=Source.=—_Life of St. Dunstan_, by B., a Saxon priest, written between 995 and 1006, §§ 13, 14. Stubbs’ _Memorials of St. Dunstan_ (Rolls Series). Translated by W. At length they [Dunstan’s opponents] bound around him the rope of their iniquity, destined therein to entangle themselves rather than him, that they might poison the heart of the king, infected by their wickedness, and make him credulous by their lies. The latter, as he had before been led on by evil men, moved with great anger, immediately ordered him to be deprived of every dignity and office, and to seek his sureties where he willed, without him or his. There were then dwelling with the king at Cheddar, where these events occurred, venerable ambassadors of the eastern kingdom, whom Dunstan, as if already condemned to exile, and unwitting of any other plan for himself, approached, begging that they would not desert one abandoned by the king, but would conduct him home with themselves although but for a sojourn. Taking compassion on his sorrow they promised him whatever advantages their kingdom afforded if he would accompany them. So the next day the king went where he might enjoy himself in hunting with his followers according to his custom. And as they go to the wood a-hunting, they take in rivalry diverse tracks of the shady paths. And lo! with the uproar of the horns and the barking of the hounds many stags took to flight. The king by himself with his pack of hounds chose one to hunt, and wearied it for a long while through various by-paths by the swiftness of his horse and the eagerness of his hounds. Now there is close to Cheddar, among many other features of the steep mountain, a certain precipice which reaches down to a marvellous and unfathomable depth. At this the stag arrived in its flight, I know not how, unless by the hidden will of God, and threw itself headlong down to the depths of that precipice, together with the hounds that followed, and, dashed in pieces, they rushed upon death together. So too the king, following stag and hounds, came up with his horse at the gallop, and the moment he saw the precipice attempted with all his might to stay the course of his hurrying steed. But such was the strength and stiffness of its mouth and neck that he could not. What then? He gave up all hope of life and commended his soul into the hands of God, saying in his heart, “I thank thee, O most High, that I do not remember ever, to have injured anyone, save Dunstan alone, and this I will amend, reconciling myself to him with ready willingness if my life is spared.” As he spoke, by the merits of the saint, his horse stopped on the turf at the very edge of the cliff (I shudder to tell it), when its forefeet were almost about to dash into the depths of the abyss. Then the king with heart and voice alike gave thanks and praises to God for that his life was saved, plainly perceiving, and very often considering in the secrecy of his