Ecclesiastical Curiosities Part 9

In country districts, more than in towns, superst.i.tion is rife with regard to our Churchyards. The variety and form of this superst.i.tion is well nigh 'Legion,' and though many of my readers may enjoy an Ingoldsby experience when read in a well-lighted room, surrounded by smiling companions, few of them, after such an experience would care to pay a visit alone to some neighbouring churchyard, renowned for its tale of ghostly appearances. This will, I think enable me to show that by far the larger number of churchyard superst.i.tions are purely chimerous fancies of the brain, and do not owe their origin, or existence, to any other source, be that source a wilful fraud, or imposition, designed to produce fear, or merely the imaginative delusion of some overstrained, or weak brain, which called first it into existence.

Yet there are prevalent ideas or notions, about the churchyard and its sleepers, as deep-rooted as any wild superst.i.tion, and perhaps as difficult to solve, or to trace to any rational source. I would here mention one of the most strange, and probably one of the most prejudiced notions to be met with relating to burial in the churchyard. I refer to the East Anglian prejudice of being buried on the north side of the church. That this prejudice is a strong one, among the country people in certain parts of England, is proved by the scarcity of graves, nay, in many instances the total absence of graves, on the north side of our churches.

Some seventeen years ago, shortly after taking charge of a parish in Norfolk, I was called upon to select a suitable spot for the burial of a poor man, who had been killed by an accident. After several places had been suggested by me to the s.e.xton, who claimed for them either a family right, or some similar objection; I noticed for the first time, that there were no graves upon the north side of the church, and I, in my innocence, suggested that there would be plenty of s.p.a.ce there; whereupon my companion's face at once a.s.sumed the most serious expression, and I immediately saw that fear had taken hold of his mind, as he answered with a somewhat shaky voice, "No, Sir! No, that cannot be!" My curiosity was immediately aroused, and I sought for an explanation, which I found not from my good and loyal friend, who would not trust himself to answer further than "No, Sir! No, that cannot be!"

The s.e.xton's manner puzzled me greatly, for the man was an upright, straightforward, open-hearted, servant of the Church--but I at once saw that it would be fruitless to push the matter further with him, so after marking out a suitable resting place for the poor unfortunate man, who not being a parishoner of long standing, had no family burial place awaiting him, I made my way home to think over the whole occurrence.

The cause for non-burial on the north side of the Church was indeed a mystery, yet that my parishoners had some valid reason for not being laid to rest there, was apparent; so I set about the task of unravelling the superst.i.tion, if so it may be called.

My library shelves seemed to be the most natural place of research, but here after consultation with several volumes of Archaeology, Ecclesiology, and Folk Lore, I could find nothing bearing upon the subject, beyond that in certain instances relating to Churchyard Parishes on the sea-coast, the north side by reason of its exposure to wind and storm, and being the sunless quarter of the burying ground, was less used than other parts; but here the reason given was in consideration of the living mourners at the time of the interment, and not the body sleeping in its last resting place of earth.

After some considerable correspondence with friends likely to be interested in such a matter, I was rewarded with information that, in some instances, the northern portion of the churchyard was left unconsecrated, and only thus occasionally used for the burial of suicides, vagrants, highwaymen (after the four cross road graves had been discontinued), or for nondescripts and unbaptised persons, for whom no religious service was considered necessary. Even this I did not accept as a solution of my problem. That there was something more than local feeling underlying this superst.i.tion, I was certain, but how to get to the root of the subject perplexed me.

The Editor of "Notes and Queries" could not satisfy me. His general suggestions and kind desire to aid me were well-nigh fruitless, so that there remained for me the course of watching and waiting, as none of my neighbours could, or would, go beyond the conclusive statement of the s.e.xton, "It must not be!" or what was even more indefinite, "I have never heard of such a thing."

The subject was a fruitful source of thought for some months, and in vain I tried to connect some religious custom of other days, or to find some Text of Scripture, which might have given rise to the idea, if mistranslated, or twisted by human ingenuity, to serve such a purpose, but none occurred to me that in the least would bear of such a contortion.

In my intercourse with my older parishoners I sought in vain to test the unbaptized or suicidal burying place theory as suggested above, but this was entirely foreign to them. At length, the truth of the old saying, "_All things come to those who wait_" brought its due reward. I was called in to visit an aged parishoner, who was nearing the end of life's journey, and among other subjects naturally came the thoughts, and wishes, of this old saintly man's last hours on earth. He had been a shepherd for well nigh sixty years, and a widower for the past fifteen years, and in consequence he had lived and worked much alone. This had produced a thoughtful spirit, and a certain slowness of speech, so that he was quite the last man I should have consulted for a solution of my mystery. Yet, here the secret was unfolded, or to my mind more satisfactorily explained, than by any previous consultation with either men or books. The grand old labourer, or faithful shepherd, as he was laid helpless on his bed, with his life work symbol--the shepherd's crook, standing idle in the corner, and his trusty dog, restless and perplexed, roaming from room to room, was a wonderful picture of a Christian death-bed.

There I learned many a solemn life-lesson never to be forgotten. The calm voice, the monosyllabic answers given in response to my questions are still fresh to me; and there I learned the source of my Churchyard Superst.i.tion in the following manner:--

With a strange, weird, unnatural light in the aged man's eyes, which portrayed much anxiety of mind, he spoke about his burial-place, and particularly emphasising the words "_On the south side, sir, near by the wife_." When I ventured to inquire if he knew why such a strong objection was held to burial on the north side of the church. He started suddenly, and I shall never forget his reproachful, sad look as he more readily than usual gave the answer:--"The left side of Christ, sir: we don't like to be counted among the goats."

As a flash of lightning illuminates the whole darkness of the country side, and reveals for the moment every object in clear outline, so this quaint saying of my dying friend dispelled in a moment the mists of the past which clouded the truth of my strange superst.i.tion.

Here was the best answer to the mystery, pointing with no uncertain words to the glorious Resurrection Day, this aged, earthly shepherd at the end of his years of toil recognised his Great Master, Jesus, as the True Shepherd of mankind, meeting His flock as they arose from their long sleep of death, with their faces turned eastward, awaiting His appearing.

Then when all had been called and recognised He turned to lead them onward, still their True Shepherd and Guide, with the sheep on His right hand, and the goats on His left hand, so wonderfully foretold in the Gospel story: "When the Son of Man shall come in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then shall He sit upon the throne of His glory; And before Him shall be gathered all nations: and He shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats: and He shall set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left."--_S. Matt, xxv., 31, 32, 33._

Surely, the above simple ill.u.s.tration explains much that is difficult and mysterious to us in the way of religious superst.i.tion. Undoubtedly, we have here a good example of how superst.i.tions have arisen, probably from a good source, it may be the words of some teacher long since pa.s.sed away. The circ.u.mstance has long been forgotten, yet the lesson remains, and being handed down by oral tradition only, every vestige of its religious nature disappears and but the feeling remains, which, in the minds of the ignorant populace, increases in mystery and enfolds itself in superst.i.tious awe, without any desire from them to discover the origin, or source, of such a strange custom, or event.

Curious Announcements in the Church.

By the Rev. R. Wilkins Rees.

Years ago announcements in churches were of a distinctly curious character, and the parish clerk in making the intimation seems to have been left completely to his own indiscretion. In country districts, where proper advertising would be quite impossible, the practical advantages of some cla.s.ses of announcements would be great, but none of them accord with our modern sense of the fitness of things, and many can only be accounted for on the ground of extraordinary familiarity between clergyman, clerk, and congregation. A brief consideration of the subject furnishes a few side-lights into the general condition of the church, as well as into the laxity of church discipline, about fifty years and more ago, especially away from large centres of population.

In certain parts, the custom of crying lost goods in church was undoubtedly prevalent, and did not then appear peculiar. The rector, who had lost his favourite dog and told the parish clerk to do his best to ascertain its whereabouts, may have been astonished to hear him announce the loss in church, coupled with a statement that a reward of three pounds would be given to the person who should restore the animal to its owner. But such surprise was hardly natural when an announcement like the following was possible:--"Mislaid on Sunday last! The gold-rimmed vicar's spectacles of best gla.s.s, taken from his eyes in going into the poor box, or put down somewhere when going into the font to fetch the water after the christening." What a shock this rare jumble produced by a country clerk must have been to the precise and cla.s.sical vicar can only be imagined. The thought, however, of a gold-rimmed vicar diminutive enough to enter font or poor box is somewhat staggering!

Quite as muddled, but much more ingenious, was the clerk who announced, in recent years, an accomplished D.Sc. and LL.D. as a Doctor of Schools and a Lord Lieutenant of Divinity!

"Lost, stolen, or strayed," shouted the clerk in church one Sunday, with the strident voice of a town crier, and the manner of one not unaccustomed to the task, "lost, stolen, or strayed. Four fat sheep and one lean cow. Whoever will return the same to Mr. ----'s farm will be suitably rewarded." It is well that the name of the parish in which it was given, is missing from another specimen of this sort of announcement, for it seems to indicate that honesty there could be but the outcome of an inducement afforded by the promise of substantial reward. "Lost," said the clerk, "on Sunday last, when the wearer was walking home from this church, and before she reached the Town Hall, a lady's gold brooch, set with pearls and other precious stones. The one who has found it will consider it worth while to restore it, for the reward of a guinea is offered."

It is not a little surprising that the clergyman in charge did not supervise more carefully the various announcements, especially when so many a _contretemps_ occurred. Once a parish clerk announced in his rector's hearing:--"There'll be no service next Sunday as the rector's going out grouse shooting." The rector had injudiciously acquainted his clerk with the reason of his approaching absence, and this was the result. It happened, of course, a half century since, but it ill.u.s.trates an interesting state of things as existing at that period. With it two similar incidents may well be mentioned, the first of which occurred in Scotland, the second in the Princ.i.p.ality. "Next Sawbath," said a worthy Scotch beadle, "we shall have no Sawbath, for the meenister's house is having spring cleaning, and as the weather is very bad the meenister's wife wants the kirk to dry the things in." "Next Sunday," declared the unconsciously amusing Welshman, "there'll be no Sunday, as we're going to whitewash the church with yellow-ochre." Sometimes the omission of a stop caused sore trouble to the clerk, while it hugely delighted the congregation. "A man having gone to see his wife desires the prayers of this church," was the startling announcement. But had not the clerk been near-sighted and mistaken _sea_ for _see_, and had a comma been supplied after sea, the notice would have been all right, for it was simply the request of a sailor's wife on behalf of her husband.

Once the clerk made the announcement that a parish meeting would be held on a given date. "No, no," interrupted the vicar. "D'ye think I'd attend to business on the audit day!" The audit days were recognised as times of hearty feasting and convivial mirth, in which the vicar played no unimportant part. This freedom of speech between clergyman and clerk was not seldom fruitful of ill-restrained amus.e.m.e.nt when the announcements were made. A vicar informed his congregation one Sunday morning that he would hold the customary service for baptisms in the afternoon, and requested the parents to bring their children punctually, so that there might be no delay in commencing. Immediately he had said this, the old clerk, sleepy and deaf, thinking the parson's announcement had to do with a new hymn-book which at that time was being introduced, arose, and graciously informed the people that for those who were still without them he had a stock in the vestry from which they could be supplied at the low charge of eighteenpence each. This is slightly similar:--"I publish the banns of marriage between ... between ..." announced a clergyman from the pulpit. But here for a moment he stopped, as the book in which were the notices was not to be seen. The clerk, seeing his vicar's predicament, and catching sight of the whereabouts of the missing book, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:--"Between the cus.h.i.+on and the desk, sir." The unique character of another notice will fully justify its inclusion. "I am unwell, my friends, very unwell," announced a preacher one Sunday evening, "and therefore I shall dispense with my usual gesticulation."

This happened not very long ago.

So disregarded, indeed, were the proprieties of wors.h.i.+p a generation since, that the clergyman would sometimes pause during the delivery of his sermon and make an announcement which, to say the least of it, had no connection with the theme he was pursuing. Thus the Rev. Samuel Sherwen, a well-known cleric in c.u.mberland, announced one morning that he had just caught sight, through a window near the pulpit, of some cows in a cornfield, and requested that some one would go and drive them out.

At another time he said there were some pigs in the churchyard which were not his, and his servant Peter would do well to expel the intruders. Very probably such announcements, though made from a pulpit, would be excused because they resulted in a certain benefit. The same plea could undoubtedly be put forward for the following trio, each of which hails from beyond the Severn. "Take notice!" exclaimed the clerk.

"A thief is going through the Vale of Glamorgan selling tin ware, false gold, trinkets, and rings, and other domestic implements and instruments, and robbing houses of hens, chickens, eggs, b.u.t.ter, and other portable animals, making all sorts of pretences to get money!"

Again, "Beware! beware! of a man with one eye, talking like a preacher, and a wooden leg, given to begging and stealing!" And once more, "Take notice! take notice! there's a mad dog going the round of the parish with two crop ears and a very long tail!" Surely the intention of such announcements was good, even though the literary form was bad. The last, as might be inferred, was made at a time when rabies were prevalent.

The Rev. Samuel Sherwen, already alluded to, was surpa.s.sed in this direction by another c.u.mbrian clergyman, the Rev. William Sewell, of Troutbeck. One Sunday morning the latter entered the pulpit of the little church at Wythburn to preach. The pulpit sadly needed repair, and, in leaning out from the wall, left an undesirable opening behind it. Into this c.h.i.n.k the parson's sermon fell, and the pulpit was so ricketty in its broken-down condition that the preacher feared the consequences of turning in it. Moreover, the ma.n.u.script had fallen so far that it could not be reached. Mr. Sewell, bereft of his sermon, announced to his congregation in broad dialect: "T' sarmont's slipt down i' t' neuk, and I can't git it out; but I'll tell ye what--I'se read ye a chapter i' t' Bible 'at's worth three on't." A similar story is told in connection with the Rev. Mr. Alc.o.c.k, who in the middle of the last century was rector of Burnsal, near Skipton, in Yorks.h.i.+re. Of this clergyman another story is given which well ill.u.s.trates the excessive familiarity indulged in by occupants of the pulpit in bygone days. One of his friends, at whose house he was wont to call previous to entering the church on Sundays, seized a chance to unfasten and then misplace the leaves of his sermon. In the service the parson had not read far before he discovered the trick. "Will," cried he, "thou rascal! what's thou been doing with my sermon?" Then turning to his people, he continued: "Brethren, Will Thornton's been misplacing the leaves of my sermon; I have not time to put them right; I shall read on as I find it, and you must make the best of it that you can." He accordingly read to the close of the confused ma.s.s to the utter astonishment of his congregation.

Of such familiarity Scottish churches furnish well-nigh innumerable instances. One or two will, however, be sufficient for my purpose. The clergyman who was expected to conduct the morning service had not made his appearance at the appointed time. After a dreadful suspense of some fifteen minutes the beadle, that much-privileged individual, entered the church, marched slowly along the accustomed pa.s.sage, and mounted the pulpit-stair. When half-way up he stopped, turned to the congregation, and thus addressed them: "There was one Alexander to hae preached here the day, but he's neither come hissel; nor has he sent the sc.r.a.pe o' a pen to say what's come owre him. Ye'd better keep your seats for anither ten meenits to see whether the body turns up or no. If he disna come, there's naething for 't but for ye a' to gang hame again an' say naething mair aboot it. The like o' this hasna happened here syne I hae been conneckit wi' the place, an' that's mair than four-and-thirty year now." As an announcement to the point, and for the purpose, that could not easily be beaten. A clergyman of Crossmichael, in Galloway, would even intersperse his lessons or sermon with any announcement that might at the moment occur to him, or with allusions to the behaviour of his hearers. Once, because of this method, a verse from Exodus was hardly recognisable. The version given was as follows: "And the Lord said unto Moses--shut that door; I'm thinkin' if ye had to sit beside that door yersel', ye wadna be sae ready leavin' it open; it was just beside that door that Yedam Tamson, the bellman, gat his death o' cauld, an' I'm sure, honest man, he didna lat it stey muckle open.--And the Lord said unto Moses--put oot that dog; wha is't that brings dogs to the kirk, yaff-yaffin'? Lat me never see ye bring yer dogs here ony mair, for, if ye do, tak notice, I'll put you an' them baith oot.--And the Lord said unto Moses--I see a man aneeth that wast laft wi' his hat on; I'm sure ye're cleen oot o' the souch o' the door; keep aff yer bonnet, Tammas, an' if yer bare pow be cauld, ye maun jist get a grey worset wig like mysel'; they're no sae dear; plenty o' them at Bob Gillespie's for tenpence." At last, however, the preacher informed his hearers what was said to Moses in a manner at once more accurate and becoming.

It was, indeed, a usual custom for the clergyman publicly to rebuke offenders, as when it happened that a young man, sitting in a prominent position in the church, pulled out his handkerchief and brought with it a bundle of playing cards, which flew in every direction. He had, so it turned out, been up late the previous night, and had stuffed the cards with which he had been gambling into his pocket, where they had remained forgotten. The people were amazed and horrified, but the clergyman simply looked at the offender and remarked with quiet, yet most withering sarcasm, "Sir, that prayer book of yours has been badly bound!" But some times the rebuke was deftly thrust back upon the preacher. "You're sleepy, John," said the clergyman, pausing in the middle of a drowsy discourse, and looking hard at the man he thus addressed. "Take some snuff, John." "Put the snuff in the sermon,"

e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed John; and the faces of the audience showed that the retort was fully appreciated.

In fact, such was the freedom tolerated, that this incident in Eskdale might be taken as an example. Someone walked noisily up the aisle during divine service. "Whaa's tat?" asked the clergyman in a tone quite loud enough to rebuke the offender. "It's aad Sharp o' Laa Birker,"

responded the clerk. "Afooat or o' horseback?" was the significant query. "Nay," was the answer, "n.o.bbet afooat, wi' c.o.kert shun" (calkered shoes). Frequently the clerk would interrupt the clergyman, and the interruption would not enhance the devotional character of the service.

In a rural parish church a new pitch-pipe was provided, but the clerk had not tested it before entering his desk on the Sunday, and when he should have given the key-note the instrument could not be adjusted. The clerk tugged at it, thrust it in, gave it several thumps, made sundry grimaces, but the pipe was obdurate. "My friends," announced the impatient parson, "the pitch-pipe will not work, so let us pray."

"Pray!" snorted the aggrieved official, "pray! no, no, we'll pray none till I put this thing aright." And members of the congregation would even stand up in their pews to contradict the parson or clerk when making the announcement. "There will be a service here as usual on Thursday evening next," announced the clerk one Sunday morning. "No, there won't," declared the churchwarden as he rose from his seat. "We be going to carry hay all day Thursday." "But the service will be held as usual," a.s.serted the clerk. But the churchwarden was not to be thwarted.

"Then there'll be n.o.body here," said he. "D'ye think we're coming to church and leave the hay in the fields? No, no, p'r'aps it'll rain Friday."

But of all amusing instances of curious announcements in church those given by the Rev. Cuthbert Bede in _All the Year Round_, November 1880, may take the palm and fittingly conclude this chapter. "An old rector of a small country parish," so runs the story, "had sent his set of false teeth to be repaired, on the understanding that they should be returned "by Sat.u.r.day" as there was no Sunday post, and the village was nine miles from the post town. The old rector tried to brave out the difficulty, but after he had incoherently mumbled through the prayers, he decided not to address his congregation on that day. While the hymn was being sung, he summoned the clerk to the vestry, and then said to him: "It is quite useless for me to attempt to go on. The fact is, that my dentist has not sent me back my artificial teeth, and it is impossible for me to make myself understood. You must tell the congregation that the service is ended for this morning, and that there will be no service this afternoon." The old clerk went back to his desk; the singing of the hymn was brought to an end; and the rector, from the vestry, heard the clerk address the congregation thus: "This is to give notice! as there won't be no sarmon nor no more sarvice this mornin', so you' better all go whum (home); and there won't be no sarvice this aternoon, as the rector ain't got his artful teeth back from the dentist!"

Big Bones Preserved in Churches.

By the Rev. R. Wilkins Rees.

In a lovely and secluded valley in Montgomerys.h.i.+re is situated the interesting old church of Pennant Melangell, of whose foundation a charming legend is told. The romantic glen was in the first instance the retreat of a beautiful Irish maiden, Monacella (in Welsh, Melangell), who had fled from her father's court rather than wed a n.o.ble to whom he had promised her hand, that here she might alone "serve G.o.d and the spotless virgin." Brochwell Yscythrog, Prince of Powys, being one day hare-hunting in the locality, pursued his game till he came to a thicket, where to his amazement he found a lady of surpa.s.sing beauty, with the hare he was chasing safely sheltered beneath her robe.

Notwithstanding all the efforts of the sportsman to make them seize their prey, the dogs had retired to a distance, howling as though in fear, and even when the huntsman essayed to blow his horn, it stuck to his lips. The Prince, learning the lady's story, right royally a.s.signed to her the spot as a sanctuary for ever to all who fled there. It afterwards became a safe asylum for the oppressed, and an inst.i.tution for the training of female devotees. But how long it so continued cannot be said. Monacella's hard bed used to be shown in the cleft of a neighbouring rock, while her tomb was in a little oratory adjoining the church.

In the church is to be found carved woodwork, which doubtless once formed part of the rood-loft, representing the legend of Saint Melangell. The protection afforded by the saint to the hare gave such animals the name of Wyn Melangell--St. Monacella's lambs--and the superst.i.tion was so fully credited that no person would kill a hare in the parish, while it was also believed that if anyone cried "G.o.d and St.

Monacella be with thee" after a hunted hare, it would surely escape.

The church contains another interesting item in the shape of a large bone, more than four feet long, which has been described as the bone of the patron saint. Southey visited the church, and in an amusing rhyming letter addressed to his daughter, thus refers to it: "'Tis a church in a vale, whereby hangs a tale, how a hare being pressed by the dogs was much distressed, the hunters coming nigh and the dogs in full cry, looked about for someone to defend her, and saw just in time, as it now comes pat in rhyme, a saint of the feminine gender. The saint was buried there, and a figure carved with care, in the churchyard is shown, as being her own; but 'tis used for a whetstone (like a stone at our back door), till the pity is the more (I should say the more's the pity, if it suited with my ditty), it is whetted half away--lack-a-day, lack-a-day! They show a mammoth rib (was there ever such a fib?) as belonging to the saint Melangell. It was no use to wrangle, and tell the simple people that if this had been her bone, she must certainly have grown to be three times as tall as the steeple!"

In Lewis's "Topographical Dictionary of Wales" (1843), we are told that on the mountain between Bala and Pennant Melangell was found a large bone named the Giant's Rib, perhaps the bone of some fish, now kept in the church. But where the bone came from it is quite impossible to say.

Old superst.i.tions have clung to it, and beyond what tradition furnishes there is practically nothing for our guidance.

It is somewhat strange that in the same county, in connection with the church at Mallwyd, other bones are exhibited. Of this church, surrounded by romantic scenery, the Dr. Davies, who rendered into Welsh the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England, and a.s.sisted Bishop Perry in the translation of the Bible, was for many years inc.u.mbent. The sacred edifice was far-famed for its magnificent yew trees, and for the position of the communion table in the centre. Archbishop Laud issued orders that it should be placed at the east end, but Dr. Davies defied the prelate, and restored it to its old position, where, according to Hemmingway's "Panorama of North Wales," in which the church was described as a "humble Gothic structure, the floor covered with rushes,"

it remained till 1848. It is not, however, so placed now. Over the porch of this church some bones are suspended, but no palaeontologist has yet decided as to their origin. It has been said that they are the rib and part of the spine of a whale caught in the Dovey in bygone days!

Whatever may be the truth, however, it is not now to be ascertained, but must remain shrouded in mystery with that concerning the bones at Pennant Melangell. The bones were in their present position in 1816, for they are then mentioned by Pugh in his _Cambria Depicta_.

England has several instances of big bones preserved in churches, and one story seems to be told regarding almost all. A most interesting example is to be found over one of the altar tombs in the Foljambe Chapel, Chesterfield Church. This bone, supposed to be the jawbone of a small whale, is seven feet four inches in length, and about thirteen inches, on an average, in circ.u.mference. Near one end is engraved, in old English characters, the name "Thomas Fletcher." The Foljambes disposed of their manor in 1633 to the Ingrams, who in turn sold it to the Fletchers, and thus the name on the bone is accounted for. A generally-accepted explanation about this bone--not even disbelieved entirely at the present day--was that it formed a rib of the celebrated Dun Cow of Dunsmore Heath, killed by the doughty Guy of Warwick, with whom local tradition identified the warrior whose marble effigy lies beneath the bone, sent to Chesterfield to celebrate the much-appreciated victory.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DUN COW, DURHAM CATHEDRAL.]

It is interesting to remember here the legendary story of the foundation of Durham Cathedral, which explains certain carving on the north front of that majestic pile. While the final resting-place of St.

Cuthbert was still undetermined, "it was revealed to Eadmer, a virtuous man, that he should be carried to Dunholme, where he should find a place of rest. His followers were in distress, not knowing where Dunholme lay; but as they proceeded, a woman, wanting her cow, called aloud to her companion to know if she had seen her, when the other answered that she was in Dunholme. This was happy news to the distressed monks, who thereby knew that their journey's end was at hand, and the saint's body near its resting-place." It has been said that the after riches of the See of Durham gave rise to the proverb, "The dun cow's milk makes the prebend's wives go in silk."