er my shoulder
in the way of the Scotch,--I put my hand into the leather scrip I
wore, wherein our Lord the Pope's Letter lay, close by a little
jug (_ciffus_) I had for drinking out of; and the Lord God so
pleasing, and St. Edmund, I got out both the Letter and the jug
together; in such a way that, extending my arm aloft, I held the
Letter hidden between jug and hand: they saw the jug, but the
Letter they saw not. And thus I escaped out of their hands in
the name of the Lord. Whatever money I had they took from me;
wherefore I had to beg from door to door, without any payment
(_sine omni expensa_) till I came to England again. But hearing
that the Woolpit Church was already given to Geoffry Ridell, my
soul was struck with sorrow because I had laboured in vain.

'Coming home, therefore, I sat me down secretly under the Shrine
of St. Edmund, fearing lest our Lord Abbot should seize and
imprison me, though I had done no mischief; nor was there a monk
who durst speak to me, nor a laic who durst bring me food except
by stealth.

Such resting and welcoming found Brother Samson, with his worn
soles, and strong heart! He sits silent, revolving many
thoughts, at the foot of St. Edmund's Shrine. In the wide Earth,
if it be not Saint Edmund, what friend or refuge has he? Our
Lord Abbot, hearing of him, sent the proper officer to lead him
down to prison, clap 'foot-gyves on him' there. Another poor
official furtively brought him a cup of wine; bade him "be
comforted in the Lord." Samson utters no complaint; obeys in
silence. 'Our Lord Abbot, taking counsel of it, banished me to
Acre, and there I had to stay long.'

Our Lord Abbot next tried Samson with promotions; made him
Subsacristan, made him Librarian, which he liked best of all,
being passionately fond of Books: Samson, with many thoughts in
him, again obeyed in silence; discharged his offices to
perfection, but never thanked our Lord Abbot,--seemed rather as
if looking into him, with those clear eyes of his. Whereupon
Abbot Hugo said, _Se nunquam vidisse,_ he had never seen such a
man; whom no severity would break to complain, and no kindness
soften into smiles or thanks:--a questionable kind of man!

In this way, not without troubles, but still in an erect clear-
standing manner, has Brother Samson reached his forty-seventh
year; and his ruddy beard is getting slightly grizzled. He is
endeavouring, in these days, to have various broken things