ks or personal defects
are objectionable, and as Lycurgus ordered, all jokes should be without
bitterness.

But Walter Mapes seems to have been the first man of note, who
reconciled "divinity and wit." He was born on the borders of Wales about
the beginning of the twelvth century, and having studied at the
University of Paris became a favourite of Henry II., and was made a
Canon of St. Paul's, and Archdeacon of Oxford. It may be worth notice
that his name was really a monosyllable, "Map," a man's appellation
being not always without influence in determining his character and
conduct. From being a man of humour he obtained the credit of being a
man of pleasure, but as far as we can collect from the writings, which
are with certainty attributed to him, he was strongly imbued with
religious feelings. He delights to recount the miracles of saints. Peter
of Tarentaise exorcised, he tells us, a devil from one possessed, and
the man proved his cure by exclaiming, "Mother of God, have mercy upon
me!" whereupon John the bishop said of Peter. "This is the only
bishop--the rest of us are dogs unable to bark." Mapes also reflects the
credulity of the age in which he lived, by narrating extraordinary
stories of infidels walking about after death, and calling people by
name, who always died shortly afterwards. He gives us a collection of
Welsh "apparitions."

We must suppose that even at that day there was something peculiarly
fanciful in the mind of the man who collected such tales. But, although
he commends his favourite saints as being jocund and pleasant men, we
are disappointed when we look for his own wit. It is either verbal or
sententious, and does not rise higher than, "Few things are impossible
to women." "May God omnipotent grant you not to be deceived by woman
omnipotent." "The dog does not gnaw a dry bone, nor the leech stick to
an empty vein." His "Mirror of the Church" is full of violent attacks
upon the monastic orders, especially the Cistercian, evidently written
in serious indignation, although he sometimes indulges in a play upon
words. In this he was unlike many writers, who attacked the monks merely
to amuse, for which there was a good opening, as the brethren, though in
some cases weak, were generally viewed with respect, and tales about
them were easily regarded as humorous. There is a story of Walter Mapes
having been called to see a Cistercian Abbot, when dangerously ill, and
the Archdeacon recommended him