Bound about the story of Grace Darling no particular odour of sanctity gathers; and yet she, according to her light, served the same cause of humanity as St. Cuthbert, and performed a deed of which even he would not need to have been ashamed.
Very little indeed would be known of this most famous saint, but for one whose name must be mentioned with all honour and reverent admiration—the Venerable Bede. He twice wrote St. Cuthbert's life, first in hexameters, in his "Liber de Miraculis, Sancti Cuthberchti Episcopi," and in prose, in his "Liber de Vita et Miraculis Sancti Cudbercti Lindisfarnensis Episcopi."
It is not known with any certainty where Bede was born, but it was probably at Jarrow, in the year 673. When he was seven years old, he was sent to the monastery of St. Peter, at Wearmouth, to be educated. He was placed under the care of the Abbott Benedict and Ceolfrid. He received his religious instruction from the monk Trumberct, and his music lessons from John, chief singer in St. Peter's at Rome, who had been summoned to England by the Abbott Benedict. While he was there a great pestilence broke out, and every monk died, excepting Bede and another. The boy, through all the death and mourning of that terrible time, still chanted the service and songs of the church. From seven to twelve or thirteen, he was a diligent student. Writing of himself at this early age, he says, "It was always sweet to me to learn to teach and to write."
When nineteen years of age, he took deacon's orders; and when he was about thirty, was ordained priest by John of Beverley, then Bishop of Hexham. He lived in Jarrow monastery a quiet and retired life, and spent his whole time in the eager pursuit of knowledge. He questioned all who came to him; he collected all stray facts and incidents; he took care of, and wrought into his book all records of events that floated to him, or that he was able to save from oblivion, and he it is to whom we are indebted for almost all the information we possess of the history of our country down to the year 731. His greatest work was the "Ecclesiastical History of England," of which many versions have been issued, and which was first translated into Anglo Saxon by King Alfred the Great. One edition of the "History" was published at Strasburg, in 1500; another by Smith of Cambridge, in 1722; another by Stevenson of London, in 1838; another by Dr. Hussey at Oxford, in 1864; another in the "Monumenta Historica Britannica," and yet another by Dr. Giles, with the whole of Bede's writings.[2]
Not only was the industry of Bede most extraordinary, but his character and disposition were most lovely. It demanded no small amount of moral strength, concentration of mind, and tenacity of will and purpose, as well as ardent consecration to a good cause, thus quietly to pursue studies, and remain at work, while all around was confusion and strife, violence and slaughter. So little was the spirit of his age in him, that it has been well said of him, he was like "a light shining in a dark place." His life was holy, his temper calm and gentle, and all his works humanising and instructive.
Dean Stanley's remarks upon him, are so very beautiful and appropriate, that we may be pardoned for extracting some of them:—"Two names only from the Anglo Saxon period are still held in unquestioned and universal reverence. One is the Great Alfred, the illustrious king and lawgiver, in the south of England; the other is Bede, the venerable father of English history and English learning, in the North of England. Venerable he truly was. We need not go back to the legend which supposed that he received the title from the Roman Senate for having solved a strange riddle which they could not answer; nor to the other legend, which tells us that, on his grave-stone at Durham, you can still read the inscription in which it is said that an angel in the night filled up the blank space with Venerabilis. He is venerable for the much more solid reason, that he has won the veneration of all Englishmen—we may say of all the world—as an example of the faithful student of truth. His old oaken chair at Jarrow may be still chipped away, as it has been for many years, for healing relics. But no miracle, no wonder, is ever recorded of him in his lifetime. Nay, he was even accused before the Archbishop of York, on a charge of heresy on account of some of his views on chronology. He never was formally acknowledged as a saint. Yet in spite of this, the instinct of mankind has gradually given to him the superiority and pre-eminence over those eccentric missionaries whose wonders for the moment dazzled, but whose special work has long ago passed away. A foreign ambassador (says Fuller) visited the high sumptuous shrine of St. Cuthbert: 'If thou be a saint, pray for us;' then turning to the plain, lowly, little tomb of Bede, he said, 'Because thou art a saint, good Bede, pray for us."
"His last days were spent in the noblest of tasks—in the task which afterwards engaged the best days of Luther and the best days of Wickliffe, that of translating the Bible into his own language. 'I am unwilling,' he said, 'that my children should read what is not true, and should, after my death, in this matter, spend their labours to no profit. That is the fine sentiment of a man who really cares for truth, and really cares for his country.
"There are many other beautiful sayings during those last hours; but I fear to encroach too much on a theme which, perhaps more properly belongs to Jarrow, and which also perhaps is too solemn for this place. Still, as his boyhood was at Monkwearmouth, and as his end reminds us of what he himself must have been when he was pursuing his tasks on the banks of your own River Wear, I will give you the very last moments. There was a little boy who was copying out for him his translation of the Gospel of St. John, and who said 'Still one more sentence, dear master, remains unwritten.' He replied, 'Write quickly.' After a little while the boy said, 'Now the sentence is finished.' He answered, 'You have spoken the truth. It is finished. Raise up my head in your arms, for I should like to lie opposite that holy place where I used to pray, so that resting there I may call on God my Father;' and being placed there he said, 'Glory to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit;' and as he named the name of the Holy Spirit, he breathed out his own spirit and departed." [3]
From those early days to the time of our heroine, the story would be too long to insert here, and we must pass over centuries with only a word or two. Northumbria has taken a noble part in the struggles and victories, the sufferings and progress of our country, and she reaps, as she deserves to do, a rich reward.
When the decisive battle of Hastings had been fought, and the Norman conqueror had overcome the Saxons, the people in the North were determined not to yield. The sorrow which the patriotic northern hearts felt was increased and stirred into active resentment by the treachery of William.