Freston Tower

CHAPTER VI.

THE EXCURSION.

The state barge of Lord De Freston was moored against the stairs, or huge oaken steps which led down directly from the shelving bank of the park to the waves of the Orwell. Six men, with broad oars in hand, prepared to thrust them through the round loop holes in the gunwale of the boat, for thowles were then unknown, and the barges or boats of the noblemen who lived on the banks of that far-famed river, were things of such size, as required able-bodied men and strong hands to urge them over the waves.

Unlike the little cockle which went bounding over the Orwell in the morning to meet the anxious Wolsey, this was a magnificent affair, somewhat after the shape of the Nautilus, and floating apparently as high out of the water. The huge bear rose rampant at the prow, and looked as if he would grapple with anything he met, whilst the seat at the stern was elevated, and with rude, but elaborately carved work, afforded room for as many persons as there were rowers in the boat. If any attendants went in the state barge, they squatted down beneath the hind paws of Bruin. They were not permitted to intercept the view; but were mostly hidden by the sailors.

'I wonder, messmate, how our moody young scholar liked his reception at the Tower to-day. I thought he looked rather gloomy upon the view. At all other times he was wont to be as brisk and bright as a light-hearted sailor-boy. I'll warrant he has something aboard his skull which presses heavily on the spirit.'

'Ah! Jervis, that boy, heavy as he appears to be, has more brains in his head than all we six put together; and he makes more use of them now than we shall ever make of ours. Never mind his being a little dull this morning; maybe our mistress smiling upon the young Oxonian may make him a little thoughtful. Did you not tell me that he was going to Oxford, or some seat of learning, for a time?'

'It was whispered so among our people, and Mistress Ellen's maid was heard to say her mistress would be very dull when young Master Thomas went away.'

'Well, then, art thou surprised that young Master Thomas should be a little thoughtful at leaving such a lively friend as our young mistress? I'll warrant now, Jervis, if our lord were to order thee to go by sea to the mouth of the Severn, and to wait his pleasure on that river, thou wouldst think of the maid Fanny, as much as Master Thomas does of her mistress. I never knew a youth in love—and I believe this young scholar is so—that was not moody; sometimes fit for nothing, sometimes as close and almost as stupid as an oyster. Young Wolsey was hard enough to open this morning. But have ye all got your oars in hand? for yonder they come from the castle, and we must be prepared.'

'Heave out the plank from the stern, Osborne!' exclaimed the old steersman, 'and fasten it to the head of the stair. Heave the barge round, and point her prow to the Priory! Gently, boys, gently! There, lay her stern as near the bank as you can! Leave off talking about your betters, and mind your own business!'

Six rowers, and this cockswain, whose long boom for a rudder bespoke a very primitive kind of steerage for himself. His seat was a strong oaken plank, through which this long oar or steering-boom was to be thrust, and upon which, seated upon its broad beam-end, he was observed to possess the most elevated position in the boat. Full three feet below his exalted post was the deck, if so it might be called, whereon De Freston and his friends were to take their seats.

Though Wolsey had never breathed a word of his devotion, yet these men appeared to be fully cognizant of it. The world will canvass the actions of a man, let the circumference of his orbit be what it may. It will talk for us, and at us, and make us drink sometimes the waters of bitterness, even when we would live in peace and harmony with all. There was no kind of evil will, however, in the conversation of De Freston's boatmen, as they spoke of young Wolsey and his love affair. Love sails as freely with seamen as with landsmen, and its pleasures were in as high estimation amongst those young fellows, in their green Flemish jerkins, as it could be in the heart of any of their superiors then coming along the slope to the Orwell.

The scholar soon appeared, all smiles and animation, as he handed the lovely Ellen across the plank to her seat, and gave a nod of recognition to the men, to whom, in the morning, he had scarcely spoken a word. They saw his altered mien, and rejoiced in that vivacity which now gave light to his countenance.

The lady Ellen also was now on board, and when did the heart of a British sailor ever fail to feel respect for the fair and honored daughters of England, whenever chance gave them the opportunity of showing them their esteem? With cap in hand, they saluted the lady and their lord.

'Give way, my good men!' he cried, 'and hasten with all speed to the town! We must go to Gypesswick and back this afternoon. Is that the Prior's boat, Herbert, close under the Donham shore, or is it Fastolf's barque?'

'It is the Prior's barge, from the port with provisions. I saw Fastolf's barge go down the river to the Haugh an hour ago. We shall have time and tide enough in the channel for the way, my lord.'

The old sailor gave the signal, the men thrust the oars through the holes, and soon, in stately grandeur, the lofty barge of De Freston was seen gliding past the banks of the Orwell.

The channel took almost a direct course from Freston Castle to the shores of the Priory of Downham, or Doneham, and swept, with a graceful curve, beneath the then overhanging woods which stood so prominently upon the projecting cliffs of the Orwell.

Wolsey and Latimer vied with each other in directing Ellen's attention to the beauty of the scenery, and in recording the different historical facts relative to the places which had been the scenes of daring exploit in the different periods of English and Danish warfare. Ellen could appreciate the beauties of the scenery, but her gentle heart shuddered at the idea of bloodshed, as every Christian female heart must do.

It was with far greater pleasure that she heard Wolsey recount the worthiness of the brotherhood who then inhabited the walls of Alneshborne Priory. He spoke of their learning and devotion to deeds of charity, and represented them as an exception to any other of the religious communities, then so prevalent in the kingdom. There was a raciness, fluency and force in his descriptive powers, which charmed even Latimer, who, though comparatively a novice upon the river, was alive to the spirit of poesy in which his companion indulged.

The tide had turned, but the channel was then both deeper and wider than it is now, and took a far more grand and oceanic sweep. The soil of centuries which has flowed down from the Gipping into the Orwell, and different streams which have deposited their sand and slime, have formed that immense track of ouse, which, swelling into steep, muddy banks, has now conglomerated into vast fields of slimy clay, upon which green samphire and long weeds have grown, and very much narrowed the mighty channel, which, in that day swept, as an arm of the German Ocean, up to the walls of the town of Ipswich.

It was then no uncommon thing, even in summer, to see the wild swan with his straight neck and yellow beak, sailing up the stream, followed by the brood of cygnets bred upon the flats of Levington; and in winter, the wild fowl from distant climes sported in thousands of flights, until they actually blackened the silvery waters around them. Gulls of every class used to whiten the ouse at low water, and coots used to blacken the waves at full-tide; now nothing of animated nature can be seen but a long, green track of seaweed, with perhaps a solitary swan, or a lonely gull.

But the barge is dashing away with the speed of good stout rowers, amidst the beauties of the wave and the shore, and Ellen's smile restores much of its wonted happiness to the heart of Wolsey, who only the more and more strove to make a favorable impression upon her mind, by bringing forth from the treasure-house of his intellect, such instances of his classical knowledge as should make her remember the last day when he went up the river with his patron and patroness.

It was indeed for his sake that she visited the town of Ipswich at that moment, in company with her parent; to urge upon Robert Wolsey, his father, the imperious necessity of sending the scholar to Oxford. Both De Freston and his daughter were carried away by their enthusiastic feelings in patronising this youth, and anticipated the day when he would rise to be an ornament to his country, and an honor to themselves. The thought of doing an act of kindness to Wolsey gave a peculiar degree of interest to the journey. Ellen, in particular, quite gloried in the thought of being of service to one who had been to her so congenial a companion.

The magnificent banks of the Orwell, opening their views on each side, on as lovely a late spring day as it was possible to see, added a great charm to the excursion; and, as they swept in view of the ancient town, they could not but admire the grand semicircle which the wharf and Peter's Priory, and different religious houses in the distance, then afforded.

But, as they neared the town, and beheld the tower, turret, house and hall, of the great merchants and burgesses of the borough, the old pilot called the attention of his lord to the number of boats then leaving the quays and sides of the river.

'Methinks, your honor, that all Ipswich is turning out to meet on the wave; their numbers seem to increase, and I certainly never saw such a float of boats upon the river before!'

'I see something on the wave before the boats,' replied De Freston. 'Now it disappears—now it meets us—now it turns, and the boats seem gathering round it. What can it be?'

'I see it now, my lord, I see it; and I think I discern two fish which the inhabitants of the town in their cockle-shell boats are pursuing. Yes, I see them plainly.'

'Come up, my child,' said De Freston, 'or if not able to ascend hither, if you can stand upon the seat, you will see a lively scene. Come hither, let the two young men be your supporters.'

The river, as they approached the town, seemed alive with boats, and it was evident that the people in them were engaged in pursuing two large fish, which were in vain trying to escape down the channel. One seemed larger than the other, and the declaration of Herbert at the helm soon pronounced what they were.

'They are two dolphins, old and young, and I think they have wounded the young one, and the parent will not leave it.'

And so it literally was. The pursuers had harpooned the lesser fish, and with several boats joined together were towing it from its mother, who, with that extraordinary instinct which this fish has often been known to display, preferred following its young to death, to making its own escape. Many times it was seen to return and run its nose against the exhausted body of its offspring, as if endeavoring, with maternal anxiety, to teach it to follow her; for it would, the moment after, dive down the current of the ebbing tide, and then seem to wait the approach of the wounded dolphin. It would then return with redoubled anxiety, and, unable to induce its young to follow, would lay itself alongside, and regardless of boats, blows, and harpoons, keep with it until they drew towards the shore. Even then it would not return, but as De Freston's barge came along, the heart of Ellen was grieved to see such maternal solicitude followed by a train of blood which actually streaked the waves.

'Alas! poor dolphin!' she exclaimed, as she saw it dragged to the shore opposite the creek, then leading up to Wyke's Bishop Palace in the hamlet of St. Clement. 'Alas, poor dolphin! thou didst deserve a better fate! For thou hast respected the laws of nature more than cruel man!'

She sat down in the barge and wept. De Freston had intended to have landed, and his men would have been equally glad to have seen a creature so rare in the Orwell. He urged them to proceed at once, without delay, to the landing-place beside St. Peter's Priory.

It was a long time before Ellen could rouse herself from the sorrowful feeling into which the recent incident had thrown her; and she spoke not a word until the hand of De Freston assisted her to land, and then it was—

'Father, I shall never forget the dolphin and her offspring.'

CHAPTER VII.

THE VISIT.

The outer wall of St. Peter's Priory then abutted upon the waters of the Orwell, and formed a long river border, from the Common Quay nearly to the first lock gates where the Orwell and Gipping meet. At the junction of the two rivers, where the salt water and fresh salute each other at high tide, there was formerly the termination wall of the Priory, and the southern gate to the town of Ipswich.

At this point was, at low water, the celebrated Stoke Ford, where the Danes entered the town; and Terkettel, the Danish giant, was slain by an archer from the wall. The channel of the river swept along close under the walls of the Priory; and though the cells of the monks did not face the waves, yet there were light niches or loop holes in those walls, through which, if occasion required, any one ascending by ladder, or frame, might discharge his arrows upon an enemy.

There were small Saxon arches, equidistant along the wall, which gave a degree of light and elegance to that otherwise dark and dreary brick fortification. The Priory was then in its greatest prosperity and had vast possessions in the town, on the banks of Stoke, and along the meadows of the winding Gipping.

De Freston's barge had been espied coming up the river, and the Prior, for many reasons, paid court to the lords of De Freston. Independently of the many donations he received from the charity of his ancestors, he had only a few days before received substantial proof of the liberality of the present lord, who had presented to the fraternity, for the shrine of St. Peter, two massive candlesticks of silver, together with twelve ornamental brass ones for the chapel.

There was, therefore, nothing surprising in the fact, that when De Freston came to St. Peter's, or the Southern Gate, he should be met by the Prior and six canons, bareheaded, to solicit a visit to their monastery.

'Prior John.' said the nobleman, 'I am sensible of thy kindness, but I cannot now accept the offer of thine hospitality. I am visiting Ipswich upon business, and must return again by moonlight to my own castle. But I would crave thy charity for these my boatmen, if thou wilt give them rest and refreshment, beneath the roof of the porter until such time as we come back.'

'Most assuredly, De Freston! We should have been proud to have entertained thee, thy daughter, and thy friends; for we are not unmindful of thy love for our institution, and know well thy devotion to the ways of thine ancestors. Our books record thy gifts.'

'Say nothing of them, Father John, say nothing of them, and think of them less. If thou wilt receive my men, I will not forget it when I next pay my vows at St. Peter's shrine.'

'They shall be made welcome. The boat can be moored to the Priory steps, and, Antony, conduct the men to the lodge. We will see that they shall be taken care of.'

The men were glad enough to be so located for a time, for they knew well that, however seemingly self-denying and outwardly stern the Prior and his brotherhood might be in ceremonious matters of religion, there was no lack of good cheer within their walls, and no failure in their supply to any whom they made welcome. Gladly they followed Antony, after their master had departed with his daughter and the young men for the interior of the town.

They had not long been seated on the polished oaken benches of the lofty room, in the interior of Antony's lodge, before they were visited by some of the fraternity, under pretence of seeing if they fared well. There was no doubt of that; but the Friar was curious, and when did a monk note a stranger of any consequence and not desire to know more of him?

'Who is the young man with thy master?' asked the inquisitive Simon, as he placed a huge leathern black jug of Prior's ale upon the table before Herbert, the pilot.

'That is Master William Latimer, my master's kinsman, from Oxford.'

'Ho! from Oxford! and dost thou know why and wherefore he is come?'

'I know not, your reverence, why or wherefore he is come; but we have our thoughts, good father.'

'So have all men, Herbert, so have all men; and I dare say now thy thoughts were as much toward thy mistress as towards the young man?'

'I don't know that, father; I seldom trouble my head about things that don't concern me; and when I said we had our thoughts, I was not then thinking of our mistress.'

'Humph!'—and the Friar seemed a little disappointed—'hath he been long at the castle?'

'But three days, father. He came to see Freston Tower finished and adorned, and to bring his presents of learned books to the Lady Ellen.'

'And did he bring them for her? I have heard thy mistress is wonderfully clever for her years. Our young townsman, who accompanies them, tells me thus much. But dost thou know the object of thy master's visit to Ipswich this afternoon?'

'We have our thoughts, and it is said amongst us that it is to settle about Master Thomas Wolsey's going back with this young learned Latimer, to Oxford.'

'Ho! ho! that is it, is it?' and the brother returned from the lodge to report to his principal what he had made out of the Lord De Freston's visit.

Now there was nothing uncommon in all this, for the monks of Ipswich knew everything going on around them. They had time to talk over the condition of every nobleman, and to calculate upon what might be got from them, for the benefit of their community. Prior John had noticed the abilities of Wolsey, and, as books were scarce, and more valuable than land, and he saw his great love for these, he had indulged the youth with many an hour's study in his own cell, and had hopes that he would one day be useful to the Priory.

It was the fact that at that very time the party were on their way to the house of Edmund Daundy, the wealthiest man in Ipswich, who was related to Wolsey, and connected with De Freston.

He was one of the most benevolent-minded men of his day, whose works of charity remain to this hour. Singularly upright, generous, pious, and devout, he conceived it to be his duty to devote the first fruits of all he obtained to purposes of benevolence, so that no ship brought home his merchandise, no speculation answered in which he engaged, but he set apart a portion of his profits upon every article to a fund for doing good. His prosperity became so great, and his punctuality so conspicuous, and his store laid by for charity so accumulated, that he seldom refused the prayer of an applicant for his bounty. He founded schools for the young, alms-houses for the aged, a market-cross for traffic, and a chauntry for a priest to pray for his own soul and those of his relatives. His munificence was proverbial:

'If bricks be sold for Daundy's gold,
The town of Gypesswick will ne'er be old.'

As much as to say that his wealth could purchase bricks, for which Ipswich was then celebrated, more than could be made and used for centuries in renewing the town.

His magnificently old carved and ornamented house stood in the very centre of the town, in St. Lawrence parish, and nearly fronting the then gates of St. Lawrence Church. It was situated between two very opulent mansions, that of John Fastolf and John Sparrowe, gentlemen, who, together with the said Edmund Daundy, at different periods, represented the borough of Ipswich in parliament. The family of Fastolf had a residence in Ipswich, and at the Haugh, beyond Alneshborne Priory; and though they had castles at Caister and at Woodbridge, they resided the greater part of the year at Ipswich.

Edmund Daundy, though he had so much interest with the monks of Alneshborne as always to have apartments in that Priory devoted to him, never deserted his native town, but lived and died in it, beloved for every amiable virtue, and deeply regretted when he was taken away.

The object of De Freston's visit was to persuade him to intercede with Dame Joan Wolsey, or, as it was then termed, Wuley, to part with her son for a time, that he might go to Oxford. There was no kind of difficulty, in a pecuniary view; though, had there been such, it would have been no disgrace whatever to his after career. But, as we have said, Wolsey was related to Edmund Daundy, a man who was ready to serve him, hand and heart. With such powerful friends as De Freston and Daundy, there could be no difficulty, as has been stated there was by some writers, in his being sent to Oxford. All the circumstances of the time tend to corroborate this fact.

His father, likewise, was an independent man, upon the most intimate terms of friendship with all the leading men and merchants in Ipswich, and had no mean estates at the very period when some biographers speak of his poverty. His will is fortunately in existence, and is now acknowledged, by all modern historiographers, to prove that he was a man of considerable possessions.

He leaves his property to his wife—for his son Thomas had, before his decease, intimated his intention of becoming a priest; and this may be the reason for the father's 'lands and tenements in St. Nicholas' parish, and his bond and free lands in the parish of Stoke, being left to his widow, and only a priest's portion, for prayers, being appointed for his son in that will.'

The fact was, Thomas Wolsey was an only child, the pride of his parents, and the particular hope and delight of his attached mother. She had been alive to his disposition from infancy; she saw his eager aptitude for learning; she first fed and then encouraged it, and, being herself a woman of considerable attainments for her day, she rejoiced in the growing fame of her son. She had, however, taken a decided aversion to the priesthood as a profession for her son, and fearful lest, by going to Oxford, she should lose him, she had set her face against all the suggestions of his friends, and the arguments of her relatives.

If prejudice alone had operated upon the mind of this excellent woman, she would not have been, as she was, so calmly forcible in her decisions against the measure; but she little thought what a powerful battery was to open its artillery upon her that day.

The party arrived at the mansion of the wealthy burgess, and was welcomed by him with that hearty favor which he always bore to De Freston and his friends.

'Right welcome art thou, most noble lord—right welcome to my house and home. I did not expect to see thee, fair maiden, but, as thou art come, thou must be a coadjutor in our suit; and, if I mistake not, thou wilt carry more weight with Mistress Joan than all our united forces.'

The maiden felt a little surprised, and, if truth be told, young Wolsey felt a no small degree of joy in the interest excited at the moment. Ellen could not help saying—

'I cannot conceive, my dear friend, how I can have more weight with Wolsey's mother than thou hast. She has been very kind and attentive to me in a thousand ways; but she is no kind of debtor to me. I am rather under obligation to her. Is it not so, my father?'

'She has always shown herself very partial to thee, Ellen, and, I must say, has taken a most motherly interest in thy behalf; for, as soon as I lost thy mother, she was incessant in her kindness towards thee, and recommended that good old faithful nurse, Dorothea, whom thou didst lose last year. Thou art indebted to her likewise for thy present maid, Fanny; and she has worked with her own hand, and sent thee by this young scholar many a little comfort for the furnishing of thy tower. These certainly are indications, as Master Daundy says, of strong predilection; and if those who love us are in any way to be influenced by us, I see here a very proper occasion for the exercise of that influence which thou mayest possess.'

'And I can tell thee,' added Daundy, 'more than this. It was but last evening I was speaking to her upon the very subject which we now discuss, when she said: "If anything could induce me to let Thomas go to Oxford, it would be Ellen De Freston expressing a wish that he should go."'

A blush mantled upon the cheek of Ellen, as she looked innocently enough at Wolsey, and caught his glance of intercession. The boy's whole soul was wrapt up in the interest he then excited. His own heart told him at once the cause of his mother's favor towards Ellen, and though he dare not, even to his heart, breathe the hope that she would see it—nay, indeed, hoped that she would not—yet he entertained a sort of indefinite idea, that she might one day perceive that, for her sake, he would do anything. The youth's animated countenance must have quickened her perception, or she was struck with the possibility of doing him service, for she replied—

'Could I but think I could persuade her, the effort would be nothing for me to make. I have strong arguments to back me, have I not, cousin Latimer?'

'Indeed you have, Ellen! I will say it before my young friend, that, in your letters, you only did him justice. I did not expect to find your descriptive power of character so just as I have found it in the talents of this youth. Thomas Wolsey, you are little aware what an advocate you have had.'

If ever Wolsey felt abashed, it was at that moment, yet he found words to reply—.

'I know not,' he said, 'how to speak my gratitude to Ellen De Freston, or her father. They have been the brightest fosterers of my love of literature, and of every virtue which can prompt a young man to exertion. Should Ellen succeed in her petition to my mother, for my father has already acceded to the persuasions of his friends, I shall for ever feel indebted to her, and in future years, if my exertions should be crowned with success, the greatest joy I can feel will arise from the consciousness of the approbation of such a friend.'

'Come, then,' said Daundy, 'I can see clearly we shall be able to effect our purpose. I never saw a mother more against her son's entering the Church than is Dame Joan. She trembles, Thomas, lest thou shouldst become a priest, and, knowing the restrictions which would be placed upon thee, as the child of Rome that thou must then become, she fears that thou wouldst be sworn to give away all thine affections, and that she should lose thy love, thy attention to her, and thine interest in life.'

'I know my mother's fears. I have, however, endeavored to combat them; first, upon the grounds that I never think of becoming a priest, though I told her then that it would be wrong in me to make a vow that I would not. Then I have represented to her the field of glory open to one who enters the cloister, and would show her what fame, what present and future joy, there was in the employment which the Pope now gives to all the sons of the Church. She thinks every priest must be lazy, bigotted, and superstitious, and, at times, almost makes me think she is, or would be, an heretic. But she shakes her head at me, tells me I am young, that we think differently as we grow older, and often take steps too precipitately in our youth, before our judgments are formed, of which we afterwards bitterly repent. Now I wish to go to Oxford that I may obtain an insight into learning, such as this, my native town, cannot afford me. I wish to study logic and the laws of my country, as well as all the literature of this and foreign lands, and I cannot do it better than by going to Oxford; can I, Master Latimer?'

'Most assuredly not. I can be of some service to you, and will, if your parents consent. I am very intimate with Grocyn the learned and newly-elected prebend of Lincoln. He has more influence with Magdalen College than any man. He wishes, most heartily, to introduce into that society men of first-rate classical ability; and, as he is Divinity Reader there, he has obtained a promise that those whom he can recommend for letters, shall be admitted upon that foundation. Now I know Grocyn would be glad to hear from me, and if friends here will find me a messenger, I will forthwith write and recommend Master Thomas Wolsey; and I greatly deceive myself if he do not distinguish himself and gratify us all. This is what I can do!'

'And, doing this!' added De Freston, 'you will lay us all under obligation. Come, Thomas, your prospects brighten! I think, with all these promises in hand, we cannot fail in obtaining our suit.'

'Then let us no longer delay. Ellen, as the oldest friend of Dame Joan's, I shall offer thee my hand. We will walk to St. Nicholas. I have but to leave a message for Master Cady, upon the subject of the market, and it is not out of our way. So let us be moving; we shall be back in time for our evening meal.'

The party were soon ready, and Daundy and Ellen led the way.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE EVENT.

Strange things occur when we least expect them, and often either further or retard the progress of our views so unaccountably, that with all our wisdom we could never effect what is often done by accident. We call it accident, or chance, but, call it what we may, there are designs fulfilled by man of which he has no kind of presentiment; and only after performance are they looked upon as providential.

The party, as merry as friends intent upon doing mutual good could be, bent their way round by the market-place, where the butchers' shambles, a square-built, ancient building, then reared its four sides. It has been misrepresented that one of these stalls was kept by Robert Wolsey, the father of our young scholar; but all the stalls belonged to hire, which he had received as the security of his wife's dower from the wealthy family of Daundy. The whole of the butcher's shambles, which they were then approaching, were rented by the different occupiers of Robert Wolsey and just in the same manner as any of the great property in Grosvenor Street might belong, upon leases, to the Earl of that name; or the property in Lambeth, held by lease from the Archbishops of Canterbury, might be said to be the property of that See.

It would be unjust to any of the great men who own considerable estates in houses, shops, and tenements, built upon their grounds, to say, that they were, originally, bakers, butchers, brewers, mercers, or hardware men. Yet upon no other ground was Wolsey's father denominated a butcher. He was a merchant and a man of property, and married a lady of one of the highest families, short of nobility, yet truly noble in deed. The party were walking from the market-place towards St. Nicholas, where Wolsey's father resided, in a house which formed the termination of two thoroughfares now called St. Nicholas Street and Silent Street. They were proceeding in front of the area or open market-place by the shambles, just as two surly mastiff dogs were growling and quarrelling for a piece of offal which had been thrown to them. They were huge, tawny mastiff dogs of great power, and most formidable appearance. After eyeing each other with savage fierceness they flew to the conflict. Daundy, at any other time, would have passed by such savage contests among men, boys, or dogs, but having De Freston's daughter upon his left arm, and the animals passing a little too near him, bearing each other down, he hurled at them a small short stick he had in his hand. Had he boldly struck them, and kept the weapon in his hand, they might have been cowed, but as he had inflicted a blow and thrown away the weapon, they turned furiously upon him and his companion, who, in an instant, were borne to the ground.

One savage seized the loyal burgess by the throat, and though he was kicked, and pulled, and beaten by Latimer and De Freston, he maintained his grasp. Ellen was seized by the arm, and the beast had already torn her garments, and the blood was starting from his jaws. It was then that Wolsey displayed his presence of mind and his prowess, for not choosing to waste his time upon the animal's sides, he seized a huge shin-bone of an ox, which lay upon the butcher's stall, and instantly dealt such a blow upon the mastiff's skull as dashed his brains upon the pavement. He then raised the terrified Ellen, who had fainted away with pain, and whilst a butcher, with a cleaver, administered the same punishment to the other mastiff, he had carried the poor girl into Cady's house, and committed her to the care of its good mistress.

Wolsey still kept the shin-hone in his hand, and when his fellow townsmen saw him walking to his own house with the weapon, and they knew what he had done with it, they would have carried him in their arms in triumph to his father's house. But he had hastened home to tell his parents of the accident, and to request his mother to provide accommodation for Lord De Freston's daughter.

Dame Joan was by no means content with preparations: she ordered her servants to follow with a litter and went at once to Cady's house. Ellen was glad to see her, and confided herself to her care. Daundy was most severely bitten in the throat. It was thought best he should go to his own house, while Ellen was conveyed to Dame Joan Wolsey's.

This was an arrangement to which De Freston could not do otherwise than assent; for, as the dogs were in a state of mad rage at the time when they flew at them, it was impossible to say what the consequences might be if the patients were neglected. To Dame Joan's, then, his daughter was borne, and, as might be expected, was for some days in a state of feverish excitement concerning her wound.

It was a grand hour for Wolsey, and he was proud of that ox-shin bone; he called it his friend in need: he had it cleaned, and tipped with silver.

'I will never part with it,' he said to De Freston, 'and if ever I should be worthy of a coat-of-arms, it shall serve as my crest.'

'It was a brave and judicious act, Thomas,' added De Freston, 'and one for which Ellen and I shall ever feel grateful. Had you not killed the mastiff, he might have killed my daughter. The act is worthy of your energy, Thomas, and I should be glad to see your crest exalted. I shall leave Ellen with your mother with as much confidence as if she were at home; but I will send her maid early in the morning to assist dame Joan's household.'

De Freston had a melancholy return to his castle; indeed, he would not have gone at all, had not his daughter requested that he would attend to some things which she had proposed doing. On that beautiful evening, Latimer and De Freston took their seats upon the stern of the barge, and departed for the castle. Daundy did well, and so did Ellen, who did not forget to intercede with Dame Joan in behalf of Wolsey.

'As thou dost urge it so warmly, fair maiden, and dost seem to take such interest in the fate of my dear son, Thomas, I will not oppose it further: but if he should take to the priesthood, I shall never forgive myself, or—'

'Me—thou wouldst say, my dear friend. But why take such a hostile view of the priesthood. Men of letters, men of wisdom, men of piety, men of godliness all enter into holy orders, and I see no reason why you should lament, should your son be so resolved. I heard him say, however, that he had no such intention, and methinks you should be content with that declaration.'

'I am content, but I dread it, because I know that Thomas is not fitted for that sequestered life which the cloister calls for. He is, in his nature, social; in his heart, generous; in his soul, ambitious; in his habits, domestic; and if he should find a partner suited to his mind, he would be an ornament to his country. But priests must not marry—must not have property—must not love their parents—must not dress as other people do—walk or talk as other people; but are tutored in ways which appear to me suppressed, deceitful, and unfeeling, if not unnatural. I have but one son, and I confess I should like to see of that one a line of honorable descendants; but if Thomas should be a priest, I shall blame myself for listening to your persuasions.'

'I do but intercede for him as he deserves. He has gained the love of every one here, and possessed himself of all the knowledge here to be obtained. I admire both him and his talents, and should be glad to see him a distinguished man. I am persuaded he will be such; for the energies he has put forth in my behalf have shown him to be of a strong frame, and the thirst he has for science, literature, and languages, proves that these, with proper encouragement, might render him equal to some of the greatest men in the land.'

This conversation took place when Ellen was recovering. Her father became her constant companion under the roof of Wolsey; and Daundy having been pronounced out of all danger, the parties met somewhat oftener. A favorable answer was received from Magdalen, and it was soon agreed and arranged that Wolsey, under the auspices of William Latimer, should taka his departure for Oxford.

The very event which afterwards turned to his ill account, among his enemies, was looked upon at that day as worthy of all honor. Wolsey took for his crest the arm holding a shin-bone, and in the second volume of Edmonton's 'Heraldry,' the arms of Wolsey are emblazoned, and a naked arm embowed, holding a shin-bone, all proper, is adopted. In other parts of the kingdom, where his arms are found, there is also represented the mastiff's head.

It is not likely that Wolsey, so proud a man as he afterwards proved himself, and so very particular in all things appertaining to dignity, should have chosen for himself a crest which could cast any degree of obloquy upon his origin. Had he been a butcher's son, he would either have acknowledged it, or have sought to conceal it. We do not find that he any where alludes to his origin, nor that he makes mention of the circumstance which induced him to adopt the heraldic emblem of this great deed. He had his arms emblazoned in the days of his prosperity, and before the cardinal's hat superseded the shin-bone, in every part of his house the same crest ornamented his balustrades, his plate, his pictures, and his canopies. However much this might have been perverted by his enemies, beyond all doubt it was chosen by him to denote a brave action.

The following poem is supposed to be written previously to Wolsey's departure from his native town. It was breathed in the solitude of his own study, and addressed to her who then held such sway over his affections.—

De Freston's Daughter.

Hail! beauteous creature of thy race,
Most glorious in form and grace!
In every feature purely bright,
Reflecting innocence as light;
Calm dignity is on thy brow,
Intelligence doth round thee glow,
And thou art lovely, and of gentlest kind,
My kinsman's daughter, and my kindred mind!

Fair Ellen, were yon rich domain,
Yon castle, tower, and portly train
Of serfs and vassals, in their state,
Attendant on my nod to wait;
And riches of all Europe mine,
And thou couldst say, no wealth was thine
Then wouldst thou be as much, or more, to me,
Than now I wish the scholar were to thee.

Alone, I'm seated in my cell,
My studies weary me unwell,
My thoughts distracted, mind no more
The beauties of the classic lore;
For all I read, or hear, or see,
Remind me, Ellen, but of thee
And if of thee I can alone have thought,
My heart would fain of thee alone be taught.

Fair Helen was not half so bright,
Though heroes for her met in fight,
Though Paris lov'd, and sons of Troy,
With aged Priam, lov'd the boy
Who stole her. Helen was not fair,
If virtues thine with hers compare;
For thou, in grace, in modesty, and mien,
Transcendent far the far-famed Grecian Queen!

Thine head is Grecian, brow is high,
Expansive as the summer sky;
And crown'd with locks of flowing hair,
Such as thy mother, Eve, might wear,
When first to Adam she appeared.
And Paradise of Eden shared;
So open, innocent, and calm a brow,
None but the purest of her daughters show!

Thine eyes half shaded by thine hair,
Dark flowing down thy forehead fair,
Cast forth their beams, inquiring how
All things created ought to bow
To Him who made them. E'en of me
They ask what worship ought to be;
And, when I view them, I confess I feel
As if their radiance would make me kneel.

To see that eye intent on thought,
Which learning has in wisdom taught;
And see its glance to heavenward bend,
As if thy spirit would ascend
And bring down answers from the sky
To all that seems a mystery:
Its swelling orb, as rolling sphere at night,
Glitters in aqueous moisture pure and bright.

Thy form, how graceful! like the fawn
Bounding along the spacious lawn;
Or, as the lamb at morning light
Skips from the fold in sportive flight,
Enjoying life, so oft I've seen
Thy form light bounding o'er the green
To meet me coming. O! that I could be
Ellen De Freston, ever near to thee.

Oh! if to learning's seat I go,
And Fame's bright wreath should crown my brow
And honors raise me to the height
Of all ambition could requite,
And every tongue and every hand
Should give me all they could command,
Fair Ellen, still I'd lay them at thy feet:
Thou couldst alone my happiness complete.

Whilst now before me visions spread,
And seem to crown the aspiring head,
And call me from my native town,
And drive away the darkest frown,
My life has dreaded that alone
I should be lost and left unknown:
The visions now so clouded which I see,
Is lighted up, fair Ellen, but by thee!

Thou in the distance shining bright
Appearest like a speck of light,
And brighter as the present cloud
The darkened foreground seems to shroud,
Whilst full on thee the sunny ray
Descends as beaming as the day,
When full of glory, I shall see thee shine,
And hope to call De Freston's daughter mine!

Had this poem but been sent to Ellen before the youth left Ipswich for Oxford, it would have explained to Lord De Freston the nature of the feelings of the writer; but it was never sent; it was seen by Wolsey's mother, and copied, but it was supposed and intended to be kept secret by the young aspirant for fame.

CHAPTER IX.

COLLEGE CAREER.

The youth departed from Ipswich with the love of many hearts following him, and with no lack of things requisite to make his career at Oxford brilliant. He was introduced by a student who had already gained University honors, and was looked upon as a man of sound learning and piety, and one eminently calculated to judge of Wolsey's capacity. Wolsey and Latimer were friends under the most pleasing circumstances which could possibly arise between two young men: congeniality of mind, pursuit, and honor. The latter, when he found Wolsey at Ipswich, covered himself with glory by writing that letter to Grocyn, dated April 29th, 1485; wherein he says: 'I have found a youth, inferior in years, superior in knowledge; with far less opportunity of cultivating the elegancies of literature, yet with infinitely greater industry than young men generally exercise who have those opportunities. He has a genius superior to mine, and already surpasses me in the acquirement of the Greek language. I can only say for him, what he might truly say for himself:

"Major rerum mihi nascitur ordo."'

Young Wolsey, at Oxford, had a glorious struggle within his soul to win the distinction he sought. His letters to his mother frequently breathed the hope that Ellen De Freston took an interest in his welfare. Supposing that this pure motive of distinguishing himself had for its object the fair lady of Freston Tower, the course he was pursuing was one far more honorable and arduous than the daring actions of war or enterprize. Courage of no common kind, and application of the most intense nature, were then inseparable from honor. The means of acquiring knowledge were more clogged and difficult than they now are, and the mind of the scholar was far more burdened with absurdities than it is in this enlightened age. But all that patience, industry, perseverance, and high talents could accomplish, Wolsey performed. He won every prize nobly, fairly, and against men of superior years and longer application, but not of equal ability.

In one year, and that the very first in which he went to Oxford, he was acknowledged the first man of his day. So much so, indeed, that the president, tutors, divinity reader, and fellows of Magdalen, pronounced him fit to enter the theatre against all opponents before the termination of that one year's residence at the University. He was permitted to go in for his bachelor's degree after one year. He did so, and was the first man in all academical pursuits, obtaining the degree of Bachelor of Arts before his fifteenth year had been completed. Wherever he went, he was designated by the title of the Boy Bachelor for it was never known before, and certainly never afterwards, that a degree conferred not as honorary, but as actually attained by competition, was given to so young a lad.

Wolsey was not young in manners, ideas, attainments, or knowledge. It was, singular in him at that early period, and served him well in after years, that a certain ease of deportment, of conscious mental capacity, and quiet expression of countenance, gave him a commanding influence among men of years, station, and power. He appeared, whilst at Oxford, to be a man whose wisdom had the command of all his passions, and who was never betrayed into any excess of bad taste, in manners, morals, or general conduct. He gained the good will of so many that it was impossible for him or any one not to feel elated in some measure at his success. Little did the world know how deeply moving in his young soul was the thought that Ellen De Freston would be gratified with his progress.

Nature, love, honor, truth, and grace, shone in his course as he strove to gain a reputation that should place his name above all plebeians who moved upon the world's surface. Virtuous feelings were at that time so cherished in his soul, they commanded the inmost movements of his heart. Though his parents watched his onward progress, and were delighted to recount to Edmund Daundy, their rich relation, the great and rising fame of their son—though the meed of imputation was given him by all his Ipswich friends, yet he anxiously looked for sympathy and encouragement in the daughter of De Freston.

Is there any period of life more fraught with love and hope than when the scholar gains his first distinguished prize? when youthful competition fairly tests his abilities, and honor, like the sun, rises in golden grandeur before him? He feels the warmth of the praises bestowed upon him, and hopes that his dearest kindred may be gratified. Perhaps he has a hope that one, whom he is ambitious of pleasing, may be captivated with his talents, and reward him with a sweet smile of approbation. There is no disgrace to any young man in being so prompted. His affections being pure, his views will be exalted. Thrice happy is he if his whole life's struggle shall be a steady impulse of this kind, capable of so existing to his latest hour. There are few such young aspirants who, in their day of youth, can see through the transient troubles of their tide. It seems to them as if it would flow on, and on, and on, and never turn. Alas! the ebb must come, and the stream of life decrease; the channel must become narrower and narrower, the waters of life diminish, until, becoming a small calm rivulet, it vanishes into the ocean of futurity.

At times, Wolsey was, in his younger days, subject to depression of spirit, arising either from too great application to study, or from that more probable cause, the heart-yearning sickness after the object of his affection.

Soon after Latimer was made Fellow of All-Souls, and Wolsey elected Master of Arts, the former entered his friend's apartment in Magdalen, and found him in this melancholy meditative mood. It was no easy thing at such times to rouse him, for though constitutionally robust, and mentally powerful, having made most surprising progress in logic and philosophy, he would be sometimes so depressed as to be unfitted for the duties of his station.

He filled various offices in his college from the year 1488 to 1495, before he took orders, and was extremely active in superintending, even before he was elected master, the progress of youth in the schools belonging to the college; but at times he would confine himself to his rooms, and endeavor to conceal from his most intimate friends this depression.

The fact was, that in his letters to his mother he had sought for some favorable report of Ellen De Freston's interest, and, if possible, a word of attachment which might inspire him with hope. At that period the communication between Ipswich and Oxford was only by pack-horses and special messengers. Young men did not often visit their friends during their academical career; and, if progressing favorably at the University, they were content to let their relatives perceive their affection by their devotion to the studies of the place. Had any letter from his mother given him encouragement to come home, Wolsey was not the man to delay. It was when he was in one of these abstracted moods, that Latimer came to announce to him that he was going to Ipswich, and thence to a foreign country, to Padua, the seat of learning, especially of perfection in the Greek language.