Sir Thomas retained his hilarity, and even his habitual facetiousness, to the last, and made a sacrifice of his life to his integrity with all the indifference he would have shown in an ordinary affair. The following couplet, which is attributed to him, will serve to indicate the habitual state of mind which enabled him to meet his fate with a fortitude so admirable: 'If evils come not, then our fears are vain; And if they do, fear but augments the pain." ance with the archduke of Austria, afterward | tangled in the contest, he resigned the seal Charles V. On his return he was offered a after having sustained his high dignity only pension by Cardinal Wolsey, which, however, two years and a half. On the passing of the he thought proper to refuse, though he soon act of supremacy, in 1534, he refused to take after accepted of the king the place of mas- the required oath, and he died on the block, ter of the requests. About this time, also, a martyr, on the 5th of July, 1535. His Majesty conferred on him the honor of knighthood, appointed him one of his privy council and admitted him to the greatest personal familiarity. In 1520 he was made treasurer of the exchequer, and about the same period built a house at Chelsea, on the banks of the Thames, and, being now a widower, married a second wife. In 1523, a Parliament being summoned to raise money for a war with France, he was elected Speaker of the House of Commons, and in this character opposed with great firmness, and with equal success, an oppressive subsidy demanded by the minister, Cardinal Wolsey. He was sent in 1526, with Cardinal Wolsey and others, on a joint embassy to France, and in 1528 was made chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster. In the following year His Majesty appointed him, together with Tonstal, bishop of Durham, ambassador to negotiate a peace between the emperor Henry and the king of France, and in the peace hence resulting, concluded at Cambray, he obtained for the kingdom advantages so far beyond what had been expected that the king, on the disgrace of Cardinal Wolsey, gave him the great seal on the 25th of October of the same year; and it is remarkable that he was the first layman who had ever obtained that honor. But perceiving, from the measures pursued by the king in respect of his divorce from Queen Catharine, that a final rupture with Rome would be inevitable, and that himself, from his office, must be en A large portion of the writings of Sir Thomas More are in Latin, of which a collection in folio was published at Basil in 1566, and the year following at Louvain. Among this number is his Eutopia, his most celebrated work, which was written in 1516, and first published at Basil in 1518; at least, this is the first edition of which we have any account. From this book it appears that in the early part of his life he was a free-thinker, though he was subsequently devoted to Catholic principles. It was composed during the greatest hurry of his professional business, and at this period he stole time from his sleep to pursue his studies. The Eutopia was translated into several languages, and added greatly to the fame of his talents. A translation of it in English appeared in 1624 by Ralph Robinson, and in 1683 by Bishop Burnet, with a preface concerning the nature of translations. The age of More was the age of discov- | science; he overcomes difficulties that might eries, and his Eutopia was taken by the learned Budæus and others for true history. They thought it expedient that missionaries should be sent out to convert so wise a people to Christianity. GEORGE BURNETT. PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. be supposed insurmountable. No devotee ever more patiently submitted to mortification for the glory of saintship than the man of science submits to self-denial for his crown of laurel. When he attains his height of elevation, he looks down from his pinnacle and beholds even kings as vulgar things. The whole diversified concerns of men are important in his eyes only as affording to him sub KNOWLEDGE is one of the most glori- jects for sublime speculation. He worships ous of the distinguishing attributes of human nature in its best estate; in its fall knowledge is undoubtedly the most glorious distinction within its reach. Man by nature, even in the lowest state of degradation in which savage life presents him, knows more than the fowls of heaven and the beasts of the field. He is also by nature prone to the pursuit of knowledge and capable of immense and endless advances in the attainment. Who can think on the discoveries and inventions in sciences and in arts without being convinced that man has something truly noble in his con no god but knowledge; he raves about the charms of truth. While the savage looks for a heaven in which he will be inconceivably happy in pursuing his game through the clouds or through fair forests, the philosopher can think of no employment in heaven but that of discovering new relations of truth, solving dark problems and penetrating more deeply into the nature of things. stitution? He is a royal palace in ruins. It VOL is true the degraded and destitute circumstances in which the bulk of the human race are placed repress in a great measure the desire of knowledge, yet in favorable circumstances this desire will always manifest itself, even in the lowest state of human degradation. When knowledge is much cultivated, the desire of it, in many, advances to the rage of a passion. The philosopher in the pursuit of knowledge submits to every privation and labor, and the glory of a very trifling discovery will be esteemed by him a rich reward for his travelling to the ends of the earth. No missionary is so patient, so persevering, so fanatically zealous, as the missionary of ALEXANDER CARSON, LL.D. ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. OLUNTARY solitariness is that which is familiar with melancholy and gently brings on, like a siren, a shoeing-horn or some sphinx, to this irrevocable gulf; a primary cause Piso calls it. Most pleasant it is at first, to such as are melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days and keep their chambers, to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, by a brookside, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject which shall affect them most; amabilis insania and mentis gratissimus error. A most incomparable delight it is so to melancholize and build castles in the air, to go smiling to themselves, acting an infinite variety of parts, which they suppose and strongly im DESCRIPTION OF THE PERSON AND CHARACTER OF RICHARD III. 333 some dismal object to their minds, which now by no means, no labor, no persuasions, they can avoid. They may not be rid of it; they cannot resist. ROBERT BURton. agine they represent or that they see acted or done. Blanda quidem ab initio, saith Lemnius, to conceive and meditate of such pleasant things sometimes, present, past or to come, as Rhasis speaks. So delightsome these joys are at first they could spend whole days and nights without sleep, even whole DESCRIPTION OF THE PERSON AND years alone in such contemplations and fantas CHARACTER OF RICHARD III. tical meditations, which are like unto dreams, RICHARD, the third son, of whom we and they will hardly be drawn from them or willingly interrupt. So pleasant their vain conceits are that they hinder their ordinary tasks and necessary business; they cannot address themselves to them or almost any study or employment. These fantastical and bewitching thoughts so covertly, so feelingly, so urgently, so continually, set upon, creep in, insinuate, possess, overcome, distract and detain them; they cannot, I say, go about their more necessary business, stave off or extricate themselves, but are ever musing, melancholizing and carried along, as he (they say) that is led round about an heath with a Puck in the night. They run earnestly on in this labyrinth of anxious and solicitous melancholy meditations, and cannot well or willingly refrain or easily leave off winding and unwinding themselves, as so many clocks, and still pleasing their humors, until at last the scene is turned upon a sudden by some bad object, and they, being now habituated to such vain meditations and solitary places, can endure no company, can ruminate of nothing but harsh and distasteful subjects. Fear, sorrow, suspicion, discontent, cares and weariness of life surprise them in a moment, and they can think of nothing else; continually suspecting, no sooner are their eyes open but this infernal plague of melancholy seizeth on them and terrifies their souls, representing now entreat, was in wit and courage egal with either of them; in body and prowess, far under them both-little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hardfavored of visage, as such as in states called warlye, in other men otherwise. He was malicious, wrathful, envious and from afore his birth ever froward. None evil captain was he in the war, as to which his disposition was more meetly than for peace. Sundry victories had he, and some time overthrows, but never in default for his own person either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he called of dispense, and somewhat above his power liberal. With large gifts he get him unsteadfast friendship, for which he was fain to pil and spoil in other places, and get him steadfast hatred. He was close and secret, a deep dissimuler, lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart, outwardly coumpinable where he inwardly hated, not letting to kiss whom he thought to kill, dispitious and cruel, not for evil will alway, but after for ambition, and either for the surety and increase of his estate. Friend and foe was much what indifferent, where his advantage grew; he spared no man's death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew with his own hands King Henry VI., being prisoner in the Tower. SIR THOMAS MORE. TH OUR PET. HE grouping and the scene in the painting of which on the opposite page an engraving is presented tell us of that mountain-region in a temperate clime where peaks rise in snowy grandeur toward heaven, while on the fertile plain of cultured land at their base rich fruitage repays the wine-grower's toil and blue lakes bathed in sunshine mirror the distant snow-caps; or it may be near ancient Fiesole, Where rolls the Contadino down Val d'Arno with a song of old," where life still clings to the former days and knows little of the grand industrial improvements of our wonderful century. It may be a visit to some market-hamlet nestling among the hills, and the blithe young peasant, lightly clad for the tramp-for he goes on foot-with his basket, his stout staff and his trusty dog, has provided easier carriage for his girl-wife and lusty, laughing child on the sure-footed and strong-backed ass-"the unhasty beast" of Spenser. These all conspire to form a scene which pleases by its rarity and novelty and appeals in its simple sentiment to the universal heart. "Our pet" is found in every clime and among all people. Mothers' eyes glisten, stern men grow tender, little children join the group in thought and feeling, because, with little change of environment, "our pet" is in every house and is dear to every heart. Out pet is a chief factor in a happy home. Nay, more such a picture cannot fail to subdue us to a frame of gentle devotion by its likeness at the first glance to another group, so often portrayed, in which the infant Christ is the child, the mother that holy woman blessed to all generations, and the peasant is enlarged into the person of her faithful and saintly husband. This, too, was a little company of three, two of whom rode upon an ass and journeyed southward, at God's command, to avoid Herod's massacre of the innocents, and came back again. when the danger was over "that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, Out of Egypt have I called my Son." The artist who produced this pleasing picture is Mr. H. Howard of the Royal Academy; his subject is an attractive one, and his treatment of it excellent and very natural. JAMES SHIRLEY. AMES SHIRLEY was born in London JAM in 1596. He was educated at Cambridge, where he took the degree of A. M., and had a curacy for some time at or near St. Albans, but, embracing Catholicism, became a schoolmaster (1623) in that town. Leaving this employment, he settled in London as a dramatic writer, and between the years 1625 and 1666 published thirty-nine plays. In the civil wars he followed his patron, the earl of Newcastle, to the field, but on the decline of the royal cause returned to London, and, as the theatres were now shut, kept a school in Whitefriars, where he educated many eminent characters. At the reopening of the theatres he must have been too old to have renewed his dramatic labors, and what benefit the Restoration. brought him as a Royalist we are not informed. Both he and his wife died on the same day, immediately after the great fire of London, in A. D. 1666, by which they had been driven out of their house, and probably owed their deaths to their losses and terror on that occasion. S. O. BEETON. |