what a comfort to Samson!

One of the things he could not in any wise but rebuild was the
great Altar, aloft on which stood the Shrine itself; the great
Altar, which had been damaged by fire, by the careless rubbish
and careless candle of two somnolent Monks, one night,--the
Shrine escaping almost as if by miracle! Abbot Samson read his
Monks a severe lecture: "A Dream one of us had, that he saw St.
Edmund naked and in lamentable plight. Know ye the
interpretation of that Dream? St. Edmund proclaims himself
naked, because ye defraud the naked Poor of your old clothes, and
give with reluctance what ye are bound to give them of meat and
drink: the idleness moreover and negligence of the Sacristan and
his people is too evident from the late misfortune by fire. Well
might our Holy Martyr seem to be cast out from his Shrine, and
say with groans that he was stript of his garments, and wasted
with hunger and thirst!"

This is Abbot Samson's interpretation of the Dream;--
diametrically the reverse of that given by the Monks themselves,
who scruple not to say privily, "It is we that are the naked and
famished limbs of the Martyr; we whom the Abbot curtails of all
our privileges, setting his own official to control our very
Cellarer!" Abbot Samson adds, that this judgment by fire has
fallen upon them for murmuring about their meat and drink.

Clearly enough, meanwhile, the Altar, whatever the burning of it
mean or foreshadow, must needs be reedified. Abbot Samson
reedifies it, all of polished marble; with the highest stretch
of art and sumptuosity, reembellishes the Shrine for which it is
to serve as pediment. Nay farther, as had ever been among his
prayers, he enjoys, he sinner, a glimpse of the glorious Martyr's
very Body in the process; having solemnly opened the Loculus,
Chest or sacred Coffin, for that purpose. It is the culminating
moment of Abbot Samson's life. Bozzy Jocelin himself rises into
a kind of Psalmist solemnity on this occasion; the laziest monk
'weeps' warm tears, as _Te Deum_ is sung.

Very strange;--how far vanished from us in these unworshiping
ages of ours! The Patriot Hampden, best beatified man we have,
had lain in like manner some two centuries in his narrow home,
when certain dignitaries of us, 'and twelve grave-diggers with
pulleys,' raised him also up, under cloud of night; cut off his
arm with penknifes, pulled the scalp off his head,--and otherwise
worshiped our Hero Saint