one, _Origo Mundi_, where Adam,
bowed with years, sends his son Seth to the gate of Paradise to beg
his release from the weariness of living (I quote from Norris's
translation):--

"O dear God, I am weary,
Gladly would I see once
The time to depart.
Strong are the roots of the briars,
That my arms are broken
Tearing up many of them.

"Seth my son I will send
To the gate of Paradise forthwith,
To the Cherub, the guardian.
Ask him if there will be for me
Oil of mercy at the last
From the Father, the God of Grace."

Seth answers that he does not know the road to Paradise. "Follow," says
Adam--

"Follow the prints of my feet, burnt;
No grass or flower in the world grows
In that same road where I went--
I and thy Mother surely also--
Thou wilt see the tokens."

Fine too is the story, in the _Passio Domini Nostri_, of the blind soldier
Longius, who is led forward and given a lance, to pierce Christ's body on
the Cross. He thrusts and the holy blood heals him of his blindness.
Local colour is sparingly imported. One of the executioners, as he bores
the Cross, says boastfully:--

"I will bore a hole for the one hand,
There is not a fellow west of Hayle
Who can bore better."

--And in the _Resurrectio_ Pilate rewards the gaoler for his trustiness
with the Cornish manors of 'Fekenal, Carvenow and Merthyn,' and promises
the soldiers by the Sepulchre 'the plain of Dansotha and Barrow Heath.'
A simplicity scarcely less refreshing is exhibited in _The Life of St.
Meriasec_ (a play recently recovered) by a scholar whom a pompous
pedagogue is showing off. He says:--

"God help A, B, and C!
The end of the song is D:
No more is known to me,"

But promises to learn more after dinner.

Enthusiasts beg us to make the experiment of 'reviving' these old plays in
their old surroundings. But here I pause, while admitting the temptation.
One would like to give life again, if only for a day, to the picture which
Mr. Norris conjures up:--

"The bare granite plain of St. Just, in view of Cape Cornwall
and of the transparent sea which beats against that magnificent
headland. . . . The mighty gathering of people from many miles around
hardly showing like a crowd in that extended region, where nothing
ever grows to limit the view on any side, with their booths and