And here, for once in her life, Beatrice was perfectly agreed with her grandmamma, and she came to life again, and sat forward to join in the universal condemnation of waltzes and polkas that was going on round the table.

With this drop of consolation to her, the party broke up, and Jessie, as she walked home to Sutton Leigh, found great solace in determining within herself that at any rate waltzing was not half so bad as dressing up and play-acting, which she was sure her mamma would never approve.

Beatrice came to her aunt's room, when they went upstairs, and petitioned for a little talk, and Mrs. Frederick Langford, with kind pity for her present motherless condition, accepted her visit, and even allowed her to outstay Bennet, during whose operations the discussion of the charade, and the history of the preparations and contrivances gave subject for a very animated conversation.

Then came matters of more interest. What Beatrice seemed above all to wish for, was to relieve herself by the expression of her intense dislike to the ball, and all the company, very nearly without exception, and there were few elders to whom a young damsel could talk so much without restraint as to aunt Mary.

The waltzing, too, how glad she was that grandmamma had forbidden it, and here Henrietta chimed in. She had never seen waltzing before, had only heard of it as people in their quiet homes hear and think of the doings of the fashionable world, and in her simplicity was perfectly shocked and amazed at Jessie, a sort of relation, practising it and pleading for it.

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My dear!" said Beatrice, laughing, "I do not know what you would do if you were me, when there is Matilda St. Leger polka-ing away half the days of her life.”

"Yes, but Lady Matilda is a regular fashionable young lady." "Ay, and so is Jessie at heart. It is the elegance, and the air, and the society that are wanting, not the will. It is the circumstances that make the difference, not the temper."

"Quite true, Busy Bee," said her aunt, temper may be the same in very different circumstances."

"But it is very curious, mamma," said Henrietta, "how people can be particular in one point, and not in another. Now Bee, I beg your pardon, only I know you do not mind it, Jessie did not approve of your skating."

"Yes," said Beatrice, "every one has scruples of his own, laughs at those of other people."

and

"Which I think ought to teach busy Bees to be rather less stinging," said aunt Mary.

"But then, mamma," said Henrietta, "we must hold to the right scruples, and what are they? I do not suppose that in reality Jessie is less-less desirous of avoiding all that verges towards a

want of propriety than we are, yet she waltzes. Now we were brought up to dislike such things."

"O, it is just according to what you are brought up to,” said Beatrice. "A Turkish lady despises us for showing our faces: it is just as you think it."

"No, that will not do," said Henrietta. "Something must be actually wrong. Mamma, do say what you think."

"I think, my dear, that woman has been mercifully endowed with an instinct which discerns unconsciously what is becoming or not, and whatever at the first moment jars on that sense is unbecoming in her own individual case. The fineness of the perception may be destroyed by education, or wilful dulling, and often on one point it may thus be silent, though alive and active on others." "Yes," said Henrietta, as if satisfied.

"And above all," said her mother, "it, like other gifts, grows dangerous, it may become affectation."

"Pruding," said Beatrice, "showing openly that you like it to be observed how prudent and proper you are."

"Whereas true delicacy would shrink from showing that it is conscious of anything wrong," said Henrietta.

exactly mean, but something on the borders of it."

Wrong I do not

Yes," said aunt Mary, "and above all, do not let this delicacy show itself in the carping at other people, which only exalts our own opinion of ourselves, and very soon turns into 'judging our neighbour." "

"But there is false delicacy, aunt?"

"Yes, but it would be false kindness to enter on a fresh discussion to-night, when you ought to be fast asleep."

VENERABLE BEDE, PRIEST.*

MAY 27.

THOSE who speak of the far north, commonly think only of the rich deep mines, from which is borne in the tall dark ships, unladen by swarthy crews beside the wharves of Rotherhithe and S. Katharine's, the precious mineral which burns upon the glistening Christmas-hearth, and feeds the stout engines which give motion to the rapid-wheeled vessels that plough up the silent highway of the Thames. Or, perchance, the name may awhile summon up boyhood's memories of wild tales of borderwarfare; the raid of the swift moss-trooper levying his black mail; or the gleam of weapons, and the watch-fires of the Douglas, gazed on by wistful eyes from the peopled walls of

[Although a slight sketch of Bede has already appeared, the present more detailed account may be acceptable.-ED.]

Carlisle. But there are gentler recollections which throng thick upon the mind, over and above the ceaseless commerce, or the romance of old feuds, or even the calm beauty of its misty mountains and glassy lakes.

We must look back some twelve centuries ago. Upon the side of the Norman Church of Jarrow, in Northumberland, built into the wall, is an ancient stone, bearing, in uncouth letters, an inscription, setting forth that the Church of S. Paul was dedicated on the viiij of the Kalends of May, in the 15 year of King Egfrid, when Cholfrid had been Abbat now four years. Hard by are the moss-grown ruins of some rude monastic building. It is the year of grace 684. The wall of Hadrian and Severus still stands firm as when the Roman raised it. Upon a bleak moor, stretching wide between a chain of hills and the banks of the rushing Wear, and near the mouth of the Tyne, a band of monks are toiling. He who directs their labours has returned from his fifth journey to Rome; already built up the walls after the Romanesque manner: he has glazed the windows by the new art hitherto unknown, and now he hangs upon the walls of the new conventual Church fair pictures of Isaac, bearing the wood of sacrifice, and the Blessed Redeemer sinking beneath the Cross which He carries toward Calvary; the brazen serpent in the wilderness, and Him Who was uplifted on the accursed tree. That holy man is Benedict Biscop; and one of tender years watches him with tearful eyes of joy,-seven summers have cast their light upon his bright golden hair. Like another Samuel, his parents have brought from the neighbouring village the young boy, to dedicate him to the perpetual service of the sanctuary: that child grew up to be the Venerable Bede. Trumbert, who had been reared at the feet of S. Chad of Lichfield, trained him in the studies of good learning; and from John, precentor of S. Peter's at Rome, he was taught to sing the sweet hymns and psalmody of the daily service. But his chief delight was in the Word of GOD; that was his meditation day and night the Divine oracle he made his rule of faith and guide of life. True it is, that in his laborious cell he compiled that noble witness of his industry and learning, the Ecclesiastical History of Britain; while the wisest Bishops and scholars of his time counted it joy to render him their aid. Amongst these were Daniel of Winchester, the monks of Landisfarne, the solitaries of Lestingham; Albinus, Abbat of S. Augustine's; and that zealous Priest Northelm, who set forth to Rome to search among the archives of its early Bishops, and bring back transcripts of all letters and histories that related to the gradual spread of the kingdom of heaven in his native land.

:

At the early age of nineteen, with the licence of Ceolfrid, he

was admitted to the holy order of Deacon by John of Beverly, the Bishop of Hexham. Eleven years after, by the same hands he was advanced to the Priesthood. Once he was summoned to Rome by its Bishop; but he, it is said, scarce ventured beyond his cloister, until one year before his departure he visited Egbert, lately consecrated Archbishop of York. His whole heart was given to communion with the Most High, sought through prayer, and specially the book of life. Not only at the desire of his friend Acca, did he collect out of the ancient fathers a valuable commentary upon a great part of holy writ, but wisely commenced a translation of the Gospel of S. John into the Anglo-Saxon tongue; desiring also that all men should be able to say the Creed and the LORD's Prayer in their native language, and frequently partake of "the spiritual sustenance of the supper of our LORD."

To Egbert, almost with a dying hand, he addressed a letter full of pious and prudent counsel, entreating him to establish Presbyters in every village to preach the word of GOD, and administer the holy sacraments. One warning he added, touching the danger and inconvenience of the increase of religious houses to the prejudice of Church and State. He might well speak of the temptations of indolence and ignorant seclusion, for his only amusement was variety of employment. In astronomy, arithmetic, the learned languages, and poetry, he was a proficient; his homilies, lives of the saints, and other works, fill eight volumes of the largest size. Manual labour strengthened his body; the exercises of piety, humility, and other Christian graces, gave unction to his preaching, and beauty to his character. "With this man," says William of Malmesbury, "was buried almost all knowledge of history down to our times; inasmuch as there has been no Englishman either emulous of his pursuits, or a follower of his graces, who could continue the thread of his discourses now broken short."

In early times, monasteries were a boon to the land; they were the refuge to the weak, affording a refuge and retreat of prayer to the aged, asylum and sanctuary to the orphan and oppressed: they were the seminaries of the nation, the storehouses of literature, in which were preserved the treasures of the lore of the ancient world-and the lamp of learning was still kept alight. At their gates, morning and evening, the bountiful alms were distributed to a hundred poor supplicants; their bailiffs were gentle landlords, letting their lands at moderate rents; and never in vain at their doors did the benighted traveller pray for welcome and repose; but in the refectory kind hands spread the board, and through the night sweet sounds of chant and hymn told that the chapel was full of pious watchers, and

with the morning he passed out upon his way, rejoicing in delicious memory of the holy brotherhood.

Many who, in those iron days of misrule, were wearied with the orgies of the Saxons, and the cares of rank, retired to these houses of ceaseless prayer. The monks were the chroniclers of their times, and multiplied copies of the Holy Scripture by those exquisitely written and richly illuminated manuscripts, which are now stored up as above price in our choicest libraries.

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In these occupations Bede spent his useful life. The solemn services of Holy Week were ready to be celebrated in the year 735, when, now approaching the term of human life, the venerable Priest felt that the Great King was about to call him hence. Until the eve of the Ascension, he made preparation for his last summons to the world of the spirits of the Just. His sickness was the asthma; but painlessly and gently the hand of death lay upon him. He solemnly warned his brethren of the hour when they, too, must depart hence, with texts of holy Scripture, and many words. His disciples he continued to teach, “Learn your best to-day," said he," for I know not how long my Maker may suffer me yet to tarry with you." At evensong, when the brethren chanted the Collect, at the words "Leave us not orphans," he wept for joy; remembering how GOD had been his Father from a child, when he had known no earthly parent's love. The day dawned, and his pupil, Wilberth, entreated him to complete a chapter in his Translation of the Gospels, "Write," said his dying master, quickly," and gave him the closing words. "It is finished," replied the youth, when his task was done. "It is finished indeed, life and this world!" he softly answered. Then he bestowed upon each monk some little memorial of affection; and bidding them lay looking towards his wonted oratory upon the floor of his cell, and having uttered the hymn of praise, with the name of GOD trembling on his lips, he commended his spirit to Him Who gave it, on the morning of the Ascension. He needed not the chariot of Elias, and the horsemen of fire, for his heart was set with his treasure in heaven, and his soul, we may hope, went with that prayer and praise up into the presence of the Eternal Glory. His massive chair of oak is still shown in Jarrow. The Dane and the Norman threw down the holy house, and the brethren dwelt in Durham; and, with Elfred the Sacristan, laid his sleeping body beside the bones of S. Cuthbert. The princely Bishop, Hugh Pudsey, nephew of Stephen of Blois, placed it in a glorious casket of precious metal; and Richard of Barnard Castle translated the remains into the galilee of that noble fane, which

"huge and vast,

Looks down upon the Wear!"