his wings and carried him to the seashore, and
there in Saint Cuthbert's name he bade him fly away, and never come back
to Farne to bother him and his peaceful birds.

So Saint Cuthbert lived on his island surrounded by his feathered
friends. He never grew proud, though every one loved and reverenced him
and called him a Saint. He was always poor, although royal ladies, even
the Queen herself, made him presents of gold and jewels,--which he gave
away to the needy. He was always meek, though Egfried the King himself
came all the way to Farne to make him a grand Bishop, kneeling on the
ground before Cuthbert and begging him to accept the gift. His life was
like a beacon to men, burning bright and clear. And after he died a
lighthouse was built on his rock to be a spark of hope for the sailors
at sea.

As for Saint Cuthbert's Peace, it still blesses the lonely rock of
Farne. Flocks of sea-birds swarm about it, descendants of those who knew
the Saint himself. They are tame and gentle and suspect no harm from any
one, for have they not the promise of their Saint? Alas! Men less kindly
than he have forgotten the promise and have broken the Peace. They have
killed many of the trusting birds who let them come up close and take
them in their hands, expecting to be petted. For the birds never even
thought to run away, poor, innocent, soft-eyed creatures. And how
cruelly they were deceived!

But I am sure that Saint Cuthbert's dreadful charm still binds the
murderers. He will not forget his promise; and though they may not be
punished immediately, as Liveing was, nor suffer like the wicked hawk,
Saint Cuthbert will bring sorrow upon their heads at last and misfortune
to the cruel hands which dare to hurt his birds.

THE BALLAD OF SAINT FELIX

IT was in sunny Italy
Where skies are blue and fair,
Where little birds sing all the day,
And flowers scent the air.

But sorrow was through all the land,
And bloody deeds, and strife,
For the cruel heathen Emperor
Was slaying Christian life.

And Nola of Campania
Was full of soldiers grim,
Who sought where good Saint Felix dwelt,
To be the death of him.

For he, the Bishop, old and wise,
Was famous far and near,
And to the troubled Christian folk
His name was passing dear.

Saint Felix