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desirable, we will not affect to decide ; but, we trust, it || not want materials we cannot say much. The lanwill not be presumption to say that unless some other guage, as we have already mentioned, is quaint, glitterand better aids be supplied, the ancient drama must ing, and forced. There is a sad want of passion and remain for some time longer in its present state of abey dramatic power about the piece. It is to be read, and ance. The truth is, that all attempts to revive any for not to be acted ; and even in the reading, we suspect it gotten form of literature, is, at once, puerile, tasteless, will be found rather heavy. A few specimens of the and vain. That which is excellent will not be forgotten. poetry are all we can afford. The following is a soliloThe dramatic writings of the age of Elizabeth, are the quy of Count Rosanna, in his exile. finest body of compositions which the literature of any

" Howe'er the destinies of life be varied, country can boast." They have no affectation, nothing Whate'er be our condition, rich or poor, sophisticated about them; but are full of boldness, Whether the ermin'd resident of the palace, originality, and vigour. Their authors were men who

Or th' hungry habitant of the straw-built shed

Possess we not the birtbright of our nature, thought and felt for themselves, and who expressed those

Anxiety? Poetry loves, indeed, thoughts and feelings with great strength and energy To paint the lowly peasant's lot thrice blest, with the most natural grace, and the most heartfelt deli | In the possessing innocence and peace : cacy. If Mr. Fitz-Eustace could transplant the spirit

But is not life embitter'd ? doth not fancy

Force out the sprouts of envy-discontent? and essence of these glorious emanations of high intel

Doth be not cherish wishes mountain high? lect into the dramatic literature of our age, he would, Doth he not long for pow'r, and wealth, and greatness ? indeed, render a vast service; but we feel no gratitude Deems he not the jewell'd robe a panoply for the mere copying—and faintly copying too-the

Of adamantine proof, from whose texture

The shafts of ev'ry ill would fall innocuous, outward form of those creations; the singularity of

And he might bid defiance to the world? phrase, the glitter of conceit, and exuberance of Then all the peasant's bliss is outward semblance, imagery. These were “ part and parcel" of that age: The blooming of the ripe and bursting fruit, they were “ germane" to the discourse of all society;

While cank'ring care is feeding at the heart ! and however affected in themselves, were, at least, un

The rich man sits full gory'd with ev'ry dainty;

He sees the glowing banquet sct before him affected so far as regarded the manners of the times. To satiate that appetite he feels not! To revive them now is in very bad taste, and would The downy couch inviteth soft repose, deserve all our critical reprehension, if the offence did

And he will toss himself from side to side,

Like to a vessel on the vexed sea, not carry the punishment with it. The author of this

Because the energies which he possesses play may rest assured that it will never do. Setting Are unemploy'd-because the labour's wanting, aside, therefore, this great mistake, we feel ready to give

To make that banquet and that bed most sweet! him credit for some sweet verses, and many delicate sen

The rich doth feel contempt for th’ poor man's carestiments. The story of his play is not very original. It

In comparison they are contemptible

But to the poor untutor'd hind, his cares is a good deal like the “Tempest” and “Cymbeline" in Are great, or greater, than the rich man's are, those parts which relate to the banishment of the prin Because he hath not sweet philosophy cipal characters. We have a Count Rosanna, who is

Wherewith t apply a balsam to his wounds.

And I have learn'd t'attemper my hard lot, driven from Florence by a rival; and whose son is at.

And soften its severity with those tached to that rival's daughter. Rosanna has a daugh. Same lessons I did learn when fortune smil'd ter, also beloved by Amaryllo, the Duke of Florence's Deceitfully upon me-when the shouts son. During the absence of the Duke in Palestine

Of thousands greeted my approach-Enough

Or that same theme. (Musing.) his title and honors have been usurped by Caracci,

Oh poverty! to me thou wouldst be welcome, the enemy of old Rosanna.—He returns, (attended by And I could hug thee in wild desperation, the young Rosanna) and, in disguise, introduces him. Ev'n as a drowning wretch; for to thy guise self into the assemblies of Caracci, and becomes

I owe my life, my liberty, my all,

My brightest jewel, Cynthia; more dear acquainted with his designs. The elder Rosanna is Than all of riches which this world contains ! brought before the usurper for condemnation ; but, just || O God! and 'tis for thee I grieve, my child, as sentence is to be pronounced, the rightful Duke

That drives me on to madness! Oh! that thou discovers himself. Of course, the traitors, usurpers,

Should thus be doom'd to suffer, thus to live

In abject poverty! villains, &c. are forgiven; their offences forgotten; and | Bless thee, my child—bless thee, Cynthia !" all the parties become fast friends. This is poetical

COURTS. justice we suppose! The recognitions are managed in

66 The court ! said you the court ? a bungling way. Young Rosanna recognizes his Isabel || Ay, honesty there starves for want of custom ; at a glance; but she cannot, after an hour's conver. | And modest virtue, with its famish'd cheeks, sation, detect him. The young Prince, and Miss Ro.

Spits its vile scorn. The court! I hate the court!

With all its cold formalities and vices sanna, make love to each other for a week as

Its juggling tricks--its darksone policiesstrangers, until, by mere accident, they discover that Its narrow forms-and truth beseeming lies: they are old lovers, and have been betrothed only a Its sycophantic crowds-wherein the hero short time before. Indeed, of the plot-though it does

The statesman-and the state-intriguing priest-
The flatterer of power-the mountebank-

The base empiric-and the cold buffoon-
Jostle, and laugh, and squeeze each other's hands,
Uttering gay gilded sentences—and words
Sweet as the Hybla honey: while their hearts
Wallow in the mire of falsehood!”.

GOLD.
" Gold is more powerful than the wizard's spell! -
Gold can convert all other things to gold,
As winter's ice or all-consuming fire!
'Twill make a fool a sage philosopher ! -
'Twill give a man the air and gait o' the pricst,
Though his heart burn with flaming lechery,
And damned thoughts are treasur'd in his breast,
And damned deeds do brand his countenance !--
'Tis a cloak for ev'ry sin. The glassy eye,
Where pale disease sits couching, will appear
Love's soft dove be-feather'd nest-the cheek
Palsied with age will quick be redolent
Of frolicsome youth-and the furrow'd face
Peer up like Jove's fair amaranthine brow! -
The old and shrivelled, thin-chin'd spinster-
The venom of whose scandal-bearing tongue
Hath burnt away th' enamel from her teeth-
Will glow with mantling health and peachy bloom,
And pristine innocence! Gold will do this-
Gold will do this and more. But I am poor!"

LOVE. * Love, Nereus like, assumeth every form! The pining beauty sighs for secret love, Although that sigh be light as thistle down! The coquette plies her snares for sceming love! The haggard lord doth rouge his rusty cheeks, Fills up the furrows of his shrivell’d Tightens his waist-and that's for gentle love! The swaggering soldier frets, and fumes, and swears A dictionary of oaths-and all for love! The silken moth of fashion lightly trips, Uttering sweet-essenc'd sentences, and ogles Through his gold-mounted glass-for burning love ; The schoolboy raves 'bout starry eyes, and hair Outravening the raven, and of teeth Of pearly whiteness, and of other nonsense 'Bout beating hearts, and ne'er consuming firesAnd all this clamour is for silly love! The poet rakes his brains, and takes thereout Weedy conceits-for flow'rets of love's growth! The soul-subduing minstrel tries his art, Tuning his sighs to sweetly-breathing strains, And lightening thus his love-be-racked heart! Thank heav'n my heart is free, and I can look, As from a mountain's height, on clouds below Clashing in direst conflict-while the sense Of safety oft will make us laugh to scorn Th’impotence of such hot conflicting pow'rs!". ** Love is the bauble which the poets clothe In rainbow hues, which please the ravished eye. or love the minstrel sings, when with his fingers He sweeps the breathing shell, and feeds the ear With sweetest so

etest sounds, until the sense, bewilder'd. Dreams of fair Cupid's bow and laughing eyes. His honey-pointed arrow, and of hearts Bound with silken bonds—and of gallant knights Shivering 'neath the rays of the laughing moon, Uttering soft serenades--and such like phantasies! But strip it of its peacock-glowing plumes, And what then is that self-same bauble love ? Like as the shatter'd instrument, which once Flung its sweet numbers to the listening gales, It now gives naught but discord :-ouch is love."

A VILLAGE MAGISTRATE. " Sir Powerful, the village magistrate! Authoritative as the Persian king,

Who wisely whipp'd the waters o' the Hellespont!
In grandeur of look, and majesty of mien,
He's another heav'n-sustaining Atlas-
With the like mists and clouds about his head,
Enveloping the nobler part of him,
His brains! He hath Alcide's brow, for all
Approaching his rev'rence-bow, and scrape, and bow,
Stamm'ring, and making sad mincemeat of their words,
Fearful to raise their downcast faces, else
The lightning of his worshipful eyes would blast them!
In privilege he is great Jove himself !
Seli-will’d as boisterous Eurus in his course-
For in pronouncing one short simple word,
He can perform acts wonderful-the stocks !

FLORENCE.
"O Florence-Florence-Florence !-beautiful,
Majestic, matchless Florence! do I once
More behold thee, my sweet native city ?--
Do I once more respire the gay perfume
Or thy flow'r-enamell’d plains, and bright Campagna,
Lay'd by the silvery Arno-like a beauty,
A wanton beauty, lavishing her favours
On thy proud rival, Pisa, and on thee,
Thou brightest gem of cloudless Italy !
Yet, like that self-same beauty, thou art false
And treacherous-sever'd with hot rebellion ! -
Whilst I've given thy name to Moorish ears
On the green plains of Palestine-tbou hast
Been tampering with a base adulterer!
And wouldst receive me as the Grecian harlot
Her fond lord, great Agamemnon, welcom'd!
But oh! ten thousand curses on his head,
Who, with his wily craft, hath drawn thee from
Thy true allegiance and thy wonted faith!
Yet have I shewn him love, regard, and trust:-
But can the pearly tears of weeping spring,
Or summer's glowing blushes, draw forth kindness,
Or verdant smiles from the Arabian sands?
Kindness in some bosoms turns to gall,
And deadly aconite-even as the toad
Extracteth venom from the honied flow'r-
And benefits receiv'd--what though they be
In number equal to the stars that stud
The heav'n-enzoning galaxy-are wip'd out,
Ev'n by a reckless sponge, lest they should shame
The receiver's nature-turning it from that
Same narrow channel, in the which 't hath been
Destin'd to run, and form a parodox!

USURPER'S MEDITATIONS. “ Ay, I will use them for my tools-fit tools To serve my purposes--then cast them oft, That they may know their meanness-- They would be Friends in success, but in adversity Most deadly-venom’d foes! Worldly friendship! Fie! 'tis a bauble wherewithal to please The eye of childishness, for wise men laugh The word to ridicule--'Tis a bubble That shineth for a moment, and then bursts Bursting from very emptiness-A name Written on sand, which one small wave wipes out As though it ne'er had been! The aspic lurks Beneath the blushing rose-Beneath the smile Sweet as e'er lit the lips of angel, lies A leprous soul-it is the soul of friendship! 'Twill follow gilded folly, like a dog Well train’d, obedient-Let a threadbare saint Approach-'twill fly him like one tainted with The deadly plague--'Twill buzz into your ears Its tones of adulation-scatter 'fore your feet Its melting candied sweetmeats-fawn upon youDance gaily round you-sighing forth the while • My lord---my gentle lord--the gracious god

whe poet rakes hour is for silly consuming fires

Of my idolatry-command thou my

Wolsey, the Cardinal, and his Times ; Courtly, Political, Services to the death, my patron saint!'

and Ecclesiastical. By GEORGE HOWARD, Esq. LonShifting its judgment by thy fortunc's glare, As madman's brains obey the changing moon :

don : Sherwood and Co. 8vo. 1824. Let the sky darken with an April show'r,

WHATEVER may have been the necessity for a new And it is scar'd-O fie ! fie upon it!

biography of Wolsey, we are not disposed to believe | It smelleth rank as hell!”

that Mr. Howard was the fittest person to supply the The following is pretty, and with it our extracts

deficiency. After a very attentive perusal of his vo. must terminate.

lunie, we find that it is nothing more than a compila

tion from sources generally known, and unaccompa0! my love is like to the nightingale, That mournfully sitteth the live-long day;

nied with any reflections or disquisitions which shed But when night comes, with her starry veil,

a new light upon the life of one of the most extraorThen she singeth her rapturous lay!

dinary persons whom history records. Mr. Howard For then doth creep to her moonlit bower,

appears to be a very superficial historian, and is conThe knight whom she doteth upon ! And, 'midst the wild magic of that lone hour,

tented with skimming over the surfaces of things withShe whispers her tale to her own loy'd one!"

out much ambition to penetrate into their causes and essence. Still his book is very entertaining, as indeed

every book relating to “ the proud Cardinal' must of Past Events; an Historical Novel, of the Eighteenth Cen pecessity be. His principal object professes to be a

tury. London: Moore. 3 vols, 8vo. 1824. more minute attention to personal biography, and to We have an objection to the title of this novel. It

the peculiar customs and manners of the times. Now is not historical. It is entirely a fiction. With the

in the latter points, the work is singularly deficient: in exception of the localities, and a few of the names

the former it is more successful. Mr. Howard is cerit is a pure offspring of the author's imagination. But

tainly not a partial biographer, for he records the faults this is of itself praise, when, with all our carping critical

and virtues of his hero, with the utmost candour. He propensities about us, we cannot find any greater fault

is not dazzled by the splendor of Wolsey's glory-nor in a work to be reviewed, than à mistake in the title

won over to his cause by the variety and extent of his page. The author is a practised writer, and handles talents, but describes them both with a spirit of just his pen with great facility. The language is good,

| impartiality, by no means common to biographers. the style fluent, easy, and gentlemanly, and the ma

The general outlines of Wolsey's life are sufficiently

well known. Our notice must be contined to a few nagement of the incidents and developement of the story, are both well and effectively contrived. In our

loose, disjointed extracts, which may shew the felicity restricted space we cannot abridge or analyze a narra

of the author's selections, or the manner in which he tive which fills three good sized octavos. The bare

has reduced his compilations into consistency and form. outline is all that we can give. It turns upon the for

The earlier years of Wolsey's life were distinguished by tunes of a young, lovely, and all-accomplished girl,

the diligence and success with which he prosecuted his who is taken up as a foundling, by a wealthy, kind

studies, and the uncommon sedulousness he exhibited hearted Spanislı Grandee, educated and presented to

in all the arts of rising in the world. The following the world as his niece. All the young Dons of Madrid

anecdote is a remarkable proof of the latter quality. became enamoured of her, but in vain. Her affections

Henry VII. had been advised to send Wolsey as a centre on Alfonso, a young officer of the Guards, the

messenger to the Emperor Maximilian on some imnephew and heir of her benefactor. The interest of

portant affair :the story turns upon the obstacles which her obscure

" The king was no sooner convinced of Wolsey's fitness origin interposes to prevent this marriage, and the I for the embassy in question, than he gave him orders attempts of a profligate young Grandee to carry her prepare for it instantly, referring him to the king in coun

cil for his commission and instructions; during the prepaoff from t'e family of her protector. Her adventures

ration of which, the new ambassador had frequent occasions and sufferings are told with much probability and

to repair, from time to time, into the royal presence, still great force. Some of the scenes in the Pyrenees, and further convincing Henry of his singular wisdom and sound the voyage to and residence in Sicily, are written with | judgment.

" With a heart swelling with ambition, and an anxious a vigour and boldness scarcely inferior to some of the

|| desire to distinguish himself upon this flattering opportubetter parts of Mrs. Radcliffe. She is at last disco- || nity, Wolsey seems to have made up his mind to astonish vered to be indeed the niece of her benefactor, and the at least by his despatch, even if not successful in his diplodaughter of one of the noblest families of Naples. After matic exertions : accordingly, having taken bis final auall the difficulties, usual in such cases, are surmounted,

dience of leave at Richmond at four o'clock in the afternoon,

he embarked on board a Gravesend barge brought up the she marries the heir of Albazetta, and all is happiness | river for that purpose; and, with the help of wind and tide, and content. There are some lively pictures of Spa reachid Gravesend in little more than three hours. Stopnish manners in this novel—which harmonize with the ping only for post horses, he set off between seven and

eight in the evening for Dover, and travelling with a speed general story, and assist in augmenting the interest of|

Il nearly equal to that of the present day, be arrived at Dover the whole.

the next morning at the very moment when the packet got

under weigh. No time was now to be lost; he pushed off || care and preparation, that not the slightest popular disto the packet, and before noon was sase on shore at Calais. pleasure was manifested, wben it was understood that he Still pressing on, he waited only for post horses, and tra was really prime minister; nor were they at all dissatisfied yelled with such diligence, that at a late hour in the even with the continuance of the war, which was now carried on ing he found himself at the residence of Maximilian, who, both by land and sea. But it was not alone to naval warhearing of the arrival of an ambassador from Henry, deter fare, as a secondary consideration, that Wolsey directed his mined that no time should be lost in diplomatic formalities, ll views; for he had scarcely entered upon the active concerns • for bis affection to the king of England was such, that he of state, when he saw that the best desence of Britain, in was glad of any opportunitie to doe him a curtesie,' and di the existing state of European politics, must be found in rected that Wolsey should instantly be admitted to the im her navy. He also saw that much remained for England perial closet, who appears to have made good use of the to acquire on the new theatre of unexplored oceans; he occasion, stating clearly and eloquently the object of his saw that she was best capable of extending her domains in embassy, and craving speedy despatch thereon. In this he new worlds; and he saw that to acquire and preserve these was eminently successful, for every thing was settled early advantages, she must be mistress of the seas. He, therethe next day, all Henry's requests being granted, when he fore, encouraged the predilection which Henry seemed to again set off for Calais, where he arrived that night, accom have for nautical affairs; and his earliest advice to him was panied by a splendid train of nobles from the emperor's to form a navy royal. In consequence of which, the Henry court to do him honour. At Calais, his arrival just took Grace de Dieu, a ship of the greatest burden ever built in place as the gates were opened at day-break, where he our ports, at that period, was laid on the stocks, and became found a packet ready to sail, from which he was landed at a favourite hobby of the young monarch, as appears from a Dover between ten and eleven o'clock in the forenoon, in letter of Wolsey to Fox, still extant.” . less than seventy hours after his departure from Richmond, where he arrived that night, and went quietly to bed until We must, however, do the Cardinal the justice of saythe morning.

ing, that whenever the honour or interest of the country No sooner did the king leave his bed-chamber, at an were at stake, and not in opposition to his own private early hour, to proceed to his closet to mass, than Wolsey views, he behaved with a degree of spirit highly honourpresented himself, when the king, little aware of what had able to him. This was particularly exemplified in the taken place, began to check him for his remissness in not course of the present year, wben the merchants complained baving already set off upon his embassy :- Sir,' Wolsey is | loudly of their sufferings from the piratical proceedings reported to have replied-if it may please your Highness, || both of France and Germany, though England preserved I have already been with the Emperor, and despatched || all the neutrality of one that wished to be a mediator. The your affairs, I trust, to your Grace's contentacion ;' and affair having been taken into deep consideration by the king thereupon he presented his sovereign with his letters of and council, the French ambassador was sent for, whom credence from the emperor. Haying entered into all the || Wolsey thus addressed: Sir! how is this chance bapparticulars, the king's wonder was strongly excited ; but || pened? You have promised ever, in the name of the king his majesty, for the present, dissembled his admiration and your master, that all leagues, promises, and covenants imagination in that matter, under the semblance of cold- should be kept, and that full restitution should be made of ness, if not of harshness, and demanded of him, if he had every hurt and damage, and that firm peace and amity met with a pursuivant who had been sent after him with | should be kept; but, contrary to your saying, our merletters, which concerned very material passages which chants be robbed and spoiled, yea, although he hath granted were omitted in their consultation, which the king ear his safe conduct; yet they be robbed, and stayed at Bournestly desired should have been despatched in his ambas- || deaux! Is this the peace that you and your master have

promised to be kept? Is this the amity that he was sworn * His majesty, indeed, scarcely imagined the messenger to keep? Is this the word of a king ? Is this the strength of to be well out of London, and was therefore doubly surprised || a prince to break his safe conduct? And where you advised when Wolsey answered — Yes, forsooth, I met with him our merchants to sue in France for restitution, and did waryesterday by the way; and though I had no knowledge rant them to be restored, you have put them to cost and thereof, yet, notwithstandinge, I have beene so bold, upon loss, for they have sued there long and spent their goods, mine own discretion, perceiving the matter to be very without any redress; and now you have imprisoned tbem, necessary, in that behalfe I despatched the same: and, fo and kept both them and their goods! Is this justice ? Is asmuch as I have beene so bold to exceed my commission, I this restitution ? And all this was your procurement, and most humbly crave your royall remission and pardon.' now see what is come of your promise ! Surely this may not • The king, inwardly rejoicing, replied-We doe not only be suffered; and besides this, the king is informed that the pardon you, but give you our princely thanks, both for your king your master hath spoken by him foul and opprobrious good exploit, and happie expedition : and dismissed him for words; yea in the hearing of the Englishmen, which were that present, and bade him returne to him againe after din sore grieved to hear such words, and were not able to be ner, for a further relation of his ambassage, and so the king revenged.' went to masse.'”

" To this the French ambassador answering, that it was The king was so delighted with his dispatch and | not so as it was reported, Wolsey instantly took him up, ex

claiming,— Well'! if you note the council of England so ability, that he placed him about the Court. This |

light as to tell fables, you may be misadvised. But I pray brought him into connection with the young prince, | you,' added he more coolly, how oftentimes'bath the king afterwards Henry VIII. After the death of Henry VII., written to your master, for restitution of such robberies as the rise of Wolsey was surprisingly rapid. His ambi- II have been done, and yet can have no redress? Wherefore tion began to develope itself in all sorts of ways, and

he granted letters of marque, which may stand with the

league; but M. Chatillon hath taken merchants of England nothing which could extend his influence or augment

prisoners, and hath sent certain here for their ransom! his wealth, came amiss to him. He was not ambitious That is open war; and no peace.' to increase his own power only, but likewise to increase

“ The French ambassador stuck to his old text of denial,

and now added attempts at recrimination, endeavouring to that of the country :

make out a worse case against the English in regard to " The people were delighted with the royal successes ; France; but Wolsey was not thus to be led from his purand so much was considered as owing to Wolsey's provident | pose: accordingly he sent for the four hostages that were

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still here for the payment of the sums due on account of “Subject to such flattery, endued with such powers, Tournay, and delivered each of them to a nobleman or || ecclesiastical and civil, as he now possessed, and supported knight for safe keeping; commanding the ambassador also in the plenitude of his authority by both king and pope, to keep his house, in silence, and not again to come into the can we wonder if Wolsey, like Philip of Macedon, should royal presence, until he was sent for."

be in danger of forgetting that he was a man ? He must, Nor were his more pacific intellectual pursuits for

| indeed, have been more than man had he not, in some mea

sure, forgot himself; yet still we must laugh at some whimgotten :

sical circumstances of pride and littleness which often ap66 But, amidst this bustle of politics, Wolsey still found Il peared. A curious instance of this pride and ambition took leisure for literature and its cultivators; and although the place this year, in consequence of the arrival of Cardinal general acquisition of knowledge in England was that which

| Campeius, as ambassador from the pope, and wbich alterhe had most to dread in behalf of his own ambitious views,

wards led, as some writers assert, to his own procuring of his love of learning sometimes overcame his ambition. par|| the full legantine authority; for no sooner did he know of ticularly in regard to the valuable Greek MSS, which were

the proposed embassy, and that Campeius, who was also a now discovered daily amidst the rubbish of monkish super- ||

legate de latere, would thus take precedence of him as a stition, and lodged in the library of the Vatican, of which

cardinal, than he sent an episcopal friend, accompanied by it was his intention to have copies taken for the English

several learned doctors, to wait for him at Calais, as if to universities.

do him honour by a welcome, but really to persuade him, " This literary patronage was extended even to those

that if he wished to meet with success in his embassy, he whom he knew to be friendly to the Reformation ; for that I must send post to Rome, in order not only to bave the he did not forget his old friends is evident from his atten

legantine authority conferred upon Wolsey, but also to have tions to the learned Erasmus, at this period Greik professor

the latter joined in the general diplomatic commission. at Cambridge, who was now in England upon his second

“ This representation had its expected effect upon Camvisit, and travelled from Cambridge to London to congratu- || peius, who took the steps necessary for its execution, so late his old college companion on his elevation to the mitre.

that the affair was settled at Rome, not without suspicion On his arrival he was received in the handsomest manner

of large bribes, and the bull brought to Calais in the course by Wolsey, who not only gave to him hopes of an appoint

of seven wecks; where Campeius and his train waited for ment to the first vacant canonry at Tournay, but also

it, and where their poverty and shabbinese were so appaassigned him a pension, to encourage him in the prosecu

rent, that Wolsey sent a quantity of red cloth over for their tion of his studies, which he long enjoyed with others from

new clothing. Lord Montjoy, a particular friend of Wolsey, from Bishop

" Thus refitted, the whole party crossed over and proFisher and Archbishop Warham.

ceeded towards the metropolis, being received at every " These attentions were met with equal gratitude on the

town with great ceremony, and accompanied from stage to part of Erasmus; who, during the whole course of his epis

stage by the nobility and gentry of each vicinity. On artolary correspondence, seems anxious to do every honour

riving at Blackheath, Campeius was met by the Duke of to Wolsey, not only in regard to his great abilities, but also

Norfolk, accompanied by an immense train of bishops, with respect to the wisdom and rectitude of his adminis

knights, and gentlemen, all clad in the richest apparel; tration. "In one of his letters written about this time, he

and by them he was entertained in a rich tent of cloth of says, your highness,' (thus addressing the favourite gold, where he attired himself in his cardinal's robe, edged nearly in the style of majesty, as used at that period,) in

with'ermine; then mounting his mule, set off in full prothe happy administration of the most flourishing kingdom

cession for London. upon earth, are not less necessary to the king your master

"In those processions it was customary for great men to than Theseus was formerly to Hercules, and Achates to

| be accompanied by mules or horses, laden with rich furniÆneas;' giving him credit at the same time for his great

ture, and even with treasure ; but Campeius travelled diplomatic exertions in regulating the peace of Europe.”

with such apparent poverty, that Wolsey was actually

ashamed of the appearance which he would make in passing The following anedotes respecting the Cardinal's hat, Il through the public streets : and, therefore, on the night sent to him by the Pope, and the arrival of Cardinal previous to the public entry, knowing that the mules of the Campeius as the Pope's legate, are rather whimsical :

Italian only amounted to eight in number, he sent him a

dozen others, laden with coflers covered with red cloth, but “ We are told, that although the pope sent him this ll empty. This deception passed on very well until their arworthie hat of dignitie, as a jewell of his honour and autho rival in Cheapside, when one of the mules broke from its ritie;' yet such was either the negligence or the poverty of

keeper, threw off its own chests, which burst open in the the holy see, that it was conveyed in a varlett's budget, fall, and made two or three of the other mules turn restive who seemed to all men to be but a person of small estima and do the same; but the derision of the populace was viotion.'

| lent in the extreme, when they saw that out of some “No sooner, however, was the Cardinal informed of this tell olde hosen, broken shoen, and roasted fleshe, pieces of fact, and of the people's opinion at Dover, where the mes. || bread, egges, and muche vile baggage : at which sighte tbe senger had landed, ihan he felt it necessary, for the honour || boyes cryed, See ! see, my Lord Legate's treasure;' and of so high a message, that this jewell should not be con so the muleteers were ashamed, and took up all their veyed by so simple a person.'

stufte, and passed forthe.' “ Accordingly, with true jesuitical cunning, be directed " But other folks might have been ashamed also, for that the messenger should be stopped on his route to town, previous to this the procession had been joined by the until he should be furnished with sumptuous apparel of

whole body of London clergy, with crosses, censers, and silk, gold, &c, as was meet for an embassy of such high im copes, who censed Campeius with all due solemnity, whilst portance. This priestly scarecrow was no sooner equipped the lord mayor and aldermen, common council, and all the in his new costume, than he recommenced his journey, and || trades and occupations of the city lined the streets in their was met on Blackheath by a gorgeous train of bishops, best liveries, with every possible ceremony to do him mitred abbots, and gentlemen of the first rank; from honour. whence he was conducted into the metropolis with a degree "No sooner had he recovered in some degree from the of triumph, as surprising to the once ragged messenger, as || disastrous disclosure, than he found a number of bishops, in amusing to those who were in the secret."

mitres and full canonicals, ready to receive him beneath a superb canopy, under which he entered the church, the

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