sense of the word a most extraordinary man; and the Monkish authors fail not to crown his brow with laurels, because of his great taste, learning, and piety, and miracles many in number are assigned by them to him. He was of noble birth, and was born near Glastonbury in 925, the year when Athelstan came to the throne. He was brought to the abbey, where he received his education, and pursued his studies with such devotion that a serious illness was the result. His education was completed at Fleury, near Rouen, in France, whence he returned to England with a deep affection for the monastic life. He was a great proficient in architecture, painting, and sculpture, and before his death became Archbishop of Canterbury. His reproval of Edwy for his wickedness, and his consequent banishment are well-known to all. But that which more immediately concerns Glastonbury is thus gathered from the olden legends by Mr. Poole, in his interesting History of Architecture, a book superior to any I know for blending instruction with amusement. Before he had taken the habit, Dunstan was a pattern of all those virtues which are most nourished by the monastic system, and most lauded in Monkish legends, and now having become a Monk, he added to his former discipline the still greater asceticism of a hermit. He built for himself a little shed against the church, less like a human habitation than a tomb, in length about five feet, in breadth two feet and a half; one side of the shed which opened, and contained the only window, was the door. This was his house, his bed, and all of this world that he beheld. There would Dunstan stand at his work; and there would the devil reiterate his attacks. He would peep through the little window, and utter per verse speeches, intermingling the names of women, and the recollection of pleasures, with his talk, and turning the life of a religious to ridicule. The soldier of CHRIST recognised the tempter, and putting his tongs into the fire, began with lips pressed together to call upon the name of CHRIST; and when he saw the tongs were red hot, he snatched them from the fire, and seizing the monster by the nose dragged him into his shed. The devil roared with rage and pain, and escaped at last, tearing down part of the wall as he went. This is but one

of the strange legends told of S. Dunstan. "A story of this kind," continues Mr. Poole, "carries with it its own refutation, as the assertion of a fact; but it conveys this true lesson: That the man whose hands are never idle, has a great advantage over the tempter."

Nor are less marvellous records to be found touching the form of the abbey, which was announced to his parents when watching over him, whilst yet a child and ill. As they kept their watch about his bed, a man of heavenly aspect appeared, and stretching a surveyor's measuring line over the precincts of the Church; "after this fashion," said he, "shall a place be erected for the religious profit of those who shall hereafter believe in GOD, through this youth." Numerous miracles were also performed during the erection of the building. The following are instances: "There was a tower which had not yet been roofed; and when the workmen were raising a heavy beam to the top the ropes broke, and the beam began to fall. Dunstan hears a scream, rushes forth, making the sign of the cross in the air, and the beam immediately rises again to its place. The devil is again enraged, and attacks Dunstan in the form of a bear and tries to tear his pastoral staff from him. The good Abbot retains his hold, raises the staff into the air, and lets it fall on his adversary with such force that it is broken into three pieces."

This is but a specimen of the way in which Monkish writers adorn the narratives they give of one who was undoubtedly a great, and a good man-but who had his failings too, and those not very slight ones. He died at

Canterbury in 988, "and was buried in the spot which he himself had chosen two days before his death-the place to wit, where the Divine Office was daily celebrated by the brethren and which was before the steps which led up to the altar of the LORD CHRIST. Here in the midst of the choir, his body was deposited in a leaden coffin, deep in the ground, according to the ancient custom of the English; and the depth of his grave was made equal to the stature of an ordinary man. A tomb was afterwards constructed over him in the form of a large and lofty pyramid, and having at the head of the

saint the matutinal altar. Thus by choosing so conspicuous a spot he left a mournful and tender memorial of himself to the brethren singing in the choir, or ascending the steps of the altar."

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And now having given one of the characters of Dunstan, which may be called legendary, or poetical, I cannot do better before leaving Glastonbury, and its rebuilders, than quote the opinion of the Venerable the Archdeacon of Cleveland: "No man," he says, was more honoured by the generation in which he lived, and for many following generations, than S. Dunstan. On the other hand, no man has been more charged with frauds, imposture, and cruelty, by the writers of later ages. The cause of this has been, that the Monks, who owed much to his efforts and wished to honour his memory in their way, several years after his death invented many wonderful stories of deeds which he never did, and embellished some that he really did in such new colours that their true character is lost. It is very necessary if we wish to judge of such a man, to follow the accounts which were written nearest to the time at which he lived, and not those which the Monks afterwards made to serve their own purposes or to amuse their readers. He was neither so good nor so bad as they have made him out." I may add, that the Abbots of Glastonbury had precedence of all other Abbots until 1154, when that honour was transferred to S. Alban's.

Before I take leave of this part of the country I must mention a visit to Mells. The rector of this parish is an active and devoted parish Priest, and aided by his friend and senior curate, takes care that nothing is wanting to the decent celebration of our Church's services. The fine old church is being gradually restored, and great interest attaches to the painted glass from the fact of its being manufactured upon the spot, under the supervision of Mr. Blackwell, the senior curate. When the works now in progress are completed, this will be one of the finest churches in the county. There is here also a college for the education of the young which will amply repay a visit. The old manor house, a large and substantial building, has been fitted up with every requisite for the purpose,

and the oratory and other arrangements are among the best we have seen for some time. The late sub-vicar of Stratford-upon-Avon has just been appointed to the mastership, and from the high esteem he was held in by his former parishioners, as evidenced by the large assembly of all classes to bid him good-bye, and to present him with a testimonial on leaving, we augur well for the future of S. Andrew's College, Mells. Nor must we omit all mention of S. Edmund's, formerly a chapelry in this parish, but now an independent district. The situation is most romantic and beautiful-being placed on a hill, and yet surrounded by hills. It very much resembles S. John's, Bovey Tracy, of which we gave an engraving in our last volume. Its internal fittings are of a most correct character, and accordingly we are happy to say the ritual is not neglected. The colour of the east window is a little too glaring as contrasted with the sombre hue, and the harmonious blending of colours noticeable in old windows.

And now let me take you from country to town. A Sunday in London! What a multitude of thoughts do these words suggest. How do they bring back the memory of happy days, when I ministered amongst a loving and affectionate people, who loved their Church, and bore up the hands of their pastors in doing all things decently and in order. How do they recall the memory of the past, when at an early hour the weekly communion was celebrated, and the joyous chant burst forth day by day to the honour of the KING of Kings, and LORD of Lords. But those days are gone-and the harps are for a while hung upon the willows, and it is our lot to sow in tears in the hopes that hereafter, if not now, we may reap in joy. And what a strange thing is London now when one has become used to quiet country ways, and unfrequented rural streets, where one can pass along without the fear of having an omnibus pole coming into unpleasant proximity, or standing for a time lest one should be knocked down by a cab. I am not, generally speaking, very nervous, but I confess, that as I stood for awhile, by the General Post Office, waiting and attempting in vain to cross the road, I did feel that a sojourn in the country

had not diminished the sensitiveness one feels at running any unnecessary risks, or throwing oneself into danger. However, omnibuses are, after all, very good things, as I found on this occasion. Safely ensconced within one of them, my friend and self soon found ourselves in Westminster, and leaving our commodious vehicle, made for the Green Park, on our way to S. Barnabas', Pimlico. On our route we met one of the most pleasing sights that can be seen. A number of our brave soldiers' children, neat and clean, were proceeding to the church, under the care of their schoolmaster, in full uniform. It was neces sary for him to teach one of the little ones how to keep time, and march in good order, and this he did in the kindest and most gentle manner possible. On reaching S. Barnabas' my feelings were indeed of a mixed nature; I had watched the growth of that building, and taken part in its services in days gone by. I had not been in it since the memorable day when its noble founder went forth he knew not whither. It was impossible not to think of the hour when he ministered for the last time as Priest of that Church the Holy Eucharist to a large and mourning number. Yet there was no little cause for joy withal. The services are, in the main, the same. The same ancient chants still re-echo within its magnificent walls, and that too not sung merely by the choir, but by the whole congregation. The services are here divided, and if one may judge from the numbers that attended, with considerable success. The sermon was well adapted to the circumstances of the place, and was an exhortation to brotherly charity; the text being taken from the Epistle for the day. Thence in the evening to S. Matthias,' Stoke Newington. At S. Matthias' every thing was most delightful, except the depressing thought that one who had ministered there with success was there no longer. As I read the lessons on this occasion, I could not but think how applicable they were to the circumstances of that noble people, who have done so much, and bravely. The services were well rendered-the congregation very largeand the sermon by the Rev. C. Gutch impressive.

And here again, for the present, I must close. Enough has been detailed in these letters to show, that in country