tters put no one not even the Emperor, on a level with
the Bishop; who committed to writing, that they might not be
lost, certain Apostolic traditions of which he himself had been
witness. Ours was that anchoret Telesphorus, who ordered the
more strict observance of the fast of Lent established by the
Apostles. Ours was Irenaeus, who declared the Apostolic faith by
the Roman succession and chair (lib. iii. cap. 3). Ours was Pope
Victor, who by an edict brought to order the whole of Asia; and
though this proceeding seemed to some minds, and even to that
holy man Irenaeus, somewhat harsh, yet no one made light of it
as coming from a foreign power. Ours was Polycarp, who went to
Rome on the question of Easter, whose burnt relics Smyrna
gathered, and honoured her Bishop with an anniversary feast and
appointed ceremony. Ours were Cornelius and Cyprian, a golden
pair of Martyrs, both great Bishops, but greater he, the Roman,
who had rescinded the African error; while the latter was
ennobled by the obedience which he paid to the elder, his very
dear friend. Ours was Sixtus, to whom, as he offered solemn
sacrifice at the altar, seven men of the clergy ministered. Ours
was his Archdeacon Lawrence, whom the adversaries cast out of
their calendar, to whom, twelve hundred years ago, the Consular
man Prudentius thus prayed:

What is the power entrusted thee,
And how great function is given thee,
The joyful thanks of Roman citizens prove,
To whom thou grantest their petitions.
Among them, O glory of Christ,
Hear also a rustic poet,
Confessing the crimes of his heart
And publishing his doings.
Hear bountifully the supplication
Of Christ's culprit Prudentius.

Ours are those highly-blest maids, Cecily, Agatha, Anastasia,
Barbara, Agnes, Lucy, Dorothy, Catherine, who held fast against
the violent assault of men and devils the virginity they had
resolved upon. Ours was Helen, celebrated for the finding of the
Lord's Cross. Ours was Monica, who in death most piously begged
prayers and sacrifices to be offered for her at the altar of
Christ. Ours was Paula, who, leaving her City palace and her rich
estates, hastened on a long journey a pilgrim to the cave at
Bethlehem, to hide herself by the cradle of the Infant Christ.
Ours were Paul, Hilarion, Antony, those dear ancient solitaries.
Ours was Satyrus, own brother to Ambrose, who, when shipwrecked,
jumped into the ocean, carrying about his neck in a nap