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by Boethius in the Consolations of Philosophy, but Alfred tells the story in his own way, and with many of his own little touches and additions. following is the story:

The

It once happened that there was a harper named Orpheus, who lived in the country called Thracia. This harper was very clever, and he had a beautiful wife whose name was Eurydice. So well did Orpheus play the harp that men said the woods danced and the stones moved when he played. The wild deer would run to him and stand as if they were tame; so still would they stand that if men or hounds approached them they would not run away.

But in course of time the harper's wife died, and her soul was led into hell. Then Orpheus became very sad, and he shunned the dwellings of men. He withdrew to the woods, and, sitting upon the mountains, he wept and harped both by day and by night. Then the woods trembled, the rivers did not run, the hart did not fear the lion, nor the hare the hound. So enchanting was the music of Orpheus that no cattle knew any fear of others.

Then the harper thought that nothing pleased him in this world. So he determined to seek the gods of hell, and charm them with his harp, and pray that they would restore to him the lovely Eurydice. When he arrived there, Cerberus, the three-headed hell-hound, came to him; but instead of hurting Orpheus, this monster began to sport and to play with him for his harping. There was also a very fierce and terrible gate-warder, whose name was Charon.

He also had three heads, but so charmed was he with the music of Orpheus that he promised to protect him all the while he was in the lower regions.

He then went on further, and met some grim goddesses, who were so delighted with his harp that they wept with him. Then came all the citizens of hell towards him and led him to their king; and all began to talk with him and to give him what he desired. So great was the power of Orpheus that the restless wheel of Ixion stood still for his harping; Tantalus, that covetous king, was no longer greedy; and all the sufferers in hell rested from their torments while he harped before the king.

Now, when Orpheus had harped long and well, the king called him, and, addressing the citizens, said: "Let us give this man his wife, for he hath earned her by his harping. Bid him, then, that he may well know, that he must never look back when he is gone from hence, for if he look back he shall lose this woman."

Orpheus then departed, and his wife followed him till he came forth into the light. Then did Orpheus look back towards his wife, and, according to the saying of the king, the beautiful Eurydice died away from her husband, and he saw her no more.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

BEDE'S HISTORY AND THE ENGLISH
CHRONICLE.

THE most interesting, and perhaps the most important of all the works translated by Alfred, was Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation. Bede wrote this work in Latin, and Alfred did a great service to his people by translating it into the English tongue. Even to this day Bede's History is read by all who wish to know the story of England in its early years. So, to understand aright the importance of Alfred's work, let us consider the life and character of the author, Bede.

Bede was probably born in 672 or 673, so that he lived about two hundred years before the birth of Alfred. We cannot be certain of the exact place, but it is probable that he first saw the light of day in the village of Jarrow, under the shadow of a great monastery reared by the famous Benedict Biscop. The province of Northumbria was then the home of famous scholars, and no schools were better known than those of York and Jarrow.

Of his parents nothing is known; but he tells us in the history of his life, that, at the age of seven, he was placed under the care of Benedict at the Abbey of Jarrow, where he spent the remainder of his life. His constant pleasure lay in learning, or teaching or writing, and he possessed considerable knowledge

not only in the Latin and Greek languages, but also in the Hebrew.

And we must remember, too, that in those days a monastic life was not entirely given to learning, but such labours as winnowing the corn and threshing it, giving milk to the lambs and calves, working in the bakehouse, in the garden, and in the kitchen were all performed by the inmates of a monastery. But still Bede's heart was in the study of Holy Scripture, and in the regular discipline and the duties of the Church,

While still young, he became teacher, and six hundred monks, besides many strangers, gathered round him for instruction. And in this work he received little aid from others. "I am my own secretary," he writes, "I make my own notes, and I am my own librarian.” He was a pattern of industry, for at his death he had written many works on such various subjects as theology, astronomy, physics, music, arithmetic, and other sciences. Bede loved his own mother tongue; he was skilled in English song; his last work was a translation of the Gospel of St. John into English, and almost his last words were some English rhymes upon death.

"But," it has been well said, "the noblest proof of his love of England lies in the work which immortalises his name." This work, the Ecclesiastical History of the English People, makes Bede the first English historian. All that we know of our country's history for the century or more before his time, we gain from this book; and what adds to its interest is

the charm with which it is written, and the many stories which are so well told.

The story of his death was written by one of his loving pupils, and, as it gives us such a graphic picture of the passing away of the Venerable Bede, surrounded by his sorrowing pupils, we will conclude this account of him by giving it almost as it was written.

Two weeks before the Easter of 755, the old scholar was seized with extreme weakness and loss of breath. In spite of all his sleeplessness and weakness, he still continued to talk to his pupils. He was labouring to translate the Gospel of St. John into English, and so anxious was he to do it well, that he said, “I will not have my pupils read a falsehood, nor labour therein without profit after my death." A little before Ascension-tide he became

worse, but still remained cheerful. "Go on quickly," he said, "I know not how long I shall hold out, and whether my Maker will not soon take me away."

The weakness grew, but yet the venerable master called his pupils round him. "Most dear master," said one of them, "there is still one chapter wanting; do you think it troublesome to be asked any more questions?" "No," he replied, "but take your pen, and make ready, and write fast." Thus the day wore on to evening, but his friends could not but weep, for he said, "You shall see my face no more in this world." Dear master," said his pupil, “there is yet one sentence not written." "Write quickly," said Bede. "The sentence is now written," said the scribe. Thereupon Bede replied, "It is well, you

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