the shore, where we saw the waves swelling higher than mountains, and innumerable bodies of drowned persons of both sexes scattered over the beach, while the fragments of ships were floating on every side. Nothing was to be heard but the roaring of the sea and the dashing together of the ships, which drowned entirely the shouts and clamour of the people. Our own ship, which was a very large and strong one, and many others laden with corn and merchandise, as well as with pilgrims coming and returning, still held by their anchors; but how they were tossed by the waves! how their crews were filled with terror! how they cast overboard their merchandise! what eye of those who were looking on could be so hard and stormy as to refrain from tears? We had not looked at them long before the ships were driven from their anchors by the violence of the waves, which threw them now up aloft, and now down, until they were run aground or upon the rocks, and there they were beaten backwards and forwards until they were crushed to pieces; for the violence of the wind would not allow them to put out to sea, and the character of the coast would not allow them to put into shore with safety. Of the sailors and pilgrims who had lost all hope of escape, some remained on the ships, others laid hold of the masts or beams of wood; many remained in a state of stupor, and were drowned in that condition without any attempt to save themselves; some (although it may appear incredible) had, in my sight, their heads knocked off by the very timbers of the ships to which they had attached themselves for safety; others were carried out to sea on the beams, instead of being brought to land; even those who knew how to swim had not strength to struggle with the waves; and very few, thus trusting to their own strength, reached the shore alive. Thus, out of thirty large ships, all laden with palmers and with merchandise, scarcely seven remained safe when we left the shore. Of persons of both sexes, more than a thousand perished that day. Indeed,

PILGRIMS IN PALESTINE.

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no eye ever beheld a greater misfortune in the space of a single day, from all which God snatched us by His grace; to whom be honour and glory for ever. Amen."

Nor did danger cease on landing.

"We went up from Joppa to the city of Jerusalem, a journey of two days, by a mountainous road, very rough, and dangerous on account of the Saracens, who lie in wait in the caves of the mountains to surprise the Christians, watching both day and night to surprise those less capable of resisting by the smallness of their company, or the weary who may chance to lag behind their companions. At one moment, you see them on every side; at another, they are altogether invisible, as may be witnessed by anybody travelling there. Numbers of human bodies lie scattered in the way, torn to pieces by wild beasts. Some may, perhaps, wonder that the bodies of Christians are allowed to remain unburied; but it is not surprising when we consider that there is not much earth on the hard rock to dig a grave; and if earth were not wanting, who would be so simple as to leave his company and go alone to dig a grave for a companion? Indeed, if he did so, he would rather be digging a grave for himself than for the dead man. For on that road, not only the poor and weak, but the rich and strong, are surrounded with perils; many are cut off by the Saracens, but more by heat and thirst; many perish by the want of drink, but more by too much drinking. We, however, with all our company, reached the end of our journey in safety. Blessed be the Lord, who did not turn away my prayer, and hath not turned His mercy from me. Amen."

"Early Travels in Palestine," edited by T. Wright, Esq. 1848.

PRE-REFORMATION PERIOD.

HERE we must take leave of Anglo-Saxon Christianity. A few years after the death of Elfric, whose homilies these pages have quoted, England became the realm of William the Conqueror. Three dark centuries followed, in which the yoke of foreign feudal lords pressed heavy on the persons of the people; the yoke of a superstition at once foreign and despotic pressed heavier on their souls. But as regarded the former, a happy amalgamation was in progress; in the providence of God, as regarded the latter, a glorious emancipation was at hand. Gradually the Norman and Saxon blended, and that English race arose which to Saxon vigour and Saxon sense added not a little of Norman quickness, and more of Norman chivalry; and enriched by Latin and Scandinavian terms, the old Teutonic tongue grew equal to all the requirements of thought and feeling, and in Wycliffe, the father of English prose, and in Chaucer, the father of English poesy, spoke out, at once most masculine, most musical. At the same juncture, obedient to signs of the time, and still more to the Spirit of God, a tide began to set in which was rapidly drifting Anglo-Norman mind away from Roman tyranny and its infallible absurdities. "Piers Ploughman," and every popular writer, with the utmost devotion to mother-church, were unconscious Protestants; and as soon as a voice was found to articulate the truth, England felt that the reformer was only speaking forth the grievances under which, in a dumb, brutelike fashion, it had all along groaned and travailed.

During the sombre centuries from the Conquest to Wycliffe, it is hard to find faith in our land. Those were the days of Becket, and Dunstan, and similar worthies; and although we would fain hope that even then many entered the kingdom, it

was through a gateway dark as the grave, and too often guarded by ruffian janitors. In the depths of the cloister a wistful spirit was occasionally found groping its way to a precarious hope of heaven; and He who "knoweth them that are His,” doubtless had his hidden ones in the realm of England. Gross darkness covered the people; and although, enriched with the hush-money of dying miscreants, cathedrals and abbeys rose higher and higher, the true Church grew always less and less visible. Throughout all the long interval there is only one name which we care to cite as worthy to rank among the Christian Classics of England; and even him England can only claim in virtue of her being the land of his adoption.

In the year 1093, an Italian monk was summoned from the convent of Bec, in Normandy, to ascend the metropolitan throne of Canterbury. To Anselm, it was irksome work to battle for the Church's rights with princes so fierce as Rufus, and so crafty as Henry I. A student and a devotee, he knew no spots on earth so delightful as the narrow cell, where he mused on problems which exercised his masculine intellect, without disturbing his child-like faith, and the dim Norman chapel, where he wept, and prayed, and held communion with his Father in heaven. The translation of Anselm to Canterbury brought to England the theologian who may be considered the harbinger of all the schoolmen, and who was among the first to start many of those questions in metaphysical divinity which have strained the acumen of Aquinas, Descartes, Leibnitz, and Jonathan Edwards. To quote from his more philosophical treatises, would be alien to our plan, and it would be wrong to conceal that in his writings there is too much of monkery and Mary-worship; but it is equally true that these writings contain much which is the revival of Augustine of Hippo, and not a little which is the anticipation of Calvin.* A passage

See Sir J. Mackintosh's "Dissertations on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy," section 3; "Milman's Latin Christianity," vol. iii. 357.

like the following-and passages like it are of constant recurrence one might fancy a prophetic quotation from Luther :"The mercy of God, for which there appeared no place, when we were considering the justice of God and the sin of man, we find to be so great, and so harmonious with justice, that nothing can be conceived more righteous than that mercy. For what can be imagined more merciful than when, to the sinner doomed to eternal punishment, and unable to redeem himself, God the Father says, 'Take my only begotten Son, and give Him for thee;' and the Son says, 'Take me, and redeem thyself.' Could "the blessed exchange" be more forcibly described, even when the German reformer wrote, “O, Saviour, thou art my righteousness, and I am thy sin!"

From the little known works of this once famous divine we shall give two specimens. The first is a devout meditation, conceived in a spirit truly evangelical. The second is extracted from a book of "Similitudes," as far as we know, one of the earliest collections of those brief allegories which, under the name of "Emblems," and illustrated by engravings, afterwards became so popular.

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The Enterceding Brother.

Holy Father, look down from the height of thy sanctuary, and behold this mighty sacrifice which our great High Priest, thy Holy Child Jesus, offers for the sins of his brethren, and have mercy on the multitude of our transgressions. Behold, the voice of our brother Jesus crieth to thee from the cross.

Misericordiam Dei, quæ tibi perire videbatur, cum justitiam Dei et peccatum hominis considerabamus, tam magnam tamque concordem justitiæ invenimus, ut nec major nec justior cogitari possit. Nempe quid misericordius intelligi valet, quam cum peccatori tormentis æternis damnato, et unde se redimet non habenti, Deus Pater dicit: Accipe Unigenitum meum et da pro te; et ipse Filius: Tolle me et redime te!-S. Anselmi "Cur Deus Homo," lib. ii. c. 20.