n the interim! As tours to Rome are still frequent with us
English, perhaps the reader will not grudge to look at the method
of traveling thither in those remote ages. We happily have, in
small compass, a personal narrative of it. Through the clear
eyes and memory of Brother Samson, one peeps direct into the very
bosom of that Twelfth Century, and finds it rather curious. The
actual _Papa,_ Father, or universal President of Christendom, as
yet not grown chimerical, sat there; think of that only!
Brother Samson went to Rome as to the real Light-fountain of this
lower world; we now--!--But let us hear Brother Samson, as to
his mode of traveling:

'You know what trouble I had for that Church of Woolpit; how I
was despatched to Rome in the time of the Schism between Pope
Alexander and Octavian; and passed through Italy at that season,
when all clergy carrying letters for our Lord Pope Alexander were
laid hold of, and some were clapt in prison, some hanged; and
some, with nose and lips cut off, were sent forward to our Lord
the Pope, for the disgrace and confusion of him (_in dedecus et
confusionem ejus_). I, however, pretended to be Scotch, and
putting on the garb of a Scotchman, and taking the gesture of
one, walked along; and when anybody mocked at me, I would
brandish my staff in the manner of that weapon they call
_gaveloc,_* uttering comminatory words after the way of the
Scotch. To those that met and questioned me who I was, I made no
answer but: _Ride, ride Rome; turne Cantwereberei._ ** Thus did
I, to conceal myself and my errand, and get safer to Rome under
the guise of a Scotchman.

----------
* Javelin, missile pike. _Gaveloc_ is still the Scotch name for
_crowbar._

** Does this mean, "Rome forever; Canterbury _not"_ (which
claims an unjust Supremacy _over_ us)! Mr. Rokewood is silent.
Dryasdust would perhaps explain it,--in the course of a week or
two of talking; did one dare to question him!
----------

'Having at last obtained a Letter from our Lord the Pope
according to my wishes, I turned homewards again. I had to pass
through a certain strong town on my road; and lo, the soldiers
thereof surrounded me, seizing me, and saying: "This vagabond
(_iste solivagus_), who pretends to be Scotch, is either a spy,
or has Letters from the false Pope Alexander." And whilst they
examined every stitch and rag of me, my leggings (_caligas_),
breeches, and even the old shoes that I carried ov