The same saint, whose usual beverage was putrid water, never failed to drink wine when set before him by the hermits he visited, atoning privately for this relaxation, which he thought the laws of courtesy required, by abstaining from water for as many days as he had drunk glasses of wine.1 One of his disciples once meeting an idolatrous priest running in great haste across the desert, with a great stick in his hand, cried out in a loud voice, 'Where are you going, dæmon?' The priest, naturally indignant, beat the Christian severely, and was proceeding on his way, when he met St. Macarius, who accosted him so courteously and so tenderly that the Pagan's heart was touched, he became a convert, and his first act of charity was to tend the Christian whom he had beaten.2 St. Avitus being on a visit to St. Marcian, this latter saint placed before him some bread, which Avitus refused to eat, saying that it was his custom never to touch food till after sunset. St. Marcian, professing his own inability to defer his repast, implored his guest for once to break this custom, and being refused, exclaimed, 'Alas! I am filled with anguish that you have come here to see a wise man and a saint, and you see only a glutton.' St. Avitus was grieved, and said, 'he would rather even eat flesh than hear such words,' and he sat down as desired. St. Marcian then confessed that his own custom was the same as that of his brother saint; 'but,' he added, we know that charity is better than fasting; for charity is enjoined by the Divine law, but fasting is left in our own power and will.'3 St. Epiphanius having invited St. Hilarius to his cell, placed before him a dish of fowl. 'Pardon me, father,' said St. Hilarius, but since I have become a monk I have never eaten flesh.' And I,' said St. Epiphanius, since I have become a monk have never suffered

6

6

Tillemont, Hist. eccl. tome mii. pp. 583, 584.

2 Ibid. p. 589.

3 Theodoret, Philoth. cap. iii.

The

the sun to go down upon my wrath.' 'Your rule,' rejoined the other, 'is more excellent than mine.' While a rich lady was courteously fulfilling the duties of hospitality to a monk, her child, whom she had for this purpose left, fell into a well. It lay unharmed upon the surface of the water, and afterwards told its mother that it had seen the arms of the saint sustaining it below.2 At a time when it was the custom to look upon the marriage state with profound contempt, it was revealed to St. Macarius of Egypt that two married women in a neighbouring city were more holy than he was. saint immediately visited them, and asked their mode of life, but they utterly repudiated the notion of their sanctity. 'Holy father,' they said, 'suffer us to tell you frankly the truth. Even this very night we did not shrink from sleeping with our husbands, and what good works, then, can you expect from us?' The saint, however, persisted in his inquiries, and they then told him their stories. We are,' they said, 'in no way related, but we married two brothers. We have lived together for fifteen years, without one licentious or angry word. We have entreated our husbands to let us leave them, to join the societies of holy virgins, but they refused to permit us, and we then promised before Heaven that no worldly word should sully our lips.' 'Of a truth,' cried St. Macarius, 'I see that God regards not whether one is virgin or married, whether one is in a monastery or in the world. He considers only the disposition of the heart, and gives the Spirit to all who desire to serve Him, whatever their condition may be.' 3

I have multiplied these illustrations to an extent that must, I fear, have already somewhat taxed the patience of my readers; but the fact that, during a long period of history, these saintly legends formed the ideals guiding the imagina

1 Verba Seniorum.

2 Theodoret, Philoth. cap. ii.

3 Tillemont, tome viii. pp. 594

595.

tion and reflecting the moral sentiment of the Christian world, gives them an importance far beyond their intrinsic value. Before dismissing the saints of the desert, there is one other class of legends to which I desire to advert. I mean those which describe the connection between saints and the animal world. These legends are, I think, worthy of special notice in moral history, as representing the first, and at the same time one of the most striking efforts ever made in Christendom to inculcate a feeling of kindness and pity towards the brute creation. In Pagan antiquity, considerable steps had been made to raise this form of humanity to a recognised branch of ethics. The way had been prepared by numerous anecdotes growing for the most part out of simple ignorance of natural history, which all tended to diminish the chasm between men and animals, by representing the latter as possessing to a very high degree both moral and rational qualities. Elephants, it was believed, were endowed not only with reason and benevolence, but also with reverential feelings. They worshipped the sun and moon, and in the forests of Mauritania they were accustomed to assemble every new moon, at a certain river, to perform religious rites. The hippopotamus taught men the medicinal value of bleeding, being accustomed, when affected by plethory, to bleed itself with a thorn, and afterwards close the wound with slime.2 Pelicans committed suicide to feed their young; and bees, when they had broken the laws of their sovereign.3 A temple was erected at Sestos to commemorate the affection of an eagle which loved a young girl, and upon her death cast itself in despair into the flames by which her body was consumed.4 Numerous anecdotes are related of

faithful dogs which refused to survive their masters, and one of these had, it was said, been transformed into the dog-star.1 The dolphin, especially, became the subject of many beautiful legends, and its affection for its young, for music, and above all for little children, excited the admiration not only of the populace, but of the most distinguished naturalists.2 Many philosophers ascribed to animals a rational soul, like that of man. According to the Pythagoreans, human souls transmigrate after death into animals. According to the Stoics and others, the souls of men and animals were alike parts of the all-pervading Divine Spirit that animates the world.3

We may even find traces from an early period of a certain measure of legislative protection for animals. By a very natural process, the ox, as a principal agent in agriculture, and therefore a kind of symbol of civilisation, was in many different countries regarded with a peculiar reverence. The sanctity attached to it in Egypt is well known. That tenderness to animals, which is one of the most beautiful features in the Old Testament writings, shows itself, among other ways, in the command not to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn, or to yoke together the ox and the ass. Among the early Romans the same feeling was carried so far, that for a long time it was actually a capital offence to slaughter an ox, that animal being pronounced, in a special sense, the

A long list of legends about dogs is given by Legendre, in the very curious chapter on animals, in his Traité de Opinion, tome i. pp. 308-327.

2 Pliny tells some extremely pretty stories of this kind. (Hist. Nat. ix. 8-9.) See, too, Aulus Gellius, xvi. 19. The dolphin, on account of its love for its young, became a common symbol of Christ among the early Christians.

3 A very full account of the opinions, both of ancient and

modern philosophers, concerning the souls of animals, is given by Bayle, Dict. arts. 'Pereira E,' Rorarius K.'

4 The Jewish law did not con fine its care to oxen. The reader will remember the touching provision, Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk' (Deut. xiv. 21); and the law forbidding men to take a parent bird that was sitting on its young or on its eggs. (Deut. xxii. 6, 7.)

fellow-labourer of man.1 A similar law is said to have in early times existed in Greece.2 The beautiful passage in which the Psalmist describes how the sparrow could find a shelter and a home in the altar of the temple, was as applicable to Greece as to Jerusalem. The sentiment of Xenocrates who, when a bird pursued by a hawk took refuge in his breast, caressed and finally released it, saying to his disciples, that a good man should never give up a suppliant,3 was believed to be shared by the gods, and it was regarded as an act of impiety to disturb the birds who had built their nests beneath the porticoes of the temple. A case is related of a child who was even put to death on account of an act of aggravated cruelty to birds.5

The general tendency of nations, as they advance from a rude and warlike to a refined and peaceful condition, from the stage in which the realising powers are faint and dull, to that in which they are sensitive and vivid, is undoubtedly to become more gentle and humane in their actions; but this, like all other general tendencies in history, may be counteracted or modified by many special circumstances. The law I

at Miletus about a suppliant who had taken refuge with the Cymæans and was demanded with menace by his enemies. The oracle, being bribed, enjoined the surrender. The ambassador on leaving, with seeming carelessness disturbed the sparrows under the portico of the temple, when the voice from behind the altar denounced his impiety for disturbing the guests of the gods. The ambassador replied with an obvious and withering retort. Ælian says (Hist. Var.) that the Athenians condemned to death a boy for killing a sparrow that had taken refuge in the temple of Asculapius.

5 Quintilian, Inst. v. 9.