Dunstan, to whose memory so many churches have been dedicated, was born near Glastonbury, in county Somerset, and educated at the Abbey. In subsequent years, when he passed a retired life, he built himself a small cell, and enacted there (if tradition holds its own) one of, if not the greatest miracle upon record. He was a favourite with King Athelstan, whom he much pleased by musical performances on his harp, and many astounding tales have been handed down to us about this instrument playing without being touched, and rendering such musical and hitherto unknown melody as enabled the humbler classes to be much imposed upon. Dunstan died May 18, A.D. 988, so that he has been dead just 900 years. And yet to-day is still recorded that marvellous meeting he once had with “the evil one,” or, as we were told in our youth, the Devil. Many a time did this tempter “try his hand” upon our musical blacksmith. He appeared to him in every shape and form, even as a beautiful female, and certainly to our mind the most likely “to draw.” Poor Dunstan in his little cell at Glastonbury, whenever at his devotional practice as harpist, or using his forge and anvil as blacksmith, was certain to receive a visit, and his sweet song drowned by the black visitor’s unholy jeers. At last the day of reckoning came, Dunstan seized a golden opportunity when his tyrannical tormenter put in appearance at the very time his forge was at work and his pincers hot. Little was said, no doubt, but the doings were great—the greatest ever recorded of man’s work—for St. Dunstan, so the story goes, Seized his sable Majesty by the nose, And made him loudly roar; So loud, indeed, from North to South, From East to West, like from thunder’s mouth It echoed a thousand miles and more.