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Tiny knew that it would make Bunny still more unhappy than he was already to hear of Spotty's fate, so he thought that he would go and find Frisky and Fatty first, so that he might have some good news to carry ; but when he did find Fatty, she was lying dead, too, at the foot of the tree on which grew the vine whose leaves she had been eating.

It was a poisonous vine, and she had paid the great penalty of her gluttony with her life.

This was too much for Tiny, so he ran back to Bunny, without waiting to look for Frisky, and told him how badly his poor little sister and brother had fared. Bunny cried again when he heard it, and Tiny sat down beside him and howled in the most dismal manner.

At last Tiny told Bunny that he would go and look for Frisky. “Where did you see her last ?” he asked Bunny. “In that long grass, yonder,” answered Bunny, pointing out the place. “Very well; I will do my best to find her," said Tiny.

“ If I do not, it will not be for want of looking. Good-by!” and off he ran, leaving Bunny again alone.

"Bunny!” said a little voice overhead.

Bunny looked up and saw a little robin sitting and swinging on a branch of the oak tree.

“Did you speak to me?” asked Bunny. “Yes,” said the robin, putting his head on one side. “What have you to tell me?” asked Bunny. “Tiny will never find Frisky,” said the robin. “I saw a great ugly wild-cat, who was prowling around, kill her and carry her off.”

Bunny would not believe the robin, at first, for he could not bear to think that all four of his brothers and sisters were dead through their own faults; but when, after waiting a long time for Tiny, he saw him come back alone, he ran into the house without waiting to hear the news, for he could tell by the way his tail was hanging between his legs that he had been unsuccessful.

When Bunny's father and mother came home, they found him sitting by himself in a corner, and looking very disconsolate.

66 Where are your brothers and sisters?” asked his mother, who had been looking round anxiously for them ever since she came in. Poor Bunny could only answer with his sobs. “Is any thing the matter with them?” she continued, becoming more alarmed every moment.

“They have been disobedient and have got into trouble, have they not?” asked his father.

But still poor Bunny could not answer, and his father and mother were growing more and more anxious and impatient every moment, when they heard a gentle bark at the door, and when the father went to see who it was, there stood Tiny.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Rabbit,” said he, "for intruding upon you; but I knew that poor Bunny would not like to tell you how good he was himself, and how naughty his brothers and sisters were while you were away.So then he told the whole story himself, and Mrs. Rabbit came and listened too. When he had done, they called Bunny, and told him not to grieve any more, and said that they had rather have one good child like him than twenty naughty ones, and so, as it is not the nature of rabbits to fret long about any thing, they were soon all very happy again. Tiny stayed to tea with them, and Bunny was glad to find that his father and mother approved of the friendship between them.

After this, Tiny used to come every day and play with Bunny, always taking the greatest care not to hurt him, and by-and-by, when some more little brothers and sisters were born, their parents used to tell them to mind Bunny, and follow his example in every thing, and you may guess how happy this proof of their confidence made him, and how careful he always was to try and deserve it.

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BY L. H. S.

A knight, by the name of Gundulf, of somewhat dissolute habits, settled at Aosta, in Piedmont, about the year 1030, and married Ermonberga, a virtuous girl of that town. From this marriage proceeded a daughter, Richera, and a son—Anselm, who afterwards became a distinguished light for the Church and for Science. His aspirations were directed heavenwards from an early period. In his dreams, he delighted in climbing Alpine heights to discover, if possible, the dwelling place of the great King, of whom his mother had said that He was enthroned in heaven, and ruled the world. When scarcely fifteen years old he desired to be a monk, and consulted an Abbot, with whom he was acquainted, on the subject. But as the Abbot gave him no encouragement, because he had not his father's consent, Anselm prayed God that He would grant him a severe illness, so that he might certainly secure his desire (in accordance with the prevailing custom that a dying man should be denied nothing), because he looked upon the monastic life as a gate of heaven. In fact, he was taken quite ill. Still the Abbot would not receive him, and Anselm was driven to opposite pursuits: instead of books and devotional exercises, he devoted himself to knightly practices and plunged into secular occupations. His mother at first tried to restrain his love for these; but this restraint soon proved of no account, and the vessel of his heart drifted about on the stormy waves of the world without an anchor to hold it secure. mitted a family difficulty to befall him: he quarrelled with his father, and finding it impossible to remain in the neighborhood, resolved at length to leave his house. He wandered through Burgundy and France for three years. Finally he came to Avranches, in Normandy, where he heard of the great reputation which Lanfranc, one of his countrymen, had obtained as a teacher of theology in the neighboring cloister of Bec. Thereupon the

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old love of study was again stirred up in him; he betook himself to Bec, where he devoted himself diligently to books. This occupation also made him again a friend of monasticism. What would its hardships be to him, who had already denied himself so many things. But, where should he become a monk? In Bec, he could attain no distinction alongside of Lanfranc; but in Cluny, or any other more important cloister, there was still less chance of distinction, since every thing had already been done for the best in them. Indeed to him the monastic life appeared then only as a brilliant sphere of activity; he was in the habit of saying afterwards, when reflecting on this portion of his life, “I knew nothing of humility: the world still was master over me.” “But what,” he interrogates himself, when he began to consider the subject earnestly, “is this being a monk, when one desires only to satisfy his ambition? Is not humility the first requisite of a disciple of Christ? And where can I better practise myself in this virtue than in Bec, where I shall always have Lanfranc over me?” In this

way he resolved to remain at Bec, and entered the cloister (1060) in his twenty-seventh year.

This was really one of the most prominent cloisters then in existence. Twenty years before, it had been founded by Herluin, a knight from Normandy, who, in the midst of a brilliant life at court, had become anxious for the salvation of his soul, and, knowing no other mode of securing his heart's desire than by becoming somewhat more intimately acquainted

with monastic life, with two companions of like minds, began to build a cloister

one of his estates (Borneville). On account of the utter destruction of the cloisters in his neighborhood, he could find none to answer as a model, and was obliged to construct his as best he could. Nevertheless, its arrangement corresponded almost exactly with that which St. Benedict had introduced before in his cloisters, and which had afterwards obtained in the “congregation of Cluny.” Three years thereafter (1840) Herluin, in consequence of a fire, removed his cloister to another place, by the side of a brook (Bach) from which it received the name of Bec, in a lateral valley of the river Rille; and an assistant joined him here in 1042, who, by the learning he introduced in the cloister, invested it with additional distinction. This was Lanfranc, originally a lawyer of Padua, who had devoted himself to the study of Dialectics, and through it had been attracted to Philosophy, upon which he had delivered lectures in Avranches since 1040, when he left his native town. Through Philosophy he was drawn to Theology, and this brought him to a consciousness of the vanity of all his past labors, so that he left Avranches suddenly in 1042, with the view of finding a place where he might live a godly life in solitary meditation. Having reached the neighborhood of the Rille, one evening, in the course of his travels, he was set upon by robbers, who stripped him to the skin, and then bound him to a tree, some distance from the road. He was obliged to spend one entire long night in this painful position, which became the more painful when he discovered, to his horror, that, despite all his learning, he was not able to secure any strength for himself by prayer, or even by a spiritual song. When he was released, the next morning, by some travellers passing by who had heard his shrieks, he inquired of them where was the poorest cloister in that neighborhood. It proved to be Bec. He passed the first three years in the deepest seclusion, putting aside all mere scientific studies, and devoting himself to pious exercises, so that he might learn the art of praying. When he believed that • the vanity of his heart had been sufficiently mortified, he began again to

exercise the calling of Teacher, and in accordance with the wish of Herluin, who had made him Prior in 46, he took charge of a school in the cloister, which soon became a prominent seat of learning, attracting towards it scholars from all the neighboring countries.

Anselm entered this school and cloister, as we have said, and so quickly familiarized himself with its reigning spirit that, when Lanfranc was called, in 1063, to be the Abbot of a newly founded cloister at Caẹn, Herluin appointed him Prior in place of the latter. In this position he manifested the richest activity for the further advancement of the cloister, both in a religious and scientific character. He directed his labors especially towards youth. As wax must neither be too hard nor too soft to receive an accurate impression from a seal—if too hard, an impression cannot be made at all, and if too soft, it instantly disappears—so is mankind, which, in full age, having occupied itself only with the things of this world, has become too much hardened to understand the hidden things of the kingdom of heaven; while, in its immaturity, it is much too soft for impressions to be permanent. Youth is the proper period for influencing the nature, because self-reliance and susceptibility are then found present in happy combination. Anselin would know nothing of the rigid discipline which was practised in the cloisters, in those times. It is necessary to give young people, just like young trees, liberty of growth, if they are to grow up without deformity. Hence, he was accustomed to indulge his pupils, at first, in many things, so that he might win their confidence. When this was obtained, he would become more stern and exacting, until he could be able at length to combat that which he had tolerated at first. Through the youth he acted, also, on the older members of the cloister, who, in the beginning, were not well disposed towards him, because they thought that he had been made Prior too soon; but these, also, trusted themselves to his directions when they remarked what a keen knowledge of the human heart he possessed, so that he was always ready with the proper advice for every man. In time, applications for "spiritual counsel” were made to him from without. Applications were not only made from strange cloisters “to break the bread of life," but he received almost daily visits and letters from persons of all positions, who consulted him for consolation, advice and encouragement. Whence a pastoral zeal was excited, which "might rather produce weariness on the part of others in listening to him, than weariness on his part in admonishing and instructing them.” It could be said of him, as of Saint Martin : “Christ, righteousness, everlasting life—these were something more than empty words to him.” Yet this active care for souls, which he exercised with such zeal, at times not devoted to instruction, did not so claim his sympathy that he overlooked rendering assistance to bodily suffering. He visited the hospital daily, inquired of each patient as to his ailments, and personally administered the proper remedies. those in health he was a father, to the sick a mother, or rather to both sick and well he was father and mother at the same time. Despite the number of engagements which occupied him, he still managed to find time for that which best corresponded with his own inclination—theological meditation. The day was usually occupied with the engagements already mentioned, but the night was the time when he surrendered himself to the dearest delight of his soul. Watching through the night was as common to him as fasting, to which he had been so accustomed for years, that, even after a long period of abstinence, he scarcely experienced the sensation of hunger. Scarcely ever did he retire to bed before the morning service: the brothers, who had to get ready for this service, found him on his knees in the Chapter instead of being in the dormitory. And even after this hour he sometimes remained out of bed; this, indeed, being the time that he either devoted to quiet devotional exercises or studied the Holy Scriptures or the Fathers, or passed in meditation and the study of the great problems of learning, which had presented themselves in the course of his instruction during the day. From the latter came those productions which made him the founder of a new era in Theology,—and which, indeed, had as their aim the furtherance of the knowledge of Faith, in which such a view of that mystery is afforded, as before his time had not been entertained by the Church.

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After Herluin's death in 1078, Anselm was unanimously elected Abbot of the cloister. Now the management of its external affairs fell upon him, and, although he intrusted this in great part to some trusty brothers, whilst he preferred to direct its internal affairs, especially instruction and discipline, still he did not withdraw eatirely from these, but was often obliged to personally treat things that were far enough from his natural bent. And even there he rarely found his match. For instance, he was obliged to represent his cloister on the court-days of the province, where sometimes there was a great deal of contention, and when the litigants endeavored to carry their point by loud screaming, he was accustomed to sit perfectly quiet, and, even in the midst of the tumult, to carry on conversation with those around him, or, if no one was willing to listen to him, to take a short nap: still he was able, when his turn came, to present the case in a few words, placing it in the right light, and putting the tricks and artifices of the contestants to shame. He did not trouble himself much about the worldly affairs of the cloister, which now depended upon him. Indeed, the cloister was so poor that they were often in doubt as to food for the morrow. To all the complaints of the steward and butler, his common answer was: “Trust in the Lord, He will provide.” Often, on such days, there would come presents from the rich neighbors, or ships would arrive in the Seine with presents from England, or some one would join the cloister, presenting it with all his worldly goods, &c. The most self-sacrificing hospitality reigned in Bec. “The Spaniards and Burgundians,” says a contemporary, “as well as the nearest neighbors, can testify to this; for the doors of the people of Bec were open to every one that knocked.” When Anselm made a journey on business of the cloister, he made it profitable not only for the spiritual benefit of the cloister, but also for the families of the laity he visited. Every where he was a welcome guest, for he came not in the style of a teacher, but of a friend, a member of the family: he gave them no insipid rules, but employed examples taken from life, striking pictures, apposite proverbs; in short, his discourse was full of parables. Hence he obtruded himself upon no man, but commodated himself, as far as conscience would allow, to the manners of the different classes, relaxing somewhat of the severity of Monasticism, rather than repelling by severity, and seeking, with the Apostle, to be all things to all men, that he might win some. In this


he best advanced


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