OF THE 
 U N I VERS ITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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THE 
 
 XIX. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVET, AND FRANKLYN, 
 Great New Street, Fetter Lane. 
 
U HE 
 
THE 
 
 A TALE 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OP THE ENGLISH REFORMATION. 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. W. GRESLEY, M.A. 
 
 J'R'EBTilNDART OP trOHFI-EI,!) . 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES BURNS, 17 PORTMAN STREET, 
 
 PORTMAN SQUARE. 
 M.DCCC.XLI. 
 
8^3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The approbation with which the " Siege of 
 Lichfield" was favoured has encouraged me to 
 attempt the following illustration of the Enghsh 
 Reformation, which I hope to be enabled to 
 follow up with a similar volume on the Revo- 
 lution of 1688; thereby embracing the great 
 epochs of modern English history. 
 
 These volumes are not intended to save 
 young persons the trouble of reading the his- 
 tory of their country, but rather to encourage 
 their researches, by calling forth an interest on 
 the subject. What is attempted is, to throw 
 light on history, by describing the manner in 
 which private persons lived in former times; 
 and so give a verisimilitude and reality to the 
 incidents described, which many, perhaps, do 
 not feel when they read in history only about 
 kings and queens, and the affairs of state. 
 
 I have dihgently endeavoured — what is no 
 very easy task — to write on the Reformation 
 without the spirit of partisanship, and to de- 
 
 - 469168 
 
vm 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 scribe things as they were, so as neither to 
 conceal the errors nor detract from the merits 
 of those who were the actors in that great revo- 
 lution. 
 
 With reference to the character of Latimer, 
 who has been introduced in the following pages, 
 it may be necessary to inform my young readers, 
 who, perhaps, have been accustomed to hear 
 high and just encomiums of that celebrated re- 
 former, that the excellence of his character con- 
 sisted rather in his honesty and zeal, than in 
 the soundness of his views, or his theological 
 attainments. He is a representative of that nu- 
 merous class who, in their praiseworthy eager- 
 ness for reform, were apt sometimes to overstep 
 the just bound of moderation. Less prominent 
 in those eventful times, but not less worthy to 
 be esteemed, were such men as I have endea- 
 voured to depict under the character of William 
 Arnold, the last abbot of Merevale — men of 
 sound judgment and conscientious mind, who 
 set themselves piously and soberly to correct 
 their errors as soon as they became convinced 
 of them, without imbibing that antipathy against 
 the Romish Church, or yielding to that schis- 
 matical spirit with which so many eminent Re- 
 formers were infected. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. The Church before the Reformation 
 II. The Friar. The Pope's Supremacy- 
 Ill. The Wardmote 
 
 IV. Butt- shooting, and other Matters . 
 V. The Abbot of Merevale ... 
 VI. The History of Merevale Abbey, by Father 
 
 Dugaldus ..... 
 VII. Question of Dissolution of Monasteries 
 VIII. The Confessional .... 
 
 IX. A Dinner-Party in the Sixteenth Century 
 
 X. Interview with the King and Queen 
 XI. Surrender of the Abbey 
 
 XII. The Insurrection 
 
 XIII. The Word unsealed .... 
 
 XIV. The Enthusiast . , , , [ 
 XV. The ruined Abbey. Image-worship 
 
 XVI. The Reunion. Conversation on Church Matters 
 XVII. The Christening. Ordinances 
 XVIIT. Days of Persecution 
 XIX. The Arrest .... 
 XX. The Examination . 
 XXI. The Prisoners 
 
 XXII. The Sufferers for Conscience- sake 
 
 XXIII. Conclusion .... 
 
 XXIV. Reflections on the Reformation 
 Appendix .... 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Frontispiece— The Abbot of Merevale placing the Con- 
 vent-seal in the hands of the Commissioner (see page 
 132); from a design by R. Greene, Esq. 
 The Chapel of Merevale, east end . . to face 57 
 
 The same, and part of the Abbey, west end . . * 132 
 Ruins of Merevale Abbey . . • • • • 
 Monumental brasses in Merevale Church, supposed to re- 
 present the founder, Robert Ferrars, and his wife . 262 
 The vignettes at pp. 9, 33, 98, 114, and 235, are all from 
 
 an old manuscript in Lichfield Cathedral. 
 The head-piece at page 57 is a doorway of wood at Mere- 
 vale Church, rudely carved with a representation of 
 the Annunciation. 
 The vignette at page 243 is from the window at Lichfield 
 Cathedral. 
 
THE 
 
 FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Not utterly unworthy to endure 
 Was the supremacy of crafty Rome ; 
 Age after age the arch of Christendom, 
 Aerial keystone haughtily secure. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 It is not possible to form a just estimate of the cha- 
 racter, motives, or even actions of those who live in 
 any age of the world, without some knowledge of 
 their previous history, and of the causes which led 
 to the events described. One age grows out of an- 
 other in gradual succession, and receives its impress 
 from that which has gone before it ; even as a child 
 inherits the features and character of its parents. 
 Therefore, before adverting to the great events of 
 the Reformation of the sixteenth century, it will be 
 necessary to take a brief preliminary view of the 
 previous history of the English Church, and of the 
 rise and progress of those corruptions which required 
 at the last such strong and convulsive efforts to cast 
 
 B 
 
2 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 them off; and the very casting off of which was 
 accompanied by so many prolific evils. 
 
 The Church of England was founded in the first 
 age of the Christian era — as some suppose by St. 
 Paul, or one of the Apostles : from which time down 
 to the present it has formed a branch of the Church 
 catholic, or universal ; has held the same creeds, 
 enjoyed the same sacraments, and maintained the 
 succession of its ministers unbroken. During its 
 course it has gone through many persecutions, de- 
 pressions, and revivals, and seen many corruptions 
 and reformations. At an early period the Pelagian 
 heresy widely infected the Church of England ; but 
 a reformation was effected through the instrumen- 
 tahty of St. Germaine, a Galiican bishop. In the 
 fifth century the Christians were driven from the 
 fairest portion of England by the heathen Saxons,^ 
 w^ho were themselves converted to the faith by St. 
 Augustin ; and, in course of time, became united in 
 one flourishing Church with their British brethren. 
 Another terrible persecution was brought upon the 
 Church by the Danes, who destroyed her establish- 
 ments and well-nigh banished learning and civilisa- 
 tion from the land. From this miserable state the 
 Church was raised by the exertions of the great and 
 wise Alfred, and regained her ascendency over the 
 mixed races who inhabited England. But the con- 
 tinued w^ars and troubles of the times greatly weak- 
 ened the Church ; and England, in common with 
 the other nations of Europe, which during the same 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 3 
 
 period were equally barbarised by the invasions of 
 heathen tribes, gradually lapsed more and more into 
 the superstition and errors which characterised the 
 middle ages. Not that " the dark ages," as they 
 have been termed, were of that impenetrable black- 
 ness with which certain modern historians have been 
 pleased to invest them ; for in the worst times the 
 flame of learning still burnt, though with a feeble 
 ray ; and we have ample evidence that the pure faith 
 of genuine Christianity, little corrupted with the alloy 
 of superstition, lived in many pious hearts. Still, 
 the days were dark and lowering ; and we can attri- 
 bute it only to the special providence of God, and 
 the instrumentality of the Church, that the Christian 
 faith was preserved. 
 
 The Norman conquest was a new era in the his- 
 tory of the nation. By this time the pope of Rome 
 had begun to exercise a powerful influence in Chris- 
 tendom, which, in the different contests waged be- 
 tween rival princes, or between princes and their 
 subjects, each party was anxious to conciliate ; and, 
 for this purpose, was often willing to concede claims 
 to a power which thus went on increasing to a mon- 
 strous extent. William the Conqueror, an unscru- 
 pulous politician, availed himself of the authority of 
 the pope to prop his doubtful title, and drive out 
 the ancient English clergy who occupied posts of 
 honour or emolument. They were succeeded by a 
 host of foreign ecclesiastics, who had their castles 
 and retainers, and lived more like military chiefs 
 
4 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 and barons than as Christian bishops. A vigorous 
 prince like William was able to avail himself of the 
 power of the Roman pontiff to effect his purposes ; 
 but his less able successors became, in their turn, 
 the instruments of the pope's aggrandisement. The 
 great principle of popery, — that the Roman pontiff is 
 universal bishop, and paramount over every other 
 diocese, — was conceded in the reign of Henry I. by 
 William of Corboil, then archbishop of Canterbury, 
 who, in the vain hope to strengthen himself, accepted 
 the office of legate to the pope — an office which the 
 aspiring prelate soon transferred into other hands : 
 thus establishing a Church - officer superior to the 
 archbishop, through whom he soon usurped the 
 power of convening and presiding over synods and 
 councils ; and so destroyed for a time the inde- 
 pendence of the English Church. Another principal 
 source of the influence of the pope was the rage 
 for building monasteries, w^iich arose, soon after the 
 conquest, amongst the Norman barons. These mon- 
 asteries became independent of the bishops in whose 
 dioceses they were established, and subject only to 
 the authority of the pope : thus being, in point of 
 fact, places of schismatical worship. It was in the 
 time of King John that the power of the pope at- 
 tained in England its highest pitch of extravagance. 
 During the reign of that weak and vicious monarch 
 the whole of England was placed under an inter- 
 dict ; that is, all the churches in the land were shut 
 up, and the ordinances of religion discontinued ; the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 5 
 
 altars were despoiled of their ornaments ; the bells 
 removed from the steeples ; no religious rite was 
 administered, except baptism to new-born babes; 
 and the dead, refused interment in consecrated en- 
 closures, were buried in ditches or common ground. 
 All this continued for four years, by the order of a 
 foreign bishop. The king himself was excommuni- 
 cated, and his dominions given to the king of France. 
 Nor was the interdict taken off, nor the excommuni- 
 cation removed, until John had resigned his kingdom 
 into the hands of the pope, and had agreed to hold 
 it thenceforth as feudatory to the Church of Rome, 
 paying a thousand marks annually to the pope by 
 way of acknowledgment. It should be remembered, 
 however, that such monstrous usurpations as these 
 were acquiesced in only by w^eak kings or ambitious 
 prelates for their own private interests, and were 
 never sanctioned by the English Church or nation. ^ 
 A reader of the history of the middle ages is, at 
 the first view, at a loss to account for the extrava- 
 gant pretensions of the Church of Rome, and still 
 more for the tameness with which they were sub- 
 mitted to by successive monarchs. We are accus- 
 tomed, perhaps, too much to regard the Church of 
 Rome as a mere mass of corruption and usurped 
 authority. But it is not likely that the pope should 
 have arrived at such a height of authority as to de- 
 pose kings and bishops, and wield the whole power 
 of Christendom, unless some moral influence had 
 1 See Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Biography, vol. i. p. 23. 
 B 2 
 
6 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 been present beypnd what appears on the mere sur- 
 face. The secret was, that the Church ^possessed in 
 a great measure the affections of the people. It had 
 in each country the mass of the community as its 
 devoted adherents ; and the cause of their devotion 
 was, that they derived from it a degree of protection 
 and benefit which was not afforded them by their 
 temporal rulers. The fabric of ecclesiastical power 
 was, in truth, the real Church of Christ, however 
 debased and corrupted. It still spread its shadow over 
 the nations like a mighty tree, and the fowls of the 
 air lodged in its branches. Though its trunk was 
 greatly decayed, its corruption had been so gradual, 
 that no generation discerned how different it had 
 become from the Church of the Apostles. It still 
 retained not only the general outward form, but 
 also the creeds and sacraments of primitive times ; 
 and men perceived not that these had been crusted 
 over wdth a mass of dross. Nay, it still was, in 
 reality, the centre of religion. Whatsoever know- 
 ledge existed of a future state of being, of heaven 
 and hell, and eternity ; whatsoever warning against 
 sin was addressed to the consciences of men; what- 
 soever impulse was given to holiness and devotion, 
 — these were still derived from the Church. The 
 Church was also the centre of charity. All that were 
 troubled, and broken-hearted, and wearied with the 
 din of the world, found an asylum in her arms. 
 Her convents furnished, in the name of God, food 
 to the hungry, shelter to the afflicted, and rest to the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 7 
 
 weary. The warrior and the politician refreshed their 
 world-worn spirit within her cloisters ; and the hus- 
 bandman preferred the sway of the peaceful monks 
 to that of the rude baron, who forced him from his 
 home, and compelled him to fight in quarrels with 
 which he had no concern. In short, corrupt as she 
 was, the Church was still superior, injinitely superior, 
 to the world. Whatever was reverent and pious was 
 within her. She was the instructor and enlightener 
 of the nations, so far as they had any light or instruc- 
 tion. No wonder that not only was she beloved by 
 the poor and humble, but that the best of men then 
 living, and men of practical wisdom no whit inferior 
 to that of our own days, seeing in the world no bet- 
 ter spiritual instructor or guide, were her zealous 
 and devoted adherents. No wonder that the Church, 
 thus based on the affections of the people, and sup- 
 ported by the zeal and talent of the wisest and best 
 men of the age, should have exercised the vast au- 
 thority which we have seen. 
 
 The history of the times will teach us, that often 
 her most extravagant claims were founded on a basis 
 of real justice. We are astonished that an Italian 
 bishop should have the presumption to claim, or the 
 power to exercise, a veto on the appointment of all 
 the bishops in Christendom. But when we learn that 
 William Rufus, during almost the whole of his reign, 
 appropriated to himself the revenues of each bishop- 
 ric which became vacant, and kept the offices them- 
 selves suspended, and that such was no uncommon 
 
8 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 practice amongst the monarchs of Europe,— we are 
 the less surprised that, in the reign of his successor, 
 the force of public opinion in his favour enabled the 
 pope to gain tlie right of investiture. But for his 
 interference, the Church would have speedily been 
 deprived of her bishops altogether. Such is but a 
 specimen of the mode in which the Church of Rome 
 took under her protection nations ground down by 
 the rapacity of cruel masters. " The good father of 
 Christendom" was a protector to the people against 
 the iron sway of their kings and nobles ; and so 
 established a moral influence, which, though capable 
 of effecting much real good, yet, in the hands of 
 unprincipled pontiffs, was too often exercised for the 
 worst and most ambitious purposes. 
 
 Amidst the turbulence and ignorance of the mid- 
 dle ages, it is not to be wondered at that gross doc- 
 trinaf errors should have crept into the Church. We 
 cannot be too thankful to Almighty God that we 
 Uve in an age in which scriptural truth is more 
 fully known. At the same time, we should do well 
 to recognise the inscrutable providence of God, 
 whereby, amidst the general darkness, He preserved 
 the truth entire ; and to consider how the Church it- 
 self, corrupt as it was, proved the means of securing 
 the blessed treasure. The very infallibility of the 
 pope, monstrous as we believe the claim, was the 
 obvious means of maintaining the creeds and sacra- 
 ments, and general framework, of the Christian 
 Church entire ; while in the cells of her monas- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 9 
 
 teries, whatever may have been their corruption, 
 God provided that copies of the word of h*fe should 
 be continually transcribed and preserved; which, 
 in His appointed time, were destined to aid in the 
 reformation of the Church. 
 
 The annals of the Reformation of the sixteenth 
 century are the history of the mode in which, by a 
 variety of instruments, and through an infinite num- 
 ber of concurrent means, God so arranged, that, in 
 the general awakenment of learning and civilisation, 
 man's self-willed spirit might be restrained within 
 some bounds, and the Church, whose lamp had burnt 
 but feebly, though it still had burnt, during ages of 
 darkness, might, in a reformed and purified condi- 
 tion, shed the rays of its divine light over the awa- 
 kened energies of the human mind. 
 
CHAPTER T. 
 
 «t)t ^xtsti)tx. 
 
 " I smell a LoUeri in the wind," quod he ; 
 
 " Abideth^ for God's digne passion ; 
 
 For we sail have a predication, ^ 
 
 This Loller he woU preachen us somewhat. ^^^^^^^ 
 
 It was a fine summer's day, in the year 1535, when 
 about noon two travellers entered the pleasant mar- 
 ket-town of Kenilworth, and rode up to a decent 
 hostelry called "the Virgins ;"-the sign of which 
 represented, in all the pride of a country artist s 
 skill, two female figures, holding in their hands, the 
 one a red rose, and the other a white-emblems of 
 the now united houses of York and Lancaster. 
 
 One of the strangers was a man considerably 
 past the middle age, habited plainly in the garb of 
 an ecclesiastic. He wore a short cassock, for con- 
 venience of riding, and over that was loosely flung 
 a cloak of dark cloth. A small Bible was fastened 
 in a pouch to his girdle, and suspended from his 
 neck by a leathern thong was an open pair ot spec- 
 tacles, ready for immediate use, when occasion 
 offered to read the sacred volume. Though some- 
 X Wickliffite. = Abide, stay. 
 
^' THE PHEACHER. j 
 
 Jive L f ' ^''PP«^' - - to 
 
 t1 face anTr""" f ' ""^^'^''^ of 
 the face, and h,s mouth was partly hid by the length 
 
 we e'Xri"^'''^^- 
 
 were of a hon^ely cast, while, at the same time, there 
 
 hor w '^"'-^'^'.^^••--'i honesty of purpose. 
 short, u was a genu.ne Englishman's facelhonest 
 open, and mtelhgent. """est, 
 
 His companion had a foreign cast of expression • 
 and was evidently inferior to the other both inT„ ' 
 
 ::::: rr ^--^^-pp-nceanSre:; 
 
 the I f ' '^^P'^ndant ; but from 
 
 Ae kmdness and famiharity with whicL he wa" 
 reated, he was apparently more than a servant- 
 a brother beloved." 
 And such, in truth, was the relative condition 
 
 Swzss, h,s fauhful servant and friend, and t^e cl 
 pan.on of many of his journeys. ^ ^he com- 
 
 The days of which we are writing were simnle 
 and homely, very different from thos^ in which 1 
 
12 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 live ; and good Hugh Latimer affected a degree of 
 homeliness even beyond the manners of the age. 
 Being the son of an honest farmer, or, as Fox calls 
 him, a husbandman of right good estimation, of 
 Thurcaston in the county of Leicester," he would 
 often refer to his humble origin, even when he had 
 attained an eminence in which many would have 
 wished to conceal their lowly birth. 
 
 My father," said he, in one of his sermons at 
 court, " was a yeoman, and had no lands of his own: 
 only he had a farm of three or four pounds by year 
 at the uttermost ; and hereupon he tilled so much 
 as kept half a dozen men. He had walk for an 
 hundred sheep, and my mother milked thirty kine. 
 He was able and did find the king a harness, with 
 himself and his horse, while he came to the place 
 that he should receive the king's wages. I can re- 
 member that 1 buckled his harness when he went to 
 the Blackheath field. He kept me at school, or 
 else I should not have been able to have preached 
 before the king's majesty now. He married my 
 sisters with five pounds or twenty nobles a^piece ; 
 so that he brought them up in godliness and fear of 
 God. He kept hospitality for his poor neighbours, 
 and some alms he gave to the poor ; and all this did 
 he of the same farm, where he that now hath it 
 payeth sixteen pound by the year, or more, and is 
 not able to do any thing for his prince, for himself, 
 nor for his children, or give a cup of drink to the 
 poor." 
 
CH. I. 
 
 THE PREACHER. 
 
 13 
 
 Such was the account given by Latimer of his 
 birth and parentage, in a sermon which he preached 
 before bluff King Hal, some years after. At the 
 time of which we are now speaking, though renowned 
 as a preacher at the university, and well known as 
 one of the leading men of the Reformation, he loved 
 to travel unknown, and sometimes even on foot ; 
 and never was backward to take such occasions as 
 offered to teach the people, amongst whom he was 
 thrown, what he believed to be the doctrine of the 
 Gospel. His quaint humour gained him a ready 
 audience ; while his zealous earnestness seldom failed 
 of conveying good instruction to his hearers. 
 
 It was market-day at the little town of Kenil- 
 worth ; and as Latimer entered the hostelry, many 
 inquiring eyes were fixed upon him. His costume 
 proved him to be an ecclesiastic ; and the Bible 
 which hung from his girdle, added to the circum- 
 stance of his resting at the Virgins, instead of going 
 to the monastery of the Black Canons, which was 
 hard by, were pretty sure evidence that he was of 
 the reformed faith. At this time a very general 
 excitement pervaded the country, and a desire to 
 hear the " new doctrine," as it was termed. There 
 w^as much division and fluctuation of feeling ; but 
 the doctrine of the Reformation was the more po- 
 pular in that particular year amongst the common 
 people. Afterwards, when the suppression of mon- 
 asteries had cut off the means of subsistence from 
 many thousands of poor men, the tide turned in 
 
J4 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 favour of the ejected monks and friars, and much 
 blood was lost in various insurrections which en- 
 
 sued. . , 1 
 
 Such being, however, the anxiety of the people 
 at the present time for information, we need not be 
 surprised that the two travellers had scarcely finished 
 their moderate repast, when Luke Sturley the land- 
 lord entered the small parlour with a most respectful 
 bow, and declared himself the bearer of a humble 
 request from the people without. 
 
 " May it please your reverence," said he, " the 
 people be much pleased to see a preacher of the 
 Gospel travelling amongst them, and humbly be- 
 seech that you will favour them by expounding unto 
 them the word of God, forasmuch as there is some- 
 what of a plentiful lack of Gospel-preachers m these 
 parts." 
 
 Good Latimer was never averse to preaching — 
 to say the truth (since we all have our foibles), he 
 was a little vain of his powers in that way, which, 
 for the time in which he lived, were considerable. 
 Though his sermons which have been preserved are 
 any thing but a model either in style or matter, 
 being strange, rude, rambling compositions, there 
 was an earnestness in his manner, and raciness m 
 his style, which won the attention of his hearers, 
 whether high or low, in an age when the difference 
 of refinement between the various ranks was not so 
 great as it is at present. 
 
 Standing on the steps in front of the house, a 
 
THE PREACHER. I5 
 
 little raised above the concourse of hearers, Latimer 
 took a rapid glance over his congregation, to see 
 what it was composed of, applied his spectacles to 
 his nose, opened the sacred volume, and began as 
 follows : 
 
 " Good people all, ye do well to seek to hear 
 the exposition of God's holy word. Mine host here 
 telleth me that there be a lack of preachers in these 
 parts, as there be in too many others. I heard of a 
 bishop that went on a visitation, and when he came 
 into a certain town, the great bell's clapper was fallen 
 out, so that he could not be rung in; and the chief 
 of the parish were much blamed,-the bishop being 
 somewhat quick with them, and signifying that he 
 was offended. Among the other was one wiser than 
 ■ the rest, and he comes to the bishop, ' Why, my 
 lord,' saith he, ' doth your lordship make so great a 
 matter of a bell that lacketh a clapper ? Here is a 
 bell,' saith he, and pointed to the pulpit, < that hath 
 lacked a clapper this twenty year.' So, ye see, there 
 be other towns besides this that lack preachers." 
 
 The people were wonderfully delighted at Lati- 
 mer s story, and still more by the zest with which 
 
 7j°i ^'"^ ''"S^" *° ^ery attentively. 
 
 Well now," continued he, " as I am to be the 
 clapper to-day, I will begin with striking you a note 
 from the gospel by St. Matthew. In the gospel 
 according to Matthew, at the seventh chapter and 
 at the twentieth verse, ye shall find these words • 
 By their fruits ye shall know them.' And now 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 „,y good friends all, doff your hats that we my 
 w a blessing on the word which I am about to 
 
 al to yourthat it may enter i-o ^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 be effectual to your edification. And first let me 
 i 1 many of you can say the Lord's prayer-- 
 not the old later noster, ^>nt the prayer m Enghsh. 
 that all may understand." - 
 
 The people respectfully obeyed the mjunct.on 
 thepreaLr ; and the prayer being ended Latimer 
 tel a foli;ws. (It is not, of course, our 1— 
 to give our readers his whole sermon, but only the 
 pith and substance of it.) « is like 
 
 ^ » The preacher of the Gospel," said he, is like 
 1 for the diversity of work and variety 
 
 Tore^She hat^^^^ As the ploughman 
 ; :t set el o',b his plough, then tilleth the land 
 a d breaketh it into furrows, and -e^imes nd^-^ 
 it up again, and another time harroweth, and clo teth 
 L dungeth it, and weedeth it, and maketh it 
 Seat- so hath the preacher a busy work to bring 
 the people to a right faith-not a swerving fa^^th, 
 lut a 1 which embraceth Christ and t.usteth in 
 hTs merits-a lively faith, a justifying faith, a faith 
 maketh a man righteous; now casting them 
 Iwn with the law; now ridging them up with the 
 Gosper nd with the promise of God's favour ; now 
 weedt them by telling them of their faults, and 
 raling%hem forsake sin; now clotting thern and 
 r^alfng their stony hearts, and making the- hearts 
 of flesh, soft and apt to receive the good seed. 
 
I- THE PREACHER. 17 
 
 Ye know that all are born in sin, by reason of 
 the disobedience of our first parents, Adam and Eve. 
 There is a natural venom or birth-poison in the 
 veins of every man and woman. Moreover, all are 
 burdened with actual sins of their own committing— 
 priest and people, king and subjects ; yea, the whole 
 pack of us — all have sinned; and none can enter 
 into the kingdom of heaven, nor obtain pardon of 
 God, but through the digne passion and merits of 
 His dear Son, who in His own body bare our iniqui- 
 ties upon the tree, and nailed our sins to His cross, 
 to the end that all who believe in Him should not 
 perish, but have everlasting life." (On these awful 
 and essential points of doctrine, so much forgotten 
 in those days, Latimer, according to his wont, en- 
 larged at considerable length.) 
 
 Moreover," he continued, " it is necessary 
 that all who have in them this faith do shew forth 
 the same by worthy deeds ; for * by their fruits 
 ye shall know them,' as saith my text. How is 
 it, good friends, that ye know a good tree from an 
 evil one? how know ye a crab- stock from a pip- 
 pin ? Surely by their fruits. There is a proverb 
 much used in my county of Leicestershire, An evil 
 crow, an evil egg; and so it is in all things. I re- 
 member me once, my father, who was an honest 
 farmer, did shew to me the various nature of land. 
 * This field,' said he, ' is nought, for it throweth up 
 only rushes and lollies ; this is good and wholesome 
 for pasture ; this for wheat or rye.' All do not give 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the same crops; but they v,hich give good crops 
 tugh divers' one from another, a- good lands 
 Ind they that give had crops are bad lands. So 
 good people, though ChrisUan men sh U not do a 
 L same deeds, but each --^^-^/^^ ^J^j/.t^ 
 and means, it shall be the best proof that their hearts 
 TLZI their faith true, if they do good works; 
 L he ibat doeth bad works is nought. So much 
 
 works^ Be they not good works to build churches 
 Id to' give ornaments for God's altar, and to gdd 
 "d paint saints, and to set up candles, and to go on 
 and pam brethren, these be good works, 
 
 pngnmages ^e^' 
 
 acceptable to Cioa, ii uicy u Kpither 
 they be not done in faith, they be nought Neither 
 t Ley sufficient of themselves. I promise you, if 
 thou build an hundred churches, or give a thousand 
 
 pounds for gilding of ] ^1^::^ ^ 
 
 grimage, measuring the way with thy body , or i thou 
 !ive candles as great as the biggest oaj-^-;^*^ 
 forest of Arden ; and if thou leave works of charity 
 Ind l rcy undone,-these works shall nodung avad 
 thee The most glorious church ye can build is o 
 oZ your bodies holy and acceptable for the tempi 
 of thJLord ; the brightest light ye can kindle is the 
 shining light of a pure and holy Ide. 
 
 » This, ye say, is new learning : now 1 tell you 
 uJdwLg.'YewillbetolditisJ^^ -^^^ 
 new scoured; now I tell you it is old truth, rusted 
 
^' THE PREACHER, |9 
 
 with canker, and now made bright. It is new in so 
 
 far as it maketh those who receive it to be new men ; 
 but it is old as the Apostles, and, moreover, is the 
 doctrine preached by Hierom, Augustin, Ambrose, 
 Hilary, and other learned clerks and doctors, when 
 the Church was better and purer than it is at this 
 present. But there be some fair trees that put up 
 mere leaves and no fruit ; and there be some fruits 
 that look fair to sight, but are sour and bitter, and 
 make one spit them out, bah ! and there be some 
 kmds of ale brewed by taverners which are clear 
 and sparkling, but withal sour to the taste ; even as 
 there be some sepulchres that are white and fair on 
 the outside, but within are full of dirt and rottenness. 
 The whitest rochets do not always cover the purest 
 hearts ; monks and nuns are not all he-saints and 
 she-saints ; and there be relics of saints which men 
 go a great way to visit, and be but pigs' bones after 
 all : and as there be wolves in sheep's clothing, so 
 
 there be foxes in friars' cowls " 
 
 At this sally of the preacher (for Latimer could 
 never refrain from his jest), the congregation, who 
 had several times during his discourse given very 
 evident signs of the relish with which they received 
 his plain address, now turned their eyes with one 
 accord on a figure which stood on a bench over 
 against the preacher. He was habited in the garb 
 of a friar, having his cowl partly drawn over his 
 face, but not so as to conceal a pair of penetrating 
 eyes and a red beard and whiskers, which gave him 
 
2Q THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 so much the appearance of a fox, that the people at 
 once understood Father Latimer's allusion. 
 
 « Ha, Master Renard, how like you that ? said 
 
 one 
 
 '< Take a note of that, Father John," said another. 
 The friar held his peace, and nodded to his 
 friends among the crowd, not at all abashed either 
 by the wit of the preacher or the joking of the 
 audience. But when Latimer ceased to speak, as he 
 did soon after. Friar John assayed to address the 
 people. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A frere there was, a wanton and a mery : 
 In all the ordres four is none that can 
 So moche of dalliance and fayre langage^ 
 Full swetely herde he confession ; 
 Ful plesant was his absolution. 
 He was an easie man to give penaunce. 
 There as he wist to have a good pitaunce. 
 There was no man no where so vertuous ; 
 He was the best beggar in all his house. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 Before introducing Friar John to my readers, I must 
 very briefly describe the position in society which 
 was occupied by the mendicant orders at the time of 
 which I am writing.^ 
 
 There were four sorts of friars : the Franciscan, 
 or Friars Minors ; the Dominican, or Black Friars ; 
 the Carmelites, or White Friars ; and the Augustin, 
 or Grey Friars ; besides other varieties. These men 
 found their way into England about the middle of 
 the thirteenth century. They pretended to renounce 
 all worldly views, and to cast themselves on the 
 alms of the people. Inveighing strongly against the 
 corruption of the parochial clergy, they affected a 
 ^ For a fuller account, see chapter ii. of Blunt's History 
 of the Reformation in England, and the authorities there re- 
 ferred to. 
 
22 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 superior sanctity, which soon gained for them influ- 
 ence amongst the people. Their popularity brought 
 them wealth, and they were before long in possession 
 of flourishing houses, on which, as they w^ere forbid- 
 den by their rules to hold estates, great profusion 
 of wealth was lavished. The friars numbered many 
 learned men in their body, obtained considerable 
 eminence at the universities, and collected extensive 
 libraries. Add to this, that they involved them- 
 selves in diplomacy and the intrigues of courts, and, 
 being devoted to the interests of their patron the 
 pope, they exercised the same sort of influence which 
 in after-times was possessed by the Jesuits. The 
 friars had permission from his holiness to preach 
 where they would, without leave of abbot, priest, or 
 bishop, with whom they were generally on no very 
 good terms ; they had a particular grudge against 
 cathedrals ; nor did they spare the monks. Mean- 
 while the love of the different orders of friars for 
 each other was far from cordial. Their rivalry forms 
 a frequent subject for the satirists of the age ; so 
 utterly untrue is the boast of the Romanist, that his 
 Church is of one mind. It may well be questioned 
 whether any modern sects have hated each other, or 
 even the Church itself, with a more bitter hatred 
 than these friars bore towards each other. 
 
 The occupation of the mendicants was to collect 
 contributions by preaching through the country, car- 
 rying relics about, selling pardons and indulgences, 
 visiting death-beds, confessing and absolving the 
 
CH. II. THE FEIAR. THE POPe's SUPREMACY. 23 
 
 people : they were, in short, a band of voluntaries, 
 who lived by their wits. 
 
 At about the time of which we are speaking, 
 the arts of the friars had begun to be understood, 
 and their influence was much on the decline : they 
 were caricatured in every way- sometimes as foxes 
 preaching, with the neck of a stolen goose peeping 
 out of the hood behind ; or as wolves giving absolut 
 tion, with a sheep muffled up in their cloaks; or as 
 apes sitting by a sick man's bed, with a crucifix in 
 one hand, and the other in the sufferer's fob.' Still 
 the friars maintained a certain popularity amongst 
 the common people, from whose ranks they were 
 generally taken, and with whom they associated on 
 familiar terms. And though their sanctity and self- 
 denial were very doubtful, they managed to make a 
 tolerable living by various arts exercised upon the 
 credulity of the people. 
 
 It was a friar Eremite of St. Augustin, from the 
 friary of Atherstone, against whom, at the close of 
 the last chapter, the wit of honest Latimer had been 
 directed. He was clad in a long black gown over a 
 garment of white woollen, fastened round the loins 
 with a leathern girdle and a rude clasp of bone • on 
 his head was a cowl, which, when he began to speak, 
 he flung back, exposing a shaven crown. Friar 
 John was not a bad specimen of his order— half 
 knave, half enthusiast: he was a devoted adherent 
 of the pope, and in tolerably good repute amongst 
 ' See Blunt's History. 
 
24 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 ■ the people. Nor was he deficient in such learning 
 as the times afforded. , i i,:^ 
 
 " Well, sir," said he, when Latimer closed h.s 
 sermon, " thou art a glib orator, forsooth, with thy 
 new fantastical doctrine. Master Lat.mer, of Cam- 
 bridge, could not have talked more arrant nonsense : 
 but I doubt if thy head be equal to thy tongue. 
 
 The bystanders, who had eagerly listened to 
 Latimer, now, with characteristic fickleness ap 
 plauded the bold attack of their old fr.end the friar 
 nor was he without his partisans amongst the crowd 
 to back him. However, Latimer was prompt to 
 answer ; and a discussion arose between them, which 
 soon fixed the attention of the people. 
 
 1 remember me of the time," said Latimer, 
 « when I used to think that if I died in a friar s 
 cowl, I was sure to go to heaven ; but I thank God 
 He has opened my eyes to such folly, and led me to 
 shun hypocrisy, and put my trust on a sure Rock. 
 
 Friar John. " What call you the sure rock of our 
 faith? Did not our Lord Himself say unto Peter 
 . Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will budd 
 „,y Church ; and the gates of hell shall not prevail 
 
 against it : 
 
 Latimer, " It is most true." 
 
 F J - How is it, then, that your new teachers 
 deny that the pope is lawfully to be obeyed m this 
 realm ? Is it not so ?" 
 
 L. - Yes, truly ; we deny that the pope hath, or 
 I Matt. xvi. 18. 
 
CH. II. THE FRIAR. THE POPe's SUPREMACY. 25 
 
 ought to have, any power, jurisdiction, or authority 
 in the reahn over kings, bishops, or people : we 
 maintain that he has no just claim of jurisdiction 
 but in his own diocese ; and that he hath no more 
 right to meddle in the diocese of Canterbury than 
 my lord of Canterbury in his." 
 
 F. /. " Dost thou acknowledge holy Scripture to 
 be true? or, peradventure, thou wilt deny even that?" 
 
 Z. " No, master Friar; I believe all that is 
 written in holy Scripture, and would fain keep to it." 
 
 F, /. " Art thou, then, bold enough to deny that 
 Scripture declares the pope to be the head of the 
 Church?" 
 
 L. " Nay, I cannot remember me that Scripture 
 even once names the pope, much less says aught of 
 his headship. Try again, good master Friar." 
 
 F, J. I allow that Scripture says not aught 
 of the pope under that name, but in speaking of 
 St. Peter, who was the first pope " 
 
 X. " Hold, I beseech thee. I deny that Peter 
 was the first pope, or had aught to do with the pope- 
 dom. Thou art begging the whole question." 
 
 F. J. I say that Christ marked Peter from the 
 rest from the beginning, and gave him pre-eminence. 
 Did not He, at the very first, go into Peter's boat 
 before the rest?" 
 
 Z. Well now, thinkest thou that because the 
 Lord went into Peter's boat, therefore He designed 
 him to be pope, and head over the rest? I will 
 answer thee according to my own experience. It 
 
26 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 chanced one day that I went to Lambeth, and when 
 I came to take boat to cross back again, the water- 
 men came about me, as the manner is, and one would 
 have me, and another would have me ; but I could 
 take but one of them. Now, ye will ask, why I took 
 one man's boat more than another? Why, marry, 
 because I would go in that which lay next to me, 
 and was most convenient to step into. And so, for 
 aught I know, was it with Simon's boat: it stood 
 nearest the shore, and so the Lord got into it. Was 
 not that sufficient reason? But now come you 
 papists and make a mystery of it, and pick out the 
 supremacy of the pope from Peter's boat; as if our 
 Lord meant to say to Peter when He got into his 
 boat, ' Peter, I do mean by sitting in thy boat that 
 thou art to be pope of Rome ; and that thy succes- 
 sors after thee are to be universal rulers of the 
 Church, and give away kingdoms ; and that princes 
 are to hold their stirrups ; and that they shall be in- 
 fallible, and guide the faith of all Christendom.' Ye 
 may make allegories enough of every place of Scrip- 
 ture at this rate ; but surely it must needs be a sim- 
 ple matter which standeth on so weak a ground." 
 
 The people were mightily tickled with this mode 
 of argument, and applauded vehemently. 
 
 « Howsoever," said Friar John, shifting his 
 ground, " the question turns not on that text ; for 
 there is clear proof that the Lord chose Peter from 
 the rest, especially in the text I before named, in the 
 which He said unto him, ' Thou art Peter, and upon 
 
CH. II. THE FRIAR. THE TOPE's SUPREMACY. 27 
 
 this rock 1 will build my Church ; and the gates of 
 hell shall not prevail against it.'" 
 
 Nay, I can match that text with another," said 
 Latimer, turning over the leaves of the Bible. " Hear 
 what holy Paul saith to the Ephesians : ' Now there- 
 fore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but 
 fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household 
 of God ; and built on the foundation of the apostles 
 and prophetSy Jesus Christ being the chief corner- 
 stone ; in whom all the building fitly framed toge- 
 ther groweth into an holy temple unto the Lord : in 
 whom ye also are builded together for an habitation 
 of God through the Spirit.'^ Hence, good people, it 
 is plain that Christ our Lord is the Corner-stone and 
 Head of the Church ; and that, in so far as human 
 materials were used in the foundation, the Church is 
 built on the rest of the Apostles as well as Peter." 
 
 F. J, Well, master, but thou hast some other 
 tough texts of Scripture to get over, before thou 
 canst prove that St. Peter is not head of the 
 Church. Did not the Lord say to Peter, ' Behold, 
 I give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven ; 
 and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be 
 loosed in heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt bind 
 on earth shall be bound in heaven V Doth not this 
 give to St. Peter the power to absolve from sins, 
 and so open the gates of heaven to the penitent?" 
 
 L, True ; but the same power was given also 
 to the rest of the Apostles. Look you here ;" (and he 
 ' Eph. ii. 19. 
 
28 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 read from the 20th chap, of St. John) : * Then said 
 Jesus to them again* (that is to say, to all who were 
 there, and not only to Peter), ' Peace be unto you : as 
 my Father hath sent me, even so send I you. And 
 when He had said this, He breathed on them, and 
 saith unto them, receive ye the Holy Ghost. Whose- 
 soever sins ye remit, they are remitted to them ; 
 and w^hosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained.' 
 I pray you therefore, good sir, what hath Peter re- 
 ceived more than the rest ?" 
 
 F. /. " Well, master, but you have not done yet : 
 attend to this : * Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, 
 son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these ? He 
 saith unto Him, Yea, Lord. He saith unto him, 
 Feed my lambs.' ^ Was not this said unto St. Peter 
 more than the rest ?" 
 
 Z. " Thou art not bold enough surely to say 
 that the rest of the Apostles are not bidden to feed 
 the flock of Christ ? Yea, He said to all of them, 
 ' Go and teach all nations, and baptise them in the 
 name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
 Ghost : teaching them to observe and do all things 
 whatsoever I have commanded you : and, lo, I am 
 with you alway, even to the end of the world.' ^ It 
 is not Peter alone w^ho is to feed the flock of Christ, 
 but all the Apostles, and all Christian ministers to be 
 ordained by them even to the end of the world. To 
 them also Christ hath given commission to feed His 
 flock, lambs as well as sheep, not only with pure 
 1 John xxi. 15. Matt, xxviii. 19. 
 
CII. II. THE FRIAR. THE POPe's SUPREMACY. 29 
 
 doctrine, but also with His blessed body and blood- 
 even as holy Paul saith to the Corinthians, ' The 
 cup which we bless, is it not the communion of the 
 blood of Christ?'! No doubt they who love Him 
 most will be most diligent to feed His flock. Peter 
 was foremost in every good work. He was the first 
 to make true confession of faith. He it was who first 
 preached in the streets of Jerusalem, and began to 
 baptise members into the Church. Peter was always 
 the boldest and most zealous, — even as in a flock of 
 sheep thou shalt always see one which leads the rest. 
 And who. I would fain ask, best follow the steps of 
 St. Peter in labours of love, in confessing the true 
 faith, and feeding Christ's flock ? Not the pope, I 
 wot. Call you it feeding the flock of Christ when 
 the pope of Rome interdicts kingdoms from the ser- 
 vice of God, and invests bishops for bribes, and 
 keepeth souls in purgatory, if money be not paid for 
 them to be out, and causeth prayers to be made in 
 an unknown tongue, and sells jubilees and graces, 
 palls, bulls, pardons, indulgences, — call you that 
 feeding the lambs of Christ ? nay, I call it shearing 
 them ; what say you, good people ?" 
 
 This was an argument to the pocket, which could 
 not fail to tell with the people then assembled, and 
 Latimer stood clearly on the vantage-ground. The 
 friar, though disconcerted, was not abashed, but re- 
 turned boldly to the charge. 
 
 F. J, This is fine talking, master ; but knowest 
 1 1 Cor. X. 16. 
 D 2 
 
30 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 thou not that holy Church hatli from the beginning 
 held the pope to be the head ? and now wilt tliou 
 be bold enough to set thyself above the universal 
 Church?" 
 
 Z. Come, I am glad that thou allowest thyself 
 to be fairly beaten out of Scripture ; and I am not 
 afraid to follow thee into Church-history; I am 
 ready to meet thee on this ground also. I deny, 
 therefore, that the history of the early Church 
 teacheth that power was given to St. Peter or to 
 the bishop of Rome above other bishops. The 
 first council was summoned by St. James at Jeru- 
 salem, and not by St. Peter. The name of pope, 
 or father, was given to all bishops, as much as to 
 the bishop of Rome. And it is well known that 
 the bishops of Antioch and Alexandria had the same 
 authority in their patriarchates, as the bishop of 
 Rome had in Italy. It is also ordered in the an- 
 cient canons, that no Christian bishop may exercise 
 jurisdiction within the diocese of another against 
 his will. Nay, the popes themselves did not claim 
 the power which thou wouldst give them ; but 
 Gregory the Great himself declared, that to claim 
 the title of universal bishop was blasphemous. It 
 is true that, on account of the wealth and pre-emi- 
 nence of the imperial city, the bishop of Rome 
 came to have a great influence in Christendom ; 
 and I will grant this one thing — that, were I to 
 attend a general council of the whole Church, I 
 would give my vote that the pope, if he be an or- 
 
CH. II, THE FRIAR. THE POPe's SUPREMACY. 3l 
 
 thodox Christian, should take the president's chair ; 
 and, moreover, I agree that the pope shall have 
 full power to give advice to his brethren the bi- 
 shops, or other Christian men who may think fit 
 to consult him, provided always that he do not ex- 
 pect them to take his advice, if it be not good; and 
 that he do not insist on interfering with the dioceses 
 of other bishops against their will, or with kings and 
 their realms ; and provided also that he doth not 
 exempt thee, master Friar, and thy brethren, from 
 the lawful jurisdiction of your diocesan. Wilt thou 
 make a bargain, and part company on these terms ?" 
 
 " A bargain ! a bargain !" cried the people, appa- 
 rently well pleased with the suggestion : and forthwith 
 the crowd began to shout and strive with each other, 
 as crowds will when they are closely packed together.' 
 
 What answer the friar would have made is un- 
 certain ; for at that moment, either by design or 
 accident, the bench on which he had been standing 
 was overturned, and the friar came to the ground. 
 His friends were not slack to take his part, and 
 hard blows and words began to be dealt around ; 
 which might have ended in serious consequences ; 
 but Latimer with his hearty and good-humoured 
 voice begged them to desist. 
 
 Nay, masters, let us not end our friendly con- 
 troversy in a brawl— that were but an ill conclusion. 
 Try and carry home with you what you have heard, 
 and think well of it, and take my blessing with you.'' 
 By these words he allayed the anger of the con- 
 
22 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 tending partisans ; and having pronounced a bless- 
 ina he withdrew from the steps of the hostelry, on 
 which he had been standing, and the crowd gra- 
 dually dispersed. 
 
 Before leaving the subject of the popes supre- 
 macy, it should be noted that it was no mere ques- 
 tion of opinion, but was the practical point on which 
 the political parties in the country were at that 
 time divided. It was just about the time when 
 Henry VIII. had come to an open rupture with the 
 pope ; and, in spite of the threats and remonstrances 
 of his holiness, had put away Queen Catharme, and 
 avowed his marriage with Anne Boleyn. The pope s 
 name had been erased from the liturgy, and the 
 king's inserted in its place. 
 
 The emissaries of the pope, chiefly friars of the 
 mendicant orders, were busy in the country stirring 
 up opposition to this change. Prophecies had been 
 spread among the people, that if the king was di- 
 vorced from Catharine, and married to Anne Boleyn, 
 he would not live a month ; and various other means 
 had been taken to spread a spirit of disaffection and 
 insurrection, which in many parts of the country 
 had led to riotous excitement. 
 
 The kincr had found it necessary to take strong 
 measures, in order to repress the rising discontents. 
 Three Carthusian friars had been hung as traitors m 
 the habits of their order; and the lord chancellor, 
 Sir Thomas More, and Fisher, bishop of Salisbury, 
 had lost their heads on the scaffold on the charge of 
 
CH. II. THE FRIAR. THE POPe's SUPREMACY. 33 
 
 treason : though pardon was offered them, if they 
 would have acknowledged the king's supremacy. 
 Henry was not a man to swerve from his course. 
 He gained his point, where many a less resolute 
 monarch had failed. Whether, in destroying the 
 authority of the pope, he did not at the same time 
 institute, in his own supremacy, an equally danger- 
 ous power over the Church's liberties ; or whether 
 the Church was then, or has been since, capable of 
 self-government ; or whether rather the providence 
 of God has not mercifully placed her for a while 
 under restraint and durance, until she shall have be- 
 come purged of her schismatical temper,-~are ques- 
 tions into which we will not now enter. Time, per- 
 haps, is the only solver of these problems. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Then they cast on their gownes of grenc, 
 
 And took theyr howes each one ; 
 And they away to the grene forrest 
 
 A shooting forth are gone. 
 
 Boiin Hood and Guy o) Gtshorne. 
 
 After leaving Kenilworth, with its fair castle and 
 monastery, behind them, the course of our travellers 
 still lay through the part of Warwickshire which 
 has been generally designated by the name of 
 Arden— a name significative of its woody or forest- 
 like character ; though the exact limits of the forest 
 are not very easily determinable. The heat of the 
 day was past ; and as they rode on, at an easy pace 
 amongst the oaks and glades, the somewhat excited 
 spirits of the worthy reformer began to subside, and 
 calmer reflection to take their place. 
 
 « 'Tis no easy task, good Austin, which we have 
 before us, to disabuse these poor folks of the super- 
 stitions which have so long blinded them. The in- 
 fluence of the friars, and other emissaries of the 
 pope, is not like soon to give way. Saw you not 
 how the fickle multitude changed their tone so soon 
 as my sermon was done, and that bold fox began to 
 utter his wily speeches ?" 
 
CII. III. 
 
 THE WARDMOTE. 
 
 35 
 
 " Nathless," said Austin, who was a predestina- 
 rian in his creed, that which is the will of God 
 ,He will bring to pass, spite of Satan and his wiles." 
 
 " True, Bernher ; but it will require all the zeal 
 and courage of God's true servants to do His work. 
 The king hath been brought over to favour the re- 
 formed faith by the influence of Queen Anne ; but 
 I much fear me that is a slender reed to rest on— 
 we must not put our confidence in princes. The 
 prayers and deeds of all good men are needed. I 
 have devoted my life to the task of reforming the 
 , Church of its abuses ; and come what will, whether 
 success and advancement, or spoiling of goods, im- 
 prisonment, or the fire of Smithfield itself,— I am 
 resolved to persevere, through God^s grace, unto 
 the end." 
 
 Austin Bernher warmly declared his determina- 
 tion to follow his master's steps in life or death. 
 
 They were now on a rising ground, and saw at 
 their right hand, at a few miles' distance, the fair 
 spires of Coventry ; and further on, the tall and 
 I costly" steeple of Astley Church, commonly called 
 the " lantern of Arden," being an eminent land- 
 mark on that part of the woodland, where the way 
 was not easily hit." On their left lay Balsall Tem- 
 ple, formerly a preceptory of the Knights Templars, 
 before that body was suppressed. These were a 
 mihtary order— half monks, half soldiers— who won 
 great fame by their valour and devotion. The ob- 
 ject of their first foundation was to protect pilgrims 
 
3g THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 from spoil and robbery by thieves, in their passage 
 to and from the Holy Land. They took their name 
 from their first residence, which adjoined the Temple 
 of Solomon at Jerusalem. Their first settlement m 
 En-land was in a street called Holbourne, then m 
 the" suburbs of London. Afterwards they budt a 
 house and a church in Fleet Street, which still re- 
 tains the name of " the Temple." They obtamed 
 vast possessions in various parts of England. At 
 length, having fallen off in their devotion and popu- 
 larity, the order was suppressed by the pope, at the 
 beginnincr of the fourteenth century ; and their pos- 
 sessions given to the Knights Hospitallers, another 
 order of a similar character - half military, haif 
 monastic. 
 
 Passing onward over Balsall Heath, the travel- 
 lers again plunged into the hill and woodland, and 
 in a short while arrived at the pleasant village ot 
 Meriden. Here, on a piece of level turf embo- 
 somed in oaks, at a short distance from the village, 
 they descried a large concourse of people, engaged, 
 as it appeared, in some rustic sport. 
 
 It was the grand Wardmote, or day of meeting ot 
 the Woodmen of Arden, held, according to custom, 
 on the festival of St. Bartholomew; at which the 
 yeomen and gentry from the country round were 
 gathered, for the purpose of practising the noble 
 craft of archery. i 
 In those days, a meeting for the purpose of arch-^ 
 ery was not a mere holyday pageant for the fair and 
 
CH- III- THE WARDMOTE. 37 
 
 gay ; but ratlier a matter of earnest business, though 
 partaking also of the character of a social meeting. 
 The assembly consisted of the stout yeomen from 
 the country round, as well as many of the neigh- 
 bouring gentry. The greatest interest was exciud 
 m these trials of skill ; and the praise bestowed on 
 the conqueror was such as ensured a good and ear- 
 nest competition. 
 
 Henry himself took great delight in the exercise 
 of shooting ; and drew as strong a bow, and shot to 
 as great a length, as any yeoman of his guard. The 
 long-bow had indeed for many ages been a favourite 
 weapon of the English. It had won them many 
 battles in former days, and recently had contributed 
 mainly to their victory over the Scots at Flodden 
 Field. At the present time, the bow, as a weapon 
 of war, had begun to be rivalled by the arquebus. 
 But it was the confident opinion of the best authori- 
 ties in those days, that, of the two kinds of artillery, 
 fire-arms would not be found in the long-run so use- 
 ful as the bow ; chiefly on account of the damage 
 which the former took from rain; whereas the bow 
 might be kept dry in its case until the moment 
 when It was required for use. It should be remem- 
 bered, however, that, besides the bow, the archer 
 was armed, for close quarters, with a bill, or battle- 
 axe, which, wielded by an English arm, did terrible 
 execution. 
 
 ■ Latimer, besides his love of cheerful amusement 
 
38 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 and companionship, had been in his youthful days 
 a practised follower of the woodman's craft. No 
 sooner, therefore, did he perceive what was the ob- 
 ject of the assemblage, than he trotted up to the 
 spot, threw his bridle on his horse's neck; and, with 
 somewhat of youthful ardour, and with less of gra- 
 vity than accorded with his ecclesiastical habit, he 
 left his steed with Bernher, and joined the throng of 
 spectators. 
 
 Though at another time his appearance would 
 have excited attention, yet so intent were the by- 
 standers upon the sport, that Latimer could scarcely 
 get a word from any of them. It was just at the 
 critical moment of the match. The clouts, or small 
 targets, at which the woodmen shot, were placed at 
 twelve score yards apart. Eleven ends, the stated 
 number from clout to clout, had been shot ; and two 
 of the competitors were equal, having each marked 
 four. The rest of the archers were thus placed 
 hors de combat; and the two, who were hitherto 
 equal, were on the point of shooting a match to 
 determine which should be the conqueror. 
 
 The first who stood forth was a fine-looking 
 man, evidently of some station from the richness of 
 his dress— for in those days the dress of the different 
 ranks was strictly hmited by law. He wore a coat 
 of rich green velvet embroidered, and a chain of 
 gold, which indicated that, if not of noble rank, he 
 had at least a clear yearly income of two hundred 
 
CH. III. 
 
 THE WARDMOTE. 
 
 39 
 
 marks value over all charges. His hat was looped 
 up with a brooch of rich jewels. He was dark in 
 feature, handsome, and bold, but withal not amiable- 
 looking. He drew his bow with a vigorous arm : 
 the shaft took a low range, considering the greatness 
 of the distance, but the bow which sent it was strong, 
 — and the arrow reached its mark. A murmur of 
 approbation passed through the crowd. 
 
 Well done, Clifford! that will do!" said one. ^ 
 A little too much powder, my lord of Badsley," 
 said another. 
 
 And so it was ; the pricker marked it a bow's 
 length over. The lord of Badsley swung his bow 
 round with a gesture of impatience, and something 
 like an oath escaped his lips, while an increasing 
 sternness overspread his features. 
 
 " Never mind," said Clifford's friends— for there 
 are always two parties on such occasions, — " it will 
 take a good shot to beat that at twelve score." 
 
 Clifford moved from the station of shooting, and 
 his place was occupied by a tall young man, whose 
 chestnut locks curled over a handsome countenance 
 with a mild though grave expression. He was evi- 
 dently a perfect master of the art : he drew his bow 
 with singular grace ; the arrow took a higher range 
 than that of his opponent, which was against him, 
 for at that moment the leaves on the upper branches 
 of the oaks quivered with a gentle breeze, which was 
 sufficient to drive the arrow slightly from its course. 
 
40 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 It fell a bow's length wide of the clout ; and the 
 marker, after some deliberation, signified that he was 
 uncertain which of the two was nearest. 
 
 Measure for first— measure for first," cried the 
 bystanders, becoming more and more interested as 
 the doubtfulness of the issue increased. 
 
 Clifford strove hard with his second arrow to 
 mend the first shot, and did so, but a little too much ; 
 it beat the other two, but fell half a bow short. 
 
 " Now, Master Neville, it is your last chance ; 
 try your best," said the backers of the latter gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Maurice Neville seemed disposed to lose no ad- 
 vantage. The breeze was still rustling in the trees, 
 and he waited till it was past, engaged in choosing 
 an arrow with rather less feather than the first ; then, 
 with a firm and vigorous hand, he drew his shaft to 
 the head, and loosed it : a moment's suspense en- 
 sued as the arrow described its parabola ; and then 
 the pricker, who stood by the clout, fell down on his 
 back, kicking and struggling as if in mortal agony. 
 This was to intimate that the arrow had struck the 
 mark. 
 
 " Bravely done —bravely done ! The prize is 
 yours ; and you deserve it," said a hundred voices. 
 
 As the party of woodmen were now leaving the 
 ground on which they had been shooting, one of 
 them, a young man, came running towards Latimer, 
 and grasped him cordially by the hand. 
 
CH. III. THE WARDMOTE. 41 
 
 Worthy sir," said he, I am right glad to see 
 you. We hardly expected you till to-morrow ; but 
 you have just come in time to see our sport." 
 
 " Yes : and to see your brother Maurice make 
 a right good shot." 
 
 It was well done, was it not, sir ? that last 
 shot deserved to make him master forester. But 
 come, if thou wishest to see a goodly sight, let us 
 away to the bower ; where, if we lose not time, we 
 shall witness the fair queen of the forest reward the 
 conqueror." 
 
 Latimer accordingly accompanied his young kins- 
 man Robert Neville; and, having passed through 
 the throng, they arrived at an open tent or canopy, 
 erected under the spreading arms of a noble oak — 
 such as are seen in few places but in the strong 
 soils of Warwickshire. It was indeed a gay sylvan 
 scene. The woodmen were grouped together in 
 their green uniforms, with low hats and feathers — 
 the whole dress not unlike that which is now worn 
 by the yeomen of the guard, or beef-eaters, except 
 that it was of less gaudy colours ; and the right side 
 of the green cap was looped up with a button of 
 silver, in order to give free space for drawing the 
 arrow to the ear. Several of them were decorated 
 with medals, richly carved with wreaths of oak- 
 leaves, and other devices, — the trophies of former 
 victories. Amongst them was a knot of ladies, and 
 young persons in their holyday attire, who had come 
 E 2 
 
 I 
 
42 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 to witness the sports of the day. In the midst, on 
 a sort of throne above the rest, sat the queen of tlie 
 forest, who had been selected to honour the festival, 
 and to confer the prize. 
 
 And, to say sooth, she was well worthy of the 
 distinction, behig as fair a creature as the sun often 
 shone upon. She was in the first spring of woman- 
 hood, and appeared scarcely to have reached her 
 eighteenth year. Her graceful figure was set off by 
 a kirtle of green silk ; her head, according to the 
 maidenly fashion of the day, was uncovered; and 
 her light auburn hair was braided and fastened with 
 ribands : her clear, lustrous, laughter-loving eyes 
 cast a radiance around, which, while it won admira- 
 tion, gave also the notion that the fair lady was well 
 aware of the homage which she might expect. It 
 was evident that she was filled with a girlish elation 
 at her temporary distinction ; yet there was withal 
 so much of feminine grace and loveliness m her 
 demeanour, that few would have been disposed to 
 think her manner vain or unbecoming. 
 
 At the feet of the queen knelt the handsome 
 woodman, the hero of the day, who had so well 
 deserved the prize, and who for grace and manly 
 beauty was well matched with the fair maiden. The 
 young lady held in her hand a massive silver bugle, 
 with a baldric of buff leather, studded with silver; 
 and placing it on his shoulder-" Most worthy sir," 
 she thus addressed him, " as queen of the forest, we 
 
CH. III. THE WARDMOTE. 43 
 
 hereby invest you with the prize which you have 
 so well deserved ; and trust that you will well and 
 safely keep the precious charge, and demean yourself 
 as a worthy woodman. Maurice Neville, rise up 
 Master Forester." 
 
 The hero thus addressed rose from his knees as 
 he received the prize from the fair lady's hands ; and 
 with courteous accent thus replied : — Highly as I 
 value, most gracious lady, the honour which I have 
 this day gained amongst my brother woodmen, my 
 greatest pleasure is to receive the prize from hands 
 so fair. Suffer me, fair lady, thus to acknowledge 
 my sense of the favour which I have received;" and 
 again kneeling, he took the hand of the youthful 
 queen, and respectfully pressed it to his lips. 
 
 It was altogether a goodly sight — the queen of 
 the forest was worthy of her high estate ; the master 
 forester no less worthy of his honour. Something of 
 coquetry and love of distinction might, as we have 
 already hinted, be perhaps detected by a keen ob- 
 server in the manner of the fair one ; but the by- 
 standers marked only her grace and beauty, and all 
 acknowledged that she had done her part bravely. 
 
 One man alone looked on with a sad and dis- 
 satisfied mien ; this was the unsuccessful competitor, 
 Marmaduke Clifford. He leaned against the butt of 
 the oak, with the discontented air which might have 
 been expected from one who was foiled when he had 
 so nearly been victorious ; but there was something 
 
44 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 in his look which would have induced a bystander 
 to believe that, if CHfFord gazed on the scene w^ith 
 an air of bitterness, it arose from some deeper cause 
 than the loss of a silver bugle. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 13utt*si^ootmg, antr otl\n Matters. 
 
 " At what a butte now wold ye shote, 
 
 I pray thee tell to me ?" 
 " At suche a butte, syr," he sayd, 
 
 " As men use in my countrie." 
 
 Then he drew out a fayre brode arrowe, 
 
 Hys bowe was great and longe : 
 He set that arrowe in his bowe, 
 That was both styffe and stronge. 
 
 Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and 
 William of Cloudesly, 
 
 The sports of the day were not yet finished. The 
 grand match being over, and the prize awarded, 
 some of the company, who came from a distance, 
 began to take their departure ; but the more eager 
 archers remained for further amusement. The mas- 
 ter forester sounded a few notes on his bugle, and 
 a cry arose amongst the archers—*^ The butts — the 
 butts !" 
 
 Butt-shooting, as anciently practised, is a very 
 different thing from modern target-shooting. In 
 these degenerate days a great target is set up, almost 
 as large as a barn-door, with five concentric circles 
 and a bull's-eye of gold, at which our ancestors 
 would have called il child's play to shoot. The old 
 butt-shooting was of this sort :— three butts, or heaps 
 
46 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 of peat or turf, (peat is the best, where it can be had, 
 because it has no stones in it) were set up at dis- 
 tances of ninety, sixty, and thirty yards apart. These 
 were mere mounds to stop the arrows ; the mark was 
 a small card of two or three inches in diameter, fixed 
 to the butt by a peg in the centre. The reason of 
 placing the butts at unequal distances was, that, in 
 days when archery formed a part of the English- 
 man's training for war, his skill might be tried in 
 various ways. Separate butts were set up for the 
 fair archeresses ; though many of the other sex, who 
 preferred their society to the sport of shooting, found 
 excuse to join their party. 
 
 The scene was Hvely and pleasant; and much 
 good-humoured gaiety prevailed. There were two 
 or three strangers who wore a different uniform from 
 the rest. These were members of the Fraternity of 
 St. George, a new society recently instituted in Lon- 
 don by King Henry. They had come down partly 
 in an official capacity, to report upon the state of 
 archery in the county of Warwick, and partly to 
 astonish the country people by their superior skill. 
 
 Latimer was presented by his kinsman, the mas- 
 ter forester, to the queen of the forest, as well as to 
 many of the principal persons ; from whom his well- 
 known character insured him respect, while his hda- 
 rity and blunt courtesy soon made him quite at home. 
 It might have been observed, how^ever, that party- 
 spirit had infused its bitterness even into that festal 
 scene ; and those who favoured the cause of the pope, 
 
CH. IV. BUTT-SHOOTING, AND OTHER MATTERS. 47 
 
 amongst whom was Marmaduke ClifFord, kept them- 
 selves aloof from the reformer. However, political 
 feelings liad not attained so great a height, but that 
 the honest yeomen and gentry who were present 
 engaged together very earnestly in the sport of the 
 evening. 
 
 o 
 
 Few things require more care and practice than 
 archery, by those who desire to shoot well. There 
 is an old proverb, that a man " shoots like a gentle- 
 man, fair and far away." Clifford and Neville had 
 proved, however, that it was very possible to shoot 
 fair and near — to shoot with grace, and at the same 
 time hit the mark. Not so all the archers. It was 
 an amusing sight to witness the eagerness of many 
 of the honest yeomen, with their rude bows of wych- 
 elm ; who considered, that, provided they hit the 
 mark, it did not matter how they did it. Roger 
 Ascham, preceptor to Queen Ehzabeth, has thus de- 
 scribed the ill habits or discommodities which ill 
 custom hath graffed in archers." " Some," he says, 
 shooteth his head forwarde, as though he would 
 byte the marke ; another stareth with his eyes, as 
 though they should flye out ; another winketh with 
 one eye, and looketh with the other. Some make 
 a face with wrything theyre mouth and countenance ; 
 another blereth oute his tongue ; another byteth his 
 lips ; another holdeth his neck awry. In drawinge, 
 some fet [fetch] such a compass as though they 
 would turn about and bless all the field ; other heave 
 theyre hand now up, now downe, that a man cannot 
 
48 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 discerne whereat they would shoot ; another waggeth 
 the upper end of his bow one way ; another will 
 stand pointing his shafte at the marke a good while, 
 and, by and bye, he will give him a whippe, and 
 away or a man witt. Another maketh such a wrest- 
 lino- with his gere, as thouo;h he were able to shoot 
 no more as long as he lived ; another draweth softly 
 to the middes, and, by and bye, it is gone you cannot 
 know how ; another maketh a WTynchinge with his 
 back, as though a man pinched him behinde ; another 
 cowreth down and layeth on his buttocks, as though 
 he should shoot crowes ; another setteth forward 
 his left legge, and draweth back with head and 
 shoulders, as though he pulled at a rope, or else were 
 afrayed of the marke. Ones I sawe a man which 
 used a bracer [or guard] on his cheke, or else he 
 had scratched all the skinne of the one syde of his 
 face with his drawinge hand; another I saw which 
 at every shote, after the loose, lifted up his right 
 legge so far that he was in jeopardy of falling. 
 Afterward, when the shaft is gone, men have many 
 faults which evil custom hath brought them to ; and 
 specially in crying after the shaft, and speaking words 
 scarce honest for such an honest pastime. Such 
 words be token of a very ill minde, and manifest 
 signs of a man that is subject to immeasurable affec- 
 tions. Some will take theyre bow and wryth and 
 wrinche it, to pull in his shaft when it flyeth wide, 
 as if he drave a cart ; some will give two or three 
 strydes forward, daunsinge and hopping after the 
 
CH. IV. UUTT-SIIOOTING, AND OTHER MATTERS. 49 
 
 shafte as long as it flyetli, as though he were a madde 
 man ; some, whicli fear to he too far gone, runne 
 hackward, as it were to pull his sliafte hacke ; an- 
 other runneth forward when he feareth to be too 
 short, heaving with his arm as though he would help 
 the shaft to fly ; and another swynges his bow about 
 him, as it were a man with a shaft to make room in 
 a game place; and many other faults there be which 
 now come not to my remembrance. Thus many 
 archers with marring their face and countenance, 
 with other parts of theyr bodye, as it were men that 
 daunce antiques, be far from the comely porte in 
 shooting, which he that would be excellent must 
 look for," 
 
 The honest woodmen of Arden were certainly 
 not exempt from these diverse faults and discom- 
 modities" incident to archers. They enjoyed, how- 
 ever, their honest pastime, in happy ignorance of the 
 satire preparing for them in the mind of the noted, 
 amiable, learned, and facetious Roger Ascham." 
 
 " I know not, worthy sir," said Maurice Neville 
 to Latimer, whether you indulge in the sport of 
 archery ; but if you will honour us by joining in our 
 pastime, here is a bow much at your service." 
 
 " Many thanks for your courtesy," said Latimer : 
 I have been an archer in my time, though I have 
 not drawn a bow this many a day, and therefore 
 lack practice ; yet I should like to have one shot, if 
 It be but to see whether I have forgotten my craft. 
 This is a good bit of Spanish yew," said he, takino- 
 
50 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the bow which was offered to him, and feeling its 
 strength ; " give me a good shaft to match, and I 
 will see what I can do." Having received the bow 
 and shaft, he passed his practised eye over them 
 both, to see if all was right ; slightly altered the 
 string^ : next smoothed one of the feathers of the 
 arrow, which was a little ruffled, and rubbed a few 
 particles of dust from the shaft-head ; then nocking 
 the shaft, he placed himself firmly on the ground, 
 and looking keenly for a moment at the mark, he 
 drew the arrow to the head, holding the bow-arm 
 firm as a vice, and giving his body to the draft in 
 the true English fashion. Twang went the string, 
 and the arrow struck the peg in the very centre of 
 the card. " Now, good archers," said he, dehvering 
 back the bow to his young friend, when you have 
 beat that, I will have another shot." 
 
 " You have soon gained your verdureship, worthy 
 sir," said Maurice. " Will you not take a few more 
 turns with us ?" 
 
 Excuse me," said Latimer ; " the evening wears 
 apace, and I hope to reach the abbey of Merevale 
 ere sunset. I must therefore, with many thanks for 
 your courtesy, now bid you farewell, wishing you 
 much pleasure and pontentment." 
 
 So saying, he left the throng in quest of Bernher ; 
 but he was followed by his kinsman Robert Neville. 
 
 I am myself bound for Merevale," said he ; " and 
 if you will be troubled with my company, will 
 gladly be your guide through the forest ; which by 
 
CH. IV. RUTT-SIIOOTING, AND OTHER MATTERS. 51 
 
 a Stranger may not easily be threaded. Maurice 
 bids me say that he would have accompanied us, 
 but liis newly won honour requires him to marshal 
 his brother woodmen, and to attend the behests of 
 the queen of tlie forest." 
 
 Latimer begged his young friend not to leave the 
 sport on his account; but seeing him resolved to 
 go with him, he accepted his company with many 
 thanks. So they rode away together. 
 
 And how fares my good friend the abbot of 
 Merevale?" said Latimer. " It is a long day since 
 1 have seen him, though we were close chums at 
 Cambridge." 
 
 " He is passing well in health ; but somewhat 
 downcast by the prospect of affairs." 
 " No wonder — no wonder." 
 " The times bode no good to abbots ; and per- 
 haps I need not tell you," said Robert, though in 
 a somewhat lower tone, " that Father WilHam, abbot 
 though he be, is inclined to believe that the reformed 
 doctrine has much truth in it ; and he is not the man 
 to maintain error against his conscience." 
 
 No ; his letters shew that plainly. He talks 
 of reforms which he has himself introduced into his 
 convent." 
 
 Many wholesome reforms he has already made ; 
 and would do more, did he not meet with much 
 opposition in these matters." 
 
 ''As might have been expected; reformation 
 cannot be accomplished all at once. Well, tell me 
 
62 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 now," he continued, apparently anxious to change 
 the conversation, how do matters fare at Cam- 
 bridge ? Thou hast just gained thy degree, I hear ; 
 and acquitteth thyself right w ell, as becometh a pupil 
 of Father William. What are they doing in that 
 learned place ? — canst tell me ?" 
 
 " The last thing they did, just before I left, was 
 to make a rare bonfire of the works of Duns Scotus 
 and St. Thomas Aquinas. You might have seen the 
 burning leaves of the old schoolmen flying about the 
 quadrangle in all directions. The Dialectics of Aris- 
 totle and Rodolphus Agricola are to take their place 
 in future. Philip Melancthon, too, is to be read." 
 
 Ah, well, mighty well ! but they might have 
 read Aristotle and Melancthon without burning St. 
 Thomas. There is much good in the schoolmen, 
 though some trifling. Howsoever, the friends of 
 the schoolmen have but their just reward ; for I have 
 heard the Scotists bark like curs against all classical 
 learning, and declare that every Terence and Virgil 
 in the world ought to be burnt. But I pray you, 
 Master Robert, what art thou — a Greek or a Trojan ?" 
 
 " Oh, a Greek, to be sure." 
 
 It should be observed, that just at this time a 
 violent feud had arisen in the universities as to the 
 study of the Greek language, which had before been 
 little known — the popish party affirming that it led 
 to heresy, and the Reformers, on the other hand, 
 approving it. The abettors of the opposite parties 
 were called respectively Greeks and Trojans ; and 
 
CH. IV. BUTT-SHOOTING, AND OTHER MATTERS. 53 
 
 tlieir disputes were so violent, that they sometimes 
 came even to blows, and fought together with the 
 greatest animosity. The monks were generally true 
 Trojans, and at this time had a clear majority, though 
 the Greeks were fast gaining ground. 
 
 Ay, I thought thou wert a Greek ; and, I 
 warrant me, hast broken the heads of some score of 
 Trojans in thy day." 
 
 Nay, good sir, I like not brawling ; and only 
 defend myself when attacked." 
 Well, that is but fair." 
 
 At this time, turning a corner of the road, they 
 came in sight of a company of persons, some on foot, 
 some on horseback, returning, as it appeared, from 
 a fair or market ; and Latimer recognised amongst 
 them his antagonist, Friar John, with whom he had 
 recently been engaged in controversy at Kenilworth. 
 
 Latimer greeted his rival good humouredly as he 
 passed ; and the other returned his salutation, though 
 with some bitterness, adding, that he hoped for an 
 opportunity of trying another conclusion with him 
 one day. 
 
 " That is as troublesome a knave," said Robert 
 Neville, as any in the country. He belongs to the 
 friary at Atherstone, hard by Merevale ; and he is 
 one of those who stand up for all old abuses, because 
 they have an interest in them. He goes up and 
 down the country to blow up a discontent against 
 the reformed faith. Besides, he is crafty as well as 
 F 2 
 
54 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 active ; and I fear me will work some harm one of 
 these days." 
 
 These be the men," said Latimer, who, if 
 God save us not, will prevent the necessary reforms 
 from being made without trouble. Thou wilt wonder 
 how I came to know the man ; but I will tell thee." 
 
 He then recounted to his companion the dispute 
 which had taken place between them in the morning, 
 and continued : — 
 
 There be men of this sort, emissaries of the 
 pope, in all parts of the country. I'll tell thee a 
 story of one. There was an old Oxford divine, 
 though no great clerk, near my living of West 
 Kingston, called Hubberden, who went about the 
 country railing against the new doctrine, as he called 
 it, and striving to deface and impeach the springing 
 of God's holy Gospel. This man rode about in a 
 long gown draggling in the mire down to his horse's 
 heels ; and at last, passing by a churchyard, and 
 suddenly lighting from his horse, he ordered the 
 bells to be tolled ; and, Vvhen the people were come, 
 he began to rail against Luther, Melancthon, Hugh 
 Latimer, and other heretics, dancing and flinging 
 himself about in the pulpit like mad. How he 
 stamped and thumped the pulpit, m.aking all sorts 
 of histrionical gestures, I cannot relate to you ; until, 
 all on a sudden, crack went the pulpit, and down 
 comes Hubberden, sprawling in the midst of the 
 aisle. But it was no laughing matter ; for he so 
 
CII. IV. BUTT-SHOOTING, AND OTHER MATTERS. 55 
 
 broke and bruised his old bones tliat he never 
 prcaclied after : and diere was great blame laid up- 
 on the churchwardens for not making the pulpit 
 stronger ; but one of them, a shrewd man, got 
 himself out of the scrape by a merry joke, excus- 
 ing himself, for that their pulpit was made for 
 jrreaching, not for dancing in,'' 
 
 Thus in pleasant discourse the travellers beguiled 
 the way, until, just as the sun was dipping below the 
 horizon, they came in sight of the venerable abbey 
 of Merevale, embosomed in the midst of woods. 
 Descending the hill-side, they could distinctly hear 
 the sound of music and the solemn chorus of voices, 
 as the monks chanted the compline, or second 
 vespers : 
 
 Now, through the charmed air 
 
 Slowly ascending, 
 List to the chanted prayer 
 
 Solemnly blending. 
 Hark ! hark ! it seems to say, 
 Turn from vain joys away 
 To those which ne'er decay, 
 
 Though life be ending.'* 
 
 We are wont to connect the idea of vespers with 
 Romish superstition ; but surely most unwisely. 
 Can we conceive a more pious custom than for 
 Christian people to meet together at close of day, 
 and join together in chanting the Psalms of David, 
 ordered by the Church ? When shall we learn to 
 
56 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 distinguish between Romish abuses, and customs 
 which, though they accord little with the self-in- 
 dulgent, irreverent manners of the present day, are 
 in themselves most pious and laudable ? 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 mm of Mmhale, 
 
 Who with the ploughshare clave the barren moors, 
 And to green meadows chang'd the swampy shores ; 
 Thinned the rank woods ; and for the cheerful grange 
 Made room where wolf and boar were used to range? 
 Who taught and shew'd by deeds that gentler chains 
 Should bind the vassal to the lord's domains — 
 The thoughtful monks. Woudswoeth. 
 
 On arriving at the abbey, the travellers found the 
 gate closed, as v^as usual at sunset ; but, after a 
 short time, they obtained admittance through a small 
 side-postern, which was opened by the porter ; and 
 by him they were conducted into the parletory, or 
 guests' chamber,— a small room, with panelled walls, 
 decorated with a few paintings of our Lord and the 
 blessed Virgin, with illuminated halos of glory round 
 their heads, after the old reverential fashion. There 
 were also several saints and founders of orders, very 
 tolerably executed ; copies, probably, of good paint- 
 mgs of the Italian masters ; which, though inferior 
 in colouring and skill to the productions of a later 
 school, yet exhibited a beautiful purity of design and 
 heavenly expression of countenance, and were of far 
 
58 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 hio-her character and sentiment than the voluptuous 
 and carnal productions of the subsequent age. 
 
 While Latimer was looking round the guest- 
 chamber, Robert Neville went to inform the abbot, 
 as soon as vespers were over, of the arrival of his 
 guest. 
 
 William Arnold,— or Father Wilham, as he was 
 commonly called,— the last abbot of Merevale, was 
 a man of sense, learning, and piety, rather than 
 of shining abilities. Though not formed for court- 
 intrigues, nor for the ambitious schemes in which 
 Churchmen of former ages too often engaged, he 
 was well adapted for ruling his convent with firm- 
 ness, and at tlie same time conciliating the esteem 
 and winning the affection of those whom he ruled. 
 He eschewed dicing, hunting, and costly banqueting ; 
 and was content to live as a good abbot is described 
 — " separate from the intremeddlyinge of worldly 
 thinges, and to serve God quietlye, and to distribute 
 his faculties in refreshing poor indigent persons ; to 
 have a vigilant eigh to good ordre, and rule of his 
 house, and the flock to him commytted of God." 
 Every day he attended the duties of the chapter 
 and the greater mass, stimulating the others by his 
 spirited chanting; and on the greater and simple 
 feasts, he assisted indefatigably at matins, compline, 
 and vespers — reading the lesson, singing the re- 
 sponses, beginning the Te Deum, standing with those 
 who stood according to their turn, and animat- 
 ing the whole choir by his example. He preached 
 
ilSREVJiLE CHUHCH, EAST EX^. 
 
CII. V. 
 
 THE ABBOT OF MEREVALE. 
 
 59 
 
 often, diligently attended the sick-beds of the dying, 
 and made a point of himself performing the funeral 
 service over the remains of each departed brother. 
 In a word, his heart was in the duties of his station. 
 He had been an intimate and valued friend of Lati- 
 mer, with whom, though his senior, he had formed 
 an acquaintance at Cambridge ; and the companion- 
 ship of youth had ripened into a permanent friend- 
 ship, though circumstances had thrown the friends 
 into different spheres. In common with Latimer, 
 and with many heads of religious houses, he was 
 sincerely anxious for a reformation of abuses. He 
 had read and thought enough to discern plainly 
 the unscriptural character of many of the prevalent 
 usages ; and he was far too upright and conscien- 
 tious a man to maintain abuses of which he was 
 cognisant, even though their maintenance might be 
 for his interest. At the same time, biased as we all 
 are by the circumstances in which we are placed, it 
 was not likely that the Abbot of Merevale should be 
 quite so quick to discern, or so hasty to remove, 
 abuses as his somewhat impetuous friend. Father 
 William did what a conscientious and sensible man 
 would have done under his circumstances, — he cor- 
 rected the abuses of his own convent as soon as he 
 discovered them ; doing what he could by his own 
 authority ; and where his own authority was doubt- 
 ful endeavouring to prevail on his chapter to act 
 with him, though not always able to accomplish his 
 wishes to their full extent. He kept the vicars of 
 
gQ THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the neighbouring parishes, who resided at the con- 
 vent to their work; himself not unfrequently go.ng 
 over' to preach in their churches. He took measures 
 for the endowment of the poor hvings, from which 
 the abbey received the impropriate tithes, with a sut- 
 ficiency for the maintenance of a resident mmister. 
 He estabhshed scriptural lectures in the chapter- 
 house. He maintained a vigilant watch over the 
 morals and discipline of his own fraternity ; and more 
 than ever eschewed intercourse with h,s hot-headed 
 and mischievous neighbours, the Friars Erem.te of 
 Atherstone, with whom he had never been on very 
 
 cordial terms. 
 
 Notwithstanding these prudent and proper ar- 
 ran^eirients, the mind of the abbot was sometimes 
 filled with anxiety, when rumours reached h.m 
 through various channels, concerning the progress of 
 eventl ; and hearing that his old friend Latnr.er had 
 arrived at some eminence, and mingled m the great 
 world, he had several times written to him, to ask 
 his cotxnsel, as well as to seek information ; at the 
 same time expressing a hope that he might be m- 
 duced to visit him at his monastery-an invitation 
 .hich the latter was not unwilling to accept, bo h 
 for the sake of renewing acquaintance wit. his old 
 friend, and visiting his kinsfolks, who lived m the 
 immediate neighbourhood. ^ 
 
 While Latimer waited in the locutory, toe com- 
 pline-service, or second vespers, were prolonged 
 bevond the usual time, it being the festival of St. 
 
CH. V. 
 
 THE ABBOT OF MEREVALE. 
 
 61 
 
 Bartholomew, at which the abbot himself officiated ; 
 and a solemn procession was made through the aisles 
 of the chapel, the chanters going first with tapers, 
 the abbot next, then the whole convent following 
 in due order. The service being at length finished, 
 the benediction given, the altar duly censed, and 
 the abbot himself censed also, he returned to the 
 vestiary, where he found his young pupil and pro- 
 ^^'^e, ^Robert Neville, waiting to inform him of the 
 arrival of Latimer. Hastily laying aside his alb 
 and cope, his gloves, ring, and crosier, he went im- 
 mediately to the guest-chamber ; and, after a hearty 
 welcome, took Latimer with him to his own private 
 apartment. 
 
 We need not describe the meeting of the two 
 college friends ; no doubt it was much the same as 
 meetings between warm-hearted and sincere men 
 always have been, and always will be. Let us, 
 however, proceed to record the conversation which 
 ensued between them, after the first greetings had 
 been exchanged, and the hospitalities due to a tra- 
 veller had been provided by the cellarer. 
 
 Well, my good friend Arnold, or rather, let 
 me say, most worthy Abbot of Merevale, I am right 
 glad to see thee hale and hearty ; though, I must 
 say, thy hair is somewhat greyer, and thy face less 
 plump, than when I bade thee last farewell." 
 
 I think I may even say the same of thee," 
 returned the abbot. We have both had our cares 
 
 G 
 
52 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 and anxieties. You, I am told, have had some 
 trouble with the late lord archbishop and his council. 
 It was about the time of the sufferings of our poor 
 friend Bilney." 
 
 "Ah, Bilney — httle Bilney! that was a sad 
 story ; he was a simple and kind soul. How many 
 pleasant hours have you and I passed with him at 
 Cambridge ! He was a true Christian, and sufferer 
 for the faith. Poor fellow ! he was cast down and 
 daunted at first, when questioned for heresy : but 
 afterwards he revived, and bore his faggot manfully, 
 and took his death patiently. Woe will be to that 
 bishop who had the examination of him, if he re- 
 pented not! I would not have to answer for his sins." 
 
 " It is a dreadful thing to think of ;— but how 
 fared it with thyself?" 
 
 " Marry, I too had a sharp trial. Much prayer 
 and suppUcation did I make, and much guidance did 
 I need. I yielded all I could with a safe conscience, 
 and had almost prepared myself for Smith field. Had 
 not God inclined the king to favour me, I verily 
 think I should have followed Bilney to the stake." 
 
 " Alas, alas, the times are perilous indeed : I 
 pray God may shorten them." 
 
 " His mercy be praised ! I trust that the reformed 
 faith has now free scope, and will no longer suffer 
 persecution. 'Tis wonderful how He works by 
 means which one would not have thought on." 
 
 " The reformed faith is, as you say, free from 
 
CH. V. 
 
 THE ABBOT OF MEREVALE. 
 
 63 
 
 persecution ; and long may it be so ! But much I 
 fear me lest the tide of persecution set the other 
 way." 
 
 Truly, there is danger of it ; and it is for that 
 cause partly that I have accepted thy long-sent in- 
 vitation to visit thee here, that I might confer with 
 thee touching the difficulty of the times : believing 
 that possibly I have means of knowledge in matters 
 political, such as thou, at this distance from court, 
 canst not come at ; whereby in some sort I may aid 
 thee in steering thy course." 
 
 " Thanks, good Latimer ; thou hast done the part 
 of a true friend." 
 
 " I well know that we may speak freely toge- 
 ther, and that our sentiments are alike so far as 
 regards the need of reform ; though thou, as an 
 abbot, may not entirely agree with me as to the 
 mode of meeting the difficulties. Let us speak our 
 minds openly ; for though on all points we may not 
 concur, yet our speech may be confidential, and per- 
 adventure profitable. Thou seest, then, good Arnold, 
 that a great step has been taken by the king and 
 parliament in their refusal of obedience to the power 
 of the pope. The realm is rescued from his tyranny." 
 
 It was an usurped power, surely," said Abbot 
 William, " and contrary to the ancient canon. Ne- 
 vertheless, I grieve that we should seem thus in a 
 manner separate from a Church to which we owe 
 so much as to that of Rome ; 'tis a misfortune, 
 though the step be necessary. Yet 1 am willing 
 
64 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 to think that our Church, while throwing off the 
 authority of the pope, and placing herself thereby 
 in some sort in a state of separation as regards a 
 large portion of Christendom, is nevertheless in com- 
 munion with the holy Church universal. I would 
 fain beheve that the departed saints would not blame 
 us for breach of Church-union ; and that even upon 
 earth, though not acknowledging the pope our master, 
 we still retain the succession from the Apostles, and 
 so are united with the Head. The Church universal 
 is not the body of Christians who happen to live in 
 this or that particular generation ; but the saints 
 also and righteous men who have lived and died in 
 every age. We have fellowship with those who 
 have departed this life, as well as with those who 
 still live upon the earth ; and therefore, though we 
 continue not in actual communion with Rome, yet 
 if we keep the true faith and succession, we still 
 remain a branch of the holy catholic and apostolic 
 Church." 
 
 The abbot, a learned man, as well as a pious 
 Churchman, dwelt strongly on these points ; and set 
 forth that which was the true view of the case. La- 
 timer, in common with many hot reformers, thought 
 little of the evil of separation, in comparison with 
 the need of reformation ; and though not disposed to 
 dispute the worthy abbot's doctrine, proceeded to 
 what he considered more practical subjects. 
 
 " The supremacy of the pope is, as I may speak, 
 abolished in this realm : the question is, what next 
 
CH. V. 
 
 THE ABBOT OF MEREVALE. 
 
 65 
 
 step we may look for. And now I come to speak 
 of what concerns thee principally. 'Tis time, my 
 good friend, that thou set thy house in order." 
 
 *' I see plainly whither thy discourse points. 
 Rumours have already reached us, that some strong 
 measures are likely to be taken as respects the mon- 
 asteries, and that we are like to be mulcted pretty 
 largely." 
 
 It is even so. Nay, more than thou perchance 
 imaginest. The king speaks of abolishing some of 
 them, as I learn confidently from the Lord Crom- 
 well. It is much spoken of, that the revenues of 
 monasteries might be made more useful to the nation, 
 if employed in founding schools and colleges." 
 
 Is it, then, really true, that the king has in his 
 mind to seize the property of the monasteries?" 
 
 " From what I learn, there rem.ains little doubt 
 that such is his purpose ; and when the king takes a 
 thing in his head, he is not soon diverted from it." 
 
 The worthy abbot appeared much moved at this 
 intimation. At last, after a short silence, he rose 
 from his seat — " I would fain ask," he said, with 
 some warmth, on what plea the property of the 
 monks may be seized, for the wants of the king or 
 the nation, more than that of other men ? I will shew 
 thee, friend Latimer, the deeds and muniments of 
 our abbey, in order that thou mayest see whether 
 there be any flaw in our title, or whether it be not 
 as lawful and good as that of any baron, knight, or 
 franklin in the realm." 
 
 G 2 
 
66 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 So saying, the abbot took from his girdle a key ; 
 and walking to the farther side of the apartment, he 
 touched a secret spring, whereupon one of the panels 
 in the wainscot slid back, and discovered an iron door 
 fixed in solid masonry. The door being unlocked, 
 there appeared an almery or arched recess of com- 
 pact brickwork, so constructed as to be impervious 
 to fire, in which were kept certain valuable articles 
 belonging to the abbey. An ancient crosier inlaid 
 with ivory and silver, several massive cups or cha- 
 lices, divers shrines of silver or fihgree-work con- 
 taining relics, which, though the abbot no longer 
 exposed them to public gaze, he still preserved with 
 reverence. Beside these there were ranged in piles 
 various cases of title-deeds of many of the neigh- 
 bouring gentry, as w ell as those of the abbey. One 
 of these the abbot moved from its recess, and placed 
 on the table ; then, after closing the door, he un- 
 locked the case, and took from it several bundles of 
 parchments well preserved, but evidently of very 
 ancient date. " These," said he, are the deeds 
 whereby the estates of the abbey have been con- 
 veyed to it by the grants of pious founders, and 
 confirmed by the sign-manual of kings. But, before 
 unfolding them, I would fain shew thee a brief ac- 
 count of the foundation and origin of our abbey, 
 which was drawn up from more ancient documents 
 by my good predecessor Abbot Dugaldus of blessed 
 memory, who delighted to employ his leisure hours 
 in searching into the ancient history of our abbey." 
 
CII. V. 
 
 THE ABBOT OF MEREVALE. 
 
 67 
 
 Witli that Father WilHam untied a document, 
 which, from its appearance, was evidently of more 
 recent date tlian the rest, and arranging his spec- 
 tacles he read as follows. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 While cloister 'd piety displays 
 Her mouldering roll, the piercing eye explores 
 New manners and the pomp of elder days, 
 
 Whence calls the pensive bard his pictured stores ; 
 Nor rough nor barren are the winding ways 
 Of hoar antiquity, but strewn with flowers. 
 
 Sonnet on Dugdale's Monasticon, 
 by J. Warton. 
 
 I, DuGALDUs, by the grace of God abbot of Mere- 
 vale, in order that the history of this house and of 
 its pious founders and benefactors of blessed memory 
 may not fall into oblivion, have with care and labour 
 drawn up this account of its first foundation, and of 
 all memorable particulars relating thereto from the 
 beginning, which I desire may be kept for ever 
 amongst the muniments of the convent. 
 
 The original founder of Merevale Abbey was 
 the noble Robert Earl Ferrers, a great man in these 
 parts ; of whose worthy family and origin it is meet 
 to say somewhat, seeing that they had fair posses- 
 sions both in this and other parts of the realm. 
 
 The first of that name who settled in England 
 was Henry de Ferrers, son of Gualcheline de Ferrers, 
 a Norman ; which Henry having a great proportion 
 
CH. VI. HISTORY OF MEREVALE ABBEY. 
 
 69 
 
 of land, by the Conqueror's gift, lying in the counties 
 of Berks, Wilts, Northampton, Flereford, Warwick, 
 Leicester, Gloucester, Nottingham, Derby, Essex, 
 and Stafford, seated himself at Tutbury Castle in 
 Staffordshire, near unto which he founded a goodly 
 monastery for Cluniac monks, endowing it with large 
 possessions. To which Henry succeeded Robert, 
 who commanded the Derbyshire men in the famous 
 battle near North- Alverton, in the third year of Ste- 
 phen, where the king had a glorious victory against 
 Da vid king of Scots ; and for that service was advanced 
 to the earldom of Derby, but died the year following 
 (1139), leaving issue Robert his son and heir, who 
 styled himself Robertus Comes junior de Ferreriis ; 
 and likewise Comes junior of Nottingham. Which 
 Robert being a good and pious man, and willing to 
 offer to God of his substance for the increase and 
 propagation of religion, and having a reverent esteem 
 for the Cistertian monks, which in his time began to 
 multiply in England, made choice of Merevale, as 
 being a mountainous and woody place, fit for solitude 
 and devotion, to found a monastery of that order : 
 and having thus been the pious founder of the above- 
 named abbey of Merevale, in the thirteenth of Ste- 
 phen, he died, and lyeth there buried, wrapt in an 
 oxe-hyde. 
 
 " Wrapt in an oxe-hyde !" exclaimed Latimer ; 
 " what meaneth that ? 'tis a strange recompense for 
 all his pious deeds." 
 
 Father William. " It was the custom to embalm 
 
70 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the bodies of noble persons, or rather to salt them, 
 and wrap them in leather or hides. The body of 
 Henry I. was ' salted with moche salte, and at last 
 closed in a hoole skynne.' Let us pray that our 
 worthy founder may rest in peace, and his good 
 deeds be had in remembrance, and his soul saved, 
 for his Redeemer's sake/' 
 
 Latimer. " It is a pious wish, in which I grudge 
 not to join with thee ; albeit there may be much 
 doubt whether the prayers of the living be profitable 
 for the departed." 
 
 The abbot seemed disposed to controvert this 
 position of Latimer, and laid the parchment on the 
 table ; but after a moment's pause he resumed it, and 
 continued : " Well, now thou shalt hear the deeds 
 of conveyance here transcribed by the worthy father, 
 whereby the estates were given and confirmed to the 
 monastery : the originals are on the table before thee, 
 and thou may est compare them, if thou wilt." 
 
 ©Sartft of jPottttUation. 
 
 To Eoger, bishop of Chester, and all sons of the holy 
 Church, Robert, count of Ferrers, greeting. 
 
 Know ye that I have granted for the soul of Robert, 
 count of Ferrers, my father, and for the health of my 
 own soul and that of my wife, to God and the blessed 
 Virgin, and to the church of Merevale, for the purpose 
 of building an abbey of the Cistertian order, all my 
 property in the forest of Arden (totam forestam meam 
 de Ardena), and whatsoever I possess in Wyttington and 
 the manor of Weston, and the manor of Overton (Orton 
 
CII. VI. 
 
 HISTORY OF MEREVALE ABBEY. 
 
 71 
 
 on the Hill), and one Herdewick in the Peak {unam 
 Herdewican in Pecco), also Crannockstoune, with com- 
 mon of pasture in Hertendon and Pilsbur}^ for sheep 
 and other cattle. 
 
 Witnesses : 
 
 Richard Peck, Archdeacon. 
 
 Edmund and Hugo Ferrers. 
 
 William de Seyle : and others. 
 
 eontrmati'on of X^t ^U\st ^xmt fig ^enrg e. 
 ^ Henry, king of England, duke of Normandy and 
 Aquitaine, count of Angiers, to the archbishops, bishops, 
 &c. greeting. 
 
 Know ye that I have granted and confirmed, for the 
 souls of King Henry and my other ancestors, and for 
 the health of my own soul, and of my mother the em- 
 press, and my wife the queen, and of my children, to 
 God and St. Mary, and the monks of Merevale, all that 
 grant which Count Robert of Ferrers hath given them 
 for charity to build a certain abbey of the order of the 
 Cistertians. Wherefore I will and firmly order that 
 the aforesaid monks shall have and hold all their lands, 
 with all their appendages of whosesoever fee {de cujus- 
 cunque feudd), and all their possessions, rightly and 
 peaceably, quietly and freely, from all secular custom, 
 as any other church in all my kingdom. 
 
 The deed goes on to release them from all secu- 
 lar imposts, and confirm to them all donations from 
 other sources ; and all purchases and acquirements 
 in wood or plain, in meadow or pasture, in rivers or 
 pools, in mills or minerals, and all other things; 
 especially reciting certain grants made to them by 
 
72 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Gerard de Lunese, Walter de Canwell, and Radulph 
 and Paganus de Baskerville. It thus concludes — 
 
 Moreover, I desire that all who love the health of 
 my soul shall love and succour that abbey. 
 Witnesses : 
 Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Bishop of Chester. 
 The Chancellor. 
 Given by my hand at Tamworth, the 12th day of 
 March. 
 
 " It seems hardly fair," observed Latimer, " that 
 the king should thus have appropriated the benefits 
 of this charitable grant to the good of his own soul 
 and that of his kindred, when Count Robert of Fer- 
 rers intended it for the souls of himself and family." 
 
 Such, however, was the custom of those feudal 
 times. Men believed their temporal and eternal 
 interests to be more mixed up and blended with 
 those of their brethren than they do now. They 
 were more dependent, but at the same time less 
 selfish than their descendants. 
 
 " Here," continued the abbot, " is a bull of Pope 
 Lucius the Third, whereby the above grants are con- 
 firmed to them, together with divers others — as the 
 Grange of More (now called More-Barne), Seile, 
 Little Petling, the church of Overton on the Hill, 
 with the chapels of Twicross, Grendon, Copshull, 
 and Banterly ; also a grant of two messuages and 
 three shops, and twelve shillings rent in Leicester, 
 by Petronell Oliver of Leicester, to find a priest for 
 
CH. VI. HISTORY OF MEllEVALE ABBEY. 
 
 73 
 
 the celebration of divine service for the soul of tlie 
 said Petronill, her ancestors, and all the faithful de- 
 ceased ; also a messuage and a yardland in Bentley, 
 bestowed on them by John de Lisle, then lord of the 
 manor, to find fifteen tapers in the chapel of our 
 Lady, near the gate of the abbey. There be various 
 others ; all of which, together with those already 
 recited, thou wilt see are lawfully conveyed to the 
 monks of Merevale. But these were after the first 
 Ibundation." 
 
 Father William then went on to read portions of 
 the manuscripts of Father Dugaldus, in which were 
 set down the various incidents relating to the founda- 
 tion of the monastery and settlement of the monks, 
 and many particulars which occurred in or near the 
 monastery. 
 
 As the style of the abbot is rather prolix, a brief 
 summary of the principal points on which he touches 
 may be sufficient for our present purpose. 
 
 After the grant was made, and the various estates 
 given by the charitable earl, and those afterwards to 
 be granted, were secured to the abbey of Merevale 
 then about to be founded, the next thing was to 
 " propagate" the order ; that is, to procure a colony 
 of holy men, who should form a nucleus for the 
 establishment. This was accordingly done, by send- 
 ing for a certain number of Cistertian monks (how 
 many is not specified) from Bordesley abbey, in 
 Worcestershire. 
 
 We can picture to ourselves the good monks (for 
 
 H 
 
74 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 what reason have we to suppose they were other- 
 wise ?) arriving to take possession of their new pro- 
 perty. Their first step would be to make a survey 
 of their estate, and choose a fit spot for their future 
 residence. The choice of the monks hghted on a 
 pleasant meadow embosomed in woods, just at the 
 point where the rough hilly country approaches the 
 plain. Here, on a gentle eminence beside a small 
 stream which watered the meadow-land, they deter- 
 mined to erect their habitation. On this spot the 
 busy monks proceed to mark out the ground for 
 their chapel ; for, as we read of Abraham, their first 
 object on each change of residence was to rear up 
 an altar to their God ; and we ought to remember 
 with gratitude that many of our parish churches, as 
 in the case of Merevale, were first built as chapels 
 to monasteries. Whether, if we had not received 
 these legacies from them, we should have built 
 churches equal to them in beauty, or whether, in 
 some cases, we should have built any at all, may 
 well be considered. 
 
 The exquisite remains of ancient monasteries 
 which exist in the present day prove that the monks 
 possessed no ordinary skill in architecture. They 
 were in general their own architects ; and their emi- 
 nent success in that art was the result of the enthu- 
 siasm of religious ardour, brought to bear both on 
 the design and the workmanship. The worthy monks 
 of Merevale were not behind their brethren, as the 
 specimens of their labours still remaining attest. 
 
CII- VI. HISTORY OF MEREVALE ABBEY. 
 
 75 
 
 The more sldlful amongst tliem formed the plan 
 of the new building ; others set dihgently to work, 
 some carrying hods of mortar, some assisting to hew 
 the stone, some felling timber for the roof— sparing 
 themselves, in short, no trouble by which they might 
 further the work. The important point of the site 
 of the chapel being arranged, and the building com- 
 menced, they proceed in due order to group around 
 this primary and central object the various other 
 buildings necessary for their establishment — the dor- 
 mitory, refectory, chapter-house, cloisters, library, 
 scriptorium for writing, the sutrinum for making 
 and mending clothes, the kitchen and other offices, 
 bakehouse, brewhouse, workhouse, dovecote, and 
 other outbuildings. These being planned and begun 
 upon, they set about damming up the water, for the 
 double purpose of making ponds to supply them 
 with fish for their days of fasting, and also of afford- 
 ing a reservoir which might be sufficient to work 
 their mill. Next to this, they lay out their herbary 
 and orchard, and plant mulberries, fig-trees, and 
 stocks, which in the year following may be grafted 
 with cuttings of choice fruit, brought probably from 
 some more southern clime. 
 
 Having completed their home-arrangements, they 
 proceed to cast their eyes beyond their immediate 
 neighbourhood, and choose a place for their grange 
 or farm. Here they construct their farm-buildings, 
 and begin to clear the land of timber, and to plough 
 and sow, and drain those parts which are moist and 
 
76 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 boggy. The uplands to the north, which, though 
 poor in soil, were comparatively free from trees, 
 would afford pasturage for their sheep ; while, at the 
 same time, they would congratulate themselves on 
 the abundant supply of acorns which the oak-forest 
 would furnish to their swine. 
 
 The Cistertian monks used to be taunted by the 
 friars that they were poor clowns and farmers, living 
 like country bumpkins rather than learned clerks. 
 Which was true ; in so far as they were noted for 
 their remarkable industry and devotion to husbandry; 
 and were the means of conveying habits of industry 
 and a knowledge of the improvements in agriculture 
 to the rude peasants amongst whom they fixed their 
 dwelling. In truth, nothing was more likely to im- 
 prove an estate than to establish a colony of Cister- 
 tian monks upon it ; which, perhaps, was one reason 
 why, at this period, they were held in such high 
 esteem by the great Norman landlords. 
 
 It would, however, be injustice to the monks of 
 Merevale to suppose that their whole time was de- 
 voted to these secular employments. Though infe- 
 rior in learning to their brethern the Benedictines, 
 yet they did not neglect the peculiar duties of their 
 vocation. Seven times during the course of each day 
 and night, like the holy David, they performed their 
 service of prayer in the abbey-chapel according to 
 the ritual then in use. Even when in the fields at 
 their work, they would pause when they heard the 
 convent-bell, and join their brethren in spirit, though 
 
CH. VI, HISTORY OF MEREVALE ABBEY. 
 
 77 
 
 not in presence. Perhaps some who live in these 
 days of ease and comfort will deem it a work of 
 supererogation that, after toiling at their farm, they 
 should leave their beds in the dead of night to chant 
 the nocturns in their cold chapel. It proves at least, 
 that the occupation of a monk was no sinecure, as 
 many seem to think it. But they had other work to 
 perform : they had several churches to serve in the 
 neighbourhood, as well as parishes to look after ; 
 which, from the attachment borne them by the com- 
 mon people, would seem not to have been neglected. 
 They had a medicine-chest for the sick poor, and 
 hospitality always ready for the stranger ; and they 
 had a school in the abbey, where the neighbours' 
 children were taught grammar and music, and in- 
 structed in various handicrafts;^ — for the monks 
 were skilful workmen in many departments. They 
 made their own clothes and shoes ; they were dili- 
 gent copiers of books ; and it is chiefly through their 
 industry that, not only the holy Scriptures, but also 
 many of the classic writers, have been handed down 
 to us entire. But it is to the Benedictines, rather 
 than to the Cistertians, that we are indebted for the 
 preservation of the holy Scriptures, and works of 
 antiquity. 
 
 ^ For an account of the habits of the monks, see The 
 Early English Church/' by the Rev. E. Churton, ch. xvii. 
 Their proceedings, in forming a new establishment, may be 
 even now witnessed at Whitwick, near Ashby-de-la-Zouch in 
 Leicestershire. 
 
 H 2 
 
78 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Such are some of the habits of the old monks 
 whom I have described as taking up their abode 
 amongst the hills and dales of Mere vale ; and thus 
 did the providence of God out of partial evil bring ; 
 forth good. And whether it w^as from remorse of; 
 conscience, or superstition, or ostentation, or real 
 piety, whether on his death-bed, or when in robust 
 health, that Robert earl of Ferrers gave — not half 
 an acre for a site, which is now thought a handsome 
 donation — but several manors, in order that the 
 Cistertian monks might offer masses for his soul, 
 and for the soul of his wife and father, — the result 
 was, that, by the blessing of God, a Christian colony 
 was formed in the midst of a wilderness, where men, 
 possessed of as much learning and knowledge as 
 existed in those days, lived peaceably together, 
 spreading civilisation and industry around, furnish- 
 ing an asylum to many a wounded spirit, food and 
 shelter to many a houseless wanderer, medicines to 
 many a sick neighbour, and affording instruction in 
 religious duties, according to the belief of the age. 
 It is not to be denied that we have been lookinop 
 
 o 
 
 on the fairest side of these monastic establishments ; 
 but it has been the fashion so contemptuously to 
 abuse them, that we may be excused for dwelling 
 a while on their virtues and their usefulness. True, 
 that great abuses crept into many of these monas- 
 teries, chiefly through their being exempted from 
 episcopal control ; but were they greater, or half so 
 great as those which existed in the same period in 
 
CH. VI. HISTORY OF MEREVALE ABBEY. 79 
 
 the baron's castle ? True, that the monks, if they 
 fell under lax discipline, were apt to get into lazy 
 and bad habits ; but were these habits more lazy 
 and bad than those of many of the well doing and 
 wealthy in the present age of comfort and luxury ? 
 Have our English gentry, who live at home at 
 ease — have the loungers at our watering-places — 
 our listless continental travellers, who desert the 
 duties of their home and station, and loiter away 
 their summers on the banks of Lake Leman, and 
 their winters in the luxurious environs of Naples — 
 nay, I would almost say, has the most indefatigable 
 man of business, who consumes his days in amassing 
 wealth for himself, — have these men any right to 
 sneer at the habits of the old monks ? I think not. 
 Of all charges, that of self-seeking and luxury is 
 brought forward against any set of men with least 
 grace by the present generation. 
 
 Before concluding the history of the monks of 
 Merevale, we must make one more extract from the 
 narrative of Father Dugaldus, relative to an event 
 which caused much trouble of mind to many succes- 
 sive abbots, and under which they suffered more or 
 less down to the time of their dissolution. 
 
 " About this time," he says (in the reign of Ed- 
 ward III.), there was a certain mansion-house for 
 devotion, given by Ralph Lord Basset of Draiton 
 unto the friars which are called Friar Heremites of 
 St. Augustine, hard by at Atherstone ; so that certain 
 of them, thrusting themselves in, began to inhabit 
 
80 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 that place, to the great annoyance of the abbot and 
 convent of Merevale ; and as it were by the example 
 of the other order, called Minors, (which, in former 
 years, at Dunstable and at St. Edmundsbury in Suf- 
 folk, had practised the like matter, contrary to the 
 wills of the abbot and convent there), they began to 
 build a great sumptuous house ; so that in the eyes 
 of the beholders such chargeable work of building, 
 so suddenly advanced by them that professed volun- 
 tary poverty, caused no small wonder. The said 
 friars, building them a church with all speed, began 
 to celebrate divine service, not once staying for any 
 license ; and so building from day to day, they ob- 
 tained great aid of such as inhabited near unto them, 
 of whom the abbot and convent of Merevale ought 
 to have the revenues, which were now converted to 
 be employed on the said friars towards their main- 
 tenance. And thus by how much the more their 
 house increased, so much the more did the abbey 
 and convent decrease in dues and offerings."^ 
 
 This was a sore subject, and often alluded to by 
 the historian of Merevale. And no w^onder ; for 
 what was it in his eyes but the erection of a dis- 
 senting chapel, and the establishment of a body of 
 sectarians ? 
 
 ^ This is HoUinslied's account of a similar institution at 
 Dunstable. 
 
CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 ^ttestion of IBi'sisolttti'on of Jltonasteries. 
 
 There is a simple plan ; — 
 That they should take who have the power, 
 t And they shall keep who can. 
 
 In the time of Henry VHI. the feeling with regard 
 to monasteries was greatly changed. In the first 
 place, there were too many of them — one fifth of 
 the soil was said to be in their possession. This, 
 however, was an exaggeration. Then, they had 
 much declined from their original strictness and 
 good order. However utterly unfounded were the 
 larger portion of the stories which were raked up 
 against them, still it is certain that the zeal and in- 
 dustry of former days had too generally departed 
 from them. 
 
 But, again, now that men began to read the Bible 
 more carefully than heretofore, it was found that 
 many practices used in the monasteries — such as the 
 worshipping at the shrines of saints either real or 
 supposed, and the offering up prayers and masses 
 for souls in purgatory, — were superstitious and un- 
 scriptural. 
 
 These things were noted by good men ; and 
 
82 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 many, like Latimer, inveighed strongly against them ; 
 while their accusations were eagerly caught at by 
 ungodly men, who were ready to scoff at holy things 
 when the restraint was removed ; and by the covet- 
 ous, who looked with a hungry eye upon the rich 
 pastures and fair estates which the monks had 
 brought into cultivation. 
 
 All w^ho have studied human nature well know 
 what different conclusions are arrived at even by 
 honest and intelligent men, whose views and princi- 
 ples are not unlike each other, but whose situations 
 are different. Latimer and Father William were 
 both conscientious men, and both in favour of a re- 
 formation of the abuses of the Church : but the for- 
 mer was a parish-priest and an university-preacher, 
 who had long accustomed himself to declaim against 
 Church-abuses ; the latter was head of an establish- 
 ment to which he was attached by long habit, and, 
 moreover, the rights of which he had sworn to de- 
 fend. This will account for the turn which their 
 conversation took. 
 
 There can be no doubt, worthy Arnold," said 
 Latimer, when the abbot had finished reading to him 
 the manuscript of Father Dugaldus, — " there can be 
 no doubt that the property of Merevale abbey be- 
 longs to it by right, as lawfully as the estates or 
 goods and chattels of laymen belong to their re- 
 spective owners. Howbeit, there are certain reasons 
 why it may not be deemed unjust to deal with it, re- 
 serving always the right of the actual holders." 
 
CH. VII. DISSOLUTION OF MONASTERIES. 
 
 83 
 
 The Ahhot. " I pray thee, what may be these 
 reasons ?" 
 
 Latimer, " First, thou knowest that the manors 
 and estates held by abbeys and monasteries are very 
 excessive ; not, as was most unjustly stated, one half 
 of the land of the country, but as much as one fifth." 
 
 A, Nay, I doubt very much whether they be 
 near what even thou sayest. Those who rob them 
 will be sorely disappointed as to the amount of their 
 plunder." 
 
 L, " In any wise, thou wilt allow that the lands 
 of the monks are the richest and most productive in 
 the realm." 
 
 A, " And what hath made them rich and pro- 
 ductive, I would fain know, but the industry of those 
 very monks, from which thou wouldst now take 
 them ?" 
 
 L, Yet it hath been deemed that the posses- 
 sions of the monks are so excessive, that a statute of 
 mortmain hath been passed in parliament, whereby 
 in future no man may lawfully bequeath estates to 
 abbeys or monasteries : and if it be lawful for par- 
 liament to prevent the increase of that which is ex- 
 cessive, it may also restrain the excess which has 
 grown up." 
 
 A, " Nay, I discern not the justice of thy conclu- 
 sion, good Latimer : it may be well to prevent such 
 bequests in future, but not lawful to take that which 
 has been already given." 
 
 Latimer knew not precisely what to answer to 
 
84 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 this position. Questions of abstract justice are not 
 much heeded by men whose minds are made up to 
 the expediency of a certain course. He went on, 
 therefore, to another topic. 
 
 Z. ''It appeareth from the documents which 
 thou hast just read, as also from those of most other 
 abbeys, that the estates were given to them for the 
 performance of services which a better knowledge of 
 Scripture shews us are not right nor holy ; I mean, 
 especially, the offering up of masses for the libera- 
 tion of souls from purgatory, the which, as thou thy- 
 self wilt agree with me, is not authorised by holy 
 Scripture, but rather repugnant to the same.^' 
 
 A, "I allow thee, that there be many things 
 heretofore done in monasteries which are super- 
 stitious and unscriptural, howbeit recognised and 
 lauded by the law and common consent when first 
 instituted. Such things I would have amended ; but 
 it appeareth not just that, for the sake of these mat- 
 ters, the foundations of pious men should be done 
 away. We should consider what they themselves 
 would have done, had they been endowed with 
 greater light, and conform, as nearly as may be, to 
 their bequest." 
 
 Z. " Well then, how knowest thou that Count 
 Robert of Ferrers, and other founders of monaste- . 
 ries, had they lived in these days, and known thatj 
 masses could not benefit them, and had been aware 
 of the need of learning in this realm, would not have 
 bequeathed their goods to so useful a business ?" 
 
CH. VII. DISSOLUTION OF MONASTERIES. 
 
 85 
 
 Here Father William, in his turn, was somewhat 
 pushed for an answer. 
 
 " Nevertheless," said he, " it is well known, and 
 indeed stated in the grant, that, besides the object 
 of praying and offering masses for the souls of the 
 founder, it was out of love and good will to the 
 order of Cistertian monks that the monastery was 
 founded; and that, besides the superstitions which 
 thou allegest, it has furnished refuge to many who 
 have been weary of the world, and promoted divers 
 beneficial objects. Is it just, then, to frustrate the 
 object of the donors, by devoting to schools what 
 was by them decreed for other purposes ?" 
 
 Latimer had no great regard to the strict adher- 
 ence to the will of the founders, though he could not 
 but admit the advantages which his friend attributed 
 to monasteries. 
 
 Z. I admit the utility of monasteries as a re- 
 fuge in troublesom.e times ; but the country is better 
 ordered than heretofore." 
 
 A. " Alas ! how knowest thou that troubles may 
 not again arise, when many shall long for the quiet 
 seclusion of the monastery ? or how knowest thou, 
 even should peaceful days succeed, whether the 
 cares and vanities of life may not so cumber the 
 souls of men, that many may be glad to pass their 
 declining years in the solitude of the cloister, rather 
 than the ceaseless turmoil of an ungodly world?" 
 
 L, Well, I would have some retained in each 
 county, which may be useful for such purposes as 
 
86 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 thou mentionest ; and, in truth, have already urged 
 Lord Cromwell on that head." 
 
 A, And dost thou look only to utility? Is it no- 
 thing that the praises of God should ascend each day 
 from so many places in the land ? Is it nothing that 
 men should devote their days and nights to the ser- 
 vice of their Maker? Is it nothino- " 
 
 Z. " Why, look you, Father William ; if monas- 
 teries were as thou so piously declarest, or w^ere they 
 all ordered as well as thine, it were a hard thing 
 to meddle with them ; neither do I judge that God 
 Himself would permit it. But thou knowest as well 
 as I, that many foul deeds are done in monasteries ; 
 and though not one half or tenth part of the ill sto- 
 ries related of them be true, yet I fear me there be 
 too many of them where God is but scantily served, 
 and where laziness, and such ill habits as laziness 
 begets, are frequent." 
 
 The abbot could not deny this charge, but only 
 urged that they should be reformed. 
 
 " Ay, that is well to speak of," said Latimer ; 
 " but men have got wild notions in their heads, and 
 I suspect thy reform will come too late. Let me 
 speak fairly with thee : a commission has been al- 
 ready appointed ; and it is resolved, as I am credibly 
 informed, that the lesser monasteries and friaries 
 shall be abolished, which it is affirmed are not so 
 well ordered as the larger." 
 
 " If it were the lesser houses only," said Father 
 William, somewhat brightening, " it might not be so 
 
ClI. VII. DISSOLUTION OF MONASTERIES. 87 
 
 bad," (his mind at the moment dwelling on his rivals, 
 the Friars Eremite of Atherstone. But a sense of 
 the injustice of the thought immediately occurred to 
 him ; and he checked it by an effort of conscience, 
 the dictates of which he had long accustomed him- 
 self to obey). " Besides," he added, ** if the smaller 
 be touched, the larger will not long escape. Once 
 break in upon the principle of the sacredness of pro- 
 perty, and no man can tell that his own is safe." 
 
 Z. " Why, as for that, the principle has already 
 been invaded by the pope himself. Thou knowest 
 that scarce ten years back he gave Wolsey a bull to 
 suppress thirty monasteries for the building of Christ 
 Church and Ipswich College ; and more lately, he 
 allowed him to appropriate the revenues of monaste- 
 ries for the founding of cathedral-churches. What is 
 now contemplated is but the following out the pope's 
 own practice : Cranmer purposes to found twenty- 
 four new bishoprics." 
 
 A, " Trust it not. There is little hope that the 
 property of monasteries, if suppressed, will be strictly 
 so applied." 
 
 Z. " Truly, it is to be feared that Cranmer is 
 over sanguine on this matter ; I would not give him 
 much for his new bishoprics or his colleges. The 
 king will not be content without a lion's share to 
 help out his wasted exchequer, which is well nigh 
 emptied. Tournaments and pageants are not main- 
 tained for naught. The Commons grudge the pay- 
 ment of taxes ; and the king is ever ready to spare 
 
88 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 them, if he can fill his exchequer any other way. 
 Besides, there be those about him who have a hawk's 
 eye for prey, and will pounce on what they can. 
 In short, worthy abbot, the times are perilous ; your 
 arguments of right and justice will not be much 
 heeded. It is full time that, as I said, thou shouldst 
 put thy house in order : I have told thee so far as I 
 know of affairs ; and though I am not like to be so 
 fond of monasteries as an abbot, yet my services 
 with the queen and Cromwell shall be used to save 
 some at least, and I hope thine will be one of them." 
 
 A, " Little hope, alas, of that. I pray God 
 I may be found prepared for what He may send, 
 watching and praying :" and with a melancholy air 
 he replaced the documents in their repository. 
 
 Such are the arguments which were employed 
 on the question of the dissolution of monasteries 
 by two honest and moderate men, whose habits of 
 thought were different ; — the one being what some 
 might call, though unjustly, a bigot, — the other an 
 utilitarian ; the one accustomed to see and admire 
 what was good, — the other prompt to detect and re- 
 move what was amiss ; the one willing to reform 
 when too late, — the other careless of destroying, in 
 his anxiety to reform. 
 
CHAPTER VIIT. 
 
 *' I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 
 
 A lady as a lily bright." 
 
 " Then do thine office, friar gray, 
 And see thou shrive her free." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Leaving Father William and his friend Latimer to 
 discuss these grave matters of Church and State, it 
 is time that we proceed to relate the adventures of 
 the other persons to whom we have already intro- 
 duced our readers. 
 
 It was at an early hour on the following morn- 
 ing — the dew was still upon the leaves and grass — 
 the sun, pouring forth his slanting ray, bathed the 
 landscape in a flood of light, yet without rendering 
 the air sultry or oppressive — all was bright, and 
 fresh, and balmy, — when a young female, with a 
 mantle thrown around her, and her face concealed 
 in a muffler, yet not so as to hide a pair of spark- 
 ling eyes, was seen issuing from a small postern- 
 door in a high garden-wall, which evidently en- 
 closed the ground of a person of some distinction. 
 The lady directed her steps to the friary church at 
 I 2 
 
90 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 Atherstone, and was at once recognised by the two 
 or three paupers stationed, as usual, at the door, 
 who hailed her with many a benediction and exclama- 
 tion of Bless you, fair Mistress Alice !" as she 
 bestowed on them her accustomed alms, not without 
 some kind inquiries, as she passed. 
 
 Entering the church, she dipped her finger in the 
 vase of holy water which stood at the door, signed 
 the cross on her forehead, then bent her knee on the 
 pavement, and crossed her hands over her bosom, 
 as she bowed reverently to the high altar which 
 stood opposite the entrance. 
 
 Passing onward, she arrived at the shrine of the 
 blessed Virgin, whose image was placed above the 
 side-altar. It was a small wooden figure of no very 
 exquisite sculpture, tricked out with gaudy robes 
 and tinsel ornaments. Six wax tapers were burning 
 before it ; and all around the small chapel in which 
 it was placed were suspended votive offerings, con- 
 sisting of waxen legs and arms, by those who sup- 
 posed themselves cured, by the help of the blessed 
 Virgin, of various wounds and maladies — crutches 
 by those who had been relieved from lameness — 
 waxen images of children of the same weight as the 
 children preserved from sickness — and pictures re- 
 presenting various disasters, by those who had been 
 saved from peril by land or by water. Here our 
 fair devotee knelt and prayed ; but how many aves, 
 and how many paters she repeated, we cannot say. 
 Proceeding onward, she came to the shrine of the 
 
CH. VIII. 
 
 THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 91 
 
 patron saint, Michael the archangel, and here com- 
 menced a new series of devotions. 
 
 While she is so engaged, we must describe the 
 other personages who occupied the church. In a 
 recess, partly resembling a sentry-box and partly 
 like an arm-chair, placed in the transept, but so ar- 
 ranged as to command a view of the interior of the 
 church, sat Friar John, with a white staff in his hand, 
 listening to the confession of one or two persons who 
 came to him for absolution. AVe have already de- 
 scribed the appearance of this personage as being 
 not of the most prepossessing character. At pre- 
 sent you might see that his mind was little fixed on 
 the duty which he was performing ; and as the vari- 
 ous penitents came to the confessional, you might 
 observe his listless demeanour, sometimes varied 
 with a slight sneer of contempt, sometimes broken 
 with a scarcely suppressed yawn, whilst he heard 
 the simple folk relating to him their various failings 
 and misdemeanours. On a sudden, however, an ex- 
 pression of more than usual interest animated his 
 face ; and he evidently disposed himself to give more 
 attention than he had hitherto deemed it necessary 
 to bestow, when the fair Alice came to the place 
 where he was seated. Kneeling with modest air, 
 the maiden proceeded to disburden her heart to the 
 minister of religion. We must not reveal the secrets 
 of the confessional; suffice it to say that Alice was 
 not dismissed so easily as the rest. The friar heard 
 with attention what she had to say ; and instead of 
 
92 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the customary formal absolution, proceeded to ques- 
 tion her with some strictness. Considerable time 
 elapsed before the confession was over ; and the fair 
 penitent rose from the ground with a flush on her 
 brow, and a tear in her eye ; and instead of depart- 
 ing at once from the church, she proceeded to tell 
 her beads for at least an hour longer before the 
 shrine of the Virgin ; and ere she departed from the 
 church, had dropped several silver pieces into the 
 alms-box of the convent. 
 
 Alice Fitzherbert had been rigidly brought up by 
 her parents in the tenets of the Church of Rome. 
 Her good and kind mother had gone to her rest 
 some years previously, surrounded with all the out- 
 ward rites of a Church to which, nevertheless, it is 
 not too much to say her spirit was superior. Ralph 
 Fitzherbert, the father of Alice, was of more worldly 
 character ; and his attachments were divided between 
 a parental love for his fair daughter, and a bigoted 
 adherence to the interests of the Church. Alice, 
 deprived of her mother's care, had been educated in 
 the nunnery of Polesworth by her aunt and god- 
 mother the abbess, who had carefully brought her 
 up in the various accomplishments of the age — 
 writing, drawing, music, needlework — to which were 
 added other branches of knowledge in which ladies 
 of the present day are less skilled, as confectionary 
 and the art of medicine, the latter of which accom- 
 plishments was eminently useful to one who devoted 
 so much time as did Alice to works of charity. It 
 
CII. VIII. 
 
 THE confessional: 
 
 93 
 
 may be supposed that the worthy abbess did not 
 forget to instruct her docile pupil in the doctrine 
 and discipline of the Romish Church ; nor is it sur- 
 prising tliat one so nurtured and educated should 
 cling with hereditary enthusiasm to the religion of 
 her fathers, and entertain somewhat of a noble and 
 virtuous indignation against those by whom her holy 
 mother was assailed, being at that time quite un- 
 conscious of her manifold corruptions and super- 
 stitions. 
 
 Notwithstanding her confession and acts of pen- 
 ance, Alice returned to her father's house, which 
 was in the outskirts of the town, and sought the 
 privacy of her own little chamber, in a more thought- 
 ful and dissatisfied state of mind than she was wont 
 to experience. The fair girl was not insensible to 
 her faults ; she knew that levity and love of admira- 
 tion were her foibles. Her conscience reproached 
 her with having yielded to these errors on the day 
 preceding, when so much honour had been given 
 her, and so many compliments lavished on her as 
 queen of the forest. She desired forgiveness, and 
 therefore sought the confessional, and humbly sued 
 for absolution according to the tenets in which she 
 had been brought up. Who could say that she was 
 wrong in unburdening her heart to one of God's 
 ministers ? And had that minister bidden her ear- 
 nestly seek forgiveness of God, and go and sin no 
 more, who can say that the deed had not been 
 blessed ? 
 
94 THE FOREST OF ARPEN. 
 
 l>iit when the holy tathov (as she had heen led 
 to think him> went on to qnestion her on odier mat- 
 ters — w lien he required her to state her feehnijs on 
 many eireunistanees oftlie foregoing day, and phiinly 
 asked her, at hist, whether she had not felt more 
 satisfaction m bestowing the prize on the heretic 
 Neville than she would have done on any other of 
 the archers, — w hen the priest, in his office of con- 
 fessor, thus required her to disclose feehngs which 
 she had not even analysed to herself, her maiden 
 delicacy was otVeuded ; and the question naturally 
 arose in her mind, whether any man, even under the 
 ijarb of religion, had a right thus to intrude into the 
 privacy of her secret thoughts. 
 
 Besides, was she sure that the friar would faith- 
 fully keep her secrets Circumstances occurred to 
 her, as she thought on this subject, which led her to 
 suspect that he had, on more than one occasion, be- 
 trayed to her father communications which she had 
 divulged under the seal of the confessional. The 
 thought had never struck her before, yet now she 
 believed she had detected the source from which her 
 father had derived information on certain subjects 
 to which he had alluded;— for though Alice was a 
 most dutiful and affectionate daughter, yet she did 
 not find that sympathy in her father which could 
 induce her, on all occasions, to open to him her 
 thoughts and views: and she had been surprised 
 sometimes to tind how accurate a knowledge he had 
 of her proceedings. When she put these things to- 
 
CH. VIII. 
 
 THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 95 
 
 gether, it is not to be wondered at, that doubts arose 
 in the mind of Alice as to the necessity of thus 
 laying the thoughts and feelings of her heart before 
 even a minister of the Church. 
 
 For a long time did the poor maiden thus ponder 
 and deliberate. It may be doubted whether she 
 had ever before sat so long in her little room, with 
 her head resting on her hand, and the tears chasing 
 each other down her cheek ; for Alice was of a 
 lively and cheerful temperament — she had not yet 
 arrived at that age when thought begins to furrow 
 the brow and sadden the countenance. By degrees, 
 however, her natural disposition regained the ascen- 
 dency ; she began to turn her mind to her daily 
 occupation, and bethought her to descend into her 
 favourite flower-garden, and seek her father, whom 
 she had little doubt that she should find pacing to 
 and fro in the shade of the chestnut-walk, as was his 
 ordinary habit previously to his mid-day meal. 
 
 Leaving her own apartment, she went down into 
 the hall, and passed out into the garden in search of 
 her father. As she went forth, her eye discerned 
 the form of a person just leaving the garden by a 
 side-door, whom, from his dress and figure, she knew 
 to be Friar John. 
 
 Her former suspicions again returned forcibly 
 at this discovery, but did not stop her progress. 
 She entered the chestnut-walk, where she expected 
 to find her father ; and there she found him, but not 
 alone : he had with him the Lord of Badsley. The 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 two gentlemen were engaged in eager conversadon ; 
 andilice would have retreated, .f she could have 
 done so unobserved, but this she was not able to 
 
 '"■"Oifford first, and then her ^f^^^^^^ 
 and came instantly forward to salute her, the. ser. 
 ous air giving way to one of cheerfu courtesy 
 
 « Here comes our queen of the forest, sa.d her 
 father " you must explain to her, Clifford how . 
 haprened that you did not acquit yourself better at 
 
 ^'^^Stdt:amomentloo.edve.ed;buU^^^^^ 
 only for a moment. He at once addressed Ahce on 
 the subject; made very light of his defeat, so far 
 
 ^himself was concerned ; spoke handsome y of h. 
 
 onnonent ; assured Alice that though not her Master 
 
 Forr. yet he was her devoted servant, and hoped 
 
 vet to win her favour. 
 
 ' llice was not displeased with his --tesy • and 
 the conversation soon became animated,- Chtio. d 
 lecoming ardent and elated when fo-nd U.t h 
 was not discouraged, and Al.ce gratified by his at 
 Tention, and but half aware of the feeling by which. 
 Tlis Dart, it was dictated. 
 
 Afte rather long visit, Clifford was just abou 
 to take his departure, when a servant approached 
 r: I the larden, dressed in the livery of t e 
 Neville family, and hearing in his hand a packet 
 Ich, bending one knee, he -pectfuUy ^ced n 
 the hands of Alice. The letter was endorsed, tor 
 
CH. VIII. THE CONFESSIONAL. y' 
 
 the hands of my right-loving friend Mistress Alice 
 Fitzherbert." Alice broke the thread which bound 
 it, and read as follows : 
 
 Gentle Mistress Alice, 
 
 After my hearty commendation, this cometh to 
 advertise you, that but for the inconvenient heat of the 
 day, it was my purpose to have offered you in person 
 my congratulations on the honours which have befallen 
 one so worthy to receive them. I pray your goodness 
 to accept my apologies ; and hope that this may find 
 yourself and your worshipful father at liberty on this 
 day week to partake of our poor cheer at dinner, at 
 half an hour after noon. 
 
 Maurice would have been the bearer of this message, 
 but is summoned to the assize at Warwick, where he 
 is like to be detained the best part of the week. 
 
 I am your loving friend, 
 
 Margaret Neville. 
 Given from Bentley Manor, this 25th day of August. 
 
 Alice handed the letter to her father, whose 
 brow became clouded as he perused it ; and it is 
 probable he would have found some excuse to de- 
 cline the invitation, but he observed that Clifford had 
 received a similar epistle. This altered the case ; 
 and he gave his daughter leave to answer the invita- 
 tion in the affirmative. 
 
 As the writing a letter was an aflfair of rather 
 more labour than it is at present, Alice, having re- 
 ceived the desired permission, withdrew to her bou- 
 doir for the important duty ; and after an interval 
 
 K 
 
98 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 of about half an hour, her waiting-maid descended 
 to the servants' hall with an epistle neatly folded 
 up, and bound round by a silken thread, which she 
 placed in the hands of Dame Margaret's servant. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 At mete was she well ytaughte withalle ; 
 
 She lette no morsel from hire lippes falle, 
 
 Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe ; 
 
 Wei coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, 
 
 Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest ; 
 
 In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest. 
 
 Hire overlippe wiped she so clene, 
 
 That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene 
 
 Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 At the time of which we are writing, the people of 
 England had for many years been exempt from the 
 scourge of serious civil commotions. The union of 
 the houses of York and Lancaster, by the marriage 
 of Henry VII. with the Princess Elizabeth, had put 
 an end to a source of strife which had long devas- 
 tated the land. Henry VIIL, during the first part 
 of his reign, had maintained internal tranquillity ; 
 and though the seeds of future mischief were widely 
 sown, and bitterness of spirit was beginning to pre- 
 vail, yet the intercourse between neighbours was not 
 yet interrupted by the demon of civil strife. 
 
 During these years of comparative peace society 
 had undergone important changes. The greater part 
 of the old nobility had perished in the wars, their 
 
100 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 estates had changed hands, and the feudal habits 
 of the middle ages were beginning to be gradually 
 blended with the customs of more modern days. 
 The armed knight was seen only at the pageant or 
 tourney ; the immense properties of the old barons 
 were becoming subdivided ; and a race of country 
 gentlemen were springing up, who have since, for a 
 long time, formed perhaps the principal and most 
 influential branch of English society. Instead of the 
 baronial castle, a more modest and unassuming resi- 
 dence was beginning to be common in the country : 
 those who formerly dwelt for safety within the pre- 
 cincts of the town, were building manor-houses in 
 the midst of their estates ; yet these were still often 
 surrounded by the deep moat, or the garden or 
 court-yard which encompassed them was guarded 
 by tower and bastion. 
 
 Maurice and Robert Neville were the sons of an 
 English gentleman who had married a relative of 
 Hugh Latimer's, and had, a few years since, left his 
 wife a widow with her two sons, then about passing 
 from youth to manhood. Maurice, the elder, was of 
 enthusiastic temperament, grave and thoughtful, of 
 deep feeling, and of keen sensibility. Robert, the 
 younger, of at least equal ability and strength of 
 mind°with his brother, was of a more bright and 
 cheerful character. Both were ardently attached to 
 their mother ; and she, on her part, was sincerely 
 thankful to God when she looked upon her two pro- 
 mising sons. 
 
CH. IX. DINNER-TARTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 101 
 
 According to the frequent custom of those days, 
 Robert had been sent for his education to the abbey 
 of Merevale, though without any view to his being 
 a member of the fraternity. Father Wilham had 
 been so much pleased with his good disposition, as 
 well as aptitude for learning, that he had taken him 
 under his especial care, and given him instruction in 
 much valuable knowledge. When he came to the 
 proper age, the worthy abbot had sent him with an 
 exhibition from the abbey to complete his education 
 at Cambridge. Here Robert had seen a good deal 
 of his kinsman, Hugh Latimer ; and had often, with 
 pleasure as well as profit, attended his preaching. 
 Nevertheless, his studies under the abbot, and his 
 early association with the monastic life, exhibited as 
 it was at Merevale under favourable circumstances, 
 kept him back from that violent spirit of animosity 
 against the Church of Rome which was adopted by 
 many of the young students of the day, and has con- 
 tinued down to the present time ; often, it is to be 
 feared, more from impatience of control, or from 
 sceptical opinions, than from any rational conviction 
 of the superiority of the reformed faith. Though 
 sincerely anxious for the reformation of the Church, 
 no one would have grieved more than Robert Neville 
 at its subversion. His brother also had adopted the 
 principles of the reformed faith ; but from different 
 education, and more excitable temperament, he was 
 far from being so wise and temperate as Robert. 
 Dame Margaret Neville, a pious and contented lady, 
 K 2 
 
102 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 had been led, by the conversation of her sons, to 
 discern the errors of Rome ; though, with a timidity 
 natural to her age and sex, she shrunk from the 
 violent measures which she feared were hastening 
 upon the country. 
 
 Having made our readers acquainted with the 
 members of this worthy family, we must now give 
 them some description of their residence and manner 
 of life. Bentley Manor was a good substantial house, 
 constructed, as most of the houses in Warwickshire 
 at that time were, principally of strong oak beams, 
 and the outline broken by a variety of gables and 
 one or two massive chimneys, which gave it a most 
 picturesque appearance, as well as that comfortable 
 look which belongs to English homes. It was sur- 
 rounded by a moat, or, more properly speaking, 
 a large sunk fence and low wall ; which, though 
 quite insufficient to repel a band of soldiers, was a 
 tolerable protection against any irregular attack by 
 thieves and depredators. The corners of the enclo- 
 sure were guarded, or rather ornamented, by small 
 towers, and a handsome gateway occupied the centre. 
 It stood in a beautiful glade, just within the verge of 
 the woodland ; sheltered from the north by an emi- 
 nence crowned with oaks, and overlooking a pleasant 
 valley towards the south-east. 
 
 A little before the hour appointed, the guests 
 began to arrive. Latimer and Robert Neville walked 
 over by themselves from the abbey, which was less 
 than a mile distant ; the abbot, from fear of scandal. 
 
CII. IX. DINNER-TARTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 103 
 
 having tnade a rule to decline partaking of the hos- 
 pitality of his neighbours. Hugh Fitzherbert came 
 up at a stately pace on his iron grey steed, his 
 daughter sitting behind him on a pillion, that being 
 the usual mode of travelling in an age when there 
 were very few carriages of any sort, and still fewer 
 roads which could be traversed with safety. Marma- 
 duke Clifford, handsomely dressed and well mounted, 
 rode by their side, conversing gaily with Alice, and 
 both seemed in excellent spirits. 
 
 As Alice alighted at the gate, Robert Neville ad- 
 vanced with a mock deference, and addressed her : 
 
 " Most noble queen, allow your faithful subjects 
 and woodmen to welcome your grace at this their 
 humble habitation, and to offer their bounden service 
 and homage to their liege lady." 
 
 Maurice caught the idea of his lively brother ; 
 and the two youths bending on one knee performed 
 their due obeisance. Alice gave her hands to each 
 of the young men : 
 
 " We greet you well, fair sirs, and worthy wood- 
 men of our forest," said she. " And for you, our 
 master forester, we trust you have well performed our 
 commands, to preserve safely the precious charge 
 which we have committed to your keeping." 
 
 Maurice assured her he had performed that, and 
 would perform every other command which she 
 should lay upon him ; and in so saying, expressed 
 himself with a warmth which shewed that if his bro- 
 ther spoke in jest, he at least was in earnest. 
 
104 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 After due civilities the Dame Margaret led Alice 
 with her to her apartment, to disrobe herself of her 
 riding-costume ; while the rest of the party, having 
 loitered a while in the garden, ascended the flight of 
 steps, and adjourned, for the sake of coolness, into 
 the hall. 
 
 It should be observed, that in those days there 
 was great lack, especially in-doors, of those refine- 
 ments and luxuries which are now so common. 
 Henry VIII. had set the fashion of a most lavish 
 expenditure in dress; and his courtiers, following 
 his example, were often tricked out in the most 
 sumptuous and magnificent apparel; while their 
 homes were not supplied with the comforts, or what 
 we should consider even the necessaries, of life. 
 
 While the domestics are employed in serving up 
 the dinner, we will take the opportunity of briefly 
 describing the apartment in which it was spread, 
 with its accompaniments and decoration. Dame 
 Margaret Neville, like many other widow ladies, 
 was a little fastidious with regard to the proprieties 
 of social life ; and, as her entertainments were nat 
 frequent, she made a point of having every thing in 
 the best order ; so that we must take her household 
 and establishment as a favourable specimen of the 
 style of the day. 
 
 The hall in which the table was spread was 
 tolerably spacious, and rather long in proportion to 
 its width ; one end of it was occupied by a staircase, 
 which led into the upper parts of the house, and was 
 
CH. IX. DINNER-PARTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 105 
 
 guarded, not by open balusters, but by solid walls 
 or parapets. The roof was open-work of carved 
 oak, the beams being arched, and resting on sculp- 
 tured corbels. The end opposite to the staircase 
 was adorned by a piece of handsome tapestry, re- 
 presenting a stag at bay, which had cost the good 
 lady of Bentley many years of diligent labour : other 
 portions of the wall were ornamented with pieces of 
 old armour, and swords and bucklers, bows and 
 arrows, tastefully arranged in various devices ; and 
 in the centre was a magnificent pair of antlers, from 
 one of the branches of which hung the silver bugle 
 which on the preceding day had been presented to 
 Maurice by the queen of the forest. But the greater 
 portion of the wall was covered with hangings of 
 green say or baize, which the taste of the good lady 
 had relieved, according to the custom of the day, 
 with stripes of red — giving the hangings, one would 
 think, something of the appearance of a horse-cloth. 
 
 This sombre furniture, though in winter it must 
 have looked gloomy, w^as not unpleasing to the eye 
 on entering from the glare of summer noonday. The 
 length of the side opposite the door was relieved 
 also by the spacious chimney, occupied, as there was 
 no fire, by shining andirons, or dogs, on which in 
 winter rested the blazing wood, but which were now 
 adorned with a profusion of green boughs and flowers. 
 On the opposite side of the room was a projecting 
 bay-window, in which was a carved table of cypress- 
 wood. In one respect the care of Dame Margaret 
 
106 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 was conspicuous ; for whereas in many houses of that 
 age the halls were strewed with grass or rushes, 
 which were suffered to remain so long that they be- 
 came Httle better than the litter in a stable, the floor 
 of the hall in Bentley Manor was laid with tiles of 
 different colours, beautifully polished ; and the part 
 occupied by the table was spread with clean mats of 
 rushes. 
 
 The descent of Dame Neville and Mistress Alice 
 from the upper apartments into the hall was the 
 signal for dinner to commence. 
 
 The dinner-table itself, or as it might most pro- 
 perly be called the hospitable board, was literally a 
 long narrow tablet formed of oak-planks, and placed 
 on tressels, or movable legs. This was the ordi- 
 nary dinner-table of the day. But the mistress of 
 Bentley was more fortunate than her neighbours in 
 possessing some very handsome pieces of damask 
 naperie, which her eldest son had brought with him 
 as a present from Flanders. These, being spread 
 on the table, served to cover the bare boards, and 
 conceal the homely nature of the table itself, — a 
 fashion which it has been found convenient to revive 
 in more modern days. We must not forget to men- 
 tion the seats w^hich were placed for the guests. 
 There were two richly carved Flemish chairs ; one 
 of which was occupied by the good dame, who sat 
 at the top of the table ; the other, placed at her right 
 hand, was appropriated to Hugh Latimer, as the 
 most dignified person in company. The rest of the 
 
CH. IX. CINNER-PARTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 107 
 
 party sat on very plain oaken chairs, with straight 
 backs, which, inconvenient as they may appear to 
 us, were at that time a luxurious substitute for the 
 joint stools of former generations. 
 
 The repast itself was such as might have satis- 
 fied even a modern gourmand. There was a dish 
 of very fine carp, stewed with black sauce ; a prime 
 haunch of venison, with frumenty ; capons, quails ; 
 and divers smaller dishes, such as jellies, and va- 
 rious preparations of cream and milk; all these, 
 garnished with rosemary and other sweet herbs, 
 were placed in a single row down the middle of the 
 table, which was much too narrow for side or corner 
 dishes, — so narrow, indeed, that the guests could not 
 sit exactly opposite each other without the danger of 
 treading on one another's toes. 
 
 Dame Margaret had brought out for the occasion 
 her richest plate, which consisted of several massive 
 pots and flagons. These were filled with various 
 beverages, as metheglin; bracket, a preparation of 
 ale with honey ; and, instead of the ippocras, or 
 mulled wine, which was the favourite beverage, the 
 good lady had judiciously chosen, on account of the 
 heat of the weather, to substitute a cool preparation 
 of mortified claret. The ladies, when they required 
 to drink, received a portion from the pots or flagons 
 in small silver cups, while the male portion of the 
 company drank from the pots themselves. On the 
 whole, my readers will be disposed to think that 
 Dame Margaret's dinner was not to be despised. 
 
108 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 There was, however, one serious drawback, which 
 to modern ears, will sound extraordinary-i^cj/ had 
 no forks. Perhaps it will be supposed that we mean 
 no silver forks; a deficiency which (till w.th.n the 
 last century) might perhaps have been not unfre- 
 quentlv mei with in the houses of country gentle- 
 men. "But, no-they had no forks at all; kmves 
 they had, with tolerably broad points, and spoons; 
 but forks were not then invented. How Maur.ce 
 Neville managed to carve that delicate slice of veni- 
 son which he is just sending to the fa,r Alice or 
 how the voung lady is to convey it to her mouth, I 
 can no m"ore explain, than I could tell how a Chinese 
 can eat his dinner of rice with two little sticks about 
 the size of knitting-pins. If my readers draw the 
 conclusion that Alice F.tzherbert must have eaten 
 her dinner in a very ungenteel manner, I can only 
 assure them that she chd no worse than the accom- 
 plislied Anne Boleyn, or the stately Catherine of 
 
 Arrason herself. 
 
 Dame Margaret did not think it necessary to 
 have a second course served up-it was not custo- 
 marv : but, as a sort of substitute (or perhaps rather 
 it m'av have been the origin of second courses), when 
 the v'enison was removed, a serving-man brought up 
 from the kitchen a broach, or spit on which were a 
 brace of partridges, hot from the fire. These were 
 banded round on the spit to the company m succes- 
 sion, who helped themselves as they telt disposed. 
 It may be supposed, that with a young lady so 
 
CH. IX. DINNER-PARTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 109 
 
 lively as Alice, so determined a story-teller as Lati- 
 mer, a young Cantab in the height of youthful spirits, 
 and the rest of the party pleasantly disposed, the 
 conversation did not flag. The only drawback (and 
 it is often a serious drawback on such occasions) 
 was, that there was a difference of political feeling 
 amongst the company, so that it was necessary to 
 be cautious in avoiding debatable ground, — a cau- 
 tion, however, which it is not always very easy to 
 remember. 
 
 " They tell me, worthy Mr. Latimer," said AHce, 
 that you have been lately at court, and are well 
 known to her gracious majesty Queen Anne.'*' 
 
 " I have had the privilege of seeing and convers- 
 ing with her grace." 
 
 Pray, tell us something about her," said Alice ; 
 we country folks love to hear a little court-news, 
 even when it is but second or third hand ; but when 
 it comes from one who has so lately been in the pre- 
 sence of royalty itself, we may well be excused for 
 being somewhat curious." 
 
 " If you inquire, fair lady, of her grace's wit and 
 virtues, believe me they are such as England may 
 well be proud of in her queen. And she hath a 
 sound discretion in matters of weight, though her 
 outward demeanour be somewhat marked with 
 levity." 
 
 Alice saw that in this sally there was a little sati- 
 rical allusion to herself ; though, of course, she could 
 
 L 
 
110 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 not appropriate the blame, widiout claiming the com- 
 pliment also. 
 
 There were others of the party who did not quite 
 like the praise of queen Anne Boleyn. 
 
 Methinks," said Clifford, " her virtue would 
 have been more conspicuous, had she declined the 
 addresses of the king, at least till he had been di- 
 vorced from his former wife." 
 
 **Nay, good sir; to my certain knowledge, the 
 question of divorce was agitated before the lady 
 Anne Boleyn had come from France, or had even 
 seen the king ; therefore she had as little to do with 
 it as you or I." 
 
 Alice perceived that she had introduced a dan- 
 gerous subject; and with a view to correct her mis- 
 take, and get away from it as soon as possible, she 
 exclaimed, with vivacity, — 
 
 But tell me, sir, is she as fair as she is vir- 
 tuous ? they say she has six fingers on one hand!" 
 
 " I never saw but five,, and those on as deUcate a 
 hand as"— ?/owr cjim, l^e was going to say, but checked 
 himself, as not wishing to feed the young lady's vanity. 
 
 And what is the fashion of her dress ? how 
 weareth she her head-tire ?" 
 
 " Nay, fair Mistress Alice, how thinkest thou an 
 old preacher like Hugh Latimer has taste to note a 
 lady's head-gear ?" 
 
 ''True, sir; the mind of so learned a clerk, no 
 doubt, is more set on tithes or Easter-dues." 
 
CH. IX. DINNER-PAKTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. Ill 
 
 " Or," said Clifford, a court-chaplain would 
 deem his attention best given to abbacies and bi- 
 shoprics." 
 
 These words in themselves might have passed 
 for innocent raillery, but taken with the preceding, 
 and judged by the tone, they contained a good deal 
 of bitterness. 
 
 He who coveteth an abbey in these days," 
 said Latimer, " coveteth but a precarious honour ; 
 and a bishopric, fair sir, is like to be no bed of 
 roses." 
 
 Fortunately, at the moment. Dame Margaret sig- 
 nified to the waiting-men to remove the dishes. The 
 fragments of the feast were taken away, the cloths 
 conveyed from the table, and the various liquors 
 again placed on it. After which, the servants 
 brought baskets of pears, filberts, plums, together 
 with cheese and butter. 
 
 This break in the conversation prevented the 
 continuance of a subject which might have interfered 
 with the conviviality of the day ; and things went on 
 quite pleasantly. 
 
 During this time Maurice Neville was prevented 
 from paying any close attention to Alice by the dis- 
 tance at which they sat from each other, as well as 
 by the duties which devolved on him as master of 
 the feast. Marmaduke Clifford, on the other hand, 
 who was next to her, lost no opportunity of winning 
 her favour ; and it was evident that Alice listened 
 to him with pleasure. He was, in truth, a man of 
 
112 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 handsome and graceful carriage, well versed in all 
 the courtesies which are apt to win ladies' esteem, 
 and in wealth and station superior to his neigh- 
 bours. All these things were in CHfford's favour, 
 and he failed not to make the most of them ; so that 
 we must not wonder if the favourable impression 
 made on Alice's heart on the day of the ^Yardmote, 
 by the skill of the master forester, and the distinc- 
 tion which fell on him, and forced him to exert his 
 powers to the utmost, was on the present occasion 
 considerably effaced by the attention of the hand- 
 some Lord of Badsley, when contrasted with ]\Iau- 
 rice's grave and subdued demeanour. We must 
 remember that Alice, though amiable, good, and 
 high-minded, was very young, and, if the truth 
 must be confessed, a little giddy and open to flat- 
 tery,— a fault soon detected by the keen eye of La- 
 timer. 
 
 As soon as grace after meat had been said, 
 Maurice Neville arose, and with a courteous, though 
 bashful air, proposed a toast, which, he said, they 
 were all bound, as loyal subjects and honest wood- 
 men, to drink,— Queen of the Forest. 
 
 There was no want of alacrity, as may be sup- 
 posed, in responding to this invitation. Each of the 
 guests pledged the fair AUce in a cup of wine, with 
 such compliment as they deemed fit. Latimer, in 
 accordance with the manners of the age, spoke, as in 
 his clerical capacity, with somewhat of seriousness. 
 
 " Suffer me, fair queen," said he, " to pledge you 
 
CH. IX. DINNER-PARTY IN SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 113 
 
 in til is Clip of wine. May tlic briglit prospects of 
 your life be never darkened by clouds : may you 
 be wise as witty, virtuous as fair : may a good Pro- 
 dence protect and guide you ; and when you are 
 called, according to the common lot of humanity, to 
 drink the cup of sorrow, may it be for your greater 
 joy. Fair maiden, I drink with hearty sincerity 
 to your health and happiness." 
 
 The serious yet cheerful honesty of this ad- 
 dress, and the paternal tone in which it was de- 
 livered, was deeply felt by the kind-hearted Alice ; 
 a tear started for a moment in her eye, but she soon 
 recovered herself sufficiently to respond to the com- 
 pliments conferred on her, in the usual way, by 
 pledging the company in return. 
 
 The gentle reproof, however, conveyed in Lati- 
 mer's words sunk deep into her heart. It cost her 
 another long fit of meditation in her little room when 
 she returned home, and often recurred in after-life 
 through many days of chequered fortune ; yes, it 
 remained fixed in her memory, as will be seen, at 
 the last hour of existence. 
 
 The sincere and warm-hearted Latimer having 
 thus seasonably raised the tone of thought, and di- 
 rected it to a profitable channel, did not deem it 
 necessary to continue in so grave a mood, but soon 
 returned to his usual cheerful converse. 
 
 We need not record the remaining incidents of 
 the day. Suffice it to say, that to all but one — that 
 was Maurice Neville — it passed off happily. Poor 
 L 2 
 
114 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Maurice could not bear to see Alice listening with 
 complacency to the attention and compliments of his 
 rival ; and he was of that serious and sensitive tem- 
 per, that he was unable to rally during the whole of 
 the evening, and quite incapable of assuming a gaiety 
 which he did not feel. 
 
 Latimer and Robert returned early to the abbey, 
 where the former found a messenger awaiting him 
 with an important errand, which shall be delivered 
 in the next chapter. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 I am fearful :— wherefore frowns he thus ? 
 'Tis his aspect of terror : all's not well. 
 
 K: Henry. Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, 
 And am right sorry to repeat what follows : 
 I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
 Heard many grievous — I do say, my lord. 
 Grievous — complaints of you. 
 
 Shakspeare, K. Henry Fill. 
 
 The person who awaited Latimer's return to the 
 abbey was no other than a king's messenger, who 
 had just arrived, post-haste from London, with the 
 royal command that Latimer should, without delay, 
 repair to the court. The worthy reformer received 
 the message with surprise, and not without some 
 apprehension. When he had left London the pro- 
 spects of the Reformation were fair, and the influence 
 of his friend and patron. Queen Anne Boleyn, pre- 
 dominant. But how soon the fickle monarch might 
 change his line of policy, or be guided by some new 
 impulse, was beyond the calculation even of those 
 who knew him best. Latimer, however, prepared, 
 as in duty bound, for departure. 
 
 The arrangements were soon made ; and Latimer 
 set off the next morning at break of day, after hearty 
 
116 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 farewells exchanged with his friend the abbot, and 
 not without some serious misCTivino;s as to what might 
 befall them all before their next meeting. 
 
 Travelling on horseback, and by very bad roads, 
 it was not until the end of the third day after his de- 
 parture that Latimer arrived in London. His first 
 business was to inquire where the king then resided ; 
 and finding that he was at the palace at Westminster, 
 he repaired thither at an hour before noon on the 
 follow^ing day, and signified his arrival, in obedience 
 to the kincr's command. After waiting some while, 
 he was conducted by a yeoman of the guard through 
 a side-passage, and found himself in the royal gar- 
 dens, opening upon the bosom of the Thames, which 
 even then bore on its waves considerable signs of 
 wealth and traffic. Passincr onward throuorh a num- 
 ber of walks and alleys, he heard at a short distance 
 from him sounds of mirth proceeding from an alcove 
 in which he knew that the kino- was wont to sit with 
 his fair consort. The hearty laugh of Henry was 
 23re-eminent above the rest. Turning an angle in 
 the walk, Latimer came in front of the alcove, and 
 found himself in the presence of the king, with Anne 
 Boleyn (his queen), Archbishop Cranmer, and Dr. 
 Butts the queen's physician. Henry was then in 
 his forty-fifth year, and still retained much of the 
 manly dignity and prepossessing appearance which 
 in his youth had won for him the hearty good will 
 of his people ; but his figure was beginning to yield 
 to corpulency, and the lines betokening evil tempers 
 
ClI. X. INTERVIEW WITH THE KING AND QUEEN. 117 
 
 were already making tliemselves visible in his coun- 
 tenance, though not so much yet as to spoil its noble 
 and courteous expression. Queen Anne Boleyn was 
 in the full blaze of fascinating beauty, and a mirthful 
 archness played about her beautiful lips. Beside 
 them stood Archbishop Cranmer, the principal in- 
 strument of God in the reformation of His Church ; 
 one to whom, perhaps more than to any other, we 
 owe all that was justly and moderately done in that 
 great change, though the same temper which led him 
 to act with moderation, was the occasion also of his 
 too much yielding in some respects to expediency, 
 and deferring to the judgment of others less worthy 
 than himself. In appearance, he shewed a plain 
 exterior, a mild and unassuming dignity of manners, 
 betokening a humble and peaceable disposition, and 
 a generous, charitable, and honest heart. The whole 
 party was evidently in high good humour ; but the 
 king, as he saw Latimer approach, put on a very 
 fierce countenance, though not quite so fierce as Lati- 
 mer had sometimes seen him wear. 
 
 " Ha, Master Latimer," said the king sternly, 
 " 'tis well thou art come. Nay, stand back, man," 
 he continued, as Latimer was about to kneel and 
 kiss his hand, according to his wont ; we have heavy 
 charges against thee, which it will be fit that thou 
 shouldst answer, in order that we may know how to 
 dispose of thee." 
 
 " So please your majesty," said Latimer, not 
 without some alarm, as he well knew the king's ca- 
 
118 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 pricious temper, I trust I am prepared to answer 
 whatsoever may be laid to my charge." 
 
 We shall see : there are some old scores against 
 thee, as well as others more recent. It is reported 
 to me that thou hast much corrupted the youth of 
 the realm, and especially the students at our Uni- 
 versity of Cambridge, by preaching unto them strange 
 and novel doctrines, whereby many have been per- 
 verted from the ancient ways." 
 
 " Let me beg your majesty to believe, that never, 
 to my knowledge, have 1 preached aught save the 
 old and true doctrine of the Bible, and such as was 
 collected therefrom by holy fathers and doctors of 
 the earliest time." 
 
 We are informed that thou goest up and down 
 the country without authority, mispersuading the 
 country folk ; and especially, that in our good county 
 of Warwickshire thou hast been causing brawls and 
 disturbances. What answer canst thou make to 
 this ?" 
 
 " As respects the charge of preaching without 
 authority, I am much belied to your majesty, seeing 
 that I have been duly licensed to preach by the Uni- 
 versity, and also by the Cardinal Wolsey ; and as to 
 brawling, I can assure your grace, that I was but 
 lately the instrument of preventing a brawl, which, 
 but for my interference, might have proceeded to 
 extreme lengths." 
 
 " Lastly, and principally, we are informed that 
 thou hast brought holy men into contempt, friars, 
 
CH. X. INTERVIEW WITH THE KING AND QUEEN. 119 
 
 and others, godly persons, and hast said much evil 
 of monasteries and other places dedicated to reli- 
 gion. Is it true, Master Latimer, that thou hast thus 
 transgressed ?" 
 
 Now Latimer knew full well that the king was 
 no friend of the monastic orders ; nay, as we have 
 seen, he had good reason to be aware that he was 
 even then meditating some device against them. 
 Therefore he was the more persuaded that the accu- 
 sations brought against him by the king w^ere not 
 serious. Nevertheless, knowing the character of 
 Henry, he spoke cautiously. 
 
 It is true, may it please your majesty, that I 
 have made bold to rebuke in my sermons the vices 
 into which it is but too well known that some of the 
 religious houses have fallen ; nevertheless, I have 
 never, that I am aware of, spoken disrespectfully of 
 the institutions themselves ; nay, I know one monas- 
 tery, that is the abbey of Merevale, which is right 
 well ordered, and worthy of high commendation." 
 
 Latimer thought that he had thus adroitly put in 
 a good word for his excellent friend Father William. 
 The king, however, was evidently more pleased with 
 the former part of his speech than the latter, though 
 he shewed it not by his words. 
 
 " And art thou resolved, Master Latimer, to con- 
 tinue in these courses of thine ? Take heed that thou 
 speakest advisedly. Beware lest I direct the arch- 
 bishop here to take cognizance of thy offences." 
 
 Latimer was again much puzzled by the king's 
 
120 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 manner, but resolved to speak openly and sin- 
 cerely. 
 
 " So please your majesty, I have been ordained 
 to preach the word of God, and minister in the sa- 
 craments of the Church, and the burden has been 
 laid on me according to my poor ability to do my 
 heavenly Master's will. In all things not contrary 
 to my commission, I am bound to obey my lawful 
 sovereign ; but I must not cease, even at his com- 
 mand, whether in season or out of season, to preach 
 the word which Christ hath given me." 
 
 At this apparent disrespect for his royal authority, 
 the king's countenance appeared to assume a darker 
 hue ;— for even in his best mood, Henry could ill 
 brook any thing like opposition. 
 
 " How, sirrah !" said he, " dost thou, who art a 
 court-chaplain, appointed to preach in the royal pre- 
 sence, thus dare to justify thyself?" 
 
 " I never thought myself worthy," said Latimer, 
 with respectful firmness, " nor I never sued to be a 
 preacher before your grace ; and am most willing, if 
 you mislike me, to give place to my betters ; yea, if 
 it be your grace's pleasure, I could be content to 
 bear their books after them, or to become a hewer of 
 wood and drawer of water. But so long as I remain 
 a preacher, whether at court or elsewhere, I would 
 humbly beseech your grace to give me leave to dis- 
 charge my conscience, and frame my doctrine accord- 
 ing to the word of God." 
 
 At this moment the queen thought it time to 
 
CH. X. INTERVIEW WITH THE KING AND QUEEN. 121 
 
 interpose, and graciously addressed her royal consort 
 in behalf of the bold Latimer. 
 
 May it please your majesty to allow one, who 
 has the highest regard for your authority, to plead 
 in behalf of Master Hugh Latimer, — a man who, 
 though somewhat bold of speech, is endowed with a 
 true and honest heart." 
 
 " But what sayest thou of his doctrine ? are we 
 not to inhibit him from spreading novelties amongst 
 the people ?" 
 
 " Nay, my lord, I myself will be his guarantee 
 that he shall speak nothing contrary to the true doc- 
 trine of our holy religion. Nay, I know thou wilt 
 pardon him. — Master Latimer, kneel down and re- 
 ceive his highness's forgiveness." 
 
 Latimer knelt down as he was bid; when the 
 king addressed him as follows, — " At the suit of this 
 fair lady we give you our royal pardon ; but, seeing 
 that thou art resolved to continue in thy present 
 courses, and to preach what thou deemest the word 
 of God, without let or hinderance, it is needful that 
 we, in virtue of our undoubted supremacy, and in 
 conjunction with my lord the archbishop, do assign 
 you a penance. It is therefore our royal will and 
 pleasure to appoint you to the bishopric of Worces- 
 ter, now vacant. And we desire you, my lord arch- 
 bishop, if you find him meet for the office of bishop, 
 to take order for his due consecration." 
 
 At this unexpected announcement, Latimer kissed 
 the king's hand with a good deal more of cordiality 
 
 M 
 
122 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 than he had been prepared to do, and then made his 
 respectful acknowledgments to the queen. 
 
 " Good Master Latimer," said Anne Boleyn, 
 smiling, or as I would fain call you by anticipation, 
 my lord of Worcester, we trust you will pardon this 
 harmless frolic, however not altogether suited to the 
 gravity of the occasion ; but we remember, worthy 
 sir, that you yourself are too fond of a jest to war- 
 rant that you should be ofFended with one in others/' 
 
 Latimer, who had expected to be at least com- 
 mitted to the Tower, was far too much pleased at 
 having escaped scot free from the capricious humours 
 of his royal master, to quarrel with the mode of his 
 deliverance. 
 
 Dr. Butts, who knew more about the matter than 
 perhaps any, having been the principal agent in re- 
 commending his friend Latimer to Anne Boleyn, and 
 so to the king, now stepped forward and offered his 
 hearty good wishes. Nor was the archbishop back- 
 ward in expressing his high satisfaction at the event; 
 and, in congratulating Latimer on his appointment, 
 he congratulated himself also in having so zealous 
 and able a fellow-labourer in the Lord's vineyard. 
 
 It is all very fine," said Latimer to the arch- 
 bishop, as they left the royal presence together,—" it 
 is all very fine to have a bishopric, and to be called 
 my lord, and so forth ; but I do confess my heart even 
 now begins to misgive me, when I think of the burden 
 and responsibility, and I know not whether I would 
 not as lief remain a poor preacher." 
 
CH. X. INTERVIEW WITH THE KING AND QUEEN. 123 
 
 ** Nay," said the archbishop, " be not down- 
 hearted at the distinction which God, in His provi- 
 dence, hath conferred on you. That the office of 
 bishop, especially in the present time, is arduous and 
 doubtful, none is less disposed to deny than myself. 
 Nevertheless, doubt not that God giveth grace to 
 every man according to his need ; and if thou, with 
 a true heart, givest thyself to His service, He will 
 enable thee to perform it aright." 
 
 Thus did the worthy prelate fortify his brother 
 against the trials which he well knew were likely 
 to come upon him. And oftentimes, in their after- 
 course, did these two good men take counsel to- 
 gether, and help each other forward through the 
 difficult paths in which it was their lot to walk. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Surrentrer of t!)e ^btie^. 
 
 Threats come which no suhmission may assuage, 
 No sacrifice avert, no power dispute : 
 The tapers shall be quenched, the belfries mute. 
 And 'mid the choirs, unroofed by selfish rage, 
 The warbling wren shall find a leafy cage. 
 The gadding bramble hang her purple fruit. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 As our story is designed to embrace the whole pe- 
 riod of the Reformation, we must not linger too long 
 on the way, but proceed to relate summarily certain 
 circumstances which are important to help forward 
 our narrative. 
 
 The first to which we must allude is the disso- 
 lution of the monasteries,— an event which, as La- 
 timer had predicted, came very speedily to pass. 
 There can be no doubt that this was a violent and un- 
 justifiable act of spoliation. It may be very true that 
 the interests of the Reformation were in some respects 
 forwarded by it ; but we may not do evil that good 
 may come : and it is much to be questioned whether 
 a wiser and more temperate government might not 
 have corrected the abuses of the conventual bodies, 
 or perhaps, with their ow^n consent, have engrafted 
 on them institutions more congenial with the wants 
 
CH. XI. 
 
 SURRENDER OF THE ABBEY. 
 
 125 
 
 of the Church and nation, without being guilty of 
 that unjust spoliation, which, at the time, was pro- 
 ductive of the most violent commotions, and from 
 the effects of which the Church has never yet re- 
 covered. 
 
 However, the destruction of the monasteries had 
 been resolved on by the unscrupulous Henry and his 
 pliant government. The most unfounded and con- 
 tradictory charges were brought against them. On 
 the one hand, the monks were accused of " living 
 swinishly and idly, instead of following honest arts 
 and occupations, that might turn to the commodity 
 and maintenance of the common weal." On the 
 other hand, " the commons of the nether house" 
 complained " that priests, contrary to their order, 
 used the occupying of fermes, granges, and pasture 
 for grazing cattle ; and that abbots, priors, and 
 others of the cleargie, kept tanne-houses, and bought 
 and sold wolle, cloth, and other merchandises, as 
 the common merchants of the temporality did." Do 
 what they would, these unhappy monks, like the 
 lamb in the fable, were sure to be wrong. The bait 
 held out to the conscientious reformers was the 
 foundation of new bishoprics, colleges, and diocesan 
 schools. The commons were won by the promise 
 that thenceforth there would be no need of aids, 
 subsidies, fifteenths, and other imposts — " that the 
 king's exchequer should be for ever enriched, the 
 kingdom and the nobility strengthened and increased, 
 the common subjects acquitted and freed from all 
 
126 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 former service and taxes : and that the abbots, 
 monks, friars, and nuns, being suppressed, in their 
 places should be created forty earls, sixty barons, 
 three thousand knights, and forty thousand soldiers, 
 with skilful captains, and competent maintenance for 
 all for ever." 
 
 By these promises, not one of which was ever 
 performed, the king prepared the way for the con- 
 fiscation of the monastic property. The smaller 
 monasteries fell first, as being the weakest, the most 
 friendly to the pope, and the most open to blame. 
 Their houses and lands were seized, and their mem- 
 bers distributed amongst the great and honourable 
 monasteries of the realm, where, thanks be to God 
 (such were the words of the act), religion is well 
 kept and observed." And yet scarcely two years 
 had passed before the same fate befell the larger 
 monasteries, and all were swallowed up in one gene- 
 ral confiscation. 
 
 Having briefly adverted to the general progress 
 of events in this great revolution of property, we 
 must now relate the fortunes of those religious 
 houses the inmates of which are connected with our 
 story. 
 
 There was no great difficulty in discovering 
 charges of sufficient magnitude against the Friars 
 Eremite of Atherstone, to induce the visitors to turn 
 them out at once, without ceremony, amongst the 
 first. The different members of the fraternity were 
 encouraged to accuse their superiors, and inform 
 
CH. XI. SURRENDKR OF THE ABBEY. 127 
 
 against each other's delinquencies, and many very 
 discreditable proceedings were brought to light. 
 There was one exposure made of their deceptions 
 which excited general odium against them, and 
 caused them to fall without pity. On the rood-loft 
 — a sort of gallery which ran across the church be- 
 tween the chancel and nave — was an image of St. 
 Michael, the patron saint, before which the country 
 people used to fall down and worship. This image 
 was believed to be possessed of miraculous powers, 
 for it had been seen on several occasions to move 
 its lips and its eyes, and even to wag its head. 
 It was remarkable that these manifestations were 
 vouchsafed only to those who made pretty hand- 
 some offerings ; if the donation were more than 
 usually liberal, the image would shake its head 
 most merrily. When Lord Cromwell's agents ar- 
 rived, they made very short work of it; for though 
 the image remained sternly immovable in their pre- 
 sence, yet having heard of its performances, they 
 took the liberty of looking behind the scenes, and 
 found, as might have been expected, suflQcient space 
 for a mian to stand behind the image, and various 
 wires and pulleys by which its movements had been 
 effected : these they carefully exposed to the public 
 gaze, hanging up the image with its back open in 
 front of the church ; and as people do not like to 
 know that they have been taken in, great indigna- 
 tion was excited against the Friars Eremites, and 
 little pity was wasted on them when they were 
 
128 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 turned out of their nest. The chapel and other 
 buildmgs were dismantled, and the site and circuit 
 of the house, with a dovecote, barn, orchard, and 
 two messuages, which stood upon the land belong- 
 ing to the friars, were granted by the king to one 
 Henry Cartwright and his son, to hold by the thirtieth 
 part of a knight's fee. This Henry Cartwright ap- 
 pears to have been one of the jobbers of the time, 
 and to have made the purchase only on speculation ; 
 for in the same year he sold it to a person named 
 Hill, from whom it passed to Sir John Repington, 
 knight, who, having bought the manor, built upon 
 the ruins of the friary a fair house of brick. Such 
 was the fate of the Friars Eremite and their esta- 
 blishment. 
 
 The people thus debarred from their usual place 
 of worship directed their attention more than here- 
 tofore to the adjoining monastery of Merevale, where 
 no such imposture was suspected, and the abbot was 
 well known as an upright, pious, and conscientious 
 man. And very general concern was excited when, 
 after the lapse of some time, it was known that 
 the abbey also was to be suppressed. Great was 
 the grief and alarm of the poor Cistertians, when it 
 w^as intimated to them that the king would be well 
 pleased if they would turn out of their monastery, 
 and resign their estates into his hands. Some of the 
 more hot-headed amongst them were for resisting to 
 the utmost, and setting the visitors at defiance ; even 
 the more sober asked, with indignation, what crimes 
 
CII. XI. SURRENDER OF THE ABBEY. 129 
 
 they had committed, for which they were to be ex- 
 pelled from their homes. But the worthy abbot, 
 being a man of sound judgment, and of that true 
 Christian spirit which resisteth not evil, used his in- 
 fluence with the convent to induce them to submit 
 peaceably to what was inevitable. He reminded some 
 of them of the abuses which had been proved to exist 
 in other monasteries, and which reflected discredit 
 on all ; others he told of the cruel fate of the monks 
 of the Charter-house, and of the summary punish- 
 ment which had been inflicted on those of Glaston- 
 bury, two of whom, with their abbot, a man of great 
 consideration, had been drawn from Wells on a 
 hurdle, and hanged as traitors on the top of the hill 
 of Tor, and their heads set on the abbey-gate. The 
 better amongst them he appealed to on the ground of 
 the duty of submission even to unjust oppression, 
 and the difficulty, if they resisted, of keeping clear 
 from the rebellious spirit which had sprung up in 
 the realm. By these and other arguments he in- 
 duced them to consent to follow the example of their 
 brethren at other monasteries, and give up peaceable 
 possession of their property, rather than have it taken 
 from them by force. Latimer had already made in- 
 effectual efforts to preserve the abbey ; and, though 
 his influence was insufficient to obtain this boon, he 
 had been able to procure for them favourable terms 
 in comparison with those on which other monasteries 
 had been surrendered. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart and sorrowful spirit 
 
130 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 that Father WilHam summoned the last chapter of 
 his convent. The chapter-house was an ancient 
 building, of early English architecture, opening into 
 the cloisters, and hghted by beautiful lancet win- 
 dows, which were ornamented with stained glass, and 
 emblazoned with arms of several of the founders and 
 benefactors of the abbey ; some of whom, as a mark 
 of especial honour, lay buried beneath the floor. 
 The abbot sat on a chair, or throne, which was raised 
 above the rest; the monks, according to their order, 
 were placed on benches, or stalls ; and all the lay 
 brethren and servants had been admitted on this last 
 solemn occasion. After the religious service with 
 which the business of the chapter always com- 
 menced, the abbot proceeded, amidst breathless si- 
 lence, to give them his last parting^ exhortation. 
 
 For thirty years," he said, he had lived amongst 
 them ; first as a brother, afterwards as their supe- 
 rior ; and during that time he had endeavoured con- 
 scientiously to perform his duties both to them and 
 to God. He hoped that none could accuse him of 
 aught amiss ["None — none!" they all exclaimed]. 
 If any thing approaching to undue severity or strict- 
 ness had ever been exercised by him, he now ear- 
 nestly sought their pardon, and hoped that they 
 should part as Christian friends. He, for his part, 
 freely offered his sincere testimony to the pious and 
 orderly behaviour of his brethren. He had hoped 
 that their good conduct, and freedom from abuses, 
 would have saved them from molestation and ruin, 
 
CH. XI. 
 
 SURRENDER OF THE ABBEY. 
 
 131 
 
 and that they sliould have been permitted to serve 
 their God in quiet ; but since it had seemed good to 
 their rulers to order their removal, it was their duty, 
 as well as their interest, to submit." He then gave 
 them his last solemn benediction, praying God to 
 have mercy on them, and enable them to serve 
 Him faithfully amidst the dangers of the world, as 
 they had done within those hallowed v/alls. 
 
 Scarcely was his benediction over, when the 
 sound of horsehoofs was heard coming across the 
 causeway, and it was announced that the commis- 
 sioners, with their attendants, were approaching the 
 abbey-gate. Father William immediately ordered the 
 gate to be flung open, and despatched the sub-prior 
 and cellarer, with two other monks, to receive the 
 visitors, and conduct them into the chapter-house. 
 The heavy clanging tread of the horsemen and their 
 armed attendants, walking with irreverent steps 
 through the cloisters, broke harshly on the solemn 
 silence. But this irreverence, grating as it was to 
 the feelings of the peaceful monks, was not followed 
 by any unnecessary insult. The principal commis- 
 sioner was a man of business, who had his duties to 
 perform, and was not disposed to execute them with 
 more harshness than could be avoided ; besides, he 
 well knew that the Abbot of Merevale was a personal 
 friend of Latimer, who was high in esteem at court. 
 On entering, therefore, the chapter-house, he bowed 
 respectfully to the abbot, and, without much further 
 ceremony, desired his secretary to open a tin case, 
 
132 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 which he placed on the table, and read the document 
 therein enclosed. It declared that the king was well 
 satisfied to accept from the abbot and convent of 
 Merevale the resignation of their property, and had 
 been pleased to assign them for their maintenance 
 certain pensions, which were specified. As soon as 
 the document was read, the abbot descended from 
 his throne, on which he was never more to sit, and, 
 after affixing his name to the deed of resignation, 
 with a sad yet dignified demeanour placed the con- 
 vent seal and keys in the hands of the commis- 
 sioner, thus rendering to him possession of the 
 abbey. 
 
 But it was not destined that the surrender of the 
 abbey should take place quite so peaceably as the 
 worthy abbot desired. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Zf^^ Mmxxtttion, 
 
 A ragged multitude 
 Of hinds and peasants. 
 
 We'll devise a means 
 To reconcile you all unto the king. 
 
 Shakspeare, King Henry VI. 
 
 At the moment when the abbot was delivering pos- 
 session of the monastery to the commissioner, a loud 
 shouting, as of an approaching multitude of people, 
 was heard on the outside of the monastery. The 
 monks rose up in consternation — the commissioner 
 spoke apart with the leader of his small band, who 
 departed immediately to secure the gates of the 
 abbey against intruders. 
 
 Scarcely was this act of precaution taken, when 
 the open space in front of the abbey was occupied 
 by a large body of men, headed by several persons 
 on horseback, amongst whom Marmaduke Clifford 
 and Ralph Fitzherbert were conspicuous. 
 
 The advancing crowd was not altogether a tu- 
 multuous assemblage, but was marshalled in some 
 order, and formidably armed, some with pikes, others 
 with bills and bows. The greater part were evidently 
 countrymen from the surrounding district ; but there 
 
 N 
 
134 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 were also strangers amongst them. A rude crucifix, 
 or representation of our Lord upon the cross, was 
 borne aloft ; and a banner, on which was depicted a 
 chalice with the five wounds of Christ ; and many 
 of the people had on their sleeves the same emblem 
 embroidered. 
 
 The formidable assemblage appeared to increase 
 every moment ; fresh men continually pouring from 
 the forest, until there could not be fewer than several 
 thousands gathered on the spot. 
 
 The tide of popular feeling in the country had 
 already turned in favour of the monasteries. The 
 multitudes of friars and monks who had been ex- 
 pelled from their homes excited the commiseration 
 of the people, who saw their houses destroyed, and 
 their property violently taken from them. The 
 poor, no longer relieved with alms at the convent- 
 gate, began to have a fellow-feeling with the ejected 
 monks ; and the tenants of the monasteries com- 
 plained bitterly of their rents being raised by the 
 rapacious courtiers into whose hands the estates had 
 fallen. Many also of the nobility and gentry, whose 
 ancestors had founded the religious houses, were in- 
 dignant at seeing these institutions diverted from the 
 founders' intention, and placed in other hands. 
 
 When the public mind is agitated, there will 
 never be wanting restless men who are glad to avail 
 themselves of the excitement, and to foment the dis- 
 satisfaction of the people. The pope's adherents 
 were busy throughout the country. Vague rumours 
 
CH. XII. 
 
 THE INSURRECTION. 
 
 135 
 
 and prophecies were industriously spread amongst 
 the superstitious people. One Peto, an observan- 
 tine friar, declared publicly, that dogs should lick 
 the king's blood, as they had licked Ahab's ; another 
 prophesied, that if the king and lords did not mend 
 their condition before midsummer, one horse of ten- 
 pence price should be able to bear all the noble 
 blood in England. Thus a revolutionary spirit was 
 spread among the people, which had already broken 
 out into violence in various parts of England. 
 
 The rumours of the intended suppression of 
 Mere vale Abbey had spread great dissatisfaction in 
 the country around ; for the abbot was much re- 
 spected, and the character of the house was unim- 
 peachable. The circumstance, therefore, was seized 
 on by those who wished to create a disturbance; 
 though it was not very easy to determine what pre- 
 cise object they proposed to themselves, beyond the 
 causing disaffection against the government, or raising 
 eventually such an insurrection as might oblige the 
 king to alter his policy in favour of the Reformation. 
 
 Ralph Fitzherbert and Marmaduke Clifford had 
 been persuaded by Friar John to lead the insurrec- 
 tionary movement ; the former having again yielded 
 himself to his direction, notwithstanding the impos- 
 tures with which he had been connected ; and Clif- 
 ford worked on by the promises of the wily friar that 
 he would secure for him immediate possession of 
 the hand of the fair Alice. 
 
136 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 It may be questioned why Friar John should 
 interest himself in any movement in favour of the 
 Abbot of Merevale ; but, though active amongst the 
 people, he was only the tool of others more designing 
 even than himself, who kept aloof in the back-ground, 
 themselves partly abetting the designs ot the pope, 
 and partly using the pope's name and authority to 
 forward their own schemes and interests. Thus 
 always in politics there are a multitude of wheels 
 within wheels, counter-checking and co-operating 
 with each other ; while the prime mover is no indi- 
 vidual human agent, but the combination of human 
 power and feeling, either guided by the direct pro- 
 vidence of God, or permitted, for His good purposes, 
 to exercise an influence in the affairs of men. 
 
 The insurgents — for so in truth they were — found 
 themselves for the moment baffled by the closing ot 
 the monastery-gates, and their leaders loudly de- 
 manded admittance. They were answered by the 
 voice of the commissioner, who appeared at one of 
 the upper windows. 
 
 Who are ye that come in this tumultuous man- 
 ner, disturbing the king's peace ?" 
 
 Clifford, having consulted with the friar, an- 
 swered. We are friends of the Abbot of Merevale, 
 and have come to protect him and his property from 
 robbers and oppressors." 
 
 " Be it known to you," said the commissioner, 
 that the abbey, with its appurtenances, is the pro- 
 
ClI. XII. 
 
 THE INSURRECTION. 
 
 137 
 
 perty of his highness the king. Beware how ye 
 meddle with the king's rights, and incur the penalty 
 of treason." 
 
 By what right," demanded Clifford, " is this 
 property vested in the king ?" 
 
 By virtue of this instrument," said the com- 
 missioner, exhibiting a parchment scroll, " whereby 
 the abbot hath voluntarily surrendered it ; and I, 
 in the king's name, have received possession, and 
 hereby warn you against incurring the rigour of the 
 law by any act of violence or insurrection." 
 
 Clifford and Fitzherbert began to be alarmed by 
 the bold bearing of the commissioner, and were at a 
 loss what to reply ; but the friar came to their assist- 
 ance. If the abbot hath yielded possession to the 
 king, let him look to it. He hath no right to make 
 away the property of the Church. Burst open the 
 doors, my men ; and let us annul the unrighteous 
 deed !" 
 
 " Beware, beware," said the commissioner, rais- 
 ing his hand. " Take heed, good people, how you 
 meddle in the matter. Be sure that treason will 
 not prosper. Have ye not heard of the fate of Dr. 
 Mackrel, prior of Barling, otherwise called Captain 
 Cobler, and Aske of Lincolnshire, and other traitors, 
 who were hanged and quartered? Be sure that 
 treason will be suppressed. Beware lest I order 
 my archers to draw upon you." 
 
 Fear him not," said the leader ; he has but 
 half a score of bows and bills with him. Remember 
 N 2 
 
138 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 the righteous cause — tlie Church and king — the 
 king the friend of all his people. It is no treason 
 aorainst the kino; to seek to remove from him the 
 evil counsellors with which he is surrounded, and to 
 purify the nobility of baseborn persons who have 
 too much power ; nay, rather it were a good service. 
 Have ye not heard how that evil counsellors have 
 advised the king to call in all the gold to be brought 
 into the Tower to be touched, and to seize on all the 
 cattle which are unmarked ; and to melt down the 
 chalices and ornaments of your churches ; and levy 
 money on all christenings, weddings, and buryings ; 
 and tax every one for a license to eat white meat, 
 bread, pigs, geese, or capons ? [Such were the ridi- 
 culous reports and tales which were spread among 
 the people, to excite them against the king, or rather 
 against his government.] No, my friends ; let us 
 petition his grace to banish from him all such trai- 
 tors, and be sure we shall receive his thanks : and, 
 first, let us turn out these knaves, who have taken 
 possession of the monastery; and if they seek to 
 prevent us, let us batter down the gates." 
 
 So saying, he again encouraged the men to pro- 
 ceed in their attack. The banner was lifted up — a 
 shout was raised — and the insurgents were preparing 
 to take the monastery by assault ; but before they 
 could effect their purpose, a great commotion and a 
 struo;CTle was heard within the buildincr itself. The 
 commissioner hastily withdrew from the window ; 
 and in a few moments the abbey-door was flung 
 
CH. XII. 
 
 THE INSURRECTION. 
 
 139 
 
 open from within. The truth was, that Friar John, 
 with his usual craft, had availed himself of the op- 
 portunity, while the chiefs were parleying in front, 
 to despatch secretly a chosen body of the insurgents 
 to the back-gate of the abbey, who had obtained 
 admittance through the connivance of the monks, 
 and, rushing in, had easily overpowered the half- 
 score attendants of the commissioner. Indeed, he 
 himself, seeing the impossibility of resistance, and 
 well knowing that it would only serve to irritate the 
 mob, and cause bloodshed, had ordered his men to 
 yield themselves. The insurgents were thus in full 
 possession of the monastery, which some of the more 
 riotous were not indisposed to pillage, though they 
 came as friends. Others, still more violent, would 
 have taken severe measures against the commis- 
 sioner, who, with the abbot and monks, had removed 
 from the chapter-house into the open space enclosed 
 by the cloisters, and was endeavouring to calm the 
 irritation of the successful insurgents. 
 
 Friar John, who had been the chief instigator of 
 the people, was now rather desirous to restrain than 
 excite them further. 
 
 " Friends," said he, " the good cause has so far 
 triumphed. Ye have now an opportunity of shewing 
 that ye are actuated by no desire of plunder or blood- 
 shed. Let no one hurt or harm the head of one of 
 the king's servants. But let us proceed to business. 
 What we demand, in the first instance, is, that the 
 
140 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 deed of conveyance be annulled, and that the abbot 
 be again placed in his just rights. 
 
 The commissioner, well knowing that the mere 
 destruction or revocation of the instrument could 
 have no effect, at once produced it, and delivered 
 it up. 
 
 " This," said he, " is the instrument of resigna- 
 tion, which here, before you all, I place in the hands 
 of the Abbot of Merevale." 
 
 The abbot, thus appealed to, came forward, and 
 addressed the people. " Good people, hear me. 
 Though it is in my behalf that ye have come hither, 
 I grieve that you should have acted in this tumul- 
 tuous manner. What are those ensigns which ye 
 bear on your banner ? Are they not the emblems of 
 the crucified Saviour, whose servants we are ? Let 
 us call to mind the sufferings and persecution which 
 He endured for our salvation, and the example which 
 He set us to follow ; and remember how the saints 
 and apostles were contented to take patiently the 
 spoiling of their goods. And shall we, the servants, 
 expect better things than our Lord and Master? 
 Moreover, my friends, look well to yourselves, if 
 you have regard for my counsel. Be assured that 
 no good will come of resisting the king's authority." 
 
 The abbot's character for wisdom and piety was 
 well known, and his authority and admonition began 
 to have its influence on the multitude. Perceiving 
 the effect of his speech, the good father proceeded : 
 
CH. XII. 
 
 THE INSURRECTION'. 
 
 141 
 
 My advice is, that ye draw up a petition, contain- 
 ing a statement of your grievances ; and I would 
 request this worthy gentleman, who I must say hath 
 executed his task with kindness and consideration, 
 to present your petition to the king. I may safely 
 pledge myself that the king will not insist on rob- 
 bing you of your gold, or imposing taxation in those 
 matters which you mislike. With respect to his 
 consenting to restore the monasteries, I am not so 
 sure ; but that is my affair, rather than yours. As 
 to you, my friends and neighbours, Masters Clifford 
 and Fitzherbert, I would seriously counsel you to 
 weigh well the words of the commissioner, and con- 
 sider the fate of Aske, and other leaders of the in- 
 surrection in the north. More I need not say : only 
 I beseech you to dismiss these people quietly to their 
 homes ; which if ye will do, I may venture to say that 
 this worthy gentleman (the commissioner) will keep 
 a prudent silence, or, at the least, report favourably 
 of this affair." 
 
 The two leaders, who throughout the riot had 
 acted rather by the instigation of the friar than their 
 own impulse, began to think more seriously of the 
 business, and to wish that they were well out of it ; 
 and though the friar still sought to fan the flames, 
 his single voice w^as not able to prevail against the 
 general feeling. 
 
 Accordingly the abbot's advice was taken ; pens, 
 ink, and parchment, were speedily provided in the 
 chapter-house ; and many an honest mark was affixed 
 
142 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 to the petition ; after which the people were per- 
 suaded to depart to their homes, though not before 
 some of them had drunk the king's health in the 
 convent ale, and emptied the larder of the good 
 cheer provided for the commissioner. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The sacred book, 
 In dusty sequestration wrapp'd too long, 
 Assumes the accents of our native tongue ; 
 And he who guides the plough or wields the crook 
 With understanding spirit now may look 
 Upon her records. 
 
 But passions spread like plagues ; and thousands, wild 
 With bigotry, shall tread the offering 
 Beneath their feet; detested and defiled. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 It was not of course the intention of Father William 
 to avail himself of the forcible recovery of his deed 
 of resignation, or to attempt to retain possession of 
 the abbey, which had been surrendered to the king. 
 The day, however, being far spent, he remained for 
 the night at Merevale, and prepared to take his de~ 
 parture on the morrow. 
 
 Disrobed of his monastic costume, and attended 
 by a single servant, the ex-abbot set out the next 
 morning from the abbey, and rode slowly through 
 the forest, with the feelings of a man whose habits of 
 life have been suddenly broken in upon, and who 
 is forced to commence a new and untried course. 
 Though feeling himself unjustly treated, yet he har- 
 
144 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 boured no resentment against those who had driven 
 him from his home. His calm and equable mind 
 resigned itself at once to the will of God; and he 
 went forth with the determination to serve Him 
 faithfully in whatever station it should be His will 
 to place him. 
 
 On his way, he made a passing visit at Bentley 
 Manor, in order say farewell to his worthy neigh- 
 bours before he left the country. Poor Mistress 
 Margaret was in sad alarm on account of the un- 
 settled state of the country and the rioting of the 
 preceding day — the more so because both her sons 
 were absent from home ; Robert being at Cambridge, 
 where he had gone to take his master's degree in 
 arts ; and Maurice having suddenly left the country 
 and gone to the Continent, without explaining the 
 cause of his departure to his anxious mother. After 
 a kind farewell, the abbot proceeded on his w^ay. 
 
 The first place at which he rested was the 
 Two Virgins, in Kenilworth. Leaving his horse in 
 the care of his attendant, he directed his steps . by 
 a natural impulse, before entering the inn, to the 
 church which was hard by, with the pious wish of 
 joining in that sacred service which had been so 
 long the daily business of his life. 
 
 On entering the church, a scene presented itself 
 which to his eyes was rather unusual. In the side- 
 aisle near the door stood a desk on a slight elevation, 
 and on this a massive Bible was fixed by an iron 
 chain : a good number of people were gathered 
 
cn. XIII. 
 
 THE WORD UNSEALED. 
 
 145 
 
 around, one of wliom was engaged in reading with 
 an audible voice, the rest listening with attention. 
 Master Arnold (for so we must now call the ex- 
 abbot) immediately took his seat amongst the group, 
 not at all displeased with their occupation, though he 
 observed with dissatisfaction a certain irreverence in 
 the tone in which the holy book was read, and the 
 careless postures in which the listeners were disposed. 
 After a while the reader was tired, and resigned his 
 place to a sour-featured man, who began to read in 
 a still more irreverent and disagreeable tone. 
 
 He had not proceeded far, before a single bell 
 rang for the daily prayers, and the officiating priest 
 entered the church from the vestry ; but perceiving 
 the reader still continuing his occupation, he said 
 with courtesy, as he passed, I must now beg of you, 
 good master, to desist for a while from your reading, 
 since the hour is arrived for the service of prayer ; 
 and I rejoice to see so goodly a congregation." 
 
 Why, how now, Master Mumble-matins ?" said 
 the reader, in a contemptuous tone ; " thinkest thou 
 we have come here to listen to thy canting service, 
 when we can draw for ourselves from the cistern of 
 living water ?" 
 
 My friend," said the priest calmly, " let every 
 thing be done in due order. Thou hast done a good 
 work in reading God's word to the people ; and now 
 is the time to offer up prayers, in order to beseech 
 God's blessing upon ourselves and His word." 
 
 I tell thee, Sir Priest," said the other, with a 
 o 
 
146 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 dogged air, " the king hath given orders that the 
 Bible shall be read in all churches ; and I will read 
 it in spite of thee or any of thy brother shavelings. 
 They who choose to listen to thy anti-Christian 
 mummery may do as they please ; and I shall do 
 as I please." 
 
 So saying, this humble - minded Christian con- 
 tinued to read in even a louder voice than before ; 
 while Master Arnold, much wondering in his mind, 
 accompanied the priest towards the altar, to join in 
 the service of prayer. The church being but a 
 small one, the greatest inconvenience arose from the 
 sound of the two voices occupied in different ways ; 
 and the good ex-abbot was much scandalised by the 
 irreverent exhibition, so different from the solemn 
 unison with which the choir at Mere vale had been 
 used to chant the sacred service. 
 
 The prayers being over, Arnold departed imme- 
 diately from the church, and returned to the hostelry, 
 in order to take some refreshment before proceeding 
 on his journey : but here his feelings were destined 
 to undergo another severe shock. On entering the 
 guests'-room, which was tolerably filled, he found 
 two persons engaged in a violent and angry alterca- 
 tion. One, who had the stronger voice and firmer 
 nerve, was laying down his opinion in a dogmatical 
 tone ; while the other, with the vexed and petulant 
 air of a disputant who has the worst of the argument 
 from his own unskilfulness, was unsuccessfully seek- 
 ing opportunity to retort the biting words of his 
 
CH. XIII. 
 
 THE WORD UNSEALED. 
 
 147 
 
 opponent. On the table before tliem were cups 
 and flagons ; and it was evident, from their flushed 
 cheeks and heated brows, that both had been drink- 
 ing more than enough. Several of the other guests 
 were gathered round them, hstening to their eager 
 dispute, and taking part with one or the other, ac- 
 cording to their respective views and sentiments. 
 
 Talk not to me," said the one, '*ofthy con- 
 secrated fonts and holy water. I tell thee, thou 
 mightest just as well christen thy child in a tub of 
 water at home, or in a ditch by the way, as a font 
 at the church. What is a font but a vessel to hold 
 water ? And, for the matter of that, what is a church 
 but a building to keep folks from rain while they 
 listen to the preaching of the word? And all your 
 singing of masses, and matins, and evensong, what 
 is it but roaring, howling, whisthng, conjuring, mum- 
 ming, and juggling ?" 
 
 The poor man to whom all this was addressed, in 
 vain endeavoured to put in a word of rejoinder. 
 
 " And what is she whom you papists call the 
 Holy Virgin Mary ? w^hy, no better than another 
 W'oman : and if she was once, she is now dead and 
 gone, and like a bag of saffron or pepper when the 
 spice is outo And the mass itself, what is it but" 
 
 Here the speaker went on to utter words re- 
 specting the holy sacrament which w^e will not ven- 
 ture to transcribe. Deeply indeed was the worthy 
 abbot moved when he heard the holiest mysteries of 
 the Christian faith — mysteries which lie hid in the 
 
148 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 bottomless depth of the wisdom and glory of God, 
 and to which our human imbecility cannot attain — 
 handled thus irreverently; names uttered in angry 
 invective at which every knee should bow ; and the 
 sacred word of God quoted by men whose spirit was 
 full of strife and bitterness. 
 
 " Sirs, sirs," said he, unable to restrain his feel- 
 ings, let me beseech you to cease this altercation. 
 Such holy mysteries were not revealed to be the 
 subjects of angry strife, but to be thought on and 
 spoken of with becoming reverence. Let me intreat 
 you, in the name of Him whose servants we all are, 
 to cease to speak of them thus rudely." 
 
 This was said in a tone which arrested the atten- 
 tion of the disputants ; but they were not in a mood 
 to benefit by the pious counsel. 
 
 Ha," said one of them, " who art thou ? Who 
 made thee a ruler and a judge over us ? Some shavel- 
 ing monk, I warrant, turned out of his nest to get an 
 honest livelihood, instead of battening in idleness." 
 
 " And if he be a monk," said the other, availing 
 himself of the momentary pause, I doubt not he is 
 an honest man— better, any how, than a heretic like 
 thee." 
 
 Heretic, forsooth !" said the first ; " I'll teach 
 thee to call one of thy betters a heretic :" and with 
 that he took up an empty flagon by the handle, and 
 would have hurled it at his opponent's head, had not 
 Arnold arrested his arm, and perhaps saved the other 
 from some serious injury. 
 
CH. XIII. 
 
 THE WORD UNSEALED. 
 
 149 
 
 But tliougli he thus prevented a deed of violence, 
 lie was unable to cut short the strife of words ; and, 
 after another unsuccessful appeal, he resolved to 
 leave a scene which so much outraged his feelings. 
 As he left the room, he observed a man sitting by 
 himself at a table, who had taken no part in the dis- 
 pute, but whose sharp eyes glistened with delight at 
 the altercation, much in the same way as the sports- 
 man will enjoy a cockfight, or a battle between two 
 dogs. This interesting person Arnold recognised as 
 Friar John ; but was not disposed to claim acquaint- 
 ance with his former neighbour. However, the friar 
 did not suffer him to depart without a word. 
 
 " This is rare sport, most worthy Ab — or rather, 
 I should say, good Master Arnold : only let them 
 alone to cut each others' throats, and honest men 
 will get their rights again." 
 
 The abbot heeded not the appeal of Friar John ; 
 but, hastily leaving the apartment, was soon mounted 
 on his horse, whose repose and refreshment had not 
 been interfered with as his master's. 
 
 " And is this indeed the fruit of opening the 
 word of God to the people ?" said the good abbot to 
 himself, as he rode slowly on his way. " Alas, alas ! 
 is it not to throw pearls before swine, and to dese- 
 crate the holiest things of God ? And yet, but for 
 the unsealing of the Scripture, how would men have 
 learnt to purify the corruption of the Church ?" 
 
 Thus did the worthy man ponder on the scene 
 which he had witnessed ; and it is a subject on which 
 o 2 
 
150 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 we may well reflect with dismay, when we consider 
 how the wickedness of man has abused the choicest 
 gifts of God. 
 
 We justly hail the unsealing of the word of God 
 as an inestimable boon. *' There is nothing," as our 
 homily expresseth it, " that so much strengtheneth 
 our faith and trust in God, that so much keepeth up 
 innocency and pureness of the heart, and also of out- 
 ward godly life and conversation, as continual read- 
 ing and recording of [or meditating on] God's word. 
 .... The effect and virtue of God's word is to 
 illuminate the ignorant, and to give more light unto 
 them that faithfully and dihgently read it ; to com- 
 fort their hearts, and to encourage them to perform 
 that which of God is commanded. It teacheth pa- 
 tience in all adversity, in prosperity humbleness ; 
 what honour is due to God, what mercy and charity 
 
 to our neighbour And in reading God's word, 
 
 he most profiteth not always that is most ready in 
 turning of the book, or in saying of it without the book ; 
 but he that is most turned into it — that is most in- 
 spired witli the Holy Ghost, most in heart and life 
 altered and changed into that thing which he readeth ; 
 he that is daily less and less proud, less wrathful, 
 less covetous, less desirous of worldly and vain plea- 
 sures ; he that daily (forsaking his old vicious life) 
 increaseth in virtue more and more." The written 
 word is also the legitimate check which God has 
 provided for the prevention of error in His Church : 
 it is the standard to which every thing must be 
 
CII. XIII. 
 
 THE WORD UNSEALED. 
 
 151 
 
 brought. And when the I>ible was once fairly 
 opened, tlie maintenance of the Reformation was 
 secured. No one can contemplate, without a smile 
 of satisfaction, the spectacle of the eagerness with 
 which the people would gather round the sacred 
 volume chained to a desk at Paul's Cross and other 
 stations, and listen with deep interest, as one after the 
 other read in an audible voice from the word so long 
 neglected. Many elderly persons are said to have 
 learned to read for the express purpose of studying 
 the sacred volume. All this was as it should be. 
 But when men began to talk over the most sacred 
 mysteries of the faith at taverns and ale-houses, and 
 quarrel over their cups about the holiest doctrines 
 of religion, and slander and malign each other for 
 their differences of opinion, — we see in all this the 
 natural consequence of the publication of these awful 
 truths to carnal and profane men. Nay, even many 
 sincere but unstable persons, flattered by the appeal 
 v/hich was made to their own private judgment con- 
 cerning the doctrines of the faith, ran into wild ex- 
 travagances, and the most fantastic heresies sprung up. 
 King Henry was astonished at the result of the pub- 
 lication of the word of God : — It w^as much con- 
 trary to his highness's expectations." Had they not 
 the Bible to go to ?" he said : whence, then, this 
 diversity of opinion ? How was it that they did not 
 all understand it rightly ? [that is, as he himself un- 
 derstood it.] How was it that perverse men should 
 wrest and interpret holy Scripture to divers senses 
 
152 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 and meanings, and untruly allege the same to sub- 
 vert and overturn as well the sacraments of holy 
 Church, as the power and authority of princes and 
 magistrates, and in effect generally all laws and 
 common justice, and the good and laudable ordi- 
 nances and ceremonies most necessary and conveni- 
 ent to be used and continued ? His intent and hope 
 was, that they that would read the Scripture would 
 do so with meekness, and will to accomplish the 
 effect of it, and not maintain erroneous opinions, and 
 arrocrantlv dispute one with another, whereby was 
 likely to follow sedition, dissension, and tumult, not 
 onlv to their own confusion, but also to the disturb- 
 ance, and, in likehhood, to the destruction of the 
 rest of his true and well-beloved subjects. He de- 
 clared that the devil, who ceaseth not to vex the 
 world, had attempted to return into his house, which 
 had been purged and cleansed, with seven worse 
 spirits ; and that, superstition and hypocrisy being 
 excluded and put away, there had entered into his 
 people's hearts an inclination to sinister understand- 
 ing of Scripture — presumption, arrogance, carnal 
 liberty, and contentions/' 
 
 The result of the royal cogitation was a pro- 
 clamation, that no person or persons should from 
 thenceforth maliciously call any other papist or 
 heretic ; that no persons, except those licensed by 
 kinjT or bishop, should preach or teach the Bible, or 
 expound the mysteries thereof : that none should 
 read the Bible in church with a loud or high voice 
 
CII. XIII. 
 
 THE WORD unsealp:d. 
 
 153 
 
 tluriniij the time of divine service or celebratinf^ of 
 masses. Notwithstanding, his highness was con- 
 tented that such as could might quietly and reve- 
 rently read the Bible by themselves, to increase 
 thereby godliness and virtuous learning, with this ad- 
 monishment nevertheless, that, if they shall hap to 
 find any doubt of any text or sentence in the reading 
 thereof, they should beware of any presumptuous 
 and arrogant exposition of the letter, but resort 
 humbly to such as be learned in holy Scripture for 
 their instruction in that behalf." 
 
 All this was very good advice, and very well 
 meant, if men would but have followed it ; but it 
 appears to have had little effect. Men did not 
 then know, nor have they yet thoroughly learned, 
 that the greatest boon of Heaven may be perverted to 
 an instrument of destruction ; that reading the Bible 
 without humility is worse than not reading it at all ; 
 and that the notion of every man making out from it 
 a religion according to his own fancy, without refer- 
 ence to the authority of those whom God has com- 
 missioned to teach him, can end in nothing but 
 heresy and schism. 
 
 Henry, however, was not a sort of ruler to be 
 disregarded with impunity ; and, finding the insub- 
 ordination and religious acrimony of his subjects in- 
 crease, he at last determined to make them at least 
 cease their controversies, if they could not be of one 
 mind ; and passed, with the consent of his compliant 
 parliament, the celebrated act of the six articles, 
 
154 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 called the Bloody Act, or the scourge with six 
 thongs. The six articles were briefly these : 1 . The 
 doctrine of transubstantiation was established by law. 
 2. The communion in both kinds excluded. 3. The 
 marriage of priests forbidden. 4. Vows of celibacy 
 made obligatory. 5. Private mass for souls in pur- 
 gatory upheld, 6. Auricular confession pronounced 
 expedient and necessary. The penalties annexed to 
 the breach of these decrees were, for the first article, 
 to be burnt as an heretic ; for the others, to be 
 hanged as a felon ; and, in all cases, to forfeit lands 
 and goods to the king as a traitor, — a tolerably 
 strong inducement to a needy and rapacious monarch 
 to see that the law was duly enforced. 
 
 This most arbitrary and tyrannical act was so 
 constructed as to cut both ways at once, and in- 
 volve both Papists and Protestants ; so that a witty 
 foreigner said, — those who were against the pope 
 were burnt, and those who were for him were hanged. 
 In fact, so impartial was the law, that Papists and 
 Anabaptists were dragged to the stake on the same 
 hurdle. Dreadful were the sufferings of the unhappy 
 people under these enactments, which remained in 
 force during the rest of Henry's reign. The prisons 
 were insufficient to hold the persons accused ; and 
 many left their native shore, and sought safety in 
 exile. 
 
 Both Cranmer and Latimer struggled, though in 
 vain, against the passing of this most tyrannical bill ; 
 the former disputing against it for three days in the 
 
CH. XIII. 
 
 THE WORD UNSEALED. 
 
 155 
 
 parliament-house. When these efforts were unavail- 
 ing, Cranmer, being of a more flexible and submis- 
 sive character, accommodated himself to circum- 
 stances, though he took a less prominent part than 
 heretofore in public affairs ; but Latimer resolved at 
 once to withdraw from the office of bishop, which 
 he thought he could no longer hold with safety or 
 with honour. To persevere in his plans of reform 
 would have been ineffectual under existing; circum- 
 stances, and would only have brought ruin on him- 
 self ; to continue inactive would not have suited his 
 temperament ; and as to agreeing to any thing which 
 in his conscience he believed was contrary to God's 
 book, he would, as he emphatically declared, sooner 
 be torn in pieces by wild horses." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 I marked his desultory pace, 
 His gestures strange, and varying face. 
 With many a mutter'd sound. 
 
 Full oft unknowing and unknown 
 He wore his endless noons alone 
 
 Amid the autumnal wood. 
 Oft was he wont, in hasty fit, 
 Abrupt the social board to quit, 
 And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling flood. 
 
 Warton. 
 
 When Latimer doffed his rochet and other episcopal 
 robes, he made a skip on the floor with joy, and 
 gave vent to his feelings with his usual pleasantness. 
 
 I am now rid," said he, " of a great burden, and 
 never found my shoulders so light before." 
 
 Freed from the restraints of his office, he resolved 
 on paying a visit to his friends and kinsfolks in War- 
 wickshire. Accordingly, setting out one fine morn- 
 ing with his trusty servant Bernher, he travelled 
 for three days, and found himself again at Bentley 
 Manor. The good Dame Margaret was much in 
 the same state as he had left her — busily engaged 
 at her loom, with her female domestics in the same 
 room as usual ; her house the same pattern of well- 
 
CH. XIV. 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 157 
 
 ordered simplicity. She was heartily glad to see 
 her old friend Latimer ; and he, on his part, was no 
 less pleased to be again under the quiet roof of one 
 whom he loved and respected. 
 
 " Well, Robert," said he, when they were alone 
 together, ** and how are all our good friends and 
 neighbours ? I need not inquire after your own health, 
 for your ruddy cheek and healthful eye shew that 
 God's blessing is upon you ; and I am glad to see 
 her years sit lightly upon your excellent mother ; 
 but you have scarcely spoken of your brother — how 
 is Maurice ?" 
 
 " I wish I could speak as well of Maurice, and 
 others of our friends, as of myself and my mother. 
 In bodily health Maurice is well enough, but I grieve 
 to say that he has taken to strange ways. Since you 
 left us he has got hold of the writings of some of 
 the foreign reformers, which have much disheartened 
 him. You know he was always somewhat flighty 
 and unsound, and had wild fancies as to the inter- 
 pretation of Scripture. He has been over again to 
 the Continent, and has been reading the writings of 
 one John Calvin of Geneva, which have put into his 
 head strange phantasies, that all things are fore- 
 ordained and determined beforehand by Almighty 
 God in such sort, that a man predestinated to de- 
 struction cannot work out his salvation if he will, 
 but must needs perish ; and he hath come at last to 
 persuade himself that he cannot be saved, and is, 
 like Esau or Judas, one of the reprobates." 
 
158 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 Howl'' said Latimer, " dotli he not believe in 
 his Saviour ?" 
 
 Yea. truly I hope so." 
 ^' Why then doth he not rely on God's gracious 
 promise, that * all who believe in Him shall not 
 perish, but have everlasting life ?' Christ died for 
 all ; He shed as much blood for Judas as He did for 
 Peter. Peter believed, and therefore was saved ; 
 Judas believed not, and therefore he perished — the 
 fault lay in him alone. Vshy should we go about to 
 trouble ourselves with curious questions of the pre- 
 destination of God ? Let us rather make sure that 
 we are in Christ, and then all is well with us, and 
 we may be sure that we are ordained unto eternal 
 life." 
 
 Howbeit, Maurice thinketh that his faith is 
 not living, and that he doth not cling to Christ suffi- 
 ciently." 
 
 Hath he not the mark of faith ? It is written, 
 * By their fruits ye shall know them,' Maurice used 
 to be a man of good works, upright, pious, charit- 
 able : hath he degenerated aught in his living?" 
 
 He is still the same honest, upright man, but 
 methinks he is not quite of so charitable a disposi- 
 tion as he was formerly, but deemeth that all who 
 differ from him never so little must inevitably be 
 damned." 
 
 Latimer mused, as in deep thought. " Knowest 
 thou aught," said he, which hath happened to 
 sour his temper ? When took he to these ways of 
 
CH. XIV. 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 159 
 
 thinking? You said, 1 think, that he crossed the 
 sea?" 
 
 " About a year and a half ago he departed sud- 
 denly from home ; and when he returned, after a so- 
 journ first at Strasburg, and then at Geneva, for 
 some months, where he consorted with divers of the 
 German and Swiss reformers, he was much changed 
 in manner and appearance — unsocial and stern. He 
 w^ould walk alone in the forest sometimes with his 
 Bible, but oftener with one of the books which he 
 brought with him from Germany ; and you might 
 see him, as he walked, strike his hands against his 
 breast, and look upward to the heaven ; nor would 
 he return at the usual meal-time, but stayed out 
 till nightfall, and would come back like one be- 
 wildered." 
 
 " Rememberest thou not aught which happened 
 about the time of his leaving England ?" 
 
 To say sooth, my good lord, I have often 
 thought that the marriage of Alice Fitzherbert, 
 which, if I remember right, was announced just 
 about that time, was perhaps one cause of his change. 
 You remember Alice Fitzherbert, who was called the 
 Queen of the Forest, when last you were here ?" 
 
 " That do I right well ; and a fair creature she 
 was, and a good one too, bating a little flightiness, 
 and somewhat of bigotry which she inherited from 
 her father. I marked well the attention which Mau- 
 rice paid her. And she is wedded, is she ? Who is 
 the happy man that won her ?" 
 
160 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 She is wedded to Marmaduke Clifford, whom 
 you remember here." 
 
 " Ay, ay, him they call the Lord ofBadsley; but 
 I liked not his scowling brow and bitter temper. 
 There is no accounting for the taste of women." 
 
 " We all thought that Alice would have bestowed 
 her hand on Maurice. She gave him reason to think 
 so ; and others as well as Maurice deemed that she 
 behaved capriciously. Sooth to say, she was young 
 and vain : other causes, too, contributed to make 
 her take the step she did. Maurice, you know, was 
 always grave and bashful ; Clifford, on the other 
 hand, was bold and forward. His station and wealth 
 were superior to those of ^laurice. Not that Alice 
 would have been won by mere wealth; but station 
 and consequence have ever much weight in woman's 
 eyes: and Chfford made the most of his advantages, 
 — dressed bravely, and rode gallantly with hawk and 
 hound. Nevertheless, I doubt whether he would 
 have won the hand of Alice but for the urgent desire 
 of her father, and the machinations of that wily fox, 
 Friar John, who exercised a great influence over both 
 father and daughter, and used all his power to in- 
 duce her to refuse Maurice, whom he called a heretic, 
 and to wed one who was devoted to the interests of 
 the Church. I was absent from home when it was 
 all arranged. It was about the time when Father 
 William resigned the monastery, and the friar tried 
 to provoke the people to riot and rebellion. When 
 I returned home, I found that Maurice had left the 
 
CH. XIV. 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 161 
 
 country, and that Alice was just on the eve of giving 
 her hand to Marmaduke Clifford. Alas ! I fear she 
 bitterly rues her choice. It is said her husband is 
 harsh and cruel: and she herself is an altered woman 
 since her marriage. You would not recognise the 
 bright sunny face of Alice Fitzherbert in the deep, 
 thoughtful, downcast looks of Alice Clifford." 
 
 I hope I may see her during my visit in these 
 parts. Think you she will remember me?" 
 
 Yes, surely ; she has often spoken of you with 
 kind remembrance." 
 
 Latimer and his companion were sitting together 
 at the bow-window of the hall, which, being raised 
 above the ground, overlooked the garden-wall, and 
 commanded a view of the forest. The sun had now 
 sunk beneath the horizon, and the shades were ga- 
 thering on the trees and glades, when, at a short 
 distance, they saw Maurice Neville slowly approach- 
 ing from the forest. His appearance was such as 
 his brother had described. He walked slowly, with 
 folded arms, looking down on the ground as he 
 walked, lost apparently in abstraction. His brother 
 went to meet him at the gate, and spoke to him with 
 kindness ; but he took little heed, though he answered 
 calmly. When, however, he entered the hall, and 
 perceived Latimer, his manner suddenly became 
 changed, and he greeted his old kinsman with a 
 cordial welcome. 
 
 The arrival of Latimer seemed in a great measure 
 to dispel the cloud from his brow. The evening 
 p 2 
 
162 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 meal, which was presently brought in, was partaken 
 of by all the family with cheerfulness; and though 
 it was apparent that Maurice was making an effort 
 to sustain his spirits, yet nothing of harshness was 
 in his countenance or speech. When, however, the 
 time arrived for evening devotion, Maurice's dejec- 
 tion seemed to return. He groaned bitterly more 
 than once during the offering up of the prayers ; and 
 as soon as they were over, he hastened to retire to 
 his apartment, apparently unable to control his feel- 
 ings. 
 
 " It pains me much," said Latimer to Dame 
 Margaret, to see your son thus oppressed in spirit. 
 We must try and encourage him, and bring him 
 back to his former self.'' 
 
 Dame Margaret shook her head with a despond- 
 ing air. I would I knew," said she, " how to 
 amend him ; but I fear his malady is beyond human 
 skill to cure. It must be left to time, and to the 
 mercy of God." 
 
 Maurice Neville was an unfortunate instance of 
 that species of morbid fanaticism which sprang up 
 w^ith the Reformation, and has never since been quite 
 extinct. The first who exhibited these opinions in 
 England were called Gospellers, i. e. Evangelicals. 
 They were much the same in their opinions and 
 habits as the more violent amongst the modern evan- 
 gelical dissenters. Even Bishop Hooper greatly blames 
 them. Some of them, like Maurice himself, were 
 pious and zealous men; but others were a scandal 
 
CH. XIV. 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 163 
 
 to the gospel which they professed. The sermons 
 and other writings of the times abound with sharp 
 expostulations and severe denunciations respecting 
 them. The principal peculiarity of their opinions 
 consisted in the strange inferences which they drew 
 from the doctrine of God's foreknowledge, reckoning 
 that since every thing was decreed, and the decrees 
 of God could not be frustrated, therefore men were 
 to leave themselves to be carried on by their fate. 
 In consequence of which notion, some fell into great 
 impiety of life, believing that, if they were predes- 
 tined to salvation, it mattered not how they lived. 
 Others, fancying themselves reprobates, fell into ab- 
 ject desperation, supposing that nothing could save 
 them. 
 
 The German reformers soon discerned the ill 
 effects of this doctrine. Luther changed his mind 
 about it, and Melancthon wrote openly against it ; 
 but Calvin still maintained the doctrine of absolute 
 decrees : — only he warned the people not to think 
 much of them, since they were mysteries into which 
 men could not penetrate. Many of his disciples, 
 however, did not follow this discreet advice, but 
 pushed the doctrine to its extreme consequences, 
 and fell into the evils of which we have spoken. 
 
 Much controversy has in subsequent times arisen 
 on these difficult points. Perhaps the safest course 
 is to admit at once the doctrine of foreknowledge 
 and predestination on God's part; but to believe also 
 that which is no less plainly set forth in holy Scrip- 
 
164 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 tare — the free agency of man. To reconcile tlie 
 two is far beyond the scope of human intellect. It 
 is one of these numerous points with regard to which, 
 on this side the grave at least, we must be content 
 to remain in ignorance. 
 
j 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Methought I saw, 'tween walls of deep decay. 
 Where through a mouldering portal look'd the moon, 
 
 A solitary vestal kneel and pray 
 Within that aged temple, all alone. 
 With adoration still, and pensive grown. 
 
 The Cathedral. 
 
 On the following morning, Latimer signified to his 
 two young friends his intention of walking to see 
 the ruined monastery of Merevale. 
 
 We have effectually dispersed the rooks," ob- 
 served Maurice, by destroying their nests." 
 
 " 'Tis a sad melancholy sight," said Robert, " and 
 grieves one's heart to look on." 
 
 In their way to the monastery they passed a 
 range of low farm-buildings, which had formerly 
 been the Grange of the monks. These already be- 
 gan to shew symptoms of dilapidation : the gates 
 were broken, or thrown off their hinges ; the wild 
 grass grew in the midst of the farm-yard ; not a 
 stack was to be seen in the rick-yard, nor a beast 
 in the stall. 
 
 " The property has been sold," observed Robert ; 
 " and the new proprietor has turned the whole farm 
 
166 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 into a sheep-walk, so there will be no need of these 
 buildings — they will be suffered to fall into ruin. 
 And the land, which used to support the whole 
 monastery, besides labourers, will now serve only to 
 eke out the revenue of an extravagant and needy 
 nobleman." 
 
 Proceeding onward, the three companions de- 
 scended the woody bank; and crossing the small 
 meadow, and the causeway between the pools, ar- 
 rived at the battered ruins of Merevale Abbey. 
 
 Very different was the scene from that which now 
 meets our eye. When we look in the present day upon 
 the beautiful ivy-mantled ruins of Tintern or Foun- 
 tains, or the still interesting though scanty remains of 
 Merevale, it is with something of a pleasing recollec- 
 tion of other days, which had their distinct associa- 
 tions, differing, in many respects, almost entirely from 
 our own. Romantic thoughts arise of days and things 
 gone by — days which we can scarcely realise in our 
 minds ; so different were they from those in which 
 we live. The comforts and luxuries with which, we 
 are surrounded — the downy couch, the rich furniture, 
 the works of art — are strange contrasts to the hard 
 living, the exact discipline, the fasts and vigils of 
 these men of religion, mistaken though in many 
 points we believe their religion to have been. The 
 bustling scenes of business, where every man is in the 
 fever of active occupation, has little in common with 
 the times and scenes in which the abbot and his con- 
 vent performed their daily round of calm devotion 
 
CH, XV. 
 
 THE RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 167 
 
 and it may well be doubted whether even in the most 
 turbulent period of former times there were not 
 more opportunities of tranquillity than in the present 
 whirl of excitement. Be that as it may, they seem 
 to us men of a by-gone age, entirely different from 
 ourselves ; and when we look on their ruined abodes, 
 crumbling yearly into decay, covered with the lichen 
 and long tufted grass, we can scarcely conjure up 
 the figures of their former inhabitants, but approach 
 them rather with the reverential feelings with which 
 we walk amongst the graves of the dead. 
 
 But the feelings of Latimer on approaching the 
 ruined Abbey of Merevale were very different from 
 these. The ruthless hand of the spoiler had been 
 here, and his work was recent and evident. The 
 venerable mansion, which so lately had contained a 
 society of living men, had been violently despoiled 
 and battered. On passing the little garden, Latimer 
 remarked the walks and plots of grass already co- 
 vered with one uniform growth of rank luxuriance. 
 The yew-alleys were untrimmed, and partially de- 
 stroyed by each wandering urchin who wanted a 
 bow. The mill-wheel was stopped- — the pool stag- 
 nant. As they drew nearer to the ruins, unmellowed 
 by age, the scarred doorway shewed where the en- 
 trance-gate had been violently wrenched away ; the 
 windows also had been torn from their places, and 
 left only a blank aperture in the walls. On ap- 
 proaching the principal entrance, Latimer sighed to 
 
168 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 think of the scores of poor who had so often thank- 
 fully received their dole, now left in indigence, or 
 driven to lawless courses. Entering the hall, he 
 thought on the merry faces of the school-children 
 who daily assembled there to receive instruction 
 from the monks, and were now deprived of the 
 means of learning. The abbot's private apartments, 
 which they next entered, were stripped of their 
 wainscoting of carved wood ; and the secret recess 
 where the good abbot had so carefully kept the re- 
 cords of the monastery was left open and empty. In 
 viewing the scene of desolation, Latimer could not 
 but feel some pang of remorse when he thought that 
 his own conduct and influence had in part caused 
 this destruction ; though, at the same time, his con- 
 science told him that he had endeavoured to avert 
 the ruthless desolation. It was reform, not ruin, 
 which he had desired. He now felt by experience, 
 that the same power which is able to reform long- 
 existing abuses will rarely stop until it has de- 
 stroyed as well as reformed. The heart of man has 
 not in it wisdom or virtue for the task. 
 
 They passed onward from the abbot's apart- 
 ments through a door which opened into the vestiary, 
 and thence into the chapel. This also presented the 
 same scene of desolation as the former, if not more 
 deplorable : the beautiful stained glass of the win- 
 dows had been battered in or pillaged ; the tracery 
 in many parts destroyed ; the carving and moulding 
 
CH. XV. 
 
 THE RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 169 
 
 Stripped away or broken ; the altar overturned ; the 
 very gravestones torn up for the sake of the brass 
 with which they were inlaid. 
 
 But the intruders had not leisure to contemplate 
 this work of devastation ; their attention being at 
 once arrested by another object. In the south aisle 
 of the chapel, where once had been the altar of the 
 Virgin, the mutilated image had been again reared 
 up ; its disjointed fragments rudely put together, 
 and its head decked with a chaplet or coronet of 
 fresh flowers. Before the image, on the bare ground, 
 knelt a female figure in attitude of devotion; her face 
 was turned away and bent downward on her breast, so 
 that it was not visible ; but her figure and dress were 
 at once recognised by one at least of the party. 
 
 'Tis Alice Clifford," said Maurice ; alas, to 
 see her so employed ! But let us leave her in peace." 
 
 Latimer motioned with his hand, and the two 
 brothers left the chapel, while he himself remained 
 behind waiting in silence. Alice had heard the en- 
 trance of the strangers, but would not leave her de- 
 votions ; soon, however, she rose slowly from her 
 knees, and looking round, at once recognised Lati- 
 mer. Though she had not met him many times be- 
 fore, yet she had seen enough of him to imbibe that 
 friendship and esteem which one good and sincere 
 heart will feel for another, even though there may be 
 important differences of opinion between them. 
 
 She advanced, therefore, to meet him, and offered 
 her hand in token of remembrance. 
 
 Q 
 
170 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 I crave pardon, madam," said Latimer, " for 
 thus breaking in upon your devotions." 
 
 Nay, sir, I had even now finished them ; and 
 am pleased again to meet you, though the scene in 
 which we meet be melancholy." 
 
 " It is indeed sad to see the work of the ruthless 
 destroyer amidst scenes once consecrated to God." 
 
 " But, sir," said Alice, with a change in her 
 demeanour, am I not even now speaking to one 
 who has been a chief promoter of these outrages — 
 one whose preaching has brought desolation on this 
 place — one who has been the means of driving out 
 his own friend into exile ?" 
 
 Nay, dear Mistress Alice, lay not to my charge 
 the desolation you see around you. Rather believe 
 that I have used the utmost influence which I pos- 
 sessed to avert it ; and let me inform you also that 
 our worthy friend, who once so well governed the 
 society which dwelt here, is now employed in the 
 pastoral labour of a parish, having obtained, by 
 my appointment, a secular charge in the diocese of 
 Worcester." 
 
 'Tis well, my lord, that you have remembered 
 your friend in his adversity. Still I fear me that 
 thou art one of those on whose head will rest the 
 evils under which the land now groans. Hast not 
 thou raised thy voice against the holy observances 
 which for many an age have been cherished in our 
 monasteries ?" 
 
 Nav, ladv, I have not raised mv voice against 
 
CII. XV. 
 
 THE RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 171 
 
 their holy observances, bnt against their frauds and 
 superstition. Knowest thou not, even in this neigh- 
 bourhood, impostures brought to hght, which may 
 well have demanded justice and exposure ?" 
 
 Alas, I do indeed, sir. But why, in rooting 
 out imposture, hast thou also destroyed the peaceful 
 home of pious men such as dwelt within these walls? 
 the whole country crieth shame on the ruthless dese- 
 cration of this abbey." 
 
 I have already said, dear lady, that I regret as 
 much as thou canst that the spoiler should have been 
 here. I have always held that such customs as were 
 contrary to God's word might have been reformed, 
 and abbeys such as this retained for holy purposes 
 suited to the age in which we hve. But the abuses 
 were too tenacious to be easily rooted up ; and the 
 same strength which was required to remove abuses 
 has destroyed the structures and societies them- 
 selves." 
 
 And what are they," said Alice, with some 
 indignation, that thou venturest to call abuses, see- 
 ing that they are sanctioned by our holy Church ?" 
 
 ^'Holy Church has no right to sanction that which 
 is contrary to God's written word. Saw I not thee 
 even now kneeling before that graven image of the 
 blessed Virgin ? Hast thou never read the word of 
 God ? * Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven 
 image : thou shalt not worship ?zor bow down to it.' 
 Saw I not thee with clasped hands and head bowed 
 down before yon lifeless block ? Can any sanction of 
 
172 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the Church authorise such departure from God's 
 eternal word ?" 
 
 iVlice remained in silence. The words of Lati- 
 mer were unanswerable, save by sophistry and subtle 
 refinement, of which her sincere heart was incapable. 
 Latimer perceived the impression which he had 
 made, and proceeded with a tone of affectionate re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 " Again, it is written," said he, in this book," — 
 and he took the Bible from the case which hung at 
 his girdle, — " it is written here by the finger of God, 
 ' Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him 
 onhj shalt ihou serve.' And yet they of Rome suffer, 
 yea encourage, their members to worship a host of 
 saints who, though holy and memorable, are but men 
 like ourselves. We rightly revere their memory; 
 but it is a sin against God's majesty to worship them. 
 Blessed above women though we acknowledge the 
 mother of our Lord, it is a violation of the divine 
 precept to bow down to her, and pray to her as 
 God." 
 
 " But," said Alice, '*may we not beseech her to 
 intercede as mediator with God in our behalf, and to 
 pray for us ?" 
 
 " The word of God is peremptory : ' Thou shalt 
 not worship nor bow down." Besides, 'There is one 
 Mediator between God and men, the man Christ 
 Jesus.' Why not go at once to the blessed Saviour, 
 who hath a knowledge of our infirmities, having 
 Himself endured the hke, and hath promised to aid 
 
CH. XV. 
 
 THE RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 173 
 
 our prayers, seeing that He ever livetb to make in- 
 tercession for us ? 
 
 " Suffer me, dear lady — for I perceive that thou 
 hast a heart to learn the truth — suffer me to place in 
 thy hand this holy volume. — Nay, shrink not from its 
 touch. It hath the savour of life to those who read 
 it aright. Receive it from a Christian bishop and 
 pastor. I bid thee not read with a cavilling and con- 
 tentious spirit, such as too many bring to its sacred 
 pages; but read with prayer and humility, and an 
 earnest desire after truth. If thou findest in it aught 
 which is clean contrary to the customs in which 
 thou hast been nurtured, be assured that those cus- 
 toms cannot be good. 
 
 " They tell me, lady, that thou hast become sad 
 of late ; that thou art not gay and light-hearted as 
 thou wast when last I met thee : learn to look upon 
 sorrow as sent by Almighty God to chasten and 
 amend thy heart. Be assured that it is good for us 
 to be afflicted, that we may know God; and join thy- 
 self closer to Him. In that book thou wilt find con- 
 solation such as can flow from no other source. If 
 happy days should shine upon thee, thou wilt know 
 how to bear them with moderation ; if evil days should 
 come, thou wilt learn patience and submission." 
 
 The tears bedewed the checks of Alice as she 
 listened to the affectionate address of the Christian 
 bishop ; and she received with trembling hand the 
 precious gift which he bestowed upon her. 
 
 May God be merciful to thee, dear lady," said 
 
 Qt2 
 
174 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Latimer, and bless thee, and lead thee in the way 
 of truth, and give thee peace both now and ever- 
 more." And with this solemn benediction he de- 
 parted. 
 
 In contemplating the events of the Reformation, 
 and endeavouring to enter into the thoughts which must 
 have filled the minds of earnest persons at that event- 
 ful time, it is impossible not to be struck with the 
 peculiar difficulty of their position. Brought up in 
 the bosom of a Church which they had been taught 
 to revere, blinded by habit to its corruptions, per- 
 haps quite unacquainted with the worst of them, — they 
 were suddenly called on to renounce their allegiance 
 to that mother in whom, perhaps, they had been 
 accustomed too much to trust. It was not a mere 
 matter of reasoning, but rather of feeling; and the 
 best and most pious feelings of the heart, being mis- 
 directed, would often be a bar to the removal of that 
 delusion of the understanding by w^hich they were 
 blinded against the superstition and corruption of 
 their creed. To many, also, of high principle, it 
 would seem a point of honour to cling the more 
 devotedly to a persecuted Church, especially when 
 assailed by manifest cruelty and injustice. All these 
 circumstances will account for the tardiness with 
 which the eyes even of pious and intelligent persons 
 have been opened to the corruption of the Church of 
 Rome, and the tenacity with which many still cling 
 to her communion. And the more bitterly Rome is 
 calumniated, let us be assured, so much the more 
 
CH. XV. 
 
 THE RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 175 
 
 decidedly will her best sons shrink from communion 
 with her calumniators. It is only the calm and sober 
 demonstration of her palpable abuses, and the con- 
 trasting them with the letter of Scripture and with 
 the practice of the first Christians, by which we may 
 hope to succeed in bringing Romanists to renounce 
 their errors, and adopt the sounder and more ancient 
 creed. Only by God's blessing upon means like 
 these, addressed to that good sense which is the ac- 
 companiment and providential reward of purity of 
 heart and a good conscience, may we hope that the 
 mist will be cleared from the understanding of the 
 sincere Romanist, and his eyes opened to discern the 
 truth. 
 
 The conversation of Latimer, and the precious 
 gift which he had bestowed, were blessed to the good 
 of Alice Clifford. She had been much struck by the 
 manifest incongruity of her image-worship with the 
 plain letter of God's word. She wondered that she 
 should ever have been deceived by the sophistry, which 
 could argue, that bowing down and kneeling before 
 an image were not acts of worship. She trembled at 
 the sin of which she had unconsciously been guilty, 
 and earnestly besought God to give her light and 
 understanding. She even ventured to converse with 
 her husband on the subject; but he had become harsh 
 and neglectful, being a selfish and capricious man, 
 utterly unworthy of her, and unable to sympathise 
 in her feehngs. He harshly bade her go seek her 
 heretic friends, and trouble him not with her fancies. 
 
176 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 With this permission she sought the society of Dame 
 Margaret, from whom, for a while, she had been 
 estranged ; and here she had several opportunities 
 of again conversing with the worthy Latimer, who 
 was the instrument of leading her to many truths, 
 and unfolding to her the sense of many parts of 
 Scripture. The change in her sentiments was gra- 
 dual, but complete. It was not a conversion from one 
 faith to another — it was but renouncing the corrupt 
 practices in which she had been trained; and her 
 pious devotion at once placed her in the arms of 
 that pure Church which, if men but knew it, has 
 been their portion since the days of the Apostles. 
 
 Latimer's visit was cut short by an unforeseen 
 accident. One day as he was abroad with his friends, 
 and happened to be watching the falling of a tree, — 
 going imprudently too near the spot, the tree fell on 
 him, and he narrowly escaped with his life. For 
 some time he was in considerable danger; and even 
 when that had passed, the injuries w^iich he had re- 
 ceived rendered it necessary for him to place himself 
 under the care of a skilful surgeon. Accordingly, he 
 bade adieu to his kind friends, and w^as conveyed in 
 a litter by tedious stages to London. For some time 
 he remained, as he describes himself, a " sore bruised 
 man." Nor w'as this the only misfortune that befell 
 him. The persecution under Gardiner of all that 
 dissented from the six articles was raging in full 
 fury ; and emissaries v/ere employed to get together 
 any charges which might imphcate Latimer, ob- 
 
CH. XV. 
 
 THE RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 177 
 
 noxious as he was to tlie lloniisli party, which now 
 guided the counsels of the king. There was no great 
 difficulty in getting up a charge against one so free 
 of speech as Latimer. He was apprehended on some 
 accusation respecting expressions which he had used 
 in conversation, and being brought before the coun- 
 cil, was committed to the Tower. No record re- 
 mains of his examination ; but there is reason to sup- 
 pose that it was held in the royal presence. Henry, 
 though grown more capricious and tyrannical than 
 ever in his advancing age, retained something of ge- 
 nerous attachment both to Cranmer and Latimer ; 
 and it was probably owing to his interference that 
 Latimer was saved at that time from the stake or the 
 scaffold. 
 
 Six years he lay a prisoner in the Tower, look- 
 ing daily for death, and resolved to endure it in its 
 most terrifying torments, rather than abandon, as he 
 said, one jot or one tittle of the truth of God's word. 
 
 His life, however, was spared through this tem- 
 pestuous reign ; until the death of Henry, and the 
 accession of Edward, restored him to liberty. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ^Tjr Heunion. Conbersati'on on ^jurti) i^lattftjs. 
 
 Not choice, 
 
 But habit, rules the unreflecting herd, 
 
 And airy bonds are hardest to disown. 
 
 Hence, with the spiritual sovereignty transferred 
 
 Unto itself, the Cro^vn assumes a voice 
 
 Of reckless mastery hitherto unkno^^Ti. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 We must now pass over a considerable interval of 
 time, with such notice only as is necessary to intro- 
 duce us to the concluding events of our narrative. 
 
 The Reformation, which had lagged, or rather 
 retrograded, during the last years of Henry's reign, 
 again advanced upon the accession of Edward. The 
 early maintainers of Romish abuses were either dead 
 or old ; and a generation had begun to grow up, to 
 whom the idea of reformation was familiar from their 
 youth. As, however, it is not our purpose to record 
 the events of history, but simply to illustrate the 
 times of the Reformation, by shewing in what man- 
 ner they affected those who lived in them, we will 
 not follow step by step the establishment of the re- 
 formed faith : suffice it to say, that the First Book 
 of Homilies, the Liturgy in English, the Ordination- 
 service, Catechism, Offices and Articles, which, taken 
 
CH. XVI. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 179 
 
 together, may be said to represent the doctrine and 
 constitution of the English Church, were adopted by 
 the nation during the reign of Edward, at the sug- 
 gestion of Archbishop Cranmer, in much the same 
 form as we now possess them. 
 
 Old Latimer had refused to be reinstated in his 
 bishopric on account of his advanced age ; and had 
 accepted the invitation of Cranmer to live with him 
 at Lambeth, and employ himself in two things pecu- 
 liarly suited to his temper : one was, to disburse the 
 archbishop's charities to the poor; the other, to preach 
 every Sunday to the king. The last office he per- 
 formed from a pulpit erected in the garden at West- 
 minster, the hearers gathering round him on the 
 grass, and the young Edward listening to him from 
 the window. Old Latimer seems to have been a 
 privileged person, and to have said with impunity 
 what he pleased on all subjects. He would take a 
 text from Scripture, and begin to discuss it ; but in 
 a few minutes he would ramble away to all sorts of 
 strange stories, and soon get into the midst of poli- 
 tics. His first object was to induce the young king 
 to be a good youth, and mind his books, and take 
 care how he married ; then he would launch out into 
 a torrent of round abuse against the covetousness and 
 sinfulness of the age, and the laxity of discipline in 
 the Church ; for he was grown querulous in his old 
 age, and ill satisfied with the Reformation, — not, it 
 must be confessed, without reason, as will be seen 
 hereafter. 
 
180 THE FOREST OF ARDEN". 
 
 We will now resume our story in tlie summer of 
 1553. Hugh Latimer has just been at Grimsthorpe 
 in Lincolnshire, at the house of his friend and ad- 
 mirer, the "humorous, hvely, and kind-hearted" 
 Duchess of Suffolk ; and takes the opportunity,^ on 
 his return, of paying a visit to his friends in War- 
 wickshire. 
 
 In the course of years which had elapsed since we 
 first introduced our readers to the worthy family at 
 Bentley Manor and their neighbours, many changes 
 had taiken place in the circumstances, and even in 
 the character, of some of them. Dame Margaret, 
 though still alive, was a feeble and aged woman, 
 wearing out her few remaining days in holy content- 
 ment, if not in peace. Hugh Fitzherbert had died 
 some years since. Maurice and Robert ^evdle, 
 Alice and Marmaduke Clifford, whom we first knew 
 in the spring-tide of youthful gaiety, though still in 
 the full vigour of life, had arrived at days of sober 
 thought ; the heyday of youth had passed ; feelings 
 once°deeplv seated, if not erased, had ceased to agi- 
 tate their breasts. The once gay and lively Alice 
 had passed through the seasoning of affliction, and 
 acquired a peace of mind which a sure trust m Christ 
 alone can give. It was perhaps a blessed thing for 
 her that her violent and capricious husband treated 
 her with neglect, and devoted himself to the sports 
 of the field; for his indifference caused him to care 
 little for her proceedings and opinions, and left her, 
 in general, to pursue her own unmolested course, 
 
CH. XVI. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 181 
 
 which was a humble and sincere devotion to the 
 cause of true religion, and a quiet unostentatious life 
 of charity and godliness. 
 
 Maurice Neville had never regained the cheer- 
 fulness of his temper, which, as we have seen, had 
 been soured by disappointment, and preyed on by 
 fanaticism. His body was emaciated by mental af- 
 fliction; he had no relish for food, nor enjoyment of 
 sleep. He complained often that he was sore buf- 
 feted by Satan ; his temperament was one while low 
 and melancholy, so that he would pine in solitude 
 and neglect his worldly business, leaving the whole 
 management of his affairs to his brother ; and then 
 again he would become an ardent propagator of 
 the doctrine of Calvin, which he considered to be 
 the doctrine of the Bible, though, hke many others, 
 he went far beyond his master, and adopted courses 
 which caused pain and grief to his aged parent and 
 more sober-minded brother. In particular, he had 
 joined himself to a schismatical congregation of Gos- 
 pellers at Coventry, and had become a sort of leader 
 and teacher amongst them. In these things he found 
 a friend and abettor of congenial temper in Austin 
 Bernher. But Latimer shook his head and disap- 
 proved. He saw in these irregular proceedings and 
 extreme views the seeds of future mischief to the 
 Church, as well as present reproach to the cause of 
 the reformed faith, which he had most at heart. 
 
 Robert Neville was the same quiet, unassuming, 
 kind-hearted, well-conducted man as ever, and set 
 
 R 
 
182 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 forth in his life a true picture of a worthy member 
 of society and sincere Christian, peacefully and con- 
 scientiously performing the duties of his station. He 
 had lately been united in marriage to a very ex- 
 cellent lady ; and the principal object of Latimer's 
 visit was to perform the office of sponsor to his son 
 and heir. The family circle had received another 
 agreeable addition in the presence of William Arnold, 
 the ex-abbot of Merevale ; who had come over from 
 Worcestershire for a short time to meet his old friend 
 Latimer, and arrange a few matters relating to his 
 own affairs. The good abbot had settled down into 
 an exemplary parish -priest, and guided his flock 
 with the same zeal and sincerity with which he had 
 before ruled his convent; rejoicing in the removal of 
 abuses, but exercising a sound judgment in not de- 
 parting from the pure Catholic doctrine and discipline 
 of the ancient Church. 
 
 Such was the party which was assembled in the 
 hall at Bentley Manor on the day previous to the 
 christening of the " httle knave," as Latimer called 
 his godson Hugh. 
 
 Amongst persons representing such various 
 shades of opinion, but joined together by the bonds 
 of long friendship and domestic charity, it may rea- 
 dily be supposed that many interesting discussions 
 took place on the condition of the Church and na- 
 tion. Maurice was the only one disposed to differ 
 very seriously from the rest ; but his position as host, 
 and the old rooted feeling of respect which he bore 
 
CH. XVI. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 183 
 
 his elder guests, prevented him from indulging in 
 any very strong expressions, though he could not 
 forbear occasionally dissenting from their doctrines. 
 It was remarkable that they who, a few years back, 
 had been most eager in the cause of reformation, and 
 most sanguine as to its beneficial tendency, were now 
 disposed to be least satisfied with its results ; while 
 the abbot, who had suffered most, viewed the course 
 of events with most contentment, though he also had 
 his misgivings and apprehensions. 
 
 " Well, good Arnold," said Latimer, it is some 
 while since we talked over the state of affairs — how 
 likest thou what has come to pass ?" 
 
 *^ You ask me a difficult question, Latimer : the 
 best-intended counsels are ofttimes brought to naught 
 by the perverse passions of men ; and, on the other 
 hand, a merciful Providence will as often direct man's 
 perverseness to His own good purposes." 
 
 Latimer, " Howsoever, thou shouldst be well 
 content that the Church is set free from the tyranny 
 of the pope." 
 
 " Set free !" exclaimed Maurice, I see not much 
 proof of freedom, when the supremacy is taken from 
 the pope only to be given to the king. The Church 
 enjoyed but little freedom in the time of Henry VIIL 
 Call you the law of the six articles freedom? I should 
 have thought that you at least, worthy sir, had little 
 cause to boast of liberty." 
 
 Z. But that is repealed; and a man s head may 
 again feel safe on his shoulders." 
 
184 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Maurice. " Call you the persecution of the Ana- 
 baptists and Gospellers by Cranmer and Somerset 
 freedom ? 'Tis a strange freedom, methinks, when 
 men may not worship God according to their con- 
 science, but must conform to rites and ceremonies, 
 and wear the rags of popery." 
 
 Arnold, " Truly the freedom acquired for the 
 Church by abolishing the power of the pope is a good 
 deal marred by the authority exercised over her by 
 the state ; which, to say sooth, is more like a hard 
 step-dame than a nursing-mother or guardian, and 
 exacts a high price for the protection, such as it is, 
 which she affords. Possibly, however, our present 
 thraldom may be permitted by Almighty God for 
 merciful purposes. We are, it may be, too head- 
 strong and contentious to enjoy liberty without dan- 
 ger. When we are more united and peaceful, God 
 may see fit to give us a more unfettered power." 
 
 At all events," said Latimer, " the pope at least 
 is not like to build up his power again. He may 
 regain it for a brief space ; and had the monasteries 
 remained, he might again have established his autho- 
 rity — but that chance is not left him." 
 
 " Thou knowest," said Arnold, " that I have al- 
 ways held that the monastic bodies might have easily 
 been converted with their own consent into valuable 
 adjuncts of the Church. What good has it done any 
 one that their property should be divided amongst a 
 set of spendthrift nobles ?" 
 
 No bad thing,'' said Maurice, " that it should 
 
CH. XVI. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 185 
 
 have got into the hands of those who will at least 
 keep out the old occupiers, which were not all as 
 good men as thou art." 
 
 Maurice, consistently with his principles, was of 
 that stern, uncompromising character, which exults in 
 the accomplishment of its object, even when it cannot 
 justify the means ; and his predestinarian turn of 
 mind led him not only to discern evidence of God's 
 providence overruling for good the passions and 
 crimes of men, but even to think lightly of the 
 crimes whereby what he considered the interests of 
 rehgion were promoted. This is a great snare, and 
 much to be guarded against by ardent minds. 
 
 Z. " It is not to be defended, that we may do evil 
 that good may come of it ; howsoever, though we may 
 regret the fate of some of the monasteries, and the 
 purposes to which their goods have been applied, 
 we shall all rejoice in the destruction of image- 
 worship, the worshipping of rehcs, pilgrimages to 
 shrines, and superstitious mummery, which abounded 
 in them." 
 
 A, " None can rejoice more than I for the real 
 reform which God, in His goodness, has enabled us 
 to effect; yet I fear me that, with the superstitions, we 
 have pulled up many pious customs and reverential 
 feelings, which are not like to take root again. The 
 sacred psalmody and daily worship will disappear 
 gradually from the land, or be kept up only in the 
 cathedrals." 
 
 M, " Howbeit we have got what is better than 
 
186 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 all the daily services in the world; that is, the free 
 use of the holy Scripture/' 
 
 A, ** It is indeed a blessing; and would be ten 
 times rnore so, if they who read would do it with 
 humility, and with a hearty desire to act up to their 
 knowledge. But such I fear is not always the case." 
 
 This touched on a subject on which Latimer was 
 wont to be more than usually eloquent ; and when 
 once fairly started, he did not readily restrain his 
 garrulity. 
 
 Marry," said he, I wish we could see wor- 
 thier fruits of the good doctrine which is taught ; but, 
 to my mind, the world gets worse as it gets older : 
 Mammon rules every thing : the authority of the 
 Church is set at naught and contenmed, and the 
 Church itself split into sects, which is clean contrary 
 to God's word. Men, too, are grown contemptuous 
 of holy things, and neglect the duty of fasting, to the 
 great detriment of the fisheries, which ought not to 
 be. How are honest fishermen to live, I would fain 
 know, if men will not fast ? Then, what spoiling 
 of churches, under pretence of removing the trap- 
 pings of antichrist ! You shall see men's parlours 
 hung with altar-cloths, and their tables and beds 
 covered with copes, instead of carpets and coverlids ; 
 and many make carousing-cups of the sacred chalices, 
 as Belshazzar of old celebrated his drunken feasts 
 in the sanctified vessels of the Temple. It is a sorry 
 house, and not worth naming, which has not some- 
 what of this furniture in it, though it were only a 
 
CH. XVI. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 187 
 
 fair large cushion to fill a window-seat. It may 
 well be said to such reformers as these, * Thou 
 that abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege V 
 But these men do but follow the example of their 
 betters. When a bishopric or deanery falls, the 
 Lord Protector, or one of his minions, is sure to 
 have a pluck at it. The least that a bishop can 
 expect, if he do not lose half his manors, is to have 
 all his timber cut down for him. But there is 
 worse than this ; for the very patrons of livings 
 make merchandise of them, or use them to vile 
 purposes, putting in their bailiffs or huntsmen, or 
 keepers of hawks, or other unlearned person, inso- 
 much that the common people jeer at them, saying 
 that they cannot even read the humbles [homilies]. 
 Others sell benefices to the highest bidder, — a prac- 
 tice * most execrable before God.' 1 will tell thee 
 a story of a man I wot of. There was a patron 
 who had a good benefice fallen into his hands, 
 and a person came to him, and brought him thirty 
 apples in a dish. — ' Sir,' said he, ' my master hath 
 sent a dish of fruit, and desireth you to be good 
 unto him about this business.' * Tush, tush !' quoth 
 he ; ' this is no apple-matter ; besides, I have as 
 good as them in my own garden.' ' Nay, sir,' said 
 the man, * cut one of them and try, and you will 
 find them better than they look.' He cut one, and 
 found ten pieces of gold in it. ' Marry,' quoth he, 
 *this is a good apple.' 'Well, sir,' said the man, 
 ' they all grew on one tree, and have all one taste.' 
 
188 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 * Tell your master, then/ said the other, * he is a 
 good fellow, and shall have the living.' " 
 
 The old man, having had his joke, felt much 
 less indignation against the iniquities of the times 
 than he did before, and relapsed from his tempo- 
 rary anger into his usual good humour. But Ar- 
 nold was a man of more serious frame. 
 
 I much fear, " said he, such tales are over true ; 
 and they are too grave to laugh at. Covetousness is 
 the bane of the times ; and I am greatly apprehen- 
 sive lest God hath some sharp punishment in store. 
 Nevertheless, it is our duty to bless and thank Him 
 for the benefits which we have received. Amidst 
 the sinfulness and covetousness of the age, when all 
 seek their own, and so few the things of God, His 
 providence has wrought for us a great work in 
 removing from the land the superstitions of past 
 generations ; yet without destroying the true form 
 and essential discipline of the Church. We have 
 in the main a pure doctrine, and an apostolic dis- 
 cipline : though I pretend not to say that, in the 
 great changes which have taken place, some things 
 have not been done, especially of late, which ap- 
 pear to me not well advised. There may be some 
 things, I say, perplexing and disquieting to think 
 on ; but let us feel good hope that God designeth 
 mercy tow^ards us. In a great and necessary change, 
 like that which we have gone through, it is not to 
 be expected that those who are instrumental in the 
 guidance of events should keep always to the just 
 
CH. XVI. 
 
 THE REUNION. 
 
 189 
 
 mean. In departing from Rome, there is danger of 
 going too much to the other extreme, even as they 
 have done in Germany and Switzerland. It behoves 
 all good men to pray that God may bring our affairs 
 to a happy termination." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 2ri)e €5n'»tenfng. ©vtimattces. 
 
 Men who have ceas'd to reverence soon defy 
 Their forefathers. Lo, sects are formed, and split 
 "With morbid restlessness — the ecstatic fit 
 
 Spreads wide 
 
 The throne is vexed ; the new-born Church is sad. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The next day had been fixed for the christening ; 
 and as the adjoining chapel of Mere vale was dis- 
 mantled, the party went to Baxterly, which was the 
 nearest church ; the babe and his nurse, with the 
 older members of the party, being accommodated 
 with horses, the rest walking a-foot. Maurice Ne- 
 ville at first refused to go, on account of the sign of 
 the cross being used in the sacrament of baptism, 
 which he considered as a piece of anti-Christian 
 mummery ; but was at last persuaded by Latimer 
 not to disappoint his brother by his absence from 
 the christening of his son and heir ; — for Maurice, 
 amidst all his extravagances, still retained a warm 
 affection for his brother. 
 
 Baxterly Church, though not reduced, like Mere- 
 vale, to ruins, had undergone many mutilations, 
 which sadly spoiled its appearance. The altar had 
 been torn up from the east end, and placed table- 
 
CH. XVII. THE CHRISTENING. ORDINANCES. 191 
 
 wise in the middle of the nave. The crucifix and 
 images had been removed from the walls by the 
 commendable injunction of the rulers of the Church ; 
 but the places which they had occupied were left 
 bare and ragged, and no attempt had been made to 
 restore the church to a decent appearance. The 
 painted glass was partially defaced; the heads of the 
 saints depicted in the windows being knocked off, 
 and the places occupied by common panes. With 
 a laudable anxiety to conform to the injunction that 
 there should be a " comely and honest pulpit" in 
 every place of worship, the churchwardens of Bax- 
 terly had erected a monstrous rostrum of oak planks 
 for the convenience of the preacher; which, though 
 not placed directly in front of the altar, according to 
 the irreverent custom of more recent days, yet, by 
 its size and ugliness, greatly disfigured the sacred 
 building. Near the entrance, in conformity with the 
 royal injunction, was placed a poor-box, having two 
 locks and keys, one of which was kept in the custody 
 of the minister, and the other of the churchwarden. 
 Into this box was to be deposited all the money 
 which the people heretofore had been accustomed 
 " to bestow on pardons, pilgrimages, trentals, masses 
 satisfactory, decking of images, offering of candles, 
 giving to friars, and upon other like blind devotions, 
 now taken away (as it was stated) by the king's most 
 godly proceedings ;" and all of which was now to 
 be given to the poor Christian brethren. But, alas ! 
 the piece of money which Robert Neville dropped 
 
192 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 into the box, as he passed, sounded very much as 
 if it fell upon an empty board. The poor, in truth, 
 came in for a very small portion of those alms which 
 had before been devoted, however mistakenly, to 
 religious uses, and, it is feared, suffered severe pri- 
 vations, until a maintenance was provided for them 
 by the poor-law of Elizabeth. 
 
 The ancient Norman font still occupied its proper 
 place near the west entrance, and in it the little 
 Hugh was duly baptised. But though the font re- 
 mained the same, the baptismal service was much 
 altered ; for whereas in the First Book of Edward VI. 
 the renunciation of the devil and all his works was 
 accompanied by a form of exorcism, and the ancient 
 ceremony retained of anointing with oil, and the 
 clothing the child in a chrisom or w^hite garment, as 
 an emblem of purity, together with the triple im- 
 mersion, — all these parts of the service were now 
 discontinued. 
 
 When the service was finished, Latimer, at the 
 request of those assembled, got up, nothing loath, 
 into the pulpit ; and after a long rambling discourse, 
 sent them away in high good humour, — amused cer- 
 tainly, and we would fain hope edified. 
 
 The conversation 'at the Manor turned naturally 
 on the ceremony in which they had been engaged. 
 
 The ^ood archbishop has somewhat curtailed 
 our baptismal service," said Latimer. " How like 
 you it, Arnold, without the exorcism and chrisom ?" 
 
 " I hold," said Arnold, that every particular 
 
CH. XVII. THE CHRISTENING. ORDINANCES. 193 
 
 or national Church, represented by her bishops, hath 
 authority to ordain and change ceremonies and 
 rites." 
 
 Better do away with them altogether," said 
 Maurice ; they do but clog the godly motions of 
 the spirit." 
 
 " Not so, my good friend," said Arnold ; or- 
 dinances and ceremonies are intended to help and 
 assist the spirit, and are profitable unto edifying. 
 The holy sacrament of baptism is ordained of Christ 
 Himself, and may be accompanied with such cere- 
 monies as the Heads of the Church shall order, so 
 that all things be done unto edifying. The use of the 
 cross, for example, to which thou and others object, 
 is a pious custom observed in all ages of the Church, 
 whereby they who rightly use it are reminded of 
 the great and mysterious sacrifice of the Redeemer, 
 through whom alone the sacrament of baptism avail- 
 eth for salvation. It is not a private man's duty to 
 find fault and innovate, but to conform to what the 
 Church directs, so it be not contrary to the com- 
 mands of God. Therefore, however I may have 
 been attached, from habit, to the old form, yet seeing 
 that in the new nothing essential is omitted, I will- 
 ingly conform to the order of my diocesan." 
 
 Thou art right," said Latimer. " Hooper was 
 much to blame in refusing to be consecrated in the 
 episcopal robes. John a Lasco, and the other fo- 
 reigners now in England, do ill to intermeddle, as 
 they do, in matters which concern them not. I 
 
J94 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 ^vould they were content with the hospitality afforded 
 them, without introducing their foreign notions into 
 our reformed Church." 
 
 Jrnold. " We have reason to thank God that 
 our baptismal service remaineth entire and unmuti- 
 lated in any essential particular : nevertheless, I can- 
 not but express my regret that Cranmer has listened 
 to the foreigners in the changes which he has intro- 
 duced into the service of the holy communion." 
 Latimer. " What dost thou complain of?" 
 J. " I like not the omission of the formal ob- 
 lation of the elements, and of the invocation of the 
 Word and the Holy Spirit, that they may be imto us 
 the bodv and blood of Christ; still less of the words 
 which have been used from the earliest times, ' The 
 body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for 
 thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlastmg 
 life;' and the substitution of the new sentence, 
 ♦ Take and eat this in remembrance.' It seems 
 almost to imply an opinion that the body and blood 
 of Christ is not 'verily and indeed taken by the faith- 
 ful in the Lord's Supper,' as the Church hath always 
 held ; 1 but that the holy eucharist is nothing more 
 than a memorial. 
 
 1 And as our Catechism now declares. 
 
 = The omissions here complained of have been partiaUy 
 remedied since, and several important portions added to our 
 Prayer-book, especially the explanations of the sacraments at 
 the end of the Catechism ; so that the doctrine is now substan- 
 tially what it was in Edward s First Book. The ancient form 
 
CH. XVII. THE CHRISTENING. OEDINANCES. 195 
 
 Maurice Neville of course did not at all agree 
 with the opinion of Arnold; and again rather petu- 
 lantly expressed his wish that forms and ceremonies 
 were altogether abolished, so that all reformers, of 
 every denomination, might worship God together in 
 spirit and truth. 
 
 " That were impossible," said Arnold, " unless 
 thou art prepared to give up the essential doctrines 
 of our faith. There is one Laslius Socinus, a Tuscan, 
 and Faustus his nephew, who have revived tlie Arian 
 heresy, or rather invented a worse, even denying 
 the blessed atonement. Thou wouldst not admit 
 him and his followers into the fellowship of the 
 Church ?" 
 
 Maurice. " I would unite in one Church all such 
 as hold the great essential doctrine of Justification 
 by Faith, and no others." 
 
 " Well, now," said Arnold, « I hold the doctrine 
 of Justification by Faith as well as thou, and have no 
 objection, if thou wilt, to call it a great doctrine ; 
 yet I see not but that there be others as great and 
 as important— the doctrine of the blessed Trinity, 
 the resurrection, the incarnation of our Lord, and 
 others which have been held by the Church 'from 
 the beginning— all these be great doctrines." 
 
 M. " Nay, but the doctrine o£ Justification by 
 Faith is the hinge, so to speak, or keystone of the 
 whole. Read what Paul saith to the Romans and 
 in administering the sacrament of tlie eucharist (" Tliebody " 
 &c.) was restored soon after the accession of Elizabeth. 
 
196 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Galatians, of our being justified by faith, and not by 
 works." 
 
 A. " Yea, and read also what St. James saith 
 to all Christians about the necessity of works also to 
 justification." 
 
 M. Speak not of St. James. His is but an 
 epistle of straw— mere milk for babes." 
 
 " Is that thy reverence for God's word?" said 
 Latimer. Methinks thou regardest such portions 
 only of the word as favour thy particular views, and 
 treatest the rest with mighty little respect." 
 
 Maurice had no answer ready; and the good 
 Arnold, anxious to prevent altercation, said, mildly 
 but solemnly, " Holy Scripture containeth a vast 
 and unfathomable fund of truth, from which, as from 
 a treasury, the Church may draw forth streams of 
 living water, according as they be needed, for the 
 edification of her children, or the correction of her 
 own faith and practice. In the first days of the 
 Gospel, when the Jews were loath to part with their 
 ceremonial services, and trust for salvation to their 
 Redeemer only, it pleased God to move the holy 
 apostle Paul to write his epistle to the Romans, and 
 also that to the Galatians, in which the doctrine of 
 justification by faith was straightly laid down, so 
 that none may gainsay it. And when, in process of 
 time, it came to pass that the Christian faith became 
 again overlaid with ceremonies, and men trusted in 
 their works, then was the time to bring forth again 
 the self-same doctrine which holy Paul had before, 
 
CH. XVII. THE CHRISTENING. ORDINANCES. 197 
 
 under similar circumstances, written for the edifica- 
 tion of the Church in all ages. Hence the doctrine 
 of justification by faith hath acquired an unusual pro- 
 minence at the present time; not as being in itself 
 greater or more important than other doctrines of 
 revealed religion, but as being most pertinent to the 
 present occasion, and the weapon whereby, in our 
 present necessities, we best meet the corruptions of 
 Itome." 
 
 " Is it not," said Robert, « even as, in the con- 
 troversy with the Arians, the doctrine of God the 
 Son bemg one in substance with the Father was the 
 great and prominent doctrine -the articulus, so to 
 speak, or hinge, on which the controversy then 
 turned between the true Church and the corrupters 
 of her doctrine?" 
 
 " Even so," said Arnold. « Great and true doc- 
 tnnes rise and fall, according to the times, in pro- 
 minence, though not in real value. Thou wilt ob- 
 serve, that in the epistles to the Corinthians, especially 
 at the opening of the first, as also in other epistles 
 great stress is Jaid on the essential union of the' 
 Church, and the duty of being ' all of one mind and 
 of one judgment,' by reason that some had begun to 
 innovate and breed schism. The time may come 
 when the doctrine of the ' one Catholic and Apostolic 
 Church,' rightly understood, shall be the test of a 
 true or false Church." 
 
 " nearest thou that, Maurice?" said Latimer. 
 M. « I understand thee : thou thinkest that he 
 s 2 
 
jgg THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 fflanceth at me, because I hesitate not to worship 
 with those whom I hold to have obtained a more 
 spiritual mind than that which thou callest the 
 Church. But I fain would ask thee one question : 
 l{thou mightest lawfully separate thyself from the 
 Church of Rome, surely others may lawfully sepa- 
 rate from thee ? " 
 
 Latimer, with his ultra-Protestant notions, was 
 unable to answer this difficulty ; but the Catholic 
 Arnold at once replied : 
 
 " Nay, my friend ; I think not thy position 
 tenable : on the contrary, it seemeth to me, that 
 if it was lawful for us to separate from Rome, it 
 standeth, for that reason, that it is not lawful for thee 
 to separate from us." 
 
 M. " How so ? I understand not thy argu- 
 ment." 
 
 J. " I might take exceptions at the form ot thy 
 words ; but, supposing them to stand, I would ask, 
 on what ground was it lawful for us to separate from 
 Rom 2 ? On none other, surely, than that Rome was 
 become immoderately corrupt ; and that ne esta- 
 blished a pure communion. If, therefore, our com- 
 munion be pure, then the reason for thy separation 
 from us holdeth not : thou wouldest be separating 
 from a pure communion without reason. But, as I 
 observed, I might take exceptions at thy form of 
 words ; for I hold that the bishops of our Church 
 have not schismatically separated from Rome. When 
 the heads of the English Church found errors and 
 
CH. XVII. THE CHRISTENING. ORDINANCES. 199 
 
 superstition to have grown up therein, it was their 
 bounden duty to remove them, maugre the displea- 
 sure of any foreign bishop. If they found idolatry 
 to have become prevalent amongst poor ignorant 
 folks, It was their duty to cause images to be re- 
 moved ; if they found that the just reverence paid 
 to saants had been abused to worshipping of them 
 —nay, under any circumstances, it was their dutv to 
 remove from the public service such portion as must 
 needs offend a jealous God, who has commanded 
 that worship shall be paid to Him alone ; and if they 
 found the service of the Church overloaded with 
 ceremomes, even though such ceremonies might not 
 be superstitious, but only excessive and superfluous 
 -still ,t was their bounden duty to simplify the 
 Liturgy. Nor hath the bishop of Rome, nor any 
 other prelate or potentate, authority to let or hinder 
 the bishops of the English Church in that their pious 
 work. How sayest thou. Father Latimer V 
 
 L. « Truly thy argument appeareth just, though 
 It be not exactly as I have been used to view it " 
 
 M. "What booteth all this argumentation about 
 the lawfulness of disjoining ourselves from Rome 
 which IS antichrist, and the mother of all iniquities, 
 and therefore to be come out from, and separated 
 from, by all such as would save themselves from her 
 rum .-^ 
 
 J. " 'Tis over bold to say that Rome is anti- 
 christ, seeing that she hath the creeds, the sacra- 
 ments, and the true succession. Let it suffice for us 
 
200 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 that our bishops have wisely removed her corrup- 
 tions ; let us beseech God that they may have under- 
 standing to retain that which is good ; and let us 
 pray also, that Rome herself may yet have grace to 
 see her errors, and reform them ; so that we may 
 again become one fold under one Shepherd." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 JBajB of Pfrsfttttt'on. 
 
 ■•■ °^ '^"'^ P'"'^'^'°« Him, bequeathed 
 We f» >r . smouldering flame 
 The faith which they by diligence had earned. 
 And through illuminating grace received 
 For tneir dear countrymen, and all manktad. 
 yj high example, constancy divine ! 
 
 WoEDSWOETH. 
 
 Many happy days were passed by the peaceful 
 amdy-eircle at Bentley Manor. The pleaLt t- 
 ercour and wholeso„,e conversation, especially 
 hat of the worthy Arnold, had a soothing effect on 
 he sp.„t and feelings of Maurice. Lati grea^ 
 enjoyed hnnself in his favourite occupatL of 
 
 h? ^^a. 
 
 judge the weaknesses of good men. To fix the 
 attention, and win the lovp nf nil 
 1 , , . Jove, 01 all congregation s 
 
 and .eal wh.ch speak well for the sincerity of his 
 heart; and he was somewhat vain of his talent 
 we must not too severely blame him, especially 
 s.nce he endured God's chastisement in t e body Z 
 
202 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 his error, if such it was ; for it was mainly to his 
 freedom of speech that he owed his sufferings and 
 death. 
 
 Tlie pleasures of his rural visit were, however, 
 soon disturbed by circumstances over which he had 
 no control. Every messenger from the metropolis 
 brought the alarming intelligence of the young king's 
 increasing sickness. Sad indeed were the prospects 
 for the reformers,— so, at least, it appeared to out- 
 ward view,— if it should please God to remove this 
 excellent prince. At last the melancholy news of 
 his death arrived, and cast a gloom over every Pro- 
 testant. Then a gleam of doubtful hope burst forth 
 when it was found that Edward, before his death, 
 had, out of regard to the reformed faith, and per- 
 suaded by the ambitious Northumberland, disinhe- 
 rited by his will the Lady Mary, passed over Eliza- 
 beth and Mary Queen of Scots, and settled the crown 
 on the Lady Jane Grey. But the English people 
 knew full well that Mary was their rightful sovereign ; 
 and the experience of former generations had taught 
 them the miseries which await a nation that rejects 
 its lawful ruler. When Mary raised her standard in 
 Norfolk, it was joined by men of every rank ; and 
 she soon found herself at the head of thirty thousand 
 men. In like proportion the adherents of Northum- 
 berland fell off; and, after a nine-days' reign, the 
 unfortunate Lady Jane Grey resigned the ens.gns 
 of royalty, which but for the ambitious views of her 
 father-in-law she would never have assumed. 
 
CU. XVIII. DAYS OF PERSECUTION. 20S 
 
 On entering upon her government, Mary granted 
 a general pardon to all offenders, except the traitor 
 Northumberland, with two of his associates. The 
 queens moderation, and the professions which she 
 made, inspired hope into the hearts of those whose 
 pnncples were opposed to her, that her own suf- 
 ferings for religion had taught her to view with 
 indulgence the religion of others. But by decrees 
 her character became more known ; and it was^evi- 
 dent that she had imbibed, in no ordinary degree 
 the persecuting spirit of the age. ' 
 
 Latimer continued to prolong his visit in War- 
 wickshire, neither anxious to court persecution by 
 returnmg to London, nor, on the other hand, re- 
 ™ttmg at all in the zeal with which he preached 
 hroughout the country the doctrine of the reforma- 
 tion. Yet he always felt a presentiment, and ex- 
 pressed ks belief, that preaching the Gospel would 
 cost him h.s hfe ; and sad were his forebodings re- 
 spectmg the coming fortunes of the Church 
 
 One day, after he had been following his usual 
 occupation of expounding the Scripture, and, having 
 returned to his quiet home, was seated in the midst 
 of h.s fnends, fondling his godson on his knee, a man 
 on horseback was seen to approach at full speed. 
 I proved to be John Careless, a weaver, from Co- 
 ventr who brought news that a pursuivant, sent by 
 Ga dmerfor the arrest of Latimer, had arrived a' 
 that town, and was on his way to Bentley. At this 
 .ntelhgence a sad shuddering fell on thlt peaceful 
 
204 THE FOREST OF ARUEN. 
 
 f -1, All but Latimer were in dismay: they 
 family. AU ^ ^ j ti^g 
 
 7 \ v=t resolved to await the event. ., 
 
 „„ening-d«,, a„d ^» '"JJ, ,. he. " you 
 once on Lis jouvney. Mj Ine , 
 
 "''tr":o;ra"%o»wmin,,,.o 
 
 „ , , vecUo ,ng o n.^;^^^ .,„<,^. 
 at any P'"' ,, , „ ™acl, His i.otd be- 
 
 rf:rret;;7n::t'sX:iue„aue„e.o 
 
 r.ame„Lo .he .«.ei*e..o he. com- 
 fort or discomfort "ema%. 
 
 C«»t»'y;f '-"K :; aeA'U affirming 
 ger, having dehvered his letter, V 
 
 *a.he had no »»>7»''"'" " " ,1 .^e wish of 
 
 'c^.t frnm this proceeding, uidL luc 
 was Jd,te and s.lence Latimer, or 
 
 the council was to mtimiaa 
 
 ,0 force him out of the ^^^^ ^ J^^V, joLi with 
 
 bably, that his -"^^^"^^ of Ir in^^^^ 
 bis great popularity .01^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 than any pumshment, -^f j^^ ehoose 
 
 do their cause service. But l^=»txme 
 
 to avail himself of the opportum y h- aHo^ 
 
 to escape. " Of what use," said 1. a^e a ^^^^ 
 
 years to a worn-out old man? He thei 
 
r 
 
 CH. XVIII. DAYS OP PERSECUTION. 205 
 
 obeyed the summons, and set off to present himself 
 before the council. 
 
 When he arrived in London, and passed through 
 fenuthfield, he observed, with his usual quaintness, 
 that Smithfield had long groaned for him." Being 
 brought before the council, he patiently bore the 
 taunts and mockings of the papists, and was forthwith 
 committed to the Tower; Austin, his servant, being 
 allowed to attend on him. Here he sustained his 
 rigid imprisonment most patiently, and even cheer- 
 fully-maintaining still his usual pleasant speech. 
 Bemg well nigh starved in the winter for want of 
 fire, he bade the gaoler tell his master, that « if he 
 did not look better to him, perchance he might de- 
 ce.ve him." The lieutenant of the Tower, hearin.. 
 this, thought that Latimer meditated an escape, and 
 questioned his prisoner on the meaning of the words, 
 and whether he really uttered them. « Yea, Master 
 Lieutenant," said he, « so I said ; for you look, I 
 think, that I shall burn ; but except you let me have 
 some fire, 1 am like to deceive your expectations, 
 and to starve of the cold." 
 
 But we must leave Latimer for a while in his 
 prison, and record the progress of events. 
 
 The change of government brought with it a new 
 order of things in the management of the affairs of the 
 Church. Without attempting to defend Mary from 
 the charge of cruelty and bigotry, it is something to 
 say for her, that she was conscientious and consistent 
 in other parts of her conduct. During the reign of her 
 
 T 
 
206 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 predecessor, a bill for the spoliation of the bishopric 
 of Durham had been brought in, but not passed. 
 The spoliation she at once stopped, and restored the 
 bishopric to its ancient principality. The spoils of 
 churches, the vestments and communion-plate, were 
 diligently searched out and restored. Though unable 
 to get back the Church-lands which had been granted 
 to the different nobles, she at once gave up all which 
 were still in the power of the crown, — no small 
 sacrifice at a time when the revenues of the sovereign 
 w^ere very limited, and the commons always loath to 
 grant subsidies and benevolences. For some time 
 no cruelties for religious opinions disgraced her 
 government. Even Cranmer, though he had signed 
 the unjust and illegal will of Edward, was at first 
 left at liberty. Afterwards, when innovations were 
 made in religion, and the mass re-established, he 
 protested strongly against the measures, and was 
 committed to the Tower. 
 
 It was not until her unfortunate marriage with 
 Philip of Spain, son of the ambitious Charles V., and 
 endowed with the grasping views, though neither the 
 ability nor generosity of his father, that Mary began 
 that system of cruelty which has made her reign 
 proverbial for its atrocity, and has cast a horrible 
 stain on popery, which, in England at least, is not 
 likely to be wiped out. Philip came to England 
 with a full determination to reduce the nation, at any 
 cost, under the entire dominion of Rome ; and he found 
 in Mary's fond though misplaced attachment a ready 
 
CH. XVIII. DAYS OF PKRSECUTION. 207 
 
 instrument of his views. We must remember, how- 
 ever, as some extenuation, that it was a cruel age ; 
 each religious party thought it necessary to send 
 their opponents to the stake ; and each party in the 
 state consigned their defeated rivals to the block. 
 Somerset executed his political opponent Seymour, 
 and was himself brought to the block by Northum- 
 berland, who, in his turn, suffered, with his amiable 
 daughter, when Mary was in power. Calvin burnt 
 *ervetus ; Cranmer persuaded the young Edward to 
 sign the death-warrant of the Maid of Kent; Henry 
 VIII. executed men of all religious persuasions, 
 without much distinction; Elizabeth also permitted 
 many unnecessary executions. Cruelty reigned 
 throughout the whole of Europe. Charles V. is 
 said to have put to death 50,000 of his subjects ; 
 and the French king cannot have destroyed much 
 fewer. But what right have we to cast odium on an 
 age for cruelty, who have witnessed the French revo- 
 lution and the continental wars ? Let us pray God 
 there be not a spirit amongst us in the nineteenth 
 century, which, if it be not curbed, will cast into the 
 shade the horrors of former generations. 
 
 The year 1555 commenced with a solemn 
 thanksgiving for the reconciliation of the Church 
 with Rome, an absolution having been pronounced 
 on the nation by Cardinal Pole, in the name of 
 the pope. This was followed by a sharp perse- 
 cution of the Protestants. No class of persons was 
 exempt, from bishops to the poorest clergy • gentle- 
 
208 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 men of good estate, weavers, apprentices, fisher- 
 men, the highest as well as the lowest — all these 
 were put to death without even the evidence of wit- 
 nesses : certain articles were exhibited to them ; and 
 on their making answers which were judged here- 
 tical, they were, on the evidence of their own 
 words, sent to the stake. Not content with con- 
 demning them singly, the cruel tyrants now began 
 to send the Protestants to be burned in companies. 
 Six were consumed in one fire at Canterbury, six 
 more at Colchester, two women at Ipswich, two 
 priests and four tradesmen at Smithfield ; two men, 
 one bhnd and the other lame, at Stratford- le- Bow ; 
 eleven more men and two women in one fire at the 
 last- mentioned place. What was even more re- 
 pulsive and revolting than these cruelties to the liv- 
 ing, was the exhumation and burning of the dead 
 bodies of Fagius and Bucer, who had been buried at 
 Cambridge. One's blood runs cold at the recital of 
 these horrid barbarities inflicted on persons, the ma- 
 jority of whom were exemplary in life and charac- 
 ter, remarkable above others in maintaining, even to 
 the death, wliat they verily believed to be the truth. 
 Yet it is a wholesome subject of meditation in these 
 days of ease and lukewarmness. We know not how 
 soon persecution for rehgion's sake may again arise ; 
 and it is to be feared that we are little prepared to 
 meet it when it comes. 
 
 Distinguished above the rest in eminence of sta- 
 tion were the three bishops, Cranmer, Latimer, and 
 
CH. XVIII. DAYS OF PERSECUTION. 209 
 
 Ridley. They had been in their various depart- 
 ments the great supporters of the Reformation. 
 Latimer, as we have seen in the foregoing narrative, 
 was less eminent for learning and doctrinal con- 
 sistency, than for a certain active zeal and honest 
 sincerity — qualities which contributed not only to 
 render him one of the most popular of the reformers, 
 but to forward the work of reformation as much as 
 the exertion of more learned men. No doubt, in the 
 published sermons of Latimer which remain to us — 
 but which, it must be remembered, were mere ex- 
 temporaneous discourses, taken down in short-hand 
 by his hearers — inconsistencies and errors mio-ht be 
 pointed out. The zeal even of good men is°liable 
 to run into extremes ; and he may with justice be 
 accused of falling into ultra-Protestant views. Rid- 
 ley, on the other hand, was a true English Catholic 
 Churchman: he was wise in counsel, deep of wit, 
 and very politic in all his doings. He was such a 
 prelate, and in [almost] all points so good, godly, 
 and ghostly a man, that England may justly rue the 
 loss of so worthy a treasure." He excelled Cranmer 
 in firmness, and Latimer in learning ; and it was to 
 him, perhaps more than to any other individual, that 
 we owe whatsoever of true Catholic spirit was main- 
 tained in the English Reformation. 
 
 These two holy and eminent men suffered at the 
 same stake on the 16th of October, 155.5. The cir- 
 cumstances attending their death are sadly interest- 
 ing. The night before his execution Ridley was very 
 T 2 
 
210 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 joyful, and invited the mayor and his wife, in whose 
 house he was kept, to be at his wedding the next day ; 
 at which the mayor's wife wept : but Ridley told 
 her, " though his breakfast would be sharp, he knew 
 his supper would be sweet." He remained in such 
 composure of mind, that they were all amazed at it. 
 Next morning he and Latimer were led forth to ex- 
 ecution. Latimer was now upwards of eighty years 
 of age, and of most venerable appearance. On pass- 
 ing the prison of Cranmer, they both looked up, 
 hoping that he would have seen them ; but he was 
 engaged in disputing with some friars, and was not 
 at the window ; but on hearing that they had passed 
 by, he looked after them with great tenderness, and, 
 kneeling down, prayed earnestly that God would 
 strengthen their faith and patience in that their last and 
 painful passage. When they came to the stake, they 
 embraced each other with great affection ; Ridley say- 
 ing to Latimer, Be of good heart, brother ; for God 
 will either assuage the fury of the flames, or enable us 
 to abide it." They then both prayed, and fitted them- 
 selves for the stake. Latimer divested himself of 
 his old coat and cap, in which he had appeared a 
 withered and crooked old man, and resolved to play 
 the man : he stood upright in his shroud, a most 
 venerable person, and, turning to his companion in 
 martyrdom, he said, " Be of good comfort ; we shall 
 this day light such a candle in England as will not 
 easily be put out." The smith then fastened an iron 
 chain round their bodies, and gunpowder being 
 
CH. XVIII. DAYS OF PERSECUTION. 211 
 
 hanged about tl.em to hasten their death, the torch 
 was put to the wood ; and the fire causing the powder 
 to explode, Latimer was put out of his pain, and 
 died immediately : but Ridley had a more lingering 
 torment; ibr they tinew on the fire so much wood, 
 that the flame could not break through it, so that 
 his legs were consumed before this was observed 
 At last one of those present opening the passage to 
 the flames, it put an end to his life. Thus died these 
 two excellent bishops : the one, for his piety, learn- 
 ing, and solid judgment, the ablest man of all that 
 advanced the Reformation ; and the other, for the 
 plam simplicity of his life, esteemed a truly good 
 and sincere Christian. 
 
 The constancy of Cranmer was put to further 
 and more difficult trial. Soon after the execution 
 of his brethren, he was removed from his prison, 
 and lodged in the house of the dean of Christ 
 Church ; where, instead of the hard prison-fare he 
 was delicately fed and lodged, allowed to take recre- 
 ation m the pleasure-grounds, and visited by many 
 persons, who, under the garb of friendship, flattered 
 and betrayed him. His constancy, which had been 
 proof against the terrors of prison and death, was 
 undermined by these allurements ; and he was in- 
 duced first to sign a submission, and afterwards a 
 recantation of his opinions. 
 
 Notwithstanding these submissions, the popish 
 party had the incredible baseness, as well as cruelty 
 to bring him to the stake, where he redeemed his' 
 
212 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 former weakness by a resolute witness to the truth. 
 Thus perished one whose temper, calmness, prud- 
 ence, and presence of mind, had, humanly speaking, 
 steered the ark of Christ through the perils of the 
 Reformation. If any are disposed to cast odium 
 on Cranmer's character, or doubt on his sincerity, 
 for having for a while yielded to temptation, let them 
 be very cautious lest they are condemning them- 
 selves. Cranmer's courage had been so many times 
 put to the test, both during the reign of Henry and of 
 Mary, that no reasonable doubt can exist as to the 
 sincerity of his faith. His temporary fall was occa- 
 sioned by the beguilement of flattery and ease. Of 
 all ages, the present, perhaps, has least reason to rail 
 against those who sacrifice their faith or principles 
 under such temptations. Let us pray that Cranmer's 
 repentance may have been sincere, and the Cliristian 
 boldness with which he met his cruel fate acceptable 
 before God : and if persecutions should come upon 
 ourselves, let us imitate his virtues rather than his 
 failings. 
 
 Cranmer, though a principal instrument of Provi- 
 dence in the work of reformation, has left to the English 
 Church certain blemishes which bear the im.press of 
 his character. Besides the leaning which he exhibited 
 towards the foreign reformers, and the modifications 
 and suppressions of doctrine arising from this source, 
 which, if God had permitted them to proceed, would 
 have rendered our Church but one of many sects, 
 Cranmer had a decided tendency to Erastianism. 
 
CH. XVIII. DAYS OF PERSECUTION. 213 
 
 He did not sufficiently view the Church as a divinely 
 constituted body, deriving its authority directly from 
 ^od. He too much mixed it up with the state, 
 and subjected it to civil control. It may, however, 
 be reasonably doubted, whether the Erastianism of 
 Cranmer, which induced him too much to subject 
 the Church to the temporal power, may not have 
 been the means employed by Divine Providence of 
 sav,ng the English Church from the same fate as 
 that which befell the Scotch. Be that it as it mav, 
 we still feel the evils of our subjugation. Our co^- 
 vocations are suppressed by civil authority; our 
 bishops nominated by the minister of the day; our 
 benefices looked on as property rather than trust, 
 l^et us not, however, be sure that these things have 
 not been mercifully permitted by Providence for our 
 good. Let us learn to avail ourselves to the utmost 
 of those advantages which we derive from the po- 
 rtion m which God has placed us ; and pray that if 
 we should be destined to enjoy greater liberiy here- 
 after, we may have grace to use it aright. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " And can ye drink 
 
 The cup that I in tears must steep ; 
 Nor from the whehning waters shrink 
 
 That o'er Me roll so dark and deep ?" 
 " We can— Thine are we, dearest Lord, 
 
 In glory and in agony 
 To do and suffer all Thy word ; 
 
 Only be Thou for ever nigh." 
 " Then be it so— My cup receive. 
 
 And of My woes baptismal taste." 
 
 Keble's Christian Fear. 
 
 From the records of history we turn to the personal 
 adventures of the worthy family with which this 
 story has brought us acquainted. And if our nar- 
 rative is fraught with sad and sorrowful events, let 
 the reader remember that they but too nearly re- 
 semble scenes which were taking place throughout 
 the whole country in that eventful reign. 
 
 The arrest of Latimer had not silenced or inti- 
 midated the knot of zealous and sincere Christians 
 whose story we have traced. They resolved, at the 
 hazard of their lives, to maintain the reformed faith 
 in that part where God had placed them. Robert 
 Neville w^as, as we have seen, a man of sober judg- 
 
THE ARREST. 215 
 
 ment, calm, though undaunted in liis purpose; not 
 one disposed to court martyrdom, but prepared to 
 endure it cheerfully, if it were the will of God that 
 he should bear witness to the truth. Maurice, on 
 the other hand, was more enthusiastic in tempera- 
 ment, and less sound in doctrine, than his brother.' 
 He would collect the Protestants of the neighbour- 
 hood m his house, and join with them in prayer, and 
 expound to them the word of God, or even ostentati- 
 ously jom their meetings elsewhere, undaunted by the 
 fear of persecution; courting, rather than shunning, 
 the danger with which he knew himself surrounded. 
 Had he lived in Scotland in a later period, he was 
 the man who would have headed a conventicle of 
 Covenanters, and gathered them on the mountain- 
 heath, teachmg them to glory in their sufferings and 
 persecutions-more eager to resist error than careful 
 to attain the real truth. We cannot approve, nor 
 must we severely judge, this sort of character. Men 
 of such temperament have been ofttimes raised up 
 to do the Lord's work, and have proved themselves 
 faithful and zealous. Yet it is not always found 
 that the spirit which courts persecution is animated 
 by the most stedfast faith. It is not the temper of 
 the best members of the Church. The mistaken 
 zeal and faultiness of temper, which urges men be- 
 yond the quiet limits of the Church into irregular 
 and erratic courses, often fails in the hour of trial if 
 It be not sustained by the power of fanaticism ; while 
 the faith of the sober and humble Churchman only 
 
216 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX, 
 
 shines forth the brighter. But we must not too 
 harshly blame the Protestants of those days. The 
 differences between them were merged, not, as they 
 now too often are, in the deceitful calm of latitudina- 
 rian indifterence, but in the overwhelming flood of 
 common persecution. 
 
 Amonorst those who resorted to Bentlev Manor 
 was Lawrence Saunders, a zealous and excellent 
 clergyman, attached to the cathedral of Lichfield, 
 where, with undaunted faithfulness, he preached the 
 reformed doctrine. It was on his head that the 
 storm first fell. When the council resolved on severe 
 measures, the zeal and notoriety of Saunders pointed 
 him out as a fit example whereby they hoped to in- 
 timidate the Protestants. He was arrested early in 
 the reign of Mary ; and after much suffering, he was 
 led to execution on the 8th of February 15.55, at a 
 place called the Park at Coventry. As he walked 
 barefoot to the place of execution, he fell on the 
 ground and prayed ; then he walked forward with a 
 cool and undaunted courage ; and, after again pray- 
 ing when arrived at the spot, he took the stake to 
 which they chained him in his arms, and kissed it, 
 saying, — "Welcome the cross of Christ ! welcome 
 everlastino; life!" and bein^ fastened to the stake, 
 and fire being set to the faggots, full sweetly he 
 slept in the Lord." On the morning before his ex- 
 ecution he wrote to his friends at Bentley a letter 
 full of consolation and encouragement, bidding them 
 make haste to follow him, if it were the will of God. 
 
THE ARREST. 217 
 
 Tis wonderful what zeal and determination the spirit 
 of endurance is wont to infuse into the hearts even 
 of the tenderestand weakest: delicate women, who, 
 one might have supposed, would have perished be 
 neath the first blast of persecution, have been known 
 o go through .offerings such as, in the present age 
 of ease and comfort, we are scarcely able to conceive. 
 The execution of Saunders, instead of discouraging 
 h. fr,ends, only served to make them the more re! 
 sc ute m their determination to persevere in the 
 a,th, and to resist what they believed to be con- 
 trary to God's truth ; and not only the hardier sex 
 but even the females of thnf ou ■ ' 
 
 emaies ot that Christian communitv 
 
 were mspirated, by the example of the first who fell 
 to endure for Christ's sake unto the end 
 
 deatLfT '""^ ^ft- the 
 
 death of Lawrence Saunders, that a party of men 
 consistrng of the mayor of Coventry, with ash erTff"' 
 officer together with Friar John, who had made 
 
 several mferior officers, arrived at the gate of Bent- 
 ley Manor with a warrant for the arrest of M 
 Nevillp p-;„ ,• arrest ot Maurice 
 
 iNeville. Hs proceedmgs amongst the Gospellers 
 at Coventry had given umbrage to the papist par ; 
 and had been represented to the bishop' who bein. 
 a violent partisan of the Romish faith,'Ld re's 1 d 
 to niake an example of him. Theporter at the outer 
 g. was at first inclmed to refuse admittance tole 
 party; but being informed that they had the queen' 
 warrant, and bemg warned of the dangerof res stance 
 
218 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 he unbarred the door, and suffered the officers with 
 their attendants to enter. The magistrate was well 
 acquainted with the Neville family. He had under- 
 taken the business with much reluctance, and on his 
 way had pondered on the possibility of aiding Mau- 
 rice's escape. Maurice, he knew, slept on the 
 ground-floor. The way into the upper part of the 
 house was, as the reader will remember, by a stair- 
 case leading from the hall. Accordingly, placmg 
 himself at the foot of the staircase, he directed his 
 attendants to go up into the chambers above, and 
 make search for their prisoner. No sooner were 
 they gone on their errand than he hastened to the 
 room in which Maurice slept, and warning him of the 
 dano-er, exhorted him to escape for his life. Confused 
 by the sudden alarm, and urged by the entreaty of 
 his friend, Maurice Neville hastily threw some clothes 
 around him, and descended from the window, sprang 
 across the moat, and was soon buried in the forest. 
 
 Meanwhile the officers had come to the apart- 
 ment of Robert, and, not knowing one brother from 
 the other, had secured him, ani brought him in cus- 
 tody into the hall or principal room in the house. It 
 was a fearful scene. The hall crowded with armed 
 men ; the aged mother, with hair dishevelled, be- 
 seeching them to pity her son ; the wife, with her 
 infant in her arms, clinging with affectionate alarm 
 to her husband ; the other little ones weeping and 
 wondering ; and the terrified domestics wailing and 
 lamenting around. 
 
CH. XIX. THE ARREST, 219 
 
 When the magistrate saw that they had taken 
 Robert into custody, he at once informed the men 
 of their mistake. 
 
 **How now, my men! you have secured the 
 wrong bird. This is not the man for whom our 
 warrant was issued, but Robert his brother. Haste, 
 and search the house for the right one." 
 
 The men, headed by Friar John, instantly dis- 
 persed through the house ; and after an ineffectual 
 search, both above and below, returned with the 
 intelligence that Maurice had escaped from the 
 window. 
 
 " However," said Friar John, " we have got one 
 of them ; and this fellow is as well worth catching as 
 his brother." 
 
 " Nay, Master Friar, we must not exceed our 
 warrant," said the magistrate ; it is not lawful to 
 take one man for another." 
 
 " It is our duty to arrest all heretics," said the 
 Friar. " I bear testimony that this man is a here- 
 tic ; and if thou favourest his escape, as perhaps thou 
 hast that of his brother, take heed that thou art not 
 called on to answer for it thyself. I demand that he 
 be taken before the bishop; and his lordship will dis- 
 miss him, if he thinks fit." 
 
 The good magistrate had not nerve to contradict 
 the peremptory friar ; the terrors of the Ecclesias- 
 tical Court stood before him ; besides, he felt sure 
 that Robert would be at once set at liberty; and 
 
220 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 therefore at length he yielded to the friar to take 
 him with them to Coventry. 
 
 The morning was now beginning to dawn; and 
 the officers having secured their prisoner, placed 
 him on a horse between them, and conducted him on 
 the road to Coventry. Meanwhile Friar John, with 
 one of the attendants, proceeded on another errand 
 with which they were charged. AHce Clifford had 
 long avoided giving offence, and with unobtrusive 
 zeal had silently though diligently laboured amongst 
 the brethren to confirm their faith ; and though well 
 known to be one of the principal abettors of the 
 reformed faith in that neighbourhood, yet she had 
 hitherto escaped accusation : but having been com- 
 pelled by her imperious husband to attend the mass, 
 she had, contrary to a statute recently enacted, re- 
 fused to accept the holy water, and openly professed 
 that it was not such water, but the blood of Christ, 
 which cleanseth from sin. It was for this declaration, 
 made publicly before the people, and reported by the 
 malicious Friar John, that a summons was issued 
 against her. 
 
 When the officers arrived at the house of Clif- 
 ford, they found the family assembled altogether, as 
 w^as the custom, at their morning meal ; and on shew- 
 ing their summons, the capricious Marmaduke burst 
 out into a most ungovernable fury. 
 
 " What !" said he ; " arrest the wife of a true 
 son of the Church ! Know you not friend from 
 
THE ARREST. 221 
 
 foe ? I will teach thee to come here witl, thy cita 
 
 sheath he seazed on Fnar John, while his servants 
 pm-oned t e arms of the other; then plac.ng the 
 dagger at h.s breast, he commanded hiL to swal- 
 low the cuatlon. The astonished friar at first re- 
 fused to comply; for, well knowing the spiritual 
 authont, wuh which he was armedf he couM no 
 beheve that any man would have the boldness thu 
 to merrupt him in his office: but when he ob 
 served the violent demeanour and gestures of he 
 nfunated madman, trembling with rage, and ready 
 o ph.nge the dagger into his breast, he had no 
 alternative but to obey his command. Cliffo" 
 aughed loudly at the friar's efforts to perfor^ h^ 
 task; and pourmg out a cup of wine, bade him wash 
 down h,s meal with that, and take heed that he 
 
 srhira::r' ^'^a-: 
 
 subdued. He was a coward as well as a blusterer 
 and when, some days after, another citation wa^ 
 sent, backed by a sufficient force to co:^ 1 ^ 
 d-ence 1^ very quietly submitted himself, !„d 
 treated the b.shop's favour; nay, so abjec was this 
 haughty man become, that he actually assis d I 
 conveymg h.s wife to prison. 
 
 Thus was the gentle Alice dragged from her 
 home and family, where she had Len used to 
 1-e m comfort, though not in happiness, and cast 
 u 2 
 
222 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 into a damp and loathsome dungeon in the Close 
 at Lichfield. But she endured her sufferings with 
 a meek and quiet spirit, her faith being surely based 
 on that Rock which is the true foundation. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 STJe Examination. 
 
 These, constrained to wield the sword 
 Of disputation, shrunk not, though assailed 
 With hostile din, and combating in sight 
 Of angry umpires, partial and unjust. 
 
 The grief and dismay of the afflicted family at 
 Bentley Manor may more easily be conceived than 
 described, deprived at once of so many of their 
 dear friends ; one driven from his home, an outcast 
 and wanderer ; two others, most dear to them, cast 
 into prison and threatened with a cruel death. These 
 afflictions were indeed sad and bitter : all they could 
 they did, which was to unite in frequent prayer, that 
 God would be merciful to their suffering friends, and 
 either restore them to liberty, or enable them to take 
 their persecutions patiently and to His glory. 
 
 For some while, notwithstanding their frequent 
 applications, no sure intelligence reached them of 
 the fate of Robert Neville, except that he was con- 
 fined in the Marshalsea at Coventry. After a few 
 weeks, however, the afflicted wife was comforted by 
 the following letter or narrative, which well illus- 
 trates the sufferings that the reformers of those 
 days were called on to endure, and the spirit with 
 
224 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 which, we trust, many of them underwent their heavy 
 persecution. 
 
 To my entirely beloved loife Mary Neville, 
 The peace of conscience which passeth all understand- 
 ing, the sweet consolation, comfort, strength, and bold- 
 ness of the Holy Ghost, be continually increased m 
 your heart, through a fervent, earnest, and stedfast faith 
 in our most dear and only Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen. 
 
 I thank you heartily, most loving wife, for your let- 
 ters sent unto me in my imprisonment. I read them 
 with tears more than once or twice : with tears, I say, 
 for joy and gladness, that God has enabled you to en- 
 dure in faith, and in a wilHng submission and obedience 
 to His will in all things. These your letters, and the 
 hearing of your most godly proceedings and constant 
 doings from time to time, have much reheved and com- 
 forted me. My constant prayer is, that God, who of 
 His great mercy hath begun a good work in you, will 
 finish it to the glory of His name ; and, by the power 
 and inspiration of His Holy Spirit, so strengthen, sta- 
 biiih, and confirm you in all His ways, to the end that 
 we may together shew forth His praises in the world to 
 come, to our unspeakable and everlasting consolation. 
 Amen. 
 
 Let us never cease to pray, yea, even for our ene- 
 mies ; and, that we may be the better able to forgive, it 
 is good to call to remembrance the greatness and multi- 
 tude of our sins, which Christ daily and hourly forgiveth 
 us ; and then we shall, as St. Peter affirmeth, be ready 
 to cover and hide the offences of our brethren, be they 
 never so many. 
 
 And forasmuch as the Holy Ghost calleth us to 
 
CII. XX. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 225 
 
 affliction ill this world, let us eiidoiivour, through llis 
 help, to lay our foundation so sure, that no storm nor 
 tempest may be able to overthrow nor cast it down. 
 Have no fellowship, dear wife, with those who corrupt 
 the word of God through their tradition, and add thereto 
 their own devices, worshipping stocks and stones. Be 
 not thou partaker of their sins. Beware of those who 
 shall advise you to somewhat bear a little with the 
 world, as they do, for a season. There is no dallying 
 with God's matters. It is a fearful thing to fall into the 
 hands of the living God. Remember Lot's wife. Re- 
 member the words of the prophet Elijah : " Why halt 
 ve between two opinions?'' Remember what Christ 
 saith : ^' He that putteth his hand to the plough, and 
 looketh back, is not fit for the kingdom of God.'' And 
 seeing hitherto God hath advanced us as good soldiers 
 in the forward, let us not play the coward, nor draw 
 back to the rearward. Let us set before our eyes such 
 as have behaved themselves boldly in God's name, as 
 Stephen, Peter, Paul, Daniel, and those who cast them- 
 selves into the burning fiery furnace ; and, in our own 
 days, Anne Askew, Lawrence Saunders, John Bradford, 
 and other faithful witnesses, who have already suffered 
 for Christ's sake. 
 
 If I would have given way to worldly reasons, I might 
 w^ell have been moved, first, by parting with you, my be- 
 loved wife, and my dear children, who are yet of a tender 
 age, and young, and apt and inclinable to virtue and 
 learning, following in the steps of their dear mother, — 
 their state, I say, might well have moved me ; and then 
 the parting with my possessions with which God hath 
 blessed me beyond the common sort of men ; and the 
 leaving my dear home, and estate, and friends. 
 
226 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 But aU these things, God be praised, move me not, 
 so that I should fall from the faith. Truly, at the first 
 sight of the sheriff, when I was delivered into their 
 hands, my nature did somewhat shrink back ; yet, be- 
 fore I came to the prison, by the working of the grace 
 of God, and through His goodness, all fear departed 
 from me, insomuch that I wept for the superabundance 
 of joy and gladness, musing much on the great mercies 
 of God, and, as it were, saying to myself after this sort : 
 " O Lord, who am I, on whom Thou shouldst bestow 
 this great mercy to be numbered with Thy saints that 
 suffer for the Gospel's sake?" 
 
 Not long after I was brought to prison, there came 
 unto me Mr. W. Brasbridge, Mr. Phineas, and other 
 friends, earnestly advising me to submit myself when 
 examined, and saying, that it was not myself, but my 
 brother Maurice, against whom the bishop was mcensed ; 
 and that I might easily obtain favour. I told them, that 
 if it were God's will to release me, I should rejoice to 
 go back to my dear family ; but that I would not pur- 
 chase my release by a single word which was agamst my 
 conscience : at the same time I earnestly lifted up my 
 heart to God, that I might do the thing which should 
 please Him. And then, when they had given over their 
 entreaties, mv heart, methought, was wonderfully com- 
 forted ; and I thanked God that I was not moved by 
 my well-thinking friends to do that which was unworthy 
 of His righteous cause : and, debating this matter with 
 myself these considerations came into my mmd. I 
 have from time to time, with good conscience (God is 
 my record), urged all with whom I have had any con- 
 ference to be no dalliers in God's matters, and to shew 
 themselves, according to their light and knowledge, 
 
CII. XX. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 227 
 
 hoarty, onrnost, constant, and sf'al)le in maintaining the 
 trnth, and not to i>ive i)lace one jot contrary to it. Now, 
 tlioiig'lit T, if I shall withdraw myself; and make any 
 shift to draw my neck out of the collar, I shall give 
 great offence to the weak brethren in Christ, and advan- 
 tage to the enemies to slander God's word. It will be 
 said, He hath been a great boldener of others to be ear- 
 nest and fervent, to fear no worldly perils and dangers; 
 but he himself will give no sucli example. Wherefore I 
 thought it my bounden duty to God and man, being by 
 the great goodness of God marvellously called and ap- 
 pointed hereunto, to set aside all fear at perils and dan- 
 ger, all worldly respects and considerations ; and as I 
 had, according to the measure of my small gift in time 
 past, unfeignedly moved, exhorted, and persuaded all 
 that profess God's word, manfully to persist in its de- 
 fence, not with sword and violence, but with suffering 
 and loss of life, rather than do aught contrary to God's 
 v^ord,— so, the hour being come to ratify and confirm 
 the same to the hearts of all true believers by my ex- 
 ample, I resolved, by the mighty assistance of God's 
 Holy Spirit, with much peace of conscience, willingly 
 to sustain whatever my cruel persecutors should do 
 against me. 
 
 Thus remained I a prisoner in Coventry ten or 
 twelve days without being called to my answer by the 
 masters, contrary to the laws of the realm. The second 
 day after the bishop's coming to Coventry, Mr. Warren 
 came to the guildhall, and commanded the chief jailor 
 to present me before the bishop. I fear me Mr. War- 
 ren is no friend, and purposeth evil against me : God 
 give him repentance, if it be so, of his sinful malice. 
 I was brought before the bishop in the house of one 
 
228 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Denton. His lordship was attended by the chancellor 
 and one of the masters of the city, with divers others, 
 amongst whom I perceived that malicious Friar John, 
 who was the first cause of my arrest. May God forgive 
 Mm the wrong ! 
 
 The bishop began with tbe protestation that he was 
 my bishop, for lack of a better ; and advised me to 
 submit myself. 
 
 To which I answered with calmness, that I knew not 
 of what I was accused. 
 
 He asked me whether I was learned. 
 
 I said I was moderately so. 
 
 The chancellor of the diocese, standing bj^, said I 
 was a master of arts. 
 
 Then my lord the bishop laid to my charge my not 
 coming to church. 
 
 Here I might have dallied with him, and put him to 
 the proof. NotAdth standing, I answered him, through 
 God's merciful help, that I desired greatly to worship 
 God in His temple ; but that I had been prevented there- 
 from by the images there erected contrary to His writ- 
 ten word ; and by divers rites and ceremonies to which 
 I could not in conscience agree, inasmuch as they were 
 sinful and erroneous, and contrary to the holy law of 
 God. 
 
 He answered, that he came to teach, not to be taught. 
 
 I was content, I told him, to learn of him, so far as he 
 was able to teach me by the word of God, or at the least 
 not contrary to the same. 
 
 But who shall judge the word said the bishop, 
 
 I answered, Christ was content that the people should 
 judge His doctrine by searching the Scriptures, and so 
 was St. Paul. 
 
CH. XX. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 229 
 
 ''But what," said " it" you take tlio word one way, 
 and I another ?" 
 
 Then I observed that I was content that the primi- 
 tive Church, nearest the Apostks' time, should judge 
 betwixt him and me. 
 
 But he refused ; alleging that he was my bishop, and 
 therefore I must believe him. 
 
 If you, my lord, say that black is white, must I 
 also say as you say, and believe the same, because you 
 say it is so?" 
 
 The chancellor observed, that I was arrogant, be- 
 cause I would not give place to my bishop. 
 
 I then said to the bishop, " If you will be believed 
 because you are a bishop, why find you fault with the 
 people that believed Latimer, Kidley, and Hooper, that 
 were also bishops?" 
 
 ^'Because,'' said he, *^they were heretics.^^ 
 
 " And may not you err,^' said I, " as well as they?" 
 
 My lord made no answer, but commanded me im- 
 mediately to be committed to some tower, if they had 
 any other than the common gaol, — saying he would at 
 the end of his visitation rid his diocese of such wolves. 
 
 I said, Wherever it pleaseth you, my lord, I am 
 content to go ;" and so I was returned for that day ot 
 the common gaol from whence I came. 
 
 On the day after, being Friday, I had warning to 
 prepare myself to ride with certain fellow-prisoners to 
 Lichfield, there to be imprisoned during the bishop's 
 pleasure. At the first these tidings somewhat discouraged 
 me, fearing lest I might be sent to die in prison before I 
 came openly to my answer ; for my health had already 
 suffered during my confinement. But this thought I 
 rebuked immediately with God's word, and corrected 
 
 X 
 
230 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN". 
 
 my distrust in this manner : Is not His power as great 
 at Lichfield as at Coventry ? Shall not He dispose of 
 me as seemeth Him best? With thoughts like these, and 
 inward prayer, I became more cheerful and full of com- 
 fort ; and was ready to live or die, as He should think 
 fit ; and either to confess His faith before the world, or 
 to perish with it in secret. 
 
 About an hour before noon, certain sergeants and con- 
 stables of Coventry being appointed to have the convey- 
 ance of us to Lichfield, there to be delivered to one 
 Jephcott, the chancellor's man, we were led on horse- 
 back through the midst of the crowd, it being market- 
 day, that we might be the more gazed and wondered 
 at; and, to inflame the people the more against us, a 
 letter was read, enforcing a proclamation which had 
 been made for calling in and destroying such books as 
 truly expound and interpret the Scriptures. We came 
 to Lichfield about four in the afternoon, and had per- 
 mission to repose ourselves till supper-time. We were 
 lodged at the inn of the Swan, where we were enter- 
 tained in a kind and friendly manner. The reason why 
 we were lodged here at first was, as I soon learned, only 
 until a multitude of people were gathered together to 
 stare at us ; and then we were haled to prison, the 
 multitude gazing and wondering as w^e w^ent. I was 
 put by myself into a cell next to the dungeon ; very 
 narrow, strong built, very cold, and with little light. 
 In this place I was allowed a bundle of straw instead of 
 my bed ; and had no chair or form, or any other thing 
 on which I could rest myself. But God hearkened to 
 my prayer, and gave me great patience ; so that, if it 
 had been His pleasure, I could have been contented there 
 to have ended my life. Afterwards, seeing that I was 
 
CH. XX. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 231 
 
 very sick and weak, tlie gaoler allowed me a bed of my 
 own procuring. But besides this, I had no help what- 
 ever in my sickness ; nor even paper, pen, ink, nor 
 book, saving my New Testament in Latin, and a Prayer- 
 book, which I had secreted. 
 
 Within ten days the chancellor and one Temsey, a 
 prebendary, came to me in prison ; and the chancellor 
 exhorted me to conform myself to my lord the bishop, 
 and to the Church. 
 
 I answered to his exhortation, that I refused not to 
 be ruled by that Church which w^as content to be or- 
 dered and governed by the word of God. 
 
 He asked me, how I knew the word of God but by 
 the Church ? 
 
 I replied, that to say, because the Church sheweth 
 which is the word of God, therefore the Church is above 
 the word of God, was not good reasoning, nor agreeable 
 to sound learning. For, said I, " it is like unto this : — 
 J ohn shewed the people who was Christ : was John 
 therefore above Christ ? Or, supposing me to be in com- 
 pany wdth a man that knoweth not the queen ; I shew 
 him the queen : am I therefore above the queen ? 
 The Christian Church is a witness and keeper of holy 
 writ, and sheweth us what books were written by the 
 holy Apostles and Evangelists ; but the Church is not 
 therefore to set up her own authority above the written 
 word, or to ordain things contrary to the same.'' 
 
 The chancellor said, that he came not to reason with 
 me ; and so departed. And I remained without further 
 conference for eight days, until the coming of the bishop, 
 during w^hich time I gave myself continually to prayer, 
 and to meditation on the merciful promises of God, 
 without exception, to all that call upon the name of His 
 
232 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 dear Son Jesus Christ. Being thus occupied, I found a 
 daily improvement in health, increase of peace in my 
 conscience, and many consolations from God, by the 
 help of His Holy Spirit, and sometimes, as it were, a 
 glimmering and foretaste of the life to come; all for His 
 Son Jesus Christ's sake, to whom be all praise for ever 
 and ever. 
 
 On the bishop's first coming to Lichfield after my 
 imprisonment, I was called into a private room next to 
 my prison, where I found his lordship seated. Before 
 whom, when I came, I saw none but his officers, chap- 
 lains, and servants, except it were an old priest that 
 chanced to be there. I was somewhat confounded, and 
 lifted up my heart to God for His mercifal help and 
 assistance. My lord asked me how I liked my impri- 
 sonment ; to which question I gave him no answer. He 
 proceeded to persuade me to be a member of his Church, 
 which had continued so many years. As for our Church, 
 it was knowTi, he said, but lately, in King Edward's 
 time. 
 
 " I profess myself a member of that Church," said I, 
 ^^vhich is built upon the foundation of the Apostles and 
 Prophets, Jesus Christ being the first corner-stone. 
 This Church hath been from the beginning ; and was 
 founded in this country, as some say, by Paul the 
 Apostle; and continued for many hundred years before 
 it became corrupted.'' 
 
 Here his lordship interrupted me, and bade me hold 
 my peace, calling me a proud arrogant heretic. Then he 
 began to propose certain questions unto me, the which, 
 w^hen I refused to answer except in open court, he de- 
 clared that he would send me back to prison, and that 
 I should have neither meat nor drink till I had an- 
 
CII. XX. 
 
 THE KXAMINATION. 
 
 233 
 
 swerod him. Then 1 lifted up my heart to (lod, tliat I 
 might stand fast, and agree >vith the truth of His most 
 holy word. 
 
 The first question the bishop asked me was this — 
 How many sacraments Christ had instituted? 
 
 '^The sacrament of Bajitism/' said I, ^^and the Lord's 
 Supper.'' 
 
 No more said he. 
 
 I answered, that to all those that manifest a true 
 and unfeigned repentance, a sure hope, trust, and con- 
 fidence in the death of Christ, to such I grant that mi- 
 nisters have power, on the authority of God's word, to 
 declare His remission of sin." 
 
 Here interrupting me, he would maintain that I 
 called this a sacrament. On this point, however, I 
 would not greatly contend with him, because the mat- 
 ter was of little importance, although, in so charging me^ 
 he did wTong ; for I did not call it a sacrament. 
 
 Then he would know my mind, what I thought of 
 the presence of Christ's body in the sacrament. Upon 
 this I humbly besought God to give me grace, that I 
 might speak discreetly, seeing that it is a great mys- 
 tery. I acknowledged that the body and blood of Christ 
 were present in the sacrament, even as Christ Himself, 
 when He took the bread and blessed it, said, This is 
 My body." 
 
 Dost thou, then, acknowledge the real presence of 
 the body and blood of Christ V 
 
 I believe," said I, ^' that the body and blood o 
 Christ our Lord are ' verily and indeed taken and re- 
 ceived by the faithful in the Lord's Supper.' ''^ 
 
 ^ See Church Catechism. 
 X 2 
 
 I 
 
234 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Thou admittest, then, the doctrine of transub- 
 stantiation ?" 
 
 " Nay, my lord/' I answered ; it be meant that the 
 substance of the bread and wine are changed into the 
 substance of the body and blood of Christ our Lord, I 
 have no warrant in Scripture to say that; neither did 
 the ancient doctors or fathers hold such doctrine ; only 
 I admit that the faithful do verily and indeed partake 
 of the Lord's body. This is the doctrine taught by the 
 ancient fathers of the Church, and is agreeable to holy 
 Scripture." 
 
 Hereupon his lordship seemed somewhat perplexed, 
 and consulted privately with those who stood by. At 
 last he spake to me again, and said — 
 
 I much fear me thou art a desperate heretic, and 
 withal a subtle one. Do not suppose, however, that 
 thou wilt escape thy merits. '' 
 
 He then bade the officers take me back to prison, 
 from whence I write to thee, my dearest wife, this ac- 
 count of my sufferings and trials. It is now two days 
 since I was examined before the bishop ; and I expect 
 again to be summoned before him to-morrow. God 
 meanwhile hath greatly comforted me. At times I am 
 troubled by the adversary, who puts into my heart 
 thoughts of my great unworthiness to be counted in the 
 number of those who suffer for the truth's sake, and 
 makes me fear lest I shall fall away at the last. Then 
 I answer within myself, that God chooseth whom He 
 will to bear witness to His truth, and that to all such, 
 if they remain faithful. He giveth grace in time of need. 
 
 O may the grace and mighty consolation of the Holy 
 Spirit, from our loving and merciful Father, for His dear 
 Son's sake, continually dwell in your heart, my dear 
 
CH. XX. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 235 
 
 and faithful and beloved wife ; may His lioly angels 
 pitch their tents about you and your little ones, and 
 suffer you not to be tempted above your strength ; that 
 so in the end we may dwell together in God's kingdom, 
 and sing praises unto His Name with His angels and 
 archangels for ever and ever ! Amen, Amen ! 
 
 ROBERT NEVILLE, 
 A prisoner abiding God's pleasure. 
 
 It may be well imagined that this most Christian 
 letter brought a cheering consolation to the sorrowing 
 family ; and though it held not out the hope of their 
 again meeting in this world, yet it prepared them to 
 bear with patience whatsoever chastisement it might 
 be the will of God to inflict. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Oh ! there is never sorrow of heart 
 
 That shall lack a timely end, 
 If but to God we turn, and ask 
 
 Of Him to be our friend. 
 
 The only human consolation wliich Robert Neville 
 met with during his imprisonment was the occasional 
 company of his faithful friend Austin Bernher, who, 
 through the kindness of the gaoler, was permitted to 
 visit him, and bring him tidings of his friends and 
 family. Austin Bernher was an extraordinary man, 
 and performed deeds of heroism which few others 
 would have dared to attempt. Perhaps his peculiar 
 tenets of predestinarianism made him the less care- 
 ful of a life which he knew to be in tlie hands of 
 God. In the hottest rage of persecution, when even 
 a slight kindness shewn to those accused of heresy 
 subjected him who performed it to the danger of the 
 same fate, and it was almost death even to speak to 
 a heretic, he made it his business to attend on the 
 sufferers in their afflictions, to convey to them spi- 
 ritual consolation, and perform for them such offices 
 of kindness as might comfort them under their afflic- 
 tions; especially by travelling from place to place, 
 from one prison to another, and being the bearer of 
 
CII. XXI. 
 
 THE PRISONERS. 
 
 237 
 
 letters and messages between those who had been 
 torn from each other by the stern commands of the 
 law. Those only w'ho have learned by experience 
 the bitterness of such affliction can appreciate the 
 comfort of these attentions, when offered by a warm- 
 hearted and attached friend. He attended Latimer 
 and Ridley in their last imprisonment, and is spoken 
 of by both in terms of affectionate regard, nay, even 
 with love and veneration. He accompanied them 
 also to the stake, and witnessed their last sufferings. 
 
 After the death of his old master, Bernher passed 
 much of his time in Warwickshire, where he was dili- 
 gent in maintaining, according to his view^s, the cause 
 of the Reformation ; and when the persecution came, 
 he was of great comfort to those who suffered for 
 opposing the restoration of papal corruptions. 
 
 From Bernher, Robert Neville had been made 
 acquainted with the state of his family and friends; 
 and through him, also, he learned that Alice Clifford 
 was even then confined within the w^alls of the same 
 prison. 
 
 One day, w^hen Robert was rather more cast 
 dow^i than usual, Bernher came unexpectedly into 
 his cell, bringing with him a companion. What was 
 Robert's joy in recognising his old friend and pre- 
 ceptor William Arnold • Their interview was full of 
 poy as well as sorrow: but Austin interrupted their 
 communications by informing Robert that he had 
 obtained permission for them both to go to the dun- 
 geon in which Alice Clifford was confined, in order 
 
238 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 that they might together receive the consolations of 
 religion, of which they had so often before been par- 
 takers in each others' company. She too had been 
 apprised of the circumstance, and anticipated a mu- 
 tual comfort in seeing friends so dear to her once 
 more. Though unprepared for the interview, Ro- 
 bert Neville hastened with alacrity to avail himself 
 of the opportunity of again meeting, it might be for 
 the last time, one in whose society he had mingled, 
 ever since his boyhood, in so many varied scenes of 
 joy and friendship. It w^as a melancholy pleasure, 
 and his spirit trembled at the thought of the inter- 
 view. Many a day had passed since he had shed a 
 tear ; but now sad thoughts of former times rose 
 before his mind's eye, and he felt almost unnerved. 
 Accompanied by Bernher and Arnold, he followed 
 the gaoler through a long dark passage, until they 
 arrived at a small but strongly barred door, to which 
 the gaoler applied a ponderous key, whose harsh 
 grating caused an icy pang to shoot through the 
 heart. The room into which they were admitted 
 w^as small and gloomy. Alice was sitting on a low 
 pallet in one corner of the apartment ; her face was 
 pale and wan, but a mild lustre w^as kindled in her 
 eye, speaking of faith and resignation. The same 
 brightness and intelliorence which had characterised 
 her in her younger days seemed to have returned^ 
 after many years, but sobered and chastened by suf- 
 ferings faithfully endured. A gleam of light from 
 a close-barred wdndow fell on the book which she 
 
CH. XXI. 
 
 TIIK PRISONERS. 
 
 239 
 
 was reading — it was the Bible whicli had been given 
 her several years before by Hugh Latimer, and which 
 was now her sole companion, and the solace of her 
 prison. As Robert Neville entered, she made an 
 effort to rise from her seat, but sunk back from 
 weakness. Robert took her outstretched hand, and 
 pressed it to his lips, while his tears fell upon it. 
 
 Forgive my tears, dear Mistress Alice," said 
 he ; I thought to have borne myself more calmly ; 
 but the sight of one so much beloved and esteemed 
 in this sad situation unmans me." 
 
 Nay,'^ said she cheerfully, " sorrow not for 
 me ; rather let us rejoice together. Why should we 
 I grieve at being called on to endure the same afflic- 
 tions which Christ our Saviour hath endured before 
 us ? Let us take the cross upon our shoulders ; let 
 us follow our great Example, who by His own blood 
 hath dedicated and hallowed the way which leadeth 
 to the Father — that is the light to which no man can 
 j attain save through Him, the Fountain of everlasting 
 joys." She then raised the Bible, and read as fol- 
 lows from the place which was open before her : 
 " Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery 
 trial which is to try you, as though some strange 
 thing happened unto you ; but rejoice, inasmuch as 
 !ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that when His 
 glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad with ex- 
 ceeding joy. If ye be reproached for the name of 
 Christ, happy are ye ; for the Spirit of glory and of 
 God resteth on you" (1 Pet. iv. 12). 
 
240 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 Robert. And have you indeed learned to take 
 your sufferings so patiently, and to look forward with 
 such fervent hope of glory? Truly, we men have 
 reason to learn firmness from you of the v>'eaker sex." 
 
 Alice, Let us rather all of us look to Christ 
 the Captain of our salvation, who was made perfect 
 by suffering ; who, ' though He were a Son, yet 
 learned obedience by the things which He suffered ; 
 and became the Author of eternal salvation to all 
 them that obey Him.' " ^ 
 
 7?. Yes, dear lady ; for have not we the same 
 glory before us : ' I reckon that the sufferings of 
 the present world are not worthy to be compared 
 with the glory which shall be revealed in us.'^ ' The 
 God of all grace, who hath called us unto His 
 eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suf- 
 fered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, 
 settle you.' 
 
 You cannot outdo me," said Alice, with vi- 
 vacity, in quoting texts, which contain the most 
 abundant and blessed promises : * Blessed be God, 
 even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Fa- 
 ther of mercies, and the God of all comfort ; who 
 comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be 
 able to comfort them that are in trouble, by the 
 comfort whereby we ourselves are comforted of God. 
 For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our 
 consolation also aboundeth by Christ : and whether 
 we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salva- 
 1 Heb. V. 8. 2 j^oni. Yiii. 18. M Pet. v. 10. 
 
CH. XXI. 
 
 TIIK PRISONERS. 
 
 241 
 
 tion, vvliicli is eftcctiuil in the enduring of the same 
 sufferings which we also sufier ; or wlicther we be 
 comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation. 
 And our hope of you is stedfast, knowing that as 
 ye are partakers of the suffering, so shall ye be 
 also of the consolation.' 
 
 Alice laid the Bible beside her, and raising her 
 eyes with a look of inexpressible sweetness, almost 
 brilliancy, she added, Ah, Master Robert, the 
 days have been when I was gay and over-mirthful, 
 when the world seemed full of brightness and plea- 
 sure ; but never, believe me, did I feel such true 
 and heartfelt satisfaction as I do in this cold dreary 
 dungeon, when reading the blessed promises of the 
 Gospel, or when repeating the sweet Psalms of holy 
 David, which surely were designed for all God's 
 servants, and were no less suitable in the mouth of 
 Jesus Himself than of His humblest servants. * O 
 Lord,' " she exclaimed, " ' Thou hast dealt graciously 
 with Thy servant, according to Thy word. Before 
 I was troubled, I went wTong ; but now have I kept 
 Thy word. Thou art good and gracious ; O teach 
 me Thy statutes. It is good for me that I have been 
 in trouble, that I may learn Thy statutes.' Oh, what 
 a consolation there is in these inspired supplications ! 
 how^ they harmonise w^ith the spirit which is truly 
 fixed on God !" She then repeated a part of the 
 twenty-seventh Psalm, especially dwelling on the 
 beginning and concluding part — "The Lord is my 
 1 2 Cor. i. 3-7. 
 Y 
 
242 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 light and my salvation ; whom then shall I fear ? 
 The Lord is the strength of my life ; of whom then 
 shall I be afraid ? I should utterly have fainted, 
 but that I beheve verily to see the goodness of the 
 Lord in the land of the living. O tarry thou the 
 Lord's leisure ; be strong, and He shall comfort thy 
 heart ; put then thy trust in the Lord." 
 
 The holy cheerfulness of Alice had a marvellous 
 effect in restoring confidence to Robert Neville. 
 
 What !" thought he to himself, " can a delicate woman 
 thus suffer affliction, and shall I for a moment allow 
 myself to repine and despond?" 
 
 They conversed together for some while, occa- 
 sionally touching on the condition of their friends, 
 but going back almost instinctively to the word of 
 God, and the riches of Christ's mercy. At last Fa- 
 ther William proposed that they should receive the 
 holy Communion, perhaps for the last time. Upon 
 this Ahce was filled with joy and consolation : I 
 never thought again to have had opportunity to re- 
 ceive the holy Communion, except from the hands of 
 those from whom I should not have dared to accept 
 it; but God hath not forgotten me, and hath sent thee 
 His servant to give me this pledge of His love : this 
 is comfort and refreshment ; this is indeed a sure 
 evidence of His love." Austin, who had prepared 
 the elements for the purpose, then joined with them 
 in the service of prayer ; and Father William ad- 
 ministered the holy Eucharist according to the or- 
 dinance of the Church. Great was the consolation 
 
CH. XXI. 
 
 THE PRISONERS. 
 
 243 
 
 which all received from this holy Sacrament. They 
 felt themselves as it were joined anew with Christ, 
 prepared to endure whatsoever sufferings it should 
 be His will to lay upon them, and full of a sure 
 hope of meeting Him in glory. Before the blessing, 
 they all stood together on the floor of the prison, 
 and joined with solemn fervour in chanting the 
 Gloria in excelsis ; and after receiving the benedic- 
 tion of God's minister, the two prisoners parted, with 
 hearty commendations of each other to God's favour 
 and protection. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Z\)t Sufferm for €:onsti'ence=safee. 
 
 The promise of the morrow 
 
 Is glorious on that eve, 
 Dear as the holy sorrow 
 
 When good men cease to live ; 
 When, brightening ere it die away, 
 
 Mounts up their altar-flame. 
 Still tending with intenser ray 
 
 To heaven, whence it came. 
 
 Christian Year. 
 
 It was a chill and misty day in November, when 
 two persons might have been seen cautiously tra- 
 versing a secluded part of the Forest of Arden. The 
 last leaves of autumn were yet hanging on a few 
 withered boughs which had been broken by the wind, 
 and the condensed mist fell in large pearly drops 
 upon them as they made their way through the 
 tangled underwood. For a moment they paused 
 and looked around them, as if uncertain of their 
 path. Then taking a direction where the ground 
 began to slope downwards, they arrived at a small 
 and shallow brook, which appeared to serve them 
 as a clue ; for when they arrived at the stream, they 
 changed their course, and proceeded upward along 
 its course. The brook soon brought them into a 
 still wilder part of the forest, which was rough and 
 
CH. XXII. SUFFERERS FOR CONSCIENCE-SAKE. 245 
 
 broken into rocks. At length they came to a place 
 where the rock formed an abrupt precipice, at the 
 base of which the stream was flowing. " This," said 
 Austin Bernher, " is the place." 
 
 His companion looked around, but was unable to 
 see any object which he sought. 
 
 But Bernher, leading him round a small thicket 
 of brushwood, desired the other to follow him up a 
 steep path, where the rock was notched so as to 
 afford a footing. After clambering up a few rough 
 steps, aiding themselves by the tangled roots of a 
 birch-tree, they stood on a small platform, at the end 
 of which was a fissure just large enough to admit the 
 body of a man. When they had passed through this 
 fissure, the aperture widened into a small room, in 
 which they found the object of their search. 
 
 Stretched on the ground upon a bed of leaves, 
 over which were spread a few blankets, lay a man 
 the picture of despair. His beard, unshaven for 
 many weeks, hung in shaggy locks over his breast, 
 while his glazed and sunken eyes seemed buried in 
 his head. 
 
 The wretched man turned with apparent diffi- 
 culty on his couch as Bernher entered the cave ; 
 but seeing who it was, he stretched forth his hand 
 in glad recognition. Austin set down a basket which 
 he had brought with him, and his companion then 
 approached. 
 
 Is it possible," said he, that I behold in this 
 pitiable condition my friend Maurice Neville ?" 
 Y 2 
 
246 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 It is indeed that wretched man," said Maurice. 
 " Many thanks to you, good Master Arnold, for 
 coming to visit me in my suffering." 
 
 " The storm has fallen heavily on you ; but 
 God, I trust, will temper the blast to the shorn 
 lamb." 
 
 Alas," said Maurice, " my days are numbered ! 
 My flesh is dried up like a potsherd ; my linibs ache 
 with pain ; my strength faileth me. I have not many 
 days, perhaps not many hours, to live." This was 
 said in a sepulchral tone, which shewed too clearly 
 that his words were true. 
 
 And what news bring you ?" he continued. 
 
 News of a glorious triumph," said Arnold. 
 " A triumph !" exclaimed Maurice, with diffi- 
 culty raising himself into a sitting posture. Have 
 they, then, escaped from their persecutors ? hath God 
 delivered them from the malice of the enemy ?" 
 
 Yea, one hath already escaped to that place 
 where persecution and malice will never reach her 
 more." 
 
 I understand you," said Maurice : Alice hath 
 won the crown of martyrdom ?" 
 " 'Tis even so." 
 
 Maurice groaned deeply and sadly. A thousand 
 recollections came across his mind of former happy 
 scenes, as he dwelt on the memory of the departed 
 Alice: the hopes which he had once formed — the 
 love which he had once cherished, and which had 
 affected his whole life and character — (for who can 
 
CH. XXII. SUFFERERS FOR CONSCIENCE-SAKE. 247 
 
 tell the deep source and permanency of affection 
 once implanted, and how after many years such 
 thoughts still occupy the heart?),— all these presented 
 themselves before his mind as he rested his head on 
 his breast, and grasped his knees violently. 
 
 Let us not bewail her fate," said Arnold ; " yea, 
 let us rejoice rather that she hath been thought wor- 
 thy to bear witness to the truth." 
 
 The poor man seemed to catch a new thought ; 
 a glow came upon his cheek. 
 
 " And did she, then, endure well her sufferings, 
 and glorify God in her death ?" 
 
 Arnold. " Yea, and in her life too ; for she hath 
 endured much affliction." 
 
 Maurice. " O, tell me — tell me; I can bear to 
 hear it all." 
 
 A. " They thought to subdue her constancy by 
 persecution, and cast her into a noisome prison. And 
 many times w^as she examined and questioned — it 
 is said, even with torture ; but she remained faithful 
 unto the end. Long ago would she have suffered 
 death, but that the sheriff of the past year refused to 
 execute her. And when she knew that her hour w^as 
 fixed, still she shrank not. ' As for death,' said she, 
 * I do not much regard it. When I behold the lovely 
 countenance of Christ my dear Saviour, the grim face 
 of death doth not greatly trouble me.' Also, before 
 her death, when tw^o Romish priests were sent to 
 her, she refused to be shriven, affirming that she had 
 
248 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 made confession to Christ her Saviour, at whose 
 hands she humbly hoped for forgiveness. During 
 the night previous to her martyrdom, she was won- 
 derfully cheerful and pleasant, shewing at the same 
 time great seriousness and devotion of spirit, inso- 
 much that the majesty of the Spirit of God did 
 manifestly appear in her, expelling from her heart 
 the fear of death. She spent her time in prayer, and 
 in reading and talking with those who came to com- 
 fort her. She would also kiss the book of God, and 
 declare that it was given her by the most worthy 
 Bishop Latimer, whose steps she longed to follow. 
 
 At last, at eight o'clock, the sheriflf came to 
 her chamber, and told her that she had but one hour 
 to live : at which v>^ords, being roughly spoken, she 
 was somewhat confounded, but soon recovered her 
 spirit, and said, * Mr. Sheriff, your message is wel- 
 come to me ; and I pray God that He will make me 
 worthy to adventure my life in His cause.' As she 
 passed through the town, guarded by a number of 
 billmen, she leant on Austin and me, who were per- 
 mitted to accompany her to the place of execution. 
 
 " Having been so long shut up in a close, noise- 
 some prison, the length of the way, the great pres- 
 sure of the people, and the sudden change of air, 
 made her faint ; so that when she came to the place 
 of execution, she was unable to stand : upon which 
 a cup of wine was brought unto her from the she- 
 riff's house, which she took in her hand; and 
 
CK. XXII. SUFFEREllS tOR CONSCIENCE-SAKK. 
 
 having received, was greatly moved, saying, that it 
 reminded her of days long gone by, and of the pious 
 wish of good Bishop Latimer, that ' if she drank the 
 cup of sorrow, it might be for her greater joy 
 
 in truth it had been ; for God had been pleased 
 by affliction to wean her from the vanities of the 
 world, for which she rendered Him hearty thanks. 
 And then raising the cup, she drank of it ; saying, 
 ' In this cup I pledge all those that unfeignedly love 
 the gospel of Jesus Christ, and pray that we may 
 meet again in glory.' Whereat the people shouted, 
 but were repressed by the officers. Then she gave 
 the cup to her friends next her, who tasted it, and 
 passed it on to others ; so that a great number did 
 drink with her, especially women— for which, I learn, 
 that they were afterwards put to open penance by 
 their priests. When chained to the stake, she shewed 
 such a cheerfulness as passed all human understand- 
 ing; her countenance glowed with a heavenly joy, and 
 her deportment was so patient, that all that had honest 
 hearts wept to see her; and many with groans did 
 cry, ' Shame on the cruel tyranny of the papists !* 
 ¥/hen the flames burnt around her, she never 
 struggled or cried ; but only lifting up her clasped 
 hands towards heaven, quickly expired. She suf- 
 fered indeed less severity than many : the under- 
 sherifF, at the earnest request of her friends, having 
 provided materials for a fierce and quick fire, which 
 soon destroyed her mortal body. Thus did this 
 blessed martyr drink of the same cup, and so truly 
 
250 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 was she baptised with the same baptism as her be- 
 loved Lord and Saviour." 
 
 During the whole of this dreadful narrative, 
 Maurice ofttimes groaned deeply ; and when it was 
 concluded, as if unable to endure the thoughts of 
 the harrowing scene, he threw himself back and 
 closed his eyes, his lips moving in prayer. 
 
 After a while he again raised himself, and in- 
 quired with some eagerness, — 
 
 And Robert, my dear good brother, he too is 
 doomed to suffer. And doth he also endure his 
 persecution as becometh a soldier of Christ ? Yea, 
 I know he doth, and will glorify God, and acquit 
 himself bravely." 
 
 Arnold, " He doth indeed endure manfully. He 
 hath had many questionings before the bishop ; and 
 to all he answereth respectfully, but firmly, and will 
 retract nothing that is according to God's law ; yea, 
 rather by his answers he confounded his persecutors, 
 until the bishops resolved to have him burned. He 
 is condemned to die on this day week. I saw him 
 but yester-eve, after he had been told of his condem- 
 nation, and thought to find him cast down ; but he 
 is rather joyful, and full of spiritual comfort, albeit 
 without overmuch excitement. And, lo, he hath 
 entrusted me with this letter for thee, which he be- 
 sought me earnestly to deliver." 
 
 Maurice eagerly stretched forth his hand to 
 receive the letter, and pressed it with a trembhng 
 emotion to his lips ; but from excessive weakness 
 
CH.XXII. SUKFEUKUS FOR CONSCIENCK-PA K'K 
 
 251 
 
 was unable to open it. Arnold therefore nnfolded 
 it, and placed it again in his hands, whereupon he 
 read as follows : 
 
 Very deaii Brother, 
 I commeiul myself to your love and affectionate 
 remembrance. This cometh to advertise you that the 
 day is fixed whereon I shall glorify the Lord, as I trust, 
 by my death, and be joined to the number of those who 
 have borne their testimony to God's truth. 
 
 I thank God that I am nothing moved otherwise 
 than with thankfulness that I am deemed worthy to 
 follow my Redeemer's steps ; and pray for nothing but 
 that I may have grace to endure mito the end. How- 
 beit one thing grieveth me, namely, when I think on 
 thee, dear brother. I know thy sincerity, and thy suf- 
 ferings and zeal for the truth ; yet it concerneth me 
 much to think that thou hast been led away to league 
 thyself with those who have separated themselves from 
 the reformed Apostolic Church, and have caused schisms 
 in the communion of the faithful, and have given much 
 cause to the papists to exult against us. I beseech thee, 
 dear brother, pardon my freedom of speech in thus ear- 
 nestly beseeching that thou wilt give thyself in prayer 
 and humbleness of mind to the consideration of this 
 matter. And, I entreat thee, read what holy Paul de- 
 clareth in his Epistles to the Corinthians, and to Titus and 
 Timothy ; and also what our blessed Lord Himself saith 
 in His discourse with His disciples, on the need of bro- 
 therly love and union amongst all such as would be His 
 true disciples. If I could but hear that thou hadst joined 
 thyself again to the communion of the Church, I should 
 indeed die in comfort, and in the sure hope of meeting 
 
252 
 
 THE FOREST OF ARDEX. 
 
 thee with all my dear friends in that place where all ia 
 harraonj' and love. 
 
 These are, it may be, the last words which thou 
 wilt hear from thy loving brother, 
 
 Robert. 
 
 From the prison in the Bishop's Palace, 
 Lichfield. 
 
 When Maurice finished reading, the letter drop- 
 ped from his hands, and he melted into tears. The 
 long memory of former days, the pleasant scenes 
 which they had witnessed in each other's company 
 since first they roamed together when boys in the 
 forest, the long-tried affection of his excellent bro- 
 ther, and his own too frequent moody sullenness 
 
 these things came to his remembrance with a force 
 and vividness which he had never felt before. 
 Then he accused himself of having been in some 
 degree the cause of his brother's arrest, and blamed 
 himself for having fled from the hands of the 
 officers. 
 
 " Good father," said he to Arnold, since I 
 have lain sick in this wild cave, and have often 
 watched through the dreary night, listening to the 
 hooting of the owls and the sighing of the wind, as 
 it hath rushed through the crevices of this bare 
 rock, and still more latterly, since I have felt the 
 hand of death upon me,— many times have I thought 
 on the matter on which my kind brother writes ; 
 and God hath led me to bethink myself, that I have 
 allowed a supposed zeal for His truth to lead me 
 
CH. XXII. SUFFERERS FOR CONSCIENCE-SAKE. 253 
 
 into courses which my conscience cannot approve ; 
 and to gender a bitterness of spirit not according to 
 Christ's love. I have often thought, in my vanity, 
 that the faith of Robert and Alice, and thine too, 
 Arnold, was not of that stuff which would endure in 
 the day of persecution ; and I have presumptuously 
 imagmed that I myself should most glorify God 
 when the time of trial should come upon us. But, 
 God be thanked, I have lived to know the weakness 
 of my own faith. When first I fled into this cave, 
 oftentimes did I bitterly reproach myself that I had 
 been the cause of my dear brother's apprehension; 
 and when at length, in the hope of saving him, I had 
 resolved, as thou knowest, Bernher, to yield myself 
 to those who sought my life, I was stricken with this 
 disease, and unable to leave my hiding-place. How 
 many weary days and nights have I lain revolving in 
 my mmd my own faithlessness and vain presumption » 
 O pray for me, good Arnold, and thou too, Bernher 
 that my faith may be increased, and my understand, 
 ing directed to discern the truth." 
 
 They both knelt by the side of the sick man's 
 pallet, and Arnold prayed aloud, beseeching God in 
 his be.ialf, and entreating that He would sanctify 
 His fatherly correction to him, and renew in him 
 whatsoever was decayed by the fraud and malice of 
 the dev.1, or by his own carnal will and frailness ; 
 and, more especially, that in whatsoever he had 
 erred and gone astray. He would give him true 
 
254 THE FOREST OF AKDEN. 
 
 repentance, and restore him to the unity of the 
 
 ^^The prayers being ended, Maurice earnestly be- 
 sought Arnold, that, having heard his true confession 
 and repentance, he would pronounce absolution on 
 him for his presumptuousness in departing from the 
 unTty of the Church, and despising God's ordained 
 ^nfsters, and taking upon himself, in his ignorance 
 to minister in holy things. This request Arnold 
 complied with; Austin Bernher meanwhile looking 
 
 on in silence. . • 
 
 Maurice was much comforted in spirit after re- 
 ceiving absolution from the minister of the Church ; 
 but the excitement which he had gone through had 
 exhausted his feeble frame. For an hour or more 
 he lay motionless, as in death, insomuch that hi 
 companions thought that he had departed; but he 
 again revived for a short space, and, after many ex- 
 pressions of holy satisfaction, and hope to be reunited 
 lith his brother and other dear friends, he sank 
 back, and expired without an effort. 
 
 His two friends composed his remains in the 
 best manner they were able, and on the night bu 
 one following they conveyed his body secretly to the 
 burial-ground of the ruined abbey of Merevale ; and 
 there, since no open funeral was allowed to one ex- 
 communicated by the bishop,- there, m the dead o 
 night, with none present but themselyes,-the abbot 
 performed over him the last solemn service, and. in 
 
CH. XXII. SUFFERERS FOR CONSCIENCE-SAKE. 255 
 
 sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal 
 life, consigned his body to its long resting-place. 
 
 Such is a true picture of the sad persecutions 
 endured by those earnest men, many of whom were, 
 humanly speaking, the instruments of God in effect- 
 ing the work of the Reformation. Let us learn to 
 emulate their constancy, while we avoid their errors. 
 
 We are accustomed to look on the persecution 
 under Mary as a dreadful day to the reformed 
 Church— and so, in truth, it was ; but the deepest 
 darkness has its ray of light. It has been said, and 
 the saying is not without truth, that the Reformation 
 made greater and surer progress in Mary's reign 
 than it had before. In one point of view, certainly, 
 the condition of the reformers was improved, namely, 
 that they were sufferers, and not persecutors. Instead 
 of desecrating churches, and rushing into wild ex- 
 cesses, of which some had before been guilty, they 
 were bearing testimony to the truth by the sacrifice 
 of their own lives; and the Church was in training 
 for that more sound condition in which it afterwards 
 came forth, and which it might never have attained, 
 had It not passed through the fires of persecution. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ©ontlttsion. 
 
 Hail Virsin Queen ! o'er many an envious bar 
 
 Triumphant- snatched from many a treacherous wJe ! 
 
 All hail, sage lady ! whom a grateful isle 
 
 Hath blest, respiring from a dismal war 
 
 Stilled hy thy voice. Wokdswokth. 
 
 Having thus followed the steps of the Christian 
 sufferers through the melancholy period of the 
 Church's persecution, the remaining portion of our 
 narrative is more cheering and comfortable. 
 
 Not many days after the sad events recorded m 
 the last chapter, as Robert Neville was meditating 
 with a mixture of sadness and consolation on his 
 condition, resigned perfectly to the will of God, yet 
 not without regretful thoughts at the prospect ot 
 leaving his dear wife and children, and being cut ott 
 thus in the midst of his days, he heard the steps of 
 many persons hastily approaching along the passage 
 which led to his cell ; and, when the door was opened, 
 his wife rushed into his arms. She was followed by 
 Arnold and Bernher, leading his children ; and in- 
 stead of the sad and melancholy aspect of a mourn- 
 ing wife and family which had come to take a last 
 farewell of a beloved husband and parent, the coun- 
 tenance of them all was lighted up with joy. 
 
CH. XXIII. CONCLUSION. 257 
 
 The days of persecution were over— Mary was 
 no more ; and Elizabeth reigned in her stead. 
 
 We need not describe the joy and gratitude of 
 the happy family when they again found themselves 
 in peace and safety at their home. None can truly 
 judge of the happiness of security but those who 
 have experienced the bitterness of persecution. Even 
 to those who are most resigned to death, a reprieve 
 must be received with thankfulness, as a gracious 
 boon from Heaven, 
 
 The accession of Elizabeth was the signal for 
 umversal joy to a nation so long harassed by cruel 
 tyranny. The prison-doors, within which so many 
 pmed, were thrown open; hundreds of exiles, who 
 were passing their days in foreign lands, were re- 
 called to their country; and the reformed faith was 
 again established. 
 
 When the pope heard of Elizabeth's accession, 
 he sent word to her, " that it was a great boldness 
 in her to assume the crown without his consent' 
 yet, If she would renounce her pretensions, and refer 
 herself wholly to him, he would shew a fatherly affec- 
 tion to her and do every thing for her which was con- 
 sistent with the dignity of his apostolic see." But the 
 days were gone by when kings and queens received 
 their crowns from the hands of an Italian bishop- 
 and the presumption of the pope in making such a 
 claim was laughed, as it deserved, to scorn 
 
 By the merciful providence of God, the succes- 
 sion of the bishops derived from the Apostles was 
 
 z 2 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 preserved; and the English Church, sound (coir^pa- 
 rativelv) in discipUne and faith, remained for many 
 years one united body-the whole nation joimng, as 
 it was right they should, in the faith and ordmances 
 of their ancient apostolic communion. ,^ 
 This is a point very much to be regarded, that, 
 during a considerable portion of Ehzabeth's re.gn, 
 the reformed Catholic Church of England, cmbractng 
 the whole nation, mas one and undivided. 
 
 And much as we may object to some parts ot 
 the conduct of the queen, especially her impovensh- 
 ment of the already straitened Church, in opposition 
 to the earnest remonstrances of its guardians, still 
 it behoves all English Churchmen to bless God for 
 having raised up Elizabeth to be His instrument in 
 the consolidation of our distracted Church, rescuing 
 it from the dangers of popery and puritamsm, and 
 establishing it on a solid and.just foundation. 
 
 All that remains is, that we should briefly record 
 the subsequent fortunes of the various persons with 
 whom we have been made acquamted. 
 
 Robert Neville lived at Bentley Manor many 
 years with his beloved wife and family, occupymg 
 L honourable place of a country gentleman and 
 iustice of the peace in the county of Warwick-a 
 good specimen of that true-hearted, high-mmded, 
 and truly English body of men, who long have been 
 and still continue, the strength of the nation. Wei 
 educated, religious, temperate in his habits, firm as 
 regarded the duties of his station and office, he was 
 
CII. XXIII. CONCLUSION. 259 
 
 preserved by God to do much good in his generation, 
 and spread around him, within the sphere of his in-.' 
 fluence, the fragrance of a good example. 
 
 Not so Marmaduke Clifford, who gave way to 
 intemperate and bad habits ; was detested by his 
 neighbours, both rich and poor ; and at last was 
 killed in the forest by a fall from a runaway horse, 
 which he had goaded to fury by his cruelty. 
 
 Friar John was not heard of for some while; 
 but when, in the subsequent part of Ehzabeth's 
 reign, the papists, who had at first conformed to the 
 disciphne of the reformed Church, began to erect 
 a schismatical and separate communion, and went 
 on to plot treason against the government, the friar, 
 having involved himself in seditious practices, and 
 being detected in attempts to stir up the people to 
 rebellion, was found guilty, and executed with divers 
 others. 
 
 It would seem that the touching scene which 
 occurred at the death of Maurice Neville, and other 
 considerations, had its due weight on the mind of 
 Austin Bernher; for we find him, soon after the 
 accession of Elizabeth, rector of Southam, a re^ 
 nowned preacher, and conforming to the ordinances 
 of the reformed Church, having been ordained, pro- 
 bably by Latimer, at the time of the troubles. He 
 employed his leisure hours in collecting the sermons 
 of his old master, of which he has given to the world 
 a volume, containing many valuable passages illus- 
 trative of the times. 
 
260 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 Our excellent and revered friend William Arnold, 
 having been deprived of his living during the perse- 
 cution under Mary, on account of his refusal to admit 
 images into his church, and being now m advanced 
 age, resolved to pass the few remaining years oi h,s 
 life in the neighbourhood of his old home. His per- 
 sonal wants, whicli were few, were amply provided 
 for by the pension which he enjoyed. Robert 
 Neville desired that he should become an inmate 
 of Bentley Manor; but he preferred occupying a 
 small house adjoining the ruined monastery : and 
 here, with the aid of Robert, and from his own 
 slender resources, he devoted himself to the restora- 
 tion of the dilapidated church. The roof and walls 
 were still in tolerable repair, except those of the 
 south aisle, which had well-nigh fallen. These he 
 caused to be supported by a substantial buttress, 
 until he. or some one after him, should be able to 
 rebuild them. He restored the beautiful tracery ot 
 the windows, and with great care and perseverance 
 collected the scattered fragments of the ornamented 
 alass, which were broken and strewn around ; and 
 received with satisfaction many portions which had 
 been preserved by the people in the neighbourhood, 
 and were now piously returned ; so that the anciem 
 chapel began to resume its former beautiful appear- 
 ance. The exquisitely carved rood-lofc,i ,,-hich had 
 1 Krood is an image set on a pole; most commonly an 
 image of our Saviour on the cross, with St. Mary and St. John 
 at the foot on each side. A crnciji^ is an image of our Lord 
 
CH. XXIII. CONCLUSION. 261 
 
 once been desecrated by images, still occupied its 
 place as a gallery ;- and, if we must have galleries. 
 It IS one of the best specimens to be met with in the 
 kingdom. The altar-tombs, which contained the 
 bones of the former benefactors, he caused to be 
 removed from the dilapidated chapter-house, and 
 placed within the walls of the chapel; and greatly 
 was he rejoiced to find the brass effigy of the founder, 
 Robert Ferrers, still unhurt amidst the ruins. Thus 
 with pious diligence he restored, as far as his means 
 allowed, the beautiful chapel in which for so many 
 years he had worshipped God ; and had the inde- 
 scribable satisfaction, before his death, of officiating 
 as parish-priest within its renovated walls, and again 
 gathering around him a Christian congregation. 
 
 Far different, indeed, was the scene from that 
 which the chapel had once presented, when the sur- 
 pliced choir poured forth the melody of their rich 
 voices in honour of God. But it must be remem- 
 bered that, in its altered condition, no tapers burnt 
 before the forbidden idol; and the worship of God 
 was conducted, if with less pomp and show, yet 
 without the superstition exhibited in former ages. 
 
 O, when shall we discern the just medium be- 
 on the cross. To set up these in churches, especially over the 
 al^r seems directly contrary to the second commandment. 
 But to the use of simple oroue. in any part of a church not 
 the slightest objection can justly be raised. On the contrary 
 ho w can we be more piously reminded of the great doctrines 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 tween superstition and irreverence ? When shall we 
 learn truly to worship God in the beauty of holiness ? 
 
 L we rightly are for the blessing of a purer 
 faith, when shall we learn to emulate the pous de- 
 voti n of those less-favoured men, who deemed 
 that their time and -bstance were most profitab y 
 used when freely devoted to Gods honour? When 
 shall we restore to its just splendour the plunde ed 
 td dishonoured Church of God, and still retam the 
 purity of our own reformed faith ? 
 ^ Let us hope and believe that the day may not be 
 far distant ! 
 
Bra.sastaMa.ava.aOWh,suppoaaa to represent ma Fouader. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV, 
 Mntiom on ti)t ^Reformation. 
 
 Paith is not built on disquisition vain- 
 
 The things we must believe are few and plain - 
 
 Bu , since men will believe more than they need 
 
 And every man will make himself a creed 
 
 In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way ' 
 
 To learn what unsuspected ancients say - 
 
 Foi 'tis not likely we should higher soar ' 
 
 In search of heaven than all the Church before • 
 
 Nor can we be deceived, unless we see 
 
 The Scriptures and the Fathers disagree. 
 
 DrydEn. 
 
 At the distance of three hundred years, we ought 
 to be able to look back on the events of the Re- 
 formation with calmness, and to discern, more justly 
 han those who lived amongst them, the springs and 
 tendencies of that great revolution. If we are not 
 able to do so it is but one amongst many proofs of 
 the vuahty of traditionary feelings, and the tenacity 
 w.th which antipathies and prepossessions engrain 
 
 Let us endeavour, with as much absence of pre- 
 judice as we may, to take a brief survey of the Re- 
 tormation in its various bearings. 
 
 In the first place, it must be looked on as a re- 
 
 A A 
 
266 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 moval of abuses, and a restoration of the Church to 
 her ancient purity. This is the best and truest view 
 of it. This is what the English reformers them- 
 selves aimed at, and in the main accomplished. They 
 compared the existing practices of the Church with 
 Scripture ; and if any thing was plainly contrary to 
 the word of God, they abolished it. But the m- 
 stances of positive repugnance to the plain letter of 
 Scripture, though sufficiently numerous, were few m 
 comparison with the mass of corruption which had 
 grown up by the misinterpretation of Scripture, or 
 the overlaying of primitive usages. For the pu- 
 rification of these abuses, Cranmer and the other 
 reformers had recourse to the writings of the ancient 
 fathers, and the historical reminiscences of the early 
 Church. " I protest," says Cranmer, " that it never 
 was in my mind to write, speak, or understand any 
 thing contrary to the most holy word of God, or 
 else against the holy Catholic Church of Christ ; but 
 purely and simply to imitate and teach those things 
 only which I had learned of sacred Scripture, and ot 
 the Catholic Church of Christ from the begimiing, 
 and also according to the exposition of the most holy 
 and learned fathers and martyrs of the Church. 
 Ridley speaks to the same effect : " When I per- 
 ceive the greatest part of Christianity to be infected 
 with the poison of the see of Rome, I repair to the 
 usage of the primitive Church." Latimer declared 
 that^he had teached and preached nothing but « ac- 
 cording to holy Scripture, holy fathers, and ancient 
 
CII. XXIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE REFORMATION. 267 
 
 interpreters of the same."' Farrar, Hooper, Phil- 
 pot, Bradford, and Coverdale, add their testimony to 
 that ofCranmer and Ridley : "We doubt not, by 
 grace, but we shall be able to prove all our 
 confessions here to be most true, by the verity of 
 ^ods word and consent of the Catholic Church "2 
 Phdpot speaks still more plainly. At his fourth 
 exammation, the Bishop of Gloucester asked him, 
 1 pray you, by whom will you be judged in matters 
 ot controversy which happen daily?" Philpot an- 
 swered, "By the word of God; for Christ saith in 
 ^t. John, the word that He spake shall be judge 
 
 f. J ^f^^', "^^'^ " These doctors [or 
 
 lathers] we have great cause to thank God for them ; and yet 
 I would not have them always to be aUowed. They have 
 handled many points of our faith very godly, and we may have 
 a great stay in them in many things ; we might not well lack 
 them ; but yet I would not have men to be sworn to them, and 
 so addict as to take hand over head whatever they say : it were 
 a great mconvenience so to do."— Vol. i. p. 197. He is ob 
 jecting to an interpretation of a text by Origen, and does not 
 seem to have a just apprehension of the distinction between 
 the fathers as indimdml expositors of Scripture, and concur- 
 rent witnesses to any fact or doctrine. In another place, La- 
 hmer bears testimony to the decay of learning m the time of 
 Edward VI. " It would pity a man's heart to hear what I 
 hear o the state of Cambridge,_what it is at Oxford I cannot 
 
 teU,-there be few do study divinity n will come 
 
 to pass that we shall have nothing but a little English divinity, 
 that wUl bring the realm into a very barbarousness and utter 
 decay of learning. It is not that, I wis, that will keep out the 
 supremacy of the Bishop of Rome."— P. 159. 
 ^ Confes-sion at Oxford, 1554. 
 
268 THE FOKEST OF ARDEN. 
 
 in the latter day." The bishop then asked him, 
 «' What if you take the word one way, and I another 
 way? who shall judge then?" Philpot answered, 
 " The primitive Church." The Homilies abound with 
 appeals to the ancient fathers collectively and indi- 
 vidually. The Canons also contain similar recogni- 
 tion of their value, as in particular the one respect- 
 ing preachers : " In the first place, they (the preachers) 
 shall see that they never teach any thing for a dis- 
 course which they wish to be religiously held and 
 believed by the people, but what is agreeable to 
 the doctrine of the Old and New Testament, and 
 what the Catholic fathers and teachers and ancient 
 bishops have collected out of the same doctrine."' 
 
 It is most important to observe what entirely 
 different ground the reformed Church of England 
 occupies from the Romanist on the one hand, and 
 the continental Protestants on the other. The Ro- 
 manist considers each existing pope as infallible, 
 and that whatsoever he pronounces from time to 
 time, either from Scripture or elsewhere, is to be 
 received as truth. The ultra-Protestant considers 
 each man to be a pope himself, and at liberty to 
 take the Scriptures and interpret them according to 
 his own fancy ; hence the variety of sects into which 
 Protestantism is divided. The Anglican Church- 
 man beheves that the truth was settled by Christ 
 and His Apostles once for all at the beginning, and 
 1 These passages are quoted from a letter by the Hon. and 
 Rev. A. Perceval, recently published. 
 
CH. XXIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE REFORMATION. 269 
 
 that Scripture containeth all things necessary for 
 salvation. Where Scripture speaks plainly, he con- 
 siders its decision as final : where difference of 
 opinions exists as to the sense of Scripture, then he 
 appeals—not to the pope, who is but a fallible man ; 
 not to his own equally fallible judgment — but to 
 the concurrent testimony of the ancient Church. 
 This was the principle of the English Reformation; 
 as may be collected from an infinite variety of pas- 
 sages, besides those which I have already quoted. 
 
 On this principle image-worship was condemned, 
 as it had been by the ancient Church, as contrary 
 to the plain word of God. Perhaps there was no 
 greater practical change effected than the removal 
 of idols from churches. Nothing but their absolute 
 removal could root out the degraded superstition 
 with which thousands of poor ignorant people every 
 w-here throughout the country regarded them, and 
 direct their worship from the lifeless block to the 
 one eternal invisible Jehovah. And when we see 
 the strange infatuation of the ignorant, and the tena- 
 city with which even educated Romanists, uncon- 
 sciously from a spirit of party-zeal, still defend their 
 use, we are led the more to admire the wisdom and 
 goodness of Almighty God, when with His own 
 finger He wrote His peremptory command against 
 them. Again : transubstantiation, though pretended 
 to be founded on Scripture, was found to be contrary 
 to the doctrines of the ancient Church. And the 
 pope's authority over other bishops, and the notion of 
 A a2 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 an universal prelacy, was discovered to have no 
 sanction in Scripture, and to be contrary to primi- 
 tive practice. Thus were these and other corrup- 
 tions removed, and the Church stood forth in her 
 ancient simplicity. If the reformers had kept strictly 
 to this principle, and carried it out with moderation, 
 it had been well. But unhappily, human passions 
 mixed themselves up with the proceedings of the 
 times, and greatly marred the boon which the pro- 
 vidence of God had bestowed. 
 
 The Reformation is to be looked on, in the se- 
 cond place, as a resistance to ecclesiastical authority, 
 _a most unhappy position, though that resistance 
 be deemed to have been necessary. On the Conti- 
 nent the evil exhibited itself far more permciously 
 than in England. Here in England there were 
 many wild spirits which were with difficulty con- 
 trolled ; yet the Reformation was conducted mainly 
 by the sovereign and the bishops. On the Continent 
 it was effected generally in opposition to the ruling 
 powers of the Church, and partook more of the na- 
 ture of a democratic movement; hence its violence 
 and imperfections. From intercourse with foreigners, 
 the English imbibed much of their sectarian views, 
 and a spirit of resistance to authority,— a temper 
 of most unhappy tendency, even though it may be 
 sometimes necessary to act apparently as if influ- 
 enced by it. If, for instance, we are commanded by 
 our ecclesiastical rulers to worship images, or deny 
 our Lord, there seems to be no alternative but to 
 
CII. XXIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE REFORMATION. 271 
 
 resist to the death, and endure patiently whatsoever 
 trials God may be pleased to lay upon us. But 
 wlien the same spirit, abused, as it is almost sure to 
 be, to excess, leads men to resist their lawful rulers 
 in lawful matters, — as, for instance, to refuse to 
 wear a cope or a surplice, or to kneel at the holy 
 communion; when the conscience, we may almost 
 say, degrades itself by resistance to such things as 
 these ; when men proceed to greater lengths, set up 
 conventicles, separate from a Church, the general 
 doctrine of which they acknowledge to be true; 
 when they refuse to worship with the Church of 
 their fathers, on the futile plea that it is joined with 
 the State ;— in these cases, it is clear that a wicked 
 spirit of sectarianism is the true principle of action ; 
 and unhappily such a spirit was generated at the 
 time of the Reformation, and is rife among us even 
 to the present day. 
 
 Thirdly, the Reformation must be looked on as 
 a most unhappy schism. We, of course, believe 
 that the Romanist is responsible before God for 
 this schism. We beheve that the English bishops 
 were perfectly justified in rejecting the authority 
 of the pope, and were constrained in conscience 
 to abolish the corrupt practices which had over- 
 spread the Church ; and that the Romish Church, 
 instead of excommunicating us, ought to have fol- 
 lowed our example. Still, there can be no doubt 
 that the schism then caused in the Western Church 
 was deeply to be deplored. Cranmer strongly felt 
 
2*72 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 the inconvenience of the isolated position in which 
 the English Church was placed. Even the conti- 
 nental reformers were aware of the advantage which 
 the Church of Rome had over them in being (out- 
 wardly at least) one united body, whereas they them- 
 selves were divided into a multitude of sects ; and 
 at one time a scheme was set in foot for drawing 
 up a series of articles which should embrace all 
 the various denominations of Protestants. Had the 
 foreign Protestants acted in the same spirit of mode- 
 ration which, for the most part, characterised the 
 English reformers— had they been content to re- 
 move what was plainly contrary to Scripture and 
 ancient usage, and to preserve what possessed the 
 venerable sanction of antiquity— especially, had they 
 retained the apostolical or episcopal succession of 
 the ministry, whereby the Churches of Christ are 
 linked together with the Apostles as their common 
 ancestors, and are, in fact, by common descent one 
 great family, — the union might profitably have been 
 effected, and great strength have accrued to the 
 reformed Church. But as it was, — the continental 
 Protestants, running into wild excesses, and some 
 of them rejecting fundamental articles of faith or 
 discipline, some denying the doctrine of the atone- 
 ment, some corrupting the ancient doctrines of the 
 sacraments, and falling into a variety of heresies, — 
 it was a most blessed and providential circumstance 
 that no formal union was effected between them and 
 the Church of England. 
 
CII. XXIV. KEFLECTIONS ON THE EEFOKMATION. 273 
 
 Other incidental evils resulted from the schism. 
 It was not to be expected that men, when influenced 
 by strong feeling, should discern the just line be- 
 tween the necessary assertion of independence and 
 the sm of schism. The pope had for several ages 
 occupied a great place in the eyes of Christendom ; 
 and if the bishops thought it right, as indeed it was, 
 to remove their dioceses from his usurped dominion 
 individual Christians deemed that they had equal 
 right to withdraw from the communion of their 
 bishops. Hence by a natural, but not a legitimate 
 deduction, men arrived at the false notion of reli- 
 gion being based on liberty of opinion and the right 
 of private judgment,— principles which, carried to 
 extreme lengths, have generated the host of sects 
 and schisms that disgrace the Christian name, and 
 impede the progress of the kingdom of God. But 
 It was no vain notion of this sort which influenced 
 the best amongst our English reformers. It was no 
 liberty, but rather a stern restraint of conscience 
 which moved them to obey the word of God, and 
 follow in the footsteps of the Apostles, instead of 
 maintaining the abuses which man's corrupt will 
 had superinduced. It was no liberty of conscience 
 but a dominant necessity, which led the martyrs to 
 the stake. The spirit of martyrdom dwells not in 
 the arrogant feeling of the right of private judgment, 
 but m the strong duty of obedience. Most vainly 
 therefore, does the schismatic assert, that in wan- 
 tonly separating from the Church, and following the 
 
274 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 imagination of his own heart, he is treading in the 
 steps of the English Church. The best reformers 
 were men of very different mould from the modem 
 dissenter. 
 
 The notion of liberty of conscience arises partly 
 from a confusion between human and divme law. 
 God has given a revelation of His will, and esta- 
 blished a Church upon earth ; and each man is bound, 
 at his own personal risk, to believe the revelation 
 and become a member of the Church: He that 
 believeth and is baptised shall be saved; he that 
 believeth not shall be damned." i There is no liberty 
 of conscience here as regards God's command. We 
 are not to believe what we choose, but what God has 
 revealed; and as there is one faith, so there is one 
 baptism-as one Spirit, so one body, the Church, 
 to which, and to no other body, we are bound to 
 belong. We are responsible to God, -and vast 
 indeed is the responsibility, -but no human power 
 can justly coerce us. No authority of man can or 
 ought to force us to our salvation; nor can any 
 human power save us from condemnation, i o God 
 and His holy Church, which He has instituted, we 
 are bound at our peril ; and in that very absence of 
 all religious liberty consists our freedom from human 
 
 '""'iTis the mixing up of these two authorities which 
 is the main source of modem dissent: men falsely 
 arguing, that because the State has no right to con- 
 1 Mark xvi. 16. 
 
CH. XXIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE REFORMATION. 275 
 
 trol their will, therefore the Church has no claim to 
 their obedience and communion. And this notion, 
 though very different from that of our best reformers, 
 was no doubt promoted by a false application of 
 their example. 
 
 We must next view the English Reformation as 
 a political revolution. To separate, as some pre- 
 tend, religion from politics, is a thing absolutely im- 
 possible. They always have had, and always will 
 have, a powerful influence one on another. Some- 
 times, as in the Great Rebellion, politics will be the 
 ostensible surface of action, and religion form an 
 under-current ; sometimes, as at the Reformation 
 religion will be the most prominent, and politics be 
 kept more in the background. The soundest wis- 
 dom ,s, instead of attempting to separate one from 
 the other, to bring the hallowing influence of Chris- 
 tian faith to bear on every department and move- 
 ment of the State. Unfortunately, the too frequent 
 practice is to adopt the contrary process, and suffer 
 the bitterness of political animosity to intrude into 
 religion. 
 
 When differences of religious opinion spring up 
 m a nation, and the minds of men are excited, a field 
 IS open for ambitious politicians, of which they sel- 
 dom fail to avail themselves. The aspirants for 
 power place themselves at the head of the respective 
 abettors of the different sides ; goad them on to as- 
 perity ; lead them into open violence; and then reli- 
 gion most unjustly bears the blame of those angry 
 
THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 feelings and turbulent deeds, the real origin of wliich 
 has been the selfish ambition of worldly men. Ot 
 all systems, popery has in every age been the most 
 readily moulded to bad political uses ; it is, m tact, 
 essentially a political, rather than a religious system 
 _it is worldly ambition placing itself at the head of 
 those superstitious feelings which are inherent m the 
 human breast, enlisting with them often far h.gher 
 principles, but using them for its own purposes of 
 affffrandisement. 
 
 The quarrel of the king with the pope had di- 
 vided the kingdom into two parties; and the advo- 
 cates of the latter, urged on by foreign influence, at 
 once assumed that violent and rebellious attitude, 
 which, with little intermission, they have since ex- 
 hibited in English history. In truth, the political 
 papist is essentially a rebel: acknowledging an au- 
 thority which he is bound to obey, even to violent 
 opposition against his sovereign, he is always ripe for 
 schemes of insubordination, into which it may suit 
 his own views, or those of his superiors, to lead him : 
 hence the turbulence which characterises popery in 
 every nation where it is not predominant. 
 
 * Again: the English Reformation was a m-o/w- 
 tionary transfer of property from one set of men to 
 another, namely, from the Church and monasteries 
 to private individuals. There can be no question 
 that the spirit of plunder was at the bottom of a great 
 many of the proceedings of those days. It mfiu- 
 enced the king, as well as his nobles; even pious 
 
CH. XXIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE REFORMATION. 277 
 
 reformers themselves, though, we hope, from better 
 motives, encouraged the unjust appropriation of the 
 revenues of monasteries. The result was, that large 
 estates, which for ages had been dedicated to God, 
 — including not only the property of the religious 
 houses, but the revenues of bishops, and the impro- 
 priations which of right belonged to the parochial 
 clergy, —instead of being held sacred, or applied to 
 those analogous uses in God's service, which a better 
 knowledge of His will would have dictated, were 
 violently seized, and for the most part applied to 
 the enrichment of private persons; whereby the com^ 
 munity, instead of receiving any benefit, was de- 
 prived for ever of the advantages which might have 
 been derived from them. The English Church has 
 never recovered from the spoliation ; and never did 
 we feel her inadequacy more strongly than we do at 
 present. Every year that passes does but serve to 
 increase her insufficiency to administer the offices of 
 religion to the community over which God has set 
 her. And it is no small reproach of a Protestant 
 people, that in devotion of their means to God's ho- 
 nour, and in liberality in His service, they thus fall 
 far short of the Church which they reformed. World- 
 liness, private selfishness, covetousness, carelessness 
 for God's honour, are the lamentable result of those 
 evil principles and evil deeds by which the Refor- 
 mation was disgraced. 
 
 We have now arrived at an age when it may be 
 hoped that we shall be able to view these thincrs m 
 
 B B 
 
278 THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 
 
 their true light ; and while we retain the inestimable 
 boon of a reformed faith, and eschew all those cor- 
 rupt and superstitious practices which defaced the 
 Church of the middle ages, we may, at the same time, 
 endeavour to restore the decency and splendour of 
 her services, rebuild her ruined temples,— and, if we 
 cannot give back, may at least replace the funds of 
 which she was stripped, and re-establish the Church 
 in that sufficiency of outward means which she en- 
 joyed before she was reformed. Let us hope that 
 the time is at hand when men shall wilHngly offer 
 their substance, as in days of yore, upon the altar 
 of the Lord ; when our Enghsh Churchwomen shall 
 deem it a privilege to work altar-cloths for God's 
 house, instead of toiling for the adornment of their 
 persons ; and when some portion of the cumbrous 
 and superfluous decorations, with which excessive 
 wealth and a vitiated taste crowds our private 
 dwellings, may be devoted to the decent magnifi- 
 cence of the houses and service of God. But we 
 have other restorations to make besides the mere 
 outward fabric and decoration of our Church. We 
 have to bring back the pious and reverential habits 
 of ancient days, and restore the unity which has 
 been broken — broken, perhaps, of necessity, but at 
 the same time most unhappily. When God looks 
 down on this Christian land, and beholds our un- 
 happy divisions, our unholy worldly manners, who 
 can say that He does not view them with even greater 
 abhorrence than He before viewed the superstition of 
 
CH. XXIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE REFORMATION. 279 
 
 Rome? Our forefathers erred tlirough want of know- 
 ledge ; we, wlio boast of light and yet offend, per- 
 haps may liave a lieavier charge to answer. They 
 fell mto superstition from an excess of ignorance: 
 do not we, from our irreverence and unbelief, even 
 more dishonour God ? and may we not expect the 
 greater condemnation ? 
 
 But let not those who urge a restoration of the 
 Church be accused of desiring to revert to the cor- 
 ruptions and superstitions of Rome. We believe 
 that God has so overruled the course of events, that 
 at the time of the Reformation, when men's passions 
 were leadmg them astray. He interposed His divine 
 authority so that the reformed Church not only most 
 providentially retained the true episcopal succession 
 which links her with the Apostles, but also preserved, 
 not by her own wisdom and prudence, but by God's 
 merciful ordinance, the true apostolic doctrine in her 
 liturgy and formularies. 
 
 Though subsequent ages have in practice wan- 
 dered from the truth, until schism has appeared to 
 some to be of the essence of Protestantism, yet in the 
 work of our reformers,-what they retained, as well 
 as what they added,-we still have a rule of true 
 orthodoxy, both in doctrine and in practice. Built on 
 the foundation of Scripture, and preserving all the 
 essentials of apostolic usage, the Liturgy of the 
 i-NGLisH Church presents a basis to which not onlv 
 Protestants might return with consistency, but o^ 
 which they might meet their Romish brethren. Only 
 
280 THE FOREST OF AEDEN. 
 
 let English Churchmen act up to the real principles of 
 the Church to which they belong, build up her altars 
 in every parish, restore her festivals and apostolical 
 ordinances, and preach her evangelical truths; and we 
 may again see her the mother of us all. We need 
 never despair of a reunion, while our English Prayer- 
 book, the providential type of the English Reforma- 
 tion, remains entire ; and we may yet live to see the 
 day when the English Church shall be not only 
 united in itself, but be chosen by the providence of 
 God as the rallying point to which He shall gather 
 the disjointed fragments of His Church universal 
 upon the earth. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Note I. 
 
 A FEW remarks, elucidatory of the present volume, are 
 bare added in the Appendix, which could not have been 
 introduced into the Preface without anticipating the 
 interest of the story. 
 
 The foregoing narrative is almost entirely founded 
 on facts. The well-known character of Latimer has 
 been placed in a prominent point of view : first, as 
 stated in the Preface, because he fairly represents the 
 sentiments of a large body of the reformers; secondly, 
 because there is a raciness of humour and sterling Eng- 
 lish honesty in his character which it does one good to 
 contemplate, though his theological views may have 
 been defective ; and, thirdly, because he was really con- 
 versant with the scenes amongst which he is described 
 -scenes with which the writer is himself well acquainted 
 by birth and early associations. Latimer often visited 
 Warwickshire, and resorted to Merevale Abbey; with 
 the head of which, William Arnold, it is reasonable to 
 suppose that he was on terms of friendship. The real 
 name of the kinsfolk of Latimer was Glover; a respect- 
 able family resident at Mancetter, near Atherstone. 
 But as I have not adhered strictly to the facts of their 
 history but only availed myself of such circumstances 
 as might Illustrate the times, I have thought it better 
 
 B B 2 
 
282 APPENDIX. 
 
 to change their name and place of residence. The name 
 of the lady represented under the character of Alice 
 Clifford was Lewes. " Mrs. Lewes," says Fox, " was 
 a gentlewoman born, was delicately brought up m the 
 pleasures of the world, taking great delight in gay ap- 
 parel, and such like foolishness ; with which folhes the 
 most part of the gentlefolks of England were then and 
 are yet, infected." Afterwards she began to thmk se- 
 riously of religion ; and such was the effect of her change 
 of views, that she began to wax weary of the world, to 
 be very sorrowful for her sins, and inflamed with a love 
 of God, and desirous of serving Him according to His 
 word. The character of her husband, and his conduct 
 in making the messenger swallow the citation, and 
 afterwards delivering his wife up, her imprisonment, 
 and the circumstances of her death at Lichfield, espe- 
 cially her pledging the bystanders in a cup of wme 
 are all taken, with little variation, from Fox's Book oj 
 Martyrs. 
 
 John Glover, the elder of the two brothers, was 
 a gentleman, living also at Mancetter. He was "of 
 a constitution naturally low and melancholy and 
 at one time of his life " persuaded himself that he had 
 verily sinned against the Holy Ghost." Afterwards it 
 would seem, he regained his trust in God, and was so 
 devoted to meditation, prayer, and praise, that he led 
 a life almost celestial. The most part of his lands he 
 distributed to the use of his brethren, and committed 
 the rest to the guidance of his servants and officers, that 
 he might the more quietly give himself to his godly 
 study, as to a continual sabbath-rest." 
 
 Robert, the younger of the two, was more vigorous 
 in body and more learned, having been educated at 
 
Ari'KNDix. 283 
 
 Cambridge, of which university he was master of arts 
 At one time lie held an office in Merevale Abbev He 
 married a niece of Latimer's, and had three sons and 
 one daughter. 
 
 The apprehension of the one brother instead of the 
 other is according to the fact. The beautiful and pious 
 letter, written by Robert from his prison to his wife is 
 given, with the exception of the latter portion, almost 
 word for word. John Glover, "when he learnt that 
 bis dear brother had been apprehended for him, had 
 little comfort of life. With such sorrow of heart was 
 he possessed, that he would gladly have put himself in 
 his brother's stead, if his friends had not otherwise per- 
 suaded him, shewing that in so doing he might entangle 
 himself, and do his brother no good. In great sorrow 
 and anxiety he passed his time, until partly through 
 his mental anxiety, and partly through a cold which he 
 took in the woods, where he used to lie and conceal 
 himself, he was seized with an ague, and not long after 
 left that life which the cruel papists had so long sought 
 K ^^"i circumstances, especially the termination 
 of Robert Glover's life, were different from what thev 
 are represented in this tale. A monument has recently 
 been erected in Mancetter Church to these sufferers for 
 conscience-sake; and the account of their sufferings, as 
 related by Fox, has been published in a small volume 
 by the present incumbent, the Rev. B. Richings 
 
 From these extracts it will be seen, that I do not 
 profess to give a narrative of the life and sufferings of 
 the real martyrs ; but have availed myself only of such 
 incidents of their lives as might help to give interest to 
 my story, and illustrate the events of the Reformation 
 
284 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Note II. Page 33. 
 Some good friends of the Church are displeased with 
 the supremacy of the sovereign ; and the same is often 
 tauntingly objected to the Church by dissenters ; but 
 there does not appear to be, in theory, any just cause 
 for objection or reproach, however in practice the State 
 may have made encroachments. Elizabeth expressly 
 declared, " that she would have all her loving subjects 
 to understand, that nothing was by that oath [the oath 
 of supremacy] intended, but only to have the duty and 
 allegiance that was acknowledged to be due to the noble 
 kings. King Henry and King Edward, and was of an- 
 cient time due to the imperial crown of this realm : 
 that is, under God, to have sovereignty and rule over 
 all manner of persons born within her realms, either 
 ecclesiastical or temporal, whatsoever they be. So as 
 no other foreign power shall or ought to have any supe- 
 riority over them."— Strype's AnnaU, vol. i. p. 159. 
 
 In this sense, the queen is just as much the supreme 
 head over dissenters as over Churchmen. In other 
 matters, however, the influence of the State over the 
 Church is not so unobjectionable. If the State cordial y 
 aided the Church in its functions, this interference would 
 be the less to be deplored ; but such has been far from 
 being always the case. Even in Elizabeth's reign, 
 the Church continued to be impoverished rather than 
 strengthened ; and subsequent ages have many times 
 had reason to deplore the fettered condition in which 
 the Church is placed. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 285 
 
 Note III. Page 69. 
 It appears that, during the eleventh and twelfth 
 eentiiries, the bodies of persons of rank were preserved 
 hy salting, and afterwards enclosed in leather or hides 
 
 This usage was discontinued about the commence- 
 ment of the thirteenth century. 
 
 In this manner Hugh de Grentmesnel, who died 
 A.B. 1094, was interred; his body having been salted 
 and wrapt up in a hide.— FzWe Strutt. 
 
 A stone coffin was discovered in 1724, in the chap- 
 ter-house at Chester Cathedral, containing a body en- 
 closed in leather, supposed that of Hugh Lupus, who 
 died A.D. 1101.— GouGH, Sep. Mon, 
 
 Henry I. was sewed up in such an envelope : Being 
 dede, hys bowels were drawe oute of hys bodye, and hys 
 brayne taken oute of hys heade, and the bodye salted 
 withe moch salte, and, for to avoide the stenche that 
 infected manye men, it was at last closed in a boole 
 s^Ynne:^.-Volychronicon, lib. vii. cap. 17, by Caxton 
 cited in Strutt. ' 
 
 The corpse of Geoffrey de Magnaville, who died at 
 Chester, a.d. 1165, was salted, and wrapped up in 
 leather.— GouGH, Sep. Mon. vol. i. 49. 
 
 The remains of the Empress Maude, who died a d 
 1167, and was buried in the abbey of Bee, were found 
 there m the year 1282, wrapped up in an ox^s hide — 
 BouRGET, Hist, of Bee. 
 
 From the thirteenth century the bodies of the nobi- 
 lity were often regularly embalmed, and covered with 
 cerecloths, and deposited in stone coffins, or lead or 
 wood. 
 
286 APPENDIX. 
 
 There is a stone coffin in Merevale Church, which 
 we imagine was that occupied by Robert Ferrers. 
 
 Extract from CradocKs Literary and Miscellaneous 
 Memoirs, p. 27. 
 <' We made a considerable stay at Merevale,— a place 
 always rendered more agreeable to me than my wife ; 
 for I had an excellent library to refer to, and some 
 management of the garden-ground: but it was to some 
 rather dull; for I must confess that, on a close survey, 
 the whole routine of the interior did not a little savour 
 of the nunnery or the monastery. During one of my 
 longer abodes there, I received an application from 
 Lord Leicester, a learned antiquary, relative to an an- 
 cestor of his, who was buried in the churchyard, near 
 the old abbey, in which he was pleased to enumerate 
 many family particulars. ' He was (says his lordship), 
 according to our records, deposited under a very large 
 stone, in an ox's hide, at so many feet from the wall ot 
 the corner,' — mentioning the exact distance from the 
 ancient documents and I should take it a very par- 
 ticular favour (he adds), if you could obtain permission 
 to make an accurate examination.' I accordingly ap- 
 plied to Mrs. Stratford ; and went, with her full consent, 
 like Friar Lawrence, with a crow and spade, but no lan- 
 tern for it was in open day, and was attended by the 
 clerk and sexton, and a few select friends, who anxiously 
 awaited the result. We almost immediately struck upon 
 the corner of an immense stone, not far from the sur- 
 face, and at the precise distance that had been pointed 
 
APPENDIX. 287 
 
 out The lower end had considerably sunk: but I hesi- 
 tated to proceed further; for it appeared to me to be a 
 service of danger, as no faculty had been obtained from 
 the ecclesiastical court; and I was legally informed 
 afterwards, that the bishop of the diocese should be 
 previously applied to, before any process, in taking up 
 acoi^se for examination, could be possibly permitted. 
 I informed Lord Leicester of ^11 the particulars; but 
 various occurrences afterwards interfering, I believe his 
 loidships ancestor still remains safely and quietly de- 
 posited, statu quo, in his ox's hide." 
 
 Note IV. Page 69. 
 
 The following account, abridged from Dugdale, of 
 the family of the founder of Merevale Abbey, has been 
 
 tion of the times when monasteries were founded, and 
 shewing the necessity of such places of comparative 
 safety and retirement from the sinful turbulence of the 
 
 .,J"!i^^4'?i,^^*'''''*^™' of tJie abbey] 
 
 succeeded Wilham, who held Ixxix knights' fees: and 
 
 'lo^ir''' "^^^^"^ first mentfon I 
 
 find IS in 19 Henry IL, at which time (hearing how the 
 king s territories in France were invaded by the youno- 
 S -gainst his father), joininj 
 
 with the Earls of Chester, Norfolk, Leicester, and other 
 great men here m England, in the like hostile actions, 
 he manned the castles of Tutbury and Duffield agains 
 h s sovereign And not only so, but, raising the power 
 of Leicestershire, marched early in the mornlg to Not- 
 tingham, which then was kept for the king by Reginald 
 
288 APPENDIX. 
 
 de Luci ; and having, without any great difficulty, en- 
 tered the town, burut and plundered it, slaying and 
 making prisoners most part of the inhabitants. 
 
 " The year followins, this rebellious baron was forced 
 to submit' to the kin^. then at Northampton, and render 
 up the castles of Duffield and Tutbury, giving security 
 for his future fidelity. 
 
 " His sou William confirmed the monks ofGeroldon 
 iu the inclosed ground at Hethcote, and pasture for a 
 hundred sheep there, which his father had given to 
 them; and added another piece ofinclosure adjommg 
 thereto, with pasture for two hundred sheep more, at 
 six score to the hundred, five kine and a bull, and six 
 oxen ; and in the first year of Richard I. gave to the 
 monks of St. Denis in France, for the health of his soul, 
 and the soul of Sibill his wife, one wax taper yearly, 
 price xiiiS as also a stag and a boar, in their proper 
 «ea^ons, to be sent thither annually, at the feast of St. 
 Denis, bv the messengers of him the said earl and his 
 heirs. And likewise to the monks of Lenton all his 
 rio-ht to the church of Woodham in Essex, especially 
 for the health of the souls of those who were with him 
 at the burning of Nottingham, which (belike) was the 
 time that his father made such spoil there, as I have be- 
 fore exprest. 
 
 " This William was outed of his earldom by Ki- 
 chard I. ; but, as it appears, was afterwards restored, 
 and accompanied the kins on his holy voyage [crusade], 
 and died at the siege of Aeon [Acre] ad. 1190, leavmg 
 issue William, his son and heir. 
 
 Of the great misfortunes that befell this king in 
 his journey home, I shall not here stand to tell, for as 
 much as thev are fully spoken of by the croniclers; but 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 289 
 
 proceed to relate how tliat William of Ferrars rendered 
 good service to the kin^, on his return to England, es- 
 pecially at the siege of Nottingham, which had been 
 occupied by the abettors of John; and for his fidelity 
 he was made choice of by the king to sit with the rest 
 of the peers at the great council held there. At the 
 second coronation of the said king, he was one of the 
 four that carried the rich canopy over his head. After- 
 wards, when John came lawfully to the throne, he 
 swore fealty to him, and was very loyal to him in his 
 distresses ; for when the pope had deposed him of his 
 kingdom, and Pandulphus, his legate, came to treat 
 with him, William earl of Ferrars was one of the four 
 that gave his solemn oath for the king's performance of 
 those articles whereunto he had submitted ; and was 
 witness to the charter of king John, whereby he gave 
 up his realm to the pope. Of the king's favour to him 
 the following is a singular instance, viz., that on the 
 27th of June following, he had a special grant to him- 
 self and his heirs to sit at dinner upon all festivals in 
 the year, when they should solemnly celebrate those 
 days, with his head uncovered, and without any cap, 
 having a garland thereon, of the breadth of the said 
 king's little finger. This worthy nobleman aided king 
 John against the rebellious barons, and took by assault 
 the castles of Bolsover and Pec [Peak], in Derbyshire, 
 whereof by special grant he was made governor. After 
 the death of John, he rendered good service to the 
 young king, Henry III. ; and in the second year of 
 that king's reign he made a journey to the Holy Land 
 with Eanulph earl of Chester, leaving his steward, 
 Kalph Fitz Nicholas, to transact all businesses for him 
 until his return from pilgrimage. The next observable 
 c c 
 
290 APPENDIX. 
 
 passao;e relating to this stout earl was, that, in a differ- 
 ence between the king and Richard earl of Cornwall 
 (his brother), he took the part of Richard, and stuck 
 not to put himself in arms against the king ; but the 
 king wisely perceiving that unavoidable mischief must 
 ensue by clashing with his nobility, which were then so 
 potent, fairly composed the business. Afterwards he 
 was one of the three commissioners recommended by 
 the barons to the king for the reconciling of certain dis- 
 contents which had arisen from the violation of the 
 Maona Charta, with which reconciliation the people 
 were so well content, that they gave the king a thirtieth 
 part of all their movable goods, excepting gold, silver, 
 horses, and arms. At last, this good and just man died 
 full of days ; and in the same month he was followed to 
 the grave by his countess, with whom (if my informa- 
 tion be correct) he had been united in holy wedlock 
 seventy-live years before by St. Thomas of Canterbury 
 [Becket]. 
 
 " To this earl succeeded William, his son, a discreet 
 and good man, but sorely troubled with his father's in- 
 firmity (the gout). What is chiefly memorable con- 
 cerning him is his death, which happened to be violent; 
 for bein^ carried in a kind of chariot by reason of his 
 gout, which, through the unskilfulness of the driver, fell 
 off the bridge of St. Neots, his Kmbs were so broken 
 and body bruised, that he quickly died thereof, and was 
 
 buried at Mere vale. 
 
 " Robert, his son and heir, had the ill hap to be the 
 last earl of the family ; for no sooner was he come to 
 
 man's estate, than meeting with a discontented nobility. 
 
 who, under many fair and specious pretences, infused 
 
 into him all principles of disloyalty, he became a most 
 
APPENDIX. 291 
 
 Hialevolent man against the king; and having got a 
 IKHver ofsoWiers at his heels, he attacke.l and plundered 
 Worcester, and destroyed the king's park tliereabouf 
 to retaliate which outrage the king sent Edward, his 
 eldest son, down into Stafford and Derbyshire, with a 
 good anny, where lie wasted his lands and manors with 
 hre and sword, and demolished his castle at Tutbury. 
 Alter various other adventures, too long to relate, this 
 Robert of Ferrars lost his earldom, and died in poverty 
 possessmg nothing of the inheritance which he had re- 
 ceived from his forefathers, except the gout." 
 
 Note V. Page 76. 
 Sulesofthe Cistertian Order, from Fosbrooke's 
 ''British Monachism," page 112. 
 " The Cistertians [are] Benedictines, according to 
 the letter of the rule, without mitigation. Their pe- 
 culiarities I shall give from Dugdale's Wanoichshire, 
 which I have compared with Malmesbury and Knighton 
 First, for their habits: they wear no leather or linen' 
 nor mdeed any fine woollen cloth ; neither, except it be 
 on a journey, do they put on breeches, and then, upon 
 their return, deliver them fair washed. Having Lo 
 coats, with cowls, in winter they are not to augment 
 but m su„,^er, if they please, may lessen them; in 
 which habit hey are to sleep, and after ma.ins no to 
 return to their beds. For prayers,-the hour of prime 
 they so conclude, that before the laudes it may be day- 
 break ; strio% observing these rules, that not one iota 
 or ittle of the service is omitted. Immediately after 
 laudes, they smg the prime; and after prime, they go 
 out, performmg their appointed hours in work What 
 
292 APPENDIX. 
 
 is to be done in the day they act by daylight ; for none 
 of them, except he be sick, is to be absentfrom his dmrnal 
 hours or the compline. When the compline is fimshed, 
 the steward of the house, and he that hath charge of the 
 cuests, go forth, but with great care of silence serve 
 them For diet, the abbot assumes no more liberty to 
 himself than any of his convent; every where being 
 present with them, and taking care of his flock, except 
 at meat, in regard his table is always with the strangers 
 and poor people. Nevertheless, whensoever he eats 
 he is abstemious of talk, or any dainty fare ; nor hath 
 he or any of them ever above two dishes of meat; 
 neither do they eat of fat or flesh except in case ot sick- 
 ness ; and from the ides of September till Easter they 
 eat no more than once a day, except on Sundays,-no, 
 not on any festival. Out of the precincts of the cloister 
 they go not but to work. Neither there nor any where 
 do they discourse with any but the abbot or prior. In 
 summer, after chapter, which follows prime, they work 
 tiU tierce, and after nones till vespers ; in winter, from 
 after masstUl nones, and even to vespers during Lent. 
 In harvest, when they work on the farm, they say 
 tierce and the conventual mass immediately after prime, 
 that nothing may hinder their work for the rest of the 
 morning ; and often they say divine service in the places 
 where they are at work, and at the same hours as those 
 at home celebrate them in the church. They unwea- 
 riedly continue their canonical hours [i. e. prayer seven 
 times a day], not piecing any service to another, except 
 the vi<^ils for the deceased. They observe the oflice ot 
 St Ambrose, so far as they could have perfect know- 
 ledo-e of it from Millain [Milan] ; and taking care of 
 strangers and such people, do devise extraordinary 
 
APPENDIX. 293 
 
 affliction for their own bodies, to the intent their souls 
 may be advantaged. Hospinian says thus of them : 
 a year's probation ; no reception of fugitives after the 
 tliird time ; all fasts observed according to the rule ; 
 prostration to visiters, and washing their feet ; abbot^s 
 table always with guests and pilgrims; labour more 
 than the rule required; delicate habits exploded; obso- 
 lete and primitive fervour endeavoured to be revived by 
 them. Avarice was the great vice of this order. They 
 were great dealers in wool; generally very ignorant; 
 and, in fact, farmers more than monks.'' ' 
 Such is Fosbrooke's account. It seems probable 
 that very few monasteries were conducted for any length 
 of time strictly according to their rules ; and that, even 
 m those which were otherwise well ordered and irre- 
 proacliable, great relaxation of the prescribed discipline 
 was permitted. 
 
 Note VI. Page 17, 
 Those who wish to see the formation of an establish- 
 ment of monks may do so in Leicestershire, not far 
 from the road between Ashby-de-la-Zouch and Lough- 
 borough. Here, in a wild and romantic spot on Charn- 
 wood Forest, where the Whitwick rocks project their 
 craggy summits from the barren hills, a few Cistertian 
 monks have settled themselves, driven, as they say, 
 from Bretagne, in France, at the Eevolution of 1830. 
 Their first establishment consisted of a few farm-build- 
 mgs and a chapel, in which they perform divine service 
 seven times in the day; employing the remainder of 
 their time in the cultivation of their estate, which con- 
 sists of 250 acres of land. They are half farmers, half 
 recluses. A large crucifix towers above the rest in the 
 c c 2 
 
294 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 middle of the farm-yard. This spot is destined even- 
 tually to be their grange ; and at about a quarter of a 
 mile distant, a monastery of considerable size is being 
 constructed, Avhich is intended to be their residence, 
 and is capable of holding a large fraternity. A chapel, 
 140 feet in length, is to form one wing of the edifice. 
 The whole of the new building is under the especial 
 superintendence of Mr. Pugin, who, with a zeal worthy 
 of a purer faith, is taking wonderful pains to make the 
 whole establishment like in all respects to those of for- 
 mer days. 
 
 Note VII. Page 107. 
 The price of provisions, as fixed by statute in the 
 reign of Henry YIII., was as follows : 
 
 Beef, per pound 
 Pork „ . . . 
 Mutton 
 
 Veal ,, . . • 
 ,The preamble of the statute says, that these four 
 sorts of butcher's meat were the food of the poorer sort. 
 In the year 1544, an acre of good land was let at a shil- 
 ling or fifteenpence of our present money. See Hume, 
 iv. 246. 
 
 The following are some items of expenditure at the 
 funeral of Sir John Rudstone, who died a.d. 1531 : 
 
 id. 
 Id. 
 Id. 
 Id. 
 
 7 lb. of sugar . 
 2 gallons of milk 
 60 egges . 
 Butter, per gallon 
 16 pykes (fish) 
 10 swannes, at 65. a pece 
 
 0 
 0 
 0 
 0 
 1 
 
 d. 
 1 
 
 3 
 
 7i 
 
 4 
 0 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 295 
 
 3 doz. of rabetts 
 
 2 doz. of quayles 
 22 capons 
 9 doz. of pygeons 
 A surloyne of beef 
 Half a vele (calf) 
 
 4 mary bones . 
 
 3 barrels of ale 
 For double bere to the tabuU 
 32 gallons of redde and claret wyne, 
 
 at 1 Od. per gallon 
 A rundlett of muscadine 
 
 3 gallons of mackerey 
 6 unces of pepper 
 
 4 unces of clovys and mace 
 2 unces of saffron . 
 18 lb. of pruenes 
 8 lb. of corans 
 12 lb of sugar . 
 
 5 unces of cynimion 
 4 unces of gynger 
 A peck and a half of salt 
 Packthrede and mustard . 
 The cooke for hys labor and hys com- 
 pany for 18 messes of meate 
 
 Paid the turners of broches (spits) and 
 skulyans four of them 
 
 There are many other items for - candels, veny^er 
 &c. but not so entered that the price of those articles 
 can be estimated. 
 
 It is sometimes said, by way of accountin<r for the 
 superior liberality of former ages in the building of 
 churches, and the beautiful and solid manner in which 
 
 £. 
 
 s. 
 
 d. 
 
 0 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 0 
 
 10 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 12 
 
 10 
 
 0 
 
 7 
 
 6 
 
 n 
 
 u 
 
 o 
 
 4 
 
 0 
 
 2 
 
 8 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 8 
 
 0 
 
 11 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 4 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 8 
 
 0 
 
 6 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 4 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 9 
 
 0 
 
 2 
 
 4 
 
 0 
 
 1 
 
 10 
 
 0 
 
 3 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 1 
 
 8 
 
 n 
 u 
 
 >7 
 t 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 1 
 
 3 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 6 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 6 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 2 
 
 0 15 
 
 0 
 
 0 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
096 APPENDIX. 
 
 they are erected, that provisions and wages of h\bour 
 were much cheaper than now. True; but they were 
 not cheaper in proportion to the amount of men's in- 
 comes. On the contrary, the rent of land, and the 
 incomes of both clergy and laity, appear to have been 
 smaller in proportion, rather than larger. So that the 
 erection of a church would cost those who bore the 
 expense more in proportion to their incomes then than 
 at the present time. 
 
 But, in truth, it is evident that in every age the 
 price of provisions, the cost of labour, the value of pro- 
 perty, and the incomes of individuals, will always bear 
 a relative proportion to each other, with such variations 
 only as the accident of supply and demand may for a 
 short time produce. If the best land lets for a shilling 
 an acre instead of forty shillings, the price of the pro- 
 duce, and the labour of the husbandman, will all be 
 low^ in proportion. 
 
 Note YIII. Page 1-27. 
 A miraculous crucilix had been kept at Boxley in 
 Kent, and bore the appellation of the rood of grace.^' 
 The lips, and eyes, and head of the image, moved on 
 the approach of its votaries. Hilsey, bishop of Roches- 
 ter, broke the crucilix at St. Paul's Cross, and shewed 
 to the whole people the springs and wheels by which it 
 had been secretly moved. A great wooden idol revered 
 in Wales, called Darvel Gatheren, was also brought to 
 London and cut in pieces ; and by a cruel refinement 
 in vengeance, it was employed as fuel to burn Friar 
 Forest. See Hdme, vol. iv. chap. xxxi. He quotes 
 Goodwin's Annals ; Stowe, p. 575 ; Herbert Baker, 
 p. -286. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 297 
 
 Note IX. 
 
 On Monastic Institutions. 
 
 Before concluding, I wish to add some brief obser- 
 vations on the monastic system, which perished in Eng- 
 land with the pajDal power; but with regard to the 
 revival of which much is said, and more hinted, in the 
 writings of the present day. 
 
 It is clearly an erroneous impression to associate the 
 idea of monasteries with the Eoman Catholic Church 
 alone; such institutions having existed long before the 
 corruptions of popery were heard of, and being perfectly 
 compatible with a reformed Church. 
 
 The true notion of monasteries, and other kindred 
 institutions, is, that they are societies of persons who 
 have devoted themselves to a life of self ^denial, charity, 
 and the worship of God. 
 
 The objection to which the monasteries of the middle 
 ages were liable arose, not from their essential character 
 as religious societies, but from their accidental connexion 
 with a corrupt religion. The laxity of morals with which 
 many of them are charged was attributable to their 
 exemption from proper episcopal control, owing to the 
 usurped authority which the pope exercised over all 
 other bishops; and the various superstitions which 
 abounded within their walls— the worshipping of saints, 
 the offering masses for the dead, the impostures con- 
 nected with relics, — all these existed in monasteries 
 simply because their members were Romanists. 
 
 On the other hand, even when most charged with 
 corruption and superstition, the religious houses were 
 productive of many important benefits to society ; con- 
 
298 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 veying civilisation into remote and neglected districts; 
 furnishing asylums, where pious persons might devote 
 themselves to God, and those who were heavy laden 
 with sin might seek Him in penitence and prayer : be- 
 sides the benefit accruing to the Church from the con- 
 tinual prayers ofi'ered up by many faithful hearts. 
 
 Now, if we take a common-sense view of the ques- 
 tion (for, in spite of the antipathy which some modern 
 writers have to common sense, I will be no party to 
 excluding it from such discussions), it is surely unrea- 
 sonable to say that we may not have the advantages 
 of such religious association, without these evils. The 
 possibility of abuse is no argument against their legi- 
 timate use. 
 
 Besides, we have seen that the abuses arose from 
 corruptions which have now ceased. And it does not 
 seem just to argue that, because monasteries were cor- 
 rupt under the Romanist system, they should be so 
 when connected with a reformed Church. The aboli- 
 tion of the power of the pope, and the subjection of the 
 monasteries to strict episcopal discipline, would be a 
 safeguard, if not against the existence, yet at least 
 against the continuance of abuses ; and there would be 
 no danger of monasteries being the nurseries of popish 
 corruption, seeing that such corruptions have ceased to 
 exist in our Church. 
 
 These objections being obviated, what should hinder 
 such societies from being the instruments, and in a 
 greater degree than heretofore, of aU the good which 
 has in former days resulted from them? No one can 
 object to individuals or societies devoting themselves to 
 works of piety and charity (supposing them really to do 
 so), exercising self-denial, giving their time and their 
 
APPENDIX. 299 
 
 money to tlic poor, and ofFering their daily prayers in 
 the Cluirch. We have already many societies more or 
 less analogous to monasteries. One principal object of 
 our cathedral-establishments, for instance, is like that 
 of the monasteries — the offering up of daily prayers. 
 If a number of individuals joined together' and per- 
 formed, without emolument, those services which our 
 canons, pi'ebendaries, and the members of cathedral- 
 choirs perform with emolument, who could with justice 
 utter a word of blame? Who, again, could object to 
 Sisters of Charity, associated together for the purpose of 
 rendering their aid, on religious principles, to the sick 
 and afflicted ; like the societies which exist, under that 
 and other names, in France, and like the Beguines in 
 Flanders, who, amidst even the horrors and persecu- 
 tions of the revolution, obtained respect for their devo- 
 tion and usefulness? We have also institutions called 
 visiting-societies, consisting of persons who devote much 
 of their time to the temporal and religious wants of the 
 poor. If such persons worshipped together daily, and 
 subjected themselves to stricter rules of discipline and 
 obedience to their clerical superior than they do at pre- 
 sent, who would have a right to blame them? And 
 might not the feelings and tempers of such zealous per- 
 sons be much sanctified and elevated, by joining to- 
 gether in the prayers of the Church, previously to 
 engaging in the busy duties of active charity? Or 
 further; suppose that a number of zealous clergymen 
 chose to associate together in colleges, and, under the 
 sanction and control of the bishop, to devote their time 
 and substance to reclaiming the neglected population 
 of our great towns, who could for one moment raise 
 his voice against them, because in some respects they 
 
300 APPENDIX. 
 
 might be like the ancient monasteries .' If the mass of 
 our people is again to be brought into communion with 
 the Church, it may well be doubted whether it must not 
 be through the religious enthusiasm and devotedness ot 
 men who shall spurn all worldly views and considera- 
 tions, and even comforts, and devote themselves, heart 
 and soul, to the work of the ministry. 
 
 These are instances of the obvious usefulness to 
 society, of which religious bodies, properly ordered, 
 might be the instruments. And as usefulness is the 
 prevailing motive of the present age, we may be ex- 
 cused in laying stress upon it. But there are other 
 considerations besides mere usefulness, which may be 
 admitted in the formation of such societies. We be- 
 lieve that the honour and glory of God is promoted by 
 the devotion of souls to His service, and that the Church 
 derives strength from the continued prayers of its right- 
 eous members. Nor must we omit to notice the benefit 
 resulting to the souls of those who truly devote them- 
 selves to God. Surely, when we look at the world 
 around us, we must be constrained to confess that there ■ 
 are multitudes of whom, if they remain untd their life s * 
 end as they are, immersed in worldliness and frivolity, , 
 it is hard to believe, with the utmost stretch of charity, , 
 that they are in the way of salvation ; and it would 
 seem beyond a doubt, that nothing but the absolute 
 wrenching themselves from the scenes and occupations 
 in which they live is likely to enable them to turn 
 their hearts to God. No doubt it is possible for worldly 
 and sinful persons to repent and turn to God m the 
 privacy of their own homes; and a person may be as 
 much a saint, and exercise as much real self-denial, 
 amidst the petty details of ordinary life, as in the re- 
 
ArrENDix. 301 
 
 tirement of tlio cloister. Still, we all know the influ- 
 ence which chnnge of scene, example, and association 
 with others filled with the spirit of zeal, has over the 
 minds and feelings of those who desire to break through 
 a course of worldly vanity, and live to the glory of God. 
 To such persons, in the absence of monasteries, our 
 cathedral-towns even now offer facilities for devotion 
 to God which do not commonly exist elsewhere. What 
 can be imagined more suitable, in the present state of 
 social life, to the case of those who find themselves fet- 
 tered by worldly or sinful habits, and in vain endeavour 
 to break through them,- who long for a more spiritual 
 mind, yet find the frivolities of society so beset them 
 as to defeat all their efforts after holiness ? — what, I 
 say, can be more suitable, than for such persons 'to 
 retire to the precincts of our cathedrals, where they 
 may enjoy the privileges of public worship twice or 
 thrice each day, and, by a constancy of religious asso- 
 ciation, gradually raise their souls to the contemplation 
 of heavenly things, which now are seen but dimly and 
 seldom, if at all ? And if such persons should gather in 
 any numbers in the closes of our cathedrals, why should 
 they not join together and dwell as a society, united by 
 certain rules and regulations, eschewing luxuries and 
 self-indulgence, and devoting their substance to pious 
 and charitable uses ? I do not advocate superstitious 
 or exaggerated discipline. An affected poverty, sor- 
 didness of living, and ostentatious austerity, such as 
 one sometimes reads of in monastic institutions, seems 
 to have resulted from the natural tendency of human 
 nature to carry out even good principles and habits 
 to excess. Many lamentable instances have occurred. 
 Without denying that undue attention is paid by 
 
 D D 
 
302 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 many persons in the present day to delicateness, not 
 to say costliness of apparel, still no one will deny that 
 personal cleanliness is a duty ; and the neglect of this 
 duty,* which, amongst many exemplary deeds of self- 
 denial, we read of in such persons as La Mere Ange- 
 lique, the young Abbess of Port-Royal, and the shock- 
 ing particulars of the habits of Sister Providence,^ must 
 be°considered as the efiPect rather of fanaticism (especially 
 in the latter case) than religion. However, it is impos- 
 sible to deny that the abandonment of the common 
 luxuries of the world, and a life of self-denial and devo- 
 tion to charitable and religious occupations, would be 
 eminently suitable to the case of thousands of persons 
 who now%'ainly long for exemption from the trammels 
 with which the present state of society surrounds them. 
 
 If, however, institutions similar to monasteries were 
 at any time to be revived in our reformed Church, there 
 would be many points independent of abuses engendered 
 by popery — many points perhaps indifferent in them- 
 selves— in which the founders of such societies must 
 submit to the decision of their diocesan in the forma- 
 tion of their rules : such, for instance, as the^ propriety 
 of binding themselves by vows ; or the admission to such 
 institutions of male persons in the prime and vigour of 
 life. It is evident that a life of seclusion and prayer, 
 which might be suitable to holy men advanced in life, 
 or to the remorseful penitent, might be undesirable for 
 zealous Christians in the fulness of strength and activity ; 
 and that the bishop might reasonably require that the 
 active exertion and enthusiasm of such persons should 
 not be given to retirement, in the present exigencies of 
 
 1 See British Critic, No. LX., page 375. 
 
 2 See Quarterly Review, Vol. XXXVI. p. 347; see also p. 329. 
 
APPENDIX, 
 
 303 
 
 the Church. And, again, the abuses and inconvenience 
 resulting from monastic vows have been proved, by ex- 
 perience, to be so great, as to make it doubtful whether 
 the bishops of the reformed Church could prudently give 
 their sanction to their revival. These, and other points, 
 the revivers of monastic institutions must be content to 
 leave to the decision of those whom God has set over 
 them. While they may reasonably contend for the suit- 
 ableness of strict religious associations, for purposes of 
 self-denial and Christian worship, to the necessities of 
 tbe Church in this as in other ages, they m.ust not 
 only wholly dissociate them from the superstitions of 
 popery, but also carefully avoid the possibility of simi- 
 lar abuses creeping in, by placing the institutions under 
 the strict discipline of their spiritual rulers, and in har- 
 mony with the doctrines of our reformed faith. 
 
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