IN

In Ipswich, on the south side of the passage leading from St. Nicholas-street to the church-yard, stands the house in which tradition reports that Cardinal Wolsey was born, in 1471. It has been generally believed that his father was a butcher, but there appears no grounds for such a supposition: he rather seems to have descended from a respectable family. Be this as it may, he received his education at the grammarschool of his native town, and at Magdalen-college, Oxford. Having embraced the ecclesiastical profession he was presented, in 1500, to the rectory of Lymington, by Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, whose three sons were under his tuition.

VOL. I

Probably through the recommendation of this nobleman, he was sent by Henry VII. on a mission to the Emperor Maximilian, and acquitted himself so much to the satisfaction of the king, that, on his return, he was rewarded with the deanery of Lincoln, and a prebend in that cathedral. His introduction to the court of Henry VIII. he owed to Fox, bishop of Winchester, whom he soon supplanted in his master's favour, by which he rapidly rose to the station of sole and absolute minister. He successively became bishop of Tournay in Flanders, which city the king had just taken, a cardinal, bishop of Winchester, archbishop of York, and lord high

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chancellor of England. The revenues derived from all his places are said to have equalled those of the sovereign; and he expended them in a manner not less magnificent. Among his retinue, composed of 800 persons, were many gentlemen, knights, and even individuals of noble birth. He built the palace of Hampton Court, and York Place, in London, which afterwards received the name of Whitehall. Naturally ambitious, Wolsey was not satisfied with the honors which he had obtained, but aspired to the papal tiara. Disappointed in his hopes by the Emperor Charles V., who had promised to support him, Wolsey revenged himself by promoting the divorce of his master from Catherine of Arragon, aunt to his imperial majesty. This affair, however, proved the occasion of the cardinal's downfal. The obstacle to the accomplishment of Henry's wishes being too powerful for even Wolsey to remove so speedily as the king desired, he incurred Henry's displeasure, and being at the same time undermined by his enemies, he was suddenly stripped of all his employments, banished the court, and apprehended for high treason. Having reached Leicester, on his way from Cawood, in Yorkshire, to London, death interposed on the thirtieth of November, 1530, and saved him from farther humiliations. Wolsey was a zealous promoter of learning, as the foundation of Christ Church-college, Oxford, and of his college at Ipswich, sufficiently attest. The latter was situated in the parish of St. Peter, which, as appears from Doomsday book, had large possessions in the time of Edward the Confessor. It was afterwards impropriated to the priory of St. Peter and St. Paul, which stood contiguous to the churchyard, and was founded in the reign of Henry the II., by Thomas Lacy and Alice his wife, for Black

Canons, of the Order of St. Augustine. This house was suppressed in 1527, by Cardinal Wolsey, who, willing to bestow some marks of regard on the place of his nativity, as well as desirous of erecting there a lasting monument of his greatness, resolved to build and endow a college and grammar-school, to serve as a nursery for his new college at Oxford. For this purpose, being then in the meridian of his prosperity, he obtained bulls from the pope for the suppression, and letters patent from the king for the site of the estate, of the priory of St. Peter and St. Paul, where, in the twentieth of Henry VIII., he founded a college, dedicated to the honor of the blessed virgin, consisting of a dean, twelve secular canons, eight clerks, and eight choristers, together with a grammar-school; and for its farther endowment he procured part of the possessions of ten monasteries. The first stone was laid with great solemnity by the Bishop of Lincoln, on which occasion a grand procession was made through the town from the college to the church of our lady. But this noble foundation was scarcely completed before the cardinal was disgraced.

No part of this college now remains except the gate, which stands adjoining to the east side of St. Peter's church-yard, the rest having been long demolished to the very foundations. About the year 1764, the first stone was found in two pieces, worked up in a common wall in Woulform' oulform's-lane, with a Latin inscription to this effect:-" In the year of Christ, 1528, and the twentieth of Henry VIII., King of England, on the fifteenth of June, by John, bishop of Lincoln." This was John Longland, who likewise laid the first stone of Wolsey's college at Oxford.

This gate, with the exception of a square stone tablet, on which are carved the arms of King Henry VIII., is entirely of brick, worked into niches, and decorated according to the fashion of the time. It is supposed to have been the great, or chief gate: for as the cardinal, by setting the king's arms over a college of his own foundation, meant to flatter that monarch, it is not probable that he would put them over any other than the principal entrance. This gate now leads to a private house.

Extractor.

THE RETURN OF CŒUR-DE-LION FROM PALESTINE.

A ROMANCE OF THE OLD ENGLISH CHRONICLES,

BY REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

Joy, joy in London now!-Southey.

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It was deep still midnight; and the moon, as she traced out her path in the blue plain of heaven, lighted up the helmet of a solitary warrior, who bowed his lordly plume o'er the white mane of his charger, as he requested hospitality from monk of St. Michael's monastery. Although the latter exerted his utmost eloquence to dissuade him from his determination, and pictured the coarse fare and improper shelter to which he would be subject, the knight swerved not from his demand, and frequently replied in a vein of sarcasm. "Do not belie thyself, grave father," said the hero of the plume, " I smell good wine in thy barrels, and rich venison on thy platters; thy brethren are, perchance, regaling some proud warrior. Doth he possess a spear, dark monk, that can clash with mine? But," he continued, after a short pause," I war not now; neither do I lack aught of gold or silver of thee; hospitality I am compelled to request."

"Alas! gallant sir," returned the monk, "thou requirest hard boons of us! This day have wine and viand passed untasted before the penitents of St. Michael! -The iron hand of oppression is heavy upon

us; our shrines, that through England were celebrated for their splendor, have been plundered by a vile tyrant, and the ashes of our saints have not been allowed to repose in their old dormitories! The infamous Lackland has deprived us of our treasures, to squander them away in vain pageants. Knights with silken pennons,-barons with white casques, and ladies with fair lutes, throng around Prince John. Perchance thou art hastening to the festival, which he giveth on the morrow, at Southwark?"

"I!" replied the knight, rearing himself on his gallant charger, and grasping his tough broadsword, “if I go thither, dark monk, this kingdom shall not regret my spear-the one-eyed Lackland must, and yea, shall bow before it!" The knight accompanied these words with a dreadful scowl, and in his countenance might be traced the intensity of his indignation.

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Thy eloquence hath won thee a place of rest," said the monk; "enter, and receive a welcome in our desolate habitation."

Then were the fractured portals of the monastery unclosed, and the warrior followed his grim conductor through a kind of court-yard strewn over with several images of the saints. From the august desolation with which this scene abounded, the monk turned into a roofless chapel, that freely admitted the moonshine on its dilapidated walls. The monk was proceeding forward, but the voice of the knight commanded him to slacken his pace. " Tarry, good father," he cried, "methinks my introduction should be in the banquet-room."

"Alas? sir of the pennon and plume, in our plundered chapel thou wilt behold the miseries that grind this unhappy realm. But it will be deemed courtesy of thee to reveal thy name to us."

"I am Richard," returned the

knight, "Richard Plantagenet of the Lion!"

"God and our Lady!" exclaimed the monk, "do I address my true sovereign, and do I see him in the order of cravens and sycophants?"

"Proceed!" replied Richard, laying his finger on his lips. The ecclesiastic obeyed, and the chapel of St. Michael soon presented its devastation to the eyes of the king.

Never were the emotions of Courde-Lion so suddenly and vehemently lighted up as when he surveyed the interior of the chapel. For a few minutes he appeared totally absorbed in thought! His round black eyes wandered o'er the huge masses of broken freestone, as though they endeavoured to avoid some dreadful encounter; and his hand was raised, as if mechanically, o'er the dark lash that fringed his burning lids. The shadowy profusion of black feathers, which nodded on his proud helmet, and frequently obscured his noble countenance, in vain attempted to intercept the continual ray of indignation which dwelt in his fiery orbs! at length his hand, fell inadvertently on the hilt of his sword, and his soul seemed to forsake him in a loud hysteric laugh. Then resuming his natural asperity, he turned to the awe-struck father, and thus gave an utterance to his troubled feelings. -" Monk!" said he, "the shrines and saints that have been taken from thy holy habitation by the effeminate Lackland, can be restored; but for this country-for the land of courtly and magnanimous warriors-there is no hope? Father, it is blotted with an irremediable blot, and the glory of a thousand crusades is not sufficient to redeem it from ignominy. But yet," he continued, "methinks the name that has stilled the cries of the Arabian child, and the sword that has stilled the impetuosity of the Austrian madman, will at least collect the rebellious English be

neath the banner of their king. Saddle but my steed on the morrow, and, ere I descend from it, there shall be dukes and barons to assist me."

As the Lion-hearted Richard thus anticipated the success of his future undertakings, his hand fell inad. vertently on the spring of a secret panel, which receded at his touch, and disclosed a melancholy scene to his harassed imagination. With the assistance of the father's torch, he discovered a group of old monks kneeling round a fractured altar, and pressing their rosaries with the most enthusiastic adoration. No censer burned before them, and to no hallowed crucifix did their prayers ascend; yet theirs were the lips that appealed to heaven for retribution, and theirs were the hearts in which the secret blossoms of hope bloomed out afresh. The palebeaming moonlight, that occasionally lay its robe of silver on the chapel walls, only contributed to augment the desolate grandeur of the scene, and, as it revealed more clearly the bowed heads and clasped hands of the old ecclesiastics, the aspect of Cœur-de-Lion became darkened with the tinge of sorrow. " And are these wrecks of magnificence but a type of my suffering country?" he exclaimed; -“ oh, England-land of my soul, thou hast waxed poor indeed! thou art a void in the nations of Europe!-Why was I redeemed from a German prison? rather would I have died in bondage than witnessed the sad scenes to which my kingdom is subject!"

Soon as Richard had delivered this touching portion of eloquence, a man in glittering attire, came sliding down a vista that conveyed the echo of his footsteps into the chapel; and, ere the king could shift his position, the stranger took him by the baldric. As the king lacked no spur to irritate him at this

crisis, he grasped his tough broadsword, and threatened the intruder with instant death. No, thou spirit of darkness?" he exclaimed, "thou imp of Saladin! never shall the wine-cup reach my lips, till I have slain thee!"

"In sooth," returned the stranger, with laughter in his eyes; " if, Lord King, thou slayest me, thou wilt slay thy good fortune."

Pause-pause, thou knave!" replied Richard, " and remember that Vidal, the alchymist, could not transform mountains into hillocks for moles!"

"Thou art deceived, Lord King, I do no traffick in marvels! I am fool, or catch-farthing, or jester, or laughing-cup to Prince John, whom thou and all the world would call Lackland; and I come to communicate an important secret to thee." "Harkee, then, Sir Jester, if there be treachery in thine errand, with one stroke of my mace"

The droll interrupted him, "Maces and strokes I do not need," said he, " for my name is Gossip."

The natural asperity of the king now forsook him, aud his features were mellowed into a perfect sunniness. "Thou art shrewd," he observed.

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Shrewd, Lord King! the devil himself would be shrewd if he were a subject of this perilous realm. -But come, here is my ring and baldric-they denote truth-here is my hand -- that denotes constancy. We must retire, for if we tarry, we shall lose a good game. Thou rememberest the proverb--" the sleeping fox catcheth no poultry?"

"Too well-too well," said Cœur. de-Lion in reply; and, having slid a few words into the ear of the monk, he quitted the monastery with his singular acquaintance.

The space of two hours glided o'er the thoughful brow of the king ere he reached the borough of Southwark. The tones of the lute, and

the glitter of sharp war-spears, were still lingering in its moonlighted streets; as Prince John had there brought all the magnificence that his court required. "Please thy dread will," said Gossip, after having put silence to flight with two or three preliminary hems; " please thy dread will, we are now beneath the renowned walls of the Tabard hostellrie; if thy inclination accordeth with mine, we will prove its hospitality ere we proceed. His Grace of Suffolk and sundry other noblemen sojourn therein."

"Thy speech is as dross," returned the king, "for what may his Grace abide there?"

"Verily he is on a pilgrimage to the shrine of our holy martyr, St. Becket, to redeem a vow which he tendered in Palestine. Should Prince John once get scent of the rich treasures that will be offered up in the old minster of Canterbury, he would surely intercept him, which God forefend." When the name of Suffolk kindled up the troubled spirit of Richard, his countenance underwent an irritation that he could not conceal. The recollection of Suffolk, and the incidents that associated him with the proudest warriors of a proud crusade, flowed o'er the heart of the king, with a bitterness which resulted from the deprivation of his brightest visions. Suffolk had always been numbered among the most faithful of the king's adherents, and when his name awoke the thoughts that probably were then hushed in Cœur-de-Lion's bosom, a web of the darkest texture united them into a focus of sorrow and regret.

(To be continued.) SELECT SENTENCES.

The sight of a drunkard is a better sermon against that vice, than the best that was ever preached upon that subject.

To be often in love shews levity of mind; but to be never so, stupidity.

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