“In short, the King publicly gave his license to Paulinus to preach the Gospel, and renouncing idolatry, declared that he received the faith of Christ.  And when he inquired of the high priest who should first profane the altars and temples of their idols with the enclosures that were about them, Coifi answered, ’I; for who can more properly than myself destroy those things which I worshiped through ignorance, for an example to all others through the wisdom which has been given me by the true God?’

“Then immediately, in contempt of his former superstitions, he desired the King to furnish him with arms and a stallion.  And mounting the same he set out to destroy the idols.  For it was not lawful before for the high priest either to carry arms or to ride upon any but a mare.

“Having, therefore, girt a sword about him, with a spear in his hand, he mounted the King’s stallion and proceeded to the idols.  The multitude, beholding it, concluded he was distracted.  But he lost no time, for as soon as he drew near the temple he profaned the same, casting into it the spear which he held.  And rejoicing in the knowledge of the worship of the true God, he commanded his companions to destroy the temple, with all its enclosures, by fire."*

Dr. Giles’s translation of Ecclesiastical History.

One of the reasons why I have chosen this story out of Bede’s History is because it contains the picture of the sparrow flitting through the firelit room.  Out of the dark and cold it comes into the light and warmth for a moment, and then vanishes into the dark and cold once more.

The Saxon who more than thirteen hundred years ago made that word-picture was a poet.  He did not know it, perhaps, he was only speaking of what he had often seen, telling in simple words of something that happened almost every day, and yet he has given us a picture which we cannot forget, and has made our literature by so much the richer.  He has told us of something, too, which helps us to realize the rough life our forefathers lived.  Even in the king’s palace the windows were without glass, the doors stood open to let out the smoke from “the good fire in the midst,” for there were no chimneys, or at best but a hole in the roof to serve as one.  The doors stood open, even though “the storms of snow and rain prevailed abroad,” and in spite of the good fire, it must have been comfortless enough.  Yet many a stray bird might well be drawn thither by the light and warmth.

Bede lived a peaceful, busy life, and when he came to die his end was peaceful too, and his work ceased only with his death.  One of his pupils, writing to a friend, tells of these last hours.*

Extracts are from a letter of Cuthbert, afterwards Abbot of Wearmouth and Jarrow, to his friend Cuthwin.