Ready, when Dido gave the word,
  To be advanced into the halter,
  Without the benefit on’s Psalter.

* * * * *

  Then ’cause she would, to part the sweeter,
  A portion have of Hopkins’ metre,
  As people use at execution,
  For the decorum of conclusion,
  Being too sad to sing, she says.[157]

  [157] Scarronides; or, Virgil Travestie, etc., by Charles
        Cotton, Book iv. Poetical Works, 5th edition, London,
        1765, pp. 122, 140.

If the clergy in medieval times had, as they are said to have had, all the learning among themselves, what a blessed state of ignorance must the laity have been in!  And so, indeed, it appears, for there is extant an old Act of Parliament which provides that a nobleman shall be entitled to the “benefit of clergy,” even though he could not read.  And another law sets forth that “the command of the sheriff to his officer by word of mouth, and without writing is good; for it may be that neither the sheriff nor his officer can write or read!” Many charters are preserved to which persons of great dignity, even kings, have affixed the sign of the cross, because they were not able to write their names, and hence the term of signing, instead of subscribing.  In this respect a ten-year-old Board School boy in these “double-distilled” days is vastly superior to the most renowned of the “barons bold.”

THE BEARDS OF OUR FATHERS.

  ’Tis merry in the hall when beards wag all.—­Old Song.

Among the harmless foibles of adolescence which contribute to the quiet amusement of folks of mature years is the eager desire of youths to have their smooth faces adorned with that “noble” distinction of manhood—­a beard.  And no wonder.  For, should a clever lad, getting out of his “teens,” venture to express opinions contrary to those of his elders present, is he not at once snubbed by being called “a beardless boy”?  A boy!  Bitter taunt!  He very naturally feels that he is grossly insulted, and all because his “dimpled chin never has known the barber’s shear.”  Full well does our ingenuous youth know that a man is not wise in consequence of his beard—­that, as the Orientals say of women’s long hair, it often happens that men with long beards have short wits; nevertheless, had he but a beard himself, he should then be free from such a wretched “argument”—­such an implied accusation of his lack of wit, as that he is beardless.  The young Roman watched the first appearance of the downy precursor of his beard with no little solicitude, and applied the household oil to his face—­there were no patent specifics in those days for “infallibly producing luxuriant whiskers and moustaches in a few weeks”—­to promote its tardy growth, and entitle him, from the incipient fringe, to be styled “barbatulus.”  When his beard was full-grown he was called “barbatus.”