No More Learning

Haste, holy St. Cuthbert, then,- hasten in pity! — »
Conceive his surprise
When a strange voice replies,
«It's a bargain! -- but, mind, sir, THE BEST SPERMACETI! ».
Say, whose that voice ? — whose that form by his side,
That old, old, gray man, with his beard long and wide.


## p. 1517 (#315) ###########################################

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
1517
In his coarse Palmer's weeds,
And his cockle and beads ? —
And how did he come ? - did he walk ? - did he ride?
Oh! none could determine, -oh! none could decide, -
The fact is, I don't believe any one tried;
For while every one stared, with a dignified stride
And without a word more,
He inarched on before,
Up a flight of stone steps, and so through the front door,
To the banqueting-hall that was on the first floor,
While the fiendish assembly were making a rare
Little shuttlecock there of the curly-wigged Heir.
- I wish, gentle Reader, that you could have seen
The pause that ensued when he stepped in between,
With his resolute air, and his dignified mien,
And said, in a tone most decided though mild,
“Come! I'll trouble you just to hand over that child!
The Demoniac crowd
In an instant seemed cowed;
Not one of the crew volunteered a reply,
All shrunk from the glance of that keen-flashing eye,
Save one horrid Humgruffin, who seemed by his talk,
And the airs he assumed, to be cock of the walk.
He quailed not before it, but saucily met it,
And as saucily said, “Don't you wish you may get it? »
My goodness! — the look that the old Palmer gave!
And his frown! — 'twas quite dreadful to witness — "Why, slave!
You rascal! » quoth he,
“This language to ME!
At once, Mr. Nicholas! down on your knee,
And hand me that curly-wigged boy! -- I command it-
Come! none of your nonsense! - you know I won't stand it. ”
Old Nicholas trembled, — he shook in his shoes,
And seemed half inclined, but afraid, to refuse.
« Well, Cuthbert,” said he,
“If so it must be,
For you've had your own way from the first time I knew ye;
Take your curly-wigged brat, and much good may he do ye!
But I'll have in exchange ” — here his eye flashed with rage -
« That chap with the buttons - he gave me the Page! ”
“Come, come,” the saint answered, you very well know
The young man's no his than your own to bestow.


## p. 1518 (#316) ###########################################

1518
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
Touch one button of his if you dare, Nick — no! no!
Cut your stick, sir — come, mizzle! be off with you! go! ” —
The Devil grew hot —
“If I do I'll be shot!
An you come to that, Cuthbert, I'll tell you what's what;
He has asked us to dine here, and go we will not!
Why, you Skinflint, - at least
You may leave us the feast !
Here we've come all that way from our brimstone abode,
Ten million good leagues, sir, as ever you strode,
And the deuce of a luncheon we've had on the road.
(Go! ' – Mizzle! indeed - Mr. Saint, who are you,
I should like to know ? -'Go! ' I'll be hanged if I do!
He invited us all — we've a right here – it's known
That a Baron may do what he likes with his own -
Here, Asmodeus a slice of that beef;— now the mustard!
What have you got ? -oh, apple-pie - try it with custard. ”
The Saint made a pause
As uncertain, because
He knew Nick is pretty well “up” in the laws,
And they might be on his side — and then, he'd such claws!
On the whole, it was better, he thought, to retire
With the curly-wigged boy he'd picked out of the fire,
And give up the victuals— to retrace his path,
And to compromise — (spite of the Member for Bath).
So to Old Nick's appeal,
As he turned on his heel,
He replied, “Well, I'll leave you the mutton and veal,
And the soup à la Reine, and the sauce Bechamel;
As the Scroope did invite you to dinner, I feel
I can't well turn you out — 'twould be hardly genteel
But be moderate, pray,- and remember thus much,
Since you're treated as Gentlemen - show yourselves such,
And don't make it late,
But mind and go straight
Home to bed when you've finished - and don't steal the plate,
Nor wrench off the knocker, or bell from the gate.
Walk away, like respectable Devils, in peace,
And don't Clark) with the watch, or annoy the police ! »
Having thus said his say,
That Palmer gray
Took up little La Scroope, and walked coolly away,
While the Demons all set up a “Hip! hip! hurrah! ”


## p. 1519 (#317) ###########################################

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
1519
Then fell, tooth and nail, on the victuals, as they
Had been guests at Guildhall upon Lord Mayor's day,
All scrambling and scuffling for what was before 'em,
No care for precedence or common decorum.
Few ate more hearty
Than Madame Astarte,
And Hecate, — considered the Belles of the party.
Between them was seated Leviathan, eager
To “do the polite," and take wine with Belphegor;
Here was Morbleu (a French devil), supping soup-meagre,
And there, munching leeks, Davy Jones of Tredegar
(A Welsh one), who'd left the domains of Ap. Morgan
To follow the sea,” — and next him Demogorgon,-
Then Pan with his pipes, and Fauns grinding the organ
To Mammon and Belial, and half a score dancers,
Who'd joined with Medusa to get up the Lancers”;
Here's Lucifer lying blind drunk with Scotch ale,
While Beelzebub's tying huge knots in his tail.
There's Setebos, storming because Mephistopheles
Gave him the lie,
Said he'd «blacken his eye,”
And dashed in his face a whole cup of hot coffee-lees;
Ramping and roaring,
Hiccoughing, snoring,
Never was seen such a riot before in
A gentleman's house, or such profligate reveling
At any soirée — where they don't let the Devil in.
Hark! as sure as fate
The clock's striking Eight!
(An hour which our ancestors called "getting late,”)
When Nick, who by this time was rather elate,
Rose up and addressed them :-
« 'Tis full time,” he said,
“For all elderly Devils to be in their bed;
For my own part I mean to be jogging, because
I don't find myself now quite so young as I was;
But, Gentlemen, ere I depart from my post
I must call on you all for one bumper - the toast
Which I have to propose is, — OUR EXCELLENT Host!
Many thanks for his kind hospitality — may
We also be able
To see at our table


## p. 1520 (#318) ###########################################

1520
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
Himself, and enjoy, in a family way,
His good company down-stairs at no distant day!
You'd, I'm sure, think me rude
If I did not include,
In the toast my young friend there, the curly-wigged Heir!
He's in very good hands, for you're all well aware
That St. Cuthbert has taken him under his care;
Though I must not say bless,' —
Why, you'll easily guess. -
May our curly-wigged Friend's shadow never be less ! »
Nick took off his heel-taps — bowed — smiled — with an air
Most graciously grim,- and vacated the chair.
Of course the élite
Rose at once on their feet,
And followed their leader, and beat a retreat;
When a sky-larking Imp took the President's seat,
And requesting that each would replenish his cup,
Said, “Where we have dined, my boys, there let us sup! »
It was three in the morning before they broke up! ! !
I scarcely need say
Sir Guy didn't delay
To fulfill his vow made to St. Cuthbert, or pay
For the candles he'd promised, or make light as day
The shrine he assured him he'd render so gay.
In fact, when the votaries came there to pray,
All said there was naught to compare with it — nay,
For fear that the Abbey
Might think he was shabby,
Four Brethren, thenceforward, two cleric, two lay,
He ordained should take charge of a new-founded chantry,
With six marcs apiece, and some claims on the pantry;
In short, the whole county
Declared, through his bounty,
The Abbey of Bolton exhibited fresh scenes
From any displayed since Sir William de Meschines
And Cecily Roumeli came to this nation
With William the Norman, and laid its foundation.
For the rest, it is said,
And I know I have read
In some Chronicle — whose, has gone out of my head -


## p. 1521 (#319) ###########################################

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
1521
That what with these candles, and other expenses,
Which no man would go to if quite in his senses,
He reduced and brought low
His property so,
That at last he'd not much of it left to bestow;
And that many years after that terrible feast,
Sir Guy, in the Abbey, was living a priest;
And there, in one thousand and something — deceased.
(It's supposed by this trick
He bamboozled Old Nick,
And slipped through his fingers remarkably slick. ”)
While as to young Curly-wig, — dear little Soul,
Would you know more of him, you must look at «The Roll,
Which records the dispute,
And the subsequent suit,
Commenced in “Thirteen sev'nty-five,” — which took root
In Le Grosvenor's assuming the arms Le Scroope swore
That none but his ancestors, ever before,
In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore,
To wit, «On a Prussian-blue Field, a Bend Or;)
While the Grosvenor averred that his ancestors bore
The same, and Scroope lied like a somebody tore
Off the simile,- so I can tell you no more,
Till some A double S shall the fragment restore.
MORAL
This Legend sound maxims exemplifies-e. g.
I MO.
Should anything tease you,
Annoy, or displease you,
Remember what Lilly says, “Animum rege! »
And as for that shocking bad habit of swearing, --
In all good society voted past bearing -
Eschew it! and leave it to dustmen and mobs,
Nor commit yourself much beyond « Zooks! ) or Odsbobs! »
2do. When asked out to dine by a Person of Quality,
Mind, and observe the most strict punctuality!
For should you come late,
And make dinner wait,
And the victuals get cold, you'll incur, sure as fate,
The Master's displeasure, the Mistress's hate.
And though both may perhaps be too well-bred to swear,
They'll heartily wish you — I will not say Where.
H-96


## p. 1522 (#320) ###########################################

1522
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
3tio. Look well to your Maid-servants!
-say you expect them
To see to the children, and not to neglect them!
And if you're a widower, just throw a cursory
Glance in, at times, when you go near the Nursery.
Perhaps it's as well to keep children from plums,
And from pears in the season,- and sucking their thumbs!
4to. To sum up the whole with a “saw) of much use,
Be just and be generous,- don't be profuse ! -
Pay the debts that you owe,- keep your word to your friends,
But — DON'T SET YOUR CANDLES ALIGHT AT BOTH ENDS! ! -
For of this be assured, if you go it” too fast,
You'll be dished ”like Sir Guy,
And like him, perhaps, die
A poor, old, half-starved Country Parson at last!
((
A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS
« Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellæ pulchritudinis miræ,
et ecce Divus, fide catholicâ, et cruce, et aquâ benedicta armatus venit, et
aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctæ et Individuæ Trinitatis, quam, quasi
ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit. ” — ROGER
HOVEDEN.
'L
ORD ABBOT! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess;
I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
And haunt me whithersoever I go!
On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid;
“Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me! ».
“Now naye, fair daughter,” the Lord Abbot said,
“Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be.
“There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John,
Sage penitauncers I ween be they!
And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,
Ambrose, the anchorite old and gray! ”
-«Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John,
Though sage penitauncers I trow they be;
Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone —
Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee.
“Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn
Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine!


## p. 1523 (#321) ###########################################

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
1523
I am a maiden royally born,
And I come of old Plantagenet's line.
« Though hither I stray in lowly array,
I am a damsel of high degree;
And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Ponthieu,
They serve my father on bended knee!
“Counts a many, and Dukes a few,
A suitoring came to my father's Hall;
But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain,
He pleased my father beyond them all.
“Dukes a many, and Counts a few,
I would have wedded right cheerfullie;
But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain,
And I vowed that he ne'er should my bridegroom be!
«So hither I fly, in lowly guise,
From their gilded domes and their princely halls;
Fain would I dwell in some holy cell,
Or within some Convent's peaceful walls! »
- Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot,
“Now rest thee, fair daughter, withouten fear.
Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke
Of Holy Church an he seek thee here:
« Holy Church denieth all search
'Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams,
And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her flock,
Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs.
« Then lay, fair daughter, thy fears aside,
For here this day shalt thou dine with me! ”
“Now naye, now naye,” the fair maiden cried;
«In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be!
“Friends would whisper, and foes would frown,
Sith thou art a Churchman of high degree,
And ill mote it match with thy fair renown
That a wandering damsel dine with thee!
« There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store,
With beans and lettuces fair to see:
His lenten fare now let me share,
I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie ! »


## p. 1524 (#322) ###########################################

1524
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
_“Though Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store,
To our patron Saint foul shame it were
Should wayworn guest, with toil oppressed,
Meet in his Abbey such churlish fare.
« There is Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar,
And Roger the Monk shall our convives be;
Small scandal I ween shall then be seen:
They are a goodly companie!
The Abbot hath donned his mitre and ring,
His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine;
And the choristers sing, as the lay-brothers bring
To the board a magnificent turkey and chine.
The turkey and chine, they are done to a nicety;
Liver, and gizzard, and all are there;
Ne'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce Benedicite
Over more luscious or delicate fare.
But no pious stave he, no Pater or Ave
Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face;
She asked him for stuffing, she asked him for gravy,
She asked him for gizzard ; — but not for grace!
Yet gayly the Lord Abbot smiled, and pressed,
And the blood-red wine in the wine-cup filled;
And he helped his guest to a bit of the breast,
And he sent the drumsticks down to be grilled.
There was no lack of the old Sherris sack,
Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright;
And aye, as he drained off his cup with a smack,
He grew less pious and more polite.
She pledged him once, and she pledged him twice,
And she drank as Lady ought not to drink;
And he pressed her hand 'neath the table thrice,
And he winked as Abbot ought not to wink.
And Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar,
Sat each with a napkin under his chin;
But Roger the Monk got excessively drunk,
So they put him to bed, and they tucked him in!
The lay-brothers gazed on each other, amazed;
And Simon the Deacon, with grief and surprise,


## p. 1525 (#323) ###########################################

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
1525
As he peeped through the key-hole, could scarce fancy real
The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes.
In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing -
He could not distinguish the words very plain,
But 'twas all about “Cole,” and “jolly old Soul,” [fane.
And “Fiddlers,” and “Punch, and things quite as pro-
Even Porter Paul, at the sound of such reveling,
With fervor himself began to bless;
For he thought he must somehow have let the Devil in -
And perhaps was not very much out in his guess.
The Accusing Byers * «few up to Heaven's Chancery,”
Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern;
The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he
Wept (see the works of the late Mr. Sterne).
Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in
When, after a lapse of a great many years,
They booked Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing,
And blotted the fine out again with their tears!
But St. Nicholas's agony who may paint ?
His senses at first were well-nigh gone;
The beatified saint was ready to faint
When he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on!
For never, I ween, had such doings been seen
There before, from the time that most excellent Prince,
Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders,
Had built and endowed it some centuries since.
- But hark—'tis a sound from the outermost gate:
A startling sound from a powerful blow. -
Who knocks so late ? — it is half after eight
By the clock, — and the clock's five minutes too slow.
Never, perhaps, had such loud double raps
Been heard in St. Nicholas's Abbey before;
All agreed “it was shocking to keep people knocking,”
But none seemed inclined to answer the door. »
((
Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang,
And the gate on its hinges wide open flew;
* The Prince of Peripatetic Informers, and terror of Stage Coachmen,
when such things were.


## p. 1526 (#324) ###########################################

1526
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
And all were aware of a Palmer there,
With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe.
Many a furrow, and many a frown,
By toil and time on his brow were traced;
And his long loose gown was of ginger brown,
And his rosary dangled below his waist.
Now seldom, I ween, is such costume seen,
Except at a stage-play or masquerade;
But who doth not know it was rather the go
With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade?
With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide
Across that oaken floor;
And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump
Against the Refectory door!
Wide open it flew, and plain to the view
The Lord Abbot they all mote see;
In his hand was a cup and he lifted it up,
“Here's the Pope's good health with three! ”
Rang in their ears three deafening cheers,
«Huzza! huzza! huzza! )
And one of the party said, “Go it, my hearty! ” —
When outspake that Pilgrim gray —
"A boon, Lord Abbot! a boon! a boon!
Worn is my foot, and empty my scrip;
And nothing to speak of since yesterday noon
Of food, Lord Abbot, hath passed my lip.
“And I am come from a far countree,
And have visited many a holy shrine;
And long have I trod the sacred sod
Where the Saints do rest in Palestine ! » -
«An thou art come from a far countree,
And if thou in Paynim lands hast been,
Now rede me aright the most wonderful sight,
Thou Palmer gray, that thine eyes have seen.
« Arede me aright the most wonderful sight,
Gray Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see,
And a manchette of bread, and a good warm bed,
And a cup o' the best shall thy guerdon be! ”


## p. 1527 (#325) ###########################################

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
1527
“Oh! I have been east, and I have been west,
And I have seen many a wonderful sight;
But never to me did it happen to see
A wonder like that which I see this night!
«To see a Lord Abbot, in rochet and stole,
With Prior and Friar,-a strange mar-velle! -
O'er a jolly full bowl, sitting cheek by jowl,
And hob-nobbing away with a Devil from Hell! )
He felt in his gown of ginger brown,
And he pulled out a flask from beneath;
It was rather tough work to get out the cork,
But he drew it at last with his teeth.
O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water,
He made a sacred sign;
And he dashed the whole on the soi-disant daughter
Of old Plantagenet's line!
Oh! then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek,
With a wild unearthly scream;
And fizzled, and hissed, and produced such a mist,
They were all half-choked by the steam.
Her dove-like eyes turned to coals of fire,
Her beautiful nose to a horrible snout,
Her hands to paws, with nasty great claws,
And her bosom went in and her tail came out.
On her chin there appeared a long Nanny-goat's beard,
And her tusks and her teeth no man mote tell;
And her horns and her hoofs gave infallible proofs
'Twas a frightful Fiend from the nethermost hell!
The Palmer threw down his ginger gown,
His hat and his cockle; and, plain to sight,
Stood St. Nicholas' self, and his shaven crown
Had a glow-worm halo of heavenly light.
The fiend made a grasp the Abbot to clasp;
But St. Nicholas lifted his holy toe,
And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick
On his elderly namesake, he made him let go.
And out of the window he flew like a shot,
For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack,


## p. 1528 (#326) ###########################################

1528
RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM
And caught the foul demon about the spot
Where his tail joins on to the small of his back.
And he bounded away like a foot-ball at play,
Till into the bottomless pit he fell slap,
Knocking Mammon the meagre o'er pursy Belphegor,
And Lucifer into Beëlzebub's lap.
Oh! happy the slip from his Succubine grip,
That saved the Lord Abbot, - though breathless with
fright,
In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip.
And his left leg was shorter thenceforth than his right!
On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine,
From a certain inn-window the traveler is shown
Most picturesque ruins, the scene of these doings,
Some miles up the river south-east of Cologne.
And while “sauer-kraut” she sells you, the landlady tells
you
That there, in those walls all roofless and bare,
One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one
On filling a ci-devant Abbot's state chair.
How a ci-derant Abbot, all clothed in drab, but
Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt and no shoes
(His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing
Laid aside), in yon cave lived a pious recluse;
How he rose with the sun, limping dot and go one,”
To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather,
Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher
Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together;
How a thirsty old codger the neighbors called Roger,
With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine!
What its quality wanted he made up in quantity,
Swigging as though he would empty the Rhine!
And how, as their bodily strength failed, the mental man
Gained tenfold vigor and force in all four;
And how, to the day of their death, the “Old Gentleman
Never attempted to kidnap them more.


## p. 1529 (#327) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1529
And how, when at length, in the odor of sanctity,
All of them died without grief or complaint,
The monks of St. Nicholas said 'twas ridiculous
Not to suppose every one was a Saint.
And how, in the Abbey, no one was so shabby
As not to say yearly four masses ahead,
On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper
Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead!
How folks long held in reverence their reliques and mem-
ories,
How the ci-devant Abbot's obtained greater still,
When some cripples, on touching his fractured os femoris,
Threw down their crutches and danced a quadrille!
And how Abbot Simon (who turned out a prime one)
These words, which grew into a proverb full soon,
O'er the late Abbot's grotto, stuck up as a motto,
« Who Suppes with the Deville sholde have a long spoone ! »
SABINE BARING-GOULD
(1834–)
HE Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould was born in Exeter, England, in
1834 The addition of Gould to the name of Baring came
in the time of his great-grandfather, a brother of Sir
Francis Baring, who married an only daughter and heiress of W. D.
Gould of Devonshire. Much of the early life of Baring-Gould was
passed in Germany and France, and at Clare College, Cambridge,
where he graduated in 1854, taking orders ten years later, and in
1881 becoming rector of Lew Trenchard, Devonshire, where he holds
estates and privileges belonging to his family.
He has worked in many fields, and in all with so much accept-
ance that a list of his books would be the best exposition of the
range of his untiring pen. To a gift of ready words and ready
illustration, whether he concerns himself with diversities of early
Christian belief, the course of country-dances in England, or the
growth of mediæval legends, he adds the grace of telling a tale and
drawing a character. He has published nearly a hundred volumes,
not one of them unreadable. But no one man may write with equal
pen of German history, of comparative mythology and philology, of


## p. 1530 (#328) ###########################################

1530
SABINE BARING-GOULD
theological dissertations, and of the pleasures of English rural life,
while he adds to these a long list of novels.
His secret of popularity lies not in his treatment, which is neither
critical nor scientific, but rather in a clever, easy, diffuse, jovial,
amusing way of saying clearly what at the moment comes to him to
say. His books have a certain raciness and spirit that recall the
English squire of tradition. They rarely smell of the lamp. Now
and then appears a strain of sturdy scholarship, leading the reader
to wonder what his author might have accomplished had he not
enjoyed the comfortable ease of a country justice of the peace, and
a rector with large landed estates, to whom his poorer neighbors
appear a sort of dancing puppets.
Between 1857 and 1870, Baring-Gould had published nine volumes,
the best known of these being Curious Myths of the Middle Ages. '
From 1870 to 1890 his name appeared as author on the title-page
of forty-three books: sermons, lectures, essays, archæological treatises,
memoirs, curiosities of literature, histories, and fiction; sixteen novels,
tales, and romances being included. From 1890 to 1896 he published
seventeen more novels, and many of his books have passed through
several editions. His most successful novels are Mehalah; a Tale of
the Salt Marshes, (In the Roar of the Sea,' 'Red Spider,' Richard
Cable, and Noémi; a Story of Rock-Dwellers. '
In an essay upon his fiction, Mr. J. M. Barrie writes in The Con-
temporary Review (February, 1890):-
“Of our eight or ten living novelists who are popular by merit, few have
greater ability than Mr. Baring-Gould. His characters are bold and forcible
figures, his wit is as ready as his figures of speech are apt. He has a power-
ful imagination, and is quaintly fanciful. When he describes a storm, we can
see his trees breaking in the gale. So enormous and accurate is his general
information that there is no trade or profession with which he does not seem
familiar. So far as scientific knowledge is concerned, he is obviously better
equipped than any contemporary writer of fiction. Yet one rises from his
books with a feeling of repulsion, or at least with the glad conviction that
his ignoble views of life are as untrue as the characters who illustrate them.
Here is a melancholy case of a novelist, not only clever but sincere, undone
by want of sympathy.
The author's want of sympathy prevents
(Mehalah's) rising to the highest art; for though we shudder at the end,
there the effect of the story stops. It illustrates the futility of battling with
fate, but the theme is not allowable to writers with the modern notion of a
Supreme Power.
But Mehalah) is still one of the most powerful
romances of recent years. "


## p. 1531 (#329) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1531
ST. PATRICK'S PURGATORY
From (Curious Myths of the Middle Ages)
I
N that charming mediæval romance Fortunatus and his Sons,'
which by the way is a treasury of popular mythology, is an
account of a visit paid by the favored youth to that cave of
mystery in Lough Derg, the Purgatory of St. Patrick.
Fortunatus, we are told, had heard in his travels of how two
days' journey from the town Valdric, in Ireland, was a town,
Vernic, where was the entrance to the Purgatory; so thither he
went with many servants. He found a great abbey, and behind
the altar of the church a door, which led into the dark cave
which is called the Purgatory of St. Patrick. In order to enter
it, leave had to be obtained from the abbot; consequently Leo-
pold, servant to Fortunatus, betook himself to that worthy and
made known to him that a nobleman from Cyprus desired to
enter the mysterious cavern. The abbot at once requested Leo-
pold to bring his master to supper with him. Fortunatus bought
a large jar of wine and sent it as a present to the monastery,
and followed at the meal-time.
“Venerable sir! ” said Fortunatus, "I understand the Purga-
tory of St. Patrick is here: is it so ?
The abbot replied, “It is so indeed. Many hundred years
ago, this place, where stand the abbey and the town, was a
howling wilderness. Not far off, however, lived a venerable
hermit, Patrick by name, who often sought the desert for the
purpose of therein exercising his austerities. One day he lighted
on this cave, which is of vast extent. He entered it, and wan-
dering on in the dark, lost his way, so that he could no more
find how to return to the light of day. After long ramblings
through the gloomy passages, he fell on his knees and besought
Almighty God, if it were His will, to deliver him from the great
peril wherein he lay. Whilst Patrick thus prayed, he was ware
of piteous cries issuing from the depths of the cave, just such as
would be the wailings of souls in purgatory.
The hermit rose
from his orison, and by God's mercy found his way back to the
surface, and from that day exercised greater austerities, and after
his death he was numbered with the saints. Pious people, who
had heard the story of Patrick's adventure in the cave, built this
cloister on the site. "


## p. 1532 (#330) ###########################################

1532
SABINE BARING-GOULD
Then Fortunatus asked whether all who ventured into the
place heard likewise the howls of the tormented souls.
The abbot replied, “Some have affirmed that they have heard
a bitter crying and piping therein; whilst others have heard and
seen nothing. No one, however, has penetrated as yet to the
furthest limits of the cavern. "
Fortunatus then asked permission to enter, and the abbot
cheerfully consented, only stipulating that his guest should keep
near the entrance and not ramble too far, as some who had
ventured in had never returned.
Next day early, Fortunatus received the Blessed Sacrament
with his trusty Leopold; the door of the Purgatory was unlocked,
each was provided with a taper, and then with the blessing of
the abbot they were left in total darkness, and the door bolted
behind them. Both wandered on in the cave, hearing faintly the
chanting of the monks in the church, till the sound died away.
They traversed several passages, lost their way, their candles
burned out, and they sat down in despair on the ground, a prey
to hunger, thirst, and fear.
The monks waited in the church hour after hour; and the
visitors of the Purgatory had not returned. Day declined, ves-
pers were sung, and still there was no sign of the two who in
the morning had passed from the church into the cave. Then
the servants of Fortunatus began to exhibit anger, and to insist
on their master being restored to them. The abbot was fright-
ened, and sent for an old man who had once penetrated far
into the cave with a ball of twine, the end attached to the door-
handle. This man volunteered to seek Fortunatus, and provi-
dentially his search was successful. After this the abbot refused
permission to any one to visit the cave.
In the reign of Henry II. lived Henry of Saltrey, who wrote
a history of the visit of a Knight Owen to the Purgatory of St.
Patrick, which gained immense popularity, . was soon trans-
lated into other languages, and spread the fable through mediæval
Europe.
In English there are two versions.
two versions. In one
of these, Owayne Miles, the origin of the purgatory is thus
described:
«Holy byschoppes some tyme ther were,
That tawgte me of Goddes lore.
In Irlonde preched Seyn Patryke;
In that londe was non hym lyke:


## p. 1533 (#331) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1533
He prechede Goddes worde full wyde,
And tolde men what shullde betyde.
Fyrste he preched of Heven blysse,
Who ever go thyder may ryght nowgt mysse:
Sethen he preched of Hell pyne,
Howe wo them ys that cometh therinne:
And then he preched of purgatory,
As he fonde in hisstory;
But yet the folke of the contré
Beleved not that hit mygth be;
And seyed, but gyf hit were so,
That eny non myth hymself go,
And se alle that, and come ageyn,
Then wolde they beleve fayn. ”
Vexed at the obstinacy of his hearers, St. Patrick besought
the Almighty to make the truth manifest to the unbelievers;
whereupon
“God spakke to Saynt Patryke tho
By nam, and badde hym with Hym go:
He ladde hym ynte a wyldernesse,
Wher was no reste more no lesse,
And shewed that he might se
Inte the erthe a pryvé entré:
Hit was yn a depe dyches ende.
(What mon,' He sayde, (that wylle hereyn wende,
And dwelle theryn a day and a nyght,
And hold his byleve and ryght,
And come ageyn that he ne dwelle,
Mony a mervayle he may of telle.
And alle tho that doth thys pylgrymage,
I shalle hem graunt for her wage,
Whether he be sqwyer or knave,
Other purgatorye shalle he non have. ) »
Thereupon St. Patrick, he ne stynte ner day ne night,” till
he had built there a "fayr abbey,” and stocked it with pious
canons. Then he made a door to the cave, and locked the door,
and
gave the key to the keeping of the prior. The Knight
Owain, who had served under King Stephen, had lived a life
of violence and dissolution; but filled with repentance, he sought
by way of penance St. Patrick's Purgatory. Fifteen days he
spent in preliminary devotions and alms-deeds, and then he
heard mass, was washed with holy water, received the Holy


## p. 1534 (#332) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1534
Sacrament, and followed the sacred relics in procession, whilst
the priests sang for him the Litany, as lowde as they mygth
crye. ” Then Sir Owain was locked in the cave, and he groped
his way onward in darkness, till he reached a glimmering light;
this brightened, and he came out into an underground land,
where was a great hall and cloister, in which were men with
shaven heads and white garments. These men informed the
knight how he was to protect himself against the assaults of
evil spirits. After having received this instruction, he heard
"grete dynn,” and
«Then come ther develes on every syde,
Wykked gostes, I wote, fro Helle,
So mony that no tonge mygte telle:
They fylled the hows yn two rowes;
Some grenned on hym and some mad mowes. ”
He then visits the different places of torment. In one, the
souls are nailed to the ground with glowing hot brazen nails; in
another they are fastened to the soil by their hair, and are
bitten by fiery reptiles. In another, again, they are hung over
fires by those members which had sinned, whilst others are
roasted on spits. In one place were pits in which were molten
metals. In these pits were men and women, some up to their
chins, others to their breasts, others to their hams. The knight
was pushed by the devils into one of these pits and was dread-
fully scalded, but he cried to the Savior and escaped. Then
he visited a lake where souls were tormented with great cold;
and a river of pitch, which he crossed on a frail and narrow
bridge. Beyond this bridge was a wall of glass, in which opened
a beautiful gate, which conducted into Paradise. This place so
delighted him that he would fain have remained in it had he
been suffered, but he was bidden return to earth and finish
there his penitence. He was put into a shorter and pleasanter
way back to the cave than that by which he had come; and the
prior found the knight next morning at the door, waiting to be
let out, and full of his adventures. He afterwards went on a
pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and ended his life in piety.
Froissart tells us of a conversation he had with one Sir Will-
iam Lisle, who had been in the Purgatory. “I asked him of
what sort was the cave that is in Ireland, called St. Patrick's
Purgatory, and if that were true which was related of it. He


## p. 1535 (#333) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1535
replied that there certainly was such a cave, for he and another
English knight had been there whilst the king was at Dublin,
and said that they entered the cave, and were shut in as the
sun set, and that they remained there all night and left it next
morning at sunrise. And then I asked if he had seen the
strange sights and visions spoken of. Then he said that when
he and his companion had passed the gate of the Purgatory of
St. Patrick, that they had descended as though into a cellar,
and that a hot vapor rose towards them and so affected their
heads that they were obliged to sit down on the stone steps.
And after sitting there awhile they felt heavy with sleep, and
so fell asleep, and slept all night. Then I asked if they knew
where they were in their sleep, and what sort of dreams they
had had; he answered that they had been oppressed with many
fancies and wonderful dreams, different from those they were
accustomed to in their chambers; and in the morning when they
went out, in a short while they had clean forgotten their dreams
and visions; wherefore he concluded that the whole matter was
fancy. "
The next to give us an account of his descent into St. Pat-
rick's Purgatory is William Staunton of Durham, who went down
into the cave on the Friday next after the feast of Holyrood, in
the year 1409.
"I was put in by the Prior of St. Matthew, of the same Pur-
gatory, with procession and devout prayers of the prior, and the
convent gave me an orison to bless me with, and to write the
first word in my forehead, the which prayer is this, Jhesu
Christe, Fili Dei vivi, miserere mihi peccatori. And the prior
taught me to say this prayer when any spirit, good or evil, ap-
peared unto me, or when I heard any noise that I should be
afraid of. ” When left in the cave, William fell asleep, and
dreamed that he saw coming to him St. John of Bridlington
and St. Ive, who undertook to conduct him through the scenes
of mystery.
After they had proceeded a while, William was
found to be guilty of a trespass against Holy Church, of which
he had to be purged before he could proceed much further. Of
this trespass he was accused by his sister, who appeared in the
way. "I make my complaint unto you against my brother that
here standeth; for this man that standeth hereby loved me, and
I loved him, and either of us would have had the other accord-
ing to God's law, as Holy Church teaches, and I should have


## p. 1536 (#334) ###########################################

1536
SABINE BARING-GOULD
gotten of me three souls to God, but my brother hindered us
from marrying. " St. John of Bridlington then turned to Will-
iam, and asked him why he did not allow the two who loved
one another to be married. “I tell thee there is no man that
hindereth man or woman from being united in the bond of God,
though the man be a shepherd and all his ancestors and the
woman be come of kings or of emperors, or if the man be come
of never so high kin and the woman of never so low kin, if
they love one another, but he sinneth in Holy Church against
God and his deed, and therefore he shall have much pain and
tribulations. " Being assoiled of this crying sin, St. John takes
William to a fire "grete and styngkyng,” in which he sees peo-
ple burning in their gay clothes. “I saw some with collars of
gold about their necks, and some of silver, and some men I saw
with gay girdles of silver and gold, and harnessed with horns
about their necks, some with mo jagges on their clothes than
whole cloth, others full of jingles and bells of silver all over set,
and some with long pokes on their sleeves, and women with
gowns trailing behind them a long space, and some with chap-
lets on their heads of gold and pearls and other precious stones.
And I looked on him that I saw first in pain, and saw the
collars and gay girdles and baldries burning, and the fiends
dragging him by two fingermits. And I saw the jagges that
men were clothed in turn all to adders, to dragons, and to
toads, and many other orrible bestes,' sucking them, and biting
them, and stinging them with all their might, and through every
jingle I saw fiends smite burning nails of fire into their flesh.
I also saw fiends drawing down the skin of their shoulders like
to pokes, and cutting them off, and drawing them to the heads
of those they cut them from, all burning as fire. And then I
saw the women that had side trails behind them, and the side
trails cut off by the fiends and burned on their head; and some
took of the cutting all burning and stopped therewith their
mouths, their noses, and their ears. I saw also their gay chap-
lets of gold and pearls and precious stones turned into nails of
iron, burning, and fiends with burning hammers smiting them
into their heads. " These were proud and vain people. Then
he saw another fire, where the fiends were putting out people's
eyes and pouring molten brass and lead into the sockets, and
tearing off their arms and the nails of their feet and hands,
and soldering them on again. This was the doom of swearers.


## p. 1537 (#335) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1537
William saw other fires wherein the devils were executing tor-
tures varied and horrible on their unfortunate victims. We need
follow him no further.
At the end of the fifteenth century the Purgatory in Lough
Derg was destroyed by orders of the Pope, on hearing the
report of a monk of Eymstadt in Holland, who had visited it,
and had satisfied himself that there was nothing in it more
remarkable than in any ordinary cavern. The Purgatory was
closed on St. Patrick's Day, 1497; but the belief in it was not so
speedily banished from popular superstition. Calderon made it
the subject of one of his dramas; and it became the subject of
numerous popular chap-books in France and Spain, where during
last century it occupied in the religious belief of the people pre-
cisely the same position which is assumed by the marvelous
visions of heaven and hell sold by hawkers in England at the
present day.
THE CORNISH WRECKERS
From "The Vicar of Morwenstow)
W*
"HEN the Rev. R. S. Hawker came to Morwenstow in 1834,
he found that he had much to contend with, not only in
the external condition of church and vicarage, but also in
that which is of greater importance.
« The farmers of the parish were simple-hearted and respect-
able; but the denizens of the hamlet, after receiving the wages
of the harvest time, eked out a precarious existence in the win-
ter, and watched eagerly and expectantly for the shipwrecks that
were certain to happen, and upon the plunder of which they
surely calculated for the scant provision of their families. The
wrecked goods supplied them with the necessaries of life, and
the rended planks of the dismembered vessel contributed to the
warmth of the hovel hearthstone.
“When Mr. Hawker came to Morwenstow, 'the cruel and
covetous natives of the strand, the wreckers of the seas and
rocks for flotsam and jetsam,'' held as an axiom and an injunc-
tion to be strictly obeyed: -
« (Save a stranger from the sea,
And he'll turn your enemy!
III-97


## p. 1538 (#336) ###########################################

1538
SABINE BARING-GOULD
«The Morwenstow wreckers allowed a fainting brother to
perish in the sea before their eyes without extending a hand of
safety,— nay, more, for the egotistical canons of a shipwreck,
superstitiously obeyed, permitted and absolved the crime of mur-
der by shoving the drowning man into the sea,' to be swallowed
by the waves. Cain! Cain! where is thy brother? And the
wrecker of Morwenstow answered and pleaded in excuse, as in
the case of undiluted brandy after meals, 'It is Cornish custom. '
The illicit spirit of Cornish custom was supplied by the smuggler,
and the gold of the wreck paid him for the cursed abomination
of drink. ”
One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners, Peter Barrow, had been
for full forty years a wrecker, but of a much more harmless
description: he had been a watcher of the coast for such objects
as the waves might turn up to reward his patience. Another
was Tristam Pentire, a hero of contraband adventure, and agent
for sale of smuggled cargoes in bygone times.
With a merry
twinkle of the eye, and in a sharp and ringing tone, he loved to
tell such tales of wild adventure and of "derring do,” as would
make the foot of the exciseman falter and his cheek turn pale.
During the latter years of last century there lived in Well-
combe, one of Mr. Hawker's parishes, a man whose name is still
remembered with terror — Cruel Coppinger. There are people
still alive who remember his wife.
Local recollections of the man have molded themselves into
the rhyme -
“Will you hear of Cruel Coppinger?
He came from a foreign land:
He was brought to us by the salt water,
He was carried away by the wind! ”
His arrival on the north coast of Cornwall was signalized by
a terrific hurricane. The storm came up Channel from the south-
west. A strange vessel of foreign rig went on the reefs of Harty
Race, and was broken to pieces by the waves. The only man
who came ashore was the skipper. A crowd was gathered on the
sand, on horseback and on foot, women as well as men, drawn
together by the tidings of a probable wreck. Into their midst
rushed the dripping stranger, and bounded suddenly upon the
crupper
of a young damsel who had ridden to the beach to see
the sight. He grasped her bridle, and shouting in some foreign


## p. 1539 (#337) ###########################################

SABINE BARING-GOULD
1539
tongue, urged the double-laden animal into full speed, and the
horse naturally took his homeward way. The damsel was Miss
Dinah Hamlyn. The stranger descended at her father's door, and
lifted her off her saddle. He then announced himself as a Dane,
named Coppinger. He took his place at the family board, and
there remained until he had secured the affections and hand of
Dinah. The father died, and Coppinger at once succeeded to the
management and control of the house, which thenceforth became
a den and refuge of every lawless character along the coast. All
kinds of wild uproar and reckless revelry appalled the neighbor-
hood day and night. It was discovered that an organized band
of smugglers, wreckers, and poachers made this house their ren-
dezvous, and that “Cruel Coppinger” was their captain. In those
days, and in that far-away region, the peaceable inhabitants were
unprotected There was not a single resident gentleman of prop-
erty and weight in the entire district. No revenue officer durst
exercise vigilance west of the Tamar; and to put an end to all
such surveillance at once, the head of a gauger was chopped off
by one of Coppinger's gang on the gunwale of a boat.
Strange vessels began to appear at regular intervals on the
coast, and signals were flashed from the headlands to lead them
into the safest creek or cove.