A PAIR OF NOBLE FRIARS.

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they deserved to be thrown in a sack into the Thames. One of them, Elstow, smiled in reply, and said with a grand spirit of heroism, that ought never to be forgotten while English history exists:-"Threaten these things to rich and dainty folk, which are clothed in purple and fare deliciously, and have their chiefest hope in this world, for we heed them not; but are joyful that for the discharge of our duties we are driven hence: and thanks to God, we know the way to heaven to be as ready by water as by land, and therefore care not which way we go." The friars were banished shortly after; while Dr. Curwen was made a bishop. That they were only banished, was probably owing to Henry's secret desire to be yet reconciled in some fashion to the Pope. He had obtained all he really wanted; and if the Papacy had shown some of that subtle worldly-wise policy now which it exhibited on so many other occasions, Henry would have stopped short, and tried hard, by the aid of the sword and the stake, to make every one else do the same. But his advisers, Cranmer and Cromwell, knew well how inestimable an opportunity was now afforded for the growth of a reformed religion; and both, though probably from different motives, considered it their bounden duty to seize that opportunity, and make the very most of it. Cranmer, though ever temporizing, was not the less ever advancing toward a deeper and higher conviction of the truth of the new faith; and Cromwell's sagacious, statesman-like eye, not only saw the danger of going back, on account of the possible sacrifices of religious and civil liberty that would result from the restoration of the Papal influence in this country, but he may even have seen, from a variety of indications, that such retrogression was not even possible. There is a kind of freemasonry of the intellect, which makes superior men readily, and almost silently, understand each other's mind and purposes; and it is more than probable that Cromwell knew there was a wide-spread and deeply-rooted conviction in the minds of all the moving spirits of the time that a change was impending was inevitable; and it is such convictions, when held by' such men, that put the finishing touch to the mightiest resolves of state policy. If we study the events of this critical period in Henry's reign, we shall perceive a decision, an exactitude, and a promptitude of purpose, that could only spring from men who knew perfectly well what they wanted, and how to shape events so as to produce the desired results. There is, for instance, a kind of dramatic felicity and effect perceivable in the simultaneous execution of two sets of measures, by

212

LAST WORDS OF THE POPE AND THE PARLIAMENT.

two great bodies, one composed of the pillars of the Romish Church, sitting at Rome, the other being the Parliament of England, assembled at Westminster, and both in March, 1534. By the former it was decided that the King's marriage with Katharine was valid and indissoluble (a sort of last word of the Church); and by the latter (as their last word, in practical reply) a series of bills was carried, which proposed to finally abolish the Papal power in England.

If we have found it impossible, while following the current of events, to avoid bearing harshly on men whose names and memories are still dear to our Catholic brethren, we trust we have more than once shown that it is not in any way owing to our desire to attack the Catholic religion itself, or to lessen the influence which belongs so very justly to many of its most eminent votaries. If we had done so, we should

feel rebuked in the presence of the illustrious shade that now rises before us, bearing the name and lineaments of

Would we could dwell longer on his story than our space will permit. We need not speak of his learning, his eloquence, his wit, his literary eminence, or the sweet domestic life which the charming biography, by his son-in-law, has made famous. But we may remind casual readers that Henry professed-apparently with truth, so far as his nature allowed it to be true-great personal affection and friendship for the illustrious Chancellor. What the affection and friendship were worth, was now to be shown. The King, to make all safe, under the new arrangement of things, determined that oaths of allegiance should be taken to the new Queen and her heirs, to the exclusion of Mary, the daughter of Katharine. The aged Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More were in consequence called upon. They did as was desired, and rightly, Parliament having led the way. But when they were also required to approve the marriage itself, and declare Katharine's unlawful, and swear that Rome had no power to grant the dispensation she had actually granted, they naturally, as honest men, demurred : King and Parliament could determine a line of succession and a policy, but they could not change black into white, or turn truths into falsities; so they objected, and were both cast into prison. Will it, can it be believed, that in this England of ours, this land of civilization, only three centuries ago, that such prisoners, for such offences, could be treated as these men were? Bishop Fisher, then seventy-six years old, was ill at the time, and in pain, yet he was left without sufficient clothes to cover him, or enough food to eat. Sir Thomas More would have been in the same condition but for the active love and practical heroism of his favourite daughter, Margaret Roper. But the question that was to seal the fate of both, as well as of many less illustrious victims, was the oath of supremacy, which the obsequious and frightened Parliament authorized the King to enforce. By this Henry was declared supreme head of the Church. Neither the Bishop nor the Chancellor would or could take the oath. In fact, no honest and brave Catholic could have taken it then; as no such Catholic ever can take it. While Fisher lay under sentence of death, the Pope, with cruel kindness, or at least most inconsiderately, sent him a cardinal's hat: "Ha!" cried Henry, when he heard of it, "Paul may send him the hat; I will take care he have never a head to wear it on." A few days later the head of the venerable and amiable bishop was seen, a gory spectacle, stuck upon London Bridge. Sir T. More soon followed his friend. We all know the touching circumstances of his sentence

and death the meeting with his daughter on the Tower wharf, when she forced her way through the halberdiers and right into his arms-the parting and yet the second rush to embrace each other, through the weeping crowd. And then subsequently the flashes of wit that shone out so brilliantly and playfully in the gloom of the dungeon, and amid the horrors of the scaffold: all betokening, we think, that More had passed the sense of the bitterness of death, and was enjoying that peace which passeth all understanding, as he felt he had done his duty bravely and heroically; and that he was then asserting before all mankind the rights of conscience; which we know, even better than he did, are the foundation of all rights to religious liberty. He was told that Henry had mercifully spared him the hanging, drawing, and quartering; he was only to be beheaded: "God preserve all my friends from such royal favours," was his quiet reply. The scaffold was weakly built, and fears were expressed of its giving way: "See me safe up," said Sir Thomas to the Lieutenant, " and for my coming down let me shift for myself." When he laid his head upon the block, his beard was in the way, so he made the headsman pause, remarking, with a smile, that one would have thought would have unsettled even a hangman's nerves" My beard has never committed any treason." This hideous murder-out of which, however, shone a spiritual beauty, more than sufficient to make men love to reflect upon the victims, and hate with increased abhorrence the royal murderer-took place on the 6th of July, 1535. When these particulars, and others equally significant, reached Henry, we may be sure he, too, had his punishment; and probably, in the real mental states of the two men, it was More who was the sentencing judge; the King, the tortured criminal.

The people generally were too much alarmed to disobey; and the clergy swore to all sorts of things utterly irreconcilable with their position as members of a Roman priesthood. Erasmus tells us that Englishmen were, in fact, now placed under such a reign of terror, that they durst not write to foreigners, nor receive letters from them. The King had become his own Pope; but as that involved an enormous amount of work, he appointed Cromwell his vicar-general, who became the head of a separate department, established for the management of Church affairs. A decided advance toward Protestantism now took place. The seven sacraments (Henry had made himself an author in order to defend these against Luther, and it was his book which had won for him from the grateful Pope the title, Defender of the

DISSOLUTION OF THE RELIGIOUS HOUSES.

215

Faith) were now reduced to three-Baptism, the Lord's Supper, and Penance. The adoration of images was forbidden; many saints' or holydays were abolished, especially such as fell in harvest time, so that Henry, like Cowper's more humble hero, John Gilpin, had a frugal mind in the midst of his amusements-for the Reformation was, after all, frequently but a kind of bloody toy in his hands wherewith he amused his disputatious mind; the Bible, and the Apostolic, Nicene, and Athanasian creeds were declared the sole standards of faith. Parish priests were to expound these in plain English to their parishioners; and to facilitate the use of the Bible, an English version, Coverdale's, was ordered to be printed, and one supplied to every church. These were measures worthy of Cromwell, and which go far to counterbalance much of Cromwell's unscrupulous rapacity, and waste of English blood and treasure in patiently following the moods of his terrible master. Still casting about to see where there was work to be done in the name of the Reformation, that would be pecuniarily profitable in the doing, the suppression of the religious houses was next determined upon. One can hardly realize a due sense of the boldness of the minister who could propose or carry into effect such a stupendous measure. The monastic life had become entwined in so many ways with the life of England—the poor were so largely dependent upon the religious houses that were spread thickly over the whole country-education benefited so greatly by the schools attached to them-they were so wealthy, so influential in all social questions, and the number of their inhabitants so great, that their disappearance would in itself form a mighty revolution. But it was done on pretence of the corrupt lives of the monks; we say pretence, because the end showed there was no discrimination, or real intention to discriminate, between the communities which were and those which were not guilty. Wolsey had led the way, and first excited Henry's cupidity. Cromwell now advanced-suppressing some of the lesser monasteries in 1536, some of the larger ones in 1537, and finally destroying the whole in 1540, when their broad lands were divided among the courtiers and parasites. It makes one at once melancholy and indignant to see in what a spirit of lust-the lust both of plunder and of cruelty-this measure was carried out; how brutally reckless were the authors of the feelings of the still Catholic people of England; how regardless of the sudden misery into which they were plunging so many thousands of the men and women who knew no other life or mode of existence than the cloister and the sacred