CHAPTER TWELVE.
POST TENEBRAS LUX.
"So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near The river dark with mortal fear, And the night cometh, chill with dew, O Father, let Thy light break through! So let the hills of doubt divide-- So bridge with faith the sunless tide-- So let the eyes that fail on earth On Thine eternal hills look forth; And, in Thy beckoning angels, know The dear ones whom we loved below."
Whittier.
This eventful year closed with death. Not a martyr death; God's martyrtrain was closed in England now, for the last to join it had been RogerHolland. Another kind of death was this. Softly, and tenderly, as Hecalled to Samuel, the Lord came and stood and called her--her who wasloved so dearly, whose going out made the world darker. With a"_Talitha cumi_"--a "Come up higher"--He summoned the beloved to theHome where His beloved dwell with Him. And what answer was left for herbut "Lord, here am I"? So she spread the angel wings which had beenfolded, that they could not be seen; and as she soared gladly up intothe heavenly light, the darkness of time and of earth thickened aroundthose she left behind.
O Lord our Master! Thy voice is very sweet here below. Not only Thystaff, but even Thy rod comforteth; yea, it is with Thy rod that Thoudost feed Thy people. How much sweeter, when as one whom his mothercomforteth, so dost Thou comfort us! And sweetest of all it must be, toarise and _go to_ Thee.
Wherefore, then, are we so unwilling? What mean we continually to talkof being "spared"--spared from that happy journey, from that heavenlyHome! They that are not journeying home are spared indeed: but howfaithless, how loveless is it in us to bring up an evil report of thegood Land, to show such fear and distance from the forgiving andwelcoming Father!
"He that is washed needeth only to wash his feet." But, O our Father!the feet of Thy children need a perpetual washing, an hourly dipping inthe blessed waters of the Fountain which Thou hast opened for sin andfor uncleanness.
This was the last entry in Isoult Avery's diary for the year 1558:--
"The Minories, Saint Stephen.
"`God knoweth best when His corn is ripe.'
"I have been told this to-day, and I need remember it this even.Otherwise, methinks a shower of tears should blot out my writing. Ithought that sheaf could be no riper, years ago. The storms had beatenon it, but had not hurt it, and it was very fair; and now it lacked buta season of sunshine, and to that I looked forward in hope. How littledid I know that the sunshine was but making it ready for the harvest,meet for Heaven, nearer God!
"O my love, my own darling Frances! shall I say it is hard to think ofyou in Heaven? Shall I say it is hard that, in the stead of your comingto me, I must now go to you? Shall I grieve in the first hour of myhope and England's, that God saw it best to take you gently to Himself,ere that hope could do more than to throw the beam of his rising on yourdying pillow?
"You have seen your beloved father, my dear master. And I do not thinkhe told you that the Lord dealt ungently with him."
Four hours earlier, as I was sewing in my chamber, Barbara came to me.
"Mistress," said she, "below is Mrs Basset, and with her two ladies indoole."
Methought these might perhaps be the Lady Elizabeth Jobson and Mr JamesBasset's widow, whom she had brought with her; and down went I to greetPhilippa. But I found the two ladies were strangers; at the least Iknew not their faces. I greeted Philippa, and sat down, when I hadlouted to the others; but to mine amaze one of the ladies saith--
"Mrs Avery, have you forgot Kate Ashley?"
I rose in astonishment, and begged my Lady Ashley's pardon, for of asurety I had not known her. So I took her by the hand and kissed her;and was about to sit down again, when, with a smile that I could scarcefail to know, the other stranger saith--
"And hath Isoult Barry forgot Anne Basset?"
"My darling Nan!" cried I, "that I should not have known _thee_."
"Nay," saith she, again with her own sweet smile, "'tis no marvel, dearheart, seeing thou hast not seen me for sixteen years." For I hadmissed seeing her in the procession at Queen Mary's coronation.
Then after we had embraced, Philippa said--
"I scantly know, Isoult, if thou wilt be glad to see us, considering theill news we bring."
"Why, Philippa, what ill news?" asked I. "I heard of thy brother'sdeath,--Mr James,--and writ to thee thereupon,"--for methought Philippahad not received my letter.
"Ay, I had thy letter, and I thank thee for it," answered she. "Buthast heard aught further?"
"No," said I, fearfully. "What is it, Philippa?"
"Kate," she pursued, "hath brought us woeful news from Potheridge--thedeath of Frances, twenty days ago."
"Frances?" I well-nigh startled at mine own cry.
"An ill time," addeth Philippa, "close on James's death. We have hardlytime to dry our eyes betwixt them."
"The right time, dear heart," said my Lady Ashley, gently. "God knowethbest when His corn is ripe."
"Was she ever other, if thou mean ripe for heaven?" said she.
"Perhaps," answered my Lady Ashley, "we could not see much difference,but He might."
I begged her to tell me, if she were present, any particulars of thematter.
"Ay, I was there," she said. "I went straight to Potheridge fromWimborne, on receiving of a letter from Mr Monke, who told me that Frankhad brought him another daughter, and, he could not but fear, was notfaring over well. I came to Potheridge upon the 4th of December, when Ifound her in her bed, very weak and white. Still I feared no instantperil then. On the 5th, methought she seemed somewhat better in themorning; but that even she grew worse, and thence she sank quickly untilshe died, at sunset on Wednesday, the 7th. She remembered you, MrsAvery, and bade me give you her most hearty and loving commendations,and to say that she was but journeying Home a little while afore you,and that however long the time were to you, it would be short to her,ere you should meet again. And only an hour ere her death (she was inher sense to the last), came a messenger to Mr Monke with news of theQueen's death, and that the Lady Elizabeth was proclaimed Queen. Hebrake the tidings gently to her. She smiled when she heard them, as Ishould think an angel might smile in Heaven, and she saith softly,`Lord, Thou hast seen, Thou hast seen the affliction of Thy people.' Ianswered her, `Ay, God hath been very gracious to us.' She said, `Hehath been very good to me.' Quoth I, `Thou dost not think He hath giventhee too much thought [anxiety] and sorrow?' And as fervently as herweakness did allow, she answered, `O no, no! I shall clasp them all tomy heart to-night.' In another minute she repeated softly, `And soshall we ever be with the Lord.' I do not think she spoke again."
"Did she die hardly?" I faltered amid my tears.
"As softly as a child falling asleep in his mother's arms," answered myLady Ashley. "We could not tell the very moment. Her life went outlike a star hidden behind a cloud. We only knew that it was gone."
"Farewell, sister of mine heart, my fair-souled Frances! The world isdarker now thou art thence; but thou shalt never see evil any more. Thestorms shall not rave above thine head, nor the winds beat around theeand chill thee. God hath removed thee, His beautiful lily, from thisrude and barren moor, to that great garden of His Paradise, where thoushall bloom for ever. `There shall in no wise enter into it any thingthat defileth--but they that are written in the Lamb's Book of Life.'"
So Isoult Avery wrote: but she did not hear until afterwards that LadyFrances had not passed through the Marian persecution without suffering.Her blood royal had not saved her. Only one child of her firstmarriage was left; and on the 10th of March 1554, men--not God--tookthat dearly-prized darling from her. The custody of the person andmarriage of Arthur Basset was granted to James Basset, his Popish uncle[Rot. Parl., 1 Mary, part 7]. This is sufficient to indicate that theRoman proclivities of Mr Monke and Lady Frances were at least doubtful.The double death--of the Queen and James Basset--freed Arthur; and bydint of hard riding night and day--he scarcely knew why--he reached
Devon just in time to kneel and receive the last blessing of thatbeloved mother. She died two hours after her hand had rested on hishead. If the Queen's object had been to make Arthur Basset a Papist,she scarcely succeeded in her aim.
This was the last sad entry in that volume of Isoult's diary. God didhelp the Gospellers when the morning appeared; and the morning wasdawning now. There is a ringing of church-bells through all that waswritten in England, throughout that happy year, 1559. New Year's Daywas the gladdest Sunday since the persecution began. For at Bow ChurchMr Carter ministered openly; and throughout London the Gospel andEpistle were read in English. After the evening service was over, theAverys received a visit from Annis and her husband; and before they hadsat and talked for ten minutes, who should follow them but Mr Underhill,of whose return to London they had heard, but had not yet seen him.
"Is it not glorious?" were the first words he spoke. "We shall have theEnglish service next Sunday, and the service-book restored ereFebruary."
"What a leaper art thou," said John, laughing. "None that know theeneed ask wherefore men call thee the _Hot Gospeller_!"
"But can there be any other?" answered he.
"Why," said John, "wert thou King of England, by the name of Edward theSeventh, I reckon we had had all ere November were fairly run out. Butthe Queen is a little more prudent and wary than thou, and remember thou(as I bade Ferris, but he did little) that she is _not_ a Gospeller."
"A truce to thy wariness and prudence!" cried Mr Underhill.
"That shall be, assuredly, where thou art," answered John.
"I have no patience," said he, "with such faintheartedness (for I cancall it by no better name). Who ever saw a Lutheran burn a Gospeller?"
"Ned Underhill," said John, sadly, "hast thou forgot so soon that wehave seen a Gospeller beheaded by Lutherans?"
"Whom point you at there?"
"The Duke of Somerset."
"Come! go not back to the time afore the Flood," exclaimed he. "Letbygones be bygones."
"I have no objection," said John, "if bygones will be bygones."
"Jack Avery, hold thy peace, or we shall quarrel! I will not have coldwater flung over my fair bonfire of rejoicing!"
"It should take much to put it out, methinks," said Dr Thorpe.
"What say you, my master?" inquired Mr Underhill, turning with one ofhis quick motions to Don Juan.
"Marry," answered Don Juan, smiling (he spoke English fairly), "I say,we shall all know more about it a year hence."
"Gramercy! you are one of the wary ones," grumbled Mr Underhill. "Come,let me see if I cannot find one of my way of thinking. Mrs Avery, areyou only Jack in a gown, or have you a mind of your own?"
"Verily, Mr Underhill, I know not how things shall go," said she, "andtherefore I were wisest to hold my peace."
"Alas!" answered he. "Dr Thorpe, you are Prudence herself, and aLutheran to boot, wherefore--"
"Lutheran!" cried the old man, hastily. "I am no more a Lutheran thanyou!"
They all laughed at Dr Thorpe, thus brought to confession at last.
"Are you not so?" said Mr Underhill, laughing and bowing. "In goodsooth, I am rejoiced to hear it.--Well! Mrs Rose, allow me to ask atyou if you go with me or no?"
"Assuredly, Mr Underhill, no," said she. "If I had ever any belief inthe goodness of the world, it did fly away from me a long time ago; andI do not look to see the peace or the right all over it, as you seem tolook. It may be that I answer rather your thoughts than your words; butit seemed me you had that thought."
"But, Mrs Rose," said he, "if you take us all for ill and wicked, youmust find it hard work to love your neighbour as yourself. We areleaving our subject-matter, but let that pass."
"Ah, Mr Underhill!" she answered, with a smile, "I am as bad as any oneelse; and I do not think we wait for people to become angels before welove them."
"We do wait--for them to become angels, sometimes," said Annis, softly,"before we know how well we love them."
They sat silent for a while after this: even Mr Underhill seemed to bemeditating; neither did he pursue his inquiry any further. Margueriterose and went up-stairs, where Thekla was already; but the rest kepttheir places. And while they sat, there came a very soft rapping at thedoor. The party looked one on another in doubt, for the rapping was inthe form of the old signal-tap which the Gospellers were wont to usewhen they assembled for prayer in each others' houses. And there was nogathering at the Lamb to-night.
Barbara rose and went to the door. The minute she opened it, they heardher cry "Eh!" but no more. The person outside spoke, and Barbaraanswered, more than once, but too low for those within to hear words, oreven whose voice it was; then Barbara stepped forward, and opened thedoor of the chamber. All felt some strange thing at hand, and they heldtheir breath. And the next minute they were saluted by a voice whichhad been silent to them for four long, weary years.
"How do you all, dear friends?" said Mr Rose.
All gathered round him with joyful greeting, but Isoult. She neverstayed to think, but she found herself at the head of the stairs beforeshe had time to consider. Thekla was just closing the door of thechamber to come down.
"Thekla!" cried Isoult, seizing her by the arm.
"Who is come?" asked she. "I heard something."
"Tell thy mother, darling," said Isoult--"but canst thou bear glad newsthyself?"
"I see them in your eyes," she answered. "They are too glad but for oneof two things. Is it my father?"
Ah! it was only one. Thekla prepared her mother, in the gentle way sheknew, and then running below, was clasped in her father's arms. Shetook him up-stairs, and no more was seen of any of them; for,anticipating that they would prefer to be alone, Isoult sent Estherabove with a dish from the supper-table.
It was four years to a day since Mr Rose was taken. In his case, Godhad been very gracious to them. The four years were the same for Robin;but how should the end be? And--a thought at once joyous and yetterrible--the end could not be far-off now.
Isoult saw that Mr Rose had aged in those four years, when she had timeto study his countenance. If such a thing were possible, she thoughthim even gentler and kinder than he used to be; yet even more grave andquiet. She asked him what he thought of Thekla, and was slightlycomforted to hear him say that he found her better than he dared tohope.
"She hath suffered much, poor child!" said Isoult.
"Poor child!" he echoed. "It was not in her nature to do other."
"And what think you," she asked, "of the chances touching Robin?"
"Mrs Avery," said he, "there are no chances in God's government. Andthis is a matter wherein we cannot so much as guess what may have beenHis will. Yet if you would know what I think most likely in mere humanreasoning, I confess I have little hope of his life."
Isoult's heart sank like lead: she felt now how much hope she hadnursed, though she thought it so little. But her faith in Mr Rose'sforecast was great. And Lady Ashley's words came back to her--"Godknoweth best when His corn is ripe." Ah! how afraid she was that thatsheaf was ripe, and had been carried into the garner! Yet could shetell God that He had judged ill, or that He should have left His fairsheaf to the spoiling, for her pleasure?
When John came home one evening, he told them that he had met with MrUnderhill, who held by the hand his little Guilford. And coming throughCornhill, at the shop-door of a bowyer were bows and quivers of shafts;and Guilford, pulling his father's hand, cried, "Father, Father, do buyme a bow and arrows!"--"Buy thee a bow and arrows, quotha!" answered MrUnderhill, "a shred and snip like thee!"
"What wouldst thou do an' thou hadst a bow and arrows, Guilford?" saidJohn. "Shoot all the Papists," replied the child. "Thou bloodthirstylittle ruffian!" cried Mr Underhill, yet laughing. "Nay," said John tohim, "blame not the child: he doth but take mightily after a certainfather of his, that I know." Whereat (said John) Mr Underhill laughedtill the tears ran from his eyes.
Mr Rose prea
ched his first sermon since coming home, in the pulpit ofBow Church, on the 8th of January. It was a glad day to the Gospellers.His text was, "When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, wewere like them that dream." He spoke highly of the Queen, saying that"she had suffered for the Gospel, and should know how to be compatient[sympathising] with other that had suffered." Of himself he saidlittle; but of Christ much.
And when he came out of the church, dozens and dozens of hands were heldforth to welcome him, till the tears came into his eyes at such agreeting. One old Gospeller woman cried out, "Lord, now lettest ThouThy servant depart in peace!"
"Nay, good Joan," answered Mr Rose. "The reason wherefore the Lord hathkept us alive is, that we have not yet done all our work. At least so Itake it. 'Tis somewhat too early to be singing the harvest-home aforeall the corn be gathered in. Let us hasten to finish the reaping, andthen we may sing."
Then came Mr Underhill with great strides, and held out his hand. (Johnsaid aside to his wife, "I would Ned Underhill could learn, without anytelling him, that a man's hand, and yet more a woman's, is not made ofmill-stones. He hath given me some cruel gripes ere now: 'tis a painfulform of love.")
"Welcome home the second time!" cried Mr Underhill, cheerily. "MrsRose, your servant. But I say, man! do you not know you are divorced byprocess of law?"
"Nay," answered Mr Rose, smiling; "I neither do nor will."
"What an ungovernable piece of merchandise are you!" said Mr Underhill,laughing. "But in good sooth, I have not talked with one of ourministers that holdeth not the same view."
"Men parted us," said Marguerite, her voice trembling a little; "but Ithink God never did. At any rate, He hath undone it now."
Mr Rose talked with the Averys about his future, and they entreated himto stay with them a little longer. It was expected that the Queen wouldpresent the deprived ministers to such benefices as would now be leftvacant by the Papists' deprivations; and at least, they urged, it wouldbe well to do nothing rashly. And though they said little to eachother, all were waiting to see what would happen on the Coronation Day.This was fixed for the ensuing Sunday, the Queen having consulted DrDee, and heard from him that Sunday would be a fortunate day. All werenow preparing for the Coronation. Isoult had cloths ready to hang out,and Kate and Frances were as busy as they could be, sewing green leavesupon white linen, to form the Queen's name--Elizabeth.
Frances said "it was well her Highness had so long a name, for the workshould not be by the half so handsome were she called Jane or Anne."But Thekla's work was by far the most beautiful. She was skilled atmaking wax-flowers, and had wreathed a garland of white roses, which,set upon a green ground, was to encircle the name with which Kate andFrances were busied [green and white were the Queen's colours]. It wasintended to be a magnificent piece of work; and the only grief was thatthe Queen would never see it, for she was going from the Tower.
Mr Underhill had ordered a new velvet coat, wherein (said his wife) heshould be as fine as my Lord High Treasurer. Moreover, Dr Thorpe wouldneeds have a new doublet.
"Why, dear child, my Sunday doublet hath a patch on it," said he; "andif the Queen's Highness' gracious eyes should chance to alight on me,thou wouldst not have them to light on a patch." [Dr Thorpe might havespared his concern; for Queen Elizabeth was much too near-sighted todetect the patch.]
"Maybe they should take little hurt," said John. "But, Doctor, if youhave a new doublet, I must needs have a new coat; and then Isoult shallwant a new gown; and we shall have Walter clamouring for a gaberdine,and Kate for an hood. Certes, but the Coronation shall be as chargeableunto her Highness' lieges as to herself!"
"Nay, Father, I lack no new hood," said Kate, laughing; "I want only tosee the Queen's Grace, and I can do that as well in an old hood as anew."
"Ay, sweet heart," answered he; "but Dr Thorpe would have one thingmore, to wit, that the Queen's Grace should see him."
Sir Henry and Lady Ashley came on the 12th to bid their friendsfarewell, for they were about to leave town early on the morning afterthe Coronation, and they expected to have little time at liberty. Theyadvised the Averys not to take their stand in Bow Churchyard, as theyintended to do, but to beg the loan of some friend's window. MrUnderhill had too many customers to help them; but Annis, whose lodgingwas in Saint Paul's Churchyard, was very glad to be of service.
In the afternoon they went down early to the waterside, to see the Queencome to the Tower from Westminster Palace. Her Majesty came about twoo'clock, royally arrayed, in her state barge, and landed at the privystairs. Little Frances was in the greatest glee, because she said shewas most unfeignedly certain that the Queen looked on her. "And shewalketh about the house," said John, "a fair foot the higher in her ownaccount, that she hath been seen of the Queen's Majesty."
The next day came Mr Underhill, bringing news that the Queen had dubbedmany Knights of the Bath, and had also created Edward Seymour, eldestson of the late Duke of Somerset, Earl of Hertford.
"But which Edward?" said John, in his quiet way.
"Which?" replied Mr Underhill. "Why, my Lord had but one son of his ownname."
"No had?" said John. "I thought he had two."
"What mean you, Jack Avery?" said Mr Underhill.
"I know well what he meaneth," answered Mr Rose. "It was the worst bloton my Lord of Somerset's life. I trust he did repent thereof ere Godcalled him."
"I was thinking," said John, in a low voice, "of one Katherine Folliott,an humble violet plucked from her mossy bed, and after, flung witheringaway to reach a peony."
"A black-thorn rather, if you would picture her complexion," suggestedDr Thorpe.
"What, the Duke's first wife?" answered Mr Underhill. "Why, man! thewhole world hath forgot her!"
"So did himself," responded John.
"I see," said Mr Underhill. "You think, all, that my Lord did wickedlyin divorcing of her, in order to wed the great heir of the Stanhopes.Well, it may be so: but, my word for it! he had leisure for repentance.I would not lightly have been my Lady Duchess her lackey, much less herlord."
"Well!" answered John, "I meant not to speak ill of the dead; surely notof one whom I do hope and believe that God hath pardoned and taken toHimself. I did but signify the very thing I did ask--to wit, which ofthe Edwards had been create Earl of Herts."
"The son of the Lady Anne Stanhope, of course!" said Mr Underhill.
"It might have been more just and righteous," pursued John, "had it beenthe son of Katherine Folliott. It may be that his last thought in thisworld, just ere the axe slid down, was of that woeful wrong he nevercould right more. Alas for men's hearts in this wicked world! and yetrather, alas for men's consciences! Well, God forgive us all!"
At two o'clock on the morning of the 14th, forth sallied all, andtrudged amongst a moving crush of men and women to Annis' lodging, whereshe and Don Juan willingly gave them standing-room with themselves attheir two windows. John lifted Frances on his shoulder, where, said he,she should have the best sight of all; and Walter was perched upon ahigh chair in the window. Kate stood below, in front of her father.Her Majesty sat in a rich chariot, covered with crimson velvet,splendidly attired, and a canopy was borne over her head by knights.Many pageants and gifts were offered to her; but one must not be leftuntold, which is that a copy of the English Bible was given to her atthe Little Conduit in Cheapside, and she, receiving it let down into herchariot by a silken string, in both hands, kissed it, clasped it to herbosom, and thanked the City for it, "the which," said she, "I do esteemabove all other, and will diligently read therein." Mr George Ferrisand Mr Underhill were in the procession. [Strange to say, hardly anydetails are preserved of the procession and coronation of Elizabeth.]The Bishop of Carlisle [Dr Oglethorpe] had at last been prevailed uponto crown the Queen, but that so lately, that vestments were not readyfor him, and they had to be borrowed of Bishop Bonner. He was the onlyBishop to meet her Majesty at Westminster Abbey. The day following wasthe Coronation Day
of Queen Elizabeth.
First thing in the morning, Barbara and Ursula hung out the garland andname that Kate and Thekla had made, which had been taken in over-night,after the Queen's procession. Then the party breakfasted; and, therebeing no service anywhere, Mr Rose read the Common Prayer to theassembled household, and gave them a short discourse on a passage fromthe Psalms,--"With joy and gladness shall they be brought, and shallenter into the King's Palace." He could hardly be said to preach, forhe only sat on a chair in the midst of the group. He spoke of theCoronation Day; bidding them not to forget "that other fairer day of themore glorious Coronation, when Christ shall see of the travail of Hissoul, and shall be satisfied: when all His people shall be gatheredtogether, a full and perfected Church, the Lamb's Bride: when He shalltake unto Him His great power and reign."
The afternoon was spent quietly, no one looking in upon them; and whenthe dark began to fall, and the candles were lighted, Mr Rose read theEvening Prayers, and spoke again, this time on a text in theRevelation,--"They are without fault before the Throne of God.""Because," said he, "betwixt them and that Throne standeth Christ topresent [represent] them before God; and while all faults be in them, inHim is no fault; and He covereth them with the fair white robe of Hisown righteousness, that God's justice cannot see them apart from it andHim that gave and wrought it."
When Evensong was over, John and Mr Rose went out for a half-hour'swalk: and there were left in the chamber Dr Thorpe, Esther, Isoult andthe children, and Thekla. Isoult called to Barbara for candles, forthose they had were burning low in the socket; and while she was gone tofetch them, came a low gentle tapping at the door.
"May I open it, Mother?" said Kate; and leave being given, away she ran.
Nothing was audible at the door, but Kate, coming back, said--
"Mother, 'tis a gentleman that would have speech of Father. Will youspeak with him?"
Isoult lifted her eyes, and saw behind Kate a gentleman, it seemed toher, of some thirty years or more, tall and spare, indeed, very thin andworn, hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed, with long dark brown hair, a longbeard lying low upon his breast, and a moustache curling round his upperlip. A stranger--at least, she knew neither his face nor his name.
"Sir," she said, "I am sorry mine husband is not within at this present;but if it should please you to wait a little season, I am assured--"
"That he shall not be long," she was about to say: but she never got anyfurther. Her speech was cut in two by a sharp, sudden cry from behindher, that must have rung through every room in the house, and that brokefrom the lips of Thekla Rose.
"Robin! Robin! Robin!"
It seemed to Isoult for a moment as though her very heart stood still.Was it thus that God had given her its desire? Was this white, worn,bearded man verily "our Robin," who had passed away from them so verydifferent? She seemed neither to know nor to see any thing, till shefelt two arms clasped around her, and a voice, that no time nor prisoncould wholly alter, called her to herself, with--"Mother, I think youhave not forgot me?" And then she awoke, and her heart was loosed, andher eyes with it. She bowed her head down upon Robin's breast, and weptpassionately. Verily God had visited them! God had heard their cry,and had given them back their darling.
What followed was confusion. Thekla's cry brought her mother down inhaste. Kate and Walter ran to the new-comer, hailing him as "DearBrother Robin!" while little Frances hung back shyly, and had to becoaxed to come. Dr Thorpe said he would never have known him, had henot been helped; but Robin answered that "he was then the better off ofthe two, for he knew him the minute he stepped within." Esther said shethought she could have guessed at him with a little time andconsideration.
"I am very glad to see you, Mrs Esther," said he, "for I did never lookagain to see any that were bound with me that night."
"Then thou lookest not," answered Isoult, "to see Mr Rose, which I trustshall be in some few minutes."
"I did not, in good sooth," said he, "only I dared not to ask."
While he spoke, they heard John's hand upon the latch.
Kate instantly rushed upon him, crying, "Father, come and see!"
"Come and see what, sweeting?" said he.
"Come and see!" she answered, pulling him after her into the room.
Mr Rose followed more quietly. John, come into the room, stood gazingat Robin as though he knew not what to make of it. Mr Rose passed himand came forward.
"Robin Tremayne!" said he. "I scarce dared to hope it."
So when all the glad greetings were over, they sat down, and drew theirchairs round the fire. Barbara came in with the supper-board, andstared when Robin said, "Good even, Barbara."
"Sir!" queried she, looking at him in amazement. "Nay, sure! 'tis neverMaster Robin come back? Well, I be cruel glad!"
"And now, Robin," said John, "we want thine history, writ fair in agreat book."
"Then, Father," he answered, and smiled, "you must tarry the writing.But I count I take you. Mine history is not very long, for there wasbut little change in it."
"But, Robin," said Isoult, "where hast thou been, dear lad? AustinBernher hath searched all the prisons for thee, yea, over and over, formonths past, and asked at many prisoners; yet could never bring ustidings."
"I trow, Mother," answered Robin, again smiling, "he searched everywhither but the right. And few prisoners should have known anything ofme, seeing I was kept alone."
"Did they count thee a prisoner of import?" said John, in an astonishedtone.
"From what I heard them say," answered Robin, looking at Mr Rose, "I maythank you for that. Taking me with you, and standing close by you, theycounted me a very pestilent heretic, and treated me as such."
"Ah! see what it is to fall into bad company!" said Mr Rose, smiling.
"Well, Robin," said Isoult, "thou shalt tell us all after supper, an'thou wilt. But now all is ready, an't please you."
So they gathered round the supper-table, and Mr Rose had only just saidgrace, when the latch was lifted, and Mr Underhill's cheery voicecried--
"May an heretic come in?"
"Come forward, Ned!" shouted John in return.
And forward he came.
"I am weary as a dog!" said he. "And I see yonder some eggs and butter[`Buttered eggs' survive north of the Trent] that doth make my mouthwater; and a warden-pie [the warden was a very late pear, used chieflyfor pies], if mine eyes bewray me not. Mrs Avery--" but here, his eyecatching Robin, he broke off short. "Do you bid ghosts to supper? Ifthose be not Robin Tremayne's eyes, they are the fairest copies evermine saw!"
"Robin Tremayne's eyes are very glad to see you, Mr Underhill," said he,laughingly: and Mr Underhill wrung his hand till Robin's fingers musthave tingled no little.
"Draw a chair and fall to, man," said John.
"Go to!" replied Mr Underhill; and did so with much apparent gusto.
"Well, so your work is over," said John. "How passed all? and where isthe Queen?"
"In her bed, I hope," answered Mr Underhill, "unless she be somewhatmore than other women. Marry, but she must be aweary to-night! 'Twas asplendrous matter, and worth seeing; but as cold as charity. And when'tis January other where, 'tis not August in Westminster Abbey. Weheretics fared uncommon well; George Ferris and I got a red deer piebetwixt us, and we made it look ashamed of himself ere we had done, Iwarrant you."
"Ned Underhill!" said John, "'tis a standing marvel to me that AustinBernher and thou should have come out of Queen Mary's persecutionalive."
"'Tis a greater marvel to me that thou shouldst," replied Mr Underhill,a second time attacking the buttered eggs. "Mrs Avery, I hope you havemore eggs in the house?--With all thy prudence, and cautiousness, andwariness, sweet Jack, thou earnest not off a whit better than thy rashand foolish neighbour."
"Nay," answered John, "I came off thus much better, that I never yet sawthe inside of Newgate."
"Tush! that was for a ballad I writ," said he. "But thou canst not sayI fared the
worse, saving that."
"I cannot," answered John, "and thereat I marvel no little."
"O wise and sagacious Jack! didst ever pluck a nettle?"
"I have done such a thing," replied he.
"Then thou wist that the gentler 'tis handled, the more it stingeth.Now for my moral: take Queen Mary as the nettle, and thou seest my wayof dealing."
"Your pardon, friend Underhill!" said Mr Rose, "but I can in no wiseallow that either of you were saved by your way of dealing. Let Himhave all the glory unto whom it belongeth."
"Amen!" responded Mr Underhill. "Jack, may we sing the _Te Deum_ inthine house to-night, an't like thy squeamishness?"
"With a very good will, Ned," answered John. When supper was over, MrUnderhill (who, for all his weariness, seemed in no haste to be at home)drew up his chair to the fire, in the midst of the group, and said--
"Now, Tremayne,--your first sermon!"
Thus bidden, Robin began his story.
"When Mr Rose and I were parted, I was sent first to the Marshalsea.Here I abode a full year, during the which I several times saw AustinBernher. But afore I had been there a month, I was had up afore my Lordof London. So soon as he saw me, he put on a very big and ruffling air,and quoth he,--`Come hither, thou wicked heretic! what canst thou sayfor thyself?'--`Nothing, my Lord,' said I, `save that though I besinful, yet am I no heretic,'--`Ha! sayest thou so?' quoth my Lord. `Iwill soon see whether thou be an heretic or no. Tell me, dost thou holdthe very presence of Christ's body and blood to be in the sacrament ofthe altar?' To whom I--`My Lord, I do believe verily, as Christ hathsaid, that where two or three be gathered together in His name, there isHe in the midst of them.'--`Ho, thou crafty varlet!' quoth he, `wouldstturn the corner after that manner? By Saint Mary her kirtle, but itshall not serve thy turn. Tell me now, thou pestilent companion; whenthe priest layeth the bread and wine upon the altar, afore theconsecration, what then is there?' Then said I,--`Bread and wine, myLord.'--`Well said,' quoth he. `And after the words of consecration bespoken, what then is there?'--`Bread and wine, my Lord,' I answeredagain.--`Ha!' saith he, `I thought I could catch thee, thou lither[wicked, abandoned] heretic. Dost not then believe that afterconsecration done, there in the body and blood of Christ, verily andalone, nor any more the substance of bread and wine remaining?'--`MyLord,' said I, `my sense doth assure me that the wine is yet wine, andthe bread, bread; mine understanding doth assure me that the body of ourLord is a true natural human body, and cannot therefore be on an hundredaltars at one and the same time; and I am therein confirmed of SaintPaul, which saith, that so oft as we do eat this _bread_, we do showforth the death of the Lord.'--`Ha, thou runagate!' he roareth out;`wilt thou quote from Scripture in English? Hast thou no Latin? I havea whip that shall make thee speak Latin.'--`My Lord,' said I, `I canquote from the Scripture in Latin, if that like your Lordship thebetter; and likewise in Greek, the which (being the tongue wherein theywere written at the first) should be all the surer; but I, being anEnglishman born (for the which I thank God), do more naturally read theScripture in English.'--`I will not have thee to speak Greek!' criethhe. `'Tis the Devil that did invent Greek of late years, to beguileunwary men. And I do thee to wit that the Scripture was not writ inGreek, thou lying varlet! but in the holy tongue, Latin.'--`It would illbecome me to gainsay your Lordship,' said I.--`I will have thee back,'saith he, `to the first matter. And I bid thee answer me without anycunning or evasion: Dost thou believe that our Lord's body was eaten ofthe blessed Apostles, or no?'--`My Lord,' I answered, `with allreverence unto your Lordship's chair and office, seeing the Lord's bodywas crucified on the Friday, I do not believe, nor cannot, that it waseaten of the Apostles the even afore.' Then he arose up out of hisseat, and gnashed his teeth, and railed on me with great abuse; crying,`Ha, thou heretic! thou lither knave! (and worser words than these) Ihave thee! I have outwitted thee! Thou art fairly beat and put down.--Have the heretic knave away, and keep him close.' And so I was carriedback to the Marshalsea."
"Marry," said Mr Underhill, "but I think it was Edmund Bonner that wasput down. I never knew what a witty fellow thou wert."
"Robin," said Isoult, "it should have aggrieved me sorely to be sounjustly handled. To hear him say that he had beat thee, when it wasthou that hadst beat him! It should have gone mightily against thegrain with me."
"The old story," answered Mr Rose. "`Is not that He whose high placesand whose altars Hezekiah hath taken away?' Methinks that should ranklesore in Hezekiah's mind, and in the hearts of them that lovest him.Bishop Bonner is somewhat coarser and less subtle, yet 'tis the samething in both cases."
"Well," said Robin, with a smile to those who had spoken, "after that Iwas not called up again. When at last I was brought out from theMarshalsea, I counted it would be surely either for an other examinationor for burning. But, to my surprise, they set me on an horse, that wastied to the horse of one of the Sheriff's men, and I (with some twelveother prisoners likewise bound) was taken a long journey of many days.I could see by the sun that we were going west; but whither I wist not,and the man to whom I was bound refused to tell me. At the last weentered into a great city, walled and moated. Here we were broughtafore a priest, that demanded of each of us what was the cause of oursentence; to whom I answered, `Sir, I have not yet been sentenced, but Ibelieve the cause of my prison to be that I do put faith in Saint Paul'swords, that when we do show forth the Lord's death in the Sacrament ofHis Supper, it is bread the which we do eat.' Whereat he smiledsomewhat, but after scowled, and bade an officer have me thence. Ofwhom I was taken down _into_ a cell or little dungeon, and there set bymyself. I asked of the officer where I was; and he laughed, and atfirst would not tell me. But after he said, `Well, you are in Exeter,but say not unto any that I told it you.' In the prison at Exeter(where I was alone) I lay methinks over _two_ years. Ah!" pursuedRobin, dropping his voice, "it was hard work lying there! Men hadforgotten me, I thought; I began to marvel whether God had. I saw nonebut my gaoler, that brought me meat [then the generic term for food]morning and evening, but scarce ever spake to me: and I fell at times totalking with myself, that I should not forget mine own tongue, nor beaffrighted at the sound of mine own voice. At last, just as the warmdays of Spring were coming, I was brought out, and again set on anhorse. We went north this time; and one even, after passing by certainmonastical buildings, we stayed at the door of a stately palace. Here Iwas bidden to 'light, for that we should go no further. They carried meaway through many lobbies, and down stairs, and at length we came unto achamber where was a gaoler sitting, with his keys at his girdle. He andmy guide spake together, and he then bare me unto a cell, wherein I waslocked. I asked again where I was, but to no end beyond being bidden tohold my peace, and stricken on the head with his keys. Here I passednot many days, ere one even the gaoler came unto me, and bade me tofollow him. He led me down further stairs, and at the very bottomopened a heavy door. I could see nothing within. `Go in,' said he,gruffly, `and fall no further than you can help. You were best to slidedown.' I marvelled whither I were going; but I took his avisement, andgrasping the door-sill with mine hands, I slid down into the darkness.At length my feet found firm ground, though I were a little bruised inthe descent; but I lighted on no floor, but a point only--all the wallssloping away around me. `Are you there?' growls the gaoler--but hisvoice sounded far above me. `I am some whither,' said I, `but I canfind no floor.' He laughed a rough laugh, and saith `You can find asmuch as there is. There is _little ease_ yonder.' And he shut to thedoor and left me. All at once it flashed on me where I was: and soterrible was the knowledge, that a cold sweat brake forth all over me.I had heard of the horrible prison in the Bishop of Lincoln's Palace ofWoburn, called Little Ease [Note 1], which tapered down to a point,wherein a man might neither stand, nor sit, nor lie. Somewhat likedespair came over me. Were they about to leave me to lie here and dieof hunger? I shouted, and my voice came back to me with a mocking echo.I held my breath to lis
ten, and I heard no sound. I was an outcast, adead man out of mind; `the earth with her bars was about me for ever.'I had borne all easily (so to speak) save this. But now I covered myface with mine hands, and wept like a child."
"My poor Robin!" said Isoult. "Tell me when this was."
"It was at the beginning of the hot weather," he answered. "I fancy itmight be about June. I thanked God heartily that it was not winter."
"Ay," said she, "thou wouldst have more light."
"Light!" he said, and smiled. "No light ever came into Little Ease. Inever knew day from night all the while I was there. Once in three daysmy gaoler unlocked the door, and let down to me a rope, at the endwhereof was a loaf of bread, and after a tin pitcher of water; and I hadto fasten thereto the empty pitcher. Such thirst was on me that Icommonly drank the water off, first thing."
"But how didst thou go to bed?" asked Walter.
Robin smiled, and told the child there was no bed to go to.
"And did the gaoler never forget thee?" Kate wished to know.
"Twice he did," answered Robin, "for a day. But that would not kill me,thou wist. I became very weak ere I came forth. But to continue:--Iwept long and bitterly, but it gave me no comfort. I felt as if nothingever would give me comfort again. The Devil was very near me. It wasall folly, he whispered. I had hoped a vision, and had believed a lie.God was dead, if there ever were any God; He never came into LittleEase. None would ever know where and what I was become. I should diehere, and if fifty years hence my whitened bones were found, none wouldknow whose they had been. Your dear faces rose around me, and I couldhave wept again, to think I should never see you any more. But thefountain of my tears was dried now. Mine heart seemed to be freezinginto rock than which the walls of Little Ease were no harder. I sat orlay, call it what you will, thinking gloomily and drearily, until atlast nature could bear no more, and I slept, even there."
"Well, Robin!" said Kate, "if thine heart were frozen, methinks itthawed again afore thou earnest hither."
"It did so, sweet heart," said he, smiling on her. "Even as I awoke, atext of Scripture darted into my memory, well-nigh as though one hadspoken it to me. A strange text, you will say,--yet it was the one forme then:--`Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord his God out of the fish'sbelly.' Well, I was no worse off than Jonah. It seemed yet moreunlike, his coming forth of that fish's belly, than did my coming forthof Little Ease. Methought I, so near in Jonah's case, would try Jonah'sremedy. To have knelt I could not; no more, I fancy, could Jonah. ButI could pray as well as he. That was the first gleam of inward light;and after that it grew. Ay--grew till I was no more alone, because Godcompanied with me; till I was no more an hungred, because God fed me;till I thirsted no more, because God led me unto living fountains ofwaters; till I wept no more, because God wiped away all tears from mineeyes. Ere I came forth, I would not have changed Little Ease for thefairest chamber of the Queen's Palace, if thereby I had left Him behind.It gained on me, till my will grew into God's will--till I wasabsolutely content to die or live, as He would; to be burned inSmithfield, or to come home and clasp you all to mine heart--as shouldbe most to His glory. The heats of summer, I thought, must be come; buton the hottest summer day, there was but cold and damp in Little Ease.The summer, methought, must be passing; and then, it must be past. Ihad left hoping for change. I only thought how _very_ fair and sweetthe House of the Father would be to me after this. So the hours rolledaway, until one morrow, out of the wonted order, I heard the doorunlocked. `Are you there?' calls the gaoler in his gruff voice. `Ay,'said I. `Feel about for a rope,' quoth he, `and set the noose underyour arms; you are to come forth.' Was this God calling to me? I didnot think of the pains of death; I only remembered the after-joy ofseeing Him. I found the rope, and the loop thereof, which I set undermine arms. `Cry out when you are ready,' saith he. I cried, and heslung me up. Can I tell you what pain it was? The light--the sweetsummer light of heaven--was become torture; and I could neither standnor walk. `Ha!' saith he, when he saw this, `you have not grownstronger. How liked you Little Ease?'--`I like what God liketh for me,'I made answer. He looked on me somewhat scornfully. `Methinks you bebut half rocked yet,' saith he. `Maybe you shall come back. Matt!' Atthe shout an under-gaoler came forth of a door. `Take thou this fellowby the arm,' saith he. `We shall be like to bear him.' Himself tookmine other arm, and so, more borne than walking, I reached the hall ofthe Palace. Here they took me into a little light chamber, suffered meto wash, and gave me clean garments, to my great ease. Then they sat medown at a table, and set before me a mess of sodden meat, with bread anddrink, and bade me to eat well. I thought I was going afore the Bishopfor sentence. But, to my surprise, they let me alone; locked me intothe chamber, and there left me. This chamber had a barred window,looking out on the Palace court, in the midst whereof was a round ofgreen grass. I cannot set in words the exquisite delight that windowgave me. The green grass and the blue sky--I could never tire of them.Here they fed me well three times in the day; and at night I lay on amattress, which was softer to me then than I ever felt afore a bed ofdown. When at last I was strong enough to ride, I was set on an horse,and his bridle tied to the horse of the Sheriff's man. So we rade awayfrom Woburn, twenty or more in company. This time I saw we went south.At the last (I will not essay to tell you with what feelings), I knew wewere nearing London. I wonder where were you, beloved, that even that Irade in at Aldgate? I looked longingly down the Minories, but I couldsee no familiar face."
"Why, Robin dear, what even was it?" said Isoult.
"How shall I tell thee, sweet mother, when I know not yet what even isthis?" said he, and smiled. "It was fifteen weeks from to-day, savingthree days."
"There is a sum!" said Mr Underhill. "Jack, whether can thou or I doit? Fifteen--two thirty-ones and a thirty--saving three--the 5th ofOctober, I make it."
"I think so," assented John.
"October!" said Robin, still smiling. "I fancied it earlier. It isJanuary, then, now? I thought we were not past Christmas. Well,through the City went we, and into Newgate, where, as afore, I waslodged alone."
"Newgate!" cried Mr Underhill. "And how doth mine old friendAlisaunder, and my most gentlest mistress his wife?"
"I saw not her," replied Robin; "but to judge from his face, I shouldsay he doth rarely well. Here, then, in Newgate, I lay, marvelling thatI was never sentenced and burned; but I knew nothing of the cause nor ofwhat passed, until this even all the doors were unlocked, and weprisoners all were bidden to go forth, whither we would, for QueenElizabeth reigned, and this was her Coronation Day. How strange it wasto be free!"
"I marvelled what thou wert suffering, Robin dear," said Isoult, "but wenever thought of Little Ease. We took thee for dead."
"So I thought you would," said he. "And now that I am returned to men'slife again, tell me, I pray you, what day is this--of the month andweek?"
"'Tis the 15th of January," said she, "and Sunday."
"And the year," he resumed, pausing, "I suppose, is Fifteen Hundred andFifty-Eight?" [By the old reckoning from Easter to Easter.]
"It is so, dear heart," answered Isoult.
"It seemeth me," said Robin, "a little picture of the resurrection."
"Come, friends!" cried Mr Underhill, springing up, "I must be going, andI will not be balked of my _Te Deum_. Jack, thou promisedst it me."
"So I did," answered he, smiling. "Strike up, and we will all follow."
He struck up the chant, in his fine deep voice, and all joined in. ThenMr Underhill took his leave, and went home; after which the rest sat alittle while in silence. Mr Rose was the first to break it.
"Robin, hast thou still a purpose to receive orders?"
"More than ever!" cried Robin, eagerly. "I never could before have toldthe people one-half of what I can tell now. I knew that God wassufficient for some things, but now I see Him all-sufficient and forall. I knew He could lift man up to Him, like a mother lear
ning a childday by day; but I scantly knew how He could come down to man, like thesame mother bending her sense down to the stature of her child, enteringinto his difficulties, feeling his troubles, making her a child for him.`I, even I, am He that comforteth you;' `I will comfort you, and yeshall be comforted;' yea, `as one whom his mother comforteth, so will Icomfort you.'"
"I think thou art right," said Mr Rose, softly.
Again they sat in silence till the clock struck eight--the hour at whichthey commonly parted for the night. Before any one moved, Mr Rosecalled Thekla to him. When she obeyed, he took her hand, and laid it inRobin's.
"The Lord bless you, and keep you!" he said tenderly. "My son, thouhast been in sorrow, and God hath been with thee: see thou leave Him notout of thy joy. May Jesus, who was the chief guest at the wedding inCana of Galilee, be with you also, and turn the water of earthly hopeinto the best wine of heavenly peace. We have asked Him to the match;Lord, make One at the marriage!"
There was no voice silent in the Amen.
And then, as if the very act of lifting up his heart to God had bornehim above earth, and he had forgotten the thing that caused it, Mr Rosewent on:--
"`For Thou only art holy, Thou only art the Lord! Thou only, O Christ,with the Holy Ghost, art most high in the glory of God the Father!'"
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Note 1. There were several prisons which bore this name, one of them inLondon. The most horrible of all was that at Woburn, and was, Ibelieve, the only one constructed on this cruel principle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
APPENDIX.
HISTORICAL NOTES.
BERNHER, AUGUSTINE.
By birth a German-Swiss, probably from the neighbourhood of Basle. Incontemporary notices often called Latimer's servant; but if the meaningof the word at that time be borne in mind, and the kind of servicenoted, it will be seen that he was only a servant in the sense of beingin receipt of a salary from his employer. He was ordained in or beforethe reign of Edward the Sixth; and during the persecution under Mary, noman was more fervid and fearless than he. At many martyrdoms we findhim consoling the martyr; visiting the condemned prisoners, and formingthe recognised means of communication between them. His safety throughall can only be attributed to the direct interposition of his AlmightyMaster. "Mine own good Augustine," wrote Bradford, "the Lord of mercybless thee, my dear brother, for ever... The keeper telleth me that itis death for any to speak with me, but yet I trust that I shall speakwith you." (Foxe's Acts and Monuments, eight 262). At the commencementof the persecution, Bernher lived at Baxterley, near Mancetter; but fora time during its height, he was minister of a small Londoncongregation, which assembled secretly, sometimes in very curiousplaces, and often on board some vessel in the Thames. Bernher was amarried man. After the accession of Elizabeth, this Christian hero waspresented by the Crown to the rectory of Southam, county Warwick(Richings' Narrative of Sufferings of Glover, etcetera, pages 10-12).But only for a very few years did Bernher survive the persecution. Thescaffolding had served its purpose, and was taken down; the servant ofGod had done his work in aiding the brethren at risk of life, and thesummons was issued to himself, "Come up higher." On April 19, 1566,Bartholomew Greene was presented to the rectory of Southam, "vacant bythe death of Augustine Barnehere." (Dugdale's Warwickshire, page 339).
BONNER, BISHOP EDMUND.
This coarsest and most cruel persecutor of the Protestants, whose angerwas particularly rife against married priests, was himself theillegitimate son of a priest, George Savage, the illegitimate son of SirJohn Savage of Cheshire. His father was parson of Dunham; and duringhis earlier years he was known indiscriminately as Edmund Savage orBonner, which last appears to have been his mother's name. The onlypunishment which this monster received at the hands of men lay in therefusal of Elizabeth to permit him to kiss her hand when the Bishops mether on her coronation progress, and the restriction of his residence forthe remainder of his life. Probably he might even have been spared thelast penalty, had he not had the cool effrontery to take his seat in theHouse of Lords as Bishop of London in Elizabeth's first Parliament.This provocation was too much for the patience of that determinedPrincess, and Bonner speedily found himself in the Marshalsea, where hewas not uncomfortably accommodated until his death.
Elected Bishop of Hereford, December 17, 1539, but translated to Londonbefore consecration; consecrated Bishop of London, in the Bishop ofLondon's Palace, by Stephen Gardiner of Winchester, Richard Sampson ofChichester, and John [? William] Skippe of Hereford, April 2, 1540;deprived, October 1, 1549; restored, August 5, 1553; re-deprived, May29, 1559; died September 5, 1569; buried in the churchyard of SaintGeorge, Southwark.
FERRIS, GEORGE.
This worthy is sometimes called George Ferrers. He was born at or nearSaint Albans, educated at Oxford, studied at Lincoln's Inn, wrote poemsmuch admired in his day, and translated Magna Charta from French intoLatin. He was patronised by Cromwell, and was "Master of the Revels inthe King's house" in 1552 and 1553. Ferris died at Flamstead, inHertfordshire, in 1579.
GREY, LADY JANE.
The opinion which her contemporaries formed of this lady, and which isto a great extent shared by their posterity, was not the true view ofher character. She was by no means the meek, gentle, spiritless beingwhom novelists, and even historians, have usually depicted under hername. On the contrary, she was a woman with a very decided will of herown, and with far more character than her husband, who had set his weakmind on being proclaimed King. This Jane bluntly refused, though shewas willing to create him a Duke. Through all her letters now extantthere runs a complaining, querulous strain which rather interferes withthe admiration that would otherwise be excited by her talents,character, and fate. My business in the story is to paint Lady Jane asthe Protestants of her day believed her to be; but it is hardly just notto add that they believed her to be made of softer and more malleablematerial than she really was. The fact of her having been persuaded, orrather forced, to accept the Crown, has given this erroneous impressionof her disposition. It was the only point on which she was everinfluenced against her own judgment; the instigator being Lord Guilford,who in his turn was urged by his ambitious, unprincipled father, and hisequally ambitious and unprincipled mother, in whose hands his weak,affectionate, yielding temperament rendered him an easy tool. Theprobability is, that had Jane been firmly established as Queen, shewould have shown a character more akin to that of Elizabeth than iscommonly supposed, though undoubtedly her personal piety was much moremarked than that of her cousin. It seems rather strange that the childof parents, morally speaking, so weak as Dorset and Frances, should havedisplayed so strong and resolved a character as did Lady Jane Grey.
Born at Bradgate, 1536-7; married at Durham House, London, May 21, 1553;beheaded on Tower Hill, February 12, 1554.
HOLLAND, ROGER.
As much as is known of the history of this last of the Smithfieldmartyrs will be found in Foxe's Acts and Monuments, eight, 473-479.There is much difficulty, however, in deciding from what branch of thegreat Holland family the martyr came. All accounts tell us that he wasa Holland of Lancashire; yet his name does not appear in any pedigree ofthe numerous Lancastrian lines. All these families are descended fromSir Robert de Holand, who died in 1328, and his wife Maude, heiress ofLa Zouche. Nor is it any easier to trace the relationship between RogerHolland and Lord Strange, or Mr Eccleston, both of whom Foxe calls hiskinsmen. More than one branch of Holland married into Eccleston; andthe Derby connection has eluded all my researches. Roger's wife wasnamed Elizabeth, but her surname does not appear: they were married in"the first year of Queen Mary," 1553-4, and had issue one child, sex andname unknown. His martyrdom took place on the 27th of June 1558, or"about" that time; Foxe speaks doubtfully as to the exact day. Nothingfurther is known of his wife and child.
MONKE, THOMAS.
Son of Anthony Monke of Potheridge and Elizabeth Wood
e of London; bornin 1516. He was twice married after the death of Lady Frances,--first,to Elizabeth Powell of Stroud, and lastly, to Katherine Hawkes. Thethird wife was childless; by the second he had one daughter, Dorothy.The male line of Monke failed in Christopher, only son of George Monk,Duke of Albemarle. In the female line the blood of the Plantagenetsdescended to many very obscure families. The wife of Colonel Pride, whoconducted King Charles the First to his trial, was Elizabeth Monke ofPotheridge, the eventual representative of the family. (AncientCompotuses of Exchequer, Devon, 37-8 H. eight; Harl. Mss. 1538, folio213; 3288, folio 50.)
NORTHUMBERLAND, JOHN DUDLEY, DUKE.
In some respects, this was the most remarkable man of his age. He maybe said to have risen from nothing, for though his mother was Elizabeth,eleventh Viscountess Lisle in her own right, his father was EdmundDudley, the mean and avaricious favourite of Henry the Seventh. Themarriage of Dudley and Elizabeth was apparently forced upon theViscountess, then a mere girl of some twenty years of age or under; andwhen she was left free, she re-married Sir Arthur Plantagenet (ViscountLisle), to whom it seems probable that she had been originallybetrothed. John Dudley was the eldest child of this ill-matched pair,and was born in 1502. The solitary object of his love was John Dudley,and the one aim of his existence was to advance that gentleman'sfortunes. From a worldly point of view, he succeeded remarkably well.He passed gradually through the several gradations of Knight, ViscountLisle (March 12, 1542), Lord High Admiral (1544), Governor of Calais(about 1545), Earl of Warwick, (February 17, 1547), Duke ofNorthumberland (October 11, 1551). The last title placed him at thevery summit of his ambition. There were only two other Dukes inEngland, Norfolk and Suffolk: and had he been proclaimed King, his powercould scarcely have been any greater than it was. "Yet all this availedHaman nothing, so long as he saw Mordecai the Jew sitting at the King'sgate;" and so long as Edward Seymour drew the breath of life, there wasbitterness in all the honours of John Dudley. He stooped to the lowestand vilest means of destroying his rival, and he effected his purpose;himself to be destroyed in his turn by the accession of Mary, not twoyears later. His attempt to make his daughter-in-law Queen was his lastand most aspiring effort at his own aggrandisement. When that failed,all failed; and he sank "down as low as high he soared." Through lifehe was the acknowledged head of the Lutheran party; but in respect ofpersonal religion he was a By-ends, adopting the creed which he thoughtwould best advance his interests; his own proclivity being towardsPopery, as he showed in the last days of his life,--unless it be thoughtthat this, his latest act, worthy of the life which had preceded it, wasa mere attempt to curry favour with Queen Mary. Bad as the man was, Ido not like to think that his dying act was a lie. He suffered on TowerHill, August 22, 1553. Northumberland was but once married, though heleft a large family. His wife was Jane, daughter of Sir EdmundGuilford; a fitting wife for such a husband, being as ambitious andunscrupulous as himself. His children were thirteen in number, of whomonly two left issue--the famous Earl of Leicester, and Lady Mary Sidney.The entire Dudley race is now extinct, except in the female line.
PALMER, SIR THOMAS.
In early life a great gamester and a notorious libertine, known as LongPalmer, on account of his height, and Busking Palmer--a term aboutequivalent to the modern "dandy." He generally signs his name as above,but upon one occasion, "Thomas de Palmer." He was at one time in theservice of the Lord Privy Seal, Cromwell; and was one of the "gentlemenushers daily wayters" at Court, before 1522; for three years he wasknight porter at Calais. The part he took against the Gospellers duringthe Calais persecution is alluded to by Foxe (A. and M., five, 497, 505,506, 520), and will be found fully detailed in my previous volume,"Isoult Barry of Wynscote." At the sorrowful time of Lord Lisle'sarrest, his friend Palmer was jousting at Court. Edward Underhill nameshim as one of those "companions" with whom he was "conversant a while,until I fell to reading the Scriptures and following the preachers." Inthe army of Boulogne, 1544, Palmer was one of the captains of theinfantry, and was taken prisoner by the French. We meet with him next,October 7, 1551, when "Sir Thomas Paulmer" writes Edward the Sixth (andanother hand has interlined, "Hating the Duke and hated of him"), "cameto the Duke of Northumberland to deliver him his cheine... whereupon, inmy Lord's garden, he declared a conspiracy," evolved out of his innerconsciousness, of which Somerset was the supposed inventor and realvictim. On the 16th, conspirators and informer were impartiallyarrested, Palmer "on the terrace walking there." To Somerset, Palmerhad denied every word he had uttered, when the Duke sent for him andcharged him with the uttering: on the trial he was the principalwitness, though the Duke denied his accusation, and "declared all theill he could devise of Palmer." It was not necessary to "devise" much.It was soon plain that Palmer's arrest was a mere farce. He was notonly released, but was appointed, March 4, 1552, one of thecommissioners to treat with Scotland. In 1553 he proved true to hisfriend Northumberland, and shared his fate. Two versions of his dyingspeech are given, in the Chronicle of Queen Jane and Queen Mary, pages22-24.
Lisle Papers, two, 125; nine, 10; seventeen, 94;--Cott. Ms., Nero, c.ten, 40, 41, 44-46, 51;--Harl. Mss., 69, folio 50; 283, folio 3; 425,folio 93;--Rutland Papers, page 102.
PEDIGREES.
The story will be scarcely intelligible without some elucidation of thepedigrees of the three families whose members are constantly meeting thereader--Barry, Basset, and Lisle. I have tried to put them into a format once as short and as easy of reference as possible.
_Barry of Wynscote_.--Richard Barry, descended from the Lords Barry ofIreland, died June 2, 1462. _His son_:--John, died September 16, 1510._His son_;--John, born 1473, died July 25, 1538: married Anne, daughterof Patrick Bellewe of Aldervescot, and Anne Dennis of Oxleigh, countyDevon (and half-sister of Anne and Margery Basset. See below). _Hisissue_:--1. Henry, born 1514, died 1566; married Margaret, daughter ofNicholas Specott (she died March 14, 1580) 2. Hugh, of Bindon, marriedAlice, daughter and co-heir of Richard Wikes. 3. Elizabeth, marriedJohn Dennis of Matcott (branch of D. of Oxleigh). 4. Isoult, marriedJohn Avery of Bradmond, Badmond, or Bodmin, county Cornwall. _Issue ofHenry Barry_:--1. Michael, married 1566, Jane, daughter of GeorgePollard of Langlough (issue, Thomasine, born January 5, 1570). 2.William. 3. Henry. 4. Lawrence. 5. Anne. _Issue of Hugh Barry_:--1.Alexander, died S.P. 2. Giles, married--(issue, Eleanor and Giles). 3.John, married Grace, daughter of Richard Oliver of Barnstable (issue,John, born 1604; Levi, born 1607; John, born 1610; Patience, born 1613;Philip, born 1615). 4. Margaret. 5. Anne. _Issue of ElizabethDennis_:--1. William, married Lucy, daughter of John Cloberie, and leftissue. 2. Nicholas. 3. Ellen. 4. Anne. 5. Henry. 6. Giles. 7.Robert. 8. Philip. _Issue of Isoult Avery_ unknown; but the following,who appear in the Bodmin Registers, may have been her sons:--EdwardAvery (son baptised, 1562); Thomas (_ibidem_. 1563); Walter (childrenbaptised, 1585, 1595); Michael, buried September 28, 1569.
_Basset of Umberleigh_.--Sir John Basset, died January 31, 1528; married(a) Anne, daughter of John Dennis of Oxleigh, and Eleanor Gifford; widowof Patrick Bellewe of Aldervescot; (b) Jane, daughter of Thomas Beaumontof Devon; (c) Elizabeth, family unknown; (a) Honor, daughter of SirThomas Grenville of Stow, and Isabel Gilbert; born circa 1498, marriedcirca 1515, died circa 1548. (See Lisle, below.) _His issue_:--a. 1.Anne, married Sir James Courtenay (issue unknown). 2. Margery, marriedSir John Marres of Cornwall (issue, Margaret, married George Rolle). bor c (uncertain). 3. Jane, apparently died unmarried: born circa 1505.4. Thomasine, born circa 1512; died unmarried, March 19, 1535. (d) 5.Philippa, born circa 1516, apparently died unmarried. 6. Katherine,born circa 1518, married Sir Henry Ashley, of Ashley and Wimborne(Shaftesbury family: issue, Henry and Edward, both S.P.) 7. John, bornOctober 26, 1519; died at Crowe, April 3, 1545; married Frances, eldestdaughter of Arthur Lord Lisle (see Lisle, below). 8. Anne, born circa1520, married after 1554 Francis Hungerford (issue unknown). 9. George,born circa 1522; died in London, 1580: married Jaquit, daught
er and heirof John Coffyn of Portledge, county Devon (she re-married Henry Jones,and died November 25, 1588). 10. Mary, born circa 1525, married JohnWollacombe of Combe, county Devon (issue, John, Thomas, and Honor). 11.James, born 1527, servant of Bishop Gardiner, and afterwards Gentlemanof the Chamber to Queen Mary; died November 1558; buried Black Friars'Church, London: married Mary, daughter of William Roper. _Issue of JohnBasset_:--1. Honor, born at Calais, 1539, apparently died young. 2.Sir Arthur, born 1540, probably at Calais; married Eleanor, daughter ofJohn Chichester of Rawley:--issue, 1. Anne, 2. Robert, who claimed theCrown as lineal descendant of Edward the Fourth, in 1603, and wascompelled to fly to France; he married, at London, November 21, 1591,Elizabeth, daughter and co-heir of Sir William Perjam:--issue, 1.Arthur, died young; 2. Arthur, born circa 1597, died January 7, 1672;married--Leigh: 3. William, born March 28, 1602: 4. Anne, marriedJonathan Rashley of Fox: 5. Ellen, married George Yeo of Hushe: 6.Eleanor. 7. Mary. _Issue of George Basset_:--1. James, born 1565,died at Illogan, February 8, 1604; married Jane, daughter of FrancisGodolphin: left issue. 2. Katherine: 3. Blanche. _Issue of JamesBasset_:--Philip, married -- Verney, and left female issue; died afterOctober 1, 1583.
_Lisle_.--Sir Arthur Plantagenet, son of Edward the Fourth and ElizabethLucy, born at Lille, circa 1462, created Viscount Lisle at BridewellPalace, April 26, 1523; Governor of Calais, March 24, 1533; arrested May17, 1540; died in the Tower, March 3, 1542; buried in the Tower.Married (1) Elizabeth, eleventh Viscountess Lisle, eldest daughter ofElizabeth Talbot, eighth Viscountess, and Sir Edward Grey of Groby; borncirca 1480, married circa 1515, died 1527:--(2) Honor, youngest daughterof Sir Thomas Grenville of Stow, and Isabel Gilbert; born circa 1498,married circa 1530, died circa 1548. (See Basset, above.) _Hisissue_:--a. 1. Frances, born circa 1516, married (1) at Calais,February 17-22, 1538, John Basset of Umberleigh; (2) circa 1547, ThomasMonke of Potheridge; died circa 1560. Issue: (1) see Basset, above; (2)1. Anthony, died May 9, 1620, married Mary, daughter of RichardArscott, and left issue; 2. Katherine, married Jeremy Meo ofBorrington; 3. Margaret, died unmarried; 4. John; 5. Francis orFrances; 6. Mary, (died unmarried). 2. Elizabeth, born circa 1518,married Sir Francis Jobson, of Monkwich, county Essex, who died June 11,1573; she was living in 1560 (issue, 1. John, married Ellen, daughterof Sir Richard Pepsall, and left female issue; 2. Edward, of WestDoniland, married Mary Boade, and left female issue; 3. Henry; 4.Thomas; 5. Mary). 3. Bridget, born circa 1520, married Sir WilliamCarden, of Cawarden, Cheshire; living January 1, 1558 (issue, 1.Thomas, who left issue; 2. John), (b) 4. Infant, still-born or diedsoon after birth, at Calais, September 1537.
PROTESTANTS.
The Protestants in England, as on the Continent, were early divided intotwo great parties, known as Lutherans and Gospellers, orConsubstantiaries and Sacramentaries. These were nearly equivalent tothe modern High Church (not Ritualistic) and Evangelical parties. Therewas yet a further division, at a later period, by the formation of athird sect known as Hot Gospellers, the direct ancestors of thePuritans. Without bearing these facts in mind, it is scarcely possibleto enter into the politics of the period. Many who began as Lutheransended as Gospellers: e.g., Cranmer, Somerset, Katherine Duchess ofSuffolk. Some remained Lutherans for life, e.g., Queen Katherine Parr,Queen Elizabeth. And there were a few who never were Lutherans at all,of whom the representative is Latimer. The enmity between Somerset andNorthumberland had a religious origin, Somerset being a Gospeller, andNorthumberland professedly a Lutheran. It may be added that theGospellers were as a rule Calvinists, the Lutherans Arminians.
ROSE, REVEREND THOMAS.
I do not think it needful to recapitulate the history of Rose, which maybe found at length in Foxe's Acts and Monuments, eight, 581 _et seq_;and I only propose to add a few particulars and explanations which arenot to be found in Foxe. It is only probable, not certain, that MrsRose was a foreigner, her name not being on record; and the age andexistence of their only child are the sole historical data for thecharacter of Thekla. I must in honesty own that it is not even provedthat Rose's wife and child were living at the time of his arrest; butthe contrary is not proved either. The accusation brought against himis extant among Foxe's Mss. (Harl. Ms. 421, folio 188); from which wefind that he was detained at the Cross, in the Green Yard, near theCathedral, Norwich; and that he was accused of having publicly held andtaught "that in the eucharist, or sacrament of the altar, the true,natural, and real body and blood of Christ, under the forms of bread andwine, are not; but that after consecration the substance of bread andwine remaineth; and that whosoever shall adore that substance committethidolatry, and giveth divine honour to a creature." (Foxe's Mss., Harl.Ms. 421, folio 188.) "Sir Thomas Rose, clerk, saith that he hath sopreached, and _will_ so preach" (Ibidem folio 146). On the 12th of May1555, "Mr Thomas Rosse, preacher, was by the counsailles lettersdelyvered from the tower to the shrief of Norfolk, to be convayed anddelyvered to the Bishop of Norwiche, and he either to reduce hym torecante or elles to precede against hym accordinge the lawe." (Diary ofthe Council's Proceedings, ibidem, Harl. Ms. 419, page 153.) And fourdays later,--"16 May. A letter to the Lord Treasourer, signifyinge whatthe 11 [Lords] had done for Rosse, and that order should be givenaccording his Ls [Lordship's] request for letters to the Busshopps."(_ibidem_) Rose is by many of his contemporaries called Ross or Rosse,but he appears to have spelt his own name Rose. I say _appears_,because his autograph has been searched for in vain; the narrative ofhis sufferings, written by himself, and printed in the Acts andMonuments, is not extant among Foxe's papers. When Rose returned toEngland after the accession of Elizabeth, he took possession again ofhis old vicarage, West Ham; but resigned it when he was presented by theCrown to the vicarage of Luton in Bedfordshire. This was on November 4,1562; and the living was vacant by the death of the Reverend -- Mason.It formed a quiet retreat for the old age of the persecuted preacher.At Luton he spent nearly thirteen years, dying there in 1574; for on the18th of June in that year, William Home was presented to the vacantliving. (Rot. Parl. 5 Elizabeth, part 4; 16 Elizabeth; Bibl. Topogr.British Antiquities, volume four.) Foxe, therefore, was apparentlymistaken when he spoke of Rose as still living, in his edition of 1576;he had in all probability not yet heard of his death. As Rose was bornat Exmouth in or about 1500, his age was about seventy-four when hedied--probably rather more than less. For such further details of hislife as can be found in Foxe's volumes, I must refer my readers to hisfamiliar and accessible work.
SOMERSET, EDWARD SEYMOUR, DUKE.
This very eminent man was the second son of Sir John Seymour of WolfHall, and Margaret Wentworth of Nettlestead, and owed his first rise tonotice entirely to the elevation of his sister, Queen Jane Seymour. Hemarried, at some period previous to this, Katherine, daughter andco-heir of Sir William Folliott, whom he repudiated when he reached arather higher position, in order to marry Anne Stanhope, a greatheiress. This was probably in 1537. On the 6th of June in that year hewas created Viscount Beauchamp, and on the 18th of October following wasadvanced to the dignity of Earl of Hertford. So late as the accessionof Edward the Sixth, he was still a Lutheran; for had he been then aGospeller, we should not have found his signature to a letter written tothe Council recommending a pardon at the Coronation, because "the lateKing, being in Heaven, has no need of the _merit_ of it." He wascreated by his royal nephew, February 16, 1547, Duke of Somerset, andLord Protector of England during the King's minority. It was very soonafter this that he became a Gospeller; and immediately the Lords of theCouncil, headed by Northumberland, conspired to ruin him. The fullest,and the saddest, account of the plot against Somerset will be found inthat Diary of Edward the Sixth, which records only facts, not opinions,much less feelings. Edward never enters anything in his Diary butevents; and he did not see that the affair was a plot. Among Somerset'sjudges were his rival Northumberland, his daughter-in-law's fatherSuffolk, the Gospeller Sussex, his enemy Pembroke, and his cousinWentworth. The Duke was acquitted of high
treason, and condemned todeath for felony, i.e., for devising the death of Northumberland.Somerset rose and owned honestly so much of the accusation as was true.He _had_ considered whether it were advisable to impeach Northumberlandand others; and had decided not to do so. He might have added that forhis rival, a simple member of the Council, to depose and afterwards toimpeach the Lord Protector, was at last as felonious or treasonable asany act of his. But words were vain, however true or eloquent.Northumberland had resolved upon his death, and thirsted for his blood.Somerset died upon Tower Hill, January 22, 1552. His Duchess survivedhim, but she was not released from the Tower until the accession ofMary. He left behind him twelve children; three by Katherine Folliott,nine by Anne Stanhope. The present Duke of Somerset is therepresentative of the former; the Duke of Northumberland, by the femaleline, of the latter. Lady Jane, the proposed Queen of Edward the Sixth,was afterwards Maid of Honour to Queen Elizabeth, and died unmarried,March 19, 1560, aged only nineteen. Somerset's failings were pride andambition; and he suffered in having married a woman whose faults weresimilar to his own. The character delineated in the text is not thatattributed to him by modern historians. I must beg my readers toremember, that the necessities of the story oblige me to paint thehistorical persons who enter into it, not as modern writers regard them,nor indeed as I myself regard them, but as they were regarded by theGospellers of their day. And the feelings of the Gospellers towardsSomerset were those of deep tenderness and veneration. Whether theGospellers or the historians were in the right, is one of thosequestions on which men will probably differ to the end of the world. Ibelieve that his last days, the worst from a worldly point of view, werethe best from a religious one, and that he was chastened of the Lordthat he should _not_ be condemned with the world.
TITLES.
But a very short time had elapsed, at the date of this story, since thetitles of Lord and Lady had been restricted to members of the RoyalFamily alone, when used with the Christian name only. A great deal ofthis feeling was still left; and it will be commonly found (I do not sayuniversally) that when persons of the sixteenth century used thedefinite article instead of the possessive pronoun, before a title and aChristian name, they meant to indicate that they regarded him of whomthey spoke as a royal person. Let me instance Lord Guilford Dudley.Those who called him "_the_ Lord Guilford" were partisans of Lady JaneGrey: those from whose lips he was "my Lord Guilford _Dudley_" wereagainst her. This is perhaps still more remarkable in the case ofArthur Lord Lisle, whom many persons looked upon as the legitimate sonof Edward the Fourth. As a Viscount, his daughters of course had noclaim to the title of Lady; those who gave it regarded him as a Prince.Oddly enough, his friends generally give the higher title, his servantsthe lower. From his agent Husee it is always _Mrs_ Frances, never Lady;but from Sir Francis Lovell her sister is the "Lady ElyzabethPlantagenet."
UNDERHILL, EDWARD.
The "Hot Gospeller," most prominent of his party, was the eldest son ofThomas Underhill of Wolverhampton and Anne Wynter of Huddington. He isknown in the pedigrees of his family as Edward Underhill of Honingham.He was born in 1512, and at the age of eight succeeded to the familyinheritance on the death of his grandfather, having previously lost hisfather (Harl. Ms. 759, folio 149). Underhill married, in 1545, Jane,daughter of a London tradesman, whom the pedigrees call Thomas Price orPerrins (Harl. Ms. 1100, folio 16; 1167, folio 10); but as Underhillhimself calls his brother-in-law John Speryn, I have preferred hisspelling of the name. The narrative of "the examynacione andImpresonmentt off Edwarde Underehyll" (from August 5 to September 5,1553) is extant in his own hand--tall, upright, legible writing--inHarl. Mss. 424, folio 9, and 425, folios 86-98. Nearly the wholenarrative, so far as it refers to Underhill himself, has been workedinto the present story. Two short extracts have been printed from it,in the Chronicle of Queen Jane and Queen Mary (pages 128, 170); andStrype has made use of it also. The ballad given in chapter eight isevidently not the one on account of which the author was imprisoned.Underhill had eleven children;--1. Anne, born December 27, 1548 [query1546]. 2. Christian, born September 16, 1548. 3. Eleanor, bornNovember 10, 1549. 4. Rachel, born February 4, 1552 [query 1551]. 5.Unica, or Eunice, born April 10, 1552. 6. Guilford, born at theLimehurst, July 13, 1553, to whom Lady Jane Grey stood sponsor as herlast regnal act; died before 1562. 7. Anne, born in Wood Street,Cheapside, January 4, 1555. 8. Edward, born in Wood Street, February10, 1556; the eventual representative of the family. 9. John, born atBaginton, about December, and died infant, 1556. 10. Prudence, born1559, died young. 11. Henry, born September 6, 1561, living 1563. Somewriters speak of a twelfth child, Francis; but this seems to requireconfirmation. Underhill removed to Baginton, near Coventry, aboutEaster, 1556. He appears to have lost his wife in 1562, if she were the"Mistress Hunderell" buried in Saint Botolph's on the 14th of April. Hewas living himself in 1569 (Rot. Pat., 10 Elizabeth, Part two); nothinghas been ascertained concerning him subsequent to that date, butaccording to one of the Heralds' Visitations he returned to Honyngham.Notices of his descendants are very meagre; Lord Leicester's "servantUnderhill," in 1585, is reported to have been one of his two survivingsons, Edward and Henry; and Captain John Underhill, the Antinomian, whofigures in the early history of America, is said to have been thegrandson of the Hot Gospeller. The Ms. which has chiefly supplied thedates given above was not found until too late to correct the text. Thedates of birth, therefore, of Anne and Edward, as given in the story,are inaccurate. Underhill lent his "Narrative" to Foxe, who is said tohave returned it without making use of it. That he made no use of it iscertain, beyond recording the day of Underhill's committal to Newgate:but whether he ever returned it is not so certain; for it is bound withFoxe's papers at this day, to which fact we probably owe itspreservation. In Ainsworth's "Tower of London," a fancy portrait ofUnderhill is given, precisely the opposite of that which I shouldsketch. "He was a tall, thin man, with sandy hair, and a scanty beardof the same colour. His eyes were blear and glassy, with pink lidsutterly devoid of lashes; and he had a long lantern-shaped visage" (page43). Mr Ainsworth (who evidently regards him as a grim ascetic)proceeds, with due poetical justice, to burn our friend on Tower Green,in 1554. I imagine that the dry humour for which Underhill wasremarkable, would have been keenly evoked by perusal of the adventuresthere mapped out for him. For many of these details I am indebted to adistant relative of the Hot Gospeller.
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