underneath his cloak, and, in the scuffle, stabbed the King to 
death.  That done, he set his back against the wall, and fought so 
desperately, that although he was soon cut to pieces by the King's 
armed men, and the wall and pavement were splashed with his blood, 
yet it was not before he had killed and wounded many of them.  You 
may imagine what rough lives the kings of those times led, when one 
of them could struggle, half drunk, with a public robber in his own 
dining-hall, and be stabbed in presence of the company who ate and 
drank with him.

Then succeeded the boy-king EDRED, who was weak and sickly in body, 
but of a strong mind.  And his armies fought the Northmen, the 
Danes, and Norwegians, or the Sea-Kings, as they were called, and 
beat them for the time.  And, in nine years, Edred died, and passed 
away.

Then came the boy-king EDWY, fifteen years of age; but the real 
king, who had the real power, was a monk named DUNSTAN - a clever 
priest, a little mad, and not a little proud and cruel.

Dunstan was then Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, whither the body of 
King Edmund the Magnificent was carried, to be buried.  While yet a 
boy, he had got out of his bed one night (being then in a fever), 
and walked about Glastonbury Church when it was under repair; and, 
because he did not tumble off some scaffolds that were there, and 
break his neck, it was reported that he had been shown over the 
building by an angel.  He had also made a harp that was said to 
play of itself - which it very likely did, as AEolian Harps, which 
are played by the wind, and are understood now, always do.  For 
these wonders he had been once denounced by his enemies, who were 
jealous of his favour with the late King Athelstan, as a magician; 
and he had been waylaid, bound hand and foot, and thrown into a 
marsh.  But he got out again, somehow, to cause a great deal of 
trouble yet.

The priests of those days were, generally, the only scholars.  They 
were learned in many things.  Having to make their own convents and 
monasteries on uncultivated grounds that were granted to them by 
the Crown, it was necessary that they should be good farmers and 
good gardeners, or their lands would have been too poor to support 
them.  For the decoration of the chapels where they prayed, and for 
the comfort of the refectories where they ate and drank, it was 
necessary that there should be good carpenters, good smiths, good 
painters, among them.  For their greater safety in sickness and 
accident, living alone by themselves in solitary places, it was 
necessary that they should study the virtues of plants and herbs, 
and should know how to dress cuts, burns, scalds, and bruises, and 
how to set broken limbs.  Accordingly, they taught themselves, and 
one another, a great variety of useful arts; and became skilful in 
agriculture, medicine, surgery, and handicraft.  And when they 
wanted the aid of any little piece of machinery, which would be 
simple enough now, but was marvellous then, to impose a trick upon 
the poor peasants, they knew very well how to make it; and DID make 
it many a time and often, I have no doubt.

Dunstan, Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, was one of the most sagacious 
of these monks.  He was an ingenious smith, and worked at a forge 
in a little cell.  This cell was made too short to admit of his 
lying at full length when he went to sleep - as if THAT did any 
good to anybody! - and he used to tell the most extraordinary lies 
about demons and spirits, who, he said, came there to persecute 
him.  For instance, he related that one day when he was at work, 
the devil looked in at the little window, and tried to tempt him to 
lead a life of idle pleasure; whereupon, having his pincers in the 
fire, red hot, he seized the devil by the nose, and put him to such 
pain, that his bellowings were heard for miles and miles.  Some 
people are inclined to think this nonsense a part of Dunstan's 
madness (for his head never quite recovered the fever), but I think 
not.  I observe that it induced the ignorant people to consider him 
a holy man, and that it made him very powerful.  Which was exactly 
what he always wanted.

On the day of the coronation of the handsome boy-king Edwy, it was 
remarked by ODO, Archbishop of Canterbury (who was a Dane by 
birth), that the King quietly left the coronation feast, while all 
the company were there.  Odo, much displeased, sent his friend 
Dunstan to seek him.  Dunstan finding him in the company of his 
beautiful young wife ELGIVA, and her mother ETHELGIVA, a good and 
virtuous lady, not only grossly abused them, but dragged the young 
King back into the feasting-hall by force.  Some, again, think 
Dunstan did this because the young King's fair wife was his own 
cousin, and the monks objected to people marrying their own 
cousins; but I believe he did it, because he was an imperious, 
audacious, ill-conditioned priest, who, having loved a young lady 
himself before he became a sour monk, hated all love now, and 
everything belonging to it.

The young King was quite old enough to feel this insult.  Dunstan 
had been Treasurer in the last reign, and he soon charged Dunstan 
with having taken some of the last king's money.  The Glastonbury 
Abbot fled to Belgium (very narrowly escaping some pursuers who 
were sent to put out his eyes, as you will wish they had, when you 
read what follows), and his abbey was given to priests who were 
married; whom he always, both before and afterwards, opposed.  But 
he quickly conspired with his friend, Odo the Dane, to set up the 
King's young brother, EDGAR, as his rival for the throne; and, not 
content with this revenge, he caused the beautiful queen Elgiva, 
though a lovely girl of only seventeen or eighteen, to be stolen 
from one of the Royal Palaces, branded in the cheek with a red-hot 
iron, and sold into slavery in Ireland.  But the Irish people