Sir Thomas More | Page 2

all to a ruined friend who had been good to him in former

years. Yet in those days he refused an offer of 2,000 pounds a year to
come to London and write for the Times. He was happiest in his home
by Skiddaw, with his books about him and his wife about him.
Ten years after the publishing of these Colloquies, Southey's wife, who
had been, as Southey said, "for forty years the life of his life," had to be
placed in a lunatic asylum. She returned to him to die, and then his
gentleness became still gentler as his own mind failed. He died in 1843.
Three years before his death his friend Wordsworth visited him at
Keswick, and was not recognised. But when Southey was told who it
was, "then," Wordsworth wrote, "his eyes flashed for a moment with
their former brightness, but he sank into the state in which I had found
him, patting with both his hands his books affectionately, like a child."
Sir Thomas More, whose ghost communicates with Robert Southey,
was born in 1478, and at the age of fifty-seven was beheaded for
fidelity to conscience, on the 6th of July, 1535. He was, like Southey, a
man of purest character, and in 1516, when his age was thirty-eight,
there was published at Louvain his "Utopia," which sketched wittily an
ideal commonwealth that was based on practical and earnest thought
upon what constitutes a state, and in what direction to look for
amendment of ills. More also withdrew from his most advanced post of
opinion. When he wrote "Utopia" he advocated absolute freedom of
opinion in matters of religion; in after years he believed it necessary to
enforce conformity. King Henry VIII., stiff in his own opinions, had
always believed that; and because More would not say that he was of
one mind with him in the matter of the divorce of Katherine he sent
him to the scaffold.
H. M.

COLLOQUY I.--THE INTRODUCTION.
"Posso aver certezza, e non paura, Che raccontando quel che m' e
accaduto, Il ver diro, ne mi sara creduto."

"Orlando Innamorato," c. 5. st. 53.
It was during that melancholy November when the death of the
Princess Charlotte had diffused throughout Great Britain a more
general sorrow than had ever before been known in these kingdoms; I
was sitting alone at evening in my library, and my thoughts had
wandered from the book before me to the circumstances which made
this national calamity be felt almost like a private affliction. While I
was thus musing the post-woman arrived. My letters told me there was
nothing exaggerated in the public accounts of the impression which this
sudden loss had produced; that wherever you went you found the
women of the family weeping, and that men could scarcely speak of the
event without tears; that in all the better parts of the metropolis there
was a sort of palsied feeling which seemed to affect the whole current
of active life; and that for several days there prevailed in the streets a
stillness like that of the Sabbath, but without its repose. I opened the
newspaper; it was still bordered with broad mourning lines, and was
filled with details concerning the deceased Princess. Her coffin and the
ceremonies at her funeral were described as minutely as the order of
her nuptials and her bridal dress had been, in the same journal, scarce
eighteen months before. "Man," says Sir Thomas Brown, "is a noble
animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave; solemnising
nativities and deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting ceremonies of
bravery in the infamy of his nature." These things led me in spirit to the
vault, and I thought of the memorable dead among whom her mortal
remains were now deposited. Possessed with such imaginations I
leaned back upon the sofa and closed my eyes.
Ere long I was awakened from that conscious state of slumber in which
the stream of fancy floweth as it listeth by the entrance of an elderly
personage of grave and dignified appearance. His countenance and
manner were remarkably benign, and announced a high degree of
intellectual rank, and he accosted me in a voice of uncommon
sweetness, saying, "Montesinos, a stranger from a distant country may
intrude upon you without those credentials which in other cases you
have a right to require." "From America!" I replied, rising to salute him.
Some of the most gratifying visits which I have ever received have

been from that part of the world. It gives me indeed more pleasure than
I can express to welcome such travellers as have sometimes found their
way from New England to those lakes and mountains; men who have
not forgotten what they owe to their ancient mother; whose principles,
and talents, and