Then when Paphnutius heard these words, and saw that she was fallen asleep, all his bowels were moved, and he fell on the ground, and was as one dead. Now Agapitus came running in, and saw Smaragdus dead, and Paphnutius lying senseless on the ground, so he cast water on his face and said, "What aileth thee, Master Paphnutius?" Then said Paphnutius, "Let me go that I may die." And when he was risen up, he cast himself on the face of the dead monk, and cried, "Woe is me! my sweetest daughter, why didst thou not tell me before, that I might have died with thee?" So Agapitus, having guessed the truth, was amazed, and hasted and told the abbot, who came, and cried "Euphrosyne, spouse of Christ, forget not thy fellow-servants, who dwell in this monastery, but pray for us to our Lord Jesus Christ, that he may make us manfully contend to reach the port of safety, and to have our portion with Him, and with all His saints." Then he called all the brethren together, and they buried Euphrosyne reverently. And after that her father came and dwelt in the same cell, and was there for ten years, and after that he migrated to God, and they laid him beside his daughter. S. CEADMON, MONK. (ABOUT A.D. 680.) [Anglican Martyrology, published by John Wilson. Authority:--Bede: Hist. Eccl. iv. 24.] According to an usage very general in the 7th century in England, but principally prevailing in Celtic countries, monasteries and nunneries were placed under the rule of one abbot or abbess. This was the case at Whitby, where the abbess Hilda governed a community of men, as well as one of women; and she inspired the monks subject to her authority with so great a devotion to their rule, so true a love of sacred literature, that this monastery, ruled by a woman, became a true school of missionaries, and even of bishops. But not all the bishops and saints nurtured in her school, occupy in the annals of the human mind a place comparable to that held by an old cowherd who lived on the lands belonging to Hilda's community. It is on the lips of this cowherd that Anglo-Saxon speech first bursts into poetry, and nothing in the whole history of European literature is more original or more religious than this first utterance of the English muse. His name was Ceadmon. He had already reached an advanced age, having spent his life in his humble occupation without ever learning music, or being able to join in the joyous choruses which held such a high place at the feasts and social gatherings of all classes, both poor and rich, among the Anglo-Saxons as among the Celts. When it was his turn to sing at any of these festal meetings, and the harp was handed to him, his custom was to rise from the table and go home. One evening, when he had thus withdrawn himself from his friends, he went back to his humble shed and went to sleep by the side of the cattle. During his slumber he heard a voice, which called him by name, and said to him, "Sing me