"Yea, verily,” I steadfastlie replied. "Then, how has it becne overlayd," he hurriedlie went on," with men's inventions! St. Paul speaks of a sacrifice once offered; we holde the host to be a continuall sacrifice. Holy writ telleth us where a tree falls it must lie; we are taughte that our prayers may free souls from purgatorie. The word sayth, 'by faith ye are saved;' the church sayth we may be saved by our works. It is written The idols he shall utterly abolish; we worship figures of gold and silver. . ." "Our images are but symbols of our saints," I made answer; "tis onlie ye ignorant and unlearned that worship ye mere wood and stone." "But why worship saints at alle ?" persisted Will; "where's the warrant for it ?" I sayd, "Heaven has warranted it by sundrie and speciall miracles at divers times and places. I may say to you, Will, as Socrates to Agathon, 'You may easilie argue agaynst me, but you cannot argue agaynst the truth."" "Oh, put me not off with Plato," he impatientlie replyed, "refer me but to holie writ." "How can I," quoth I, "when you have ta'en away my testament ere I had half goue through it? "Tis this book, I fear me, poor Will, hath unsettled thee. Our church, indeed, sayth the unlearned wrest it to theire destruction." "And yet the apostle sayth," rejoyned Will, "that it contayns alle things necessarie to our salvation." “Doubtlesse it doth, if we knew but where to find them," I replied. And how find, unlesse we secke?" he pursued, "and how know which road to take, when we find the scripture and the church at issue ?" "Get some wiser head to advise us," I rejoyned. But an' if the obstacle remains the same?" "I cannot suppose that," I somewhat impatientlie returned, "God's word and God's church must agree; 'tis only we that make them at issue." Ah, Meg, that is just such an answer as Father Francis mighte give-it solves noe difficultie. If, to alle human reason, they pull opposite ways, by which shall we abide? I know; I am certain. 'Tu, Domine Jesu, es justicia mea!'" He looked soe rapt, with claspt hands and upraysed eyes, as that I coulde not but look on him and hear him with solemnitie. At length I sayd, "If you know and are certayn, you have noe longer anie doubts for me to lay, and with your will, we will holde this discourse noe longer, for however moving and however considerable its subject matter may be, it approaches forbidden ground too nearlie for me to feel it safe, and I question whether it savoureth not of heresie. However, Will, I most heartilie pitie you, and will pray for you." "Do, Meg, do," he replyed, "and say nought to anie one of this matter." "Indeede I shall not, for I think 'twoulde bring you if not me into trouble, but, since thou hast soughte my council, Will, receive it now and take it. . . ." He sayth, "What is it ?" "To read less, pray more, fast, and use such discipline as our church recommends, and I question not this temptation will depart. Make a fayr triall." And soe, away from him, though he woulde fain have sayd more, and I have kept mine owne worde of praying for him full earnestlie, for it pitieth me to see him in such case. Poor Will, I never see him look grave now, nor heare him sighe, without thinking I know the cause of his secret discontentation. He hath, I believe, followed my council to ye letter, for though ye men's quarter of ye house is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come rounde to me through Barbara, who had it from her brother, that Mr. Roper hath of late lien on ye ground, and used a knotted cord. As 'tis one of ye acts of mercy to relieve others, when we can, from satanic doubts and inquietations, I have been at some payns to make an abstracte of such passages from ye fathers, and such narratives of noted and undeniable miracles as cannot, I think, but carry conviction with them, and I hope they may minister to his soul's comfort. Tuesday. chance with my lady, but father, who saith he woulde Supped with my Lord Sands. Mother played mumrather feast a hundred poor men than eat at one rich man's table, came not in till late, on plea of businesse. My lord tolde him the king had visitted him not long agone, and was soe well content with his manor as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine ayr and pleasant growth of wood. In fine, wound up ye evening with musick. My lady hath a pair of fine toned clavichords, and a mandoline that stands five Lady Mary Dudley. The sound, indeed, is powerfull, feet high; the largest in England, except that of the but methinketh the instrument ungaynlie for a woman. Lord Sands sang us a new ballad, "The King's Hunt's to sue my lord for ye words, he being soe free-spoken up," which father affected hugelie. I lacked spiritt as alwaies to dash me; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus. . . . "The hunt is up, the hunt is up, The east is bright with morning lighte, And the merrie horn wakes up ye morn Beholde ye skies with golden dyes, Are.. -The rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some burden of hey-tantara, where my lord did stamp and snap his fingers. He is a merry heart. Now that Gunnel is gone, I take to heart that I profited not more by his teaching. Saying to Mercy, overnight, that methought she missed not our good master, she made answer, "Oh I doe; yes, how can I choose but miss him, who taught me to be, to doe, and to suffer?" And this with a light laugh, yet she lookt not merrie. studdies, though we dress somewhat braver, and see more companie. Mother's head was a little turned, at first, by the change and enlargment of the householde . the acquisition of clerk of the kitchen, surveyor of the dresser, yeoman of the pastrie, etc. but, as father laughinglie tolde her, the increase of her cares soon steddied her witts, for she found she had twenty unthrifts to look after insteade of half-adozen. And the same with himself. His responsibiIlities are so increast, that he grutches at everie hour the court steals from his family, and vows, now and then, he will leave off joking, that the king may the sooner wearie of him. But this is onlic in jest, for he feels it is a power given him over lighter minds, which he may exert to usefull and high purpose. Onlie it keepeth him from needing Damocles his sword; he trusts not in the favour of princes nor in the voyce of the people, and keeps his soul as a weaned child. "Tis much for us now to get an hour's leisure with him, and makes us feel what our olde privileges were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to his proper level. .. Writing ye above, I was interrupted by shrill cries either of woman or boy, as of one in acute payn, and ran forthe of my chamber to learne ye cause. met Bess coming hastilie out of ye garden, looking somewhat pale, and cried, "What is it?" She made answer, "Father is having Dick Halliwell beaten for some evill communication with Jack. 'Tis seldom or never he proceedeth to such extremities, soc the offence must needs have becue something pernicious; and, e'en as 'tis, father is standing by to see he is not smitten overmuch; ne'erthelesse, Giles lays the stripes on with a will." It turned me sick. I have somewhat of my mother in me, who was a tender and delicate woman, that woulde weepe to see a bird killed by a cat. I hate corporal punishments, and yet they've Scripture warrant. Father seldom hath recourse to 'em; and yet we feare as well as love him more than we doe mother, who, when she firste came among us, afore father had softened her down a little, used to hit righte and left. I mind me of her saying one day to her own daughter Daisy, "Your tucker is too low," and giving her a slap, mighte have beene hearde in Chelsea Reach. And there was the stamp of a greate red hand on Daisy's white shoulder all ye forenoon, but the worst of it was, that Daisy tooke it with perfect immoveabilitie, nor lookt in the leaste ashamed, which Scripture sayth a daughter shoulde doe, if her parent but spit in her face, i.e. sett on her some publick mark of contumely. Soe far from this, I even noted a silent look of scorn, which payned me, for of all the denunciations in Holy Writ, there is none more awfull to my mind than that which sayth, "The eye that mocketh at father or mother," not alone the tongue, but e'en the eye,-"the young ravens of the valley shall pick it out." Sayth Lord Rutland to my father, in his acute sneering way, "Ah, ah, Sir Thomas, Honores mutant Mores." "Not so, in faith, my lord," returns father, "but have a care lest we translate the proverb, and say honours change Manners." It served him right, and the jest is worth preserving, because 'twas not premeditate, as my lord's very likely was, but retorted at once and in self-defence. I don't believe honours have changed the Mores. As father told mother, there's the same face under the hood. 'Tis comique, too, the fulfilment of Erasmus his prophecy. Plato's year has not come rounde, but they have got father to court, and the king seems minded never to let him goe. For us, we have the same untamed spiritts and unconstrayned course of life as ever, neither lett nor hindered in our daylie The king tooke us by surprise this morning: mother had scarce time to slip on her scarlett gown and coif, ere he was in ye house. His grace was mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all round, which Bessy took humourously, Daisy immoveablie, Mercy humblie, I distastefullie, and mother delightedlie. She calls him a fine man; he is indeede big enough, and like to become too big; with long slits of eyes that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde say, "Who dare let or hinder us ?" His brow betokens sense and franknesse, his eyebrows are supercilious, and his checks puffy. A rolling, straddling gait, and abrupt speech. "Tother evening, as father and I were, unwontedly, strolling together down the lane, there accosts us a shabby poor fellow, with something unsettled in his eye. ... Master, sir knight, and may it please your judgeship, my name is Patteson." 66 Very likely," says father, "and my name is More, but what is that to the purpose?" "And that is more to the purpose, you might have said," returned the other. Why, soc I mighte," says father, "but how shoulde I have proved it ?" "You who are a lawyer shoulde know best about that," rejoyned the poor knave; "'tis too hard for poor Patteson." Well, but who are you?" says father, "and what do you want of me?" "Don't you mind me?" says Patteson; "I played Hold-your-tongue, last Christmasse revel was five years, and they called me a smart chap then, but last Martinmasse I fell from ye church steeple, and shook my brain-pan, I think, for its contents have seemed addled ever since; soe what I want now is to be made a fool." "Then you are not one now ?" says father. “If I were,” says Patteson, “I shoulde not have | jester to Sir Thomas More; I'll leave you to decide come to you." which is ye greater man of the two." Why, like cleaves to like, you know they say," says father. 'Aye," says 'tother, "but I've reason and feeling enow, too, to know you are no fool, though I thoughte you might want one. Great people like 'em | at their tables, I've hearde say, though I am sure I can't guesse why, for it makes me sad to see fools laughed at; ne'erthelesse, as I get laughed at alreadie, methinketh I may as well get paid for the job if I can, being unable, now, to doe a stroke of work in hot weather. And I'm the onlie son of my mother, and she is a widow. But perhaps I'm not bad enough." "I know not that, poor knave," says father, touched with quick pity, "and, for those that laugh at fools, my opinion, Patteson, is that they are the greater fools who laugh. To tell you the truth, I had had noe mind to take a fool into mine establishment, having always had a fancy to be prime fooler in it myselfe; however, you incliue me to change my purpose, for, as I said anon, like cleaves to like, soe I'll tell you what we will doe-divide the businesse and goe halves-I continuing the fooling, and thou receiving the salary; that is, if I find, on inquiry, thou art given to noe vice, including that of scurrillitie." Meg, there is sense in this poor fellow," says father, "we will have him home and be kind to him." And, sure enow, we have donc so and been so ever since. A glance at the anteceding pages of this libellus me-sheweth poor Will Roper at ye season his love-fitt for me was at its height. He troubleth me with it noe longer, nor with his religious disquietations. Hard studdy of the law hath filled his head with other matters, and made him infinitely more rationall, and by consequents, more agreeable. 'Twas one of those preferences young people sometimes manifest, themselves know neither why nor wherefore, and are shamed, afterwards, to be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er remind him. There was nothing in me to fix a rational or passionate regard. I have neither Bess's witt nor white teeth, nor Daisy's dark eyes, nor Mercy's dimple. A plain-favoured girl, with changefulle spiritts, that's alle. Patteson's latest jest was taking precedence of father yesterday, with the saying, "Give place, brother; you are but jester to King Harry, and I'm Yes, he can," rejoyns father, "he can make me Lord Chancellor, and then he will make me more than I am already; ergo, he will make Sir Thomas more." "But what I mean is," persists the fool, "that the king can't make such another as you are, any more than all the king's horses and all the king's men can put Humpty-dumpty together again, which is an ancient riddle, and full of marrow. And soe he'll find, if ever he lifts thy head off from thy shoulders, which God forbid." Father delighteth in sparring with Patteson far more than in jesting with ye king, whom he alwaies looks on as a lion that may, any minute, fall on him and rend him. Whereas, with 'tother, he ungirds his mind. Their banter commonly exceeds not pleasantrie, but Patteson is ne'er without an answer, and although, maybe, each amuses himselfe now and then with thinking, "I'll put him up with such a question," yet, once begun, the skein runs off the reel without a knot, and shews the excellent nature of both, soe free are they alike from malice and over-license. Sometimes theire cuts are neater than common listeners apprehend. I've seene Rupert and Will, in fencing, make theire swords flash in the sun at every parry and thrust; agayn, owing to some change in mine owne position, or the decline of ye sun, the scintillations have escaped me, though I've known their rays must have been emitted in some quarter alle the same. Patteson, with one of Argus's cast feathers in his hand, is at this moment beneath my lattice, astride on a stone balustrade, while Bessy, whom he much affects, is sitting on the steps, feeding her peacocks. Sayth Patteson, "Caust tell me, mistress, why peacocks have soe manie eyes in theire tails, and yet can onlic see with two in theire heads ??? "Because those two make them soe vain alreadie, fool," says Bess, "that were they always beholding theire owne glory, they woulde be intolerable.” "And besides that," says Patteson, "the less we see or heare, either, of what passes behind our backs, the better for us, since knaves will make mouths at us then, for as glorious as we may be. Caust tell me, mistress, why the peacock was the last bird that went into the ark ?" "First tell me, fool," returns Bess, "how thou knowest that it was soe ?" other than grains, or the wild beasts other than flesh. It needs must have been a granary." ... her lap, and was turning into the house, when he witholds her a minute in a perfectly altered fashion, saying, " There be some works, mistress, our confessors tell us be works of supererogation . . . is not that ye word? I learn a long one now and then. . . such as be setting food before a full man, or singing to a deaf one, or buying for one's pigs a silver trough, or, for the matter of that, casting pearls before a "We ne'er shew ourselves such fools," says Bess, as in seeking to know more than is written. They had enough, if none to spare, and we scarce can tell how little is enough for bare sustenance in a state of perfect inaction. If the creatures were kept low, they were all ye less fierce." "Well answered, mistress," says Patteson, "but dunghill cock, or fishing for a heron, which is well tell me, why do you wear two crosses ?" Nay, fool," returns Bess, "I wear but one." "Oh, but I say you wear two," says Patteson, one at your girdle, and one that nobody sees. We alle wear the unseen one, you know. Some have theirs of gold, alle carven and shaped, soe as you hardlie tell it for a cross. . . like my lord cardinall, for instance. . . but it is one, for alle that. And others, of iron, that eateth into their hearts. . . methinketh Master Roper's must be one of 'em. For me, I'm content with one of wood, like that our deare Lord bore; what was goode enow for him is goode enow for me, and I've noe temptation to shew it, as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it for being rougher than my neighbour's, nor yet to make myself a second because it is not hard enow. Doe you take me, mistress?" "I take you for what you are," says Bess, "a poor fool." A hic est doctus, fool, you mean," interrupts. Bess. Perhaps I do," rejoins Patteson, "since other folks soe oft know better what we mean than we know ourselves. Alle I woulde say is, I ne'er set up for a conjuror. One can see as far into a millstone as other people without being that. For example, when a man is overta'en with quaims of conscience for having married his brother's widow, when she is noe longer soe young and fair as she was a score of years ago, we know what that's a sign of. And when an Ipswich butcher's son takes on him the state of my lord pope, we know what that's a sign of. Nay, if a young gentlewoman become dainty at her sizes, and sluttish in her apparel, we . . . as I live, here comes John Heron with a fish in 's mouth." Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her head quicklie towards ye watergate, on which Patteson, laughing as he lay on his back, points upward with his peacock's feather, and cries, "Overhead, mistress! see, there he goes. Sure, you lookt not to see Master Heron making towards us between ye posts and flower-pots, eating a dried ling?" laughing as wildly as though he were verily a natural. Bess, without a word, shook the crumbs from able to fish for itself, and is an ill-natured bird after all, that pecks the hand of his mistress, and, for all her kindness to him, will not think of Bessy More." How apt alle are to abuse unlimited license! Yet 'twas good counsel. (To be continued.) COMM DHUW; OR, THE BLACK HOLLOW. THIS is a wild and singular spot in the vicinity of the Upper Lake of Killarney, at the extremity of the Gap of Dunloe. Its name is highly expressive of its dark and gloomy appearance-partly occasioned by the formation of the valley, and partly by the darkcoloured bog and heather with which its back and sides are blackened and embrowned. It is a scene more than ordinarily characteristic of the peculiar scenery of the west of Ireland, and well displays the talents of the accomplished painter, Creswick. SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES OF WORTHIES OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH. RICHARD HOOKER. THERE is no human quality so well calculated to inspire us with feelings of reverence and affection as that graceful simplicity of character which distinguishes the humble-minded scholar. How much do we find to admire and love in that rare union of un affected piety and unfeigned humility, of innocency of life and guilelessness of heart, with profound learning and enlarged experience, of which the world has now and then afforded us a bright example! Better for us still, if the blameless life has been worthily written by one who was fully capable of appreciating its holiness and excellence. A good biography of a good great man is an invaluable treasure; and all honour to the best of biographers, the worthy and excellent Izaak Walton, for that beautiful life of the venerable Richard feather whence the pen was shaped that traced it Hooker, of which the poet might well say, that the 'dropped from an angel's wing." 1 It was in the "frosty, but kindly" winter of his days that honest Izaak indited his "plain relation" of the life of this humble and accomplished man, whose |