Surtees wrote on the subject of the coffin itself:—"It is finely-shaped, ten feet in length, three feet and a half in diameter, and only four inches thick, and has been proved by experiments to be capable of floating with a weight equal to the human body."
The remains of St. Cuthbert rested at length at Chesterle-Street, where Guthrun, the Christian king, built a church for the wanderers, and richly endowed it. Both Athelstane and "Edmund, the Magnificent," visited the tomb, and rendered homage to the saint. The latter brought valuable presents to the shrine, consisting of Byzantine workmanship, and two bracelets, which he took from his own arms. Edred also followed their example.
In the year 995, the Danish pirates again compelled the monks of Lindisfarne to leave their resting place, taking with them the precious relics of their saint. They sent to Ripon, where they remained for a few months, and then were making their way back when, as they said, in a certain fertile spot, the body became immovable.
Not knowing what to make of this they held a solemn fast, and, on the third day, the saint communicated his wish that they should go to Dunholme, where a permanent church should be built for him. There, accordingly, they went; first erecting a temporary booth to contain their treasure, and afterward building the first Durham Cathedral.[1]
The remains of St. Cuthbert were then enclosed in a costly shrine, and placed in the Cathedral, where they remained until the Reformation.
In 1827, the grave was opened, when, in the innermost of three coffins, his skeleton was found, wrapped in five robes of embroidered silk, some of the fragments of which may still be seen in the Cathedral library.
A cloth, which it is said he used in celebrating mass, was made into a standard, which was believed to bring victory. That gained at Flodden Field was ascribed to it. The banner is said to have been burnt by the sister of Calvin, who was the wife of the first Protestant Dean of Durham Cathedral. No one in our day can read of all the wonders ascribed to St. Cuthbert without incredulous and pitying smiles; and it is very amusing to see how one of his peculiarities has been avenged in later times.
He was an intense woman hater, and his antipathy to the gentle sex was so great, that he would not allow one of them to come near to him, and scarcely tolerated their presence in the religious services which he performed; and he actually built a chapel for them at the extreme end point of the Island of Lindisfarne, where they might worship, instead of presuming to enter his church. He does not seem to have accepted of any favours from them but one. Veria, who was Abbess of Tynemouth at the time that he was at Lindisfarne, gave him a piece of fine linen or silk, which he condescended to keep for his winding sheet. It was a little too bad of him to keep up his antipathy even after his death; but he seems to have done so, for until the Reformation no woman was permitted to approach his shrine. A cross of blue marble was let into the Cathedral floor, beyond the limits of which no female foot might pass under pain of immediate severe punishment.And yet it was a woman who drew the admiring eyes of the modern world to the Farne Islands, where the remains of his priory are still to be seen.
Bound about the story of Grace Darling no particular odour of sanctity gathers; and yet she, according to her light, served the same cause of humanity as St. Cuthbert, and performed a deed of which even he would not need to have been ashamed.
Very little indeed would be known of this most famous saint, but for one whose name must be mentioned with all honour and reverent admiration—the Venerable Bede. He twice wrote St. Cuthbert's life, first in hexameters, in his "Liber de Miraculis, Sancti Cuthberchti Episcopi," and in prose, in his "Liber de Vita et Miraculis Sancti Cudbercti Lindisfarnensis Episcopi."
It is not known with any certainty where Bede was born, but it was probably at Jarrow, in the year 673. When he was seven years old, he was sent to the monastery of St. Peter, at Wearmouth, to be educated. He was placed under the care of the Abbott Benedict and Ceolfrid. He received his religious instruction from the monk Trumberct, and his music lessons from John, chief singer in St. Peter's at Rome, who had been summoned to England by the Abbott Benedict. While he was there a great pestilence broke out, and every monk died, excepting Bede and another. The boy, through all the death and mourning of that terrible time, still chanted the service and songs of the church. From seven to twelve or thirteen, he was a diligent student. Writing of himself at this early age, he says, "It was always sweet to me to learn to teach and to write."
When nineteen years of age, he took deacon's orders; and when he was about thirty, was ordained priest by John of Beverley, then Bishop of Hexham. He lived in Jarrow monastery a quiet and retired life, and spent his whole time in the eager pursuit of knowledge. He questioned all who came to him; he collected all stray facts and incidents; he took care of, and wrought into his book all records of events that floated to him, or that he was able to save from oblivion, and he it is to whom we are indebted for almost all the information we possess of the history of our country down to the year 731. His greatest work was the "Ecclesiastical History of England," of which many versions have been issued, and which was first translated into Anglo Saxon by King Alfred the Great. One edition of the "History" was published at Strasburg, in 1500; another by Smith of Cambridge, in 1722; another by Stevenson of London, in 1838; another by Dr. Hussey at Oxford, in 1864; another in the "Monumenta Historica Britannica," and yet another by Dr. Giles, with the whole of Bede's writings.[2]
Not only was the industry of Bede most extraordinary, but his character and disposition were most lovely. It demanded no small amount of moral strength, concentration of mind, and tenacity of will and purpose, as well as ardent consecration to a good cause, thus quietly to pursue studies, and remain at work, while all around was confusion and strife, violence and slaughter. So little was the spirit of his age in him, that it has been well said of him, he was like "a light shining in a dark place." His life was holy, his temper calm and gentle, and all his works humanising and instructive.
Dean Stanley's remarks upon him, are so very beautiful and appropriate, that we may be pardoned for extracting some of them:—"Two names only from the Anglo Saxon period are still held in unquestioned and universal reverence. One is the Great Alfred, the illustrious king and lawgiver, in the south of England; the other is Bede, the venerable father of English history and English learning, in the North of England. Venerable he truly was. We need not go back to the legend which supposed that he received the title from the Roman Senate for having solved a strange riddle which they could not answer; nor to the other legend, which tells us that, on his grave-stone at Durham, you can still read the inscription in which it is said that an angel in the night filled up the blank space withVenerabilis. He is venerable for the much more solid reason, that he has won the veneration of all Englishmen—we may say of all the world—as an example of the faithful student of truth. His old oaken chair at Jarrow may be still chipped away, as it has been for many years, for healing relics. But no miracle, no wonder, is ever recorded of him in his lifetime. Nay, he was even accused before the Archbishop of York, on a charge of heresy on account of some of his views on chronology. He never was formally acknowledged as a saint. Yet in spite of this, the instinct of mankind has gradually given to him the superiority and pre-eminence over those eccentric missionaries whose wonders for the moment dazzled, but whose special work has long ago passed away. A foreign ambassador (says Fuller) visited the high sumptuous shrine of St. Cuthbert: 'Ifthou be a saint, pray for us;' then turning to the plain, lowly, little tomb of Bede, he said, 'Becausethou art a saint, good Bede, pray for us."
"His last days were spent in the noblest of tasks—in the task which afterwards engaged the best days of Luther and the best days of Wickliffe, that of translating the Bible into his own language. 'I am unwilling,' he said, 'that my children should read what is not true, and should, after my death, in this matter, spend their labours to no profit. That is the fine sentiment of a man who really cares for truth, and really cares for his country.
"There are many other beautiful sayings during those last hours; but I fear to encroach too much on a theme which, perhaps more properly belongs to Jarrow, and which also perhaps is too solemn for this place. Still, as his boyhood was at Monkwearmouth, and as his end reminds us of what he himself must have been when he was pursuing his tasks on the banks of your own River Wear, I will give you the very last moments. There was a little boy who was copying out for him his translation of the Gospel of St. John, and who said 'Still one more sentence, dear master, remains unwritten.' He replied, 'Write quickly.' After a little while the boy said, 'Now the sentence is finished.' He answered, 'You have spoken the truth. It is finished. Raise up my head in your arms, for I should like to lie opposite that holy place where I used to pray, so that resting there I may call on God my Father;' and being placed there he said, 'Glory to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit;' and as he named the name of the Holy Spirit, he breathed out his own spirit and departed." [3]
From those early days to the time of our heroine, the story would be too long to insert here, and we must pass over centuries with only a word or two. Northumbria has taken a noble part in the struggles and victories, the sufferings and progress of our country, and she reaps, as she deserves to do, a rich reward.
When the decisive battle of Hastings had been fought, and the Norman conqueror had overcome the Saxons, the people in the North were determined not to yield. The sorrow which the patriotic northern hearts felt was increased and stirred into active resentment by the treachery of William.
We learn from the "History of Northumbria," that Edwin, Earl of Mercia, brother to the Northumbrian Earl Morcar, was promised one of the daughters of William as his bride; and, blinded by this promise, he was induced to render important services to William at this critical juncture. A little time, however, passed away, in which William and the south-western Saxons, coming to open war, and the Norman arms being victorious, William refused to give the promised bride to Earl Edwin, and accompanied the refusal with insult to the suitor. Fired with indignation, both of the young Saxon nobles departed immediately for Northumbria, and joined heart and hand with their countrymen against the foreigners.
Terrible battles were fought, in one of which the Saxons slew three thousand of the Normans at York, for which the infuriated William punished Northumbria with a horrible slaughter. "From York to Durham not an inhabited village remained; fire, slaughter, and desolation, made a vast wilderness there. … From Durham right on to Hexham, from the banks of the winding Wear to those of the Tyne, Jarrow, Monkchester, with all the dwellings, homesteads, and happy places, were deluged with the people's blood; even the monasteries and religious houses shared the same fate as the common dwellings."
William Rufus was not liked better in Northumbria than his father had been, and Robert Mowbray, Earl of Northumbria, had especial reason to dislike him, on account of his appropriation of the forest lands. He was a powerful chief, possessing two hundred and eighty manors, but he did not attend the Court. This displeased William, who sent forth a decree that every baron who did not attend the festival at Whitsuntide should be outlawed. The Earl paid no attention to this; and as he was engaged with other nobles in a conspiracy to dethrone William, the monarch brought his army into Northumbria, besieged and took the fortress at Newcastle, went on to Tynemouth, and then to Bamborough Castle, to which the Earl had escaped. This castle was impregnable, but the Earl was decoyed from it, and after going again to Tynemouth, he was wounded and taken prisoner. But William coveted the Castle of Bamborough, which was still held by the wife of the Earl. He, Mowbray, was taken to an eminence in front of the castle, while the Normans demanded parley with the Countess. She, to save her husband from having his eyes put out before her face, surrendered the castle to them, and the Earl was taken to the dungeons of Windsor Castle, and kept there for thirty years.
In the year 1094 the little Island of Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, had built upon it a beautiful church and priory, for the Normans introduced a very superior style of architecture. Edward, one of the monks of Holy Island, was rich enough to undertake this work. It is said by an imaginative or credulous historian, that St. Cuthbert still worked miracles there. "The crowds of thirsty labourers, who had passed over to the island with materials for the new building, were, by Edward's interest with St. Cuthbert, enabled for a whole day to drink from a cup which was never once replenished by mortal hand. And multitudes were fed by this same Edward without materials."
During the reign of Henry the First a bridge was built at Durham, the ruins of Hexham were restored, a Leper Hospital was built at Newcastle, and Northumberland and Durham were generally enriched.
In Stephen's reign, David, King of Scotland, fought a battle with the English king in Northumberland; and, indeed, the history of the centuries, to the seventeenth, is full of the accounts of battles on the border with the English and Scotch, the Dukes of Northumberland being often at war with the Scottish kings. The battles were frequently on a large scale, and the bloodshed was frightful, while the ill-will begotten on both sides of the border was most bitter. King John met the Scottish king on the borders in the year 1213, and then the two professed to be reconciled, but very little good came of it.
In the year 1215, the barons of Northumberland went to Alexander II. of Scotland, and implored his protection against their own king, which so incensed John, that he marched to the borders, and burned Wark, Alnwick, Mitford Castle, and Morpeth.
In the year 1226, Henry of England, and Alexander of Scotland, entered into an agreement, by which he was to give up Northumberland, and receive a yearly rent of two hundred pounds.
In 1241, a terrible fire broke out in Newcastle, which destroyed a great part of the town. In 1282, Newcastle first sent members to Parliament.
In 1297, the Scottish people again entered England under Sir William Wallace. In 1305, the Countess Buchan was punished for having placed the crown upon the head of Robert Bruce. She was confined in an iron cage, and permitted to speak to no one but her female attendant, for four years.
In 1312, the Scots, headed by Robert Bruce, made a desperate foray into Northumbria, and in 1314, Edward II. marched into Newcastle, on his way to Berwick, with an army of ninety thousand soldiers, which was beaten at the battle of Bannockburn. In 1516, the Scots again invaded England, and famine and pestilence followed in their track. In 1327, Bruce came again and laid siege to the castles of Norham and Alnwick. A truce was concluded afterward, and in 1328, David, son of Robert Bruce, who was in his fifth year, was married to Joanna, sister of King Edward, who was in her seventh year. The marriage was celebrated with great pomp, and the Scots afterward called the princess Joan Makepeace. King David, however, again returned to England at the battle of Nevill's Cross, and was taken prisoner.
In 1362 John Wickliffe was doing his noble work as a reformer. And Percy, the Lord Marshall of England, was one of his supporters.
In 1388, the battle of Chevy Chase was fought, the two sons of the Duke of Northumberland, Sir Henry Percy Hotspur and Sir Ralph Percy, leading the English forces. The battle of Hamildon Hill was fought on the day of Holyrood in 1402. King Henry IV. having offended the Percys, the Duke of Northumberland gave up the Castle of Berwick to the Scots; to punish which the king brought one of the newly-invented cannon, with which he struck down one of its towers, and then took possession of Alnwick and other fortresses and estates.
But only to mention the names and the times of the border forays and quarrels, would be wearisome. It was a happy thing, indeed, for both England and Scotland when the two were at last united, and the strong-hearted men who had hated each other so sincerely, and committed such terrible deeds of devastation and cruelty, began gradually to forgive the past, and look upon each other as brethren. It was good, indeed, when the beautiful hills and valleys of Northumberland, instead of being deluged with blood, wore the look of calm prosperity which always attends peace. And it is a pleasant consideration for true patriots, and one which should send them to the throne of God with words of hearty thanksgiving upon their lips, that our Queen Victoria, whom both nations conspire to love and revere, passes from south to north, through sunny landscapes of bountiful corn-fields and golden orchards, when she takes her annual holiday in the Highlands of Scotland, the land which is peculiarly dear to her. No sounds of widows weeping for their slain husbands and sons—no fierce battle-cries—no terrible wailings over slaughtered families and ruined homes—startle the still air. But, instead, the children sing the national anthem, as if they knew all that it means; and wherever, on this or the other side of the Tweed, the dear familiar face, with its crown of silvering hair, is seen, the people cry, with leaping hearts and happy tears, "God save the Queen!"
It is impossible not to contrast the new with the old; but as we do so, we shall be forced to acknowledge that the new is, after all, the child of the old, born amid throes of anguish to live a free glad after-life of liberty and honour. It is because our fathers fought that we possess so many privileges. It is because they struggled and died that we have risen and prospered. And while we render them the thanks that are due to them, it behoves us sacredly to guard all rights, and diligently to carry on all good works which they commenced.
It would not be right to give even a short history of Northumberland, without making some special reference to Alnwick, and the Percy family.
Alnwick, the county-town of Northumberland, is delightfully situated on the south of the River Aln. It is about half-way between Newcastle and Berwick. It is not now an important town, having only about eight thousand inhabitants, but it has a history which few towns surpass in interest. Old customs linger long here. The curfew-bell is still tolled; and, until the year 1854, the custom of "leaping the well" was observed. This absurd, though amusing ceremony, was performed by all young freemen previous to their being admitted to the corporate privileges of the town. They used to ride on horseback, carrying swords in their hands. They went in procession through the town until they came to a field called the Handkerchief, where each one dismounted and turned a stone. The Freemen's Well is four miles from Alnwick, and is fed by a spring, but to stop the freeman from succeeding well in his plunge, dykes were made, and ropes stretched across, while the mud at the bottom was industriously stirred up. There was a race to see which young freeman should be first at the well, and the foremost was most heartily cheered. Arrived there, each freeman took off his ordinary dress and clothed himself in white, putting on a white cap ornamented with ribbons. At a sign, the oldest son of the oldest freeman sprang into the well, the others after him, and then they made their way as best they could to the opposite side of the well. Even then the work was not done, and all started again to "win the boundaries."
Tradition says that the custom of "leaping the well" was instituted by King John, who, when he was hunting near, got into a bog, and was so angry with the inhabitants of the town for not attending to it better, that he took away the charter, and only granted a new one on condition that every burgess, before he was admitted to the freedom of the town, should plunge through the bog on the anniversary of the day when he had himself been so unfortunately compelled to do so.[4]
Alnwick is a place of great antiquity. It is supposed that the Romans had a fort here, and that the Saxons built a castle on its site. Before the Conquest, the castle and barony were owned by Gilbert Tyson; and after the battle of Hastings, it came into the possession of the Norman Lords de Vescy. They remained in the family till 1297, when they were bequeathed to the Bishop of Durham by Edward I. Soon after, they were purchased by Lord Henry de Percy, from whom it descended to the present Duke of Northumberland.
Alnwick Castle is a noble seat, and stands where once was a Roman camp, to the north-west of the town. It was of great importance as a border castle; but a hundred years ago it was very considerably changed. In 1858, however, the noble owner had it repaired, and at a great cost caused it to be made as nearly as possible as it was at first. It is perhaps the finest feudal fortress in the kingdom. Five acres are enclosed by the walls, and the grounds are five miles in length. The castle is beautifully and romantically situated. The family residence is in the centre of the inner court, and its decorations are extraordinarily magnificent. The ceiling is constructed like that of King's College Chapel, Cambridge, and the paintings on the walls are copies of those in Milan Cathedral. The castle-walls are flanked by sixteen towers. The park abounds in rare scenery, and contains ruins of two abbeys. Malcolm's Cross was rebuilt by the Duchess of Northumberland to commemorate the fall of King Malcolm and his son, at the siege of Alnwick, in 1093.
The Percy family has been closely associated with the history of our land. The head of the noble house, William de Percy, who came with the Conqueror to England, obtained from the king thirty knight's fees in the north of England. Agnes, daughter of the third baron, married Josceline of Lovaine, who was descended from Charlemagne, on condition that he should adopt either the arms, or the name of Percy. There are some lines under a picture of hers, that describe his choice—
"Lord Percy's heir I was, whose lasting nameBy me survives, unto his lasting fameBrabant's Duke's son I wed, who for my sakeRetained his arms, and Percy's name did take."
In King John's reign, the head of the family was one of the chief barons who demanded Magna Charta from him, and resisted the Pope when he made demands that would have been derogatory to the spiritual independence of the English Crown. The great grandson of this nobleman was a distinguished commander under Edward III. He acted as Marshal of England at the coronation of Richard II., and was created Earl of Northumberland, though he afterwards took up arms against Richard, and placed the crown upon the head of Henry of Lancaster. Not satisfied with his government, he joined in rebellion with Hotspur. He fell at Bramham Moor, and his titles were forfeited, but were restored in the time of his grandson, who became Lord High Constable of England. He was killed at the battle of St. Alban's. The fourth Earl was murdered by the Northumberland populace, who were enraged with him, because he levied a tax upon the people in aid of Henry VII. The funeral of this nobleman cost about 15,000 pounds of our present money. The life of Henry Algernon Percy, the sixth Earl, and his love for Anne Boleyn, are matters of history. The Earl who headed the rebellion in Elizabeth's time and who was imprisoned in Lochleven Castle, and afterwards beheaded as a traitor at York, was the seventh. The eighth Earl was not less unfortunate, for he was accused of being actively engaged in a plot, on behalf of Mary, Queen of Scots, and taken to the tower, where he died a violent death. The daughter of the eleventh Earl married the Duke of Somerset, and became the mother of Algernon, who was created Earl of Northumberland. Sir Hugh Smithson, his son-in-law, succeeded to the Earldom, and became Duke of Northumberland, and the present noble family represent the ancient Percys in the female line. The fourth Duke was princely in his benefactions. He spent 40,000 pounds in the improvement of cottages on his estate, and 40,000 pounds in building and endowing churches. In 1857, he offered a prize for the best model of a life-boat, and he afterwards supplied several stations on the coast with these invaluable adjuncts. At North Shields, he erected "The Sailor's Home," making provision for both the temporal and spiritual wants of the seamen, a class, in whom he felt great interest, having, himself, in early life, served as a midshipman on board the Tribune frigate.
The story of the years, though too often blotted and spoiled by the passions of men that have wrought cruelty, and the sins of men, which have brought tempests of sorrow, is yet the story of the goodness and mercy of God. Through all the changes that have taken place, there has been a gradual growth of commercial power, of civilisation, morality, and religion. The times have always been progressive, there has been no going back, but a continual, persistent, onward tendency, is evident. And though the progress may be slow, it is nevertheless very sure. Thereisa Power that has said to the evil influences that in the times of long ago desolated Northumbria, even as it has often said to the raging billows that wash its shores, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." And that Power it is which has kept always burning brightly the lamp which Paulinas lighted in dark places in those far off ancient times. To-day, indeed, no worshippers bow at the shrines of the saints, and many things that our forefathers thought sacred are treated lightly by their posterity. But the real has taken the place of the unreal; truth reigns where fiction lived, and the substance is grasped, while the shadow is left to fade away. The people, indeed, kneel today where their fathers knelt, but many of them, at least, care less for gorgeous ceremonial than their fathers cared. And crowds have learned to consecrate themselves to the God for whom they, in the darkness, longed and cried. And he who came as the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world, has, in our day, thousands, where before were only tens. Let us thank God and take courage. "The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad." The good times have come; and yet they are only earnests of better days still that are on their way. Let the children, not only of Northumbria, but of every part of our land, sing Christian songs, and live Christian lives. And let all the people unite in the old, but ever new prayer "Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven."
[1] Surtees says that the whole population of Northumbria, from the Tees to the Coquet, lent a helping hand.
[2] The subjoined list of his works will show how marvellous was his diligence and perseverance:—Commentaries on most of the Books of the Old and New Testaments.A Commentary on the Apocrypha.Two Books of Homilies.A Martyrology.A Cronological Treatise, which he entitled, "On the Six Ages."A Book of Autography.A Book on the Metrical Art.A Book of Hymns.A Book of Epigrams, and various other Theological andBiographical Treatises.
[3] Dean Stanley's Lecture on the "Early Christianity of Northumbria," delivered in the Victoria Hall, Sunderland, on April 6, 1875.
[4] "Tate's History of Alnwick."
"Beautiful the children's faces,Spite of all that mars and scars:To my inmost heart appealing,Calling forth love's tenderest feeling,Steeping all my soul with tears.
"We are willing, we are ready:We would learn if thou would teach:We have hearts that yearn towards duty,We have minds alive to beauty,Souls that any heights can reach.
"We shall be what you will make us.Make us wise, and make us good:Make us strong for time of trial;Teach us temperance, self-denial,Patience, kindness, fortitude.
"Look into our childish faces!See ye not our willing hearts?Only love us, only lead us:Only let us know you need us,And we all will do our parts."—Mary Howitt
There is an old, old story, which always possesses a marvellous fascination, both for the narrator and the listener. It has been told by thousands of persons every year since, in the beautiful garden of Eden, it was first told by him whom God made after his own likeness to her who was to be the mother of all the nations of the earth. Almost all the romance and poetry that have ever been written gather about this old story; and yet it is the simplest thing in all the world to tell; and may be compressed into the three words, I LOVE YOU! Unlike many of the stories told in our world, this cannot be told without affecting the lives of those by whom and to whom it is related. It is more rousing than a trumpet call, more powerful than a royal edict. It makes men tender and women brave. It gives to life zest and colour, sweetness and grandeur; and those who hear it say no more that they are desolate and lonely, but feel as if their spring-time of joy has come. Moreover, it has the power of calling forth willing responses and precious gifts; for she who hears it, frequently chooses as her answer the pathetic words of Ruth, "Whither thou goest I will go; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God."
This old new story of love was told one day in the early part of the present century by a young lighthouse-keeper, named William Darling. It was not likely that Miss Horsley, to whom it was told, should immediately give the wished-for reply, for she was a farmer's daughter, living in a comfortable home, among safe fields, where the roar of the sea could not reach her. The life of the wife of a lighthouse-keeper must need be isolated and monotonous; and if she consented to take upon herself the responsibility of such a post, she must be willing to forego many of the pleasures to which she has been accustomed, to bear long absences from the friends of her girlhood, and to be contented with the society of her husband alone.
But such a prospect never yet frightened the loving heart of a devoted woman, and Miss Horsley loved William Darling. Therefore she cared very little where her home might be, if only she could share it with him. To be his comforter and helpmeet, to cheer him when the days were dark, and to enjoy his companionship, and brighten his home, were pleasures enough to tempt her. So one bright afternoon, when William was not needed in his lighthouse-tower, but was able to walk with her about her father's meadows, or sit by her side at her father's hearth, she told him that which he longed to hear.
It is a graver thing than it sometimes appears to the young people to engage in such compacts. They have much to learn and unlearn in the years that follow their first promises. They are not unfrequently greatly mistaken in each other, and their after discoveries are not always pleasing ones; and yet their entire lives are greatly moulded, being hindered or helped to a very important extent, by the choice which they make in their youth. Happily, for the peace of the home-circle, and the well-being of the human family, the years often mellow and ripen that which is good, and mould the character into excellence. It was so in this case. When Miss Horsley became Mrs. Darling, she found that her husband was an intelligent man, fond of books, and having a thoughtful and cultivated mind. Moreover, he was a Christian, and proved, by his life and conversation, that the old truths that had been brought by Paulinus into Northumbria, had entered info his heart. The young wife, though she might have left a happy home near that wonderful old fortress at Bamborough, had chosen a good man to love her in her new home, and had no cause to be afraid of the future.
Still, it must have been a joy to them when children came to play about the lonely house, and mingle their merry laughter with the sad sighing sounds of the uncomplaining sea.
We may be sure that it did not enter into the mind of either of the young couple to suppose, that a child of theirs would ever become so celebrated that she would be talked of in all parts of the civilised world; and that all classes of people would unite to do her honour. It is well that they did not know it. There is a mystery about the future of every child that is one of its greatest safe-guards. Those to whom the care of training it for its coming life is committed, must exercise faith in God and do their best, leaving results with him. This is what the parents of Grace Darling did. And the sequel proves that though they might not have been persons of wealth and culture, they had that invaluable wisdom which enables parents rightly to train those committed to their care.
It was in the year 1816 that our heroine was born. She was called Grace Horsley Darling, the second name to perpetuate the maiden name of her mother. It is said that William Darling was particularly rejoiced when his little daughter came. Unlike many men, whose hearts are in their business, and who are so entirely occupied by it that they have neither time nor thought for their families, he had plenty of leisure, which he delighted to employ for those whom he loved. When he was not engaged in cleaning the lamps, or keeping them burning "from sunset to sunrise," which is the first duty of a lighthouse-man, he liked to have his children about him, that he might teach them all that he knew. And when little Grace was added to the number, she, unconscious though she was of it, found warm hearts and strong arms waiting her, and was received with loving welcome.
Already that home among the rocks held sturdy brothers and sisters, who were glad to make room for the little stranger, and who were quite prepared to teach her the first lessons that she would have to learn. These romping boys and girls, if they were less highly favoured in some respects than other children, had at least some advantages over the dwellers in towns. They had the rocks for a play-ground, and shells and sea-weed for toys. They played games with the wind, which tossed their hair about, and brought the colour to their faces. They braved the sun, not caring that he took the delicacy from their skins and bronzed them over. And as they leaped about among the rocks, and over the weeds, their loud and merry laughter, mingled with the roar of the sea, made the sweetest harmony of which the island could boast.
So, at least, thought two gentlemen who visited Longstone Rock, the home of the Darlings, on the day after the birth of Grace. They came in their little yacht to the island, having cruised about for health and recreation, and landed on the Longstone, in order to explore it and others of the Farne group. The children were having holiday, too, just then, and as they scampered about, they attracted the attention of the visitors.
"Whose children are you?"
"We are the lighthouse children; we belong to Mr. Darling. He lives in the house yonder."
"You are shouting lustily enough for twice the number. Where is your father?"
"We will fetch him."
The gentlemen looked in admiration at the rosy faces, bright eyes, and strong limbs of the children; and when the father came out, they expressed their pleasure.
"We do not often see such children, Darling. It shows that the life among the rocks suits them. How old are they?"
William Darling was not loth to tell the gentlemen anything they wanted to know of his children, for, with a father's pride, he naturally thought none were like his.
"Would you like to hear them read?" he asked.
"Yes, very much."
The children were quite willing to show off their attainments. They were not frightened. Surely rock children ought to be noted for their fearlessness; and if they are not afraid of howling tempests, such as cause their lighthouse-home to rock, they should not be timid before a couple of gentlemen, even though one should be a Marquis.
They acquitted themselves so well that they received great praise.
"They have evidently been well taught, Mr. Darling; and yet there are no schools on the island, to which you could send them. Who has been their teacher?
"I am the teacher of my own children," said the lighthouse-man, a little proudly.
"We teach them at home, I and my wife."
"You must be very good teachers, and I am glad that your scholars do you so much credit. Really, that boy of yours is a fine fellow."
Thus encouraged, it is no wonder that Darling told them what had happened in the night.
"I have a little girl a few hours old, would you like to see her?
"Yes, very much indeed, if it is not yet too early for the young lady to begin receiving visitors."
"Oh no; if you will kindly come into the house, I will bring her to you." The little bundle, so wonderfully perfect (as babies are), wrapt closely in soft warm flannel, and looking an interesting, though a very comical specimen of humanity, was then brought forward, and shown to the admiring gaze of the gentlemen, who were profuse in their praises. Men are almost always afraid to handle newly-born babies; they seem to think they are among those articles that easily break, and are labelled, "Glass, with care." But no sight is more beautiful than that of a strong rough man touching the little things with the greatest tenderness.
William Darling's pride in his newly-born daughter was very evident, and when she had been safely taken back and laid in her mother's arms, and the party went out to examine the island, and learn something of its history and natural productions, they liked their intelligent guide none the less because they had seen that he was a kind and affectionate father.
Indeed, William Darling was known as a steady, intelligent, trustworthy man. The post of the Longstone lighthouse-keeper was a very dangerous one; and only such men as had proved their integrity, powers of endurance, and fidelity to duty, were ever appointed to that position. But he had given evidence that he was a man to be relied upon, who would not shirk work, but faithfully perform it, and who might be counted upon to be always at his post, whether others were likely to know it or not. He was just such a man as we want Englishmen of to-day to be—steadfast, patient, always alike in their performance of work, always most careful, thorough, and conscientious. He had already passed a time of probation, at a less important place, and then, because he had shown himself diligent, honest, and true in it, he was raised to the higher position of master of the Longstone lighthouse.
Let all young men who aspire to high positions, and are anxious to rise above their fellows, be sure of this, that those who have the apportioning of important and lucrative places of trust, judge in the main by Christ's rule, "He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much."
Subsequent events proved that Grace Darling was worthy of such a father. She was baptised at Bamborough Church, and received the name of her maternal grandmother; and soon grew to be an interesting, toddling little maiden, the joy of her father's heart. She was not the youngest of the family, for there were twin-brothers born two years after her, but it was said that Grace was the favourite always, and that her winsome ways, and tractable and affectionate spirit, endeared her greatly to her parents.
The Farne Isles would seem to have made rather a desolate home for the girlhood of a romantic maiden.
Speaking of the time when St. Cuthbert dwelt there, Raine, in his "History of Durham," says:—"Farne certainly afforded an excellent place for retirement and meditation. Here the prayer or repose of the hermit would be interrupted by the screaming of the water-fowl, or the roaring of the winds or waves—not unfrequently, perhaps, would be heard the thrilling cry of distress from a ship breaking to pieces on the iron shore of the island, but this would more entirely win the recluse from the world, by teaching him a practical lesson on the vanity of man and his operations, when compared with the mighty works of the Being who 'rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm.'"
Another writer says of it—"Looking at the situation and aspects of the Farne Islands, of which Longstone is one, we cannot but be struck with their extreme dreariness. Not a tree nor a bush, hardly a blade of grass, is to be seen. The islands are twenty-five in number, many of them with a sheer frontage to the sea of from six to eight hundred feet. They mostly lie north and south, parallel with each other; a few of the smaller ones extend to the north of the larger, thus rendering the navigation in their neighbourhood still more dangerous. The sea rushes at the rate of six or eight miles an hour through the channel between the smaller islands; and previous to the erection of a lighthouse there, many distressing shipwrecks occurred."
Howitt, in speaking of the Longstone Island, says—"It was like the rest of these desolate isles, all of dark whinstone, cracked in every direction, and worn with the action of winds, waves, and tempests, since the world began. On the greatest part of it there was not a blade of grass, nor a grain of earth, but bare and iron-like stones, crusted round the coast, as far as high-water mark, with limpit, and still smaller shells. We ascended wrinkled hills of black stone, and descended into worn and dismal dells of the same—into some of which, where the tide got entrance, it came pouring and roaring in raging whiteness, and churning the loose fragments of the whinstone into round pebbles, and piled them up into deep crevices with sea-weeds, like great round ropes and heaps of fucus. Over our heads screamed hundreds of birds, the gull mingling his laughter most wildly."
But the wild scream of the sea-fowl, and the thunder of the surf, were such common things to the little Darlings that they took but small notice of them. Grace, indeed, having them mingled with her mother's cradle-song, would scarcely like to have missed the familiar sounds, since they had lulled her to sleep at night, and awoke her in the dawn.
When it was time for her to begin her education, her father found the task of teaching her an easy and a pleasant one; for Grace was quick and intelligent. Moreover, she had that first and highest qualification of a good scholar—the love of learning. It was no difficulty to get her to bend all her powers to the pursuit of knowledge, for she could not help doing so, the thoroughness that she had inherited from her father urging her to overcome obstacles, and to make herself perfect wherever perfection was within her reach.
She soon learned to read, and then a new world opened to her. Little it matters to the reader whether he sits on the rock where the sea-waves wash up to his feet, or reclines upon a velvet coach, with all the appurtenances of luxury round about him. He lives in other places and other times. He fights in the battles that have long ago been ended. He climbs mountains that his eyes have never seen. He sails over seas where the lights flash, and the scents of fragrant islands come sweetly over him. In fact, if he be a passionate and imaginative reader, he loses his life in that of his author, and is filled with exquisite pleasure. Such a reader was Grace Darling. She was not able to procure many books, for their library, though good, was small, but those which were in her power she "read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested." She had a retentive memory, and there is no doubt that to read as she did, was really of more advantage to her than it would have been had she subscribed to Mudie, and seen all the new novels of the day. She was fond of romance, being romantic herself; and the legends and traditions of heroic Northumberland were most dear to her heart. She read and re-read those border ballads in which all the world delights, feeling that the prowess described in them, the sufferings endured, the struggles made, and the victories won, were those of her own people. Had not Bamborough Castle, and its brave inhabitants, witnessed it all, and could she not see the noble fortress from her own bedroom window? A people with so much historic lore, with such a wonderful past, full of glorious deeds and marvellous sorrows, must needs have some of the heroic spirit in them; and as it was born in Grace Darling, and fostered by the very leisure and solitariness of her girlhood, we are not surprised that it flashed forth afterward, in a deed as courageous as, and much more noble than, many war exploits of her forefathers.
But dearly as she loved these old romances, Grace Darling was not allowed, even as a girl, to let them fill her life. If the words were not known to her, which have nerved many a girl to practical usefulness, their spirit was—
"Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever,Do noble deeds, not dream them all day long."
And she soon learned to take her share in the household duties and difficulties. Her brothers were sent to the mainland to finish their education, and to prepare for the honourable career of hard work that was before them. But Grace could not be spared. She was so dear to her father, and so necessary to her mother, that they decided that whoever left the lighthouse-home Grace must not. She was quite willing to remain, and was contented with her lot. She followed her father's example, by doing what she could both well and cheerily. She had a good voice, and she often sang at her work, so that her joy communicated itself to others. Still it was a happy time for her when the work of the day was done, and she was able to sit down by the fireside, and read from her favourite books, while her mother worked.
One year, however, Grace had a holiday. It was beautiful weather, in the end of the summer; and some of her friends sent to tell her how lovely the corn-fields looked, and how sweet the air was on the mainland around Bamborough. And they said more than that. All hands were wanted to help with the ingathering; and as Grace was known to be a young person who had strong arms, and was not afraid to use them, if she could come and lend her assistance, she would receive a hearty welcome.
Grace much wished to go, so she proceeded to endeavour to gain the consent of her parents.
"Father, can you spare me for a holiday?"
"Why do you want a holiday, Grace?"
"The harvest is ready to be got in, and they have sent to me to go and help."
"But that would not be a holiday, my child. Harvesting is very hard work."
"It would be like a holiday to me, father. I should like to go very much. I have not seen a corn-field all the summer, and I know the country must be looking very beautiful now. I long to go. Do let me, if you can possibly spare me."
"Well; we must not be selfish, Grace. You can go if you like, only come back as soon as you can."
So Grace had her holiday that summer, nor did she return until she had won golden opinions from the friends with whom she stayed, and among whom she worked.
One old woman especially, who felt an affection for the girl, and who, while they worked together, often received kindness and consideration from her, esteemed so highly her young companion of the harvest-field, that she always remembered her with fondness, and when, afterward, she heard that she had saved the lives of some people, and made her name honoured and beloved in all parts of the land, she declared that she was not surprised, for she had known Grace Darling herself.
The girl was not allowed to remain long away, for she was wanted at home. By this time most of the members of the family were out earning their own living; and the house was quiet and desolate without Grace. When the harvest was over, therefore, and the days were growing short and dark, she returned with many a tale to tell of what she had seen and heard on the mainland, and we may be sure that, on some evenings during the next winter, her reminiscences kept the household from being dull.
Grace was now growing up into womanhood. William Howitt, who saw her afterward, thus describes her:—"She had the sweetest smile I have ever seen in a person of her station and appearance. You perceive that she is a thoroughly good creature, and that under her modest exterior lies a spirit of the most exalted devotion—so entire, that daring is not so much a quality of her nature, as that of the most perfect sympathy with suffering or endangered humanity, swallowing up and annihilating everything like fear or self-consideration."
It will be seen from this description of our heroine, that she was, in a word, a good girl. She was dutiful and loving to her parents, and kindly to all creatures. She could not see suffering without trying to alleviate it; nor could she stay to consider whether or not she was putting her own life in danger when others needed her assistance. From all that we know of this northern maiden, we conclude that Mr. Howitt was right. It was scarcely daring that prompted the heroic action that made her famous, so much as a habit of feeling the most constant and perfect sympathy with suffering.
It is not difficult to picture this girl on the rugged Farne Rocks, casting her quiet, observant eyes over the wide sea, and praying for the safety of those who were tossing about in ships. We can imagine her, in her own mind, making heroes out of very common men, and rather exaggerating than under-rating the sorrows of humanity. We are sure that no storm-distressed bird ever came to the window of the lighthouse-home for shelter and was denied by Grace, and no shipwrecked sailor, clinging for life to the rocks, would be afraid of other than most merciful treatment from the hands of such a woman. And God be thanked that there are hundreds of thousands like her, not only along our shores, but in every part of our land—women who fear God and love the right, and delight in nothing so much as self-abnegation, if only they can serve those who are needy or sad.
Let the girls of England resolve to join their ranks. It is better to be poor and noble, than rich and worthless—to be the daughter of a lighthouse-keeper, and fill the life with good deeds of diligence and faithfulness, than to be the daughter of an Earl, and of no real good to anybody. But the life of consecration to God and His service, and for His sake, to all around, is lived only by those who are thoughtful and Christian. Let the young people thus find their joy and strength in prayer, and in earnest resolve that their lives, even if quiet, shall be good, and we will not fear for the future of our world.
"Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springsOf hope make melody where'er ye tread;And o'er your sleep, bright shadows from the wingsOf spirits visiting but youth be spread;Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,Is woman's tenderness—how soon her woe!
"Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour;And sunless riches, from affection's deep,To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower!And to make idols, and to find them clay,And to bewail that worship—therefore pray!
"Her lot is on you, to be found untired,Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,And a true heart of hope, though hope be rain,Meekly to bear with wrong, and cheer decay,And oh! to love through all things—therefore pray
"And take the thought of this calm vesper time,With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,On through the dark days, fading from their prime,As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.Earth will forsake—oh! happy to have givenTh' unbroken heart's first tenderness to heaven!"—Mrs. Hemans