-v 1.91 h .lannin - - lh The household of Southern Branch of the University of California Los Angeles Form L 1 ra3\ vn This book is DUE on the last date stamped below NOV 2 5 Tone OEC 1 41i 5 JA/V 4 m NOV 1 9 19 MAY 3 1 192* NOV l 6 ■ I REC'D LOUR 13 JAfv 4 ■<* DEC 1 2 1925 1930 2 7 193a JAN 5 1942 or. rs«z> - fiOV l o fit APR 1 1956 Ut- !3L TtEC'D ■ECo L 0V 2 £ THE HOUSEHOLD 0F nib SIR THO s . MORE. BY THE AUTHOR OF "MARY POWELL.' Ntto B&itton, fattf) an SLpptitbtx; NEW YORK. DODD, MEAD & COMPANT Publishers. BY J HE SAME AUTHOR. — 1> — I. THE MAIDEN AND MARRIED LIFE OF MARY POWELL il CHERRY AND VIOLET. A Tale of the Great Plague. in. THE FAIRE GOSPELLER. Mistress Arme Askew. IV. ACQUES BONNEVAL ; or, the Days of the Dragonnadfia. — o — Kach i vol. i6mo Biautifully printed and bound. M. W. DODD, Publisher, 506 Broadway. New York. I -J TO WILLIAM OKE MANNING, THIS EDITION OP THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE Is jBcbttattO, IK TOKEN OF HIS SISTER'S TRUE AFFECTION. UBELLUS A MARGARETA MORE, QUINDECIM ANNOS NATA, CHELSEIJ3 INCEPTVS. Nulla Dies sine Linca* THE HOUSEHOLD SIR THO s . MORE. Chelsea, June \Wi. ... On asking Mr. Gunnel to what Use I should put this fayr Libellus, he did sug- gest my making it a Kinde of family Reg- ister, wherein to note the more important of our domestick Passages, whether of Joy or Griefe — my Father's Journies and Ab- sences — the Visits of learned Men, theire notable Sayings, etc. " You are ready at the Pen, Mistress Margaret" he was pleas- ed to say, " and I woulde humblie advise your journalling, in the same fearless Man- ner in the which you framed that letter 8 Tiie Household which soe well pleased the Bis/top of Exeter, that he sent you a Portugal Piece. 'Twill be well to write it in English, which 'tis expedient for you not altogether to neg- leckt, even for the more honourable Latin." Methinks I am close upon Womanhood. .... "Humblie advise," quotha! to me, that have so oft humblie sued for his Par- don, and sometimes in vayn ! 'Tis well to make trial of Gonellus his "humble" Advice : albeit, our daylie Course e so methodicall, that 'twill afford scant Subject for the Pen. — Vitam coutinet u)ia Dies. . . . As I traced the last Word, me- thoughte I heard the well-known Tones of Erasmus his pleasant Voyce ; and, looking forthe of my Lattice, did indeede beholde the deare little Man coming up from the River Side with my Father, who, because of the Heat, had given his Cloak to a tall Stripling behind him to bear. I flew up of Sir T/wi M *-:. 9 Stairs, to advertise Mother, who was half in and half out of her grogram Gown, and who stayed me to clasp her Owches ; so that, by the Time I had follov ed her down Stairs, we founde 'em alreadit '.a. the Hall. So soon as I had kissed their Hands, and obtayned their Blessings, the tall Lad stept forthe, and who should he be but Wil- liam Roper, returned from my Father's Er- rand over-seas ! He hath grown hugelie, and looks mannish ; but his Manners are worsened insteade of bettered by forayn Travell ; for, insteade of his old Franknesse, he hung upon Hand till Father bade him com'e forward ; and then, as he went his Rounds, kissing one after another, stopt short when he came to me, twice made as though he would have saluted me, and then held back, making me looke so stupid, that I could have boxed his Ears for his Payns : 'speciallie as Father burst out a-laughmg, and cried, "The third Time's lucky !" After Supper, we tooke deare Erasmus IO The Household entirely over the House, in a Kina or fam- ily Procession, e'en from the Buttery and Scalding-house to our own deare Accidentia, with its cool green Curtain flapping in the Evening Breeze, and blowing aside, as though on Purpose to give a glimpse of the cleare-shining Thames ! Erasmus not- ed and admired the stone Jar, placed by Mercy Giggs on the Table, full of blue and yellow Irises, scarlet Tiger-Lilies, Dog- Roses, Honeysuckles, Moonwort, and Herb- Trinity ; and alsoe our various Desks, each in its own little Retirement, — mine own, in speciall, so pleasantly situate ! He protest- ed, with everie Semblance of Sincerity, he had never seene so pretty an Academy. I should think not, indeede! Bess, Daisy, and I, are of Opinion, that there is not like- lie to be such another in the World. He glanced, too, at the Books on our Desks . Bessys being Livy ; Daisys, Sal lust ; and mine, St. Augustine, with Father s Marks where I was to read, and where desist. He of Sir T/ios. More. 1 1 I side Erasmus, laying his hand fondlie on my Head, " Here is one who knows what is implied in the Word Trust." Dear Fa- ttier, well I may ! He added, " There was /io Law against laughing in his Accidentia, for that his Girls knew how to be merry and wise." From the House to the new Building, the Chapel and Gallery, and thence to visitt all the dumb Kinde, from the great horned Owls to Cecys pet Dormice. Erasmus was amused at some of theire Names, but doubted whether Duns Scotus and the Ven- erable Bede would have thoughte them- selves complimented in being made Name- fathers to a couple of Owls ; though he admitted that Argus and Juno were goode Cognomens for Peacocks. Will Roper hath broughte Mother a pretty little forayn Ani- mal, called a Marmot, but she said she had noe Time for such-like Playthings, and bade him give it to his little Wife. Me- thinks I, being neare sixteen, and he close 12 The Household upon twenty, we are too old for those child- ish Names now : nor am I much flattered at a Present not intended for me ; however, I shall be kind to the little Creature, and, perhaps, grow fond of it, as 'tis both harm- lesse and diverting. To return, howbeit, to Erasmus. Cecy, who had hold of his Gown, and had al- readie, through his familiar Kindnesse and her own childish Heedlessness, somewhat transgrest Bounds, began now in her Mirthe to fabricate a Dialogue she pre- tended to have over-hearde, between Argtis and yuno as they stoode pearcht on a stone Parapet. Erasmus was entertayned with her Garrulitie for a While, but at length gentlie checkt her, with " Love the Truth, little Mayd, love the Truth ; or, if thou liest, let it be with a Circumstance," a Qualification which made Mother stare and Father laugh. Sayth Erasmus, " There is no Harm in a Fabella, Apologus, or Parab- ola, so long as its Character be distinctlie of Sir Tkos. More. 13 recognised for such, but contrariwise, much Goode ; and the same hath been sanction- ed, not only by the wiser Heads of Greece and Rome, but by our deare Lord Himself. Therefore, Cecilie, whom I love exceed- inglie, be not abasht, Child, at my Reproof, for thy Dialogue between the two Pea- cocks was innocent no less than ingenious, till thou wouldst ha\e insisted that they, in sooth, sayd Something like what thou didst invent. Therein thou didst Violence to the Truth, which St. Paul hath typified by a Girdle, to be worn next the Heart, and that not only confineth within due Limits, but addeth Strength. So now be Friends : wert thou more than eleven, and I no Priest, thou shouldst be my little Wife, and darn my Hose, and make me sweet Marchpane, such as thou and I love. But, oh ! this pretty Chelsea / What Dais- ies ! what Buttercups ! what joviall Swarms of Gnats ! The Country all about is as nice and flat as Rotterdam." 14 The Household Anon we sit down to rest and talk in the Pavilion. Sayth Erasmus to my Father, " I marvel you have never entered into the King's Service in some publick Capacitie, wherein your Learning and Knowledge, bothe of Men and Things, would not onlie serve your own Interest, but tha* of your Friends and the Publick." Father smiled and made Answer, " I am better and happier as I am. As for my Friends, I alreadie do for them alle I can, soe as they can hardlie consider me in then: Debt ; and, for myself, the yielding to theire Solicitations that I would putt my- self forward foi the Benefit of the World in generall, would be like printing a Book at Request of Friends, that the Publick may be charmed with what, in Fact, it values at a Doit. The Cardinal! offered me a Pension, as retaining Fee to the King, a little while back, but I tolde him I did not care to be a mathematical of Sir Titos. More. 15 Point, to have Position without Magni- tude." Erasmus laught and sayd, " I woulde not have you the Slave of anie King ; howbeit, you mighte assist him and be useful to him." " The Change of *-he Word," say th Father, " does not alter the Matter ; I shoulde be a Slave, as completely as if I had a Collar rounde my Neck." " But would not increased Usefulnesse," says Erasmus, " make you happier ? '' " Happier ? " says Father, somewhat heat- ing ; " how can that be compassed in a Way so abhorrent to my Genius ? At present, I live as I will, to which very few Courtiers can pretend. Half-a-dozen blue-coated Serving-men answer my Turn in the House, Garden, Field, and on the River ; I have a few strong Horses for Work, none for Show ; plenty of plain food for a healthy Family, and enough, with a hearty Wel- come, for a Score of Guests that are not 1 6 The Household dainty. The Lengthe of my Wife's Train infringeth not the Statute ; and, for myself, I soe hate Bravery, that my Motto is, ' Of those whom you see in Scarlet, not one is happy.' I have a regular Profession, which supports my House, and enables me to promote Peace and Justice ; I have Leis- ure to chat with my Wife, and sport with my Children ; I have Hours for Devotion, and Hours for Philosophic and the liberall Arts, which are absolutelie medicinall to me, as Antidotes to the sharpe but con- tracted Habitts of Mind engendered by the Law. If there be aniething in a Court Life which can compensate for the Losse of anie of these Blessings, deare Desiderius, pray tell me what it is, for I confesse I know not." " You are a comicall Genius," says Eras- mus. " As for you," retorted Father, you are at your olde Trick of arguing on the wrong Side, as you did the firste Time we mett of Sir Thos. More. 17 Nay, don t wc know you can declaime backward and forwarde on the same Argu- ment, as you did on the Venetian War ? " Erasmus smiled quietlie, and sayd, "What coulde I do ? The Pope changed his holy mind." Whereat Father smiled too. " What Nonsense you learned Men some- times talk ! " pursues Father. " I — wanted at Court, quotha ! Fancy a dozen starving Men with one roasted Pig betweene them ; — do you think they would be really glad to see a Thirteenth come up, with an Eye to a small Piece of the Crackling ? No ; believe me, there is none that Courtiers are more sincerelie respectfull to than the Man who avows he hath no Intention of attempt- ing to go Shares ; and e'en him they care mighty little about, for they love none with true Tendernesse save themselves." " We shall see you at Court yet," says Erasmus. Sayth Father, "Then I will tell you in what Guise : — with a Fool's Cap and Bells 1 8 The Household Pish ! I won't aggravate you, Cnurcnman as you are, by alluding to the Blessings I have which you have not ; and I trow there is as much Danger in taking you for seri- ous when you are onlie playful and ironicall as if you were Plato himself." Sayth Erasmus, after some Minutes' Si- lence, "I know full well that you holde Plato, in manie Instances, to be sporting when I accept him in very Deed and Truth. Speculating he often was ; as a brighte, pure Flame must needs be strug- gling up, and, if it findeth no upward Vent, come forthe of the Oven's Mouth. He was like a Man shut into a Vault, running hither and thither, with his poor, flickering Taper, agonizing to get forthe, and holding himself in readinesse to make a Spring for- ward the Moment a Door should open. But it never did. ' Not manie Wise are called.' He had clomb a Hill in the Darke, and stoode calling to his Companions below, 'Come on, come on! this Way lies the of Sir Thos. More. 19 East ; I am avised ' we shall see the Sun rise anon.' But they never did. What a Chris- tian he woulde have made ! Ah ! he is one now. He and Socrates — the Veil long re- moved from their Eyes — are sitting at Jesus' Feet. Sancle Socrates, orapro nobis /" Bessie and I exchanged Glances at this so strange Ejaculation ; but the Subjeckt was of such Interest, that we listened with deep Attention to what followed. Sayth Father, " Whether Socrates were what Plato painted him in his Dialogues, is with me a great Matter of Doubte ; but it is not of Moment. When so many Con- temporaries collide distinguish the fanci- fulle from the fictitious, Plato's Object coulde never have beene to deceive. There is something higher in Art than gross Imi- tation. He who attempteth it is always the leaste successfull ; and his Failure hath the Odium of a discovered Lie ; whereas, to give an avowedlie fabulous Narrative a Consistence within itselfe which permitts 20 Tht Household the Reader to be, for the Time, voluntarilie deceived, is as artfulle as it is allowable. Were I to construe!: a Tale, I woulde, as you sayd to Cecy, lie with a Circumstance, but shoulde consider it noe Compliment to have my Unicorns and HippogrifFs taken for live Animals. Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, mag is tameu arnica Veritas. Now, Plato had a much higher Aim than to give a very Pattern of Socrates his snub Nose. He wanted a Peg to hang his Thoughts upon " " A Peg ? A Statue by Phidias? inter- rupts Erasmus. " A Statue by Phidias, to clothe in the most beautiful Drapery," sayth Father; "no Matter that the Drapery was his own, he wanted to show it to the best Advantage, and to the Honour rather than Prejudice of the Statue. And, having clothed the same, he got a Spark of Prometheus his Fire, and made the aforesayd Statue walk and talk, to the Glory of Gods and Men, sf Sir Thos. More. 21 and i«id himself quietlie down in a Corner. By the Way, Desiderius, why shouldst thou not submit! thy Subtletie to the Rules of a Colloquy ? Set Eckius and Martin Luth- er by the Ears ! Ha ! Man, what Sport ! Heavens ! if I were to compound a Tale or a Dialogue, what Crotchets and Quips of mine own woulde I not putt into my Puppets' Mouths ! and then have out my Laugh behind my Vizard, as when we used to act Burlesques before Cardinall Morton. What rare Sporte we had, one Christmas, with a Mummery we called the ' Triaii of Feasting ! ' Dinner and Suffer were brough'te up before my Lord Chief Jus- tice, charged with Murder. Theire Accom- plices were Plum-pudding, Mince-pye, Sur- feit, Drunkenness, and suchlike. Being condemned to hang by the Neck, I, who was Supper, stuft out with I cannot tell you how manie Pillows, began to call lust- ilie for a Confessor ; and, on his stepping forthe, commenct a List of ail the Fitts. 22 The Household Convulsions, Spasms, Payns in the Head and so forthe, I had inflicted on this one and t'other. 'Alas! good Father,' says L ' King John layd his Death at my Door ; — indeede, there's scarce a royall or noble House that hath not a Charge agaynst me ; and I'm sorelie afrayd' (giving a Poke at a fat Priest that sate at my Lord Cardinal? s Elbow) ' I shall have the Death of that holy Man to answer for.'" Erasmus laughed, and sayd, " Did I ever tell you of the Retort of Willibald Pirk- heimer ? A Monk, hearing him praise me somewhat lavishly to another, could not avoid expressing by his Looks great Dis- gust and Dissatisfaction ; and, on being askt whence they arose, confest he could not, with Patience, heare the Commenda- tion of a Man soe notoriously fond of eat- ing Fowls ' Does he steal them ? ' says Pirkheimer. ' Surely no,' says the Monk. ' Why, then,' quoth Willibald, ' I know of a Fox who is ten r-mes the greater Rogue ; of Sir T/ios. More 23 tor, look you, he helps himself to many a fat Hen from my Roost without ever offer- ing to pay me. But tell me now, dear Father, is it then a Sin to eat Fowls ? ' ' Most assuredlie it is,' says the Monk, ' if you indulge in them to Gluttony.' 'Ah! if, if!' quoth Pirkkeimer. 'If stands stiff, as the Lacedemonians told PJiilip of Mace- don ; and 'tis not by eating Bread alone, my dear Father, you have acquired that huge Paunch of yours. I fancy, if all the fat Fowls that have gone into it could raise theire Voices and cackle at once, they woulde make Noise enow to drown the Drum's and Trumpets of an Army.' Well may Luther say," continued Erasmus, laughing, " that theire fasting is easier to them than our eating to us ; seeing that every Man Jack of them hath to his Even- ing Meal two Quarts of Beer, a Quart of Wine, and as manie as he can eat of Spice Cakes, the better to relish his Drink. While I . . , 'tis true my Stomach is 24 The Household Lutheran, but my Heart is Catholic ; that's as Heaven made me, and I'll be judged by you alle, whether I am not as thin as a Weasel." 'Twas now growing dusk, and Cecy's tame Hares were just beginning to be on the alert, skipping across our Path, as we returned towards the House, jumping over one another, and raysing 'emselves on theire hind Legs to solicitt our Notice. Erasmus was amused at theire Gambols, and at our making them beg for Vine- tendrils ; and Father told him there was hardlie a Member of the Householde who had not a dumb Pet of some Sort. " I en- courage the Taste in them," he sayd, " not onlie because it fosters Humanitie and affords harmless Recreation, but because it promotes Habitts of Forethoughte and Regularitie. No Child or Servant of mine bath Liberty to adopt a Pet which he is too lazy or nice to attend to himself. A little Management may enable even a of Sir Thos. More. 25 young Gentlewoman to do this, without soyling her Hands ; and to negleckt giv- ing them proper Food at proper Times entayls a Disgrace of which everie one of 'em would be ashamed. But, hark ! there is the Vesper-bell." As we passed under a Pear-tree, Eras- mus told us, with much Drollerie, of a Piece of boyish Mischief of his, — the Theft of some Pears off a particular Tree, the Fruit of which the Superior of his Con- vent had meant to reserve to himself. One Morning, Erasmus had climbed the Tree, and was feasting to his great Content, when' he was aware of the Superior ap- proaching to catch him in the FacT: : soe, quickly slid down to the Ground, and made off in the opposite Direction, limping as he went. The Malice of this Act con- sisted in its being the Counterfeit of the Gait of a poor lame Lay Brother, who was, in fa<5t, smartlie punisht for Erasmus his Misdeede. Our Friend mentioned this z(5 The Household with a Kinde of Remorse, and observed to my Father, — " Men laugh at the Sins of young People and little Children, as if they were little Sins ; albeit, the Robbery of an Apple or Cherry-orchard is as much a breaking of the Eighth Commandment as the stealing of a Leg of Mutton from a Butcher's Stall, and ofttimes with far less Excuse. Our Church tells us, indeede, of Venial Sins, such as the Theft of an Apple or a Pin ; but, I think," (looking hard at Cecilie and Jack?) " even the youngest among us could tell how much Sin and Sorrow was brought into the World by stealing an Apple." At Bedtime, Bess and I did agree in wishing that alle learned Men were as apt to unite Pleasure with Profit in theire Talk as Erasmus. There be some that can write after the Fashion of Paul, and others preach like unto Apollos ; but this, me- thinketh, is scattering Seed by the Way* side, like the Great Sower. of Sir Thos. More. 27 Tuesday. Tis singular, the Love that Jack and Cecy have for one another ; it resembleth that of Twins. Jack is not forward at his Booke ; on the other Hand, he hath a Reso- lution of Character which Cecy altogether wants. Last Night, when Erasmus spake of Children's Sins, I observed her squeeze Jack's Hand with alle her Mighte. I know what she was thinking of. Having bothe beene forbidden to approach a favourite Part of the River Bank which had given way from too much Use, one or the other of 'em transgressed, as was proven by the smalle' Footprints in the Mud, as well as by a Nosegay of Flowers, that grow not, save by the River; to wit, Purple Loose- strife, Cream-and-codlins, Scorpion-grass, Water Plantain, and the like. Neither of 'em woulde confesse, and Jack was, there- fore, sentenced to be whipt. As he walk- ed off with Mr. Drew, I observed Cecy turn soe pale, that I whispered Father I 28 The Household was certayn she was guilty, lii. aiade Answer, " Never mind, we cannot beat a Girl, and 'twill answer the same purpose ; in flogging him, we flog both." yack bore the firste Stripe or two, I suppose, well enow, but at lengthe we hearde him cry out, on which Cecy coulde not forbeare to doe the same, and then stopt bothe her Ears. I expected everie Moment to heare her say, " Father, 'twas I ; " but no, she had not Courage for that ; onlie, wher Jack came forthe all smirched with Tears, she put her Arm about his Neck, and they walked off together into the Nuttery. Since that Hour, she hath beene more devoted to him than ever, if possible ; and he, Boy-like, finds Satisfaction in making her his little Slave. But the Beauty lay in my Father's Improvement of the Cir- cumstance. Taking Cecy on his Knee that Evening, (for she was not ostensiblie in Disgrace,) he beganne to ta'k of Atone- ment and Mediation for Sin and who it of Sir Thos. More. 29 was that bare our Sins for us on the Tree. ' Tis thus he turns the daylie Accidents of our quiet Lives into Lessons of deepe Im- port, not Pedanticallie delivered, ex cathe- dra, but welling forth e from a full and f resh Mind. This Morn I had risen before Dawn, be- ing minded to meditate on sundrie Matters before Bess was up and doing, she being given to much Talk during her dressing, and made my Way to the Pavilion, where, methought, I should be quiet enow ; but, beholde ! FatJier and Erasmus were there before me, in fluent and earneste Dis- course.' I would have withdrawn e, but Father, without interrupting his Sentence, puts his Arm rounde me, and draweth me to him ; soe there I sit, my Head on's Shoul- der, and mine Eyes on Erasmus his Face. From much they spake, and othermuch I guessed, they had beene conversing on the present State of the Church, and how greatlie it needed Renovation. 30 The Household Erasmus sayd, the Vices of the Clergy and Ignorance of the Vulgar had now come to a Poynt, at the wnich a Remedie must be founde, or the whole Fabric would falle to Pieces. — Sayd, the Revival of Learning seemed appoynted by Heaven for some greate Pur- pose, 'twas difficulte to say how greate. — Spake of the new Art of Printing, and its possible Consequents. — Of the aclive and fertile Minds at present turning up new Ground, and fer- reting out old Abuses. — Of the Abuse of Monachism, and of the evil Lives of Conventualls. In special, of the Fanaticism and Hypocrisie of the Dominicans. — Considered the Evills of the Times such, as that Societie must shortlie, by a vigorous Effort, shake 'em off. — Wondered at the Patience of the Laitie for soe many Generations, but thoughte 'em now waking from theire rf Sir Thos. More. 3 1 Slccpc. The People had of late begunnc to know theire physickall Power, and to chafe at the Weighte of theire Yoke. — Thoughte the Doctrine of Indulgences altogether bad and false. Father sayd, that the graduallie increast Severitie of Church Discipline concerning minor Offences had become such as to render Indulgences the needfulle Remedie for Burthens too heavie to be borne. — Con- demned a Draconic Code, that visitted even Sins of Discipline with the extream Penaltie. Quoted how ill such excessive Severitie answered in our owne Land, with regard' to the Civill Law; twenty Thieves oft hanging together on the same Gibbet, yet Robberie no Whit abated. Othermuch to same Purport, the which, if alle set downe, woulde too soon fill my Libcllus. At length, unwillinglie brake off, when the Bell rang us to Matins. At Breakfaste, William and Rupert were earneste with mv Father to let 'em row $2 The Household rJm to Westminster, which he was disin- clined to, as he was for more Speede, and had promised Erasmus an earlie Caste to Lambeth; howbeit, he consented that they should pull us up to Putney in the Even- ing, and William should have the Stroke- oar. Erasmus sayd, he must thank the Archbishop for his Present of a Horse ; "tho' I'm full faine," he observed, "to believe it a Changeling. He is idle and gluttonish, as thin as a wasp, and as ugly as Sin. Such a Horse, and such a Rider!" In the Evening Will and Rupert had made 'emselves spruce enow, with Nose- gays and Ribbons, and we tooke Water bravelie ; — John Harris in the Stern, play- ing the Recorder. We had the six-oared Barge ; and when Rupert Allington was tired of pulling, Mr. Clement tooke his Oar ; and when he wearied, John Harris gave over playing the pipe ; but William and Mr. Gunnel never flagged. Erasmus was full of his Visitt to the of Sir Thos. More. 3 1 Archbishop, who, as usuall, I think, had given him some Money. " We sate down two Hundred to 1 able," sayth he ; " there was Fish, Flesh, and Fowl ; but Warcham onlie played with his Knife, and drank noe Wine. He was very cheerfulle and accessible ; he knows not what Pride is : and yet of how much mights he be proude ! What Genius ! what Erudi- tion ! what Kindnesse and Modesty ! From IVareham, who ever departed in sorrow ? " Landing at Fulham, we had a brave Ramble thro' the Meadows. Erasmus, not- ing the poor Children a gathering the Dan- delion and Milk-thistle for the Herb-market, was avised to speak of forayn Herbes and theire Uses, bothe for Food and Medicine. " For me," says Father, " there is manie a Plant I entertayn in my Garden and Pad- dock which the Fastidious woulde cast forthe. I like to teache my Children the Uses of common Things — to know, for In- stance, the Uses of the Flowers and Weeda 3 34 The House J told that grow in our Fields and Hedges. Manic a poor Knave's Pottage would be improved, if he were skilled in the Properties of the Burdock and Purple Orchis, Lady's-smock, Brook-lime, and Old Man's Pepper. The Roots of Wild Succory and Water Arrow- head mighte agreeablie change his Lenten Diet ; and Glasswort afford him a Pickle for his Mouthfulle of Salt-meat. Then, there arc Cresses and Wood-sorrel to his Breakfast, and Salep for his hot evening Mess. For his Medicine, there is Herb- twopence, that will cure a hundred Ills ; Camomile, to lull a raging Tooth ; and the Juice of Buttercup to clear his Head by sneezing. Vervain cureth Ague ; and Crowfoot affords the leaste painfulle of Blisters. St. Anthony s Turnip is an Emet- ic ; Goose-grass sweetens the Blood ; Wood- luffe is good for the Liver ; and Bindweed hath nigh as much Virtue as the forayn Scammony. Pimpernel promoteth Laugh- ter ; and Poppy, Sleep ; Thyme giveth of Sir Thos. More. 35 pleasant Dreams ; and an Ashen Branch drives evil Spirits from the Pillow. As for Rosemarie, I lett it run alle over my Garden Walls, not onlie because my Bees love it, but because 'tis the Herb sacred to Remem- brance, and, therefore, to Friendship, whence a Sprig of it hath a dumb Language that maketh it the chosen Emblem at our Fu- neral Wakes, and in our Buriall Grounds. Howbeit, I am a School-boy prating in Presence of his Master, for here is John Clement at my Elbow, who is the best Bot- anist and Herbalist of us all." — Returning Home, the Youths being warmed 'with rowing, and in high Spirits, did entertayn themselves and us with manie Jests and Playings upon Words, some of 'em forced enow, yet provocative of Laugh- ing. Afterwards, Mr. Gunnel proposed Enigmas and curious Questions. Among others, he woulde know which of the famous Women of Greece or Rome we . Maidens would resemble. Bess was for Cornelia. 36 The Household Daisy for Clelia, but I for Damo, Daugh- ter of Pythagoras, which William Roper deemed stupid enow, and thoughte I mighte have found as good a Daughter, that had not died a Maid. Sayth Erasmus, with his sweet, inexpressible Smile, " Now I will tell you, Lads and Lasses, what Manner of Man / woulde be, if I were not Erasmus. I -woulde step back some few Years of my Life, and be half-way 'twixt thirty and forty ; I woulde be pious and profounde enow for the Church, albeit noe Church- man ; I would have a blythe, stirring Eng- lish Wife, and half-a-dozen merrie Girls and Boys ; an English Homestead, neither Hall nor Farm, but betweene both ; neare enow to the Citie for Convenience, but away from its Noise. I woulde have a Profession, that gave me some Hours daylie of regular Businesse, that should let Men know my Parts, and court me into Publick Station, from which my Taste made me rather withdrawe. I woulde have such a of Sir TJios. More. 37 private Independence, as should enable me to give and lend, rather than beg and bor- row. I woulde encourage Mirthe without Buffoonerie, Ease without Negligence ; my Habitt and Table shoulde be simple ; and for my Looks, I woulde be neither tall nor short, fat nor lean, rubicund nor sallow ; bu of a fayr Skin with blue Eyes, brownish Beard, and a Countenance engaging and attractive, soe that alle of my Companie coulde not choose but love me." " Why, then, you woulde be Father him- selfe!" cries Cecy, clasping his Arm in bothe her Hands with a Kind of Rapture ; and, indeede, the Portraiture was soe like, we coulde not but smile at the Resemblance. Arrived at the Landing, Father protested he was wearie with his Ramble ; and, his Foot slipping, he wrenched his Ankle, and sate for an Instante on a Barrow, the which one of the Men had left with his Garden- tools, and before he coulde rise or cry out, William, laughing, rolled him up to the 38 The Household House-door ; which, considering Fathers Weight, was much for a Stripling to doe. Father sayd the same, and, laying his Hand on Wilts Shoulder with Kindnesse, cried, " Bless thee, my boy, but I woulde not have thee overstrayned, like Biton and Clitobus" "June 20th. This Morn, hinting to Bess that she was lacing herselfe too straitlie, she brisklie re- plyed, " One woulde think 'twere as great Meritt to have a thick Waiste as to be one of the earlie Christians ! " These humourous Retorts are ever at her Tongue's End ; and albeit, as yacky one Day angrilie remarked, when she had beene teazing him, "Bess, thy Witt is Stupid- nesse ; " yet, for one who talks soe much at Random, no one can be more keene when she chooseth. Father sayd of her, half fondly, half apologeticallie, to Erasmus, " Her Witt hath a fine Subtletie that eludes you almoste before you have Time to re- of Sir Thos. More. 39 cognize it for what it really is." To which Erasmus readilie assented, adding, that it had the rare Meritt of playing less on Per- sons than Things, and never on bodilie Defects. Hum ! — I wonder if they ever sayd as much in Favour of me. I know, indeede, Erasmus calls me a forward Girl. Alas ! that may be taken in two Senses. Grievous Work, overnighte, with the churning. Nought would persuade Gillian but that the Creame was bewitched by Gammer Gurney, who was dissatisfyde laste Friday with her Dole, and hobbled away mumping and cursing. At alle Events, the Butter woulde not come ; but Mother was resolute not to have soe much good Creame wasted, soe sent for Bess and me, Daisy, and Mercy Giggs, and insisted on our churning in turn till the Butter came, if we sate up alle Night for 't. 'Twas a hard Saying, and mighte have hampered her like as yephtha his rash Vow. Howbeit, 40 The Household soe soone as she had left us, we turned it into a Frolick, and sang Chevy Chase from End to End, to beguile Time: ne'erthe- lesse, the Butter woulde not come ; soe then we grew sober, and, at the Instance of sweete Mercy, chaunted the 119th Psalme ; and, by the Time we had attained to " Lu- cema Pedibus," I hearde the Buttermilk separating and splashing in righte earneste 'Twas neare Midnighte, however, and Daisy had fallen asleep on the Dresser. Gillian will ne'er be convinced but that our Latin brake the Spell. June 21st. Erasmus went to Richmond 'this Morning with Polus, (for soe he Latinizes Reginald Pole, after his usual Fashion,) and some other of his Friends. On his Return, he made us laugh at the following. They had clomb the Hill, and were admiring the Prospect, when Pole, casting his Eyes aloft, and beginning to make sundrie Gesticula- tions, exclaimed, "What, is it I beholde? of Sir Thos. More. 41 May Heaven avert the Omen ! " with such- like Exclamations, which raised the Curi- ositie of alle. " Don't you beholde," cries he, " that enormous Dragon flying through the Sky ? his Horns of Fire ? his curly Tail ? " " No," says Erasmus, " nothing like it. The Sky is as cleare as unwritten Paper." Howbeit, he continued to affirme and to stare, untill at lengthe, one after another, by dint of strayning theire Eyes and theire Imaginations, did admitt first, that they saw Something ; next, that it mighte be a Dragon ; and last, that it was. Of course, on theire Passage homeward, they could talk of little else — some made serious Re- flections ; others, philosophicall Specula- tions ; and Pole waggishly triumphed in having beene the Firste to discerne the Spectacle. " And you trulie believe there was a Signe in the Heavens ? " we enquired of Erasmus. " What know I ? " returned he, smiling ; 42 The Household " you know, Constantine saw a Cross. Why shoulde Polus not see a Dragon ? We must judge by the Event. Perhaps its Mission may be to fly away with him. He swore to the curly Tail." How difficulte it is to discerne the su- pernatural from the incredible ! We laughe at Gillian s Faith in our Latin ; Erasmus laughs at Polus his Dragon. Have we a righte to believe noughte but what we can see or prove ? Nay, that will never doe. Father says a Capacitie for reasoning in- creaseth a Capacitie for believing. He believes there is such a Thing as Witch- craft, though not that poore olde Gammer Gurney is a Witch ; he believes that Saints can work Miracles, though not in alle the Marvels reported of the Canterbury Shrine. Had I beene Justice of the Peace, like the King's Grandmother, I woulde have beene very jealous of Accusations of Witchcraft ; and have taken infinite Payns to sift out the Causes of Malice, Jealousie, of Sir Thos. More. 43 etc., which mighte have wroughte with the poore olde Women's Enemies. Holie Writ sayth, " Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live ;" but, questionlesse, manie have suf- fered Hurte that were noe Witches ; and for my Part, I have alwaies helde ducking to be a very uncertayn as well as very cruel Teste. I cannot helpe smiling, whenever I think of my Rencounter with William this Morning. Mr. Gunnel had set me Homer's tiresome List of Ships ; and, be- cause of the excessive Heate within Doors, I took my Booke into the Nuttery, to be beyonde the Wrath of far-darting Phcebus Apollo, where I clomb into my favourite Fil- bert Seat. Anon comes William through the Trees without seeing me, and seats him at the Foot of my Filbert ;' then, out with his Tablets, and, in a Posture I should have called studdied, had he known anie one within Sighte, falls a poetizing, I ques- tion not. Having noe Mind to be inter- rupted, I lett him be, thinking he woulde 44 The Household soone exhaiiste the Vein ; but a Caterpillar dropping from the Leaves on to my Page, I was fayn, for Mirthe-sake, to shake it clown on his Tablets. As ill Luck would have it, however, the little Reptile onlie fell among his Curls ; which soe took me at Vantage, that I coulde not helpe hastilie crying, " I beg your Pardon." 'Twas worth a World to see his Start ! " Why ! " cries he, looking up, " are there indeede Hama- dryades ? " and woulde have gallanted a little, but I bade him hold down his Head, while that with a Twig I switched off the Caterpillar. Neither coulde forbeare laugh- ing ; and then he sued me to step downe, but I was minded to abide where I was. Howbeit, after a Minute's Pause, he sayd, in a grave, kind Tone, " Come, little Wife ;" and taking mine Arm steadilie in his Hand, I lost my Balance, and was faine to come down whether or noe. We walk- ed for some Time juxta Fluvium ; and he talked not badlie of his Travels, insomuch of Sir Thos. More. 45 as I founde there was really more in him than one woulde think. —Was there ever Aniething soe per- verse, unluckie, and downrighte disagree- able ? We hurried our Afternoone Tasks, to goe on the Water with my Father; and, meaning to give Mr. Gunnel my Latin Traduction, which is in a Booke like unto this, I never knew he had my Journalle in- steade, untill that he burst out a laughing. " Soe this is the famous Libellus /" quoth he I never waited for another Word, but snatcht it out of his Hand ; which he, for soe strict a Man, bore well enow. I do not believe he could have read a dozen Lines, and they were towards the Beginning; but I should hugelie like to know which dozen Lines they were. Hum! I have a Mind never to write another Word. That will be punishing myselfe, though, insteade of Gunnel. And he bade me not take it to Heart like the late Bishop of Durham, to whom a like 46 The Household Accident befel, which soe annoyed him that he died of Chagrin. I will never again, hovvbeit, write Aniething savouring ever soe little of Levitie or Absurditie. The Saints keepe me to it ! And, to know it from my Exercise Book, I will hence- forthe bind a blue Ribbon round it. Fur- thermore, I will knit the sayd Ribbon in soe close a Knot, that it shall be worth no one else's Payns to pick it out. Lastlie, and for entire Securitie, I will carry the Same in my Pouch, which will hold bigger Matters than this. 12nd. This Daye, at Dinner, Mr. Clement tooke the Pistoller's Place at the Reading-desk ; and, insteade of continuing the Subject in Hand, read a Paraphrase of the I03rde Psalm ; the Faithfullnesse and elegant Turne of which Erasmus highlie com- mended, though he took Exceptions to the Phrase, " Renewing thy Youth like that of the Phcenix," whose fabulous Story he be- of Sir Thos. More. 47 lievcd to have beene unknowne to the Psalmist, and, therefore, however poeticall, unfitt to be introduced. A deepe Blush on sweet Mercys Face ledd to the Detec- tion of the Paraphraft, and drew on her some deserved Commendations. Erasmus, turning to my Father, exclaymed with An- imation, " I woulde call this House the Academy of Plato, were it not Injustice to compare it to a Place where the usuall Disputations concerning Figures and Numbers were onlie occasionallie inter- sperst with Disquisitions concerning the moral Virtues. " Then, in a graver Mood, he added, " One mighte envie you, but that your precious Privileges are bound up with soe paynfulle Anxieties. How manie Pledges have you given to Fortune ! " " If my Children are to die out of the Course of Nature, before theire Parents," Father firmly replyed, "I woulde rather they died well-instructed than ignorant." "You remind me," rejoyns Erasmus 48 The Household " of Phocion, whose Wife, when he was aboute to drink the fatal Cup, exclaimed, 'Ah, my Husband! you die innocent!' 'And woulde you, my Wife,' he returned, ' have me die guilty ? ' " Awhile after, Goiicllus askt leave to see Erasmus his Signet-ring, which he handed down to him. In passing it back, William, who was occupyde in carving a Crane, handed it soe negligentlie that it felle to the Ground. I never saw such a Face as Erasmus made, when 'twas picked out from the Rushes! And yet, ouis are renewed almost daylie, which manie think over nice. He took it gingerlie in his faire, woman- like Hands, and washed and wiped it before he put it on ; which escaped not my Step, mother's displeased Notice. Indeede, these Dutchmen are scrupulouslie cleane, though Mother calls 'em swinish, because they will eat raw Sallets ; though, for that Matter, Fither loves Cresses and Ramps. Slu alsoe mislikes Erasmus for eating Cheese and Us Angelas, of Sir Thos. More. 49 Butter together with his Manchet ; or what he calls Boetram ; and for being, generallie, daintie at his Sizes, which she sayth is an ill Example to soe manie young People, and becometh not one with soe little Money in's Purse : howbeit, I think 'tis not Nice- tie, but a weak Stomach, which makes him loathe our Salt-meat Commons from Michaelmasse to Easter, and eschew Fish of the coarser Sort. He cannot breakfaste on colde Milk, like Father, but liketh Fur- mity, a little spiced. At Dinner, he pecks at, rather than eats, Ruffs and Reeves, Lapwings, or anie smalle Birds it may chance ; but affects Sweets and Subtilties, and loves a Cup of Wine or Ale, stirred with Rosemary. Father never toucheth the Wine-cup but to grace a Guest, and loves Water from the Spring. We grow- ing Girls eat more than either ; and Father says he loves to see us slice away at the Cob-loaf ; it does him goode. What a kind Father he is ! I wish my Step-mother 50 The Household were as kind ! I hate alle sneaping and snubbing, flowting, fleering, pinching, nip- ping, and such-like ; it onlie creates Resent- ment instead of Penitence, and lowers the Minde of either Partie. Gillian throws a Rolling-pin at the Turnspit's Head, and we call it low-life ; but we looke for such Unmannerliness in the Kitchen. A Whip is onlie fit for Tisiphone. As we rose from Table, I noted Argus pearcht on the Window-sill, eagerlie watch- ing for his Dinner, which he looketh for as punctuallie as if he could tell the Diall ; and to please the good, patient Bird, till the Scullion broughte him his Mess of Garden-stuff, I fetched him some Pulse, which he took from mine Hand, taking good Heede not to hurt me with his sharp Beak. While I was feeding him, Erasmus came up, and asked me concerning Mercy Giggs ; and I tolde him how that she was a friendless Orphan, to whom deare Father afforded Protection and the run of the of Sir Thos. More. 5 1 House ; and tolde him of her Gratitude, her Meekness, her Patience, her Docilitie, her Aptitude for alle goode Works and Alms-deeds ; and how, in her little Cham- ber, she improved eache spare Moment in the Way of Studdy and Prayer. He re- peated, " Friendlesse ? she cannot be called Friendlesse, who hath More for her Pro- tector, and his Children for Companions ;" and then woulde heare more of her Parents' sad Story. Alsoe, would hear somewhat of Rupert Allington, and how Father gained his Lawsuit. Alsoe of Daisy,, whose Name he tooke to be the true abbreviation for Margaret; but I tolde him how that my Step-sister, and Mercy, and I, being all three of a Name, and I being alwaies called Meg, we had in Sport given one the Significative of her charac- teristic Virtue, and the other that of the French Marguerite, which may indeede be rendered either Pearl or Daisy. And Chau- cer, speaking of our English Daisy, saith 52 The Household " Si douce est la Marguerite. " 22,rd. Since the little Wisdom I have Capacitie to acquire, soe oft gives me the Headache to Distraction, I marvel not at Jupiter s Payn in his Head, when the Goddess of Wisdom sprang therefrom full growne. This Morn, to quiet the Payn brought on by too busie Application, Mr. Gunnel would have me close my Book, and ramble forth with Cecy into the Fields. We stroll- ed towards Walham Greene ; and she was seeking for Shepherd's Purses and Shep- herd's Needles, when she came running back to me, looking rather pale. I askt what had scared her, and she made an- swer that Gammer Gurney was coming along the Hedge. I bade her set aside her Feares ; and anon we came up with Gammer, who was pulling at the purple Blossoms of the Deadly Nightshade. I sayd, " Gammer \ to what Purpose gather that Weed ? knowest not 'tis Evill ? " of Sir Thos. More. 5 3 She sayth, mumbling, " What God hath created, that call not thou Evill. " " Well, but," quo' I, " 'tis Poison." " Aye, and Medicine too," returns Gam- mer. " I wonder what we poor Souls might come to, if we tooke Nowt for our Ails and Aches but what we could buy o' the Potticary. We've got noe Dr. Clement, we poor Folks, to be our Leech o' the Household." "But hast no Feare," quo' I, "of an Over-dose ? " "There's manie a Doctor," sayth she, with an unpleasant Leer, " that hath given that at first. In Time he gets his Hand in ; and I've had a Plenty o' Practice — Thanks to Self and Sister." " I knew not," quoth I, " that thou hadst a Sister." " How should ye, Mistress," returns she, shortlie, " when ye never comes nigh us ? We've grubbed on together this many a Year." 54 The Household " 'Tis soe far," I returned, half ashamed "Why, soe it be," answers Gammer; "far from Neighbours, far from Church, and far from Priest; howbeit, my old Legs carries me to your House o' Fri- days ; but I know not whether I shall e'er come agayn — the Rye Bread was soe hard last Time : it may serve for young Teeth, and for them as has got none ; but mine, you see, are onlie on the goe ;" and she opened her Mouth with a ghastlie Smile. " 'Tis not," she added, " that I'm ungrate- fulle ; but thou sees, Mistress, I really cant eat Crusts." After a Moment, I asked, " Where lies your Dwelling?" " Out by yonder," quoth she, pointing to a shapeless Mass like a huge Bird's Nest in the Corner of the Field. "There bides poor Joan and I. Wilt come and looke within, Mistress, and see how a Christian can die ? " I m.itelie complyed, in spite of Cec/s af Sir Thos. More. * t $ pulling at my Skirts. Arrived at the wretched Abode, which had a Hole for its Chimney, and another for Door at once and Window, I found, sitting in a Corner, propped on a Heap of Rushes, dried Leaves, and olde Rags, an aged sick Woman, who seemed to have but a little While to live. A Mug of Water stoode within her Reach ; I saw none other Sustenance ; but, in her Visage, oh, such Peace ! . . . . Whispers Gammer with an awfulle Look, " She sees 'em now ! " " Sees who ? " quoth I. " Why, Angels in two long Rows, afore the Throne of God, a bending of them- selves, this Way, with their Faces to th' Earth, and Arms stretched out afore 'em." " Hath she seen a Priest ? " quoth I. " Lord love ye," returns Gammer, " what coulde a Priest doe for her ? She's in Heaven alreadie. I doubte if she can heare me." And then, in a loud, distinct 56 The Household Voyce, quite free from her usuall Mumping, she beganne to recite in English, " Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord, and walketh in his Ways," etc. ; which the dying Woman hearde, although alreadie speechless ; and reaching out her feeble Arm unto her Sister's Neck, she dragged it down till theire Faces touched ; and then, looking up, pointed at Somewhat she aimed to make her see . . . and we alle looked up, but saw Noughte. Howbeit, she pointed up three several! Times, and lay, as it were, transfigured before us, a gazing at some transporting Sighte, and ever and anon turning on her Sister Looks of Love ; and, the while we stoode thus agaze, her Spiritt passed away without even a Thrill or a Shudder. Cecy and I beganne to weepe ; and, after a While, soc did Gammer ; then, putting us forthe, she sayd, " Goe, Children, goe ; 'tis noe goode crying ; and yet I'm thankfulle to ye for your Teares." of Sir T/ios. More. 5 7 I sayd, " Is there Aught we can doe for Thee ? " She made Answer, "Perhaps you car. give me Tuppence, Mistress, to lay on her poor Eyelids, and keep 'em down. Bless ee, bless 'ee ! You're like the good Sama- ritan — he pulled out Two-pence. And maybe, if I come to 'ee To-morrow, you'l give me a Lapfulle of Rosemarie, to lay on her poor Corpse I know you've Plenty. God be with 'ee, Children ; and be sure ye mind how a Christian can die." So we left, and came Home sober enow Cecy sayth, "To die is not soe fearfulle, Meg, as I thoughte ; but should you fancy dying without a Priest ? I shoulde not ; and yet Gammer sayd she wanted not one. Howbeit, for certayn, Gammer Gumey is noe Witch, or she woulde not soe prayse God." To conclude, Father, on hearing Alle, hath given Gammer more than enow for her present Needes ; and Cecy and I are the Almoners of his Mercy. 58 The Household June 24///. Yesternighte, being St. John's Eve, we went into Town to see the mustering of the Watch. Mr. Rastall had secured us a Window opposite the Kings Head \\\ Chepe, where theire Majestys went in State to see the Show. The Streets were a Marvell to see, being like unto a Continuation of fayr Bowres or Arbours, garlanded across and over the Doors with greene Birch, long Fennel, Orpin, St. Johns Wort, white Lilies, and such like ; with innumerable Candles intersperst, the which, being lit up as soone as 'twas Dusk, made the Whole look like enchanted Land ; while, at the same Time, the leaping over Bon-fires com- menced, and produced Shouts of Laughter. The youths woulde have had Father goe downe and joyn 'em ; Rupert, speciallie, begged him hard, but he put him off with, " Sirrah, you Goosecap, doth think 'twoulde befitt the Judge of the Sheriffs Court?" At length, to the Sound of Trumpets, of Sir Thos. More. 59 came marching up Cheapside two Thousand of the Watch, in white Fustian, with the City Badge ; and seven hundred Cresset Bearers, eache with his Fellow to supplie him with Oyl, and making, with theire flaring Lights, the Night as cleare as Daye. After 'em, the Morris-dancers and City Waites ; the Lord Mayor on horse- back, very fine, with his Giants and Pa- geants ; and the Sheriff and his Watch, and his Giants and Pageants. The Streets very uproarious on our Way back to the Barge, but the homeward Passage deli- cious ; the nighte Ayre cool ; and the Stars' shining brightlie. Father and Eras- mus had some astronomick Talk ; howbeit, methoughte Erasmus less familiar with the heavenlie Bodies than Father is. After- wards they spake of the King, but not over- freelie, by reason of the Bargemen over- hearing. Thence, to the ever-vext Question of Martin Luther, of whome Erasmus spake in Terms of earneste, yet qualifyde Prayse 60 The Household "If Luther be innocent," quoth he. "I woulde not run him down by a wicked Faction ; if he be in Error, I woulde rather have him reclaymed than destroyed ; for this is most agreeable to the doftrines of our deare Lord and Master, who would not bruise the broken Reede, nor quenche the smoking Flax." And much more to same Purpose. We younger Folks felle to choosing our favourite Mottoes and Devices, in which the Elders at length joyned us. Mother's was loyal — " Cleave to the Crown, though it hang on a Bush." Erasmus's pithie — " Festiua lente." William sayd he was in- debted for his to St. Paul — " I seeke not yours, but you." For me, I quoted one I had seene in an olde Countrie Church, " Mieux etre que paroitre," which pleased Father and Erasmus much. Poor Erasmus caughte Colde on the Water last Nighte, and keeps House to- daye, taking warm Possetts. 'Tis my of Sir Thos. More. 61 Week of Housekeeping under Mothers Guidance, and I never had more Pleasure in it ; delighting to suit his Taste in sweete Things, which, methinks, all Men like. I have enow of Time left for Studdy, when alle's done. He hathe beene the best Part of the Morning in our Academia, looking over Books and Manuscripts, taking Notes of some, discoursing with Mr. Gunnel on others ; and, in some Sorte, interrupting our Morning's Work ; but how pleasantlie ! Besides, as Father sayth, " Varietie is not always Interruption. That which occa- sionallie lets and hinders our accustoriled Studdies, may prove to the ingenious noe less profitable than theire Studdies them- selves." They beganne with discussing the Pro- nunciation of Latin and Greek, on which Erasmus differeth much from us, though he holds to our Pronunciation of the Theta. Thence, to the absurde Partie of 62 The Household the Ciccronians now in Italie, who will admit noe Author save Tully to be read nor quoted, nor any Word not in his Writ- ings to be used. Thence to the Latinitie of the Fathers, of whose Style he spake slightlie enow, but rated Jerome above Augustine. At length, to his Greek and Latin Testament, of late issued from the Presse, and the incredible Labour it hath cost him to make it as perfect as possible : on this Subject he soe warmed, that Bess and I listened with suspended Breath. " May it please God," sayth he, knitting ferventlie his Hands, " to make it a Bless- ing to all Christendom ! I looke for noe other Reward. Scholars and Believers yet unborn may have Reason to thank, and yet may forget, Erasmus:' He then went on to explain to Gunnel what he had much felt in want of, and hoped some Scholar might yet undertake ; to wit, a sort of In- dex Bibliorum, showing in how manie Passages of Ho'y Writ occurreth anie of Sir Thos. Mure. 63 given Word, etc. ; and he e'en proposed it to Gunnel, saying, 'twas onlie the Work of Patience and Industry, and mighte be layd aside, and resumed as Occasion offered, and completed at Leisure, to the great Thankfulnesse of Scholars. But Gunnel onlie smiled and shooke his Head. How- beit, Erasmus set forthe his Scheme soe playnlie, that I, having a Pen in Hand, did privilie note down alle the Heads of the same, thinking, if none else woulde under- take it, why should not I ? since Leisure and Industrie were alone required, and since 'twoulde be soe acceptable to manie, 'speciallie to Erasmus. June i^tlu Hearde Mother say to Barbara, " Be sure the Sirloin is well basted for the King's Physician ; " which avised me that Dr. Linacre was expected. In Truth, he re- turned with Father in the Barge ; and they tooke a Turn on the River Bank before sitting dowa e to table. I noted thern from 64 The Household my Lattice ; and anon, Father, beckoning me, cries, " Child, bring out my favourite Treatyse on Fisshynge, printed by Wynkyn de Worde ; I must give the Doctor my loved Passage." Joyning 'em with the Booke, I found FatlLer telling him of the Roach, Dace, Chub, Barbel, etc., we oft catch opposite the Church ; and hastilie turning over the Leaves, he beginneth with Unction to read the Passage ensuing, which I love to the full as much as he : — He observeth, if the Angler's Sport shoulde fail him, " he at the best hathe his holsom Walk and mery at his Ease, a swete Ayre of the swete Savour of the Meade of Flowers, that maketh him hungry ; he heareth the melodious Harmonie of Fowles ; he seeth the young Swans, Herons, Ducks, Cotes, and manie other Fowles, with theire Broods, which me seemeth better than alle the Noise of Hounds, Faukenors, and Fowles can make. And if the Angler take of Sir Thos. More. 65 Fysshe, then there is noe Man merrier than he is in his Spryte." And, "Ye shall not use this foresaid crafty Disporte for no covetysnesse in the encreasing and sparing of your Money onlie, but prynci- pallie for your Solace, and to cause tne Health of your Bodie, and specialle of your Soule ; for when ye purpose to goe on your Disportes of Fysshynge, ye will not desire greatlie manie Persons with you, which woulde lett you of your Game. And thenne ye may serve God devoutlie, in saying affecluouslie your customable Prayer ; and thus doing, ye shall eschew and voyd manie Vices." "Angling is itselfe a Vice," cries Erasmus, from the Thresholde ; " for my Part, I wilt fish none, save and except for pickled Oysters." " In the Regions below," answers Father; and then laughinglie tells Linacre of his firste Dialogue with Erasmus, who had beene feasting in my Lord Mayors Cel- 66 The Household lar : — " ' Whence come you ? ' ' From below. ' What were they about there ? ' ' Eating live Oysters, and drinking out of leather Jacks.' ' Either you are Erasmus} etc. ' Either you are More or Nothing.' " "'Neither more nor less,' you should have rejoyned," sayth the Doctor. " How I wish I had ! " says Father; "don't torment me with a Jest I mighte have made and did not make ; 'speciallie to put downe Erasmus." " Concedo nulli," sayth Erasmus. "Why are you so lazy?" asks Linacre ; " I am sure you can speak English if you will." " Soe far from it," sayth Erasmus, " that I made my Incapacitie an Excuse for de- clining an English Rectory. Albeit, you know how Wareham requited me ; saying, in his kind, generous Way, I served the Church more by my Pen than I coulde by preaching Sermons in a countrie Village." Sayth Linacre, "The Archbishop hath of Sir Thos. More. 6? made another Remark, as much to the Purpose: to wit, that he has received from you the Immortalitie which Emperors and Kings cannot bestow." " They cannot even bid a smoking Sirloin retain its Heat an Hour after it hath left the Fire," sayth Father. " Tilly-vally ! as my good Alice says, — let us remember the universal Doom, ' Fruges consumere nati* and philosophize over our Ale and Bracket." "Not Cambridge Ale, neither," sayth Erasmus. "Will you never forget that unlucky Beverage?" sayth Father. "Why, Man»- think how manie poor Scholars there be, that content themselves, as I have hearde one of St. yoJuis declare, with a penny Piece of Beef amongst four, stewed into Pottage with a little Salt and Oatmeal; and that after fasting from four o'clock in the Morning ! Say Grace for us this Daye, Urasmus, with guode Heart." At Table, Discourse flowed soe thicke 68 The Household and faste that I mighte aim in vayn to chronicle it — and why shonlde I ? dwelling as I doe at the Fountayn Head ? Onlie that I finde Pleasure, alreadie, in glancing over the foregoing Pages whensoever they concern Father and Erasmus, and wish they were more faithfullie recalled and bet- ter writ. One Thing sticks by me, — a funny Reply of Father's to a Man who owed him Money, and who put him off with " Memento Moriens." " I bid you," retorted Father, " Memento Mori Alris ; and I with you woulde take as goode Care to provide for the one as I do for the other." Linacre laughed much at this, and sayd, — " That was real Wit ; a Spark struck at the Moment ; and with noe Ill-nature in it, for I am sure your Debtor coulde not help laughing." " Not he," quoth Erasmus. " More's Drollerie is like that of a young Gentle- woman of his Name, which shines with- out burning," .... and, oddlie enow, he of Sir Tlios. More. 69 looked acrosse at vie. I am sure he meant Bess. July \st. Father broughte home a strange Guest to-daye, — a converted yew, with grizzlie Beard, furred Gown, and Eyes that shone like Lamps lit in dark Cavernes. He had beene to Benmarine and Tremcccn, to the Holie Citie and to Damascus, to Urmia and Assyria, and I think alle over the knowne World ; and tolde us manie strange Tales, one hardlie knew how to believe ; as, for Example, of a Sea-coast Tribe, called the Balouches, who live on Fish, and build theire Dwellings of the Bones. Alsoe, of a Race of his Countriemen beyond Eu- phrates who believe in Christ, but know Nothing of the Pope ; and of whom were the Magians that followed the Star. This agreeth not with our Legend. He averred that, though soe far apart from theire Brethren, theire Speech was the same, and even theire Songs ; and he sang or chaunt 7y a Man or a Woman." While I was turning in my Mind what Excuse I might make for John, Father taketh me at unawares by a sudden Change of Subject; saying, "Come, tell me, Meg, why canst not affect Will Roper •?" I was a good while silent ; at lengthe made Answer, " He is soe unlike alle I esteeme and admire .... soe unlike alle I have been taught to esteeme and admire by you." " Have at you," he returned laughing " I wist not I had been sharpening Weap- ons agaynst myself. True, he is neither A chilles nor Hcclor, nor even Paris; but yet well enough, meseems, as Times go — smarter and comelier than either Heron or Dancey" I, faltering, made Answer, "Good Looks affect me but little — 'tis in his better Part 90 The Household I feel the Want. He cannot . . . discourse, for Instance, to one's Mincl and Soul, like unto you, dear Father, or Erasmus? " I should marvel if he could," returned Father, gravelie ; " thou art mad, my Daughter, to look, in a Youth of Will's Years, for the Mind of a Man of fifty, Wkat were Erasmus and I, dost thou sup- pose, at Wills Age ? Alas, Meg, I should not like you to know what I was ! Men called me the Boy-sage, and I know not what, but in my Heart and Head was a World of Sin and Folly. Thou mightst as well expect Will to have my Hair, Eyes, and Teeth, alle getting the worse for Wear, as to have the Fruits of my life-long Expe- rience, — in some Cases full dearly bought. Take him for what he is, match him by the young Minds of his owne standing : con- sider how long and closelie we have known him. His Parts are, surelie, not amiss : he hath more Book-lore than Dancey, more mother Wit than Allington." of Sir Thos. More. 9 1 " But why need I to concern myself about him ? " I exclaymed. " Will is very well in his Way : why should we cross each other's Paths ? I am young, I have much to learn, I love my Studdies, — why in- terrupt them with other and less wise Thoughts ? " " Because nothing can be wise that is not practical," returned Father ; " and I teach my Children Philosophie to fitt them for living in the World, not above it. One may spend a Life in dreaming over Plato, and yet go out of it without leaving the World a Whit the better for our having made Part of it. Tis to little Purpose we studdy, if it onlie makes us exact Perfections in others which they may in vayn seek for in ourselves. It is not even necessary or goode for us to live entirelie with con- geniall Spiritts. The vigourous tempers the inert, the passionate is evened by the cool-tempered, the prosaic balances the visionarie. Woulde thy Mother suit me Q2 Tlie Household better, dost thou suppose, if she coulde discuss Polemicks like LutJicr or Melanc- thon ? E'en thine own sweet Mother, Meg, was less affected to Studdy than thou art, — ■ she learnt to love it for my Sake, but I made her what she was." And, with a suddain Burste of fond Recollection, he hid his Eyes on my Shoulder, and, for a Moment or soe, cried bitterlie. As for me, I shed, oh ! such salt Teares ! . . . Aug. 17 th. Entering o' the suddain into Mercy's Chamber, I founde her all be-wept and waped, poring over an old Kirtle of Mother 's she had bidden her re-line with Buckram. Coulde not make out whether she were sick of her Task, had had Words with Mother, or had some secret Inquietation of her owne ; but, as she is a Girl of few Words, I found I had best leave her alone after a Caress and kind Saying or two. We alle have our Troubles. of Sir Thos. More. 93 Wednesday, igt/i. .... Trulie may I say soe. Here have they ta'en a Fever of some low Sorte in my House of Refuge, and Mother, fearing it may be the Sicknesse, will not have me goe neare it, lest I shoulde bring it home. Mercy, hovvbeit, hath besought her soe ear- nestlie to let her goe and nurse the Sick, that Mother hath granted her Prayer, on Condition she returneth not till the Fever bates .... thus setting her Life at lower Value than our owne. Deare Mercy ! I woulde fayn be her Mate. i\st. We are alle mightie glad that Rupert Alliiigton hath at lengthe zealouslie em- braced the Studdy of the Law. 'Twas much to be feared at the Firste there was noe Application in him ; and though we alle pitied him when Father first broughtc him Home, a pillaged, portionlesse Client, with none other to espouse his Rightes, yet 'twas a Pitie soone allied with Contempt when 94 The Household we founde how emptie he was, caring for nought but Archerie and Skittles and the Popinjaye, out o' the House, and Dicing and Tables within, which Father woulde on noe Excuse permitt. Soe he had to con- form, ruefullie enow, and hung piteousiie on Hand for awhile. I mind me of Bess's saying, about CJiristmasse, " Heaven send us open Weather while Allington is here ; I don't believe he is one that will bear shut- ting up." Howbeit, he seemed to incline towards Daisy, who is handsome enow, and cannot be hindered of Two Hundred Pounds, and soe he kept within Bounds ; and when Father got him his Cause, he was mightilie thankfulle, and woulde have left us out of Hand, but Father persuaded him to let his Estate recover itself, and turn the mean Time to Profitt ; and, in short, soe wrought on him, that he hath now become a Student in righte Earneste. 22d. Soe we are going to k>se not only Mr of Sir T/ios. More. 95 Clement, but Mr. Gunnel 7 How sorrie we alle are ! It seemeth he hath long been debating for and agaynst the Church, and at length finds his Mind soe stronglie set towards it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. Well ! we shall lose a good Mas- ter, and the Church will gayn a good Ser- vant. Drew will supplie his Place, that is, according to his beste ; but our worthy Welshman careth soe little for young Peo- ple, and is soe abstract from the World about him, that we shall oft feel our Loss. Father hath promised Gonellns his Interest with the Cardinall. I fell into Disgrace for holding Speech with Mercy over the Pales, but she is con- fident there is noe Danger; the Sick are doing well, and none of the Whole have fallen sick. She sayth Gammer Gurney is as tender of her as if she were her Daughter, and will let her doe noe vile or paynful Office, soe as she hath little to doe but read and pray for the poor Souls, and cj/6 The Household feed 'cm with savourie Messes ; and they are alle so harmonious and full of Cheer, as to be like Birds in a Nest. Mercy deserves theire Blessings more than I. Were I a free Agent, she shoulde not be alone now, and I hope ne'er to be withheld therefrom agayn. 2,oth. Busied with my Flowers the chief o' the Forenoon, I was fayn to rest in the Pavil- ion, when, entering therein, whom shoulde I stumble upon but William, layd at length on the Floor, with his Arms under his Head, and his Booke on the Ground. I was withdrawing brisklie enow, when he called out, "Don't goe away, since you are here," in a Tone soe rough, soe unlike his usuall Key, as that I paused in a Maze, and then saw that his Eyes were red. He sprung to his Feet, and sayd, "Meg, come and talk to me ; " and, taking my Hand in his, stepped quicklie forthe without another Word sayd, till we reached the Elm-tree of Sir Thos. More. 97 Walk. I marvelled to see him soe moven, and expected to hear Somewhat that shoulde displease me, scarce knowing what ; however, I might have guest at it from then till now, without ever nearing the Truth. His first Words were, " I wish Erasmus had ne're crost the Thresholde ; he has made me very unhappie ; " then, seeing me stare, "Be not his Counsel just now, deare Meg, but bind up, if thou canst, the Wounds he has made .... There be some Wounds, thou knowest, though but of a cut Finger, or the like, that we cannot -well bind up for ourselves." I made Answer, " I am a young and un- skilled Leech." He replyed, "But you have a quick Wit, and Patience, and Kindnesse, and for a Woman, are not scant of Learn ing." " Nay," I sayd, " but Mr. Gunnel—" " Gunnel would be the last to help me ; " interrupts Will, " nor can I speak to your 7 98 The Household Father. He is alwaies too busie now .... besides, — " " Father Francis ? " I put in. " Father Francis ? " repeats Will, with a Shake o' the Head, and a ruefulle Smile ; dost thou think, Meg, he coulde answer me if I put to him Pilate's Question, ' What is Truth ? ' " " We know alreadie," quoth I. Sayth Will, " What doe we know ? " I paused, then made Answer reverentlie, "That Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life." " Yes," he exclaymed, clapping his Hands together in a strange Sort of Pas- sion ; " that we doe know, blessed be God ; and other Foundation can or ought noe Man to lay than that is layd, which is Jesus Christ. But, Meg, is this the Prin- ciple of our Church ? " " Yea, verilie," I steadfastlie replied. " Then, how has it beene overlayd," he hurriedlie went on, " with Men's Inven- of Sir Thus. More. eye lions ! St. Paul speaks of a Sacrifice once offered: we holde the Host to be a con- tinuall 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. . . ." " Hold, hold ! " I sayd ; " I dare not listen to this. . . . You are wrong, you know you are wrong." " How and where ? " he sayth ; " onlie tell me. I long to be put righte." " Our Images are but Symbols cf our Saints," I made answer ; " 'tis onlie the Ignorant and Unlearned that worship the mere Wood and Stone." " But why worship Saints at alle ? " per- sisted Will ; " where's your Warrant for it ? " I sayd, " Heaver ' as warranted it by 100 The Household 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 im- patiently replyed, " refer me but to Holie Writ." " How can I," quoth I, " when you have ta'en away my Testament ere I had half gone through it ? 'Tis this Book, I fear me, poor Will, hath unsettled thee. Our Church, indeede, sayth the Unlearned wrest it to theire Destruction." " And yet the Apostle sayth," rejoyned Will, " that it contayns alle Things neces- sarie to our Salvation." " Doubtlesse it doth, if we knew but where to finde them," I replied. " And how finde, unlesse we seeke ? " he pursued ; " and how know which Road to take, when we finde the Scripture and the Church at Issue ?" of Sir TJws. More. 101 " 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, Doviiife Jesu, es yusticia viea ! ' " He looked so rapt, with claspt Hands and upraysed Eyes, as that I coulde not but look on him, and hear him with Solemnitie. At lengthe I sayd, " If you knowe and are certayn, you have no longer anie Doubts for me to lay, and with your Will, we will holde this Discourse noe longer ; for how- ever moving and however considerable its Subject Matter may be, it approaches for- io2 The Household bidden GicmnJ too nearlie for me to feel il safe, and I question whether it saveureth not nf Heresie. However, Will, I most hcarti- lie pity you, and will pray for you." " Do, Meg, do," he rcplyed, " and say nought to any one of this Matter." " Indecdc I shall not, for I think 'twouldc bring you, if not me, into Trouble ; but, since thou hast soughte my Counsel, Will, receive it now and take it. . . . He sayth, "What is it?" " To read less, pray more, fast, and uso. 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. Sept. id. Poor Will, I never see him look grave &ow, nor heare him sighe, without thinking pf Sir T/ios. More. 103 I know the Cause of his secret Disconten- tation. He hath, I believe, followed my Counsel to the Letter ; for though the Men's Quarter of the 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 the Ground, and used a knotted Cord. As 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve others, when we can, from Satanic Doubts and Inquieta- tions, I have been at some Payns to make an Abstracts of such Passages from the 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, t^th. Supped with my Lord Sands. Mother played Mumchance with my Lady ; but Father, who saith he woulde rather feast a hundred poor Men than eat at one rich Man's Table, came not in till late, on Plea of 104 The Household Businesse. My Lord told him the King had visitted him not long agone, and was so well content with his Manor as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine Ayre and pleasant growth of Wood. In fine, wound up the Evening with Musick. My Lady hath a pair of fine-toned Clavichords, and a Mandoline that stands five Feet high ; the largest in England, except that of the Lady Mary Dudley. The Sound, indeede, is powerful], but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie for a Woman. Lord Sands sang us a new Ballad, " The Kings Hunt's up" which Father affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt to sue my Lord for the Words, he being so free-spoken as alwaies to dash me ; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus... " The Hunt is up, the Hunt is tip, And it is well nigh Daye, Harry our King has g07ie Hunting To bring his Deere to daye. The East is bright with Morning Lig 7 ite f And Darkness it is fled, of Sir TJios. More. 105 And the merrie Horn toakes up the Morn To leave his idle Bed. Behold the Skies with golden Dyes, *L 7 c? • • • . — The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some Burden of Hey-tan- tara, where my Lord did stamp and snap his Fingers. He is a merry Heart. 1524, Oftober. Say th Lord Rutland to my Father, in his acute, sneering Way, " Ah, ah, Sir Thomas, Uonores mutant Mores." "Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns Fa- ther; " but have a Care lest we translate the Proverb, and say Honours change Man- ners" 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 be- lieve Honours have changed the Mores. As Father told Mother, there's the same 106 The Household 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, nei- ther lett nor hindered in ourdaylie Studdies, though we dress somewhat braver, and see more Companie. Mothers Head was a lit- tle turned, at first, by the Change and En- largement of the Householde . . . the Ac- quisition of Clerk of the Kitchen, Surveyor of the Dresser, Yeoman of the Pastrie, etc. ; but, as Father laughinglie tolde her, the In- crease of her Cares soone steddied her Witts, for she founde she had twenty Un- thrifts to look after insteade of half-a-dozen. And the same with himself. His Respon- sibilities are so increast, that he grutches at everie Hour the Court steals from his Family, and vows, now and then, he will eave off joking, that the King may tho of Sir Thos. More. 107 sooner wearie of him. But this is onlie in Jest, for he feels it is a Pozver given to 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 Privillesfes were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to his proper Level. The King tooke us by Surprise this Morning : Mother had scarce time to slip on her Scarlett Gown and Coif, ere he was in the House. His Grace was mio-htie o pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all rounde, which Bessy took humourouslie, Daisy immoveablie, Mercy humblie, I dis- tastefullie, and Mother delightedlie. She calls him a fine Man ; he is indeede big enoughe, and like to become too big ; with roS The Household long Slits of Eyes that gaze fieelie on all, as who shoulde say, " Who dare let or hin- der us ? " His Brow betokens Sense and Franknesse, his Eye-brows are supercilious, and his Cheeks 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 Fel- low, with something unsettled in his Eye. . . . " Master, Sir Knight, and may it please your Judgeship, my Name is Patteson." " Very likely," says Father, " and my Name is More ; but what is that to the Purpose ? " " And that is more to the Purpose, you mighte have sayd," returned the other. - " Why, soe I mighte," says Father; " but how shoulde I have proved it ? " " You who are a Lawyer shoulde knew best about that," rejoined the poor Knave ; " 'tis too hard for poor Patteson." of Sir Thos. More. log "Well, but who are you?" says Father, and what do you want of me?" " Don't you mind me ? " says Patteson, " I f ayed Hold-your-tongue, last Christmasse h >vel was five Years, and they called me a sr-art Chap then ; but last Martinmasse I fell from the Church Steeple, and shook my Bra n-pan, I think, for its Contents have seeded addled ever since ; soe what I want now is to be made a Fool." " T hen you are not one already ? " says Fat he>. " If t were," says Patteson, " I shoulde not have come to you." " Why, Like cleaves to Like, you know, they say," says Father. "Aye," says 'tother, "but I've Reafon 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 1 10 The Honseliold laughed at alreadie, methinketh 1 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, Pat- teson, 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 Es- tablishment, having alwaies had a Fancy to be prime Fooler in it myselfe ; however, you incline 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 Busi- nesse and go 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." " May it like your Goodness," says pool Pattesen, " I've been the Subject oft of of Sir Thos. More. 1 1 1 Scurrillitie, and affect it too little to offend that Way myself. I ever keep a civil Tongue in my Head, 'specially among young Ladies." " That minds me," says Father, " of a Butler, who said he always was sober, espe- cially when he had only water to drink. Can you read and write ? " " Well, and what if I cannot ? " returns Patteson ; " there ne'er was but one, I ever heard of, who knew Letters, never having learnt ; and well he mighte, for he made them that made them." "'Meg, there is Sense in this poor Fel- low," says Father; "we will have him Home, and be kind to him." And, sure enow, we have done soe, and been soe, ever since. Tucs. 2$tk. A Glance at the anteceding Pages of this Libellus me-sheweth poor Will Roper at the Season his Love-fitt for me was at its Height. He troubleth me with it noe 112 The Household longer, nor with his religious Disquieta tions. Hard Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head with other Matters, and made him infinitely more rationall, and, by Con- sequents, 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. 26th. Pattesons latest Jest was taking Prece dence of FatJier yesterday with the Saying, " Give Place, Brother ; you are but Jester to King Harry, and I'm Jester to Sir Thomas More; I'll leave you to decide which «s the greater Man of the two." of Sir Titos. More. 113 * Why, Gossip," cries Father, " his Grace would make two of me." " Not a Bit of it," returns Patteson ; " he's big enow for two such as you are, I grant ye, but the King can't make two of you. No ! Lords and Commons may make a King, but a King can't make a Sir Thomas More'* " Yes, he can," rejoyns Father, " he can make me Lord Chancellor, and then he will make me more than I am alreadie ; 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 Kings 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 Pat- teson far more than in jesting with the King, whom he alwaies looks on as a Lion that may, any Minute, fall on him and rend' 1 14 The Household him : whereas, with 'tother, he ungirds his Mind. Their Banter commonlie exceeds not Pleasantrie, but Patteson is ne'er with- out an Answer ; and although, maybe, each amuses himself now and then with think- ing, " I'll put him up with such a Question," yet, once begun, the Skein runs off the Reel without a Knot, and shews the excel- lent Nature of both, soe free are they alike from Malice and Over-license. Sometimes theire Cuts are neater than common List- eners 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 the Sun, the Scintillations have escaped me, though I've known theire Rays must have been emit- ted in some Quarter alle the same. Patteson, with one of Argus s cast Fea- thers in his Hand, is at this Moment be- neath my Lattice, astride on a stone Balus- trade ; while Bessy, whom he much affects, of Sir Thos. More. 115 is sitting on the Steps, feeding her Pea- cocks. Sayeth Patteson, " Canst tell me, Mistress, why Peacocks have soe manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can onlie 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. Canst 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 so ? " " Nay, a Fool may ask a Question woulde puzzle a Wiseard to answer," rejoyns Pat- teson ; " I mighte ask you, for Example, where they got theire fresh Kitchen-stuff in the Ark ; or whether the Birds ate other 1 1 6 The Household than Grains, or the wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs must have been a Gran- ary." " We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," says Bess, " as in seeking to know more than is written. They had enoughe, if none to spare, and we scarce can tell how little is enoughe for bare Sustenance in a State of perfect Inaction. If the Creatures were kept low, they were alle the less fierce." "Well answered, Mistress," says Patteson. " But tell me, why do you wear two Crosses ? " " Nay, Fool," returns Bess, " I wear but one." " Oh, but I say you wear two," says Pat- teson ; " one at your Girdle, and one that nobody sees. We alle wear the unseene one, you know. Some have theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, soe as you hardlie tell it for a Cross. . . . like my Lord Car- dinal!, for Instance. . . . but it is one, for alle that. And others, of Iron, that eateth into theire Hearts. . . . methinketh Master of Sir T/ios. More. 1 1 ) Roper's must be one of 'em. For me, I'm content with one of Wood, like that our deare Lord bore : what was good enow for Him is good 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." " Nay, Niece" says Patteson, " my Bro- ther, your Father, hath made me rich." " I mean," says Bess, " you have more Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool has neither, therefore you are onlie a make- believe Fool." "Well, there are many make-believe Sages," says Patteson ; " for mine owne Part, I never aim to be thoughte a Hiccius Doc- cms. " A hie est doclas, Fool, you mean," inter- rupts Bess. 1 1 8 The Household " Perhaps I do," rejoins Patteson, " since other Folks soe oft know better what we mean than we know ourselves. Alle I woulde saye is, I ne'er set up for a Conju- ror. One can see as far into a Millstone as other People, without being that. For Ex- ample, when a Man is overta'en with Qualms 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 Ap parel, we ... as I live, here comes Master Heron, with a Fish in's Mouth." Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her Head quicklie towards the Watergate ; on which, Patteson, laughing as he lay on his Back, points upward with his Peacock's Feather, and cries, " Overhead, Mistress ! see, there of Sir TJios. More. 1 1 9 he goes. Sure, you lookt not to see Giles Heron making towards us between the Posts and Flower-pots, eating a dried Ling ? " laughing as wildlie as though he were verilie a Natural. Bess, without a Word, shooke the Crumbs from her Lap, and was turning into the House, when he withholds 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 the Word ? I learne 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 Dunghill Cock, or fishing for a Heron, which is well able to fish for itself, and is an ill-natured Bird after alle, that pecks the Hand of his Mistress, and, for alle her Kindness to him, will not think of Bessy more." 120 The Household How apt alle arc to abuse unlimited Li- cense! Yet 'was good Counsel. 1525, July 2d. .... Soe my Fate is settled ! Who knoweth at Sunrise what will chance before Sunsett ? No ; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of Chance and of Fate, but we must not. RutJis Hap was to light on the Field of Boaz: but what she thought casual, the Lord had contrived. Firste, he gives me the Marmot. Then, the Marmot dies. Then, I, having kept the Creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a little over it. Then Will must come in, and find me drying mine Eyes. Then he must, most unrea- sonable, suppose that I could not have loved the poor Animal for its owne Sake soe much as for his ; and, thereupon, falle a love-making in such downrighte Ear- neste, that I, being alreadie somewhat upset, and knowing 'tvvoulde please Fatkct of Sir Titos. More. 1 2 1 . . and hating to be perverse, . . . and thinking much better of Will since he hath studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to the Poor, and left off broaching his heteroclite Opinions ... I say, I sup- posed it must be soe, some Time or an- other, soe 'twas noe Use hanging back for ever and ever ; soe now there's an End, — and I pray God give us a quiet Life. Noe one woulde suppose me reckoning on a quiet Life if they knew how I've cried alle this Forenoon, ever since I got quit of Will, by Fathers carrying him off to West- minster. He'll tell Father, I know, as they goe along in the Barge, or else coming back, which will be soone now, though I've ta'en no Heed of the Hour. I wish 'twere cold Weather, and that I had a sore Throat or stiff Neck, or somewhat that might rea- sonablie send me a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis the Dog-days, and Cook is thumping the Roiling-pin on the Dresser 122 The Household and Dinner is being served, — and here comes Father. Sept. 1528. Father hath had some Words with the Cardinall. 'Twas touching the Draught of some forayn Treaty which the Cardinall offered for his Criticism, or rather, for his Commendation, which Father could not give. This nettled his Grace, who ex- claimed, — " By the Mass, thou art the veriest Fool of alle the Council ! " Father, smiling, rejoined, " God be thanked, that the King, our Master, hath but one Fool therein." The Cardinall may rage, but he can't rob him of the royal Favour. The King was here yesterday, and walked for an Hour or soe about the Garden with his Arm round Father s Neck. Will coulde not help felicitating Father upon it after- wards ; to which Father made Answer, " I thank God I find his Grace my very good Lord indeede, and I believe he doth as of Sir Thos. More. 123 singularlie favour me as any Subject within this Realm. Howbeit, Son Roper, I may tell thee betweene ourselves, I feel no Cause to be proud thereof; for if my Head would win him a Castle in France, it shoulde not fail to fly off." — Father is graver than he used to be. No Wonder. He hath much on his Minde ; the Calls on his Time and Thoughts are beyond Belief: but God is very good to him. His Favour at Home and Abroad is immense : he hath good Health, soe have we alle ; and his Family are established to his Mind, and settled alle about him, still under the same fostering Roof. Consider- ing that I am the most ordinarie of his Daughters, 'tis singular I shoulde have secured the best Husband. Daisy lives peaceablie with Rupert Allington, and is as indifferent, me seemeth, to him as to alle the World beside. He, on his Part, loves her and theire Children with Devotion, and woulde pass half his Time in the Nurserie 124 The Household Dancey always had a hot Temper, anl now and then plagues Bess ; but she lets noe one know it but me. Sometimes she comes into my Chamber, and cries a little ; but the next kind Word brightens her up, and I verilie believe her Pleasures far exceed her Payns. Giles Heron lost her through his own Fault, and mighte have regayned her good Opinion after alle, had he taken half the Pains for her Sake he now takes for her younger Sister. I cannot think how Cecy can favour him ; yet I suspect he will win her, sooner or later. As to mine owne deare Will, 'tis the kindest, purest Nature, the finest Soul, the . . . and yet how I was senselesse enow once to under- value him ! Yes, I am a happy Wife ; a happy Daughter ; a happy Mother. When my little Bill stroaked dear Fathers Face just now, and murmured " Pretty ! " he burst out a-laughing, and cried, — "You are like the young Cyrus, who of Sir Thos. More. 125 exclaimed, — 'Oh! Mother, how pretty is my Grandfather ! ' And yet, according to Xenophon, the - old Gentleman was soe rouged and made up, as that none but a Childe woulde have admired him ! " " That's not the Case," I observed, " with Bill's Grandfather." "He's a More all over," says Father, fondly. " Make a Pun, Meg, if thou canst, about Amor, Amo7-e, or Amores. 'Twill onlie be the thousand and first on our Name. Here, little Knave, see these Cherries : tell me who thou art, and thou shalt have one. ' More ! More!' I knew it, sweet Villain. Take them all." I oft sitt for an Hour or more, watching Hans Holbien at his Brush. He hath a rare Gift of limning; and has, besides, the Ad- vantage of deare Erasmus his Recommen- dation, for whom he hath alreddie painted our Likenesses, but I think he has made us very ugly. His Portraiture of my Grand- father is marvellous ; ne'erthelesse, I look 126 The Household in vayn for the Spirituallitie which out Lucchese Friend, Antonio Bonvisi, tells us is to be founde in the Productions of the Italian Schools. Holbein loves to paint with the Lighte coming in upon his Work from above. He says a Lighte from above puts Objects in theire proper Lighte, and shews theire just Proportions ; a Lighte from beneath rever- ses alle the naturall Shadows. Surelie, this hath some Truth if we spiritualize it. Rupert's Cousin, Rosamond Allington, is our Guest. She is as beautiful as . . . not as an Angel, for she lacks the Look of Goodness, but very beautiful indeede. She cometh hither from Hever Castle, her Ac- count of the Affairs whereof I like not. Mistress Anne is not there at present ; in- deede, she is now always hanging about Court, and followeth somewhat too literallie the scriptural Injunction to Solomons Spouse — to forget her Father's House of Sir Thos. More. 127 The King likes well enow to be compared with Solomon, but Mistress Anne is not his Spouse yet, nor ever will be, I hope. Flat- tery and Frenchified Habitts have spoilt her, I trow. Rosamond says there is not a good Cham- ber in the Castle ; even the Ball-room, which is on the upper Floor of alle, being narrow and low. On a rainy Day, long ago, she and Mistress Anne were playing at Shuttle- cock therein, when Rosamond 's Foot trip- ped at some Unevennesse in the Floor, and Mistress Anne, with a Laugh, cried out, " Mind" you goe not down into the Dun- geon " — then pulled up a Trap-door in the Ball-room Floor, by an iron Ring, and made Rosamond look down into an unknown Depth, alle in the Blacknesse of Darkness. ' Tis an awfulle Thing to have onlie a Step from a Ball-room to a Dungeon ! I'm glad we live in a modern House ; we have noe such fearsome Sights here. 128 Tin Household Sept. 26///. How many, many Tears have I shed Poor, imprudent Will ! To think of his Escape from the Car- dinalVs Fangs, and yet that he will pro- bablie repeat the Offence ! This Morning Father and he had a long, and, I fear me, fruitless Debate in the Garden ; on re- turning from which, Father took me afide and sayd, — "Meg, I have borne a long Time with thine Husband ; I have reasoned and ar- gued with him, and still give him my poor, fatherly Counsel ; but I perceive none of alle this can call him Home agayn. And therefore, Meg, I will noe longer dispute with him." ..." Oh, Father! "... " Nor yet will I give him over ; but I will set an- other Way to work, and get me to God, and pray for him." And have not I done so alreadie ? 2jth. I feare me they parted unfriendlie j ( of Sir Thos. More. 129 hearde Father say, "Thus much I have a Right to bind thee to, that thou indoc- trinate not her in thine owne Herefies. Thou shalt not imperill the Salvation of my Child ! " Since this there has been an irresistible Gloom on our Spiritts, a Cloud between e my Husband's Soul and mine, without a Word spoken. I pray, but my Prayers seem dead. Thurs. 2%th. .... Last Night, after seeking unto this Saint and that, methoughte, " Why not ap- plie unto' the Fountain Head ? Maybe these holie Spiritts may have Limitations sett to the Power of theire Intercessions — at anie Rate, the Ears of Mary-mother are open to alle." Soe I beganne, " Eia mater, fons amo- *ns Then methoughte, " But I am onlie ask- ing her to intercede — I'll mount a Step higher still." .... 1 30 The Household Then I turned to the greate Intercessoi of alle. But methoughte, " Still he inter- cedes with another, although the same. And his owne Saying was, ' In that Day ye shall ask Die nothing. Whatsoever ye shall ask in my Name, He will give it you.' " Soe I did. I fancy I fell asleep with the Tears on my Cheek. Will had not come up Stairs. Then came a heavie, heavie Sleep, not such as giveth Rest ; and a dark, wild Dream. Methoughte I was tired of waiting for Will, and became alarmed. The Night seemed a Month long ; and at last I grew soe weary of it, that I arose, put on some Clothing, and went in search of him whom my Soul loveth. Soon I founde him, sitting in a Muse; and said, " Will, deare Will?" but he hearde me not ; and, going up to touch him, I was amazed to be broughte short up or ever I reached him, by Something invi- sible betwixt us, hard, and cleare, and colde, .... in short, a Wall of Ice ! Soe it seemed of Sir TJios. More. 131 in my strange Dream. I pushed at it, but coulde not move it ; called to him, but coulde not make him hear : and all the While my Breath, I suppose, raised a Va- pour on the glassy Substance, that grew thicker and thicker, soe as slowlie to hide him from me. I coulde discerne his Head and Shoulders, but not see down to his Heart. Then I shut mine Eyes in Des- pair, and when I opened 'em, he was hidden altogether. Then I prayed. I put my hot Brow agaynst the Ice, and I kept a weeping hot Tears, and the warm Breath of Prayer kept issuing from my Lips ; and still I was per- sisting, when, or ever I knew how, the Ice beganne to melt ! I felt it giving Way ! and, looking up, coulde in joyful le Surprize just discerne the Lineaments of a Figure close at t'other Side ; the Face turned away, but yet in the Guise of listening. And, Images being apt to seem magnified and distorted through Vapours, methought 'twas 132 The Household altogether bigger than Will, yet himself, nothingthelesse ; and, the Barrier between us having sunk away to Breast-height, I layd mine Hand on's Shoulder, and he turned his Head, smiling, though in Si- lence ; and .... oh, Heaven ! 'twas not Will, but . What coulde I doe, even in my Dreame, but fall at his Feet ? What coulde I doe, waking, but the same ? ' Twas Grey of Morn ; I was feverish and unrefreshed, but I wanted noe more lying a-bed. Will had arisen and gone forthe, and I, as quicklie as I coulde make myself readie, sped after him. I know not what I expected, nor what I meant to say. The Moment I opened the Door of his Closett, I stopt short. There he stoode, in the Centre of the Chamber, his Hand resting flat on an open Book, his Head raised somewhat up, his Eyes fixed on Something or some One, as though in speaking Communion with 'em ; his whole Visage lightened up and glorify de with an of Sir Thos. More. 133 unspeakable Calm and Grandeur that seemed to transfigure him before me ; and, when he hearde my Step, he turned about, and 'steade of histing me away, helde out his Arms We parted without neede to utter a Word. June, 1530. Events have followed too quick and thick for me to note 'em. Firste, Fathers Em- bassade to Cambray, which I shoulde have grieved at more on our owne Accounts, had it not broken off alle further Collision with Will. Thoroughlie homesick, while abroad, poor Father was ; then, on his Return, he noe sooner sett his Foot a-land, than the King summoned him to Woodstock. 'Twas a Couple o' Nights after he left us, that Will and I were roused by Patteson s shout- ing beneath our Window, " Fire, Fire, quoth Jeremiah /" and the House was a- fire, sure enow. Greate Part of the Men's Quarter, together with alle the Out-houses and Barns, consumed without Remedie : 1 34 The Household and alle through the Carelessnesse of John Holt. Howbeit, noe Lives were lost, nor any one much hurt. And we thankfullie obeyed deare Fathers Behests, so soone as we received the same, — that we woulde get us to Church, and there, upon our Knees, return humble and hearty Thanks to Al- mighty God for our late Deliverance from a fearfulle Death. Alsoe, at Fathers desire, we made up to the poor People on our Premises theire various Losses, which he bade us doe, even if it left him without so much as a Spoon. But then came an equallie unlookt-for, and more appalling Event — the Fall of my Lord Cardinal/ ; whereby my Father was shortlie raised to the highest Pinnacle of professional Greatnesse, being made Lord Chancellor — to the Content, in some Sort, of Wolsey himself, who sayd he was the onlie Man fit to be his Successor. The unheard-of Splendour of his Instal- lation dazzled the Vulgar ; while the Wis of Sir Tlios. More. 135 dom that marked the admirable Discharge of his daylie Duties won the Respect of alle thinking Men, but surprized none who alreadie knew Father. On the Day suc- ceeding his being sworn in, Patteson marched hither and thither, bearing a huge Placard, inscribed, " Partnership Dis- solved ; " and apparelled himself in an old Suit, on which he had bestowed a Coating of black Paint, with Weepers of white Paper ; assigning for't that " his Brother was dead." "For now," quoth he, "that they've made him Lord Chancellor, "we shall ne'er see Sir Thomas more." Now, although the poor Cardinall was commonlie helde to shew much Judgment in his Decisions, owing to the naturall Soundness of his Understanding, yet, being noe Lawyer, Abuses had multiplied during his Chancellorship, more especiallie in the Way of enormous Fees and Gratuities. Father, not content with shunning base Lucre in his proper Person, will not let 13^ The Household anie one under him, to his Knowledge, touch a Bribe ; whereat Dancey, after his tunny Fashion, complains, saying, — " The Fingers of my Lord Cardinal? s veriest Door-keepers were tipt with Gold, but I, since I married your Daughter, have got noe Pickings ; which in your Case may be commendable, but in mine is nothing profitable." Father, laughing, makes Answer, — " Your C^se is hard, Son Dancey, but I can onlie say, for your Comfort, that, soe far as Honesty and Justice are concerned, if mine owne Father, whom I reverence dearly, stoode before me on the one Hand, and the Devil, whom I hate ex- tremely, on the other, yet, the Cause of the latter being just, I shoulde give the Devil his Due." Giles Heron hath found this to his Cost. Presuming on his near Connexion with my Father, he refused an equitable Accommo- dation of a Suit, which, thereon, coming of Sir Thus. More. 137 into Court, Fathers Decision was given flat agaynst him. His Decision agaynst Mother was equallie impartiall, and had Something comique in it. Thus it befelle. — A Beg- gar-woman's little Dog, which had beene stolen from her, was offered my Mother for Sale, and she bought it for a Jewel of no greate Value. After a Week or soe, the Owner finds where her Dog is, and cometh to make Complaynt of the Theft to Father, then fitting in his Hall. Sayth Father, " Let's have a faire Hearing in open Court ; thou r Mistress, stand there were you be, to have impartial Justice ; and thou, Dame Alice, come up hither, because thou art of the higher Degree. Now then, call each of you the Puppy, and see which he will follow." Soe Sweetheart, in spite of Mother, springs off to the old Beg- gar-woman, who, unable to keep from laughing, and yet moved at Mothers Losse, sayth,— 138 The Hcv sehold " Tell 'ee what, Mistress .... thee shalt have 'un for a Groat." "Nay," sayth Mother, "I won't mind giving thee a Piece of Gold;" soe the Bargain was satisfactorily concluded. Fathers Despatch of Businesse is such, that, one Morning before the End of Term, he was tolde there was noe other Cause nor Petition to be sett before him ; the which, being a Case unparalleled, he de- sired mighte be formally recorded. He ne'er commences Businesse in his owne Court without first stepping into the Court of Kings Bench, and there kneeling downe to receive my Grandfather's Bless- ing. Will sayth 'tis worth a World to see the Unction with which the deare old Man bestows it on him. In Rogation-week, following the Rood as usuall round the Parish, Her-on counsel- led him to go a Horseback for the greater Seemlinesse; but he made Answer that 'twoulde be unseemlie indeede for the of Sir Thos. More. 139 Servant to ride, after his Master going a-foot. His Grace of Norfolk, coming yesterday to dine with him, finds him in the Church- choir, singing, with a Surplice on. " What ! " cries the Duke, as they walk Home together, " My Lord Chancellor playing the Parish-clerk ? Sure, you dis- honour the King and his Office." " Nay," says Father, smiling, " your Grace must not deem that the King, your Master and mine, will be offended at my honouring his Master." Sure, 'tis pleasant to heare Father taking the upper Hand of these great Folks : and to have 'em coming and going, and waiting his Pleasure, because he is the Man whom the King delighteth to honour. True, indeed, with Wolsey 'twas once the same ; but Father neede not feare the same Ruin ; because he hath Him for his Friend, whom Wolsey sayd woulde not have for- saken him, had he served Him as he 140 The Household served his earthly Master. 'Twas a mis- proud Priest ; and there's the Truth on't. And FatJier is not misproud ; and I don't believe we are — though proud of him we cannot fail to be. And I know not why we may not be pleased with Prosperitie, as well as patient under Adversitie ; as long as we say "Thou, Lord, hast made our Hill soe strong." 'Tis more difficult to bear with Comeliness, doubtless ; and envious Folks there will be ; and we know alle Things have an End, and everie Sweet hath its Sour, and everie Fountain its Fall ; but . . . 'tis very pleasant for all that. Tuesday 3 1 st y 1532. Who could have thoughte that those ripe Grapes whereof dear Gaffer ate soe plentifullie, should have ended his Dayes ? This Event hath filled the House with Mourning. He had us all about his Bed to receive his Blessing ; and 'twas piteous of Sir Thos. More 141 to see Father fall upon his Face, as Joseph on the Face of Jacob, and weep upon him and kiss him. Like Jacob, my Grandsire lived to see his duteous Son attayn to the Height of earthlie Glorie, his Heart un- spoyled and untouched. July, 1532. The Days of Mourning for my Grand- sire are at an End ; yet Father still goeth heavilie. This Forenoon, looking forthe of my Lattice, I saw him walking along the River Side, his Arm cast about Will's Neck ; and 'twas a dearer Sight to my Soul than to see the King walking there with his arm around Fathers Neck. They seemed in such earnest Converse, that I was avised to ask Will, afterwards, what they had been saying. He told me that, after much friendly Chat together on this and that, Father fell into a Muse, and presently, fetching a deep Sigh, says, — "Woulde to God, Son Roper, on Condi- tion three Things were well established in /42 The Household Christendom, I were put into a Sack, an2 The Household tesie, declined to be present. After much friendly pressing, they parted, seeminglie on good Terms ; but I have Misgivings of the Issue. gth. A ridiculous Charge hath beene got up 'gainst dear Father; no less than of Bri- bery and Corruption. One Pariicll com- plaineth of a Decree given agaynst him in favour of one Vaughan, whose Wife, he deponeth, gave Father a gilt Flaggon. To the noe small Surprise of the Council, Father admitted that she had done soe : " But, my Lords," proceeded he, when they had uttered a few Sentences of Reprehen- sion somewhat too exultantlie, " will ye list the Conclusion of the Tale? I bade my Butler fill the Cup with Wine, and having drunk her Health, I made her pledge me, and then restored her Gift, and would not take it agayn." As innocent a Matter, touching the of- fering him a Pair of Gloves containing of Sir T/ios. More. 163 Forty Pounds, and his taking the first and returning the last, saying he preferred his Gloves without Lining, hath been made publick with like Triumph to his own good Fame ; but, alack ! these Feathers show which Way sets the Wind. April 13th. A heavier Charge than either of the above hath been gotten up, concerning the wicked Woman of Kent, with whom they accuse him of having tampered, that, in her pretended Revelations and Rhapsodies, she might utter Words against the Kings Divorce. His Name hath, indeede, been put in the Bill of Attainder ; but, out of Favour, he hath been granted a private Hearing, his Judges being the new Arch- bishop, the new Chancellor, his Grace of Norfolk, and Master Cromwell. He tells us that they stuck not to the Matter in Hand, but began cunningly enow to sound him on the Kings Matters ; and finding they could not shake him, did pro- 164 The Household ceed to Threats, which, he told 'em, might well enow scare Children, but not him ; and as to his having provoked his Grace the King to sett forth in his Book aught to dishonour and fetter a good Christian, his Grace himself well knew the Book was never shewn him save for verbal Criticism, when the Subj eel-matter was completed by the Makers of the same, and that he had warned his Grace not to express soe much Submission to the Pope. Whereupon they with great Displeasure dismissed him, and he took Boat for Chelsea with mine Hus- band, in such gay Spiritts, that Will, not having beene privy to what had passed, concluded his name to have beene struck out of the Bill of Attainder, and congratu- lated him thereupon soe soone as they came a-land, saying, " I guess, Father, all is well, seeing you thus merry." " It is, indeed, son Roper" returns Fa- ther, steadilie ; repeating thereupon, onca or twice, this Phrase, " All is well." of Sir Thos. More. 165 Will, somehow mistrusting him, puts the Matter to him agayn. "You are then, Father, put out of the Bill ? " " Out of the Bill, good Fellow*? " repeats Father, stopping short in his Walk, and re- garding him with a Smile that Will sayth was like to break his Heart. ..." Wouldst thou know, dear Son, why I am so joy- ful ? In good Faith, I have given the Devil a foul Fall ; for I have with those Lords gone so far, as that without great Shame I can ne'er go back. The first Step, Will, is the worst, and that's taken." And so to the House, with never another Word, Will being smote at the Heart. But, this Forenoon, deare Will comes running into me, with Joy all bright, and tells me he hath just heard from Cromwell that Father s name is in sooth struck out. Thereupon, we go together to him with the News. He taketh it thankfully, yet composedly, saying, as he lavs his Hand \66 The Household on my Shoulder, " In faith, Meg, quod diffrkur non aufertur." Seeing me some- what stricken and overborne, he sayth, " Come, lei's leave good Will awhile to the Company of his own select and profitable Thoughts, and take a Turn together by the Water Side." Then, closing his Book, which I marked was Plato s Phcedon, he steps forth with me into the Garden leaning on my Shoulder, and pretty heavilie too. After a Turn or two in Silence, he lightens his Pressure, and in a Bland, peaceifying Tone, com- mences Horace his tenth Ode, Book second, and goes through the first fourteen or fif- teen Lines in a Kind of lulling Monotone ; then takes another Turn or two, ever look- ing at the Thames ; and in a stronger Voice begins his favourite " Justum, ac tenacem Propositi Virum Non Civium Ardor," etc., on to " Impavidum ferient Ruinee ; ' of Sir Thos. More. 1 6j —and lets go his Hold on me to extend his Hand in fine, free Action. Then, drawing me to him agayn, presentlie murmurs, " I reckon that the Sufferings of this present Time are not worthy to be compared with the Glory which shall be revealed in us . . . Oh no, not worthy to be compared. I have lived, I have laboured, I have loved. I have lived in them I loved, laboured for them I loved, loved them for whom I la- boured. My Labour has not been in vayn. To love and to labour is the Sum of living ; and yet how manie think they live who neither labour nor love ! Agayn, how manie labour and love, and yet are not loved ; but I have beene loved, and my Labour has not been in vayn. Now, the Daye is far spent, and the Night is at hand, and the Time draweth nigh when Man resteth from his Labours, even from his Labours of Love ; bi.t still he shall love, and he shall live, where the Spirit sayth he shall rest from his Labours, and where his (68 The Household Works do follow him ; for he entereth into Rest through and to Him who is Life, and Light, and Love." Then looking steadfastlie at the Thames — " How quietlie," sayth he, " it flows on ! This River, Meg, hath its Origin from seven petty Springs somewhither amongst the Gloucestershire Hills, where they bubble forthe unnoted, save by the Herd and Hind. Belike, they murmur over the Pebbles pret- tily enough ; but a great River, mark you, never murmurs. It murmured and babbled too, 'tis like, whilst only a Brook, and brawled away as it widened and deepened, and chafed agaynst Obstacles, and here and there got a Fall, and splashed and made much Ado, but ever kept running on to- wards its End, still deepening and widen- ing ; and now, towards the Close of its Course, look you how swift and quiet it is, running mostly between Flats, and with the dear blue Heaven reflected in its v ace. • • > • of Sir Thos. More. 169 April 12, 1534. 'Twas o' Wednesday e was a Week, we were quietlie taking our Dinner, when, after a loud and violent Knocking at the outer Door, in cometh a Pursuivant, and sum- moneth Father to appear next Daye before the Commissioners, to take the newly-coin- ed Oath of Supremacy. Mother utters a hasty Cry, Bess turns white as Death ; but I, urged by I know not what sudden Im- pulse to con the new Comer's Visage nar- rowly, did with Eagerness exclaim, " Here's some Jest of Fathers ; 'tis only Dick Halli- well!"' Whereupon Father burst out laughing, hugged Mother, called Bess a silly Puss, and gave Halliwell a Groat for's Payns. Now while some were laughing, and others tak- ing Father prettie sharplie to Task for soe rough a Crank, I fell a muzing, what could be the Drift of this ; and coulde only sur- mise it might be to harden us beforehand, as 'twere, to what was sure to come at last 1 70 The Household And the Preapprehension of this so bcla boured my alreadie o'erbuithened Spiritts as that I was fayn to betake myself to the Nurserie, and lose all Thought and Reflec tion in my little Bess's prettie Ways. And, this not answering, was for6l to have Re- course to Prayer ; then, leaving my Closett, was able to return to the Nurserie, and for- get myself awhile in the Mirth of the In- fants. Hearing Voyces beneath the Lattice, I lookt forthe, and behelde his Grace of Nor- folk (of late a strange Guest) walking be- neath the Window in earneste Converse with Father; and, as they turned about, I heard him say, " By the Mass, Master More, 'tis perilous striving with Princes. I could wish you, as a Friend, to incline to the Kings Pleasure ; for Indignatio Principis Mors est" "Is that all?" says Father; ''why then there will be onlie this Difference between your Grace and me — that I shall die to* of Sir Tlws. More. j / 1 tlaye, and you to-morrow ; " — which was the Sum of what I caught. Next Morning, we were breaking our Fast with Peacefulnesse of Heart, on the Principle that Sufficient for the Daye is the Evill thereof, and there had beene a wordy War between our two Factions of the Neri and Bianchi, Bess having defalked from the Mancheteers on the Ground that black Bread sweetened the breath and settled the Teeth, to the no small Triumph of the Cob-loaf Party : while Daisy, persevering at her Crusts, sayd, " No, I can cleave to the Rye Bread as steddilie as anie among you ; but 'tis vayn of Father to maintain that it is as toothsome as a Manchet, or that I eat it to whiten my Teeth, for there- by he robs Self-deniall of its Grace." Father, strange to say, seemed taken at Vantage, and was pausing for a Retort, when Hobson coming in, and whispering Somewhat in his Ear, he rose suddainlie and went forthe of the Hall with him, putting 172 The Household his Head back agayn to say, " Rest ye alle awhile where ye be," which we did, uneasilie enow. Anon he returns, brushing his Cap, and says calmlie, " Now let's forthe to Church ; " and clips Mothers Arm beneathe his owne, and leads the Way. We follow as soon as we can ; and I, listing to him more than to the Priest, did think I never heard him make Response more composed- lie, nor sing more lustilie, by the which I founde myself in stouter Heart. After Prayers he is shriven, after which he saun- ters back with us to the House ; then brisk- lie turning on his Heel, cries to my Hus- band, " Now, Will, let's toward, Lad," and claps the Wicket after him, leaving us at t'other Side, without so much as casting back a parting Look. Though he evermore had been avised to let us companie him to the Boat, and there kiss him once and agayn or ever he went, I know not that I should have thoughte much of this, had not Daisy, looking after him keenly, exclaymed some- of Sir Thos. More. 173 what shortlie as she turned in Doors, " I wish I had not uttered that Quip about the Cob-loaf." Oh, how heavilie sped the Day ! The House, too big now for its Master's dimin- ished Retinue, had yet never hitherto seem- ed lonesome ; but now a Somewhat of dreary anddreadfull, inexpressible in Words, invisible to the Eye, but apprehended by the inner Sense, filled the blank Space alle about. For the first Time every one seem- ed idle ; not only disinclined for Businesse, but as though there were Something un- seemfie in addressing one's Self to it. There was nothing to cry about, nothing to talk over, and yet we alle stood agaze at each other in Groups, like the Cattle under the Trees when a Storm is at hand. Mercy was the first to start off. I held her back, and sayd, " What is to do ? " She whisper- ed. " Pray." I let her arm drop ; but Bess at that Instant comes up with Cheeks as colourless as Parchment. She sayth, 1 74 The Household "'Tis made out now. A Pursuivant dt Faclo fetched him forthe this Morning!" We gave one deep, universal Sigh ; Mercy broke away, and I after her, to seek the same Remedy, but alack, in vayn. . . 15//Z. How large a Debt we owe you, wise and holie Men of old ! How ye counsel us to Patience, incite us to Self-mastery, cheei us on to high Emprize, temper in us the Heat of Youth, school our Inexperience, calm the o'erwrought Mind, allay the An- guish of Disappointment, cheat Suspense, and master Despair. . . How much better and happier ye would make us, if we would but list your Teaching ! Bess hath fallen Sick ; no marvell. Everie one goeth heavilie. Alle Joy is darkened ; the Mirthe of the House is gone. Will tells me, that as they pushed off from the Stairs, Father took him about the Neck and whispered, " I thank our Lord, of Sir Thos. More. ij$ the Field is won ! " Sure, Regains ne'er went for the with higher Self-devotion. Having declared his Inabilitie to take the Oath as it stoode, they bade him, Will tells me, take a Turn in the Garden while they administered it to sundrie others, thus af- fording him Leisure for Re-consid:ration. But they might as well have bidden the Neaptide turn before its Hour. When called in agayn, he was as firm as ever, so was given in Ward to the Abbot of West- minster till the Kings Grace was informed of the Matter. And now the Fool's wise Saying of vindictive Herodias came true, for 'twas the King's Mind to have Mercy on his old Servant, and tender him a quali- fyed Oath ; but Queen Anne, by her impor- tunate Clamours, did overrule his proper Will, and at Four Days' End, the full Oath being agayn tendered and rejected, Father was committed to the Tower. Oh, wicked Woman, how could you ! . . . Sure, you never loved a Father 1 76 The Household May 22nu. In Answer to our incessant Applications throughout this last Month past, Mother hath at length obtayned Access to dear Father. She returned, her Eyes nigh swol- len to closing with weeping. . . . We crowd- ed round about, burning for her Report, but 'twas some Time ere she could fetch Breath or Heart to give it us. At length Daisy, kissing her Hand once and agayn, draws forthe a disjoynted Tale, somewhat after this Fashion : " Come, give over weeping, dearest Mother; 'twill do neither him, you, nor us anie Goode. . . . What was your first Speech of him ? " " Oh, my first Speech, Sweetheart, was, 'What, my Goodness, Mr. More! I mar- veil how that you, who were always counted a wise Man, should now soe play the Fool as to lie here in this close, filthy Prison, shut up with Mice and Rats, when you mighte be abroade and at your Liberty, of Sir Thos. More. i"J with t?.e Favour of King and Council, and return to your righte fayr House, your Books and Gallery, and your Wife, Chil- dren, rnd Household, if soe be you onlie woulde but do what the Bishops and best learned of the Realm have, without Scruple, done alreadie.' " " And what sayd he, Mother, to that ? ". . . " Why, then, Sweetheart, he chucks me under the Chin, and sayeth, ' I prithee, good Mistress Alice, to tell me one Thing.' .... Soe then I say, ' What Thing ? ' Soe then- he sayeth, 'Is not this House, Sweet- heart, as nigh Heaven as mine own ? ' Soe then I jerk my Head away and say, « Till ey- valley ! Tilley- valley ! ' " Sayth Bess, " Sure, Mother, that was cold Comfort And what next ? " "Why, then I said, 'Bone Dcus, Man! Bone Deus ! will this Gear never be left ? ' Soe then he sayth, 'Well, then, Mrs. Alice, if it be soe, 'tis mighty well ; but, for my Part, I see no greate Reason why I sheuMe 12 1 78 The Household much joy in my gay House, or in Anie« thing belonging thereunto, when, if I shoulde be but seven Years buried under- ground, and then arise and come thither agayn, I shoulde not fail to find Some therein that woulde bid me get out of Doors, and tell me 'twas none o' mine. What Cause have I, then, to care soe greatlie for a House that woulde soe soone forget its Master ? ' " " And then, Mother? and then ? " " Soe then, Sweetheart, he sayth, ' Come tell me, Mrs. Alice, how long do you think we might reckon on living to enjoy it?' Soe I say, ' Some twenty Years, forsooth.' 'In faith,' says he, 'had you said some thousand Years, it had beene Somewhat ; and yet he were a very bad Merchant that woulde put himselfe in Danger to lose Eternity for a thousand Years .... how much the rather if we are not sure to en- joy it one Day to an End ! ' Soe then he puts me off with Questions, How is Willi of Sir Thos. More. 1 79 and Daisy? and Rupert ? and this one? and t'other one ? and the Peacocks ? and Rabbits ? and have we elected a new King of the Cob-loaf yet ? and has Tom found his Hoop ? and is the Hasp of the Buttery- hatch mended yet ? and how goes the Court ? and what was the Text 0' Sunday ? and have I practised the Viol ? and how are we off for Money ? and why can't he see Mcsr? Then he asks for this Book and t'other Book, but I've forgot their Names ; and he sayth he's kept mighty short of Meat, though 'tis little he eats, but his Man yohu a Wood is gay an' hungry, and 'tis worth a World to see him at a salt Herring. Then he gives me Counsell of this and that, and puts his Arm about me and says, ' Come, let us pray ; ' but while he kept praying for one and t'other, I kept a-counting of his gray Hairs ; he'd none a Month agone. And we're scarce off our Knees, when I'm fetched away ; and I say, ' When will you 1 80 The Household change your Note, and a<5t like a wise Man ? ' and he sayth, ' When ? when ? ' looking very profound; 'why, . . . when Gorse is out of Blossom, and Kissing out of Fashion.' Soe puts me forthe by the Shoulders with a Laugh, calling after me, ' Remember me over and over agayn to them alle, and let me see Meg! " .... I feel as if a String were tied tight about my Heart. Methinketh 'twill burst if we goe on long soe. July 25th. He hath writ us a few Lines with a Coal, ending with " Sursum Corda, dear Chil- dren ! up with your Hearts." The Bearer was dear Bonvisi. Aug. \%th. The Lord begins to cut us short. We are now on very meagre Commons, dear Mother being obliged to pay fifteen Shil- lings a-week for the Board, poor as it is, of Father and his Servant. She hath parted with her Velvet Gown, embroidered over- of Sir Thos. More. 1S1 thwart, to my Lady Sands' Woman. Hef Mantle, edged with Coney, went long ago. But we lose not Heart ; I think mine is becoming annealed in the Furnace, and will not now break. I have writ somewhat after this Fashion to him " What do you think, most dear Father, doth com- fort us at Chelsea, during this your Ab- sence ? Surelie, the Remembrance of your Manner of Life among us, youi holy Conversation, your wholesome Coun sells, your Examples of Virtue, of which there is Hope that they do not onlie persevere with you, but that, by God's Grace, they are much increast." I weary to see him Yes, we shall meet in Heaven, but how long first, oh Lord ! how long ? Aug. 20///. Now that I've come back, let me seek to think, to remember. . . . Sure, my Head will clear by-and-by ? Strange, that Feeling shoulde have the Masterdom of Thought [82 The Household and Memory in Matters it is most con- cerned to retayn. .... I minded to put the Hair-cloth and Cord under my Farthingale, and one or two of the smaller Books in my Pouch, as alsoe some Sweets and Suckets such as he was used to love. Will and Bonvisi were a-waiting for me ; and deare Bess, putting forthe her Head from her Chamber Door, cries piteoufly, "Tell him, dear Meg, tell him . . . 'twas never soe sad to me to be sick . . . and that I hope ... I pray . . . the Time may come . . ." then falls back swoon- ing into Danccys Arms, whom I leave cry- ing heartilie over her, and hasten below to receive the confused Medley of Messages sent by every other Member of the House. For mine owne Part, I was in such a tre- mulous Succussion as to be scarce fitt to stand or goe ; but Time and the Tide will noe Man bide, and, once having taken Boat, the cool River Ayr allayed my fever- ed Spiritts ; onlie I coulde not for a while of Sir Thos. More. 183 get ridd of the Impression of poor Dancey crying over Bess in her Deliquium. I think none o' the three opened our Lips before we reached Lambeth, save, in the Reach, Will cried to the Steersman, " Look you run us not aground," in a sharper Voyce than I e'er heard from him. After passing the Archbishop' s Palace, whereon I gazed full ruefullie, good Bonvisi beganne to mention some Rhymes he had founde writ with a Diamond on one of the Window-panes at Crosby House, and would know were they Fathers ? and was't the Chamber Father had used to sleep in ? I tolde him it was, but knew Nought of the Distich, though 'twas like enow to be his. And thence he went on to this and that : how that Fathers cheerfulle, funny Humour never forsook him, nor his brave Heart never quelled ; instancing his fearlesse Pas- sage through the Traitor's Gate, asking his Neighbours whether his Gait were that of a Traditor ; and, on being sued by the i S4 The Household Porter for his upper Garment, giving him his Cap, which he sayd was uppermost ; and other such Quips and Passages, which I scarce noted nor smiled at, soe sorry was I of Cheer. A length we stayed rowing : Will lifted me out, kissed me, heartened me up ; and, indeede, I was in better Heart then, having been quietlie in Prayer a good While. After some few Forms, we were led through sun- drie Turns and Passages ; and, or ever I was aware, I founde myself quit of my Companions, and in Father s Arms. We both cried a little at first ; I wonder I wept noe more, but Strength was given me in that Hour. As soone as I coulde, I lookt him in the Face, and he lookt at me, and I was beginning to note his hollow Cheeks, when he sayd, " Why, Meg, you are getting freckled ; " soe that made us bothe laugh. He sayd, " You shoulde get some Freckle-water of the Lady that sent me here ; depend on it, she hath both of Sir Thos. More. 185 Washes and Tinctures in Plenty ; and, after all, Meg, she'll come to the same End at last, and be as the Lady all Bone and Skin, whose ghastlie Legend used to scare thee soe when thou wert a Child. Don't tell that Story to thy Children ; ' twill hamper ' em with unsavoury Images of Death. Tell them of heavenlie Hosts a-waiting to carry off good Men's Souls in fire-bright Chariots, with Horses of the Sun, to a Land where they shall never more be surbated and weary, but walk on cool, springy Turf, and among Myrtle Trees, and eat Fruits that shall heal while they delight them, and drink the coldest of cold Water, fresh from the River of Life, and have Space to stretch themselves, and bathe, and leap, and run, and, whichever Way they look, meet Christ's Eyes smiling on them. Sure, Meg, who would live, that coulde die ? One mighte as well be an Angel shut up in a NutsheD as bide here. Fancy how gladsome the sweet Spiritt woulde be to have the Shell 1 86 The Household cracked ! no matter by whom — the Ki?ig, or Kings Mistress. . . Let her dainty Foot but set him free, he'd say, ' For this Re- lease, much Thanks.' .... And how goes the Court, Meg?" " In Faith, Father, never better. . . . There is Nothing else there, I heare, but Dancing and Disporting." " Never better, Child, sayst thou ? Alas, Meg, it pitieth me to consider what Misery, poor Soul, she will shortlie come to. These Dances of hers will prove such Dances that she will spurn our Heads off like Footballs ; but ' twill not be long ere her Head will dance the like Dance. Mark you, Meg, a Man that restraineth not his Passions, hath always Something cruel in his Nature, and if there be a Woman toward, she is sure to suffer heaviest for it, first or last. . . . Seek Scripture Precedent for't .... you'll find it as I say. Stony as Death, cruel as the Grave. Those Phari- sees that were to a Man, convifled of Sin, of Sir Thos. More. 1 87 yet haled a sinning Woman before the Lord, and would fain have seen the Dogs lick up her Blood. When they lick up mine, deare Meg, let not your Heart be troubled, even though they shoulde hale thee to London Bridge, to see my Head stuck on a Pole. Think, most dear'st, I shall then have more Reason to weep for thee than thou for me. But there's noe weeping in Heaven ; and bear in Mind, Meg, distincllie, that if they send me thither, ' twill be for obeying the Law of God rather than of Men. And after alle, we live not in the bloody, barbarous old Times of Crucifyings, and Flayings, and immersing in Cauldrons of boiling Oil. One Stroke, and the Affair's done. A clumsy Chirurgeon would be longer ex- tracting a Tooth. We have oft agreed that the little Birds struck down by the Kite and Hawk suffer less than if they were reserved to a naturall Death. There is one sensible Difference, indeed, between 1 88 The Household us : in our Cases, Preparation is a-want big." Hereon, I minded me to slip off the Haircloth and Rope, and give the same to him, along with the Books and Suckets, all which he hid away privatelie, making merry at the last. "'Twoulde tell well before the Council," quoth he, " that on searching the Prison- cell of Sir Thomas More, there was founde, flagitiouslie and mysteriousiie laid up . . . a Piece of Barley-sugar ! " Then we talked over sundrie Home- matters ; and anon, having now both of us attayned unto an equable and chastened Serenitie of Mind, which needed not any false Shows of Mirth to hide the naturall Complexion of, he sayth, " I believe, Meg, they that have put me here, ween they have done me a high Displeasure ; but I assure thee, on my Faith, mine owne good Daughter, that if it had not beene for my Wife, and for you, my dear, good Children of Sir Thcs. More. 189 I would faine have beene closed up long ere this in as strait a Room, and straiter too." Thereon he shewed me how illegal was his Imprisonment, there being noe Statute to authorize the Imposition of the Oath ; and he delivered himself, with some Dis- pleasure, agaynst the Kings ill Counsellors. " And surelie, Meg" quoth he, " 'tis pitie that anie Christian Prince shoulde, by a flexible Council readie to follow his Affec- tions, and by a weak Clergy lacking Grace to stand constantly to the Truth as they have learned it, be with Flattery so con- stantly abused. The Lotus Fruit fabled by the Ancients, which made them that ate it lose all Relish for the daylie Bread of their own Homes, was Flattery, Meg, as I take it and Nothing else. And what less was the Song of the Syrens, agaynst which Ulysses made his Sailors stop their Ears, and which he, with all his Wisdom, coulde not listen to without struggling to be un- 190 The Household bound from the Mast ? Even Praise, Meg\ which, moderately given, may animate and cheer forward the noblest Minds, yet, too lavishly bestowed, will decrease and palsy their Strength, e'en as an Overdose of the most generous and sprightlie Medicine may prove mortiferous. But Flattery is noe Medicine, but a rank Poison, which hath slayn Kings, yea, and mighty Kings ; and they whu love it, the Lord knoweth afar off; knoweth distantlie, has no Care to know intimatelie, for they are none of His." Thus we went on, from one Theme to another, till methinketh a heavenlie Light seemed to shine alle about us, like as when the Angel entered the Prison of Peter. I hung upon everie Word and Thought that issued from his Lips, and drank them in as thirsty Land sucks up the tender Rain. . . . Mad the Angel of Death at that Hour come in to fetch both of us away, I woulde not have sayd him nay. At length, as Time wore on, and I knew I shoulde soone be of Sir Thos. More. igi fetcht forthe, I coulde not but wish I had the Clew to some secret Passage or Sub- terraneal, of the which there were doubtless Plenty in the thick Walls, whereby we might steal off together. Father made Answer, " Wishes never filled a Sack. I make it my Businesse, Meg, to wish as little as I can, except that I were better and wiser. You fancy these four Walls lonesome ; how oft, dost thou suppose, I here receive Plato and Socrates, and this and that holy Saint and Martyr? My Gaolers can noe more keep them out than they can exclude the Sunbeams. Thou knowest, Jesus stood among his Disciples when the Doors were shut. I am not more lonelie than St. Anthony in his Cave, and I have a divine Light e'en here, whereby to con the Lesson, ' God is Love.' The Fu- tilitie of our Enemies' Efforts to make us miserable was never more stronglie proven to me than when I was a mere Boy in Cardinall Mortons Service. Having un- 192 The Household wittinglie angered one of his Chaplains, a choleric and e'en malignant-spirited Man, he did, of his owne Authoritie, shut me up for some Hours in a certayn damp Vault; which, to a Lad afeard of Ghosts and devilish Apparitions, woulde have beene fearsome enow. Howbeit, I there cast my- self on the Ground with my Back sett agaynst the Wall, and mine Arm behind my Head, this Fashion .... and did then and there, by Reason of a young Heart, quiet Conscience, and quick Phansy, con- jure up such a livelie Picture of the Queen o' the Fairies' Court, and alle the Sayings and Doings therein, that never was I more sorry than when my Gaoler let me goe free, and bade me rise up and be doing. In Place, therefore, my Daughter, of thinking of me in thy Night Watches as beating my Wings agaynst my Cage Bars, trust that God comes to look in upon me without Knocking or Bell-ringing. Often in Spiritt I am with you alle : in the Chapel, in the of Sir Thos. More. 193 Hall, in the garden ; now in the Hay-field, with my Head on thy Lap ; now on the River, with Will and Rupert at the Oar. You see me not about your Path, you won't see my disembodied Spiritt beside you hereafter, but it may be close upon you once and agayn for alle that : maybe, at Times, when you have prayed with most Passion, or suffered with most Patience, ci performed my Hests with most Exactness, or remembered my Care of you with most Affection. And now, good Speed, good Meg,-\ hear the Key turn in the Door. . . . This Kiss for thy Mother, this for Bess, this for Cecil, .... this and this for my whole School. Keep dry Eyes and a hopeful! Heart ; and reflect that Nought but unpar- doned Sin shoulde make us weep for ever." September. Seeing the Woodman fell a noble Tree, which, as it went to the Ground, did uptear severall small Plants by the Roots, me* 13 194 The Household thoughte such woulde be the Fall of dear Father, herein more sad than that of the Abbot of Sion and the CJiarterJiouse Monks, inasmuch as, being celibate, they involve noe others in theire Ruin. Brave, holie Martyrs ! how cheerfullie they went to theire Death. I'm glad to have seene how pious Men may turn e'en an ignominious Sentence into a kind of Euthanasy. Dear FatJier bade me note how they bore them- selves as Bridegrooms going to theire Mar- riage, and converted what mighte have beenc a Shock to my surcharged Spiritts, into a Lesson of deepe and high Comfort. One Thing hath grieved me sorelie. He mistooke Somewhat I sayd at parting for an Implication of my Wish that he shoulde yield up his Conscience. Oh no, dearest FatJier, that be far from me ! It seems to have cut him to -the Heart, for he hath writ that " none of the terrible Things that may befall him touch him soe nearlie as that his dearlie beloved Child, whose Opinion of Sir Thos. More. 195 he soe much values, shoulde desire him to overrule his Conscience." That be far from me, Fatfier ! I have writ to explayn the Matter, but his Reproach, undeserved though it be, hath troubled my Heart. November. Parliament will meet to-morrow. 'Tis expected Father and the good Bishop of RocJicstcr will be attainted for Misprision of Treason by the slavish Members thereof. And though not given hithertoe unto much Heede of Omens and Bodements while our Hearts were light and our Courage high, yet now the coming Evill seemeth foreshadowed unto alle by I know not how many melancholick Presages, sent, for aught we know, in Mercy. Now that the Days are dark and short, and the Nights stormy, we shun to linger much after Dusk in lone Chambers and Passages ; and what was sayd of the Enemies of Israel may be nigh sayd of us, " that a falling Leaf shalJ i<)6 The Household chase them." I'm sure "a Going in the Tops of the Mulberry Trees," on a bluster- ous Evening, is enow to draw us alle, Men, Mothers, and Maids, together in an Heap. . . . We goe aboute the House in Twos and Threes, and care not much to leave the Fireside. Last S?mday we had closed about the Hearth, and little 2?z7/was a reading by the Fire-light how Herodias 1 Daughter danced off the Head of St.^o/m the Baptist, when down comes an emptie Swallow's Nest tumbling adown the Chim- nie, bringing with it enow of Soot, Smoke, and Rubbish to half smother us alle ; but the Dust was Nothing to the Dismay thereby occasioned, and I noted one or two of our bravest turn as pale as Death. Then, the Rats have skirmished and gal- lopped behind the Wainscoat more like a Troop of Horse than a Herd of such small Deer, to the infinite Annoyance of Mother, who coulde not be more firmly persuaded they were about to leave a falling Houses of Sir Thos. More, 197 iff, like the scared Priests in the Temple of Jerusalem, she had heard a Voyce utter, " Let us depart hence." The round upper Half of the Cob-loaf rolled off the Table this Morning ; and Rupert, as he picked it up, gave a Kind of Shudder, and muttered somewhat about a Head rolling from the Scaffold. Worse than this was o' Ttiesday Night ... 'Twas Bed-time, and yet none were liking to goe, when, o' suddain, we heard a Screech that made every Body's Heart thrill, followed by one or two hollow Groans. Will snatches up the Lamp and runs forth, I close following, and alle the others at our Heels ; and after looking into sundrie deserted Cup-boards and Corners, we descend tho broad Stone Steps of the Cellars, half way down which Will, stum- bling over Something he sees not, takes a flying Leap to clear himself down to the Bottom, luckily without extinguishing the Lamp. We find Gillian on the Steps in a Swoon : on bringing her to, she exclayms 1 98 The Household about: a Ghost without a Head, wrapped in a Winding-sheet, that confronted her, and then sank to the Ground as she entered the Vaults. We cast a fearfulle Look about, and descry a tall white Sack of Flour, recently overturned by the Rats, which clears up the Mystery, and procures Gillian a little Jeering ; but we alle return to the 1 1 all with fluttered Spiritts. Another Time I, going up to the Nurserie in the Dark> on hearing Baby cry, am passed on the Stairs by I know not what, breathing heavilie. I reache forthe my Arm, but pass cleare through the spirituall Nature, what- ever it is, yet distinc~tlie feel my Cheek and Neck fanned by its Breath. I turn very faint, and get Nurse to goe with me when I return, bearing a Light, yet think it as well to say nought to distress the rest. But worst of alle was last Night . . . After I had beene in Bed awhile, I minded me that deare Will had not returned me Fathers Letter. I awoke him, and asked of Sir Thos. More. 199 if he had broughte it up Stairs ; he sleepily replied 1 he had not ; soe I hastily arose, threw on a Cloke, took a Light, and entered the Gallery ; when, half way along it, be- tween me and the pale Moonshine, I was scared to behold a slender Figure alle in White, with naked Feet, and Arras ex- tended. I stoode agaze, speechlesse, and, to my Terror, made out the Features of Bess .... her Eyes open, but vacant ; then saw yohn Daucey softly stealing after her, and figning to me with his Finger on his Lips. She passed without noting me, on to Father s Door; there knelt as if in Prayer, making a low sort of Wail, while Dancey, with Tears running down his Cheeks, whispered, "Trs the third Time of her thus sleep-walking .... the Token of how troubled a Mind ! " We disturbed her not, dreading that a suddain Waking might bring on Madness ; soe after making Moan awhile, she kisses the senseless Door, rises up, moves towards 200 The Household her own Chamber, followed by Dancey and me, wrings her Hands a little, then lies down, and graduallie falls into what seems a dreamlesse Sleep, we watching her in Silence till she's quiet, and then squeezing each other's Hands ere we part. Will was wide awake when I got back ; he sayd, " Why, Meg, how long you have beene ! coulde you not lighte on the Letter ?".... When I tolde him what had hindered me by the Way, he turned his Face to the Wall and wept. Midnight. The wild Wind is abroad, and, methink- eth, Nothing else. Sure, how it rages through our empty Courts ! In such a Season, Men, Beasts, and Fowls cower beneath the Shelter of their rocking Walls, yet almost fear to trust them. Lord, I know that thou canst give the Tempest double Force, but do not, I beseech Thee ! Oh ! have Mercy on the frail Dwelling and the Ship at Sea. of Sir TJios. More. 20 1 Dear little Bill hath ta'en a feverish Attack, I watch beside him whilst his Nurse sleeps. Earlie in the Night his Mind wandered, and he told me of a pretty pye-bald Poney, noe bigger than a Bee, that had golden Housings and Barley-sugar Eyes ; then dozed, but ever and anon kept starting up, crying, " Mammy dear ! " and softlie murmured, " Oh ! " when he saw I was by. At length I gave him my Fore- finger to hold, which kept him ware of my Presence without speaking ; but presentlie he stares hard towards the Foot of the Bed, and says fearfullie, " Mother, why hangs yon Hatchet in the Ayr, with its sharp Edge turned towards us ? " I rise, move the Lamp, and say, " Do you see it now ? " He sayth, " No, not now," and closes his Eyes. After a good Space, during the which I hoped he slept, he says in quite an altered Tone, 'most like unto soft, sweet Music, "There's a pretty little Cherub there now, alle Head and noe Body, with two 202 The Household little Wings aneath his Chin ; but for alle he's soe Pretty, he is just like dear Gaffer, and seems to know me, .... and he'll have a Body agayn too, I believe, by and by. . . . Mother, Mother, tell Hobbinol there's such a gentle Lamb in Heaven ! " and soe, slept. 17th. He's gone, my pretty . . . . ! slipt through my Fingers like a Bird ! upfled to his own native Skies ; and yet, whenas I think on him, I cannot choose but weepe. . . . Such a guilelesse little Lamb! . . . My Billy-bird ! his Mother's owne Heart ! — They are alle wondrous kind to me. . . . 27th. How strange that a little Child shoulde be permitted to suffer soe much Payn, when of such is the Kingdom of Heaven ! But 'tis onlie transient, whereas a Mother makes it permanent, by thinking it over and over agayn. One Lesson is taughte us betimes, that a naturall Death is not, necessarilie, the most easie. We must alle die. . . . of Sir Thos. More. 203 As poor Patteson was used to say, " The greatest King that ever was made, must bed at last with Shovel and Spade ; " . . . and I'd sooner have my Billy s Baby Death- bed than King Harry s, or Nan Boleyiis either, however manie Years they may yet carry Matters with a high Hand. Oh, you Ministers of Evill, whoever ye be, visible or invisible, you shall not build a Wall be- tween my God and me. . . . I've Something within me grows stronger and stronger, as Times grow more and more Evill; some woulde call it Resolution, but methinketh 'tis Faith. Meantime, Fathers Foes .... alack that anie can shew 'emselves such ! . . . . are aiming, by fayr Seemings of friendlie Con- ference, to draw from him Admissions thev can come at after noe other Fashion. The new Solicitor Generall hath gone to the Tower to deprive him of the few Books I have taken him from Time to Time. . . Ah, Master Rick, you must deprive him of 204 The Household his Brains afore you can rob him of their Contents ! . . . And, while having 'em packt up, he falls into easie Dialogue with him, as thus, ..." Why now, sure, Mr. More, were there an Act of Parliament made that all the Realm shoulde take me for King, you woulde take me for such with the Rest." " Aye, that woulde I, Sir," returns Father. " Forsooth, then," pursues Rich, " we'll suppose another Act that should make me the Pope. Woulde you not take me for Popef" " Or suppose another Case, Mr. Rich," returns Father, "that another Act should pass, that God shoulde not be God, would you say well and good ? " " No, truly," returns the other hastilie, " for no Parliament coulde make such Act lawful." " True, as you say," repeats Father, " they coulde not," .... soe eluded the Net of the Fowler ; but how miserable and un- of Sir TJws. More. 205 handsome a Device to lay wait for him thus ! .... I stole forthe, ere 'twas Lighte, this damp chill Morning, to pray beside the little Grave, but found dear Daisy there be- fore me. How Christians love one another ! Will's Loss is a heavie as mine, yet he bears with me tenderlie. Yesternighte, he sayth to me half reproachful lie, "Am not I better unto thee than ten Sons ? " March, 1535. Spring comes, that brings Rejuvenesence to the Land, and Joy to the Heart, but it brings none to us, for where Hope dieth, Joy dieth. But Patience, Soul ; God's yet in the Aumry ! May 7. Father arraigned. July I. By Reason of Will's minding to be pre- sent at the Triall, which, for the Concourse 206 The Household of Spectators, demanded his earlie Atten- dance, he committed the Care of me, with Bess, to Dancey, who got us Places to see Father on his Way from the Tower to West- minster Hall. We coulde not come at him for the Crowd, but clambered on a Bench to gaze our very Hearts away after him as he went by, sallow, thin, grey-haired, yet in Mien not a Whit cast down. Wrapt in a coarse woollen Gown, and leaning on a Staff; which unwonted Support when Bess markt, she hid her Eyes on my Shoul- der and wept sore, but soon lookt up agayn, though her Eyes were soe blinded, I think she coulde not see him. His Face was calm, but grave, as he came up, but just as he passed, he caughte the Eye of some one in the Crowd, and smiled in his old, frank Way ; then glanced up towards the Win- dows with the bright Look he hath so ofl cast to me at my Casement, but saw us not. I coulde not help crying " Father ! " but he heard me not ; perchance 'twas soe best . of Sir Thos. More. 207 I wouldc not have had his Face cloud at the Sighte of poor Bessy s Tears. . . . Will tells me the Indictment was the longest ever hearde, on four Counts. First, his Opinion of the Kings Marriage. Se- cond, his writing sundrie Letters to the Bishop of Rochester, counselling him to hold out. Third, refusing to acknowledge his Grace's Supremacy. Fourth, his posi- tive Deniall of it, and thereby willing to deprive the King of his Dignity and Title. When the reading of this was over, the Lord Chancellor sayth, " Ye see how griev- ouslie you have offended the King his Grace, but and yet he is soe mercifulle, as that if ye will lay aside your Obstinacie, and change your Opinion, we hope ye may yet obtayn Pardon." Father makes Answer . . . and at Sounde of his deare Voyce alle Men hold their Breaths. ..." Most noble Lords, I have great Cause to thank your Honours for this yoar Courtesie . . . but I pray Almighty 208 The Household God 1 may continue in the Mind I'm in, through his Grace, until Death." They coulde not make goode their Ac- cusation agaynst him. 'Twas onlie on the last Count he could be made out a Traitor, and Proof oft had they none ; how coulde they have ? He shoulde have beene acquit- ted out of hand, 'steade of which, his bitter Enemy, my Lord Chancellor, called on him for his Defence. Will sayth there was a generall Murmur or Sigh ran through the Court. Father, however, answered the Bid- ding by beginning to express his Hope that the Effect of long Imprisonment mighte not have beene such upon his Mind and Body, as to impair his Power of rightlie meeting alle the Charges agaynst him . . . when, turning faint with long standing, he staggered and loosed Hold of his Staff, whereon he was accorded a Seat. 'Twas but a Moment's Weakness of the Body, and he then proceeded frankly to avow his having opposed the Kings Marriage to his of Sir Thos. More. 209 Grace himself, which he was so far from thinking High Treason, that he shoulde rather have deemed it Treachery to have withholden his Opinion from his Sovereign King when solicited by him for his Counsell. His Letters to the good Bishop he proved to have been harmlesse. Touching his de- clining to give his Opinion, when askt, con- cerning the Supremacy, he alleged there could be noe Transgression in holding his Peace thereon, God onlie being cognizant of our Thoughts. " Nay," interposeth the Attorney Generall, " your Silence was the Token of a Malicious Mind." " I had always understoode," answers Father, " that Silence stoode for Consent. Quitacet, cons entire videtur ;" which made Sundrie smile. On the last Charge, he pro- tested he had never spoken Word agaynst the Law unto anie Man. The Jury are about to acquit him, when o' suddain. the Solicitor Generall 'offers him- V 2io The Household self as Witness for the Crown, is sworn, and gives Evidence of his Dialogue with Fathct in the Tower, falselie adding, like a liar as he is, that on his saying, " No Parliament coulde make a Law that God shoulde not be God," Father had rejoyned, " No more coulde they make the King supreme Head of the Church." I marvell the Ground opened not at his Feet. Father brisklie made Answer, " If I were a Man, my Lords, who regarded not an Oath, ye know well I needed not stand now at this Bar. And if the Oath which you, Mr. Rich, have just taken be true, then I pray I may never see God in the Face. In good Truth, Mr. Rich, I am more sorry for your Perjurie than my Perill. You and I once dwelt long together in one Parish ; your Manner of Life and Conver- sation from your Youth up were familiar to me ; and it paineth me to tell ye were ever held very light of your Tongue, a great Dicer and Gamester, and not of anie com of Sir TJios. More. 2 1 1 mendable P'ame either there or in the Tem- ple, the Inn to which ye have belonged. It is creditable, therefore, to your Lordships, that the Secrets of my Conscience touch- ing the Oath, which I never woulde reveal, after the Statute once made, either to the Kings Grace himself, nor to anie of you, my honourable Lords, I should have thus tightly blurted out in private Parley with Mr. Rick?" In short, the Villain made not goode his Poynt : ne'erthelesse, the Issue of this black Day was aforehand fixed ; my Lord Andley was primed with a virulent and ve- nomous Speech ; the Jury retired, and pre- sentlie returned with a Verdict of Guilty ; for they knew what the King's Grace woulde have 'em doe in that Case. Up starts my Lord Andlcy, — commences pronouncing Judgment, when — " My Lord," says Father, " in my Time, the Custom in these Cases was ever to ask the Prisoner, before Sentence, whether he 2 1 2 The Household coulde give anie Reason why Judgment shoulde not proceed agaynst him." My Lord, in some Confusion, pats the Question. And then came the frightful Sentence. Yes., yes, my Soul, I know ; there were Saints of old sawn asunder. Men of whom the World was not worthy. .... Then he spake unto 'em his Mind ; and bade his Judges and Accusers farewell ; hoping that like as St. Paul was present and consenting unto St. Stephens Death, and yet both were now holy Saints in Heaven, soe he and they might speedilie meet there, joint Heirs of e'erku»ting Sal- vation. Meantime poor Bess and Cecilie, spent with Grief and long waiting, were forct to be carried Home by Heron, or ever Father returned to his Prison. Wa'i't less Feeling, or more Strength of Body, enabled me to bide at the Tower Wharf with Dancey? God knoweth. They brought him back by of Sir Thos. More. 2 1 3 Water ; my poor Sisters must have passed him. . . . The first Thing I saw was the Axe, turned with its Edge towards him — my first Note of his Sentence. I forc~t my Way through the Crowd .... some one laid a cold Hand on mine Arm ; 'twas poor Patteson, soe changed I scarce knew him, with a Rosary of Gooseberries he kept running through his Fingers. He sayth. " Bide your Time, Mistress Meg ; when he comes past, I'll make a Passage for ye ; .... Oh, Brother, Brother ! what ailed thee to refuse the Oath ? I've taken it ! " In another Moment, " Now, Mistress, now ! " and flinging his Arms right and left, made a Breach through which I darted, fearlesse of Bills and Halberds, and did cast mine Arms about Fathers Neck. He cries, " My Meg 7" and hugs me to him as though our very Souls shoulde grow together. He sayth, " Bless thee, bless thee ! Enough, enough, my Child ; what mean ye, to weep and break mine Heart ? Remember. 214 The Household though I die innocent, 'tis not without the Will of God, who coulde have turned mine Enemie's Hearts, if 'twere best ; therefore possess your Soul in Patience. Kiss them all for me, thus and thus. . . ." soe gave me back into Danceys Arms, the Guards about him alle weeping ; but I coulde not thus lose Sight of him for ever ; soe, after a Minute's Pause, did make a second Rush, brake away from Dancey, clave to Father agayn, and agayn they had Pitie on me, and made Pause while I hung upon his Neck. This Time there were large Drops standing on his dear Brow, and the big Tears were swelling into his Eyes. He whispered, " Meg, for Christ's Sake don't unman me ! thou'lt not deny my last Re- quest ? " I sayd, " Oh ! no ! " and at once loosened mine Arms. " God's Blessing be with you ! " he sayth with a last Kiss. I coulde not help crying, " My Father, my Father!" "The Chariot of Israel, and the Horsemen thereof!" he vehementlie whis* of Sir Thos. More. 215 pers, pointing upwards with soe passionate a Regard, that I look up, almost expecting a beatific Vision ; and when I turn about agayn, he's gone, and I have noe more Sense nor Life till I find myself agayn in mine owne Chamber, my Sisters chafing my Hands. July §th. Alle's over now. . . . they've done theire worst, and yet I live. There were Women coulde stand aneath the Cross. The Mac- cabees Mother — . . . . yes, my Soul, yes ; I know. — Nought but unpardoned Sin. . . . The Chariot of Israel. 6th. Dr. Clement hath beene with us. Sayth he went up as blythe as a Bridegroom to be clothed upon with Immortality. Riipert stoode it alle out. Perfect Love casteth out Feare. Soe did his. 7th. . . . My most precious Treasure is this 2i6 The Household deare Billet, writ with a Coal ; the last Thing he sett his Hand to, wherein he sayth, " I never liked your Manner towards me better than when you kissed me last." 1 9//;. They have let us bury his poor mangled Trunk ; but, as sure as there's a Sun in Heaven, I'll have his Head ! — before an- other Sun hath risen, too. If wise Men won't speed me, I'll e'en content me with a Fool. I doe think Men, for the most Part, be Cowards in theire Hearts . . . moral Cow- ards. Here and there we find one like FatJier, and like Socrates, and like ... this and that one, I mind not theire Names just now ; but in the Main, methinketh they lack the moral Courage of Women. May- be, I'm unjust to 'em just now, being crost. yuly 10th. , . . I lay down, but my Heart was wak- of Sir Thos. More. 2 1 7 tng. Soon after the first Cock crew, I hearcle a Pebble cast agaynst my Lattice ; knew the Signall, rose, dressed, stole softke down, and let myself out. I knew the Touch of the poor Fool's Fingers ; his Teeth were chattering, 'twixt Cold and Fear, yet he laught aneath his Breath as he caught my Arm and dragged me after him, whispering, " Fool and fayr Lady will cheat 'em yet." At the Stairs lay a Wherry with a Couple of Boatmen, and one of 'em stepping up to me cries, "Alas for ruth, Mistress Meg, what is't ye do ? Art mad to go on this Errand ? " I sayd, " I shall be mad if I goe not, and succeed too — put me in, and push off." We went down the River quietlic enow — • at length reach London Bridge Stairs. Pat- teson, starting up, says, "Bide ye all as ye are," and springs aland and runneth up to the Bridge. Anon returns, and sayth, " Now, Mistress, alle's readie . . . readier than ye wist . . . come up quickly, for the 2 1 8 The Household Coast's clear." Hobson (for 'twas he) hi-tpa me forth, saying, " God speed ye, Mistress ... An' I dared, I woulde goe with ye." . . . Thought I, there be others in that Case. Nor lookt I up till aneath the Bridge- gate, when, casting upward a fearsome Look, I beheld the dark Outline of the ghastly, yet precious Relic ; and, falling into a Tremour, did wring my hands and exclaym, " Alas, alas ! that Head hath lain full manie a Time in my Lap ! woulde God, woulde God it lay there now ! " When, 'o suddain, I saw the Pole tremble and sway towards me ; and stretching forth my Apron, I did, in an Extasy of Gladness, Pity, and Horror, catch its Burthen as it fell. Pat- teson, shuddering, yet grinning, cries under his Breath, " Managed I not well, Mistress ? Let's speed away with our Theft, for Fools and their Treasures are soon parted ; but I think not they'll follow hard after us, nei- ther, for there are Wellwishers to us on the Bridge. I'll put ye into the Boat, and of Sir T/ios. More. 219 then say, God speed ye, Lady, with your Burthen." July 23. Rispah, Daughter of Aiah, did watch her Dead from the beginning of Harvest until the latter Rain, and suffered neither the Birds of the Ayr to light on them by Day, nor the wild Beasts of the Field by Night. And it was told the King, but he intermed- dled not with her. Argia stole Polynices' Body by Night, and buried it, for the which she with her Life did willingly pay Forfeit. Antigone, for aiding in the pious Theft, was adjudged to be buried alive, Artemisia did make herself her loved one's Shrine, by drinking his ashes. Such is the Love of Women ; many Waters cannot quench it, neither can the Floods drown it. I've heard Bonvisi tell of a poor Italian Girl, whose Brothers did slay her Lover; and in Spite of 'em she got his Heart, and Buried it in a Pot of Basil, which she watered Day and Night 220 The Household with her Tears, just as I do my Coffer. Will has promised it shall be buried with me ; layd upon my Heart ; and since then, I've beene easier. He thinks he shall write Father s Life, when he gets more composed, and we are settled in a new Home. We are to be cleared out o' this in alle Haste ; the King grutches at our lingering over Fathers Footsteps, and gazing on the dear familiar Scenes associate with his Image ; and yet, when the News of the bloody Deed was taken to him, as he sate playing at Tables with Queen Anne, he started up and scowl- ed at her, saying, " Thou art the Cause of this Man's Death ! " Father might well say, during our last precious Meeting in the Tower, "'Tis I, Meg, not the King, that love Women. They belie him ; he onlie loves himself." Adding, with his own sweet Smile, " Your Gaffer used to say that Wo- men were a Bag of Snakes, and that the Man who put his Hand therein woulde be of Sir TJios. More. 221 ]uck_y if he founde one Eel among them alle ; but 'twas onlie in Sport, Meg, and he owned that I had enough Eels to my Share to make a goodly Pie, and called my House the Eel-pie House to the Day of his Death. 'Twas our Lord Jem*s raised up Women, and shewed Kmdnesse unto 'em ; and they've kept theire L evel, in the Main, ever since." I wish Will may sett down everie Thing of Fathers saying he can remember ; how precious will his Book then be to us ! But I fear me, these Matters adhere not to a Man's Memory . . . he'll be telling of his Doings as Speaker and Chancellor, and his saying this and that in Parliament. Those are the Matters men like to write and to read ; he won't write it after my Fashion. I had a Misgiving of Will's Wrath, that Night, 'speciallie if I failed ; but he called me his brave Judith Indeed I was a Wo- man bearing a Head but one that had ofi lain on my Shoulder. 222 The Household My Thoughts begin ne to have Connex- ion now ; but till last Night, I slept not. 'Twas scarce Sunsett. Mercy had been praying beside me, and lay outside my Bed, inclining rather to Stupor than Sleep. O' suddain, I have an Impression that some one is leaning over me, though I hear 'em not, nor feel theire Breath. I start up, cry " Mercy ! " but she's not there, nor any one else. I turn on my Side and become heavie to Sleep ; but or ere I drop quite off, agayn I am sensible or apprehensive of some living Consciousness between my closed Eyelids and the setting Sunlight ; agayn start up and stare about, but there's Nothing. Then I feel . . . like Eli, may- be, when the Child Samuel called to him twice ; and Tears well into mine Eyes, and I close 'em again, and say in mine Heart, " If he's at Hand, oh, let me see him next Time. . . . the third Time's lucky." But, 'steade of this, I fall into quiet, balmy, dreamlesse Sleep. Since then I've had an of Sir Thos. More. 223 abiding-, assuring Sense of Help, of a Hand upholding me, and smoothing and glibbing the Way before me. We must yield to the Powers that be. At this Present, we are weak, but they are strong ; they are honourable, and we are despised. They have made us a Spectacle unto the World, and, I think, Europe will ring with it ; but at this present Hour, they will have us forth of our Home, though we have as yet no certayn Dwelling-Place, and must flee as scared Pigeons from their Dovecot. No Matter ; our Men are wil- ling to labour, and our Women to endure : being reviled, we bless ; being persecuted, we suffer it. Onlie I marvell how anie honest Man, coming after us, will be able to eat a Mouthful of Bread with a Relish within these Walls. And, methinketh, a dishonest Man will have sundrie Frights from the Lares and Lemures. There'll be Dearth o' black Beans in the Market. Flow on, bright shining Thames. A 224 The Household good, brave Man hath walked aforetime on your Margent, himself as bright, and use- f ull, and delightsome as be you, sweet River. And like you, he never murmured ; like you, he upbore the weary, and gave Drink to the Thirsty, and reflected Heaven in his Face. I'll not swell your full Current with any more fruitless Tears. There's a River, whose Streams make glad the City of our God : he now rests beside it. Good Chris- tian Folks, as they hereafter pass this Spot upborne on thy gentle Tide, will, maybe, point this Way, and say, " There dwelt Sir Thomas More ; " but whether they doe or not, Vox Populi is a very inconsiderable Matter. Who would live on theire Breath ? They hailed St. Paul as Mercury, and then stoned him, and cast him out of the City, supposing him to be dead. Theire Favour- ite of to-day may, for what they care, goe hang himself to-morrow in his Surcingle. Thus it must be while the World lasts ; and the very Racks and Scrues wherewith of Sir T/ios. More. 225 they aim to overcome the nobler Spiritt, onlie test and reveal its Power of Exalta- tion above the heaviest Gloom of Circum- stance. Intcrfccistis, intcrfecistis Homines omn* um Anglorum optimum. 15 Those of our Readers who have lately found any Pleasure in contemplating the Household of Sir Thomas More, and in reviving their Recollections of his Intimacy with Erasmus, may be grateful to us for the following scattered Notices of those cel- ebrated Men. Erasmus was born at Rotterdam, in 1467. At nine Years old, he was sent to School at Deventcr, where he gave Proofs of uncommon Memory, though he represents himself as accounted a dull Scholar. He was left an Orphan at the age of thirteen ; and his Guardians plundered him of his Patrimony, and drove him into a Convent. Young as he was, he refused to part with his Liberty for three Years ; and it was not till his third Removal from one Convent to another that his Constancy gave way, and he reluctantly entered on his Year of Probation. The monastic Life suited his Health as little as his Taste, and in his twenty-third Year he, with the Permission of his Superi^is, accepted an Invitation to reside with the Archbishop of Cam&rav. Thence he went to Paris, where he gave private Lectures. Among his Pupils were some young Englishmen, who induced him to visit England in 1497. where he met with a Reception that endeared the Conn- 228 Appendix. try to him, and made him thenceforth fond of visit ing it. In 1498 he applied himself closely to the Greek Language, and said that as soon as he could get any Money (which was a Necessary we find him continually in want of), he would first buy Greek Books and then Clothes. He seems to have been fearful, at first, of burning his Fingers by meddling with Theology, as if he had had a kind of Instinct that his Inquiries would lead him away from re- ceived Opinions. In 15 13 we find his Friend, Dean Colet, roundly charging him with being too queru- lous and greedy (probably in Answer to some indi- rect Application for Assistance), but promising to give him a small Matter, if he would ask for it with- out false Modesty. Erasmus replied, that, in the Opinion of Seneca, Favours were dearly purchased which were extorted by begging. " Socrates" says he, " talking once with some Friends, said, ' I would have bought me a Coat to-day, had I had the Money.' ' They,' observes Seneca, ' who then gave him what he wanted, showed their Liberality too late.' Another, seeing a Friend who was poor and sick, and too modest to make his Wants known, put some Money under his Pillow while he was asleep. When I used to read this in my Youth," pursues Erasmus, " I was extremely struck with the Modesty of the one and the Generosity of the other. But since you talk of begging without Shame, pray who can be more shameless than my- self, who live in England on the Footing of a pub- lic Beggar ? I have received so much from th« Appendix. 229 Archbishop, that it would be scandalous to take any more of him, were he even to offer it. I asked N. with sufficient Assurance, and he refused me even more roundly. Even our good Friend. Linacre, thinks me too bold ; and, though he knew my poor State of Health, and that I was leaving London with hardly six Angels in my Pocket, yet he urged me most pressingly to spare the Archbishop and Lord Montjqy, and advised me to retrench and learn to bear Poverty with Patience. A most friendly Counsel, forsooth ! While I had Health and Strength I used to dissemble my Poverty, but now I cannot, unless I would risk my Life." In his fortieth Year he visited Italy j then revis- ited England, where his Acquaintance commenced with Sir Thomas More, for whose Amusement and his own he wrote his "Morice Encomium, or Praise of Eolly." At the Request of the Chancellor of Cambridge, he went to that University and read Lectures in Greek and Divinity. He returned to the Low Countries in 15 14. and was created nomi- nally Counsellor to the Archduke Charles, with a Stipend. The Prior of Erasmus's Convent at Stein now endeavoured to recall him ; but he strongly resisted, defending his Mode of Life, which was indeed that of a Scholar rather than of a Monk. " I have lived," says he, "among sober People, at- iached to my Studies, which have preserved me from many Vices. I have conversed with Persons who had a true Love of Christianity, and from whose Conversation I have derived great Benefit 230 Appendix. \ will not beast of my Writings ; but many have told me that they have been made by them not only more learned, but more virtuous. I never loved Money, nor was ambitious of Glory or Reputation Every time I have thought of returning to yon. I have been dissuaded by the Consideration that some of you would envy and others hate me. I have recalled the insipid and frivolous Conversa- tions I used to hear, without the least Savour of Christianity in them ; your altogether secular Re- pasts, and your whole Life taken up in the Obser- vance of Ceremonies. I have considered the Infir- mities of my own Body — long a Prey to harrassing and dangerous Disease — and have felt that either I could not give y">u Satisfaction or that I must de- stroy myself in doing so. But perhaps you will say that it would be a sufficient Happiness to die in a Fraternity. Alas ! you are mistaken, and al- most all the World along with you. We make Christianity to consist in a Dress, in eating, and in little Observances. We look upon a Man as lost who quits his white Garment for a black one, who wears a Hat instead of a Hood, and who often changes his Habitation. May I not venture to affirm that the greatest Mischief that has been done to the Christian Religion arises from these Religious Orders, though perhaps a pious Zeal at first intro- duced them ? Would it not be better, according to the Doctrines of our Saviour, to look upon Chris- tendom as one House, one Family, one Monastery, md all Christians as one Brotherhood ? Would it Appendix. 231 Dot be better to account the Sacran.ent of Baptisrr the most sacred of all Vows and Engagements, and never to trouble ourselves where we live, so we live well ? " Such a Letter must have been highly jnpalata- ble to his Superior ; but Erasmus was beyond the reach of his Anger. About this time he visited Basle, and became acquainted with Frobeniits the Printer; and here in 1516, he published his cele- brated Greek and Lathi New Testament, which was bought and read with avidity. Though he shrank from joining the Reformers, it was a com- mon Saying among the Monks that " Erasmuslzid the Egg and Luther hatched it." Certainly, no Man did more to discredit the Frauds and Super- stitions of his Church. " I am surprised," he says to Wareham, in 15 16, "at the perverse Judgment of the Multitude. We kiss the old Shoes and dirty Handkerchiefs of the Saints, and neglect their Books, which are the more valuable and holy Rel- ics." Yet to IVolsey, two Years later, he endeav- ours to clear himself of any Connection with the Reformers. "These Wretches," says he, "ascribe to Erasmas everything that is bad ; and confound the Cause of Literature with that of Luther, though they in reality have no Connection. As to Luther, he is altogether unknown to me ; and if he hath written anything amiss, surely I ought not to bear the Blame of it. His Life and Conversation are universally commended ; and it is no small Pre- sumption in his Favour, that Calumny itself can 232 Appendix. fasten no Reproach on his Morals. If I had really had Leisure to peruse his Writings, I am not so conceited of my own Abilities as to pass a Judg- ment on the Opinions of so considerable a Divine ; though even Children, in this knowing Age, under take boldly to pronounce this is erroneous and that heretical ! " "There are none," says he, "that bark at me more furiously than those who have never even seen the Outside of my Book. When you meet with one of these Brawlers, let him rave on at my New Testament till he has made himself hoarse. Then ask him gently whether he has read it. If he has the Impudence to say yes, urge him to pro- duce one Passage that deserves to be blamed. You will find that he cannot. Consider, now, whether this be the Behaviour of a Christian, to blacken a Man's Reputation, which he cannot restore to him again if he would. Of all the vile Ways of defam- ing him, none is more villainous than to accuse him of Heresy ; and yet to this they have recourse on the slightest Provocation ! " A Dominican Friar at Strasbourg, who had spitefully attacked Erasmus's Treatment, was com- pelled to own that he had not read one Word of it. "These Men," exclaims Erasmus, "first hate, next condemn, and lastly, seek for Passages to justify their Censures. And then, if any one opposes them, and calls them what they are, they say he is a Disturber of the public Peace ; which is just as if you gave a Man a Blow in the Face, and then Appendix. 233 bid him be quiet, and not make a Noise about Nothing." Speaking of converting the Turks, in case they were conquered, " What will they think," says Erasmus, "when they find our quibbling Profess- ors so little of a Mind, that they dispute together till they turn pale with Fury, call Names, spit in one another's Faces and even come to Blows ? What must they think when they find it so very difficult a Thing to know what Expressions may be used when you speak of Jesus Christ? as if you had to do with a morose and malicious Being whom you call forth to your own Destruction, if you use a wrong Word in the Form of Evocation, instead of a most merciful Saviour, who requires nothing of you but Purity of Heart and Manners." "Let no Man." he soon afterwards says, "be ashamed to reply to certain Points, ' God knoweth how it can be ! as for me, I am content that it is so ; I know that the Body and Blood of our Sa- viour are Things pure, to be received by the Pure, and in a pure Manner. He hath appointed this for a sacred Sign and Pledge of his Love for us, and of the Concord which ought to exist among Chris* tians. I will therefore examine myself, to see if there be Anything in me contrary to the Mind of Jes7(s Christ, and whether I be in Love and Char- ity with my Neighbour. But, to be curious how the ten Categories are in this Sacrament ; how the Bread can be transubstantiated by Consecration ; and how a human Body can be in different Place* 234 Appendix. at the same Time, — all this, in my Opinion, serves very little to Advancement in Piety.' " Elsewhere he says of the Eucharist, " I know not what Good an invisible Substance can do there, nor how it could profit any one if it were discernible If there be a spiritual Grace present to the Symbol, that seems to be sufficient. However, I cannot de- part from the general Consent of the Church." In other Words, he had no Mind to be a Martyr, but only to suggest Doubts which led braver Men to be such. " This worthy Man," says his Biogra- pher yortin, " spent a laborious Life in an uniform Pursuit of two Points : in opposing barbarous Igno- rance and blind Superstition, and in promoting use- ful Literature and true Piety. These Objects he at- tempted in a mild, gentle Manner, never attacking the Persons of Men, but only the Faults of the Age. He knew his own Temper and Talents, and was conscious he was not fitted for the rough Work of a Reformer." His Income arose almost entirely from Pensions and Gratuities from Princes and wealthy Prelates, all of the Romish Church, who would undoubtedly have withdrawn their Patronage had he made com- mon Cause with the Lutherans. His Cause was rather that of free and critical Inquiry, in Opposi- tion to Ignorance and Prejudice ; and when he found it leading him farther than he had foreseen, he stopped short, and began to defend the Church he had done so much to shake. Luther expressed Pity rather than Contempt for this Weakness 3 but Appendix. 235 the Heat of Controversy gradually placed these two eminent Men in more open Antagonism, and drew from each of them acrimonious Expressions which did their Cause no good. In 1522 appeared the "Colloquies" of Erasmus, which, in the easy and popular Form of Dialogue, attacked the Superstitions of the Day with a Mix- ture of Sense and Wit that made them very gener- ally acceptable. Their tendency was soon detected by the Church ; and the Faculty of Theology at Paris pronounced a Censure on them as on a Work " in which the Fasts of the Church are slighted, the Suffrages of the Holy Virgin and the Saints derided, Celibacy rated below Matrimony, Chris- tians discouraged from Monkery, and grammatical preferred to theological Erudition. Wherefore it is decreed that this wicked Book be forbidden to all, more especially to young Folks." He was next engaged in his Controversy with Luther, which did not redound much to his Credit. In consequence of the public Change of Religion at Balse, he re- moved to Friburg, where he published an Epistle against the Reformers, in which he asserts that there were certain Cases in which they might law- fully receive capital Punishment as Blasphemers and seditious Persons. He afterwards returned to Basle, which he left no more ; and after prosecuting his learned Labours for a Time, under the Pressure of severe bodily Afflictions, he expired in his sixty- ninth Year, surrounded by Protestant Friends, and dying such as a Protestant might, in Everything bul 236 Appendix. in Name. He was the most eminent, though not the sole Reviver of Learning in his Day, and is justly regarded as one of the great Benefactors of his Age. His Memory is equally cherished at the Place of his Birth and of his Death ; and the Bronze Statue erected to his Memory in the great Square of Rotterdam, representing him in the Aft of scru- tinizing a Manuscript with delighted avidity, is ad- mirably characteristic of the Man. When we say that some of our happiest and ear- liest Years were spent on the Site of Sir Thomas Move's Country House in the " Village of Palaces," some of our Readers will hardly believe we can mean Chelsea. But in those Days, the Gin-Palace and Tea-Garden were not ; Cremorne was a quiet, aristocratic Seclusion, where old Queen Charlotte " Would sometimes Co/insel lake, and sometimes Tea." — A few old, quiet Streets and Rows, with Names and Sites dear to the Antiquary, ran down to the Thames, then a Stranger to Steamboats ; a Row of noble Elms along its Strand lent their deep Shade to some quaint old Houses with heavy Architraves, picturesque Flights of Steps and elaborate Gates ; while Queen Elizabeth's Walk, and the Bishop's Palace, gave a Kind of Dignity to the more modem Designations of the Neighbourhood. When the Thames was the great Highway, and Appendix. 237 every Nobleman had his six or eight-oared Barge, the Banks of the River as high as Chelsea were studded with Country Houses. At the foot of Bat- tersea Bridge, which in those Days did not disfigure the beautiful Reach. Sir Thomas More, then a pri- vate Gentleman and eminent Lawyer in full Practice, built the capital Family House which was afterwards successively occupied by the Marquis of Winches- ter, Lord Dacre, Lord Burleigh, Sir Robert Cecil, the Earl of Lincoln, Sir Arthur Gorges, Lord Mid- dlesex, the First Duke of Buckingham, Sir Bul- strode Whitlock, the Second Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Bristol, and the Duke of Beaufort. It stood about a hundred Yards from the River ; its Front exhibited a projecting Porch in the Centre, and four bay Windows alternating with eight large Casements ; while its back presented a confused Assemblage of jutting Casements, Pent-Houses, and Gables in picturesque Intricacy of Detail, affording "Coigns of Vantage," we doubt not, to many a Tuft of Golden Moss and Stone Crop. This Dwelling, which for Convenience and Beauty of Situation and interior Comfort, was so highly prized by its many and distinguished Occupants, appears at length to have been pulled clown when it became ricketty and untenantable from sheer old Aye- — mi OssiarCs words, "gloomy, windy, and full of Ghosts." In the Freshr ess of its recent Erec- tion and Occupancy by a buoyant, untamed, gay- spirited Family, Erasmus thus writes of it : — '■'•More has built himself a House at Chelsea 238 Appendix. There he converses with his Wife, his Son, 1 is Daughter-in-law, his three Daughters and their Husbands, with eleven Grand-children. There is not a man living so affectionate as he ; he loveth his old Wife as if she were a young Maid." " 1 would call his House," he continues, "the Academy of Plato, were it not an Injustice to compare it with an Academy where Disputations concerning Num- bers and Figures were only occasionally interspers- ed with Disquisitions on the moral Virtues. I should rather call his House a School of Christianity ; for though there is no one in it who does not study the liberal Sciences, their special Care is Piety and Virtue. No Quarrelling nor intemperate Words are heard ; Idleness is never seen." We must give one more Life-sketch of this engagf- ing Household ; more attractive than that painted by Holbien : — " He suffered none of his Servants to give them- selves to Cards or Dice ; but some of them he alotted to look after the Garden, assigning to every one his sundry Plot ; some, again, he set to sing, some to play on the Organ. The Men abode on one side of the House ; the Women on the other. He used, before Bed-time, to call them together, and say certain Prayers with them. He suffered none to be absent from Mass on Sundays or holy Days ; and upon great Feasts he ordered them to watch the Eves till Matin-time. He used to have some one to read daily at his Table, which being ended, he would ask of some of them how they Appendix. 239 had understood such and such a Passage ; and so then grant a iriendly Communication, recreating all men that \\<:re present with some Jest or other." More wu.< born in Milk Street, 1480. His Fa- ther, Sir 'f.ihn More, one of the Judges of the Court of Kiihfi Bench, on removing him from a free Grammai School in Tlireudneedle Street, placed him in the Household of Cardinal Morton, Arch- bishop of Ca?iitroury and Lord Chancellor. Here his early Promi^o of Excellence soon fixed on him the Attention ot his Patron, who, on Occasion of one of his many ready and felicitous Replies, ob- served to one of tiit Bystanders, " This Child will unquestionably pros c an extraordinary Man." The Cardinal would often imuse himself by putting his Wit to Proof, especially during the Christmas Mer- riments ; when, the Actors performing their several Parts, young More wou'.u suddenly step in among them, and, never studying before upon the Matter, make up an extempore P/n/s, who, in those Days, when Penny-posts were not, retained a number of young Men to carry his Letters and receive their Answers, which were often in the Shape of Money. At length these two celebrated Men met by chance, each without know- ing the other. More was calling on the Lord Mayor; Erasmus happened to have been shown the Mansion House Cellars, where he had been regaled with Ale and Oysters. On being intro- duced, merely as a Foreigner, to More, the follow ing Colloquy ensued. " Whence come you ? " From the Regions below." " What were they about there?" "Drinking out of leather Jacks. and eating live Oysters." More, after a moment's thought, exclaimed, "Either you must be Erasmus or the Devil." " Either you," returned Erasmus " must be More or nothing." More frankly made him free of his House, whics Erasmus called " neither magnificent nor provoca- tive of Envy, but handsome and commodious enough." The gay, approachable Manners of the young People, and their innocent Salutations when they met and parted, amused and pleased him. Here he accorded some of his Notice to their Tu- tor, Mr. Gunnel, who afterwards rose in the Church. To this excellent Man Sir Thomas More writes thus : — " I have received, my dear Gunnel, yout Letters, such as they are wont to be, full of Ele- gance and Affection. Your Love for my Children Appendix. 245 I gather from your Letters ; their Diligence from their own. I rejoice that Bessy has shown as much Modesty of Deportment in her Mother's Absence as she could have done in her Presence. Tell hei that this delights me above all Things ; for, much as I esteem Learning, which, when joined with Vir- tue, is worth all the Treasures of Kings ; what doth the Fame of great Scholarship, apart from well regulated Conduct, bring us, except distin- guished Infamy? Especially in Women, whom Men are ready enough to assail for their Know- ledge, because it is uncommon, and casts a Re- proach on their own Sluggishness. Among other notable Benefits which solid Learning bestows, I reckon this among the first, that we acquire it not for the mere sake of Praise or the Esteem of learn- ed Men, but for its own true Value and Use. Thus have I spoken, my Gunnel, somewhat the more in respecl: of not coveting Vain-glory, because of those Words in your Letter wherein you deem that the high Quality of Margaret's Wit is not to be depressed, which, indeed, is mine own Opinion ; but I think that they the most truly depress and affront their Wit who accustom themselves to prac- tise it on vain and base ObjecLs, rather than raise their Minds by the Study and Approval of what is good in itself. It mattereth not in Harvest Time whether the Corn were sown by a Man or a Wo- man, and I see not why Learning in like Manner may not equally agree with both Sexes ; for by it Reason is cultivated, and as a Field, sown witb 246 Appendix. vholesome Precepts, which bring forth good Fruit •Sven if the Soil of a Woman's Brain be of its own Mature bad, and apter to bear Fern than Corn, by vhich saying Men oft terrify Wcmen from Learning, I am of opinion that a Woman's Mind is, for thai very Reason, all the more in need of manure and good Husbandry, that the Defect of Nature may be «-edressed." In the same Vein writes this enlightened, affec- tionate Father to " his most dear Daughters, Mar- garet, Elizabeth, and Cecily, and to Margaret Giggs, as dear to him as if she were his own." To his beloved Margaret at a very early Age he thus ex- presses himself : — " I cannot tell you, most dear Margaret, how grateful to me are your most delight- ful Letters. While I was reading them there hap- pened to be with me that noble Youth, Reginald Pole j not so ennobled, indeed, by Birth, as he is by Learning and all kinds of Virtue. To him your Letter seemed a Miracle, even before he was made aware how you were beset by shortness of Time and other Molestations ; and hardly could he believe that you had had no Help from your Master, till I told him seriously that you had not only no Master in the House, but that also there was no Man in it that had not more need of your Help in writing than you of his." Praise like this would stimulate a Mind like Margaret's rather than inflate it with empty Vanity ; he knew with whom he had to do. " I pray thee, Meg," he elsewhere says, " to let me kDow whal Appendix . 2tf your Studies just now are ; for 1 declare to you that rather than suffer my Children to lose Ground, 1 would myself continue your Education to the loss of my worldly Estate, and the neglect of all other Cares and Businesses." I will pass over, my sweetest Daughter, the delight your Letter gave me, to acquaint you with the Impression it made on a perfect Stranger. It happened, this Evening, that I was sitting with the Bishop of Exeter, a learned Man, and by general Consent allowed to be a sincere Man. Happening to take out of my Pocket a Paper which was to the Purpose we were talking of, I by chance pulled out therewith your Letter. The Handwriting pleasing him, he drew it from me, and looked at it, when perceiving the Salutation to be a Woman's, he began eagerly to peruse it, Novelty inviting him thereunto. But when he had finished it, and found it was your Writing, which he could not credit till I had se- riously affirmed it — why should I not report what he said upon it ? Such a Letter ! so good a Style ! such pure Latin ! so eloquent ! so full of sweet Affection ! — he was marvellously taken with it. When I perceived this, I brought forth an Oration of yours, and also some of your little Verses, which so pleased him, that every Look and Gesture of the Man, quite free from Exaggeration and Flat- tery, bewrayed that his Thoughts were more than Words could utter, though his Words, too, were to your great Praise ; and forthwith he took from his Pocket a Portugal Piece, which I shall take car« 24S Appendix. to inclose you herewith. I could not possibly shun the taking it, as he must needs send it to you in token of his dear Affection, though by all means I endeavoured to prevail on him to take it again, for I was afeard lest he should think I had contrived the Accident on purpose, and therefore I would not show him any of your Sisters' Letters, lest he should send them Presents too ; but I thought within myself, it is doubtless a Pleasure to gratify the good Man in this. Write carefully to him, therefore, and express your good Thanks." The Oration was, we believe, in answer to Quin- tilian, and she also translated Eusebius out of Greek. The good Bishop would hardly have sent a Portugal Piece to a Girl who was not of very tender Age, and yet More addresses her as a Woman, and a Woman of sense. In nothing, perhaps, are the Discrimination and Genius of Parents more discernible than in their knowing whom, and what, and how much they should encourage or repress. To show his Daughter's Letters, and tell her of the Encomiums they received, was the Act either of a brave or a foolish Father. Nobody could call More foolish. There was such a singular Happiness in his Treatment of those around him that not one of even the infe- rior Members of his numerous Household turned out ill, and even his homely Wife's rugged Temper was charmed from its Asperity, though he would laughingly tell her she was Penny wise and Pound foolish saving a Candle's End, and spoiling a Ve'vet Appendix. 249 Gown. "Tilley- valley," she would reply to him, " here sit you making Goslings in the Ashes. My Mother would often say to me, Better rule than be ruled." "Truly then, good Alice" was his Retort, "you better her Teaching, for I never found you willing to be ruled yet. Are you not a jolly Master- woman ? " It was one of his Sayings, that Souls in a sepa- rate State would think as meanly of the Bags of Gold they had hoarded in their Lifetime, as a Man advanced in years would think of a Bag of Cherry- stones which he had hoarded when a Child. When he saw any of the young Men of his Household dressing themselves fine in some un- easy Fashion, or stroking up their Hair to make themselves high Foreheads, he would coolly tell them that if God gave them not Hell he would do fhem great Injustice, for they were taking far more Pains to win it and to please the Devil than many even virtuous Men did to win Heaven and please God Another of his Sayings was, that God could not punish Man worse than if he should suffer every- thing to happen that every Man wished for. " Not onlv,'' said he, "doth Pleasure withdraw wicked Men from Prayer, but Affliction doth the same sometimes. Yet there is this difference, that Afflic- tion doth sometimes wrest a short Prayer from the wickedest Man alive ; but Pleasure withdrawetb even one that is indifferent good from all prayer." 250 Appendix. The public conduct of Afore as Chancellor is too well known here to need repetition. The death of his Father brought him a very small addition to his Estate, and Sir John Afore s House and Lands at Gubbins, in Hertfordshire, were settled on his last Wife for her life, and she survived the Chancellor. Sir Thomas has left it, under his own Hand, that the Amount of all his Revenues and Pensions, except what had been granted by Letters Patent of the King's Liberality, viz., the Manors of Ducking- ton, Frinchford, and Barley Park, did not exceed fifty Pounds a Year : a rare Saying for one who had gone through so many public Offices ! A Sub- scription of a thousand Pounds was made by the Bishops and Clergy, and offered to him in testi- mony of their Thankfulness to him for his polemical Writings ; but he would in no wise accept it, nor permit it to be settled on his Wife or Children, saying he would sooner see it cast into the Thames. Having resigned the Great Seal he never busied himself in public Matters any more, but devoted the Interval that elapsed before his refusing the Oath of Supremacy, to Study, Prayer, and the preparation of his Mind for its approaching Con- flict. He diminished his Establishment, finding other services for his Men, and disposing of his Children in Homes of their own. As he lay wake- fully on his Pillow, his Wife was often aware that he was passing the long Hours of the Night in Prayers and Tears, instead of in Sleeping. The Strength which he needed, however, he obtained foi Appendix. 2 5 J the Seeking, for when the time of Action came we never find him betraying the slightest Token of va- cillation. On being summoned to Lambeth, to take the Oath, he requested to see the Form, which, when he had attentively read, he said that he would neither find fault with its Authors, nor would blame any Man that took it, but that, for his own part, he felt that he would not do so without Danger to his Soul. He was committed to the custody of the Abbot of Westminster for a few Days, during which time the Kim: took it into orivate Deliberation how he should deal with his old Servant, and was inclined to let him off on his swearing not to divulge to any one whether he had taken the Oath of Supremacy or no ; but the Enmity of the Queen caused this merciful Design to be abandoned, and, on the Oath being again tendered, and again declined, he was committed to the Tower. As he went thither, Sir Richard Wingjield. who had him in charge, observ- ing that he wore a Gold Chain about his Neck, recommended him to take it off, and send it Home by some private Hand to his Family ; but he calmly replied, "Nay. sir, that will I not, for if I were taken in the Field by mine Enemies, I would they should fare somewhat the better for me." According to his Great-grandson, to whose Tes- timony we may or may not accord implicit Faith, More was tempted even by his beloved Margarei to yield his Conscience to the Dictates of Expedi- ency, but to this he hearkened, no, not for a Mo- ment ; saying, that "for the last seven Years he 252 Appendix. had been diligently reading over all the Fathers, who, with one Consent, supported the Pope's Su- premacy, and he saw not how one Men.ber of the Church, as England was, could lawfully withdraw itself from the whole Body." Here we find the wise More arguing on false Premises, and adjudg- ing the Church of Rome to be the Church of Christ, instead of one Member of it, as much so as the Church of England. But a conscientious Roman Catholic could hold no other Doctrine ; and, while differing from him in Judgment, we cannot withhold our Admiration from the marvellous Constancy with which he supported a Point of Conscience. Henry the Eighth did more harm to the Cause of the Reformation by beheading More than by wr' ing against Luther, for he furnished the Church o. Rome with her purest Martyr. The only Moment when his steadfast Composure was almost overcome, was when Margaret Roper rushed into his Arms on his Return to the Tower after his Condemnation : — " Oh, what a Spectacle was 'this ! " exclaims his Grandson, " to see a Woman of Nature shamefast, by Education modest, to express such excessive Grief as that Love should make her shake off all Fear and Shame ; which dolefulle Sight, piercing the Hearts of all Beholders, how do you suppose it must have moved her Father's ? Surely, his Affec- tion and forcible Love would have daunted his Courage, if that a divine Spirit of Constancy had not enabled him to behold this most generous Appendix. 253 Woman, this most worthy Daughter, endowed with all good Gifts of Nature, all Sparks of Piety, which are wont to be most acceptable to a loving Parent, pressing unto him at such a Time and Place, where no vian could have had access, hanging about his Neck before he was aware of her, holding so fast by him as she could scarce be plucked off, not uttering any other Words than ' Oh ! my Father ! ' What a Sword was this to his Heart! and at last, being drawn away by force, to run upon him again without any regard either of the Weapons where- with he was compassed, or of the Modesty becoming her own Sex ! What Comfort did he want ! what Courage did he then stand in Need of! and yet he resisted all this most courageously, remitting nothing of his steadie Gravitie, speaking only what we have recited before, and desiring her to pray for him." It seems that, when the unhappy Daughter was borne off. Margaret Ciggs, incited by her Example, rushed forward also into Mere's Arms, and received a last Embrace. After this tragic Scene, there is a little Bathos in the like approach of Dorothy Collie, a poor, humble Servant Maid, who loved her Master well in her simple way, and must needs kiss his Hand, and of whose demonstrative Attach- ment he afterwards said, with a benignant Smile, that it was very homely but very lovingly done. Perhaps this little Incident, artless and unlooked for as it was, had the good effecl of withdrawing his Soul for a few Moments from the anguish of parting from his Child. 2 5 4 • Appendix. Morc's Wife was turned out of her House al Chelsea immediately after his Execution, and al» her Goods were taken from her, "the King allotting her of his Mercy," says her Descendant, " a Pen- sion of twenty Pounds by the Year : a poor Al- lowance to maintain a Chancellor's Lady." The manner of Margarefs possessing herself of her Father's Head has been variously told, and it is not the only Incident connected with his sad End which his Friends, not superior to the Super- stition of the Time, dressed up with Additions ap- proaching to the supernatural* The Partizans of * A Writer in the " Gentleman 's Magazine " for May, 1837, says : — " In the Chancel of the Church (St. Dunslan's, Canterbury) is 3 Vault belonging to that Family (the Ropers'), which, in newly paving the Chancel in 1835, was accidentally opened ; and, wishing to ascer- tain whether Sir 7'nomas More's Skull were really there, I went down into the Vault, and found it still remaining in the piace where it was seen many Years ago, — in a Niche in the Wall, in a leaden Box some- thing of the Shape of a Bee-hive, open in the front, and with an iron Grating before it.* In this Vault were five Coffins, some of them belonging to the Henshaw Family : one, much decayed, with no In- scription to be traced cm it. " Opposite these Tombs is a beautiful Monument, erected by a Grandson of Sir Thomas More, sacred, as he calls it, ' Pietati et Pa- rentibus.' It has lately been cleansed from the Dust and Cobwebs of Ages, and now stands forth in all its former chaste and simple Beauty." The Writer proceeds to wish that, in these Days of Restoration, the eastern Window of the Chancel might be ornamented with a Copy of Holbein's Likeness of Sir T/iomas More, and the Side- lights be filled with the Coats of Arms of the different Branches of th« Family. * This Communication is enriched with a Woodcut representing the Skull in a kind of Helmet, portrayed with painf'jl fidelity. Appendix. 255 a great and good Man betray a want of Faith in his imperishable Qualities, when they seek to hasten and enhance his Fame by fabulous Marvels. The following is part of the Epitaph referred to : — " Sacrum Pietati et Parentibus " " Thomas Rooper, . . Thomce Mori . . . ex filia Margareta Nepoi. " " Quid caro, quid sanguis, quid pulvis et umbra superbis t Quid Itsiare miser, vermibus esca satis t Qui mundum immuudum capias captaberis ipse, Et qui cuxfla ciipis te brevis urna capit. Pauca potest vivo mundus solatia ferre, Nulla-jue post mortem commoda, damna potest. Quo; duvinatit fugias, animam sic instrue vivens Vivat in Ctelis sponsa beala Deo. Moriuus htec moneo moriturum : perge, memorqve Esto mete mortis, sed mag is esse tua>." My Friend, Mrs. George Frederick Young, who was bom in th« Ropers' House at Canterbury, tells me that it was of singular Anti- quity, full of queer Nooks, Corners and Passages, with a sort of Dungeon below, that went by the Name of Dick's Hole, the access to which was so dangerous, that it at length was forbidden to descend the Staircase. The Coach-house and Harness-room were curiously an- tique ; the Chapel had been converted into a Laundry, but retained its Gothic Windows. At length it became needful to rebuild the House, only the old Gateway of which remains. While the Workmen were busy, an old Gentleman in Canterbury sent to beg Mrs. Young's Fa- ther to dig in a particular part of the Garden, for that he had dreamed there was a Money-chest there. This Request was not attended to, and he sent a more urgent Message, saying his Dream had been repeated. A third time he dreamed and renewed his Request, which at length was granted ; and, curiously enough, a Chest was found, with a few Coins in it, chiefly of antiquarian value, which, accordingly, were given to an archaeologist of the place. Here my Information ceases. I will here add, once for all, that I have always been perfectly aware my pseudo ancient Orthography has not been invariably such —had it been, it would have wearied the Reader past endurance 1 I have preferred giving only enough of it to have " no incongruity nw unnatural strangeness." 256 Appendix. And yet I must wind up with a Ghost Story most unexpectedly borne testimony to since writ- ing the last paiagraph. Near Ewhurst, in Surrey, »s a very old, secluded, beautiful Country Seat, built in the Elizabethan Style, of red Brick, and called Banyards. It is at, present in the occupation of a venerable Clergyman and Magistrate. This Man- sion, in the Time of Henry the Eighth, was the Residence of Sir Edward Bray, who was Con- stable of the Tower in the Year 1539, and whose Son married Elizabeth, the Daughter of Margaret and William Roper. Here, then, Margaret may probably have visited her Daughter; and, as she seems to have kept jealous ward over the Coffer con- taining her Father's Head till the Day of her Death, when it was buried in the Ropers' Vault, in St. Dunstaii's Church, Canterbury, the knowledge of her possession of so Ghastly a Relic may easily have given rise to a Report among the poor Peo- ple of the Neighbourhood, that a restless Ghost haunted the long Gallery of Banyards. The Facts connected with the Legend have died away ; the belief in the Ghost remains. While writing the above, I asked a Country-girl from Ewhurst, who happened to come into the room, if she knew Banyards. She said, " Oh, yes, her Father used to work there ; it was a beautiful old place." " Had she ever heard of its being haunted?" "Yes; there were strange Noises frequently to be heard in the long Gallery, as of Men playing at Bowls ; and — she did not know whether it were quite rijjht Appendix. 257 to talk of such Things — but a Man still living, she believed, and still working on the Grounds, had once kept Watch in the House, all alone, and on looking through the Keyhole of the Gallery Door, had seen a Figure, white as Wool, pacing up and down, which melted away the Moment he opened the Door." Furthermore, she did not believe much in Ghosts, and thought the House had of late Years been quite Quiet. There is a Distinc- tion between authenticating a Ghost and a Ghost Story. Of all the Spirits that in English History have walked, there are few with whom one would more gladly have an hour's Colloquy than with that of Sir Thomas More. " If from the Cerements of the silent Dead Our long departed Friends could rise anew. Why feel a horror, or conceive a dread, To see again those Friends whom once we knew t " Oh ! if the flinty Prison of the Grave Can loose its Doors and let the Spirit free, Why not return the Wise, the fust, the Brave, A nd set once more Hie Pride of Ages fret f ' FIMIS. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. NO PHONE RENEWALS n oct o