January 2.

—————— The night comes calmly forth,Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even:The golden wain rolls round the silent north,And earth is slumbering ’neath the smiles of heaven.Bowring.

—————— The night comes calmly forth,Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even:The golden wain rolls round the silent north,And earth is slumbering ’neath the smiles of heaven.

Bowring.

St. Macarius;St. Concordius;St. Adalard or Alard.

St. Macarius.A. D.394. Alban Butler says he was a confectioner of Alexandria, who, in the flower of his age, spent upwards of sixty years in the deserts in labour, penance, and contemplation. “Our saint,” says Butler, “happened one day inadvertently to kill a gnat, that was biting him in his cell; reflecting that he had lost the opportunity of suffering that mortification, he hastened from his cell for the marshes of Scetè, which abound with great flies, whose stings pierce even wild boars. There he continued six months, exposed to those ravaging insects; and to such a degree was his whole body disfigured by them, with sores and swellings, that when he returned he was only to be known by his voice.” The Golden Legend relates of him, that he took a dead pagan out of his sepulchre, and put him under his head for a pillow; whereupon certain devils came to affright the saint, and called the dead pagan to go with them; but the body under the saint said he could not, because a pilgrim lay upon him, so that he could not move; then Macarius, nothing afraid, beat the body with his fist, and told him to go if he would, which caused the devils to declare that Macarius had vanquished them. Another time the devil came with a great scythe on his shoulder, to smite the saint, but he could not prevail against him, on account of his virtues. Macarius, at another time, being tempted, filled a sack with stones, and bore it many journies through the desert. Seeing a devil before him in the shape of a man, dressed like “a herawde,” with his clothing full of holes, and in every hole a phial, he demanded of this devil whither he went; and why he had so many phials? the devil answered, to give drink to the hermits; and that the phials contained a variety of liquors, that they might have a choice, and so fall into temptation. On the devil’s return, the saint inquired how he had sped; and the devil answered very evil, for they were so holy that only one Theodistus would drink: on this information Macarius found Theodistus under the influences of the phial, and recovered him. Macarius found the head of a pagan, and asked where the soul of its body was: in hell, said the head: he asked the head if hell was deep;—the head said deeper than from heaven to earth: he demanded again, if there were any there lower than his own soul—the head said the Jews were lower than he was: the saint inquired if there were any lower than the Jews—the head answered, the false Christian-men were lower than the Jews, and more tormented: there the dialogue between the saint and the head appears to have ended. Macarius seems, by the Golden Legend, to have been much annoyed by the devil. In a nine days’ journey through a desert, at the end of every mile he set up a reed in the earth, to mark his track against he returned; but the devil pulled them all up, made a bundle of them, and placed them at Macarius’s head, while he lay asleep, so that the saint with great difficulty found his way home again.

St. Adalard, according to Butler, was grandson of Charles Martel, brother to king Pepin, and cousin-german to Charlemagne, who created him a count: he left his court in 773, became a monk at Corbie in Picardy, died in 827, aged seventy-three, and wrought miracles, which procured his body to be enshrined with great pomp in 1010, a history of which solemnity is written by St. Gerard, who composed an office in St. Adalard’s honour, becausethrough his intercession he had been cured of a violent head-ache.—The same St. Gerard relates seven other miracles by St. Adalard of the same nature. Butler says, his relics are still at Corbie, in a rich shrine, and two smaller cases, except a small portion given to the abbey of Chelles.

The first Monday after new year’s day is called Handsel Monday in some parts of Scotland, and is observed by merry-making. In sir J. Sinclair’s “Statistical Account,” it is related of one William Hunter, a collier, that he was cured in the year 1758 of an inveterate rheumatism or gout, by drinking freely of new ale, full of barm or yeast. “The poor man had been confined to his bed for a year and a half, having almost entirely lost the use of his limbs. On the evening of Handsel Monday, as it is called, some of his neighbours cameto make merrywith him. Though he could not rise, yet he always took his share of the ale, as it passed round the company; and, in the end, became much intoxicated. The consequence was, that he had the use of his limbs the next morning, and was able to walk about. He lived more than twenty years after this, and never had the smallest return of his old complaint.” This is a fact worth remembering, as connected with chronical complaints.

On the 2d of January,A. D.17, Ovid the celebrated Roman poet died; he was born at Sulmo on the 20th of March, forty-three years before the Christian era. His father designed him for the bar, and he became eminently eloquent, but every thing he wrote was expressed in poetical numbers; and though reminded by his father, that even Homer lived and died in poverty, he preferred the pleasures of imagination to forensic disputation. He gained great admiration from the learned. Virgil, Horace, Tibullus, and Propertius, were his friends, and Augustus became his liberal patron, till he banished him for some unknown cause. In his exile he was cowardly, and prostituted his pen to flatter baseness; and though he desired the death of the emperor, he fawned upon him in his writings to meanness. He died at Tomos on the Euxine sea, the place of his banishment, under the reign of Tiberius, who had succeeded Augustus, and was deaf to the poet’s entreaties for permission to return to Rome. Whatever subject Ovid wrote on, he exhausted; he painted nature with a masterly hand, and his genius imparted elegance to vulgarity; but he defiled the sweetness of his numbers by impurity, and though he ranks among the splendid ornaments of ancient literature, he sullied his fame by the grossest immorality in some of his finest productions.

Livy, the Roman historian, died at Padua on the same day and in the same year with Ovid. His history of the Roman Empire was in one hundred and forty books, of which only thirty-five are extant. Five of these were discovered at Worms in 1431, and some fragments are said to have been lately discovered at Herculanæum. Few particulars of his life are known, but his fame was great even while he lived, and his history has rendered him immortal. He wrote some philosophical treatises and dialogues, with a letter to his son on the merit of authors, which Dr. Lempriere says, ought to be read by young men.

In the Literary Pocket Book there are someseasonablefacts which may be transplanted with advantage to the reader, and, it is hoped, without disadvantage to the writer of the articles. He says that a man is infinitely mistaken, who thinks there is nothing worth seeing in winter-time out of doors, because the sun is not warm, and the streets are muddy. “Let him get, by dint of good exercise, out of the streets, and he shall find enough. In the warm neighbourhood of towns he may still watch the field-fares, thrushes, and blackbirds; the titmouse seeking its food through the straw-thatch; the red-wings, field-fares, sky-larks, and tit-larks, upon the same errand, over wet meadows; the sparrows and yellow-hammers, and chaffinches, still beautiful though mute, gleaning from the straw and chaff in farmyards; and the ring-dove, always poetical, coming for her meal to the ivy-berries. About rapid streams he may see the various habits and movements of herons, wood-cocks, wild-ducks, and other water-fowl, who are obliged to quit the frozen marshes to seek their food there. The red-breast comes to the windows, and often into the house itself, to be rewarded for its song, and for its far-famed ‘painful’ obsequies to the Children in the Wood.”

St. Genevieve.St. Anterus, Pope.St. Gordius.St. Peter Balsam.

Alban Butler affirms that she was born in 422, at Nanterre, four miles from Paris, near the present Calvary there, and that she died a virgin on this day in 512, and was buried in 545, near the steps of the high altar in a magnificent church, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, began by Clovis, where he also was interred. Her relics were afterwards taken up and put into a costly shrine about 630. Of course they worked miracles. Her shrine of gold and silver, covered with precious stones, the presents of kings and queens, and with a cluster of diamonds on the top, presented by the intriguing Mary de Medicis, is, on calamitous occasions, carried about Paris in procession, accompanied by shrines equally miraculous, and by the canons of St. Genevieve walking bare-foot.

Themiraclesof St. Genevieve, as related in the Golden Legend, were equally numerous and equally credible. It relates that when she was a child, St. Germaine said to her mother, “Know ye for certain that on the day of Genevieve’s nativity the angels sung with joy and gladness,” and looking on the ground he saw a penny signed with the cross, which came there by the will of God; he took it up, and gave it to Genevieve, requiring her to bear in mind that she was the spouse of Christ. She promised him accordingly, and often went to the minster, that she might be worthy of her espousals. “Then,” says the Legend, “the mother was angry, and smote her on the cheek—God avenged the child, so that the mother became blind,” and so remained for one and twenty months, when Genevieve fetched her some holy water, signed her with the sign of the cross, washed her eyes, and she recovered her sight. It further relates, that by the Holy Ghost she showed many people their secret thoughts, and that from fifteen years to fifty she fasted every day except Sunday and Thursday, when she ate beans, and barley-bread of three weeks old. Desiring to build a church, and dedicate it to St. Denis and other martyrs, she required materials of the priests for that purpose. “Dame,” answered the priests, “we would; but we can get no chalk nor lime.” She desired them to go to the bridge of Paris and bring what they found there. They did so till two swineherds came by, one of whom said to the other, “I went yesterday after one of my sows and found a bed of lime;” the other replied that he had also found one under the root of a tree that the wind had blown down. St. Genevieve’s priests of course inquired where these discoveries were made, and bearing the tidings to Genevieve the church of St. Denis was began. During its progress the workmen wanted drink, whereupon Genevieve called for a vessel, prayed over it, signed it with the cross, and the vessel was immediately filled; “so,” says the Legend, “the workmen drank their belly full,” and the vessel continued to be supplied in the same way with “drink” for the workmen till the church was finished. At another time a woman stole St. Genevieve’s shoes, but as soon as she got home lost her sight for the theft, and remained blind, till, having restored the shoes, St. Genevieve restored the woman’s sight. Desiring the liberation of certain prisoners condemned to death at Paris, she went thither and found the city gates were shut against her, but they opened without any other key than her own presence. She prayed over twelve men in that city possessed with devils, till the men were suspended in the air, and the devils were expelled. A child of four years old fell in a pit and was killed. St. Genevieve only covered her with her mantle and prayed over her, and the child came to life and was baptized at Easter. On a voyage to Spain she arrived at a port “where, as of custom, ships were wont to perish.” Her own vessel was likely to strike on a tree in the water, which seems to have caused the wrecks; she commanded the tree to be cut down, and began to pray; when lo, just as the tree began to fall, “two wild heads, grey and horrible, issued thereout, which stank so sore, that the people that were there were envenomed by the space of two hours, and never after perished ship there; thanks be to God and this holy saint.”

At Meaux, a master not forgiving his servant his faults though St. Genevieve prayed him, she prayed against him. He was immediately seized with a hot ague; “on the morrow he came to the holy virgin, running with open mouth like a German bear, his tongue hanging out like a boar, and requiring pardon.” She then blessed him, the fever left him, andthe servant was pardoned. A girl going by with a bottle, St. Genevieve called to her, and asked what she carried, she answered oil, which she had bought; but St. Genevieve seeing the devil sitting on the bottle, blew upon it, and the bottle broke, but the saint blessed the oil, and caused her to bear it home safely notwithstanding. The Golden Legend says, that the people who saw this, marvelled that the saint could see the devil, and were greatly edified.

It was to be expected that a saint of such miraculous powers in her lifetime should possess them after her death, and accordingly the reputation of her relics is very high.

Several stories of St. Genevieve’s miraculous faculties, represent them as very convenient in vexatious cases of ordinary occurrence; one of these will serve as a specimen. On a dark wet night she was going to church with her maidens, with a candle borne before her, which the wind and rain put out; the saint merely called for the candle, and as soon as she took it in her hand it was lighted again, “without any fire of this world.”

Other stories of her lighting candles in this way, call to mind a candle, greatly venerated by E. Worsley in a “Discourse of Miracles wrought in the Roman Catholic Church, or, a full Refutation of Dr. Stillingfleet’s unjust Exceptions against Miracles,” octavo, 1676. At p. 64, he says, “that themiraculous wax candle, yet seen at Arras, the chief city of Artois, may give the reader entertainment, being most certain,and never doubted of by any. In 1105, that is, much above 569 years ago, (of so great antiquity the candle is,) a merciless plague reigned in Arras. The whole city, ever devout to the Mother of God, experienced her, in this their necessity, to be a true mother of mercy: the manner was thus. The Virgin Mary appeared to two men, and enjoined them to tell the bishop of Arras, that on the next Saturday towards morning she would appear in the great church, and put into his hands a wax candle burning; from whence drops of wax should fall into a vessel of water prepared by the bishop. She said, moreover, that all the diseased that drank of this water, should forthwith be cured.This truly promised, truly happened.Our blessed Lady appeared all beautiful, having in her hands a wax candle burning, which diffused light over the whole church; this she presented to the bishop; he, blessing it with the sign of the cross, set it in the urn of water; when drops of wax plentifully fell down into the vessel. The diseased drank of it, all were cured, the contagion ceased, and the candle to this day preserved with great veneration, spends itself, yet loses nothing; and therefore remains still of the same length and greatness it did 500 years ago. A vast quantity of wax, made up of the many drops which fall into the water upon those festival days, when the candle burns, may be justly called a standing, indeficient miracle.”

This candle story, though gravely related by a catholic writer, as “not doubted of by any,” and as therefore not to be doubted, miraculously failed in convincing the protestant Stillingfleet, that “miracles wrought in the Roman catholic church,” ought to be believed.

1639. A manuscript entitled “Commentaries of the Civil Wars, from 1638 to 1648,” written by Sir Henry Slingsby, bart., a royalist, intimates the struggle, then approaching, between Charles I. and the nation. He says, “The 3d of January, 1639, I went to Bramham-house, out of curiosity, to see the training of the light-horse, for which service I had sent two horses, by commandment of the lieutenant and sir Joseph Ashley, who is lately come down, with special commission from the king to train and exercise them. These are strange spectacles to this nation in this age, that has lived thus long peaceably, without noise of drum or of shot, and after we have stood neuter, and in peace, when all the world besides hath been in arms.” The “training” was preparatory to the war with the Scots, the resistance of the commons in parliament, and its levies of troops to oppose the royal will.

“The armourers ————With busy hammers closing rivets upGave dreadful note of preparation.”

The conflict ended in the death of Charles on the scaffold, the interregnum, the restoration, and the final expulsion of the Stuart race.

St. Titus, disciple of St. Paul.St. Gregory, bishop of Langres.St. RigobertorRobert.St. Rumon.

Alban Butler informs us, from William of Malmsbury, that he was a bishop, though of what nation or see is unknown, and that his name is in the English martyrology. Cressy says, that his body was buried at Tavistock, where, about 960, Ordgar, count of Devonshire, father to Elfrida, the second wife of king Edgar, built a monastery “very agreeable and pleasant, by reason of the great variety of woods, pastures, and rivers abounding with fish.” St. Rumon consecrated the church. About thirty years afterwards, the monastery was destroyed and burnt by the Danes. It is memorable, that Edulf, a son of Ordgar, buried in that monastery, was a man of gigantic stature, and of such wonderful strength, that going to Exeter, and finding the gates shut and barred, he broke the outer iron bars with his hands, burst open the gates with his foot, tore the locks and bolts asunder, and broke down part of the wall.

1568. On the 4th of January Roger Ascham died, and was buried at St. Sepulchre’s church, London. He was born in Yorkshire about 1515, and is celebrated for his learning, for having been tutor and Latin secretary to queen Elizabeth, and for having written “the Scholemaster.” This work originated from mention having been made at dinner that some Eton scholars “had run away from school for fear of beating.” Ascham expressed his opinion that “young children were sooner allured by love, than driven by beating, to attain good learning.” He then retired up stairs “to read with the queen’s majesty: we read then together that noble oration of Demosthenes against Æschines, for his false dealing in his embassy to king Philip of Macedon; sir Richard Sackville came up soon after.” Sackville took Ascham aside, “A fond (silly) schoolmaster,” said sir Richard, “before I was fully fourteen years old, drove me so, with fear of beating, from all love of learning, as now, when I know what difference it is to have learning, and to have little, or none at all, I feel it my greatest grief, and find it my greatest hurt, that ever came to me, that it was so my ill chance, to light upon so lewd (ignorant) a schoolmaster.” The whole conversation was very interesting, and so impressed Ascham with its importance, that he says, he “thought to prepare some little treatise for a new-year’s gift that Christmas,” but it grew beneath his hands and became his “Scholemaster, showing a plain and perfect way of teaching the learned languages.” The best edition of this work, which Ascham did not live to publish, is that edited by the Rev. James Upton, 1743, octavo. The book was first printed by Ascham’s widow, whom with her children he left in distress. It was eminently serviceable to the advancement of teachers and pupils, at a period when it was the fashion to flog. Its most remarkable feature is the frowning down of this brutal practice, which, to the disgrace of our own times, is still heard of in certain seminaries, both public and private. The good old man says, “Beat a child if he dance not well, and cherish him though he learn not well, ye shall have him unwilling to go to dance, and glad to go to his book: knock him always when he draweth his shaft ill, and favour him again though he fault at his book, ye shall have him very loth to be in the field, and very willing to go to school.” He observes, “If ever the nature of man be given at any time, more than another, to receive goodness, it is in innocency of young years before that experience of evil have taken root in him. For the pure, clean wit of a sweet young babe, is like the newest wax, most able to receive the best and fairest printing; and like a new bright silver dish never occupied, to receive and keep clean any good thing that is put into it. Therefore, to love or to hate, to like or contemn, to ply this way or that way, to good or to bad, ye shall have as ye use a child in his youth.” He exemplifies this by a delightful anecdote of the young, beautiful, and accomplished lady Jane Grey, who shortly afterwards perished by the axe of the executioner. Ascham, before he went into Germany, visited Broadgate in Leicestershire, to take leave of her. “Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all the household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I foundher,” says Ascham, “in her chamber, reading Phædo Platonis in Greek, and that with as much delight, as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in Boccace. After salutation, and duty done, with some other talk, I asked her, why she would lose such pastimein the park? Smiling, she answered me:

“‘I wist, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas! good-folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant.’

“‘And how came you, madam,’ quoth I, ‘to this deep knowledge of pleasure? And what did chiefly allure you unto it, seeing not many women, but very few men, have attained thereunto?’

“‘I will tell you,’ quoth she, ‘and tell you a truth, which perchance you will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever God gave me, is, that he sent me so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry, or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing any thing else, I must do it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly, as God made the world; or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea presently sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs, and other ways (which I will not name for the honour I bear them) so without measure misordered, that I think myself in hell, till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning, that I think all the time nothing, while I am with him: and when I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because whatsoever I do else, but learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me: and thus my book hath been so much my pleasure and bringeth daily to me more pleasure and more, that in respect of it, all other pleasures in very deed, be but trifles and troubles unto me.’”

Surely this innocent creature’s confession, that she was won to the love of learning and her teacher by his gentleness, and the disclosure of her affliction under the severe discipline of her parents, are positive testimony to the fact, that our children are to be governed and taught by the law of kindness: nor let it detract from the force of the remark, that in connection with her artless feelings and blameless deportment, if her hard fate call forth a versified effusion.

INSCRIBED BENEATH A PORTRAIT OF LADY JANE GREY.Original.Young, beautiful, and learned Jane, intentOn knowledge, found it peace; her vast acquirementOf goodness was her fall; she was contentWith dulcet pleasures, such as calm retirementYields to the wise alone;—her only viceWas virtue: in obedience to her sireAnd lord she died, with them, a sacrificeTo their ambition: her own mild desireWas rather to be happy than be great;For though at their request she claimed the crown,That they, through her, might rise to rule the state,Yet, the bright diadem, and gorgeous throne,She view’d as cares, dimming the dignityOf her unsullied mind, and pure benignity.*

INSCRIBED BENEATH A PORTRAIT OF LADY JANE GREY.Original.

Young, beautiful, and learned Jane, intentOn knowledge, found it peace; her vast acquirementOf goodness was her fall; she was contentWith dulcet pleasures, such as calm retirementYields to the wise alone;—her only viceWas virtue: in obedience to her sireAnd lord she died, with them, a sacrificeTo their ambition: her own mild desireWas rather to be happy than be great;For though at their request she claimed the crown,That they, through her, might rise to rule the state,Yet, the bright diadem, and gorgeous throne,She view’d as cares, dimming the dignityOf her unsullied mind, and pure benignity.

Young, beautiful, and learned Jane, intentOn knowledge, found it peace; her vast acquirementOf goodness was her fall; she was contentWith dulcet pleasures, such as calm retirement

Yields to the wise alone;—her only viceWas virtue: in obedience to her sireAnd lord she died, with them, a sacrificeTo their ambition: her own mild desire

Was rather to be happy than be great;For though at their request she claimed the crown,That they, through her, might rise to rule the state,Yet, the bright diadem, and gorgeous throne,

She view’d as cares, dimming the dignityOf her unsullied mind, and pure benignity.

1815. On the 4th of January, died Alexander Macdonald, Esq., who is no other way remarkable, than for a chivalrous devotion to the family of Stuart. He raised a monument in the vale of Glenfinnyn, at the head of Lochshiel, in the county of Inverness, with a Latin, Gaelic, and English inscription, to commemorate the last open efforts of that family, for the recovery of a crown they had forfeited by innumerable breaches of the laws, and whose aggressions on life and property being suffered, till

“Non-resistancecould no further go,”

they were excluded from the throne of the people, by the aristocracy and commonalty of England in parliament assembled. As evidence of the spirit that dictated such a memorial, and of the proper feeling which permits that spirit to be expressed, in spite of its hostility to the principles that deposited and continued the diadem of the commonwealth in the custody of the house of Hanover, the inscription on the monument is placed in the next column. It stands in English in these words:

On the spot wherePRINCE CHARLES EDWARDFirst raised his Standard,On the 19th day of August, MDCCXLV,When he made the daring and romantic attemptTo recover a Throne lost by the imprudence of hisAncestors,This Column was erected byALEXANDER MACDONALD, Esq., ofGlenaladale,To commemorate the generous zeal,Undaunted bravery, and the inviolable fidelity,Of his forefathers, and the rest of thoseWho fought and bled in thatArduous and unfortunate enterprise.This Pillar is now,Alas!Also become the MonumentOf its amiable and accomplished Founder,Who,Before it was finished,Died in Edinburgh on the 4th day of January,MDCCCXV.

The “right line” of the Stuart race terminated in the late cardinal York. He was the second son of “the Pretender,” and was born at Rome on the 26th of March 1725; where he was baptized by the name of Henry Benedict Maria Clemens: he died there in 1807, in the 83d year of his age. In 1745 he went to France to head an army of fifteen thousand men, assembled at Dunkirk for the invasion of England. The battle of Culloden settled “the arduous and unfortunate enterprise,” which the “amiable and accomplished founder” of the monument commemorates, and not a single transport left Dunkirk roads. As soon as Henry Benedict heard of the affair at Culloden, he returned to Rome, entered into priest’s orders, and in 1747 was made a cardinal by pope Benedict XIV. It was taunted by a former pope upon James II. that he “lost his kingdom for a mass;” and it is certain that Henry Benedict was better qualified to take a red-hat and pull on and off red stockings, than to attempt the conquest of a free protestant nation.

After the expulsion of pope Pius VI. from “the chair of St. Peter,” by the French, he fled from his splendid residences at Rome and Frascati to Venice, infirm in health, distressed in circumstances, and at the age of seventy-five. He subsisted for awhile on the produce of some silver plate, which he had saved from the ruin of his property. By the friendly interference of sir John Cox Hippisley, the cardinal’s situation was made known to his late majesty, and lord Minto had orders to remit him a present of 2000l., which he received in February 1800, with an intimation that he might draw for the same amount in the July following; and sir J. C. Hippisley communicated to him, that an annuity of 4000l.would be at his service, so long as his circumstances might require it. This liberality was received and acknowledged by the cardinal in terms of gratitude, and made a considerable impression on the reigning pope and his court. These facts are extracted from the Gentleman’s Magazine, (vols. 74 and 77,) which also observes, that “from the time he devoted himself to ecclesiastical functions he seemed to have laid aside all worldly views, till his father’s death in 1788, when he had medals struck, bearing on their face his head, with ‘Henricus nonus Angliæ Rex;’ on the reverse, a city, with ‘Gratia Dei, sed non Voluntate Hominum:’ if we are not misinformed, our sovereign has one of these medals.” From one in the possession of the compiler of this work, he is enabled to present an engraving of it to his readers.

HENRY IX. KING OF ENGLAND.

ST. SIMEON STYLITES, HERMIT OF THE PILLAR

St. Simeon Stylites.St. Telesphorus.St. Syncletia.

Alban Butler declares, that St. Simeon astonished the whole Roman empire by his mortifications. In the monastery of Heliodorus, a man sixty-five years of age, who had spent sixty-two years so abstracted from the world, that he was ignorant of the most obvious things in it; the monks ate but once a day: Simeon joined the community, and ate but once aweek. Heliodorus required Simeon to be more private in his mortifications; “with this view,” says Butler, “judging the rough rope of the well, made of twisted palm-tree leaves, a proper instrument of penance, Simeon tied it close about his naked body, where it remained unknown both to the community and his superior, till such time as it having ate into his flesh, what he had privately done was discovered by the effluvia proceeding from the wound.” Butler says, that it took three days to disengage the saint’s clothes, and that “the incisions of the physician, to cut the cord out of his body, were attended with such anguish and pain, that he lay for some time as dead.” After this he determined to pass the whole forty days of Lent in total abstinence, and retired to a hermitage for that purpose. Bassus, an abbot, left with him ten loaves and water, and coming to visit him at the end of the forty days, found both loaves and water untouched, and the saint stretched on the ground without signs of life. Bassus dipped a sponge in water, moistened his lips, gave him the eucharist, and Simeon by degrees swallowed a few lettuce leaves and other herbs. He passed twenty-six Lents in the same manner. In the first part of a Lent he prayed standing; growing weaker he prayed sitting; and towards the end, being almost exhausted, he prayed lying on the ground. At the end of three years he left his hermitage for the top of a mountain, made an enclosure of loose stones, without a roof, and having resolved to live exposed to the inclemencies of the weather, he fixed his resolution by fastening his right leg to a rock with a great iron chain. Multitudes thronged to the mountain to receive his benediction, and many of the sick recovered their health; but as some were not satisfied unless they touched him in his enclosure, and Simeon desired retirement from the daily concourse, he projected a new and unprecedented manner of life. He erected a pillar six cubits high, (each cubit being eighteen inches,) and dwelt on it four years; on a second of twelve cubits high he lived three years; on a third of twenty-two cubits high ten years; and on a fourth of forty cubits, or sixty feet high, which the people built for him, he spent the last twenty years of his life. This occasioned him to be calledstylites, from the Greek wordstylos, a pillar. This pillar did not exceed three feet in diameter at the top, so that he could not lie extended on it: he had no seat with him; he only stooped or leaned to take a little rest, and bowed his body in prayer so often, that a certain person who counted these positions, found that he made one thousand two hundred and forty-four reverences in one day, which if he began at four o’clock in the morning and finished at eight o’clock at night, gives a bow to every three-quarters of a minute; besides which he exhorted the people twice a day. His garments were the skins of beasts, he wore an iron collar round his neck, and had a horrible ulcer in his foot. During his forty days’ abstinence throughout Lent, he tied himself to a pole. He treated himself as the outcast of the world and the worst of sinners, worked miracles, delivered prophecies, had the sacrament delivered to him on the pillar, and died bowing upon it, in the sixty-ninth of his age, after having lived upon pillars for six and thirty years. His corpse was carried to Antioch attended by the bishops and the whole country, and worked miracles on its way. So far this account is from Alban Butler.

Without mentioning circumstances and miracles in the Golden Legend, which are too numerous, and some not fit to be related, it may be observed that it is there affirmed of him, that after his residence on the pillars, one of his thighs rotted a whole year, during which time he stood on one leg only. Near Simeon’s pillar was the dwelling of a dragon, so very venomous, that nothing grew near his cave. This dragon met with an accident; he had a stake in his eye, and coming all blind to the saint’s pillar, and placing his eye upon it for three days without doing harm to any one, Simeon ordered earth and water to be placed on the dragon’s eye, which being done, out came the stake, a cubit in length; when the people saw this miracle, they glorified God, and ran away for fear of the dragon, who arose and adored for two hours, and returned to his cave. A woman swallowed a little serpent, which tormented her for many years, till she came to Simeon, who causing earth and water to be laid on her mouth, the little serpent came out four feet and a half long. It is affirmed by the Golden Legend, that when Simeon died, Anthony smelt a precious odour proceeding from his body; that the birds cried so much, that both men and beasts cried; that an angel came down in a cloud thatthe patriarch of Antioch taking Simeon’s beard to put among his relics, his hand withered, and remained so till multitudes of prayers were said for him, and it was healed: and that more miracles were worked at and after Simeon’s sepulture, than he had wrought all his life.

1724. Jan. 5. An extraordinary instance of longevity is contained in a letter dated the 29th of January, 1724, from M. Hamelbranix, the Dutch envoy at Vienna, to their high mightinesses the states general, and published in a Dutch dictionary, “Het Algemeen historisch, geographisch en genealogisch Woordenboek,” by Luiscius. It relates to an individual who had attained the extraordinary age ofone hundred and eighty-fiveyears.

“Czartan Petrarch, by religion a Greek, was born in the year 1539, and died on the 5th of January, 1724, at Kofrosch, a village four miles from Temeswar, on the road leading to Karansebes. He had lived, therefore, a hundred and eighty-five years. At the time when the Turks took Temeswar from the Christians, he was employed in keeping his father’s cattle. A few days before his death he had walked, with the help of a stick, to the post-house at Kofrosch, to ask charity from the travellers. His eyes were much inflamed, but he still enjoyed a little sight. His hair and beard were of a greenish, white colour, like mouldy bread; and he had a few of his teeth remaining. His son, who was ninety-seven years of age, declared his father had once been the head taller; that at a great age he married for the third time; and that he was born in this last marriage. He was accustomed, agreeably to the rules of his religion, to observe fast days with great strictness, and never to use any other food than milk, and certain cakes, called by the Hungarianskollatschen, together with a good glass of brandy, such as is made in the country. He had descendants in the fifth generation, with whom he sometimes sported, carrying them in his arms. His son, though ninety-seven, was still fresh and vigorous. When field marshal count Wallis, the commandant of Temeswar, heard that this old man was taken sick, he caused a portrait of him to be painted, and when it was almost finished he expired.”

1808. Early in January, this year, the shaft of death supplied another case of longevity. At the advanced age of 110 years, died Dennis Hampson, the blind bard of Maggiligan, of whom an interesting account has been given by lady Morgan, in “The Wild Irish Girl.” The “Athenæum,” from whence this notice is extracted, relates, that only a few hours before his decease he tuned his harp, that he might have it in readiness to entertain sir H. Bruce’s family, who were expected to pass that way in a few days, and who were in the habit of stopping to hear his music; suddenly, however, he felt the approach of death, and calling his family around him resigned his breath without a struggle, and in perfect possession of his faculties to the last moment. A kindred spirit produced the following tribute to the memory of this “aged son of song.” He was the oldest of the Irish bards.

The fame of the brave shall no longer be sounded,The last of our bards now sleeps cold in his grave;Maggiligan rocks, where his lays have resounded,Frown dark at the ocean, and spurn at the wave.For, Hampson, no more shall thy soul-touching fingerSteal sweet o’er the strings, and wild melody pour;No more near thy hut shall the villagers linger,While strains from thy harp warble soft round the shore.No more thy harp swells with enraptured emotion,Thy wild gleams of fancy for ever are fled,No longer thy minstrelsy charms this rude ocean,That rolls near the green turf that pillows thy head.Yet vigour and youth with bright visions had fired thee,And rose-buds of health have blown deep on thy cheek;The songs of the sweet bards of Erin inspired thee,And urged thee to wander like laurels to seek.Yes, oft hast thou sung of our kings crown’d with glory,Or, sighing, repeated the lover’s fond lay;And oft hast thou sung of the bards famed in story,Whose wild notes of rapture have long past away.Thy grave shall be screen’d from the blast and the billow,Around it a fence shall posterity raise;Erin’s children shall wet with their tears thy cold pillow,Her youths shall lament thee, and carol thy praise.

The fame of the brave shall no longer be sounded,The last of our bards now sleeps cold in his grave;Maggiligan rocks, where his lays have resounded,Frown dark at the ocean, and spurn at the wave.

For, Hampson, no more shall thy soul-touching fingerSteal sweet o’er the strings, and wild melody pour;No more near thy hut shall the villagers linger,While strains from thy harp warble soft round the shore.

No more thy harp swells with enraptured emotion,Thy wild gleams of fancy for ever are fled,No longer thy minstrelsy charms this rude ocean,That rolls near the green turf that pillows thy head.

Yet vigour and youth with bright visions had fired thee,And rose-buds of health have blown deep on thy cheek;The songs of the sweet bards of Erin inspired thee,And urged thee to wander like laurels to seek.

Yes, oft hast thou sung of our kings crown’d with glory,Or, sighing, repeated the lover’s fond lay;And oft hast thou sung of the bards famed in story,Whose wild notes of rapture have long past away.

Thy grave shall be screen’d from the blast and the billow,Around it a fence shall posterity raise;Erin’s children shall wet with their tears thy cold pillow,Her youths shall lament thee, and carol thy praise.

This is the eve of the Epiphany, or Twelfth-night eve, and is a night of preparation in some parts of England for the merriments which, to the present hour, distinguish Twelfth-day. Dr. Drake mentions that it was a practice formerly for itinerant minstrels to bear a bowl of spiced-wine to the houses of the gentry and others, from whom they expected a hospitable reception, and, calling their bowl a wassail-bowl, to drink wassail to their entertainers. These merry sounds of mirth and music are not extinct. There are still places wherein the wandering blower of a clarionet, and the poor scraper of as poor a fiddle, will this evening strain their instruments, to charm forth the rustic from his dwelling, and drink to him from a jug of warm ale, spiced with a race of ginger, in the hope of a pittance for their melody, and their wish of wassail. Of the wassail-bowl, much will appear before the reader in the after pages of this work.

In certain parts of Devonshire, the farmer, attended by his workmen, with a large pitcher of cider, goes to the orchard this evening; and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three times:

“Here’s to thee, old apple-tree, hence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!Hats full! caps full!Bushel—bushel—sacks full,And my pockets full too! Huzza!”

This done, they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure to find bolted by the females, who, be the weather what it may, are inexorable to all entreaties to open them till some one has guessed at what is on the spit, which is generally some nice little thing, difficult to be hit on, and is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are then thrown open, and the lucky clodpole receives the tit-bit as his recompense. Some are so superstitious as to believe, that if they neglect this custom, the trees will bear no apples that year. To the preceding particulars, which are related in the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1791, may be added that Brand, on the authority of a Cornishman, relates it as a custom with the Devonshire people to go after supper into the orchard, with a large milk-pan full of cider, having roasted apples pressed into it. “Out of this each person in company takes, what is called a clayen cup, that is an earthenware cup full of liquor, and standing under each of the more fruitful apple-trees, passing by those that are not good bearers, he addresses it in the following words:

‘Health to thee, good apple-tree,Well to bear, pocket-fulls, hat-fulls,Peck-fulls, bushel-bag-fulls!’

And then drinking up part of the contents, he throws the rest, with the fragments of the roasted apples, at the tree. At each cup the company set up a shout.”

Pennant, in his tour in Scotland, says respecting this custom, that after they have drank a cheerful glass to their master’s health, with success to the future harvests, and expressed their good wishes in the same way, they feast off cakes made of caraways and other seeds soaked in cider, which they claim as a reward for their past labours in sowing the grain. “This,” says Pennant, “seems to resemble a custom of the ancient Danes, who, in their addresses to their rural deities emptied, on every invocation, a cup in honour of them.”

So also Brand tells us that, in Herefordshire,“at the approach of evening on the vigil of the twelfth day, the farmers, with their friends and servants, meet together, and about six o’clock walk out to a field where wheat is growing. In the highest part of the ground, twelve small fires and one large one are lighted up. The attendants, headed by the master of the family, pledge the company in old cider, which circulates freely on these occasions. A circle is formed round the large fire, when a general shout and hallooing takes place, which you hear answered from all the adjacent villages and fields. Sometimes fifty or sixty of these fires may be all seen at once. This being finished, the company return home, where the good housewife and her maids are preparing a good supper. A large cake is always provided, with a hole in the middle. After supper, the company all attend the bailiff (or head of the oxen) to the wain-house, where the following particulars are observed. The master, at the head of his friends, fills the cup, (generally of strong ale,) and stands opposite the first or finest of the oxen. He then pledges him in a curious toast: the company follow his example with all the other oxen, addressing each by his name. This being finished, the large cake is produced, and, with much ceremony, put on the horn of the first ox, through the hole above-mentioned. The ox is then tickled, to make him toss his head: if he throw the cake behind, then it is the mistress’s perquisite; if before, (in what is termed the boosy,) the bailiff himself claims the prize. The company then return to the house, the doors of which they find locked, nor will they be opened till some joyous songs are sung. On their gaining admittance, a scene of mirth and jollity ensues, and which lasts the greatest part of the night.”

Mr. Beckwith relates in the Gentleman’s Magazine, 1784, that “near Leeds, in Yorkshire, when he was a boy, it was customary for many families, on the twelfth eve of Christmas, to invite their relations, friends, and neighbours, to their houses, to play at cards, and to partake of a supper, of which minced pies were an indispensable ingredient; and after supper was brought in, the wassail cup or wassail bowl, of which every one partook, by taking with a spoon, out of the ale, a roasted apple, and eating it, and then drinking the healths of the company out of the bowl, wishing them a merry Christmas and a happy new year. (The festival of Christmas used in this part of the country to hold for twenty days, and some persons extended it to Candlemas.) The ingredients put into the bowl, viz. ale, sugar, nutmeg, and roasted apples, were usually called lambs’-wool, and the night on which it is used to be drunk (generally on the twelfth eve) was commonly called Wassil eve.” The glossary to the Exmore dialect has “Watsail—a drinking song on twelfth-day eve, throwing toast to the apple-trees, in order to have a fruitful year, which seems to be a relic of the heathen sacrifice to Pomona.”

Brand found it observed in the ancient calendar of the Romish church, that on the fifth day of January, the eve or vigil of the Epiphany, there were “kings created or elected by beans;” that the sixth of the month is called “The Festival of Kings;” and “that this ceremony of electing kings was continued with feasting for many days.”

Twelfth-night eve or the vigil of the Epiphany is no way observed in London. There Twelfth-day itself comes with little of the pleasure that it offered to our forefathers. Such observances have rapidly disappeared, and the few that remain are still more rapidly declining. To those who are unacquainted with their origin they afford no associations to connect the present with former ages; and without such feelings, the few occasions which enable us to show a hospitable disposition, or from whence we can obtain unconstrained cheerfulness, will pass away, and be remembered only as having been.

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