laboured for seven years in order to come at the truth; and in not one single book of learned men, and approved by the church, have I been able to find that a lay person was, or could be, the head of the Church.' Again the judges offered him a favourable hearing, if he had something else to say in his defence; but he gently replied, I have nothing to add. Only this! Whereas St. Paul the Apostle, as the Acts tell us, was present at, and had voted for, the death of the first martyr, Stephen, guarding the clothes of those who stoned him to death, and they yet are both now as saints in heaven, and are friends in all eternity, so I trust, and will heartily pray, that, though your lordships were my judges on earth, we yet may meet joyfully in heaven for an eternal happiness. God keep you, and, before all, the King my master, and grant him faithful councillors.'

When More was led out of the court, the first with whom he met was his son, who threw himself at his feet and asked his blessing. But the bitterest pang was yet to come. At the Tower his daughter Margaret awaited his arrival. When she saw him she pierced the multitude and the armed guards, flew into the arms of her father, and covered him with kisses. Oh, my father!' were the only words she was able to utter. Collecting all his firmness, Sir Thomas gently raised her, gave her his blessing, and tried to comfort her. What I have to suffer, my dear child,' he said, even if innocently, is by the will of God. He knows my heart. Submit, therefore, to his will, and bear my loss with patience.' She then went from him, but having walked a few paces, again returned, and embraced and kissed him. More spoke not a word; but while he endeavoured to look composed, the tears rolled down his cheeks. John, too, came to receive the last blessing of his father. At last Margaret departed with a broken heart. The whole crowd, and even the guards, were melted at the sight, and wept.

Thus More had overcome the severest task, and he now prepared for his approaching end-if, indeed, we can say so of a man whose whole life consisted in nothing else. On the 5th of July, the fourth day after his condemnation, he, with a coal, wrote the last letter to his daughter. It is as follows:

'Oure Lorde blesse you, good daughter, and youre good husbande, and youre lyttle boye, and all yours, and all my chyldren, and all my godde-chyldren, and all oure frendes. Recommende me, whan you maye, to my good daughter Cicily, whom I beseche oure Lorde to cumforte. And I sende her my blessing, and to all her chyldren, and praye her to praye for me. I sende her an handkercher; and God cumforte my good sonne her husbande. My good daughter Daunce hathe his picture in parchemente, that you delivered me from

my

my ladye Coniers, her name is on the backe side. Shewe her that I hartelye praye her, that you maye sende it in my name to her agayne, for a token from me to praye for me. I lyke spesiall well Dorothy Coly; I praye you be good unto her. I woulde wytte whether this be she that you wrote me of. If not, yet I praye you be good to the tother, as you maye, in her affliccion, and to my good daughter Joone Aleyn too. Geve her, I praye you, some kynde auns were, for she sued hither to me this day to praye you be good to her. I comber you, good Margaret, much, but I woulde be sory if it shoulde be any longer than tomorrow. For it is St. Thomas even, and the utas of St. Peter; and therefore tomorrow long I to go to God; it were a day very mete and convenient for me. I never liked youre manner toward me better, than whan you kissed me laste; for I love when daughterly love and deere charitye hath no leysure to loke to worldlye curtesy. Farewell, my deere chylde, and praye for me, and I shall for you and all youre frendes, that we maye merelye mete in heaven. I thanke you for youre grete cost. I sende now my good daughter Clement her algorisme stone, and I sende her and my godde-sonne, and all her's, Goddes blessing and myne. I praye you, at time convenient, recommende me to my good sonne John More. I liked wel his naturall fashion. Oure Lorde blesse hym and hys good wyfe, my loving daughter, to whom I praye hym to be good, as he hathe great cause: and that if the lande of myne come to hys hande, he breake not my wyll concernynge hys sister Daunce. And . our Lorde blesse Thomas and Austen, and all that they shall have.'

There were, however, still some persons who endeavoured to make Sir Thomas comply with the wishes of the King. Tired with their importunities, he mentioned before one of these creatures he had changed his mind. The courtier, full of joy to have succeeded in what neither the King nor the council could bring about, hastened to court with the news; but was ordered immediately to return to the Tower, in order to know in what Sir Thomas had changed his mind. At first,' was the answer, I had thought of shaving my beard before going to my execution, but I am now resolved that my beard shall share the fate of my head.' When he was told the King, from special grace, had altered the dreadful punishment of high treason into that of decapitation, he replied,' God preserve all mine from such special grace!'

Early on the morning of the 6th July, Sir Thomas Pope, an intimate friend of More's, came to announce to him that he was to be executed on that day, that he might prepare for his end. I thank you heartily,' said More, for your good tidings. I was always obliged to his Majesty for the favours and places of honour he bestowed upon me. Now, believe me, I am still more obliged to him for having sent me here, where I had suf

2E 2

ficient

ficient leisure and occasion to prepare myself for my last end; and, by God, for nothing do I owe him more thanks than for having so speedily delivered me of the troubles of this world.' His friend still told him, that it was the royal will he should abstain from all harangue to the people before his execution. It is well you inform me of this,' answered Sir Thomas, for I had purposed to speak some words on the occasion, though nothing that might offend his Majesty or any body else. But I shall willingly obey the commands of my master, and I only beseech you, good Mr. Pope, to obtain from his Majesty that my daughter Margaret may assist at my burial.' 'The King,' replied Pope, is content that your wife and children, and your other friends, be at liberty to assist at it.' 'Oh, how much am I obliged to his Majesty for taking my poor burial in his gracious consideration!' He then, with many tears, took leave of Sir Thomas Pope: Be comforted,' he said, I trust to God we shall once meet again;' and in order to cheer his friend by his own example, he composedly observed, Indeed, I do not perceive any dangerous symptoms: our patient could have lived still many a day, if such had been the pleasure of the King.'

At nine in the morning he was led from the Tower. His beard was long, his face pale and emaciated, his eyes often turned to heaven; in his hands he bore a red crucifix. When he passed the house of some pious woman, she came to offer him a cup of wine; but he refused it with the words, Christ drank not wine, but vinegar and gall.' Another woman pursued him, asking for the papers she had left in his hands as Lord Chancellor; Good woman,' More told her, have but patience for one hour, and you shall see how the King will deliver me from the care of your papers as of all other things.' By a third woman he was even reproached for having wronged her by his judgment as Chancellor; I remember your cause very well,' he said, but if I had still to decide it, I should not judge otherwise.'

Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, he turned to one of the sheriff's officers, begging his assistance in ascending it, adding, For my descent I shall take care myself.' As he was forbidden to harangue the people, he desired them to pray for him, declaring he died a faithful subject to the King, in the true Catholic faith. Upon this he knelt down, and prayed with great fervency. Having finished his devotion, he cheerfully rose, and, embracing the executioner, who had begged his pardon, he said, Thou wilt to-day do me the greatest service that is in the power of man. Have courage, and do not fail to

perform

perform thy office; my neck is very short, therefore take care how thou strikest, that thou acquit thyself honourably.'

When the executioner was about to muffle his head, that will I do myself,' he said, and tied the neckcloth round his eyes. Laying his head upon the block, he desired the executioner to stay one moment till he had put aside his beard, as that had committed no treason—and with one stroke the head was severed from the body.

ART. VI.-Las Comedias de Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca. Por Juan Jorge Keil. Tomos primero y secundo. Leip

sique, 1827, 1828.

THE

HE drama of Spain, arising out of the same state of society and manners as her poetry, presents to us the same characteristic features of Gothic chivalry and Arabian romance; is modified by the same circumstances of international intercourse; and, like the latter, is also marked by two distinct periods-the first an age of barbarous grandeur, and the second the perfection of the romantic style, when Lope de Vega and Calderon embellished it with all the grace and sublimity of which it was susceptible ;-in its infancy nurtured by the people, and in its maturity and decline the favourite of kings and courts. Rejecting the conventional rules of the Greek and Latin stages, on which Ferreira in Portugal, and Trissino and Ruccelai in Italy, had framed their works; those officers, who, during the Italian wars of Charles the Fifth, witnessed, at the Court of Ferrara, and elsewhere, the comedies of Ariosto and Macchiavelli, perhaps possessing, like our own great dramatist, but small Latin and less Greek, desired to have something of their own resembling those compositions, without dreaming of the study or imitation of the ancients. Hence their drama acquired a noble and chivalrous character, which, if not formed in obedience to the laws of literary jurisconsults, at least preserves a more independent and original spirit. Hence, too, the contrast between the tameness of the Italian and the native genius of the Spaniard, the eternal mythology of the Greeks, and the more interesting materials drawn from the history and feelings of Christian ages.

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On perusing their works, we are struck with the want of some piece of commanding merit, to which we might at once refer, as displaying the genius of the Spanish people, and which might stand a comparison with the masterpieces of other nations. No celebrated tragedy, (for it is by tragedies more than by come

dies that the drama of any nation is appreciated,) developing those universal passions which make the whole world akin. As it is evident that many of their early poets had the requisite powers, a spirit of intense nationality, and lived in an age when the imagination predominated over rules, it is only to be accounted for on the supposition that their powers were dissipated by their great fertility. It would seem as if they never thought of acquiring a lasting reputation or superiority over their rivals by one grand effort of thought, but rather by a multiplicity of loose works, which reduce their merit merely to that of ingenious novel-writers. This, however, might also depend upon what was then considered by the public as the scope and tendency of the stage. Their plays were too often the labour but of a few days, sometimes even of a few hours; and, seduced by the advantage of a language in which almost every person could versify, and the prospect of speedy remuneration, it was not surprising that they should have preferred the fleeting breath of popular applause to the criticism of their more learned contemporaries, or the judgment of posterity. It was not until a national style of comedy had become firmly established, that Calderon, Moreto, Solis, and others, turned their genius to the composition of plays of more purity, more invention, and exhibiting more correct copies of manners. Among that variety there will be found much invention, noble and refined sentiments, characters marked with force and sustained with dignity, happy situations, well-managed surprises, and a rapid succession of incidents, that never permits the attention of the spectator to languish for a moment. Such are the beauties which the comedies of those illustrious poets offer to us, from whose spoils the Cid, Geolier de Soi-même, Le Menteur, and so many other works, were brought from the heart of Castile to shine on the French boards; and from whom Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher, and Dryden, in England, extracted so much of what is excellent in their dramatic works. The last age includes the termination of the Austrian and the commencement of the French rule, the period of the greatest degradation of Spain in politics, and of her greatest abasement in literature. That flame of imagination which, during a century, had given her so many poets, was now extinct, and those who came after no longer possessed the same enthusiasm or brilliancy. Then sprung up. a crowd of parasites, similar to the opera-writers and courtflatterers of Louis XIV., and the ignoble race of our own second Charles, of whose name or works the world has no renown. As their poets, debarred from the more noble subjects of the muse, and contrasting the beauty of external nature in a

smiling,