"And how, of thousand snakes, each oneWas changed into a coil of stoneWhen holy Hilda prayed:Themselves, within their holy bound,Their stony folds had often found,They told how sea fowls' pinions fail,As over Whitby's towers they sail,And, sinking down, with flutterings faint,They do their homage to the saint."
"And how, of thousand snakes, each oneWas changed into a coil of stoneWhen holy Hilda prayed:Themselves, within their holy bound,Their stony folds had often found,They told how sea fowls' pinions fail,As over Whitby's towers they sail,And, sinking down, with flutterings faint,They do their homage to the saint."
The Abbess founded some cells in divers places dependant on the Abbey, one of which was at Hackness, near Scarborough, which she made use of as a retreat from the bustle and cares ofStreoneshalh, where she could, undisturbed, devote her time more strictly to the exercises of fasting, prayer, and meditation, returning to her duties at the Abbey refreshed and invigorated spiritually, and the better enabled to undergo the distractions incident to her position as head of a community of differing and often perplexing temperaments. To these cells also she frequently sent her nuns, to give them an opportunity for cultivating closer communion with God, for their spiritual edification.
For the last six years of her life the Abbess suffered greatly from severe indisposition, which frequently laid her prostrate for weeks together, "Yet during all this time she never failed to return thanks to her Maker, or publicly and privately to instruct the flock committed to her charge, admonishing them to serve God in health, and thank Him for adversity or bodily infirmity."
Among the nuns under her care was one from Ireland named Bega, who was most exemplary in her attention to the duties of her religious calling, eminently endowed with spiritual grace, and conspicuous for her humility, self-abnegation, and all the virtues which adorn a Christian life; which qualities endeared her to the venerableAbbess, and they came to regard each other as mother and daughter rather than as Lady Superior and ordinary nun of a religious establishment.
During the long illness of the Abbess, Bega was her constant attendant and nurse, and accompanied her in her occasional retreats at Hackness. One afternoon they were seated together in the Abbess's private room, when the invalid seemed to be rallying in health and entering upon one of her alternate periods of comparative convalescence. Bega had been reading to her a new paraphrase of a portion of the Bible, the composition of Cædmon, the cow-boy poet of Streoneshalh. She laid down the manuscript at the conclusion, expressing a hope that the Abbess had not been wearied by her imperfect reading, and that in spite of defective knowledge of the characters on the part of the reader, she had been enabled to follow the sense and appreciate the beauty of the rendering.
"Nothing from the pen of Cædmon," said the Abbess, "ever wearies me; on the contrary, his compositions are so redolent of spiritual beauty that they seem to refresh my soul, and invigorate my body as well. Indeed, at this moment I feelso much better in health that if no relapse occurs in the interval, I propose on the morrow relieving our good Prioress from the duties which I have delegated upon her during my sickness."
"Happy am I," replied Bega at hearing this, "and I trust that God, if he sees fit, may preserve you for many years to come, in the superintendence and guidance of this holy house. But, mother dear, your restoration of bodily strength emboldens me to solicit a boon."
"What is it my dear child? Anything that I can grant shall be yours. I promise this without knowing what you wish, feeling assured that you will solicit nothing that is inconsistent either with your maidenly character or with your altar-made vows."
"I pray for nothing unbeseeming my character in such respects; but, holy mother, of late I fear I have experienced some spiritual declension, and that I have become more carnally minded than becomes one whose thoughts should be centred on Christ alone, and I pray you, mother dear, to permit me to retire into more entire seclusion from the world, that I may by abstinence, prayer, and close communion with God, be restored to a more wholesome frame of soul."
"Your boon is granted, my child, gladly; repair at once to Hackness, and may God shed his blessing upon your pious aspiration for a higher life of holiness."
The following day Bega was escorted to the cell, where the Abbess, with an almost Cistercian eye for sylvan beauty, had planted it, that in the midst of a natural Paradise it might bloom as a spiritual Eden, and there she at once commenced a season of wholesome asceticism and religious exercises.
A week passed away, and Bega, absorbed in her devotional exercises, had become emaciated by the rigour of her fasting without heeding it; and as is usual in such cases, her spirit had become more etherealised and more susceptible of supernatural influences. After vespers one evening she returned to her lonely sleeping apartment, a bare and scantily furnished room, and lay down on her bed, consisting of a thin layer of straw on a hard, wooden pallet, with nothing more than a coarse rug for her coverlet. She slept for a short space, then awoke and rose to repeat the nocturnes, kneeling on the rough flooring stones. She then lay down again and composed herself to sleep, and was in the half-consciousstate between sleeping and waking when she was aroused by hearing a passing-bell boom forth, which sounded like that of Streoneshalh, which was miles beyond earshot, and was the more remarkable as the bell of Hackness was much smaller and altogether different in tone. She listened with soul-thrilling awe, and thought, "Can it be that the holy mother is departing at this moment to her heavenly rest, and that the sound of the passing-bell is miraculously brought to mine ears?" Scarcely had the thought flashed across her mind, when, looking upward, the vaulted roof seemed to be melting away, like a mist under the influence of the morning sun. In a very short space of time it disappeared altogether, and there was presented to the eye of the gazer the expanse of sky studded with stars, sparkling like clusters of diamonds. Presently the knell of the passing-bell ceased. And there broke upon her ear the sound of distant vocal music. As it came nearer, it seemed different from any music she had ever heard; unearthly; heavenly; so ravishingly sweet was the melody. The words she was unable to comprehend, but there was something about them which seemed to declare them of celestial origin. With rapturedears she listened as the choir, which appeared to be floating in the air, came on and on until it sounded as if immediately overhead. All this while, too, a constantly increasing effulgence of supernatural light was diffusing itself over the firmament, and when the music came into close proximity to the cell, there burst upon her sight a vision, the glory of which she could have hitherto formed no conception of. It was that of a convoy of angels, fairer and more lovely in form and feature than anything ever conceived by artist or poet, or than ever trod the earth. It was they who were chanting the divine melody as they floated along overhead with an upward tendency; and in their midst was the beautified soul of the sainted mother of Streoneshalh, which they were escorting to the everlasting realms of purity and peace; of eternal rest, and an endless duration of unalloyed happiness. The rapt eyes of Bega were not allowed to rest long on this celestial vision; the group ascended higher and higher; the voices became fainter and fainter, until they were altogether lost; and Bega overcome with emotion, fell into an ecstatic trance, and when she awoke from it there was nothing to be seen but the glimmer ofthe moonshine on the walls and roof of her cell.
The next day a messenger arrived announcing the death of the Abbess, which he stated occurred immediately after nocturnes on the preceding night.
Bega remained a little while at Streoneshalh, and then went into Cumberland, and provided a religious house, called after her, St. Bees, where she spent the remainder of a most holy life.
Dropcap-T
Twothousand years ago, what is now the East Riding of Yorkshire was chiefly forest land, with the exception of the Wold uplands, which were pastures, almost destitute of trees, having some semblance to the swelling and rolling waves of the ocean, where the Brigantes fed their flocks and herds, where they dwelt in scattered hamlets, and where they now sleep in their multitudinous tumuli. In the lowlands at the foot, the forest was very dense, and was the home of wolves, boars, deer, and other wild animals, which were hunted by the natives, who fed upon their flesh and clothed themselves with their skins. This was called the forest of Deira, and in one spot by the river Hull, a few miles distant from the Humber, was a cleared space, with an eminence in the midst, and at its foot, extending westward, a pool of water, afterwards a marsh or moor, and since drained, forming now a portion of the town ofBeverley, its former condition being indicated by two parallel streets—Minster-moorgate, the place of the moor by the Minster; and Keldgate, the place of springs. This was a Druidical open air temple, where the mystical rites of Druidism were performed.
When the primitive Christian religion was introduced into Britain, it is presumed that a Christian church was established here, on the rising ground by the lake, as the early Christians built their churches, where practicable, on spots held sacred by the people, which supposition seems to be confirmed by the express statement that St. John rebuilt, not built, the church in Deira Wood. This early church, doubtless a very rude affair of timber and thatch, was destroyed or allowed to fall into ruin when the Saxons and Angles overspread the land and replaced the religion of Christ by that of Odin. It might possibly be repaired during the short period after the second introduction of Christianity by Paulinus and the conversion of King Eadwine, but, if so, would be again destroyed a few years after, under the desolating hands of Penda of Mercia, and Cadwalla, as it lay in ruins until the beginning of the eighth century, whenit was restored on a grander scale by John, Archbishop of York.
St. John, the learned and pious prelate, one of the brightest luminaries of the Saxon Church, was a member of a noble Saxon family, a native of Harpham on the Wolds. He was born in the year 640, studied in the famous Theological School of St. Hilda at Streoneshalh, and became successively Bishop of Hagulstat (Hexham) and Archbishop of York, which latter see he held, with unblemished reputation and great usefulness, for a period of more than thirty-three years.
He was almost incessantly employed in going about his vast diocese, rectifying abuses, regulating disordered affairs, exhorting the lax, and commending the faithful. In one of these visitations he came to the place in the forest of Deira which had been, half a millennium previously, the Llyn-yr-Avanc of the Celts, and, according to some antiquaries, the Peturia of the Romans, a conjecture which is supported by the discovery of a tesselated pavement and other Roman remains, where he found the ruins of the old primeval British Church. The beauty and seclusion of the spot struck him as being eminently fitted for the establishment of amonastery, and probably the thought flashed across his mind that hither he would like to retire, in his declining years, to finish his life, after the cares and anxieties of his prelateship, in the calm of cloistered existence and in the company of a pious brotherhood.
He did not allow the idea to pass away from his thoughts, but soon after made arrangements for carrying it out. He rebuilt the choir of the old church, founded a monastery of Black Monks, of the order of St. Columba, and an oratory for nuns, south of the church, which afterwards was converted into the parish church of St. Martin; erected the church of St. Nicholas, in the manor of Riding; placed seven secular priests and other ministers of the altar in the head church, and appointed Brithunus the first Abbot of the monastery, with superintendence over the other establishments. In 717, he resigned his see, being then feeble and oppressed by the infirmities of age, and retired to his monastery, where he died in 721, and was buried in the porch at the eastern end of the church.
After St. John, the next greatest benefactor to the church and town of Beverley was Athelstan the Great, King of Saxon England. Indeed, hemay be considered the founder of the secular, as St. John was of the ecclesiastical, town. The town and church had been destroyed by the Danes in 867, but a few years after the dispersed canons and monks returned, and repaired, as far as they could, their ruined buildings, so as to be able to continue the celebration of the services; but they remained in a dilapidated state for nearly half a century, when Athelstan laid the foundations of the future grandeur of the church, and of the commercial importance of the town. He had heard of the sanctity of St. John, and the wonderful series of miracles he had performed, both during his life and after his death, and having occasion to chastise Constantine, King of Scotland, for abetting the Danish Anlaf of Northumbria in an invasion of that portion of his dominions—for he had by conquest added northern England to his government, and was in truth the first King of England, rather than Egbert—he visited Beverley on his march to Scotland, and implored the aid of the Saint, leaving his dagger on the altar as a pledge that, if successful, he would bestow princely benefactions on the church and town. By the assistance of St. John, who appeared to him in a vision, hewas the victor in the decisive battle of Brunnanburgh, and nobly he kept his word. He made the church a college of secular canons; endowed it with four thraves of corn from every plough in the East Riding; and made it a place of sanctuary, as a refuge for criminals, with a stone frid-stool, still in the Minster. He granted a charter to the town, constituting it the capital of the East Riding, with many privileges and extraordinary rights; in consequence of which opulent merchants flocked to the town, and it soon began to flourish mightily, and became one of the wealthiest and most important of the trading towns of the realm. He also assigned the manor to the Archbishops of York, who built a palace there on the south of the church; vied with each other in their patronage of the town, and in adding to and endowing the collegiate church.
In the beginning of the eleventh century Archbishop Puttock added a chancellor, a precentor, and a sacrist to the establishment, and erected a costly shrine for the relics of St. John, to which they were translated with great pomp in 1037. Archbishop Kinsius erected a western tower to the church, and Aldred, whoheld the see at the time of the Conquest, rebuilt the choir, and ornamented it with paintings and other decorative work, completed the refectory and dormitory of the monastery, and increased the number of canons from seven to eight, changing them at the same time from canons to prebendaries.
At this time—the period of the Conquest and of the legend—we may assume from the usual characteristics of the church architecture of the time, that the church was an oblong building of two stories, divided into a nave and chancel, with a low tower at the western end. There would probably be a lower and an upper range of circular-headed windows, with doorways of the same character, decorated with zigzag mouldings, and in the interior would be a double row of massive stunted columns, supporting semi-circular arches, and at the eastern end, in the chancel, the superb shrine of St. John, which was attracting pilgrims from all parts, and was beginning to be encrusted with the silver and the gold and the gems, bestowed for that purpose by the pilgrims in grateful remembrance of wonderful cures effected upon them by the miracle working of the saint. Such would most probably be thechurch in which occurred the incidents narrated in our legend.
When the Norman Duke William had won the battle of Hastings, and subdued southern and mid England, and had been crowned King in the place of the slain Harold, he discovered that he was not really King of England, but of a part only—that portion north of the Humber, forming the old Saxon kingdom of Northumbria of the Heptarchy, and one of the Vice-Royal Earldoms of Saxon England, continuing to maintain its independence with stubborn tenacity; and it was not until after much bloodshed that he overcame the sturdy Northumbrians of a mixed Anglian and Danish race, and garrisoned York, the capital, with a Norman garrison to keep the province in subjection. No sooner, however, was his back turned than the people, under Gospatric, Waltheof, and other Danish and Saxon leaders, broke out afresh in insurrection, massacred the Norman garrison at York, and vowed to drive that people and their Duke, the usurper of Harold's throne, from Northumbria at least, if not from England altogether. It was after one of the most formidable risings that the Conqueror swore that "by the splendour of God" hewould utterly destroy and exterminate the Northumbrians, so that no more rebellions should rise to trouble him in that quarter of his dominions; and with this view he marched northwards, crossed the Humber—probably at Brough—and encamped at a spot some seven miles westward of Beverley, purposing to proceed henceward to York on the morrow.
On his road from the Humber to his encampment he had burnt the villages and crops, and slain the villagers who came in his way, but the majority, taking the alarm, fled to Beverley, hoping to find safety within the limits of the League of Sanctuary, thinking that even so merciless a soldier as Duke William would respect its hallowed precincts. But he, godly in a sense, and superstitious as he was, entertained no such scruples, and he had no sooner seen his army encamped than he despatched Thurstinus, one of the captains, with a body of Norman soldiers to ravage and plunder the town.
The people of Beverley and the fugitives who had fled thither deemed themselves safe under the protection of their patron saint; nevertheless they felt some alarm when the news was brought that the ruthless Conqueror lay so near them,and still more when they heard that a detachment was marching upon the town with hostile intentions. The church was filled with devotees, who prostrated themselves before the saint's shrine, imploring him not to abandon his church and town in this extremity. The day had been gloomy and downcast, but when they were thus supplicating the holy saint the sun came shining through one of the windows directly upon the shrine, and lighted it up with a brilliance that seemed supernatural, which was looked upon as a favourable response to the prayers of the supplicants.
Thurstinus and his followers had by this time entered the town, but had, so far, done no injury to either person or property. As they approached the church, they perceived before them a venerable figure, clad in canonical raiment, with gold bracelets on his arms, moving across the churchyard, towards the western porch. The sight of the golden bracelets excited the cupidity of one of the subalterns of the corps, who darted after him, sword in hand, and overtook him just as he was passing through the portal. The soldier had but placed his foot within the church, when the aged man turnedtowards him and exclaimed, "Vain and presumptuous man! darest thou enter my church, the sacred temple of Christ, sword in hand, with bloodthirsty intent? This shall be the last time that thine hand shall draw the sword," and instantly the sword fell from his grasp, and he sank down on the ground, stricken by a deadly paralysis. Thurstinus, not witting what had happened to his officer, came riding up, with drawn sword, with the intent of passing into the church to despoil it of its valuables; but on entering the doorway he was confronted by the aged man with the bracelets, who stretched forth his arm, and said to him, "No further, sacrilegious man; wouldst thou desolate my church? Know that it is guarded by superhuman power, and thou must pay the penalty of thy impious temerity!" and immediately he fell from his horse to the pavement with a broken neck, his face turned backward, and his feet and hands distorted "like a misshapen monster." At this manifest interposition of Heaven the Normans fled back to the encampment with terror-stricken countenances, and the people in the church looked round for their deliverer, but he had vanished, and they then knew that it was St.John himself, who had come down from heaven to protect his town and church from the insult and ravages of Norman ferocity.
When the soldiers reached the camp they reported to their superior officer the result of their expedition and the horrible death of their leader, which they could not attribute to anything less than supernatural power. The report in due course reached the King, who summoned the soldiers into his presence, and listened to their narrative with superstitious awe. "Truly," said he, "this John must be a potent saint, and it were well not to meddle with what appertains to him, lest worse evil befal us. He may possibly use his influence in thwarting our designs against the rebels of this barbarous northern region. Let not his town and the lands pertaining to his church be injured, or subject to the chastisement and just vengeance we intend against those who have dared to raise the standard of revolt against our divinely ordained authority; but rather let them be protected, for it were bootless and perilous to fight against Heaven. Onward then to York, and when we have, by such severity as the case warrants, effectually crushed the spirit of revolt, we will consider what further can bedone to propitiate this saint, whom it were well to conciliate by gifts, so that he may be led in gratitude to recompense us by assisting in the consolidation of our power, which is not yet established on sufficiently firm foundations."
He found no difficulty in suppressing the insurrection when he reached York, putting to the sword those of the insurgents who remained there after their leaders had fled towards Scotland. In order to prevent any future rising, with any possible chance of success or gleam of hope, he then meditated and carried out a cold-blooded scheme, which might have been deemed a measure of policy, but which for ferocity equalled any act of cruelty perpetrated by the most atrocious tyrant of pagan ages. He sent forth his men with swords and torches, to the north, the west, and the east, and for an extent of sixty miles, from York to Durham, by several miles in breadth, laid the country desolate. Villages, churches, monasteries, and castles, with the granaries of corn and the standing crops, were all destroyed by fire, and every person, man, woman, child, or priest, met with was slaughtered without mercy; and when the work had been accomplished, this vast extent of country borethe aspect of a Western American prairie after it had been swept by fire, leaving only the charred stumps of the trees standing, with this difference, however, that there only the half-burnt bodies of animals, such as were not able to escape by flight, are found; whilst here, scattered profusely on the wood-side, and round their once cheerful and happy homesteads, lay the rotting and putrefying corpses of human beings, on which the wolves and birds of prey were battening and gorging themselves; and it took many and many a year before this region recovered itself and became again a country of farmsteads and villages, of crops and fruit trees, and of an industrious population. William of Malmesbury says that not less than 100,000 persons perished in this fearful act of vengeance; and Alured of Beverley, a monkish writer, and treasurer of St. John's Church, states that "The Conqueror destroyed men, women, and children, from York even to the western sea, except those who fled to the church of the glorious confessor, the most blessed John, Archbishop, at Beverley, as the only asylum." An indisputable proof of the desolation wrought on the lands appears in the Domesday Book, which in most places inYorkshire is described as waste or partially waste, and which is represented as of no value or of much less value than in King Edward's time; whilst in Beverley and the lands of St. John there is scarcely any waste mentioned, and the value is given as the same or nearly the same as in the reign of the Confessor. Under Bevreli we read, "Value in King Edward's time, to the Archbishop 24 pounds, to the Canons 20 pounds, the same as at present."
The King not only exempted the town and demesne from devastation, but became a notable benefactor thereto. He added to the possession of the church certain lands at Sigglesthorne, and granted the following confirmatory charter:—"William the King greets friendly all my Thanes in Yorkshire, French and English. Know ye that I have given St. John at Beverley sac and soc over all the lands which were given in King Edward's days to St. John's Minster, and also over the lands which Ealdred, the Archbishop, hath since obtained in my days, whether in this Thorp or in Campland. It shall all be free from me and all other men, excepting the Bishop and the Minster priests; and no man shall slay deer, nor violate what I have given to Christ and St.John. And I will that there shall be, for ever, monastic life and canonical congregation so long as any man liveth. God's blessing be with all Christian men who assist at this holy worship. Amen."
And from this time the town flourished greatly, and grew rapidly in population and wealth. As to the church, it became more than ever the resort of pilgrims, who left rich presents on the shrine of St. John. In the year 1188 the old Saxon church was destroyed by fire, which may be deemed a fortunate occurrence, as men were stimulated at this, the best period of Gothic architecture, to erect over the relics of St. John a structure worthy of his eminence and fame; and the outcome of this impulse was the uprising of the existing magnificent church, which is now the great architectural glory of the East Riding.
Dropcap-I
Inthe south aisle of the nave of Beverley Minster may be seen an uninscribed canopied altar tomb. It is a very fine specimen of the Early Decorated style, manifestly dating from the period of Edward II. or the earlier portion of the reign of his successor. It is covered with a massive slab of Purbeck marble, rising above which is an exquisitely proportioned pointed arch or canopy, with pinnacles and turrets, crocketted work and finials, all elaborately chiselled and carefully finished. History records not whose mortal remains are deposited in the tomb: there it stands like the Sphynx on the sands of Egypt, maintaining a mysterious silence as to its origin, "a thing of beauty," displaying its elegance of form and the charms of its sculptured features to all beholders; but seeming to say—"Admire the perfection of my symmetry if you will, but inquire not whose relics I enshrine, whether ofnoble or saint. Unlike my more gorgeous sister tomb, in the choir, near the altar, which blazons forth the glory of the Percys, I choose, with Christian humility, and recognising the fact that death renders all equal, and that in the sight of the Almighty Judge a Percy is no better for all his glories than the pauper—to draw a veil over the earthly greatness of the family to which I belong."
Although history is thus silent in respect to the origin of the tomb, tradition is less reticent, and from its oral records we learn, not perhaps all that can be desired, but a narrative that probably has a basis of truth.
About a mile westward of Beverley Westwood, on the road to York, lies the pretty picturesque village of Bishop Burton, with its church on an eminence commanding an extensive view of the Wold lands on one hand, and of the country sloping down to the Humber on the other. It is environed by groups of patriarchal trees, including a noble specimen of the witch elm on the village green, with a trunk forty-eight feet in circumference, and which is held in great veneration by the villagers; and in the valley below is a small lake, which doubtless supplied fish to the householdof the Archbishops of York when they had a palace here. It is a very ancient village, dating from the Celtic period, when it formed a burial place of the Druids and British chieftains. One of the numerous tumuli was opened in 1826. It was seventy yards in circumference, and was found to contain several skeletons of our remote forefathers of that race. From some tesselated pavements which have been discovered, it appears also to have been occupied afterwards by the Romans.
At the end of the seventh and beginning of the eighth century, the Lordship of South Burton, as it was then called, was held by Earl Puch, a Saxon noble. Its name was changed, after the Conquest, to Bishop Burton, from the circumstance that it belonged to the Archbishops of York, and their having a palace in the village, where Archbishop John le Romayne died in 1295. At this time South Burton formed a sort of oasis in a vast wilderness of forest, extending for miles in every direction, including the now open breezy upland of Beverley Westwood, then infested by wolves, through which ran trackways to Beverlega, where stood the recently founded church and monastery of St. John, northward ofwhich, at the foot of the Wolds, lay another extent of forest land, called Northwood, perpetuated to this day in the name of the street—Norwood. Earl Puch's mansion was an erection of timber, with few of the appliances of modern domestic life, with a large hall, wherein he dined with his family and guests at the upper end of a long table, and his retainers and domestics at the lower end. More in the interior were the Lady Puch's bower and other private and sleeping apartments of the family; with inferior rooms for the household servants, the swineherds, cowherds, huntsmen, and other outdoor menials sleeping in the outhouses, with the animals of which they had charge.
Earl Puch had built a church in the village, a very primitive specimen of architecture, consisting of nave and chancel, of timber and wattles, with round-headed doors and windows, and rude zigzag ornamentation. It had neither tower nor transept, lacked bells, and its pulpit, altar, and font were fashioned of rough-hewn wood. Yet was it sufficient for the wants of the age, and served the purpose of worship, the heart being rightly tuned, as the most gorgeous cathedral of after ages.
St. John had now resigned the Archbishopric of York, and had retired to his monastery at Beverlega, to spend the remnant of his life in prayer, devotional exercises, and the seclusion of the cloister. The Earl, a pious man, was on very friendly terms with the ex-Archbishop, and invited him to come and consecrate his church, just finished, to which John readily assented, and, despite his years and infirmities, on the appointed day took up his walking staff and went on foot through Westwood to South Burton, meditating by the way on his past life, on his ancestral home at Harpham-on-the-Wolds, his student's life under St. Hilda at the Abbey of Streoneshalh, his episcopal career at Hagulstadt, his experience on the Archiepiscopal Throne of York, and his retirement to the Abbey of Beverlega, acknowledging, with grateful thanksgiving, the Providential hand that had sustained him through his varied course of life. On the arrival of the ex-Prelate at South Burton, he found the family in great grief in consequence of the illness of the Lady Puch, who had been stricken down by a severe attack of fever, which threatened to terminate her life. She was an exceedingly devout woman, assiduous in her attention to theduties of religion, charitable to the poor, and a great blessing to the poor and destitute of the village. A great portion of her time was spent in the educational training of her two lovely daughters, now approaching womanhood, and who much resembled her in the piety of their lives. She had now lain in bed a month, suffering agonies of torment, and expecting every day would be her last. Her husband wished to postpone the consecration of the church in consequence of her critical condition, but she would not listen to it. "Why," said she, "should the poor people be deprived of the privilege of hearing the service of God performed in a consecrated edifice because I, a poor insignificant mortal like themselves, am labouring under this affliction? Let the consecration take place the same as if I were well and able to take part in the ceremony; the thought of what is taking place will be more beneficial to me than all the doctor's medicine that shall be given me;" and it was determined that the ceremony should be proceeded with as if there were no impediment in the way.
Brithunus, a disciple of St. John, and the first abbot of his monastery, had also come over to assist in the ceremony, and to him we areindebted for a narrative of the miracle which accompanied it, as well as of many another notable miracle performed by St. John, which he communicated to Bede, who interwove them into his Ecclesiastical History. The consecration was duly performed according to the Anglo-Saxon style, with singing, prayers, the sprinkling of holy water, and a proclamation from the Archbishop that the edifice was now rendered sacred, and become a temple of the Living God, concluding with a benediction. "Then," says Brithunus, "the Earl desired him to dine at his house, but the Bishop declined, saying he must return to the monastery. The Earl pressing him more earnestly, vowed he would give alms to the poor if the Bishop would break his fast that day in his house. I joined my entreaties to his, promising in like manner to give alms for the relief of the poor if he would go and dine at the Earl's house and give his blessing. Having at length, with great difficulty, prevailed, we went in to dine."
The banquet was served with the profusion and splendour of the time, consisting chiefly of boar's flesh, venison, fish, and birds, eaten from platters of wood, with an ample supply of wine,which was passed round in flagons of silver. In the course of the repast, the conversation was confined almost exclusively to two topics—the new church and the hopes that were entertained of its becoming a blessing to the neighbourhood, and the illness of the Earl's wife, with which the Bishop sympathised with much kindly feeling.
"Can nothing be done," inquired the Earl, "by means of the church to alleviate her sufferings, if not to restore her to health? The physicians are at their wit's end; they know nothing of the nature of the disease, and the remedies they give seem rather to aggravate than cure it. Peradventure the blessing of a holy man might have a beneficial effect."
"The issues of life and death," replied the Bishop, "are in the hands of God alone. Sometimes it is even impious to attempt to overrule His ordinations, which, although often inscrutable and productive of affliction and suffering, are intended for some ultimate good."
At this moment one of the lady's handmaidens entered the banqueting-room with a message from her mistress to the effect that her pains had materially lessened since the consecration had taken place, and that she desired a draught of theholy water that had been used, feeling an inward conviction that it, accompanied by the Bishop's blessing, would be of great service. "The Bishop then," continues Brithunus, "sent to the woman that lay sick some of the holy water which he had blessed for the consecration of the church, by one of the brothers that went along with me, ordering him to give her some to drink, and wash the place where her greatest pain was with some of the same. This being done, the woman immediately got up in health, and perceiving that she had not only been delivered from her tedious distemper, but at the same time recovered the strength which she had lost, she presented the cup to the Bishop and me, and continued serving us with drink, as she had begun, till dinner was over, following the example of Peter's mother-in-law, who, having been sick of a fever, arose at the touch of our Lord, and having at once received health and strength, ministered to them."
The two young daughters of the Earl, on witnessing the miraculous restoration to health of their beloved mother, had retired together to their chamber to offer up their heartfelt thanksgivings to God for her recovery, and beforethe Bishop's departure came down to the banqueting-hall and received his blessing. They were exceedingly lovely both in form and feature, and when they entered the hall, with modest downcast eyes, it seemed to those present as if two angelic beings from the celestial sphere had deigned to visit them. "Come hither, my children," said their mother, "and thank the good Bishop for interceding with heaven on my behalf, and who has thus been instrumental in delivering me from the terrible disease under which I have been labouring for so long a period." In response, the young maidens went to the Bishop, and kneeling at his feet, expressed their gratitude to him for what he had done, and implored his blessing. Placing his hands on their heads, he said, "My dear daughters in Christ, attribute not to me, a sinful mortal, that which is due alone to our Merciful Father in Heaven, who has seen fit first to afflict your mother with grievous trials for some wise purpose, and then suddenly to restore her to health, that her soul may be purified so as to enable her to pass through this lower world, untainted by the grosser sins, but, like all fallible mortals, to be still open to lesser temptations, that in the end she may be rendered meetto enter that higher sphere of existence which is reserved for those who live holy lives here below. May God bless you, my dear daughters, tread in the footsteps of your saintly mother, that you also may be made meet for the same inheritance of light." So saying, the Bishop took up his staff, and bidding farewell to the Earl and his family, wended his way, accompanied by Brithunus and the monks, through Westwood to his home at Beverlega.
From this time the two young ladies continued to grow in stature and loveliness of person, as well as in fervent piety and the grace of God. They had sprung up into young womanhood, and many were the suitors for their hands who came fluttering about South Burton, knowing well that, as the Earl had no son, nor was likely to have one, they must, if they survived him, become his co-heiresses. But they refused to listen to the flatteries and protestations of everlasting love of these young fellows, not so much because they saw through the hollowness and feigned nature of their professions of love, but because they had determined to live lives of celibacy, devoted solely to the service of God. St. John made repeated visits to South Burton,and nothing afforded them greater spiritual comfort and holy pleasure than lengthened converse with him on the things that pertain to everlasting life. But a couple of years after the consecration of the church he passed away to his rest and reward, "with his memory overshadowed by the benedictions of mankind," and was buried in the portico of the church of Beverlega, which he had founded.
A few years after this the two maidens, with the full consent of their parents, entered the convent of St. John, at Beverlega, to spend the remainder of their lives in the holy seclusion of the cloister. The Earl was an extensive landed proprietor, with possessions in and about South Burton, and others on the banks of the Hull, near Grovehill, a landing-place of the Romans, and now a suburb of Beverley, with some extensive manufacturing works. When his daughters entered the convent he bestowed upon it the manor of Walkington, lying southward of South Burton and abutting on Beverley Westwood. At the same time he made a grant to the people of Beverlega of a tract of swampy land on the banks of the Hull, to serve as a common pasturage for their cattle. This tract of land,now called Swinemoor, is still held by the burgesses of Beverley, forming one of the four valuable pastures, containing, in the aggregate, nearly 1,200 acres, the property of the freemen of the borough.
There are reasons for believing that a Christian Church existed on the shores of the Beaver Lake, in the wood of Deira, the site of the modern Beverley, in the time of the Ancient British Apostolic Christianity, which had formerly been the scene of the Druidical religion, which was destroyed by the pagan Saxons, and re-edified by St. John the Archbishop. In one of his progresses through his diocese, he came to this clearing in the wood of Deira, with its sacred beaver-lake, formerly called Llyn yr Avanc, now Inder-a-wood, and was struck by its sylvan beauty and its quiet seclusion. He found there a very small wooden church, thatched with reeds, which he determined to restore and enlarge, and founded, in connection with it, a religious house for both sexes—a monastery for men and a nunnery for women. He added to it a choir, and appointed seven priests to officiate at the altar; built the monastery, and endowed it with lands for its support. Hither he retired when enfeebled byage, and here he was buried in the porch of his church in the year 721.
It was to this nunnery that the Sisters Agnes and Agatha went, and after a period of probation, were despoiled of their hair, and assumed the veil of the sisterhood. The religious houses of the Saxons were not the luxurious abodes that they became in after years. The life led there was one of ascetic severity, with bare walls, hard pallets, scanty food of the simplest description, a continuous series of prayers and religious exercises, accompanied by frequent fastings, penances, and fleshly mortification, to all which the two sisters submitted with cheerfulness, as conducive to the spiritual health of their souls. They were never found sleeping when the summons for divine service was sounded forth, and they were ever willing to perform the most menial duties as tending to keep within them a spirit of Christian humility. Their profound piety and rigorous attention to disciplinary matters excited the admiration of the Mother Superior, but never would they lend ear to praises from her lips, lest it should engender spiritual pride, the aim of their lives being to rank as the lowest servants of the servants ofChrist. And thus the years passed along in one monotonous but ever-blessed sameness, ever dwelling within the walls and precincts of the nunnery, save on two occasions, when they went to South Burton to attend the funerals of their parents.
It was the eve of the Nativity, a bright starlight night, as that over Bethlehem when the three wise men of the East came thither guided by the wandering star. The nuns were assembled in their chapel for an early service, amongst whom were the two sisters apparently absorbed in divine meditation. The nuns then retired for their evening refection and silent contemplation in their cells until midnight, when the bell summoned them again to the chapel for midnight Mass, which was to usher in the holy day. At this service there was a strange and unwonted omission; the two sisters were absent. "Where are the Sisters Agnes and Agatha?" inquired the Abbess; "surely something has befallen them, else they would not be absent, especially on such an occasion as this. Go and search diligently for them." Every corner of the building and the grounds outside were searched, but in vain; not a vestige of them could be found; and at length,as the hour of midnight was close at hand, the Mass was proceeded with. The following day, that of the Nativity, was devoted to the usual festal, religious duties; but a heaviness of heart pervaded the assembly, as the sisters had not re-appeared, and no tidings of them could be heard.
Days, weeks, and months passed away, and no clue to their mysterious disappearance presented itself until the eve of St. John, their patron saint. The vespers had been sung, with special reference to the coming day, and the nuns had gone out to breathe the air of the summer evening, whilst the Abbess, taking the key of the tower, unlocked the door and went up the stone stairs to the top, a place not much frequented, where she thought to offer up her prayers beneath the open dome of heaven, without any intervening walls. She had just placed her foot on the topmost stair when she was startled at beholding the two sisters lying locked in each other's arms and with upward turned eyes. At the first glance she supposed them to be dead, but a moment after was undeceived by their rising, and saying, "Mother, dear! it will soon be time for the midnight Mass; but how is this? We lay down anhour ago, under the sky of a winter night, but now we have awakened under the setting sun of a summer eve."
"An hour ago! my children," replied the Abbess, "it is now months since you disappeared on the eve of the Nativity, and months since the midnight Mass of the birth of our Saviour was sung. Can it be you have been sleeping here all through the interval?"
"Mother, dear," they replied, after some further questionings and explanations, "we have not been sleeping, we have been transported to heaven, and have seen sights inconceivable to the human eye, and heard music such as has never been listened to in this lower world. The heaven that we have visited is no mere localised spot, but extends throughout infinite space. It possesses no land or water; no mountains and valleys; no rivers, or lakes, or trees, or material objects of any kind; but has picturesque scenery, impalpable and cloudlike, of the most ravishing beauty. It is peopled by myriads of angelic beings and beatified mortals, unsubstantial and etherealised, all of exquisitely symmetrical figures, and with gloriously radiant features, beaming with happiness and smiling with serenity. Unlike the popularopinion, it is not a place of idle lounging and repose, but of intense activity, all being engaged in employments which afford an intensity of pleasurable emotions. The Almighty Father and Creator of all this realm of beauty and of all these glorified creatures it was not possible for us to see with our mortal eyes, but we were perfectly cognisant of His influence and presence everywhere throughout the infinitude of space. But oh! the music! here, on earth, it is termed divine, but our sweetest melodies are but a jarring discord of sounds compared with that of heaven; mortal ear cannot form the faintest conception of its sublime grandeur and unutterable loveliness."
Thus spake they to the astonished Abbess, who at once recognised the fact of their miraculous transportation to the realms of light for a temporary sojourn there, that on their return to earth they might be the means of comforting and encouraging those who by holy lives of asceticism, self-denial, and prayer, were wending their way thitherwards; and she conducted them down to their sister nuns, to whom again they had to narrate the visions that had been vouchsafed to them.