bishops and ministers of the church only.' It would have been more for the honour of the government he served, if this legal functionary had disproved the averment of the prisoners. He was well inclined to do so, and had every advantage on his side. But truth is truth, whatever intolerant bishops may enact, or juries, not yet alive to a sense of their duties, decide. Henry VIII sent catholics and protestants alike, to execution, under a charge of treason, whose only offence was dissent from the royal creed, and his daughter Elizabeth imitated his hypocrisy while she trod in his intolerant steps. The puritans of whom we write were amongst the most loyal of the queen's subjects, but as they could not pronounce the bishops' shibboleth, they were cast out, as the refuse and offscouring of all things.' Bigotry thirsted for their blood, yet was willing to compound the death of their body for that of their soul. The day after their condemnation, Barrow and Greenwood were commanded to prepare for execution. Brought forth from their dungeon, they were about to be fastened to the cart which was to convey them to Tyburn, when a reprieve arrived, and the hope of life rose fresh in their hearts. This hope, however, was doomed to disappointment. They would not forswear their convictions, and the human tigers which pursued them, resolved, therefore, on their death. Let the following brief account of what followed, be taken as an illustration of the spirit of ecclesiastical domination under every form, whether protestant or popish.

On the last day of March, 1593, very early in the morning, as spring was breathing its fresh breezes about the environs of London, the mournful procession of the death-cart, with the condemned and the attendant officers, passed under the archway of Newgate, and slowly ascended Oldburn Hill. It was not studded with buildings and crowded with bustle as it is at the present day, but from the windows in the picturesque gables, which then stood beside the road, there were not a few who looked on the sad procession, and pitied the fate of men so unjustly treated. As the train moved along, persons came out and joined it, to witness the end, if not to sympathize in the sufferings of the martyr pair. They enter St. George's-in-the-Fields, where the fresh grass springing up after the winter snows, and the budding leaves of the hedgerows, symbols of life and mementos of cheerful youth, bringing joy to the hearts of multitudes, are rather calculated to fill with melancholy feelings the breasts of the two condemned, were it not that Christian hope tells them of a rich and everlasting spring-time in the paradise of God, soon to open on their eyes. They reach the gallows-tree at Tyburn, where the vilest malefactors had paid the penalty of ther offences, and patiently do they undergo, at the hands of the common hangman, the horrid ceremony of adjusting the ropes to their necks. A large crowd has by this time gathered, notwithstanding the precautions

to keep the tragedy as secret as possible. They are permitted, according to the common custom in such cases, to speak for a few moments, when they express their loyalty to the Queen, their submission to the civil government, and their sorrow for any hasty, irreverent expressions which in the heat of controversy may have escaped their lips. They declare their continued faith in the doctrines for which they are about to suffer, and entreat the people around them to embrace those principles only as they appear to be the teaching of the word of God. They then offer a prayer for her Majesty, the magistrates, and the people, not forgetting their bitterest enemies. A breathless silence pervades the crowd, as every eye is fixed on the men standing beneath the fearful beam, when a faint buzz is heard in the distance, a commotion follows on the outskirts of the dense mass, and a messenger, hurrying his way through the opening ranks, speedily approaches the place of death. The execution is stayed-he has brought a reprieve; the men, though ready to die, feel the life-blood, which had begun already to curdle in their veins, throbbing afresh. They are grateful for the royal mercy, and bless the name of Elizabeth; the multitude partake in the sentiment, and rend the air with acclamations. They return through the green fields and down Oldbourne-hill, accompanied by the people, whose rejoicings on their behalf awaken a sympathetic response on the part of others who line the streets and lanes, to witness this strange spectacle of men brought back from the gates of the grave. The sight harmonizes with the season, and the vernal sun seems to rejoice as he sheds his light on the returning procession. Barrowe, on re-entering his prison, sits down to write to a distinguished relative, describes the scene which has just taken place, and with earnestness implores her ladyship not to let any impediments hinder her from speaking to the Queen on his behalf, before she goes out of the city, lest he perish in her absence. Thus twice had these men passed through the bitterness of death without dying, and now rejoice, though with some clouds of apprehension, in the hope of brighter earthly scenes. But there is no hope for them on this side the grave. The reprieve of to-day, like the former one, is an utter delusion. It is a new method of ingenious torture. Innocent as they are, they must perish. The next morning they are dragged from their cells a third time, to gaze again on the apparatus of death, with which they have become now so strangely familiar, to be led forth to Tyburn, but on this occasion to return no more.'-pp. 58-61.

The case of Udal, though he did not die at Tyburn, furnishes an equally flagrant illustration of the enormities practised by protestant prelates. He was indicted under the same statute, for publishing The Demonstration of Discipline,' and by a forced construction of law, was convicted of treason. His persecutors, however, shrank from the odium which would have attached to his execution. They sought his life, but feared the re-action of the public mind. In the meantime, he sank, like hundreds of his brethren, under the accumulated miseries of his imprisonment. In the early part of 1593, without any other sickness,'

says Fuller, in his own inimitable style, 'save broken-hearted. with sorrow, he ended his days. Right glad were his friends, that his death prevented his death; and the wisest of his foes were well contented therewith, esteeming it better that his candle should go out, than that it should be put out, lest the snuff should be unsavory to the survivors, and his death be charged as a cruel act on the account of the procurers thereof !' The judgments of that day were no doubt so affected, but we see no difference, in point of spirit and criminality, between the martyrdoms of Smithfield and those of Newgate, the burnings of Mary's reign and the slower and more wearing processes, by which the victims of her sister were dismissed to the grave. In a future edition, we suggest to Mr. Stoughton, that the case of Udal will form an appropriate illustration of a large class of martyrdoms.

The Pilgrim Fathers form the subject of an interesting chapter. We can only take the following brief extract, from the beautiful address of Robinson to those members of his charge who were about to emigrate to the New World. His words deserve to be engraven on brass. They are amongst the noblest that were ever uttered, a legacy infinitely more precious than wealth or regal power. May the day never come, when the divine temper they inculcate shall be wanting amongst the congregationalists of Britain.

'Brethren,' said the man of God, amidst a stillness which was broken only by the sobs of his hearers, we are now ere long to part asunder, and the Lord knoweth whether ever I shall live to see your faces again. But whether the Lord hath appointed it or not, I charge you before God and his blessed angels, to follow me no farther than I have followed Christ. If God should reveal anything to you by any other instrument of his, be as ready to receive it as ever you were to receive any truth by my ministry, for I am very confident the Lord hath more truth and light yet to break forth out of his holy word.

Miserably do I bewail the state and condition of the reformed Churches, who are come to a period in religion, and would go no farther than the instruments of their reformation; as, for example, the Lutherans, they could not go beyond what Luther saw; for whatever part of God's will he has further imparted by Calvin, they will rather die than embrace it. So, also, you see the Calvinists, they stick where he left them a misery much to be lamented; for though they were precious shining lights in their times, yet God did not reveal his whole will to them; and were they now living, doubtless they would be willing to embrace further light as that which they did not receive.'-pp. 95, 96.

We are surprised at Mr. Stoughton having passed over the barbarous persecutions directed by Laud against the puritans of his day, as they supply materials of unrivalled interest, and are susceptible of a far more effective exhibition than some things with which his pages are loaded. There is a romance, painful,

yet inexpressibly attractive, in some of the scenes then enacted; a charm of the highest order; a moral never surpassed. The scene at Westminster, for instance, on that memorable 30th of June, 1637, when Bastwick, Burton, and Prynne, members of the three learned professions, were brought forth to be barbarously mutilated, the first two by the loss of their ears, and the last by having the stumps of his torn out, and his cheeks branded by a red-hot iron. It requires an artist of the first order, to do justice to what the people of England then saw the heroism and tenderness which mingled in that scene. The wife of Dr. Bastwick rushed to his side, and, with a feeling which betokened the agony of her soul, kissed the ears that were about to be mangled. Yet her nobility was equal to her love, for when entreated by her husband not to be dismayed, she heroically replied, Farewell, my dearest; be of good comfort: I am nothing dismayed.' The wife of Burton acted a similar part. He looked anxiously upon her, we are told in a pamphlet of the time, 'to see how she did take it. She seemed to him to be something sad; to whom he thus spake, Wife, why art thou so sad?' To whom she made answer, Sweet heart, I am not sad.' 'No,' said he, 'see thou be not; for I would not have thee to dishonour the day, or to darken the glory of it, by shedding one tear, or fetching one sigh. For behold thou for thy comfort my triumphant chariot (the pillory), on the which I must ride for the honour of my Lord and Master. And never was my wedding day so welcome. and joyful a day as this day is.' Prynne's conduct was equally heroic, though his sufferings were still more severe. Now, blessed be God,' he exclaimed, on descending from the pillory, 'I have conquered and triumphed over the prelates' malice; and feel myself so strong, that I could encounter them all together at this very present.' Such are some of the materials which this period of our history furnishes, and we commend them to Mr. Stoughton, as the subject of a distinct chapter, in case of a second edition of his work being called for.

We must close our extracts with the following sketch of 'the five dissenting brethren,' to whom posterity owes so much for their able advocacy, in the Westminster Assembly, of religious toleration. It is well for mankind that they were there, a breakwater to the tide of presbyterian intolerance, which set in so fearfully. The puritans were slow to learn the right of every man to worship God according to the dictates of his conscience; and that section of them which adopted the platform of Geneva, was amongst the least inclined to do so. Their numbers greatly preponderated in the Westminster Assembly, and, had their views been carried out, England would have gained little by the overthrow of episcopal domination. Happily they were not so.

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The independents kept them in check, while such statesmen as Vane and Cromwell watched their proceedings with more than parental solicitude. Too much cannot be said in reprobation of the ecclesiastical policy of the Assembly, though we hold in utter contempt, the descriptions which Clarendon and other royalist writers have given of the personal character and ministerial qualifications of its members.

"The five dissenting brethren,' as they were called,' says our author, 'were distinguished and active members of the Assembly. They were the steady advocates of Independency, and numbered about five or seven beside themselves, of the same sentiments. They were men who had taken up the cause for which Barrowe and his associates suffered, and the pilgrim fathers were exiled; for which Robinson preached, and Lord Brooke pleaded; and in whose service, with humble zeal, the little Church in Southwark had lifted up its banner.

'Jeremiah Burroughs-educated at Cambridge-forced to quit the University on account of his Nonconformist opinions-driven to Rotterdam, whence he returned after the opening of the Long Parliament— a man of candour, modesty, and moderation-one whose devotional works breathe a spirit of enlightend and persuasive piety, and whose gentle spirit, with all the firmness that sustained it, could not bear the rough beating of the times, so that he is said to have died heart-broken at the age of forty-seven-was one of Nye's companions in the Westminster Convocation; and, in the debates that were carried on, this excellent man enlightened the brethren by his clear intelligence, and disarmed, if he did not subdue, opponents by his loving spirit. If Nye was the Luther, Burroughs was the Melancthon of the party. Nye was bold as a lion, Burroughs gentle as a dove. The energy of the one was like the hurricane, sweeping all before it; the influence of the other was like the gentle falling of the snow-flake, or the spring shower. One was like John the Baptist; the other resembled the beloved disciple. Men of both classes were needed, the 'sturdy woodcutter,' as Luther called himself, and the gentle husbandman, sowing and watering,' as he styled Melancthon. William Bridge, once the minister of the old parish church of St. George's, Tombland, Norwich, then a refugee in Holland, but now one of the ministers of Great Yarmouth, a man who had a library well filled with fathers, schoolmen, critics, and other authors of worth, and was wont to rise at four o'clock, both winter and summer, to read them, may be remembered next among these worthies. Having himself suffered in the cause of truth and liberty, he stimulated others to the display of like heroism, exhorting his good people at Yarmouth in the following strain :

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'Certainly, if God's charge be your charge, your charge shall be his charge, and being so, you have his bond that they shall never want their daily bread. Wherefore, think on all these things; think on them for the present, and in the future, if such a condition fall: and the Lord give us understanding in all things.' These were sentiments calculated to form heroic sufferers, and heroic soldiers; and they did both. Bridge was a firm Independent, yet no boisterous schismatic. He held the truth in love; and, when his own party had attained to power,