XXX.

THE CARDINAL'S LAST JOURNEY.-BREWER.

[Henry VII. was really the founder of a new dynasty, and his efforts were mainly directed to securing the throne for himself and his family. This he did by strong rule at home, and by skillful diplomacy abroad. His son, Henry VIII., under the guidance of his famous minister, Cardinal Wolsey, took a much more active part in European politics. In 1527 he determined, from a variety of motives, to obtain a divorce from his queen, Catherine of Aragon. This brought him into collision with the papal power. Wolsey, having promised to gratify the king in the matter of the divorce, and having failed to do so, was deprived of nearly all his offices in 1529, and, a little later, arrested on a charge of high treason.]

HENRY VIII.

ON Sunday, after dinner, as it drew toward night, he was conducted to Pomfret with five of his attendants only. At his departure, which had now got wind, a multitude of the country people assembled to testify their grief at his arrest, praying that "the foul fiend might catch" all those who had taken the cardinal from them. From the Abbey of Pomfret he proceeded next day to Doncaster where he lodged with the Black Friars; the day after, to Sheffield Park, where he was received by the earl and countess of Shrewsbury with great affability. There he remained for eighteen days, and was treated by his host with great consideration and generosity. Once every day he was visited by the earl, who sought to comfort his unfortunate prisoner. But he resolutely repelled all the efforts that were made to console him, applying himself wholly to devotion, and renouncing all earthly pleasure. Though he was not more than fifty-nine years of age, his health and strength had been completely broken down by his

long and laborious occupations, and the incessant vexations to which he had been exposed since his disgrace. Even in his most prosperous days he had never been a strong man: now his great anxiety of mind, and the enormous pressure upon his faculties during the progress of the divorce, had wholly undermined his constitution.

The final and heaviest blow was reserved for his last moments. The reasons for his arrest had been studiously kept from him, but as upon all occasions when the king had resolved to strike he struck once and never wavered, so it was now. When Henry had abandoned himself to his resentment, he was borne along its current with the blind impetuosity of fate. No doubt was allowed to enter his mind. No question of the wisdom or justice of his own determination, no feeling of pity, no sense of past services, however great, were allowed to arrest his hand. He had ordered Sir William Kingston, the keeper of the Tower, to proceed to Sheffield to receive the earl's prisoner, and bring him to the Tower. It required the greatest delicacy to break the dreadful news to the unhappy cardinal. For this purpose, the earl, who seems to have been unusually humane and considerate, hit upon the following expedient. During his conversations with Wolsey, when the latter expressed his apprehensions lest he should be condemned unheard, the earl either took, or pretended to take, an opportunity of writing to the king in Wolsey's behalf. Then, calling Cavendish to him, he said:

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My lord, your master, has often desired me to write to the king, that he might answer his accusers in the king's presence. Even so have I done; and this day I have received letters from his grace, by Sir William Kingston, by which I perceive that the king holds the cardinal in very good estimation, and has sent for him by Sir William, who is now here, to come up and make his answer. But do you play the part of a wise man, and break the matter unto him warily; for he is always so full of sorrow when

he is in my company that I am afraid he will not take it quietly."

Cavendish proceeded to break the news. "I found him," he says, “sitting at the upper end of the gallery upon a trussing chest of his own, with his beads and staff in hand."

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earl.

What news?" said he, seeing Cavendish come from the

"Forsooth, sir," he replied, assuming the best appearance of cheerfulness he could muster, though his voice sadly belied his words, "I bring you the best news that ever came to you in your life."

"I pray God it be so," said Wolsey. "What is it?"

"Forsooth, sir," replied Cavendish, "my lord of Shrewsbury, perceiving how desirous you were to come before the king, has so exerted himself that the king has sent Master Kingston with twenty-four of his guard to bring you into his presence."

"Master Kingston! Master Kingston!" exclaimed the unhappy cardinal, musing for a time, as if to recollect himself, and then, clapping his hand on his thigh, he gave a deep sigh. Cavendish endeavored to cheer him. He urged the old argument that the king had no other intention by this act than to bring Wolsey into his presence, and had sent the constable with a guard of honor out of consideration for Wolsey's high estate, and he had no reason, therefore, to mistrust his master's kindness. All his efforts were useless. The cardinal knew too well the king's temper to be deceived. He had not served him so long without being fully aware how implacable and immovable were his resentments.

"I perceive," he said, with very significant words, "more than you can imagine or can know. Experience of old has taught me."

It was the sentence of death, and he knew it full well; but his despondency and waning health anticipated the sword of the executioner, and disappointed the malice of his enemies.

That night his disease increased rapidly; he became very weak and was scarce able to move.

The next day he commenced his journey, and lodged at night, still very sick, at Hardwick Hall. The day after he rode to Nottingham, his sickness and infirmity increasing at every stage. On Saturday, November 26, he rode his last stage to Leicester Abbey, "and by the way he waxed so sick that he was divers times likely to have fallen from his mule." As the journey was necessarily impeded by these delays, Sir William and his prisoner did not reach Leicester until late at night; where, on his entering the gates, the abbot with all his convent went out to meet him, with the light of many torches, and received him with great demonstrations of respect. "To whom my lord said: Father Abbot, I am come hither to leave my bones among you.'

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They then brought him on his mule to the stair's foot of his chamber, where Kingston took him by the arm and led him up. Immediately he went to his bed. On the Monday morning, as I stood by his bedside," says Cavendish, “about eight of the clock, the windows being close shut, having lights burning upon the cupboard, I beheld him, as meseemed, drawing fast to his end. He, perceiving my shadow upon the wall by his bedside, asked who was there; and inquiring what was the clock, 'Sir,' said Cavendish, 'it is past eight of the clock in the morning.' 'Eight of the clock, eight of the clock,' slowly repeated the dying man; 'nay, that cannot he, for by eight of the clock you must lose your master. My time draweth nigh.'"

But even in these last faltering moments he was not allowed to remain unmolested. The king had received information from Northumberland that by an account found in Cawood the cardinal had in his possession £1,500, of which no portion could be found. Anxious to obtain the money, the king's impatience could brook no delay, although the cardinal was now on his way to the Tower. He sent a special messenger to