which the wise and good think it honor to come, and to which the
needy, the widow, and the orphan never come in vain. There
are three daughters, Margaret, Elizabeth, Cicely, and their
younger brother John, all married, the eldest to William Roper,
from whose life of his father-in-law many interesting incidents in
this sketch are derived. Grandchildren are growing up also, and
the orphan has found a daughter's place at the fireside and in the
heart of its master. But from oldest to youngest, down to the poor-
est scullion in the kitchen, he is the centre of all. You cannot
tell whether they love or fear him most. The mother, who might
have been another centre of gentle love, has long since gone to
rest. And More, after decent mourning made, seeing that young
girls would sadly need a mother's care, has chosen one for them,
not because of her wit, beauty, grace, or riches, but because she
will be to his daughters all they need. She is a notable house-
keeper, prudent, firm, able to command, and to train up his children
in what that loving father cannot. While we are looking at her,
so great a contrast, sometimes such an amusing one, with her com-
monplace, practical mind, very clearsighted concerning expediency,
and very dim of sight concerning principle, we may, perhaps,
And we cannot but wonder that such a woman,
pause a moment.
having seen so many years, should, by the force of mere gentle-
ness, and the spirit of chaste and elegant refinement which pre-
sided in that home, imbibe something of its spirit, and contribute
her share to the common stock of tasteful and refined pleasures by
learning to play on lute, spinet, or whatever long-forgotten instru-
ments were touched before the days of pianos. Sometimes amus-
ing, however, is the contrast between this practical mind and those
by whom Mistress More is surrounded. A little story which More
tells, without however introducing his wife's name, may be worth
repeating. There is little doubt that she is the good lady to whom
allusion is made. With the business of a nation filling up his days
he had found room for science, as well as for literature and the
arts. And the doctrine of the sphere was a very necessary point
to be settled. And he labored hard to convince this matter-of-
fact wife that the world being round, and the centre of gravity
being near the centre of it, that point must, therefore, be the low-
est; and whichever way we may go in fancy from that point, we
must be going up: that is, higher and lower, with respect to the
earth in which we live, are only outer and inner.

Every child knows this in these days. In More's age it was a matter for scientific demonstration.

"Imagine then,' the wise man says to his practical wife, 'a hole bored through the earth. If there were a millstone thrown down, here on this side from our feet, it should finally rest and remain in the very midst of the earth. And though the hole go through, the stone could not fall through, because from the midst it would go outward, and so should ascend higher.'

แ Now while he was telling her this tale, she nothing went about to consider his words, but, as she was wont in all other things, studied all the while nothing else but what she might say to the contrary. And when he had at last, with much work, and oft interrupting, brought at last his tale to an end, Come hither, girl!' she says to the servant at the spinning-wheel, 'take out this spindle and bring me hither the wheel. Look, sir, ye make imaginations, I cannot tell you what. But here is a wheel, and it is round as the world is; and you shall not need to imagine a hole bored through, for it hath a hole bored through indeed. But yet, because ye go by imaginations, I will imagine with you. Imagine me now that this wheel were ten miles thick on every side, and this hole through it still, and so great that a millstone might well go through it. Now if the wheel stood on one end, and a millstone were thrown in at the other end, would it not go further than the midst, trow you? Tilly vally! tilly vally! If you threw in a stone not bigger than an egg, I ween, if ye stood at the nether end of the hole, five mile beneath the midst, it would give you a pat upon the pate that you would not know what ailed you.' Words would she none have lacked, though they should have disputed for the space of seven years. Her husband was fain to put aside his sphere, and leave his wife to her wheel."

What she will be in the time of trial which is coming, the future will reveal.

Are we ready now to enter that home whence the strength comes that makes More the simple, true-hearted, unselfish man he is, amidst double-minded, deceitful, self-seeking courtiers in a tyrant's court? Let us go three miles from London, to a spot on the bank of the Thames. You can see the Babel-town across the meadows, from the garden knoll, or from the terrace, and the hum of noisy streets comes softly on the breeze, as if it spoke of peace to that modest mansion. It is neither so small as to be mean for the first lawyer in England, and one of the chief ornaments of letters and of the state, nor so large as to attract the notice of the great, and the envy of the little. Rare flowers are cultivated

1 Erasmus.

with care in the garden, or within the Hall. And, as we enter, curious things from far-off countries, relics of olden time, birds of brilliant plumage or most tuneful note, the grotesque ape, the petted spaniel, the cabinet of choice minerals, tell that no gentle taste is a stranger there. We may notice, as we cross the lawn, a newer building, at a convenient distance. Thither should we go, we would find library, gallery of paintings, and chapel. For this man, who could scarcely call any moment his own, when the second person in all England, never used to go to his stately barge with its eight rowers, in order to sail to Westminster Hall, or to the Palace, unless he had first gone on his knees with wife, children, and servants, to ask help and pardon during the day. And very often on the day on which his Lord died for us all, he goes to that chapel to spend a large part of the day in study of holy things, and communion with God. A little incident which occurred when More was Lord High Chancellor will illustrate this part of his character. He went home from "the busy nothings" of court to his modest house at Chelsea, and on the holy day was found, as usual, at the parish church. And as choirs then did in England, and sometimes do still, he put on a surplice, and took his place near the choir-boys. A great man of another sort, a noble duke, seeking him on the king's business, found him so employed. Laughing, with a sneer and an oath or two, which we omit: What, Master More, a parish clerk? You dishonor the King and his office." Nay," is the quiet answer, "the King will not

66

66

be offended with me for serving his Master."

But let us look again at this model home in Chelsea. There is no idleness in that house. No listless lounging in parlors by young people, wearily trying to kill time; no idle gossip between cook and footman in the kitchen. There is a time for everything, and everything is done in its time. If cook's turnspit has a little leisure he is learning his chant for the chapel; if my lady's maid is dismissed for the morning, her garden bed requires weeding, and she is busy there. For they serve for love as well as for hire. They are my Lord Chancellor's children, and with the authoritative word of a master, he mingles some kind inquiries which make them all go away more briskly to their work. For whatever he may have to do in law, or letters, or the affairs of nations, More says that he will be no stranger at home, but "will talk with his wife, and chat with the children, and say a few words to the servants."

Mistress Margaret, that noble daughter of a noble sire, now married to William Roper, has received a long Latin letter from Erasmus, who would fain hear how his friend is after having borne the honorable toils of office,- his friend who "has shunned office,' he says, "as sedulously as others seek for it ;" and modestly proud of the honor, Margaret has left her little boy to his nurse's care, and seated herself to indite, in Latin, her reply. And there is fever in a neighbor's cottage, and the adopted orphan is to make ready, and carry there, a quantity of fragrant linen; and another daughter is to prepare some savory jellies for the poor old crones in the almshouse, which More has built and supported, having placed them under Margaret's care.

Who could imagine, seeing such peace, simplicity, and holiness, what heavy clouds are gathering round the horizon: what fierce lightning's bolts are ready to tear in pieces all that would be too like Paradise if it could last long? None; unless he could watch More lying sleepless, night after night, weighing the frightful cost to those beloved ones of his steadfast adherence to conscience and principle, and shrinking, with human fear, which his own sensitive organization rendered most painful, from the doom which he must One must go to that chapel, and see him lying prostrate there on the pavement, nerving heart and mind for the great contest, a human heart, not a stoic's, but a heart that can throb and bleed for others as well as for himself. No fanaticism has he to sustain him; no madness. No applauding thousands will uphold him, and look on ready to avenge his death.

meet.

There will be no roar of cannon, and sulphurous smoke, and wild charges of cavalry, sending fire through the veins, and changing the coward into the hero of an hour. Only the daughter, whom he has trained to be a true hero's child, will come and help him to be strong, seeking for a help which brave men need, as well as women and children. Only the poor he has succored as a lawyer, and the widows and orphans who used to come when he was Lord High Chancellor, and sat in his hall of afternoons to hear their pitiful stories, about very little things which were very great to them, will stand along the streets, by and by, and sorrowfully weep and whisper, "There he goes! how feeble he is! how old and gray-headed he is grown! how he limps weakly along, leaning on his staff!" And then they will shrink back from those tall, fierce halberdiers.

1 More's Letters.

For a

But not now; More knows what must come. He breathes not a word of it to the dear ones at home. He tries by directing their thoughts to things which nerve a Christian's soul in the hour of deadly peril, to prepare them for the day when the storm shall burst upon their heads, and leave them even without that dear roof for shelter. "Is not the road to heaven," he 66 says, as short even from a gallows as from a feather-bed?" With an innocent artifice he contrives a loud knock, summoning him away from the dinnertable to London. So, when the day shall come, a sorrow foreseen and provided for will be robbed of some of its bitterness. single heart like his is more clearsighted than worldly, doubleminded men are able to comprehend. Such persons as he and Erasmus see men in one quarter selling their consciences, and in another, in base fear, servilely giving them up to a tyrant's keeping. Even gentle and pious Cranmer first declares that he means nothing by the act he is going to do, and then solemnly invokes God's name in the oath that he will be true to the Pope and obey him as Christ's vicar. More and Erasmus see the old abuses of monkery which make the Church abhorred, apparently far from any prospect of reformation, and the wildest schemes against Church, state, and society making more noise, and seeming to fill men's ears and thoughts more than any wise and judicious counsels of reform are likely to do. What wonder that they said, "The Anabaptist heresy is spread incredibly. Things are in that state that I must look about for a burying-place where the dead may find quiet, since, as I see, the living cannot." 1

Men will not fight against the tyrant who sits on England's throne, in defense of the rights of conscience. He sees no evidence that he is an avenging angel of Heaven, sent forth to go with fire and sword, and

"Prove his doctrine orthodox,

By apostolic blows and knocks."

He sees no evidence that he is even called to write or speak his heart's convictions. But there is one thing that he can do for them. He will die for them. And the storms shall rage more and more after he is dead! And, long after, the skies shall clear, and the great problem of which, as it seems to me, no one in More's day could see a solution, namely, how the English Church could

1 Erasmus.