not despair of being able, by her prudence and address, still to elude the efforts of her enemies. She paid her usual visit to the king, and found him in a more serene disposition than she had reason to expect. He entered on the subject which was so familiar to him, and he seemed to challenge her to an argument iu divinity. She gently declined the conversation, and remarked that such profound speculations were ill suited to the natural imbecility of her sex. Women, she said, by their first creation, were made subject to men: the male was created after the image of God, the female after the image of the male: it belonged to the husband to choose principles for his wife; the wife's duty was, in all cases, to adopt implicitly the sentiments of her husband. And as to herself, it was doubly her duty, being blest with a husband who was qualified by his judgment and learning not only to choose principles for his own family, but for the most wise and knowing of every nation. "Not so! by St. Mary," replied the king; "you are now become a doctor, Kate; and better fitted to give than receive instruction." She meekly replied, that she was sensible how little she was entitled to these praises; that though she usually declined not any conversation, however sublime, when proposed by his majesty, she well knew, that her conceptions could serve to no other purpose than to give him a little momentary amusement; that she found the conversation apt to languish, when not revived by some opposition, and she had ventured sometimes to feign a contrariety of sentiments, in order to give him the pleasure of refuting her; and that she also purposed, by this innocent artifice, to engage him into topics whence she had observed by frequent experience that she reaped profit and instruction. "And is it so, sweetheart?" replied the king, "then are we perfect friends again." He embraced her with great affection, and sent her away with assurances of his protection and kindness. Her enemies, who knew nothing of this sudden change, prepared next day to convey her to the Tower, pursuant to the king's warrant. Henry and Catherine were conversing amicably in the garden when the chancellor appeared with forty of the pursuivants. The king spoke to him at some distance from her, and seemed to expostulate with him in the severest manner. She even overheard the appellations of knave, fool, and beast, which he liberally bestowed upon that magistrate; and then ordered him to depart his presence. She afterwards interposed to mitigate his anger: he said to her, "Poor soul! you know not how ill entitled this man is to your good offices." Thenceforth the queen having narrowly escaped so great a danger, was careful not to offend Henry's humour by any contradiction; and Gardiner, whose malice had endeavoured to widen the breach, could never afterwards regain his favour and good opinion.

But Henry's tyrannical disposition, soured by ill health, burst out soon after to the destruction of a man who possessed a much superior rank to that of Gardiner. The duke of Norfolk and his father, during this whole reign, and even a part of the foregoing, had been regarded as the greatest subjects in the kingdom, and had rendered considerable service to the crown. The duke himself had in his youth acquired reputation by naval enterprises: he had much contributed to the victory gained over the Scots at Flouden: he had suppressed a dangerous rebellion in the North and he had always done his part with honour in all the expeditions against France. Fortune seemed to conspire with his own industry, in raising him to the greatest elevation. From the favours heaped on him by the crown he had acquired an immense estate: The king had successively been married to two of his nieces; and the king's natural son, the duke of Richmond, had married his daughter. Besides his descent from the ancient family of the Moubrays, by which he was allied to the throne, he had espoused a daughter of the duke of Buckingham, who was descended by a female from Edward III.; And as he was believed still to adhere secretly to the ancient religion, he was regarded, both abroad and at home, as the

head of the catholic party. But all these circumstances, in proportion as they exalted the duke, provoked the jealousy of Henry; and he foresaw danger, during his son's minority, both to the public tranquillity and to the new ecclesiastical system, from the attempts of so potent a subject. But nothing tended more to expose Norfolk to the king's displeasure, than the prejudices which Henry had entertained against the earl of Surrey, son of that nobleman.

Surrey was a young man of the most promising hopes, and had distinguished himself by every accomplishment which became a scholar, a courtier, and a soldier. He excelled in all the military exercises which were then in request: he encouraged the fine arts by his patronage and example: he had made some successful attempts in poetry; and being smitten with the romantic gallantry of the age, he celebrated the praises of his mistress, by his pen and his lance, in every masque and tourna ment. His spirit and ambition were equal to his talents and his quality; and he did not always regulate his conduct by the caution and reserve which his situation required. He had been left governor of Boulogne when that town was taken by Henry; but though his personal bravery was unquestioned, he had been unfortunate in some rencounters with the French. The king somewhat displeased with his conduct, had sent over Hertford to command in his place; and Surrey was so imprudent as to drop some menacing expressions against the ministers, on account of this affront which was put upon him. And as he had refused to marry Hertford's daughter, and even waved every other proposal of marriage, Henry imagined that he had entertained views of espousing the lady Mary; and he was instantly determined to repress, by the most severe expedients, so dangerous an ambition.

Actuated by all these motives, and perhaps influenced by that old disgust with which the ill conduct of Catherine Howard had inspired him against her whole family, he gave private orders to arrest Norfolk and Surrey; and they were on the same day confined in the Tower. Surrey being a commoner, his trial was the more expeditious; and as to proofs, neither parliaments nor juries seem ever to have given the least attention to them in any cause of the crown during this whole reign. He was accused of entertaining in his family some Italians who were suspected to be spies; a servant of his had paid a visit to cardinal Pole in Italy, whence he was suspected of holding a correspondence with that obnoxious prelate; he had quartered the arms of Edward the Confessor on his scutcheon, which made him be suspected of aspiring to the crown, though both he and his ancestors had openly, during the course of many years, maintained that practice, and the heralds had even justified it by their authority. These were the crimes for which a jury, not withstanding his eloquent and spirited defence, condemned the earl of Surrey for high treason; and their sentence was soon after executed upon him.

The innocence of the duke of Norfolk was still, if possible, more apparent than that of his son; and his services to the crown had been greater. His dutchess, with whom he lived on bad terms, had been so base as to carry intelligence to his enemies of all she knew against him: Elizabeth Holland, a mistress of his, had been equally subservient to the designs of the court. Yet with all these advantages his accusers discovered no greater crime than his once saying that the king was sickly, and could not hold out long; and the kingdom was likely to fall into disorders, through the diversity of religious opinions. He wrote a pathetic letter to the king, pleading his past services, and protesting his innocence. Soon after, he embraced

a more proper expedient for appeasing Herry, by making a submission and confession, such as his enemies required: but nothing could molify the unrelenting temper of the king. He assembled a parliament, as the surest and most expeditious instrument of his tyranny; and the house of peers, without examining the prisoner, without trial or evidence, passed a bill of attainder against him, and sent

it down to the commons. Cranmer, though engaged for many years in an opposite party to Norfolk, and though he had received many and great injuries from him, would have no hand in so unjust a prosecution; and he retired to his seat at Croydon. The king was now approaching fast towards his end; and fearing lest Norfolk should escape him, he sent a message to the commons, by which he desired them to hasten the bill, on pretence that Norfolk enjoyed the dignity of earl marshal, and it was necessary to appoint another, who might officiate at the ensuing ceremony of installing his son prince of Wales. The obsequious commons obeyed his directions, though founded on so frivolous a pretence; and the king, having affixed the royal assent to the bill by commissioners, issued orders for the execution of Norfolk on the morning of the twenty-ninth of January. But news being carried to the Tower, that the king himself had expired that night, the lieutenant deferred obeying the warrant; and it was not thought adviseable by the council to begin a new reign by the death of the greatest nobleman in the kingdom, who had been condemned by a sentence so unjust and tyrannical.

The king's health had long been in a declining state; but for several days all those near him plainly saw his end approaching. He was become so froward, that no one durst inform him of his condition; and as some persons during this reign had suffered as traitors for foretelling the king's death, every one was afraid lest in the transports of his fury he might, on this pretence, punish capitally the author of such friendly intelligence. At last Sir Anthony Denny ventured to disclose to him the fatal secret, and exhorted him to prepare for the fate which was awaiting him. He expressed his resignation; and desired that Cranmer might be sent for. But before the prelate arrived he was speechless, though he still seemed to retain his senses. Cranmer desired him to give some sign of his dying in the faith of Christ: he squeezed the prelate's hand, and immediately expired, after a reign of thirty-seven years and nine months; and in the fifty-sixth year of his age.

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It is difficult to give a just summary of this prince's qualities. He was so different from himself in different parts of his reign, that, as is well remarked by lord Herbert, his history is his best character and description. The absolute uncontrolled authority which he maintained at home, and the regard which he acquired among foreign nations, are circumstances which entitle him in some degree to the appellation of a great prince; while his tyranny and barbarity exclude him from the character of a good one. He possessed, indeed, great vigour of mind, which qualified him for exercising dominion over men, courage, intrepidity, vigilance, inflexibility and though these qualities lay not always under the guidance of a regular and solid judgment, they were accompanied with good parts and an extensive capacity; and every one dreaded a contest with a man who was known never to yield or to forgive, and who, in every controversy was determined either to ruin himself or his antagonist. A catalogue of his vices would comprehend many of the worst qualities incident to human nature: violence, cruelty, profusion, rapacity, injustice, obstinacy, arrogance, bigotry, presumption, caprice: but neither was he subject to all these vices in the most extreme degree, nor was he at intervals altogether destitute of virtue: he was sincere, open, gallant, liberal, and capable at least of a temporary friendship and attachment. In this respect he was unfortunate, that the incidents of his reign served to display his faults in their full light: the treatment which he met with from the court of Rome provoked him to violence; the danger of a revolt from his superstitious subjects, seemed to require the most extreme severity. But it must at the same time be acknowledged, that his situation tended to throw an additional lustre on what was great and magnanimous in his character. The emulation between the emperor and the French king rendered his alliance, notwithstanding his impolitic conduct, of great importance in

Europe: the extensive powers of his prerogative, and the submissive, not to say slavish disposition of his parliaments, made it the more easy for him to assume and maintain that entire dominion, by which his reign is so much distinguished in the English history.

It may seem a little extraordinary, that notwithstanding his cruelty, his extortion, his violence, his arbitrary administration, this prince not only acquired the regard of his subjects, but never was the object of their hatred: he seems even in some degree to have possessed to the last their love and affection. His exterior qualities were advantageous, and fit to captivate the multitude: his magnificence and personal bravery rendered him illustrious in vulgar eyes and it may be said with truth, that the English in that age were so thoroughly subdued that like eastern slaves they were inclined to admire those acts of violence and tyranny which were exercised over themselves, and at their own expence.

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164.-CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE.

From 'Strype's Memorials.'

As we have given some character of the king, so here shall follow another of the people of whom take this account, as it seems they were about the latter end of the king's reign. Both the gentry and the clergy grew extreme covetous. As for the lay-sort, they fell to raising their old rents, turned their arable into pasture for grazing sheep, and enclosed commons, to the great oppression of the poor. This may be best understood by reading what one writes who lived in those days. "How do the rich men, and especially such as be sheep-mongers, oppress the king's liege people, by devouring their common pastures with their sheep. So that the poor people are not able to keep a cow for the comfort of them and of their poor familyes, but are like to starve and perish for hunger, if there be not provisions made shortly. What sheep ground scapeth these caterpillars of the common weal. How swarm they with abundance of flocks of sheep; and yet when was wool ever so dear, or mutton of so great price? If these sheepmongers go forth as they begin, the people shall both miserably die for cold, and wretchedly perish for hunger. For these greedy wolves, and cumberous cormorants, will either sell their wool and their sheep at their own price, or else they will sell none. O! what a diversity is this in the sale of wools? A stone of wool sometime to be sold at eight groats, and now for eight shillings; and so likewise of the sheep. God have mercy on us." And a little after: "Rich men were never so much estranged from all pity and compassion towards the poor people, as they be at this present time. They devour the people as it were a morsel of bread. If any piece of ground delight their eye, they must needs have it, other by hook or by crook. If the poor man will not satisfy their covetous desires, he is sure to be molested, troubled and disquieted in such sort, that whether he will or not, (though both he, the careful wife, and miserable children with the whole family, perish for hunger), he shall forego it, or else it were as good for him to live among the furies of hell, as to dwell by those rich earles and covetous churles."

There was another evil these rich men were guilty of; namely, of depopulating towns, by letting houses and cottages fall down to the ground, or pulling them down They got many houses and tenements into their hands, yea, whole townships sometimes; and then they would suffer them to go to utter decay and ruin: by which means whole towns became desolate, and like to a wilderness, no man dwelling there, except it were a shepherd and his dog. Insomuch, that the before-mentioned author said, "That he himself knew many towns and villages sore decayed: so

man.

that, whereas in times past, there were in some towns an hundred households, now there remained not thirty; in some fifty, there were not then ten; yea, which was more to be lamented, some towns so wholly decayed, that there was neither stick nor stone standing, as they use to say. Where many men had good livings, and maintained hospitality: able at all times to help the king in his wars, and to sustain other charges; able also to help their poor neighbours, and vertuously to bring up their children in godly letters and good sciences, now sheep and conies devour altogether, no man inhabiting the foresaid places. So that, he addeth, those beasts which were bred of God for the nourishment of man, do now devour And since gentlemen began to be sheep-masters, and feeders of cattle, the poor had neither victual nor cloth at any reasonable price. For these forestallers of the market had gotten all things so into their hands, that the poor even must either buy it at their price, or else miserably starve for hunger, and die for cold. They abhorred the names of monks, friars, canons, nuns, &c.: but their goods they greedily griped. And yet, where the cloisters kept hospitality, let out their farmes at a reasonable price, nourished schools, brought up youth in good letters, they did none of all these things. They lightly esteemed, and in a manner contemned the priests, parsons, vicars, prebendaries, &c. Yet their possessions they gladly embraced, and niggardly retained. So that now they were become in effect, saith he, though not in name, very monks, friars, canons, priests, parsons, vicars, prebendaries, and at the last, what not? And yet how vainly those goods be spent, who seeth not?"

As for the spiritual men, they affected mightily courtly living, and taking their pleasure; little residence upon their benefices, and less hospitality. "God commandeth, saith the same author, tythes to be paid; but for what cause? That the ministers should spend them in the court, or at the university, or in keeping of hawks or dogs, or in maintaining a sort of idle, valiant lubbers, and do nothing but consume the good fruits of the earth? Nay, verily, but that there should be meat in his house. For the parsonage, or vicarage, is God's house." The vast number of priests made them contemptible: for there were mass-priest, dirigepriests, chantry-priests, sacrificing-priests, as the author of the Defence of Priests Marriage reckons them up, and tells us, that Pighius in his Book of Controversies, complaining of the contempt of priests, attributes the same to the great swarm and multitude of them, over many. The great neglect of their parishes added also to their disrepute: for they made them only serve as means to accumulate wealth to themselves, without any conscience to discharge their duties there. For they for the most part followed divers trades and occupations secular: some were surveyors of lands, some receivers, some stewards, some clerks of the kitchen, many gardeners, and orchyard-makers. And commonly this was the trade, the better benefice, and the cure the more, the seldomer was the parson or vicar resident at home. If they wanted now and then sermons to be preached in their churches, they got friars to do it for them. Or as the author above mentioned expressed it, "If any of them thought for manners sake to have some sermons in their cures, they had friars at their hand ready to supply such parts at their pleasure.”