there were, who, in spite of all their precautions and threats, carried off some of his blood, or fragments of his bones, or pieces of his clothes, which they kept as treasures; so great was the veneration they had for his virtue and the cause for which he died.

Mr. Hart suffered at York, March 15, 1582-3. He has a place in Mr. Wood's Athena Oxon. p. 214, who acknowledges, that he was executed for his character. This Mr. Hart,' says the protestant historian, was hanged, drawn and quartered, for being a Roman priest.

6

Dr. Bridgewater, in his Concertatio, has published, several of Mr. Hart's letters. In one of which, he gives an account of what had passed in his conferences with the protestant divines. In the others, he encourages his penitents, especially such as were prisoners, for their conscience, to constancy; exhorts them to neglect no opportunity of frequenting the sacraments, as most powerful means of divine grace, (lamenting that he himself was deprived of that benefit, no priest being allowed to come near him) expresses his ardent desire to be dissolved, and to be with Christ, only regretting that he had not better served so good a Lord; and forbids them to grieve upon his occasion, whose death was to be so great a gain. These letters are nine in all, and are very edifying. Besides which, I have met with a copy of a letter which he wrote to his mother a few days before his death; with which I shall here present the reader.

Most dear and loving Mother,

Seeing that by the severity of the laws, by the wickedness of our times, and by God's holy ordinance and appointment, my days in this life are cut off: of duty and conscience I am bound, (being far from you in body, but in spirit very near to you) not only to crave your daily blessing, but also to write these few words unto you. You have been a most loving, natural, and careful mother unto me: you have suffered great pains in my birth and bringing up: you have toiled and turmoiled to feed and sustain me, your first and eldest child; and, therefore, for these and all other, your motherly cherishings, I give you (as it becometh me to do) most humble and hearty thanks; wishing that it lay in me to show myself as loving, natural, and dutiful a son, as you have showed yourself a most tender and careful mother. But I cannot express my love, show my duty, declare my affection, testify my good will towards you, so little am I able to do, and so much I think myself bound unto you. I had meant, this spring, to have seen you, if God had granted me my health and liberty: but now never shall I see you, or any of yours, in this life again; trusting yet in heaven to meet you, to see you, and to live everlastingly with you.

Alas! sweet mother, why do you weep? why do you lament? why do you take so heavily my honourable death? Know you not that we are born once to die; and that always in this life we may not live! know you not how vain, how wicked, how inconstant, how miserable this life of ours is? do you not consider my calling, my estate, my profession? do you not remember that I am going to a place of all pleasure and felicity? why then do you weep? why do you mourn?

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why do you cry out? But perhaps you will say, I weep not so much for your death, as I do for that you are hanged, drawn, and quartered: my sweet mother, it is the favourablest, honourablest, and happiest death that ever could have chanced unto me. but for verity: I die not for treason, but for religion; I die not for any I die not for knavery, ill demeanor or offence committed, but only for my faith, for my conscience, for my priesthood, for my blessed Saviour Jesus Christ; and, to tell you truth, if I had ten thousand lives, I am bound to lose them all, rather than to break my faith, to lose my soul, to offend my God. We are not made to eat, drink, sleep, to go bravely, to feed daintily, to live in this wretched vale continually; but to serve God, to please God, to fear God, and to keep his commandments: which, when we cannot be suffered to do, then rather must we choose to lose our lives, than to desire our lives.

:

Neither am I alone in this kind of suffering; for there have of late suffered, twenty or twenty-two priests, just, virtuous, and learned men, for the self-same cause, for the which I do now suffer. You see, Mr. James Fenn and John Bodie are imprisoned for religion and I dare say they are desirous to die the same death which I shall die. Be contented, therefore, good mother, stay your weeping, and comfort yourself that you have borne a son that has lost his life and liberty for God Almighty's sake, who shed his most precious blood for him. If I did desire or look for preferment or promotion, credit, or estimation in this world, I could do as others do: but, alas! I pass not for this trish trash; I contemn this wicked world; I detest the pleasures and commodities thereof; and only desire to be in heaven with God; where I trust I shall be, before this my last letter come to you.

Be of good cheer, then, my most loving mother, and cease from weeping; for there is no cause why you should do so. God's sake, would you not be glad to see me a bishop, a king, or an Tell me, for emperor? Yes, verily, I dare say you would. How glad then may you be to see me a martyr, a saint, a most glorious and bright star in heaven. The joy of this life is nothing, and the joy of the after life is everlasting and therefore thrice happy may you think yourself, that your son William is gone from earth to heaven, and from a place of all misery to a place of all felicity. I wish that I were near to comfort you: but because that cannot be, I beseech you, even for Christ Jesus's sake, to comfort yourself. up, and how he hath blessed me many ways; a thousand times then You see how God hath brought me unhappy should I be, if, for his sake, I should not lose this miserable life, to gain that blessed and eternal life wherein he is.

I can say no more, but desire you to be of good cheer, because I myself am well. If I had liyed, I would have holpen you in your age, as you have holpen me in my youth. But now I must desire God to help you, and my brethren, for I cannot. with that which God hath appointed for my perpetual comfort: and Good mother, be contented now, in your old days, serve God after the old catholic manner? pray unto him daily; beseech him, heartily, to make you a member of his church; and that he will save your soul for Jesus sake: good mother,

serve God. Read that book that I gave you, and die a member of Christ's body; and then one day we shall meet in heaven, by God's grace.

Recommend me to my father-in-law, to my brethren, to Andrew Gibbon's mother, and to Mrs. Bodie, and all the rest. Serve God, and you cannot do amiss. God comfort you. Jesus save your soul, and send you once to heaven. Farewell, good mother, farewell ten thousand times. Out of York castle, the 10th of March, 1583.

Your most loving and obedient son,

• WILLIAM HART.'

RICHARD THIRKILL, OR THIRKELD, PRIEST.*

He was born at Cunsley, in the bishopric of Durham. Where, or what education he had at home, I have not found; but he seems to have been pretty well advanced in age, before he went abroad; for he is called an old man in the account of his death, which was within four years after he was made priest. Ilis education abroad, was in the English college of Douay and Rhemes. He was made priest, in the year 1579: and as he was coming home from the place where he had been ordained, lifting up his hands to heaven with astonishment, he cried out, O! good God! and directing his discourse to one of his companions: God alone knows, said he, how great a gift this is, that hath been conferred upon us this day. He considered, says my author, who was one of his intimate friends, how excellent and singular a gift it was, to offer up daily to God, for his own and the whole people's salvation, the precious blood of Christ, the spotless and undefiled lamb; and the frequent meditation of this gift, produced in his soul that daily increase of divine love and heavenly courage, that there was now nothing in life he desired more, than in return for what Christ had done for him, to shed also, his blood in Christ and for Christ.' My author adds, that he had often heard him say, that, for eight whole years, he had made it the subject of his prayers, that he might one day lay down his life for his faith; which at length was granted him in the following manner.

His mission was chiefly in and about York, where, on the 24th of March, nine days after the execution of Mr. Hart, going by night to visit a catholic, who, for his conscience, was confined in the prison upon the bridge, he was apprehended upon suspicion of being a priest; which he readily owned, saying, I will never deny my vocation; do with me what you will. He was carried before the lord Mayor, and to him also, as boldly confessed what he was; who sent him for that night to the house of Standeven, the high sheriff; whose first business was to find out and plunder his lodging, and seize upon his books, church stuff, &c. After which, he was committed to the Kitcot prison on the next day, where

*From Dr. Bridgewater's collections, fol. 116. And from the diary or journal of Douay college.

he remained, till the 27th of May, which was the day of his trial. In the mean time, he was twice examined by the dean of York and three of the council, concerning his character and functions: and he was very free in his answers, only where any other person was concerned. They asked him, for what reasons he had gone beyond the seas; and with what design he had returned into England? He answered, that it was for conscience sake, that he might serve God the better; and that he had returned into his own country, in order to gain souls to God and his church confessing also, that he had said mass, and performed the rest of the functions of his ministry, as occasion required. They touched also upon the question of the supremacy; but the dean seemed unwilling to have the matter pressed home: however, Mr Thirkill signified to them, that he thought the spiritual jurisdiction did not belong to her majesty, but to the pope.

What were the dispositions of the soul of this holy man, in the horror and solitude of his prison, we may learn from his epistles, of which Dr. Bridgewater has published six, all very edifying and full of the spirit of the martyrs. Let us hear what he writes in one of them, to one of his ghostly children. The world,' says he, dear daughter, begins now to seem insipid, and all its pleasures, grow bitter as gall; and all the fine shows and delights it affords, appear quite empty and good for nothing. Now it is seen, that there is no true joy, no object, no agreeable pleasure, that can afford any solid delight, but one alone, and that is Christ. I experience now, that the greatest pleasure, joy, and comfort, is in conversing with him; that all time thus employed is short, sweet and delightful: and those words that, in this conversation, he speaks to me, so penetrate my soul, so elevate my spirit above itself, so moderate and change all fleshly affections, that this prison of mine, seems not a prison, but a paradise; my crosses become light and easy, and the being deprived of all earthly comfort, affords a heavenly joy and happiness. O happy prison! O blessed confinement! O solitude full of comfort! O gaol, a long time desired! where hast thou staid, so long? O crosses! where have you been all this while? O solitude! why didst thou not suffer me to relish thy sweetness sooner? But, wretch as I am! I see, it was my unworthiness, (which is still as great as ever,) that hitherto kept me from such an honour, that my being so propense to vice, would not suffer me to attain to so great a blessing, as these crosses; that my iniquity and sins have, with good reason, delayed and hindered my being promoted to so happy a state of this solitude. These jewels of so great a price, all these riches, the great God has been pleased to confer upon me here in my prison; all which I ascribe to him, and acknowledge to be his gift, his mercy, his love; attributing nothing to myself. To him therefore be praise, honour, and glory, for so unspeakable a benefit bestowed upon his poor, wretched, and altogether undeserving, servant.' So he.

The day of his trial, he was led from Kitcot to the castle, guarded by the sheriff and his men. He was dressed in his cassock; which made him appear more venerable; and his countenance, air, and behaviour, expressed so much courage and constancy, joined with such

sweetness and modesty, as both ravished and astonished the beholders. When he was brought to the bar, so great was the press of the people, crowding to see him, that my author complains he could not hear the particulars of his trial and answers: but the issue was, that he was found guilty of the indictment, from the answers he had before returned, when he was under examination, particularly because he had confessed his having sacramentally absolved, and reconciled the queen's subjects to the church of Rome. The jury having brought in their verdict, Mr. Thirkill was carried back to the castle, and put down into the condemned hole amonst the felons: yet so that he had an opportunity of calling upon the catholic prisoners to pray for him; and to assure them, it was a great pleasure to him, to suffer for so good a cause; for which, if he had a thousand lives, he would willingly lay them all down.

He passed that whole night in instructing the malefactors, and disposing them to die well: And on the next morning, being the 28th of May, at eight o'clock, he was again ordered before the judges. Four catholic prisoners, who were to make their appearance at the bar that same morning, took the opportunity, as they passed by him, to beg his prayers and his blessing; which he gave them. A good old woman, who was likewise summoned to appear there for the profession of her faith, was still more courageous, for, coming up to him at the bar, and kneeling down, she asked his blessing in open court; which Mr. Thirkill, graciously smiling, immediately gave her; and defended what he had done against some upon the bench, (who pretended, that in giving his blessing, he had usurped the prerogative of Christ,) maintaining, that in quality of a minister of God, he had a power from him to bless in his name.

My author, who seems to have been an eye-witness of what passed on this occasion, tells us, that at first, Mr. Thirkill coming up to the bar, and leaning over it with his face towards the judges, seemed to the spectators to be fixed in contemplation, but when the other catholics were called upon by name, and arraigned for recusancy, he turned a little back to hear what they would answer. Amongst the rest, a gentleman of good note was brought to the bar, together with his lady, both arraigned for not going to church, (on which account they were both afterwards cast into prison.) This gentleman, being sick and weak, did not answer so loud as to be well heard by the court; upon which, one cried out, he looks at the priest, and another, a gentleman on the bench, said, this is the traitor who has persuaded him to all this. Upon which, a third, who was also one of the bench, and a kinsman of the gentleman, said, Cousin, I beg you would think seriously on the matter; now is the time, before the jury bring in their verdict; your submission afterwards will come too late, Don't wilfully fling away your goods and possessions: adding, at the same time, if this traitor of a priest were not here, no doubt but my cousin would be more tractable. Here Mr. Thirkill spoke; "Tis better, said he, to cast away one's goods, than to run the risk of losing one's soul. Then turning to the gentleman, Let your goods go, said he, stick you close to God, and with great courage confess his holy name. And, whereas the judges com