CRISTO RAUL.ORG '

READING HALL: THE DOORS OF WISDOM 2022

BIBLIOMANIA IN THE MIDDLE AGES

CHAPTER IX

The Dominicans. The Franciscans and the Carmelites. Scholastic Studies. Robert Grostest. Libraries in London. Miracle Plays. Introduction of Printing into England. Barkley's Description of a Bibliomaniac.

The old monastic orders of St. Augustine and St. Benedict, of whose love of books we have principally spoken hitherto, were kept from falling into sloth and ignorance in the thirteenth century by the appearance of several new orders of devotees. The Dominicans (thirteen Dominicans were sent into England in the year 1221; they held their first provincial council in England in 1230 at Oxford, three years before St. Dominic was canonized by pope Gregory), the Franciscans (four clerics and five laymen of the Franciscan order were sent into England in 1224; ten years afterwards we find their disciples spreading over the whole of England), and the Carmelites were each renowned for their profound learning, and their unquenchable passion for knowledge; assuming a garb of the most abject poverty, renouncing all love of the world, all participation in its temporal honors, and refraining to seek the aggrandizement of their order by fixed oblations or state endowments, but adhering to a voluntary system for support, they caused a visible sensation among all classes, and wrought a powerful change in the ecclesiastical and collegiate learning of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries; and by their devotion, their charity, their strict austerity, and by their brilliant and unconquerable powers of disputation, soon gained the respect and affections of the people (Edward the Second regarded them with great favor, and wrote several letters to the pope in their praise).

Much as the friars have been condemned, or darkly as they have been represented, I have no hesitation in saying that they did more for the revival of learning, and the progress of English literature, than any other of the monastic orders. We cannot trace their course without admiration and astonishment at their splendid triumphs and success; they appear to act as intellectual crusaders against the prevailing ignorance and sloth. The finest names that adorn the literary annals of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the most prolific authors who flourished during that long period were begging friars; and the very spirit that was raised against them by the churchmen, and the severe controversial battles which they had between them, were the means of doing a vast amount of good, of exposing ignorance in high places, and compelling those who enjoyed the honors of learning to strive to merit them, by a studious application to literature and science; need I do more than mention the shining names of Duns Scotus, of Thomas Aquinas, of Roger Bacon, the founder of experimental philosophy, and the justly celebrated Robert Grostest, the most enlightened ecclesiastic of his age.

(A list of celebrated authors who flourished in England, and who were members of the Dominican Order, will be found in Steven’s Monasticon, vol. ii. p. 193, more than 80 names are mentioned. A similar list of authors of the Franciscan order will be found at p, 97 of vol. I. containing 122 names; and of the Carmelite authors, vol. II. p. 160, specifying 137 writers; a great proportion of their works are upon the Scriptures).

We may not admire the scholastic philosophy which the followers of Francis and Dominic held and expounded; we may deplore the intricate mazes and difficulties which a false philosophy led them to maintain, and we may equally deplore the waste of time and learning which they lavished in the vain hope of solving the mysteries of God, or in comprehending a loose and futile science. Yet the philosophy of the schoolmen is but little understood, and is too often condemned without reason or without proof; for those who trouble themselves to denounce, seldom care to read them; their ponderous volumes are too formidable to analyze; it is so much easier to declaim than to examine such sturdy antagonists; but we owe to the schoolmen far more than we are apt to suppose, and if it were possible to scratch their names from the page of history, and to obliterate all traces of their bulky writings from our libraries and from our literature, we should find our knowledge dark and gloomy in comparison with what it is.

But the mendicant orders did not study and uphold the scholastic philosophy without improving it; the works of Aristotle, of which it is said the early schoolmen possessed only a vitiated translation from the Arabic, was, at the period these friars sprung up, but imperfectly understood and taught. Michael Scot, with the assistance of a learned Jew, translated and published the writings of the great philosopher in Latin, which greatly superseded the old versions derived from the Saracen copies.

The mendicant friars having qualified themselves with a respectable share of Greek learning, then taught and expounded the Aristotelian philosophy according to this new translation, and opened a new and proscribed field for disputation and enquiry (at a council held at Paris in the year 1209, the works of Aristotle were proscribed and ordered to be burnt. Launvius de Varia Aristotelis fortuna. But in spite of the papal mandate the friars revived its use. Richard Fizacre, an intimate friend of Roger Bacon, was so passionately fond of reading Aristotle, that he always carried one of his works in his bosom); their indomitable perseverance, their acute powers of reasoning, and the splendid popularity which many of the disciples of St. Dominic and St. Francis were fast acquiring, caused students to flock in crowds to their seats of learning, and all who were inspired to an acquaintance with scholastic philosophy placed themselves under their training and tuition.

No religious order before them ever carried the spirit of inquiry to such an extent as they, or allowed it to wander over such an unbounded field. The most difficult and mysterious questions of theology were discussed and fearlessly analyzed; far from exercising that blind and easy credulity which mark the religious conduct of the old monastic orders, they were disposed to probe and examine every article of their faith. To such an extent were their disputations carried, that sometimes it shook their faith in the orthodoxy of Rome, and often aroused the pious fears of the more timid of their own order. Angell de Pisa, who founded the school of the Franciscans or Grey Friars at Oxford, is said to have gone one day into his school, with a view to discover what progress the students were making in their studies; as he entered he found them warm in disputation, and was shocked to find that the question at issue was “whether there was a God”; the good man, greatly alarmed, cried out, “Alas, for me! alas, for me! simple brothers pierce the heavens and the learned dispute whether there be a God!”, and with great indignation ran out of the house blaming himself for having established a school for such fearful disputes; but he afterwards returned and remained among his pupils, and purchased for ten marks a corrected copy of the decretals, to which he made his students apply their minds. This school was the most flourishing of those belonging to the Franciscans; and it was here that the celebrated Robert Grostest, bishop of Lincoln, read lectures about the year 1230. He was a profound scholar, thoroughly conversant with the most abstruse matters of philosophy, and a great Bible reader. He possessed an extensive knowledge of the Greek, and translated, into Latin, Dionysius the Areopagite, Damascenus, Suida's Greek Lexicon, a Greek Grammar, and, with the assistance of Nicholas, a monk of St. Alban's, the History of the Twelve Patriarchs. He collected a fine library of Greek books, many of which he obtained from Athens. Roger Bacon speaks of his knowledge of the Greek, and says, that he caused a vast number of books to be gathered together in that tongue. His extraordinary talent and varied knowledge caused him to be deemed a conjuror and astrologer by the ignorant and superstitious; and his enemies, who were numerous and powerful, did not refuse to encourage the slanderous report. We find him so represented by the poet Gower:—

"For of the grete clerk Grostest,

I rede how redy that he was

Upon clergye, and bede of bras,

To make and forge it, for to telle

Of suche thynges as befelle,

And seven yeres besinesse.

Ye ladye, but for the lackhesse

Of 'a halfe a mynute of an houre,

Fro fyrst that he began laboure,

Ye lost al that he had do."

Robert Grosseteste.

The Franciscan convent at Oxford contained two libraries, one for the use of the graduates and one for the secular students, who did not belong to their order, but who were receiving instruction from them. Grostest gave many volumes to these libraries, and at his death he bequeathed to the convent all his books, which formed no doubt a fine collection. “To these were added”, says Wood, “the works of Roger Bacon, who, Bale tells us, writ an hundred Treatises. There were also volumes of other writers of the same order, which, I believe, amounted to no small number. In short, I guess that these libraries were filled with all sorts of erudition, because the friars of all orders, and chiefly the Franciscans, used so diligently to procure all monuments of literature from all parts, that wise men looked upon it as an injury to laymen, who, therefore, found a difficulty to get any books. Several books of Grosseteste and Bacon treated of astronomy and mathematics, besides some relating to the Greek tongue. But these friars, as I have found by certain ancient manuscripts, bought many Hebrew books of the Jews who were disturbed in England. In a word, they, to their utmost power, purchased whatsoever was anywhere to be had of singular learning”.

Many of the smaller convents of the Franciscan order possessed considerable libraries, which they purchased or received as gifts from their patrons (the Mendicant orders, unlike the monks, were not remarkable for their industry in transcribing books: their roving life was unsuitable to the tedious profession of a scribe). There was a house of Grey Friars at Exeter, and Roger de Thoris, Archdeacon of Exeter, gave or lent them a library of books in the year 1266, soon after their establishment, reserving to himself the privilege of using them, and forbade the friars from selling or parting with them. The collection, however, contained less than twenty volumes, and was formed principally of the scriptures and writings of their own order. "Whosoever”, concludes the document, “shall presume hereafter to separate or destroy this donation of mine, may he incur the malediction of the omnipotent God! dated on the day of the purification, in the year of our Lord MCCLXVI”.

Libraries in London.

The library of the Grey Friars in London was of more than usual magnificence and extent. It was founded by the celebrated Richard Whittington. Its origin is thus set forth in an old manuscript in the Cottonian library:

“In the year of our Lord, 1421, the worshipful Richard Whyttyngton, knight and mayor of London, began the new library and laid the first foundation-stone on the 21st day of October; that is, on the feast of St. Hilarion the abbot. And the following year before the feast of the nativity of Christ, the house was raised and covered; and in three years after, it was floored, whitewashed, glazed, adorned with shelves, statues, and carving, and furnished with books: and the expenses about what is aforesaid amount to £556:16:9; of which sum, the aforesaid Richard Whyttyngton paid £400, and the residue was paid by the reverend father B. Thomas Winchelsey and his friends, to whose soul God be propitious.—Amen”.

Among some items of money expended, we find, “for the works of Doctor de Lyra contained in two volumes, now in the chains, 100 marks, of which B. John Frensile remitted 20s.; and for the Lectures of Hostiensis, now lying in the chains, 5 marks”. Leland speaks in the most enthusiastic terms of this library, and says, that it far surpassed all others for the number and antiquity of its volumes. John Wallden bequeathed as many manuscripts of celebrated authors as were worth two thousand pounds.

The library of the Dominicans in London was also at one time well stored with valuable books. Leland mentions some of those he found there, and among them some writings of Wicliff; indeed those of this order were renowned far and wide for their love of study; look at the old portraits of a Dominican friar, and you will generally see him with the pen in one hand and a book in the other; but they were more ambitious in literature than the monks, and aimed at the honors of an author rather than at those of a scribe; but we are surprised more at their fertility than at their style or originality in the mysteries of bookcraft. Henry Esseburn diligently read at Oxford, and devoted his whole soul to study, and wrote a number of works, principally on the Bible; he was appointed to govern the Dominican monastery at Chester; “being remote from all schools, he made use of his spare hours to revise and polish what he had writ at Oxford; having performed the same to his own satisfaction, he caused his works to be fairly transcribed, and copies of them to be preserved in several libraries of his order”. But they did not usually pay so much attention to the duties of transcribing. The Dominicans were fond of the physical sciences, and have been accused of too much partiality for occult philosophy. Leland tells us that Robert Perserutatur, a Dominican, was over solicitous in prying into the secrets of philosophy, and lays the same charge to many others (his works were of the impressions of the Air—of the Wonder of the Elements—of Ceremonial Magic—of the Mysteries of Secrets—and the Correction of Chemistry).

The Carmelites were more careful in transcribing books than the Dominicans, and anxiously preserved them from dust and worms; but I can find but little notice of their libraries; the one at Oxford was a large room, where they arranged their books in cases made for that purpose; before the foundation of this library, the Carmelites kept their books in chests, and doubtless gloried in an ample store of manuscript treasures.

But in the fifteenth century we find the Mendicant Friars, like the order religious sects, disregarding those strict principles of piety which had for two hundred years so distinguished their order. The holy rules of St. Francis and St. Dominic were seldom read with much attention, and never practiced with severity; they became careless in the propagation of religious principles, relaxed in their austerity, and looked with too much fondness on the riches and honors of the world. This diminution in religious zeal was naturally accompanied by a proportionate decrease in learning and love of study. The sparkling orator, the acute controversialist, or the profound scholar, might have been searched for in vain among the Franciscans or the Dominicans of the fifteenth century. Careless in literary matters, they thought little of collecting books, or preserving even those which their libraries already contained; the Franciscans at Oxford “sold many of their books to Dr. Thomas Gascoigne, about the year 1433, which he gave to the libraries of Lincoln, Durham, Baliol, and Oriel. They also declining in strictness of life and learning, sold many more to other persons, so that their libraries declined to little or nothing”.

We are not therefore surprised at the disappointment of Leland, on examining this famous repository; his expectations were raised by the care with which he found the library guarded, and the difficulty he had to obtain access to it: but when he entered, he did not find one-third the number of books which it originally contained; but dust and cobwebs, moths and beetles he found in abundance, which swarmed over the empty shelves.

The mendicant friars have rendered themselves famous by introducing theatrical representations for the amusement and instruction of the people. These shows were usually denominated miracles, moralities, or mysteries, and were performed by the friars in their convents or on portable stages, which were wheeled into the market places and streets for the convenience of the spectators.

The friars of the monastery of the Franciscans at Coventry are particularly celebrated for their ingenuity in performing these pageants on Corpus Christi day; a copy of this play or miracle is preserved in the Cottonian Collection, written in old English rhyme. It embraces the transactions of the Old and New Testament, and is entitled Ludus Corpus Christi. It commences—

A PLAIE CALLED CORPUS CHRISTI.

Now gracyous God groundyd of all goodnesse,

As thy grete glorie neuyr begynnyng had;

So you succour and save all those that sytt and sese,

And lystenyth to our talkyng with sylens stylle and sad,

For we purpose no pertly stylle in his prese

The pepyl to plese with pleys ful glad,

Now lystenyth us lowly both mar and lesse

Gentyllys and ȝemaury off goodly lyff lad,

                                                 þis tyde,

We call you shewe us that we kan,

How that þis werd fyrst began,

And howe God made bothe worlde and man

If yt ye wyll abyde.

These miracles were intended to instruct the more ignorant, or those whose circumstances placed the usual means of acquiring knowledge beyond their reach; but as books became accessible, they were no longer needed; the printing press made the Bible, from which the plots of the miracle plays were usually derived, common among the people, and these gaudy representations were swept away by the Reformation; but they were temporarily revived in Queen Mary’s time, with the other abominations of the church papal, for we find that “in the year 1556 a goodly stage play of the Passion of Christ was presented at the Grey Friers in London on Corpus Christi day”, before the Lord Mayor and citizens; but we have nothing here to do with anecdotes illustrating a period so late as this.

We have now arrived at the dawn of a new era in learning, and the slow, plodding, laborious scribes of the monasteries were startled by the appearance of an invention with which their poor pens had no power to compete. The year 1472 was the last of the parchment literature of the monks, and the first in the English annals of printed learning; but we must not forget that the monks with all their sloth and ignorance, were the foremost among the encouragers of the early printing press in England; the monotony of the dull cloisters of Westminster Abbey was broken by the clanking of Caxton’s press; and the prayers of the monks of old St. Albans mingled with the echoes of the pressman’s labor. Little did those barefooted priests know what an opponent to their Romish rites they were fostering into life; their love of learning and passion for books, drove all fear away; and the splendor of the new power so dazzled their eyes that they could not clearly see the nature of the refulgent light just bursting through the gloom of ages.

After the invention of the printing art, bibliomania took some mighty strides; and many choice collectors, full of ardor in the pursuit, became renowned for the vast book stores they amassed together. But some of their names have been preserved and good deeds chronicled by Dibdin, of bibliographical renown; so that a chapter is not necessary here to extol them. We may judge how fashionable the avocation became by the keen satire of Alexander Barkley, in his translation of Brandt’s Navis Stultifera or Shyp of Folys, who gives a curious illustration of a bibliomaniac; and thus speaks of those collectors who amassed their book treasures without possessing much esteem for their contents.

That in this ship the chiefe place I gouerne,

By this wide sea with fooles wandring,

The cause is plain & easy to discerne

Still am I busy, bookes assembling,

For to have plentie it is a pleasaunt thing

In my conceyt, to have them ay in hand,

But what they meane do I not understande.

"But yet I have them in great reverence

And honoure, sauing them from filth & ordure

By often brushing & much diligence

Full goodly bounde in pleasaunt couerture

Of Damas, Sattin, or els of velvet pure

I keepe them sure, fearing least they should be lost,

For in them is the cunning wherein I me boast.

"But if it fortune that any learned man

Within my house fall to disputation,

I drawe the curtaynes to shewe my bokes them,

That they of my cunning should make probation

I love not to fall in alterication,

And while the commen, my bokes

I turne and winde

For all is in them, and nothing in my minde.

"Ptolomeus the riche caused, longe agone,

Over all the worlde good bookes to be sought,

Done was his commandement—anone

These bokes he had, and in his studie brought,

Which passed all earthly treasure as he thought,

But neverthelesse he did him not apply

Unto their doctrine, but lived unhappily.

"Lo, in likewise of bookes I have store,

But fewe I reade and fewer understande,

I folowe not their doctrine nor their lore,

It is ynough to beare a booke in hande.

It were too muche to be in such a bande,

For to be bounde to loke within the booke

I am content on the fayre coveryng to looke.

"Why should I studie to hurt my wit therby,

Or trouble my minde with studie excessiue.

Sithe many are which studie right busely,

And yet therby thall they never thrive

The fruite of wisdome can they not contriue,

And many to studie so muche are inclinde,

That utterly they fall out of their minde.

"Eche is not lettred that nowe is made a lorde,

Nor eche a clerke that hath a benefice;

They are not all lawyers that pleas do recorde,

All that are promoted are not fully wise;

On suche chaunce nowe fortune throwes her dice

That though we knowe but the yrishe game,

Yet would he have a gentleman's name.

"So in like wise I am in suche case,

Though I nought can, I would be called wise,

Also I may set another in my place,

Whiche may for me my bokes exercise,

Or els I shall ensue the common guise,

And say concedo to euery argument,

Least by much speache my latin should be spent.

"I am like other Clerkes, which so frowardly them gyde,

That after they are once come unto promotion,

They give them to pleasure, their study set aside,

Their auarice couering with fained deuotion;

Yet dayly they preache and have great derision

Against the rude laymen, and all for couetise,

Through their owne conscience be blended with that vice.

"But if I durst truth plainely utter and expresse,

This is the speciall cause of this inconvenience,

That greatest of fooles & fullest of lewdness,

Having least wit and simplest science,

Are first promoted, & have greatest reverence;

For if one can flatter & bear a hauke on his fist,

He shall be made Parson of Honington or of Elist.

"But he that is in study ay firme and diligent,

And without all favour preacheth Christe's love,

Of all the Cominalite nowe adayes is sore shent,

And by estates threatned oft therfore.

Thus what anayle is it to us to study more,

To knowe ether Scripture, truth, wisdome, or virtue,

Since fewe or none without fauour dare them shewe.

"But O noble Doctours, that worthy are of name,

Consider oure olde fathers, note well their diligence,

Ensue ye to their steppes, obtayne ye suche fame

As they did living; and that, by true prudence

Within their heartes, thy planted their science,

And not in pleasaunt bookes, but noue to fewe suche be,

Therefore to this ship come you & rowe with me.

"The Lennoy of Alexander Barclay,

Translatour, exhorting the fooles accloyed

with this vice, to amende their foly.

"Say worthie Doctours & Clerkes curious,

What moneth you of bookes to have such number,

Since diuers doctrines through way contrarious,

Doth man's minde distract and sore encomber.

Alas blinde men awake, out of your slumber;

And if ye will needes your bookes multiplye,

With diligence endeuor you some to occupye".

Conclusion.

We have traversed through the darkness of many long and dreary centuries, and with the aid of a few old manuscripts written by the monks in the scriptoria of their monasteries, caught an occasional glimpse of their literary labors and love of books; these parchment volumes being mere monastic registers, or terse historic compilations, do not record with particular care the anecdotes applicable to my subject, but appear to be mentioned almost accidentally, and certainly without any ostentatious design; but such as they are we learn from them at least one thing, which some of us might not have known before—that the monks of old, besides telling their beads, singing psalms, and muttering their breviary, had yet one other duty to perform—the transcription of books. And I think there is sufficient evidence that they fulfilled this obligation with as much zeal as those of a more strictly monastic or religious nature. It is true, in casting our eye over the history of their labors, many regrets will arise that they did not manifest a little more taste and refinement in their choice of books for transcribing. The classical scholar will wish the holy monks had thought more about his darling authors of Greece and Rome; but the pious puritan historian blames them for patronizing the romantic allurements of Ovid, or the loose satires of Juvenal, and throws out some slanderous hint that they must have found a sympathy in those pages of licentiousness, or why so anxious to preserve them? The protestant is still more scandalized, and denounces the monks, their books, scriptorium and all together as part and parcel of popish craft and Romish superstition. But surely the crimes of popedom and the evils of monachism, that thing of dry bones and fabricated relics, are bad enough; and the protestant cause is sufficiently holy, that we may afford to be honest if we cannot to be generous. What good purpose then will it serve to cavil at the monks forever? All readers of history know how corrupt they became in the fifteenth century; how many evils were wrought by the craft of some of them, and how pernicious the system ultimately waxed. We can all, I say, reflect upon these things, and guard against them in future; but it is not just to apply the same indiscriminate censure to all ages. Many of the purest Christians of the church, the brightest ornaments of Christ's simple flock, were barefooted cowled monks of the cloister; devout perhaps to a fault, with simplicity verging on superstition; yet nevertheless faithful, pious men, and holy. Look at all this with an eye of charity; avoid their errors and manifold faults: but to forget the loathsome thing our minds have conjured up as the type of an ancient monk. Remember they had a few books to read, and venerated something more than the dry bones of long withered saints. Their God was our God, and their Saviour, let us trust, will be our Saviour.

I am well aware that many other names might have been added to those mentioned in the foregoing pages, equally deserving remembrance, and offering pleasing anecdotes of a student's life, or illustrating the early history of English learning; many facts and much miscellaneous matter I have collected in reference to them; but I am fearful whether my readers will regard this subject with sufficient relish to enjoy more illustrations of the same kind. Students are apt to get too fond of their particular pursuit, which magnifies in importance with the difficulties of their research, or the duration of their studies. I am uncertain whether this may not be my own position, and wait the decision of my readers before proceeding further in the annals of early bibliomania.

Moreover as to the simple question—Were the monks booklovers? enough I think as been said to prove it, but the enquiry is far from exhausted; and if the reader should deem the matter still equivocal and undecided, he must refer the blame to the feebleness of my pen, rather than to the barrenness of my subject. But let him not fail to mark well the instances I have given; let him look at Benedict Biscop and his foreign travels after books; at Theodore and the early Saxons of the seventh century; at Boniface, Alcuin, Ælfric, and the numerous votaries of bibliomania who flourished then. Look at the well stored libraries of St. Albans, Canterbury, Ramsey, Durham, Croyland, Peterborough, Glastonbury, and their thousand tomes of parchment literature. Look at Richard de Bury and his sweet little work on biographical experience; at Whethamstede and his industrious pen; read the rules of monastic orders; the book of Cassian; the regulations of St. Augustine; Benedict Fulgentius; and the ancient admonitions of many other holy and ascetic men. Search over the remnants and shreds of information which have escaped the ravages of time, and the havoc of cruel invasions relative to these things. Attend to the import of these small still whisperings of a forgotten age; and then, letting the eye traverse down the stream of time, mark the great advent of the Reformation; that wide gulf of monkish erudition in which was swallowed "whole shyppes full" of olden literature; think well and deeply over the huge bonfires of Henry's reign, the flames of which were kindled by the libraries which monkish industry had transcribed. A merry sound no doubt, was the crackling of those "popish books" for protestant ears to feed upon!

Now all these facts thought of collectively—brought to bear one upon another—seem to favor the opinion my own study has deduced from them; that with all their superstition, with all their ignorance, their blindness to philosophic light—the monks of old were hearty lovers of books; that they encouraged learning, fostered and transcribed repeatedly the books which they had rescued from the destruction of war and time; and so kindly cherished and husbanded them as intellectual food for posterity. Such being the case, let our hearts look charitably upon them; and whilst we pity them for their superstition, or blame them for their "pious frauds," love them as brother men and workers in the mines of literature; such a course is far more honorable to the tenor of a christian's heart, than bespattering their memory with foul denunciations.

Some may accuse me of having shown too much fondness—of having dwelt with a too loving tenderness in my retrospection of the middle ages. But in the course of my studies I have found much to admire. In parchment annals coeval with the times of which they speak, my eyes have traversed over many consecutive pages with increasing interest and with enraptured pleasure. I have read of old deeds worthy of an honored remembrance, where I least expected to find them. I have met with instances of faith as strong as death bringing forth fruit in abundance in those sterile times, and glorying God with its lasting incense. I have met with instances of piety exalted to the heavens—glowing like burning lava, and warming the cold dull cloisters of the monks. I have read of many a student who spent the long night in exploring mysteries of the Bible truths; and have seen him sketched by a monkish pencil with his ponderous volumes spread around him, and the oil burning brightly by his side. I have watched him in his little cell thus depicted on the ancient parchment, and have sympathized with his painful difficulties in acquiring true knowledge, or enlightened wisdom, within the convent walls; and then I have read the pages of his fellow monk—perhaps, his book-companion; and heard what he had to say of that poor lonely Bible student, and have learnt with sadness how often truth had been extinguished from his mind by superstition, or learning cramped by his monkish prejudices; but it has not always been so, and I have enjoyed a more gladdening view on finding in the monk a Bible teacher; and in another, a profound historian, or pleasing annalist.

As a Christian, the recollection of these cheering facts, with which my researches have been blessed, are pleasurable, and lead me to look back upon those old times with a student's fondness. But besides piety and virtue, I have met with wisdom and philanthropy; the former, too profound, and the latter, too generous for the age; but these things are precious, and worth remembering; and how can I speak of them but in words of kindness? It is these traits of worth and goodness that have gained my sympathies, and twined round my heart, and not the dark stains on the monkish page of history; these I have always striven to forget, or to remember them only when I thought experience might profit by them; for they offer a terrible lesson of blood, tyranny and anguish. But this dark and gloomy side is the one which from our infancy has ever been before us; we learnt it when a child from our tutor; or at college, or at school; we learnt it in the pages of our best and purest writers; learnt that in those old days nought existed, but bloodshed, tyranny, and anguish; but we never thought once to gaze at the scene behind, and behold the workings of human charity and love; if we had, we should have found that the same passions, the same affections, and the same hopes and fears existed then as now, and our sympathies would have been won by learning that we were reading of brother men, fellow Christians, and fellow-companions in the Church of Christ. We have hitherto looked, when casting a backward glance at those long gone ages of inanimation, with the severity of a judge upon a criminal; but to understand him properly we must regard them with the tender compassion of a parent; for if our art, our science, and our philosophy exalts us far above them, is that a proof that there was nothing admirable, nothing that can call forth our love on that infant state, or in the annals of our civilization at its early growth?

But let it not be thought that if I have striven to retrieve from the dust and gloom of antiquity, the remembrance of old things that are worthy; that I feel any love for the superstition with which we find them blended. There is much that is good connected with those times; talent even that is worth imitating, and art that we may be proud to learn, which is beginning after the elapse of centuries to arrest the attention of the ingenious, and the love of these, naturally revive with the discovery; but we need not fear in this resurrection of old things of other days, that the superstition and weakness of the middle ages; that the veneration for dry bones and saintly dust, can live again. I do not wish to make the past assume a superiority over the present; but I think a contemplation of medieval art would often open a new avenue of thought and lead to many a pleasing and profitable discovery; I would too add the efforts of my feeble pen to elevate and ennoble the fond pursuit of my leisure hours. I would say one word to vindicate the lover of old musty writings, and the explorer of rude antiquities, from the charge of unprofitableness, and to protect him from the sneer of ridicule. For whilst some see in the dry studies of the antiquary a mere inquisitiveness after forgotten facts and worthless relics; I can see, nay, have felt, something morally elevating in the exercise of these inquiries. It is not the mere fact which may sometimes be gained by rubbing off the parochial whitewash from ancient tablets, or the encrusted oxide from monumental brasses, that render the study of ancient relics so attractive; but it is the deductions which may sometimes be drawn from them. The light which they sometimes cast on obscure parts of history, and the fine touches of human sensibility, which their eulogies and monodies bespeak, that instruct or elevate the mind, and make the student's heart beat with holier and loftier feelings. But it is not my duty here to enter into the motives, the benefits, or the most profitable manner of studying antiquity; if it were, I would strive to show how much superior it is to become an original investigator, a practical antiquary, than a mere borrower from others. For the most delightful moments of the student's course is when he rambles person ally among the ruins and remnants of long gone ages; sometimes painful are such sights, even deeply so; but never to a righteous mind are they unprofitable, much less exerting a narrowing tendency on the mind, or cramping the gushing of human feeling; for cold, indeed, must be the heart that can behold strong walls tottering to decay, and fretted vaults, mutilated and dismantled of their pristine beauty; that can behold the proud strongholds of baronial power and feudal tyranny, the victims of the lichen or creeping parasites of the ivy tribe; cold, I say, must be the heart that can see such things, and draw no lesson from them.