and will be content with the
customs which he finds in the place, and do not perchance by his
lavishness disturb the monastery, but is simply content with what
he finds: he shall be received, for as long a time as he desires.
If, indeed, he find fault with anything, or expose it, reasonably,
and with the humility of charity, the Abbot shall discuss it
prudently, lest perchance God had sent for this very thing. But, if
he have been found gossipy and contumacious in the time of his
sojourn as guest, not only ought he not to be joined to the body of
the monastery, but also it shall be said to him, honestly, that he
must depart. If he does not go, let two stout monks, in the name of
God, explain the matter to him.

--_St. Benedict_

SAINT BENEDICT

As the traveler journeys through Southern Italy, Sicily and certain
parts of what was Ancient Greece, he will see broken arches, parts of
viaducts, and now and again a single, beautiful column pointing to the
sky. All about is the desert or solitary pastures, and only this white
milestone, marking the path of the centuries and telling in its own
silent, solemn and impressive way of a day that is dead.

In the Fifth Century a monk called Simeon the Syrian, and known to us as
Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow of chastity, poverty and
obedience, began to fear greatly lest he might not be true to his
pledge. And that he might live absolutely beyond reproach, always in
public view, free from temptation, and free from the tongue of scandal,
he decided to live in the world, and still not be of it. To this end he
climbed to the top of a marble column, sixty feet high, and there on the
capstone he lived a life beyond reproach.

Simeon was then twenty-four years old.

The environment was circumscribed, but there was outlook, sunshine,
ventilation--three good things. But beyond these the place had certain
disadvantages. The capstone was a little less than three feet square,
so Simeon could not lie down. He slept sitting, with his head bowed
between his knees, and indeed, in this posture he passed most of his
time. Any recklessness in movement, and he would have slipped from his
perilous position and been dashed to death upon the stones beneath.

As the sun arose he stood up, just for a few moments, and held his arms
out in greeting, blessing and prayer. Three times during the day did he
thus stretch his cramped limbs,