is that for nearly 
 every Saint there has come to be some special sign or 
 symbol by which we may know one from another ; these 
 symbols are usually taken from something that happened 
 to the Saint or took place in his life, and they are known 
 as Emblems. 
 
 Kentigern, for example, among other emblems has a 
 robin, because of the tale of the redbreast which he restored 
 to life. 
 
 And here is a list of the emblems by which, if you chance 
 to see them in the coloured windows or the beautiful 
 
 (i43)
 
 Emblems of tbe Saints 
 
 carving of some church or cathedral, you will be able to 
 know that they belong to the Saints whose tales are told 
 in this book. 
 
 *S. Kentigevn. A robin, a tree, salmon with ring in 
 
 its gills, a bell. 
 
 *S. Aventine. Taking a splinter from a bear's paw. 
 
 *S. Milburgh. Flock of wild swans. 
 
 S. Baldomer. Birds perching on his fingers. 
 
 S. Kieran. The cuckoo. A blackberry briar. 
 
 S. Angus of Keld. A book. 
 *5. Cuthbert. Swans and otters. 
 
 5. Guthlac. 
 
 S. Beuno. 
 
 S. Comgall. 
 
 S. Isidore. 
 *S. Columba. 
 
 S. Carileff. 
 
 S. Leonore. 
 
 S. Keneth. 
 *S. Francis. 
 
 *S. Hugh. 
 
 *S. Columbanus. 
 
 Ravens. 
 
 A curlew. Healing S. Winifred. 
 
 A swan with its head in Comgall's lap. 
 
 Angel ploughing. 
 
 In a coracle. A white horse. 
 
 Wren nesting in cowl. Buffalo. 
 
 Robin with wheat ear. 
 
 Seagulls. A doe. 
 
 A crown of thorns. The Stigmata. 
 
 Preaching to birds. 
 A swan and a well. 
 In a bear's den. Foliated crucifix. 
 
 The emblems to Saints marked * are of ancient origin. 
 
 (144)
 
 Sbrines of tbe Saints 
 
 ON THE SHRINES OF THE SAINTS 
 
 By a Shrine we mean a place or receptacle where some 
 precious object is preserved. In Christian countries the 
 name is given to the tomb or coffer containing the relics 
 of a Saint. Sometimes the Shrines covered the entire body 
 of a Saint, sometimes but a portion of a body, because 
 oftentimes Saints were also martyrs they gave their lives 
 for their Faith, and their murderers mutilated their bodies. 
 
 These are the Saints mentioned in this book who have 
 had Shrines : 
 
 (1) Saint Kentigern. 
 
 (2) Saint Kieran. 
 
 (3) Saint Cuthbert. 
 
 (4) Saint Guthlac. 
 
 (5) Saint Columba. 
 
 (6) Saint Hugh. 
 
 (7) Saint Columbanus. 
 
 (1) In Glasgow Cathedral there is an effigy called the 
 Shrine of Saint Kentigern in the crypt, but it is doubtful 
 whether it is really connected with this Saint. 
 
 (2) On the north coast of Cornwall Saint Kieran is said 
 to have built an oratory. He died about the year 480, and 
 was buried beneath the Altar stone in that little Church. 
 
 L (145)
 
 notes 
 
 But the sand from the seashore drifted and covered the 
 oratory, so that in the tenth century another Church had 
 to be built. To this new Church the head of Saint Kieran 
 was taken and enshrined there. At the Reformation the 
 head was taken back and placed beneath the Altar in the 
 little sand-covered oratory again. Here the relics remained 
 until 1835, when once more the Shrine was exposed to view ; 
 and, to our shame be it spoken, the sacred relics were after- 
 wards lost, and the oratory nearly destroyed. 
 
 In Cornwall Kieran is known as Saint Piran, the Cornish 
 people having changed the first letter of his name to P. 
 
 (3) Cuthbert, you will remember, was laid to rest wrapped 
 in the linen cloth which Verca, Abbess of Tiningham, 
 had given to him. He was buried at Lindisfarne in a 
 stone coffin on the right side of the Altar. After eleven 
 years the brethren wished to take up his bones, expecting 
 to be able to place them in a shrine above ground so that 
 they could venerate them. They obtained permission to 
 do this from Bishop Eadbert. But on opening the coffin 
 they found the Saint lying as one alive, but in a deep sleep. 
 They hastened to tell the Bishop of this wonder, and then 
 they reverently placed the Saint in a new coffin above the 
 pavement of the Sanctuary. After a while the warlike 
 Danes so harried the people and laid waste the country 
 that in 875 the monks of Lindisfarne, together with the 
 lay folk who dwelt on the island, were obliged to fly for 
 safety. They took with them the precious coffin contain- 
 (146)
 
 Sbrfnes of tbe Saints 
 
 ing the body of Cuthbert, and some other relics. First 
 going to Northumbrian hills, they wandered about in 
 terror lest their sacred burden should be hurt and them- 
 selves killed by the fierce Danes. Up and down they 
 wandered, begging their bread, despairing at last of finding 
 any safe place in England where their weary feet might 
 rest and the relics be safe. So they thought they would 
 go to Ireland. 
 
 At the mouth of the Derwent, in Cumberland, they were 
 to meet a ship to take them there. Now, Bishop Eardulf 
 had told the elder monks of this plan, but kept it from 
 the younger monks and laymen. The body of S. Cuthbert 
 was carried on board, the senior monks embarked. The 
 sails filled with wind, and the ship slowly made her way 
 to the sea, leaving a wailing group of monks and lay people 
 on the shore. But ere long a storm arose, and the wind 
 drove the vessel back. S. Cuthbert would not leave any 
 of those devoted men in loneliness, it was thought. And 
 before they could land, the Book of the Gospels, which 
 had been placed on the coffin, fell overboard and dis- 
 appeared from sight. The Bishop and the elder monks 
 then acknowledged their fault, and the younger monks 
 forgave them. Not so the lay folk, however, who deserted 
 that little company. The book which had fallen into the 
 sea was washed ashore after a while, and is now preserved 
 in the British Museum, in London. 
 
 In the* spring of 883 the faithful monks reached a place 
 
 (147)
 
 1Rote0 
 
 called Chester-le-Street. Here a Cathedral of wood was 
 built, and Eardulf became the first Bishop. In 995 the 
 Danes again disturbed the country ; again it became 
 necessary that the Shrine of the Saint should be removed 
 for safety, and once more the wandering with the body 
 began. They tried to get to Lindisfarne, but on the way 
 the cart containing the coffin became immovable no effort 
 could stir it. The monks prayed and fasted for three days, 
 when it was revealed to them that the Saint wished to be 
 taken to Dunholme. But where was Dunholme ? No one 
 knew that. 
 
 But presently they heard a woman in the distance call- 
 ing to a neighbour. " Have you seen my cow ? " she asked, 
 and the neighbour said, " Yes, the cow had strayed to 
 Dunholme." Then the monks followed the woman, and 
 she led them to Dunholme, now called Durham. 
 
 And this story is commemorated on the outside of the 
 north-west pinnacle of the famous Cathedral, above the 
 Nine Altars Chapel, by carvings of the woman and her cow. 
 At Durham, then, the Saint's bones had rest. In Henry 
 VIII 's reign the Shrine was destroyed and the body of the 
 Saint laid in the ground. From time to time the coffin 
 has been opened, the last time being in 1899, on March 
 the ist, when the grave was opened to take away the frag- 
 ments of the ancient coffin made by the monks in 698. A 
 new oaken chest was then made to contain the relics, and 
 they were restored to the grave on March i/th, 1899. 
 
 (148)
 
 Sbrines of tbe Saints 
 
 (4) There is little known about 5. Guthlac's Shrine. 
 When he died in 714, Eadburgh, Abbess of Repton, where 
 he had been trained, sent a shroud and a leaden coffin for 
 him in memory of his former connection with her Abbey. 
 Many pilgrims visited Saint Guthlac's Shrine and left 
 jewels and offerings, so that it became very rich. It had 
 to be protected from the Danes, and not until the I2th 
 century could a more fitting Shrine be erected. In 1136 
 the relics were put into a Shrine of wood covered with plates 
 of gold and silver. And in 1195 the relics were put into 
 yet another Shrine, still more worthy of so great a Saint. 
 
 (5) In the royal burial ground at lona Saint Columba 
 was laid to rest. At the beginning of the pth century the 
 Abbot of lona carried the relics to Kells, in Ireland, and 
 they were put into one of the beautiful Irish Shrines. We 
 learn that this Shrine was in the Church of Saint Patrick, 
 County Down, in 807. It was afterwards carried to lona. 
 From lona the Danes, hearing of its richness, tried to steal 
 it. When the monks saw the Danish ships approaching, 
 they dug a hole in the turf and buried the Shrine. The 
 Danes then slew many of them for refusing to tell where 
 they had hidden the precious relics. In 850 Keneth 
 MacAlpin built a Church at Scone, and removed the Shrine 
 thither. In 878 it was again in Ireland, remaining there, 
 it is supposed, until it was seized by the Danes of Dublin 
 in the I2th century. The Shrine then disappeared, and 
 was never seen again, though the relics were given back. 
 
 (149)
 
 Rotes 
 
 (6) At Bobio, in the old Church dedicated to him, is the 
 Shrine of Saint Columban, although there was an Arm 
 Shrine of S. Columban at Luxeuil, which was destroyed 
 during the French Revolution. 
 
 (7) Saint Hugh was taken from London to Lincoln, and 
 during the four days' journey the tapers round the Bier 
 burnt continually, never going out, although the weather 
 was often stormy, with tempests of wind and rain. 
 
 At Lincoln his body was enshrined. The Shrine was 
 robbed of its riches in the reign of Henry VIII. After the 
 Restoration, Bishop Fuller erected a memorial over the 
 spot where the relics of the Saint were supposed to have 
 been buried ; but when search was made in 1886 nothing 
 more was found than an unsoldered leaden coffin, within 
 one of stone, containing decayed fragments of some rich 
 material.
 
 SOME WORDS EXPLAINED 
 
 It has been thought that an explanation of some of the 
 words used in the Legend might be useful to little readers. 
 
 Abbot. The male head or superior of a monastery or abbey. 
 Bedesman. A man employed in praying, usually for 
 
 others. The word comes from the Anglo-Saxon bed 
 
 or bead, a prayer. 
 
 Bishop. A member of the highest order in the Church. 
 From the Anglo-Saxon biscop. Greek, episcopus, an 
 overseer. 
 
 Clerk. A man in Holy Orders, a priest. From the Anglo- 
 Saxon word clerc, a priest. 
 
 Convent. A house for persons devoted to the religious life. 
 
 Crypt. That part of a cathedral or church, underneath 
 the floor, where monuments are placed and bodies 
 buried. From the Latin crypta. From Greek kripto, 
 to hide. 
 
 Effigy. The image or representation of a person or thing. 
 
 Episcopal dignity. The honourable rank belonging to a 
 bishop. 
 
 Hermit. A person who lives alone, away from other men. 
 
 Oratory. A place set apart for prayer. 
 
 Prebend's stall. That seat in a cathedral church belonging 
 to a prebendary or canon.
 
 Some TKHort>s Ejplaineo 
 
 Prior. A monk next in dignity to an abbot. The head 
 
 of a priory. A priory is a religious house, below an 
 
 abbey in dignity. 
 Relic. A bone or other fragment of the body or garments 
 
 of a saint or martyr kept in remembrance of the saint. 
 Refectory. An eating-room. The place in convents where 
 
 meals were served. 
 Rood. The cross of Christ. From Anglo-Saxon rod, a 
 
 cross. 
 Stigmata. Marks said to have been impressed upon the 
 
 bodies of certain persons, in imitation of the wounds 
 
 of our Lord. 
 Transfiguration. A change of form or appearance. 
 
 The following books have been made use of in the com- 
 pilation of the Legends and Notes : 
 
 Lives of the Saints, by the Rev. S. Baring-Gould. J. C. 
 Nimmo. 1897. 
 
 The Age of the Saints, by W. C. Borlase. Joseph Pollard. 
 Truro, 1893. 
 
 An Essay on the Welsh Saints, by the Rev. Rice Rees. 
 London, 1836. 
 
 Early Christian Ireland, by Eleanor Hull. David Nutt. 
 1905. 
 
 Adamnan's Columba, translated by Wentworth Huysh. 
 Routledge. 
 
 The Shrines of British Srints, by J. C. Wall. Methuen.
 
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