hundred marks in England and the same in Normandy. His case is a bold
instance of "that divorce of salary from duty" which even in those times
was thoroughly understood.

There is a story, one might almost say the usual story, of the storm at
sea. The king with a fleet is between Normandy and England, when a
midnight storm of super-Virgilian boisterousness burst upon them. After
the manner of Erasmus' shipwreck, every one prays, groans, and invokes
both he and she saints. The king himself audibly says, "Oh, if only my
Charterhouse Hugh were awake and instant at his secret prayers, or if
even he were engaged with the brethren in the solemn watch of the divine
offices, God would not so long forget me." Then, with a deep groan, he
prayed, "God, whom the William Prior serves in truth, by his
intervention and merits, take kindly pity upon us, who for our sins are
justly set in so sore a strait." Needless to say the storm ceased at
once, and Henry felt that he was indeed upon the right tack, both
nautically and spiritually. Whatever view we take of this tale (storms
being frequent, and fervent prayers of the righteous availing much), the
historic peep into King Henry's mind is worth our notice. The simplicity
and self-abasement of his ejaculation shew a more religious mind than
some would allow to him.

Anyhow, the prior was hard at work. He soon transformed the "weeps" into
stone. He built the two houses, the friary for the lay brethren and the
monastery for the monks. He prayed, read, meditated and preached. His
body slept, but his heart woke, and he repeated "Amens" innumerable in
his holy dreams. On feast days, when the brethren dined together, he
ate with them, and then he had the meal sauced with reading. If he ate
alone, he had a book by his trencher of dry bread rarely garnished with
relishes. A water pot served him for both flagon and tureen. He allowed
himself one little human enjoyment. A small bird called a burnet made
friends with him and lived in his cell, ate from his fingers and his
trencher, and only left him at the breeding season, after which it
brought its fledged family back with it. This little friend lived for
three years with the prior, and to his great grief came no more in the
fourth. The learned have exhausted their arts to discover what a burnet
can be, and have given up the chase. Some would have him to be a
barnacle goose, others a dab-chick or coot--none of which can fairly be
classed as _avicu