66 'Thou canst not do so," the inauspiciouslooking stranger replied, laughing derisively. "I am master here. Altars have been reared to strange gods upon this hill, and sacrifices made to them,-nay, I myself have been worshipped as Dis, and the blood of black bulls has been poured out upon the ground in mine honour. Therefore the hill is mine, and thou thyself art an intruder upon it, and deservest to be cast down headlong into the plain. Yet will I spare thee—” "Thou darest not so much as injure a hair of my head, Sathanas," interrupted the saint in a menacing voice, and raising his staff as he spoke. Approach and lightnings shall blast thee." "I tell thee I have no design to harm thee," returned the fiend, with a look that showed he would willingly have rent the holy man in pieces. "But give heed to what I am about to say. Vainly hast thou essayed to count the churches in the Sussex weald, and thou hast glorified Heaven because of the number of the worshippers gathered within those fanes. Now mark me, thou servant of God! Thou hast taken a farewell look of that plain, so thickly studded with structures pleasing in thy sight, but an abomination to me. Before to-morrow morn that vast district, far as thine eye can stretch, even to the foot of yon distant Surrey hills the whole Weald of Sussex, with its many churches, its churchmen, and its congregations, shall be whelmed beneath the sea." Thou mockest me," returned Saint Cuthman, contemptuously: "but I know thee to be the Father of Lies." "Disbelieve me if I fail in my task-not till then," said the fiend. "With the implements which I hold in my hand I will cut such a dyke through this hill, and through the hills lying between it and Hove, as shall let in the waters of the deep, so that all dwelling within yonder plain shall be drowned by them." "And thinkest thou thy evil work will be permitted?" cried the saint, shaking his head. "Thou, at least, canst not prevent it," rejoined the fiend, with a bitter laugh. "I will take my chance of other hindrance.' The holy man appeared for a moment troubled, but his confidence was presently restored. "The "Thou deceivest thyself," he said. task thou proposest to execute is beyond thy power." 'Beyond my power!" exclaimed the demon. It is a trifle in comparison with what I can achieve. I have had a hand in many wonderful works, some of which are recognized as mine, though I have not got credit for a tithe of those I have performed. Devil's bridges are common enough, methinks, in mountainous gorges-devil's towers are by no means rare in old castles. Most of the camps upon these downs were planned and executed by me--the very rampart upon which we stand being partly my work. The first Cæsar has got the credit of many of my performances, and he is welcome to it. He is not the only man who has worn laurels belonging by right to others. Saint as thou art, it is meet thou give the devil his due. Do so, and thou must needs praise his industry." "Thy industry in evil-doing is unquestionable," rejoined the saint. "But good work is out of thy power. Thou darest not affirm that thou hast had any hand in the erection of temples and holy piles." 66 Ask thy compeers, Saint Dunstan and Saint Augustine-they will tell thee differ ently. But I disdain to boast. I have certainly had no hand in thy ugly little wooden church at Steyning." "And thy present feat is to be performed before to-morrow, thou sayest?" demanded the saint, highly offended at this uncalled-for allusion to his own favourite structure. "Between sunset and sunrise, most saintly sir." 66 That is but a short time for so mighty a task," said the holy man, in an incredulous tone. "Bethink thee, a September night is not a long night?" The shortest night is long enough for me," the fiend replied. "If the dawn comes and finds my work incomplete, thou shalt be at liberty to deride me." "I shall never treat thee otherwise than with scorn," the saint rejoined. "But thon hast said it, and I hold thee to thy word. Between sunset and sunrise thy task must be done. If thou failest, from whatever cause, thy evil scheme shall be for ever abandoned." Be it so! I am content," the fiend rejoined. "But I shall not fail," he added, with a fearful laugh. "Come hither at sunset, and thou wilt see me commence my work. Thou mayst tarry nigh me, if thou wilt, till it be done." "Heaven forfend that it should be done!" ejaculated the saint, casting his eyes upwards. When he looked up again towards the spot | better, Saint Cuthman said, "Are you still where the Evil One had stood, he could no fasting, sister? I know you are wont only to more perceive him. break bread and drink water after the hour of vespers." "No!" exclaimed the good saint, allowing his gaze to wander over the smiling and farstretching weald, "I cannot believe that I am taking farewell of this lovely plain. I cannot for an instant believe that its destruction will be permitted. Its people have not sinned, but have incurred the hatred of the arch-fiend solely because of their piety and zeal. It shall be my business to defeat his hateful design." The holy man turned away, and quitting the camp, proceeded in an easterly direction over the hill until he came to a small stone structure, standing near a gray old thorntree, on an acclivity covered with gorse and heather. The occupant of this solitary cell belonged to a priory of Benedictine nuns, situated at Leominster, near Arundel, and attached to the Abbey of Almenesches in Normandy. Sister Ursula Braose had retired to this lonesome spot in order to pass the whole of her time in devotion, and had acquired a reputation for sanctity and asceticism scarcely inferior to that of holy Cuthman himself. She was a daughter of the noble house of Braose of Bramber Castle. Once a week the purveyor of the priory at Leominster brought her a scanty supply of provisions (for the poor soul needed but little), and it was from him that Saint Cuthman had heard of her illness, and of her desire to be shriven by him. He found the recluse occupied in her devotions. She was kneeling before an ivory crucifix fastened against the wall of her cell, and was so absorbed as to be entirely unconscious of the saint's approach. He did not make his presence known to her till she had done. Sister Ursula Braose had once been remarkable for beauty, but years, the austere life she had led, and the frequent and severe penances she had undergone, had obliterated all traces of loveliness from her features. She was old and wrinkled now; her hair white as snow, and her fingers thin as those of a skeleton. She was clothed in a loose black robe, with a cinc ture of cord round her waist. Reverentially saluting the holy man, she prayed him to be seated upon a stool, which, with another small seat hewn out of stone, a stone table, and a straw pallet, formed the entire furniture of her cell. An iron lamp hung by a chain from the roof. On the table were placed a missal written on vellum, an hour-glass, and a small taper. After inquiring as to her ailments, and expressing his satisfaction that she felt somewhat 66 Since yestere'en nothing has passed my lips, holy father," the recluse replied. "It is well," said the saint. "The prohibition I am about to lay upon you-painful to any other unaccustomed to severe mortification of the flesh-will by you be scarcely accounted a penance. I enjoin you to refrain from all refreshment of the body, whether by food or rest, until to-morrow morning. Think you you can promise compliance with the order?" "Do I think it, holy father?" Sister Ursula cried. "If Heaven will spare me so long, I am sure of it. I was in hopes," she added, almost with a look of disappointment, "that you were about to enjoin me some severe discipline such as my sinfulness merits, and I pray you to add sharp flagellations, or other wholesome correction of the flesh, to your mandate." "Nay," rejoined the saint, smiling at the recluse's zeal; "the scourge is unneeded. You have no heavy offence, I am well assured, on your conscience. But keep strict vigil throughout the night, and suffer not sleep to weigh down your eyelids for a moment, or you may be exposed to temptation and danger. The arch-fiend himself will be abroad." "I will spend the livelong night in prayer," said Sister Ursula, trembling. "Fear nothing," returned the saint; "the Prince of Darkness has other business on hand, and will not trouble you. He will be engaged in a terrible work, but, with Heaven's aid, good sister, yours shall be the hand to confound him." Mine!" exclaimed the recluse, seeking by her looks for an explanation from the holy man. "When the sun hath gone down," rejoined Saint Cuthman, 'which will be about the seventh hour, turn this hour-glass, and let the sand run out six times-six times, do you mark, good sister? That will bring you to the first hour after midnight. Kneel then before yon crucifix, and pray fervently that the dark designs of him who took our Saviour to the top of the high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment, may be defeated. Next light this taper, which I will presently consecrate; set it within the bars of that little grated window looking towards the east; and pray that its glimmer may be as the first gray light of dawn. Again I say, do you mark me, sister?" "Not a word uttered by you, holy father, but hath sank deep in my breast," she replied. Your instructions shall be scrupulously obeyed." Nothing evil shall cross this threshold during the night," pursued the saint. "I will guard it as in the days of my youth I guarded my father's flocks on the hills. Light not your lamp, but only the taper, as I have bidden you; and stir not forth on any threat or summons, for such will only be a snare to injure you; and let not your heart quail because of the frightful sounds you may hear. Though the earth should quake beneath your feet, and this solid hill tremble to its foundations, yet shall not a stone of your cell be removed, neither shall any harm befall you." The saint then took up the taper, and blessed it in these terms:-"Domine Jesu Christi, fili Dei vivi, benedic candelam istam supplicationibus nostris: infunde ei, Domine, per virtutem sanctæ crucis benedictionem cœlestem; ut quibuscumque locis accensa, sive posita fuerit, discedant principes tenebrarum, et contremiscant, et fugiunt pavidi cum omnibus ministris suis ab habitationibus illis: nec præsumant amplius, inquietare, aut molestare servientes tibi omnipotenti Deo." After going through certain other ceremonials, which it is needless to describe, the saint sat down, and addressing Sister Ursula, declared his readiness to shrive her. The recluse then knelt down before him, and inclining her head so as to conceal her features, said she had one secret within her breast which she had never revealed to her confessor-one sin upon her soul of which she had never been able to repent. After duly reproving her, the saint told her to make clean her breast by confession, declaring she would then be able to repent. Thus exhorted, Sister Ursula replied, in accents half suffocated by irrepressible emotion: "My secret is, that I loved you-you, holy father when I was young. My unrepented sin is that I have never been able to banish that love from my heart." of tears, replying in the negative, the saint gave her absolution, saying that the penance he had already enjoined was sufficient, and that ere the morrow her breast would be free from its load. Struck by her looks, which were those of one not long for this world, he told her that if her sickness should prove mortal, dirges and trentals should be said for the repose of her soul. The recluse thanked him, and after a while became composed and even cheerful. Saint Cuthman tarried in the cell. discoursing with her upon the glorious prospects of futurity, and carefully avoiding any reference to the past, until, from the door of the little structure, which opened toward the west, he beheld the sun sink into the sea. Telling the good sister that a thousand lives depended upon her vigilance, he gave her his benedietion and departed, never more to behold her alive. As he took his way towards the north-eastern boundary of the ancient encampment, a noise resembling thunder smote his ear, and the ground shook so violently beneath his feet that he could scarcely stand, but reeled to and fro, as if his brain-his! whose lips no drink stronger than water had ever passed-had been assailed by the fumes of wine. theless he went on, and after a while reached the lofty headland overlooking Poynings. Never Here, as he expected, he beheld the archfiend at work. The infernal excavator had already made a great breach into the down, and enormous fragments of chalk and flintstones rolled down with a terrific crash like that caused by an avalanche amidst the Alps. Every stroke of his terrible pickaxe shook the hill to its centre. No one who was not sustained by supernatural power could have stood firmly upon the quaking headland. But Saint Cuthman, planting his staff upon the ground, remained unmoved-the only human witness of the astounding scene. The fiend's propor tions had now become colossal, and he looked like one of that giant race whom poets of heathendom tell us warred against Jove. His garb was suited to his task, and resembled that of a miner. His brawny and hirsute arms were bared to the shoulder, and the curled goat's-horns were visible on his uncovered head. His implements had become enormous as himself, and the broadest and heaviest anchor-fluke ever forged was as nought to the curved iron head of his pickaxe. Each stroke plunged fathom-deep into the ground, and confess?" tore up huge boulder-like masses of chalk, the And the poor recluse, who shed abundance smallest of which might have loaded a wain. "Alas! sister," rejoined the holy man, trembling in spite of himself, "we have been equally unhappy. In days long gone by I could not behold unmoved the charms of the fair and noble Lady Ursula Braose. But I conquered the passion, and repented that I had ever indulged it. Thou must do likewise. The struggle may be hard, but strength will be given thee for it. Hast thou aught more to "What is the matter with thee?" demanded the saint. The fiend worked away with might and main, and the concussion produced by his tremendous strokes was incessant and terrible, echoing far "I know not," replied the writhing fiend. over the weald like the rattling of a dreadful "A sudden attack of cramp in the arms and thunderstorm. legs, I fancy. I must have caught cold on But the sand ran out, and Sister Ursula these windy downs. I will do a little lighter turned her glass for the first time. work till the fit passes off." Upon this he took up the shovel, and began to trim the sides of the dyke as before. Suddenly the fiend stopped, and clapped his hand to his side, as if in pain. "A sharp stitch!" quoth he. "My side tingles as if pricked by a thousand pins. The sensation is by no means pleasant-but 'twill soon pass.' Then perceiving the saint watching him, he called out derisively, "Aha! art thou there, thou saintly man? What thinkest thou now of the chance of escape for thy friends in the weald? Thou art a judge of such matters, I doubt not. Is my dyke broad enough and profound enough, thinkest thou-or shall I widen it and deepen it yet more?" And the chasm resounded with his mocking laughter. "Thou art but a slovenly workman after all," remarked Saint Cuthman. "The sides of thy dyke are rough and uneven, and want levelling. A mortal labourer would be shrewdly reprimanded if he left them in such an untidy condition." "No mortal labourer could make such a trench," cried the fiend. "However, it shall never be said that I am a slovenly workman.' Whereupon he seized his spade, and proceeded to level the banks of the dyke, carefully removing all roughness and irregularity. "Will that satisfy thy precise notions?" he called out when he had done. "I cannot deny that it looks better," returned the holy man, glad to think that another hour had passed--for a soft touch falling upon his brow made him aware that at this moment Sister Ursula had turned the hour-glass for the second time. A sharp sudden pain smote the fiend, and made him roar out lustily, "Another stitch, and worse than the first! But it shall not hinder my task." Again he fell to work. Again the hill was shaken to its base. Again mighty masses of chalk were hurled into the valley, crushing everything upon which they descended. Again the strokes of the pickaxe echoed throughout the weald. It was now dark. But the fiery breath of the demon sufficed to light him in his task. He toiled away with right good-will, for the devil can work hard enough, I promise you, if the task be to his mind. All at once he suspended his labour. The hour-glass had been turned for the third time. While he was thus engaged the further end of the chasm closed up, so that when he took up the pickaxe once more he had all his work to do again. This caused him to snort and roar like a mad bull; and so much flame and smoke issued from his mouth and nostrils, that the bottom of the dyke resembled the bed of a volcano. Sister Ursula then turned the glass for the fourth time. Hereupon an enormous mass of breccia, or gold-stone, as the common folk call it, which the fiend had dislodged, rolled down upon his foot and crushed it. This so enraged him that he sent the fragment of gold-stone whizzing over the hills to Hove. What with rubbing his bruised foot and roaring, a quarter of an hour elapsed before he could resume his work. The fifth turning of the glass gave him such pains in the back, that for some minutes he was completely disabled. "An attack of lumbago!" he cried. "I seem liable to all mortal ailments to-night." "Thou hadst better desist," said the saint. "The next attack may cripple thee for all time." "I am all right again!" shouted the demon. "It was but a passing seizure, like those that have gone before it. Thou shalt now see what I can do." And he began to ply his pickaxe with greater energy than ever, toiling on without intermission, filling the chasm with flame from his fiery nostrils, and producing the effect of a continuous thunderstorm over the weald. Thus he wrought on, I say, uninterruptedly for the space of another hour. Sister Ursula then turned the glass for the last time. The fiend was suddenly checked, but not this time by pains in the limbs or prostration of strength. He had struck the pickaxe so deeply into the chalk that he could not remove it. He strained every nerve to pluck it forth, but it continued firmly embedded; and the helve, which was thick as the mainmast of a ship, and of toughest oak, broke in his grasp. While he was roaring like an infuriated lion with rage and mortification, Saint Cuthman | death she still retained the attitude of prayer, called out to him to come forth. "Wherefore should I come forth?" the fiend cried. "Thou thinkest I am baffled; but thou art mistaken. I will dig out my axe-head presently, and my shovel will furnish me with a new handle." Cease, if thou canst, for a short space, to breathe forth flame and smoke; and look towards the east," cried the saint. "There is a glimmer of light in the sky in that quarter!" exclaimed the demon, holding his breath; "but dawn cannot be come already." "The streak of light grows rapidly wider and brighter," said the saint. "The shades of night are fleeing fast away. The larks are beginning to rise and carol forth their matin hymns on the downs. The rooks are cawing amid the trees of the park beneath us. The cattle are lowing in the meads-and hark! dost thou not hear the cocks crowing in the adjacent village of Poynings?" Cocks crowing at Poynings!" yelled the fiend. It must be the dawn. But the sun shall not behold my discomfiture." "Hide thy head in darkness, accursed being!" exclaimed the saint, raising his staff. Hence with thee! and return not to this hill. The dwellers within the Sussex Weald are saved from thy malice, and may henceforth worship without fear. Get thee hence! I say.' Abashed by the awful looks of the saint, the demon fled. Howling with rage, like a wild beast robbed of its prey, he ran to the northern boundary of the rampart surrounding the camp, where the marks of his gigantic feet may still be seen indelibly impressed on the sod. Then springing off, and unfolding his sable pinions, he soared over the weald, alighting on Leith Hill. Just as he took flight Sister Ursula's taper went out. Instant darkness fell upon the hill, and Night resumed her former sway. The village cocks ceased crowing, the larks paused in their songs and dropped to the ground like stones, the rooks returned to roost, and the lowing herds became silent. Saint Cuthman had to make a considerable circuit to reach Sister Ursula's cell, a deep gulf having been placed between it and the headland on which he had taken his stand. On arriving at the little structure he found that the recluse's troubles were over. Her loving heart had for ever ceased to beat. Her failing strength had sufficed to turn the hourglass for the last time, and just as the consecrated taper expired she passed away. In her clasped hands being raised heavenwards. "Suspice Domine, preces nostras pro animâ famulæ tuæ; ut si quæ ei maculæ de terrenis contagiis adhæserunt, remissionis tuæ miser cordia deleantur!" ejaculated the holy man. She could not have had a better ending, May my own be like it! She shall have sepulture in my mother's grave at Steyning. And masses and trentals, according to my promise, shall be said for the repose of her soul. Peace be with her!" And he went on his way. Thus was the demon banished by Saint Cuthman from that hill overlooking the fair Sussex Weald, and the people of the plain ever after prayed in peace. But the devil's handiwork, the unfinished dyke, exists to this day. Though I never heard that his pickaxe had been found. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. The fountains mingle with the river, Why not I with thine? THE FAMILY PICTURE. |