THE ACOLYTE AT THE NEWGATE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 79, 31 October 1874, Page 13

THE ACOLYTE AT THE NEWGATE.

, A LEGEND OF THE CHARTER HOUSE. "^ Chapter 111. DABTItIi GATHBBES. Thbee months bad rolled away ; instead of an inclement Koveinber morning, it was an equally uiipleasant day in February. Kaw and miserable, with half-»jelted snow cumbering the roadway, and slipping in patches from the sloping roofs of the bouses. Despite the wretched weatlier, however, the inhabitants of London are crowding in the streets. London was a tolerably populous city even then, and much elbowing and pushing there was among the persons -who took the way to Smithfield, for that was tbe locality towards which everybody thronged. Smrithfield was of old the scene of many a gallant tourney ; is it one of those gorgeous spectacles of the age of chivalry that the people are crowding to see ? The age of chivalry is past, though tournaments occasionally divert the public mind from the horrors of the time. Henry the Eighth had a love of gorgeous display, so had 2foro 5 he loved music, too, and it is as notable an instance as the atrocious Emperor of Rome, of the poetical fallacy, that " niusic btith charms to soothe the 6avage "breast." It was no tournament, then, that was to be exhibited in Smithfield on that cold and wet February morning. Great preparations are, however, there made for some extraordi* nary display. A portion of the field — it was a field then— -was parted off and surmounted with barriers, as in the ca«e f>f a toxirnauient. At one end of the barrier, a scaffolding is erected, with seats for the spectators. Raised above those seats and a little, in advance of them is the place of honor ! a throne is it, for the king and his queen, Anno Boleyn ? No, it is an erection passing strange for a scene of public festivity. It is a pulpit ! The awning over the pulpit and the gal* jery is covered with scarlet cloth, to shelter the spectators and the

preacher, from tie rain, sleet and snow, which by times dropfc down from the leaden sky. The seats in the gallery, too, are comfortably cushioned ; whatever the natxire of the coming exhibition, a portion of the spectators are privileged to view it at their ease. The aspect of the people beneath is not that of people who expect nmch satisfaction from the show. For the most part, tleir looks are downcast and gloomy ; a few indeed there are whose wild and haggard faces are lighted with a glow of exultation. ° These are sour-looking men, clad for the most part in sad-colored and primly cut garments. ' ' Worshipper of Antichrist ! Pestilent Papist ! Idolatrous massmonger!" are the sentences they mutter, very much under their breath, though, for " bluff King Hal,'! has no more toleration for the new learning, than for the old ; he hates the reformers as bitterly as when, for his invective against Luther, the Pope gave him the title of " Defender of the Faith." He has cast off his allegiance to Rome, but he still esteems himself a Catholic, only his ideas of Catholicity are peculiar. He is to be Catholic wheu Catholicity interferes not with the demon of passion to whom he has resigned himself body and soul. He expects implicit obedience from his subjects, and they are all to be Catholics of his fashion, and he has racks and thumbscrews, halters and penal fires, for all who impugn his de^os, be they Lutherans or Catholics. But what are the objects within the barrier ? At a little distance from the end where the conopied gallery and pulpit are erected, is a quantity of combustible material — woefd shavings, dry twigs, and tar barrels — piled round a time-ivorn rood orcross, which had evidently been brought from some despoiled sanctuary. It had originally been painted in the mediaeval style. The figure of the crucified Lord, is of life size ; and, faded as is the coloring, the upraised face looks piteous and ghastly in the light of tlie torch held by a grim-looking man who stands at the foot of the pile, and who is giving directions to his subordinates, who are still piling light wood about the crucifix, which, probably to intimate the contempt with which Protestant Christians regard the symbol of > their redemption, is turned almost upside down. The fuel is piled around, and the rood partly leans against a talL iron post, from the top of which issues a transverse rod, giving it a, resemblance to a gallows. A chain with a hook at the end depends from this cross rod, and. the man with the torch bids his assistants see that it is properlysecured. Meantime, the iron tongues of the clocks of the church of the near hospital of St. John, and the Church of the Hoiy Sepulchre, proclaim the hour of ten. The eager, anxious populace note the arrival of the principal actors in the forthcoming tragedy. The preacher, with the cope and mitre of a bishop * has ascended the pulpit. He is a man of portly and commanding presence, with harsh but impressive features. It is Hugh Latimer, the celebrated Bishop of Worcester : a man of superior integrity to most of the Reformers, but deeply imbued with the persecuting spirit of the age, and as ready to condemn others to the stake, as he wa9 himself dauntless in encountering that fiery ; death. After the Bishop came the lords of the King's council, clad in scarlet robes, furred with miniver, who took their scats in the gallery. For what is this assemblage of the dignitaries of Church and State ? Look to the entrance of the barrier, opposite to the pulpit! There come the governor and the head jailer of Jfewgatc, with their turnkeys and apparitors. They surround tv poor prisoner, an old white-haired man, arrayed in. a worn Franciscan habit. It was Dr. John Forest, the confessor of Queen Katherine, tbe Franciscan friar, who was one of the witnessos^of her mai'riage. I For him are the deadly preparations made. For Iris behoof are I the king's council assembled. For him will Hugh Latimer exrrt all his strong, nervous eloquence "to make the worse appear the better reason!" The bishop, the council, and even the tyrant king himself, earnestly; desired the recantation of John Fox-rest. The council attended to grant his pardon, would he only sign the paper which they offered him. All was in vain, the martyr face to face with death in its most dreadful form, only repeated the worlls of his pathetic letter to Queen Katherine. " Would it become this white beard, and these hoary locks, to ' give way in aught that concerns the glory of God ?" All was vain then, and his last instructions were issued tc'tlie grim-looking man who held the torch. Grim and repulsive indeed was his aspect ; a muscular man, six feet in height, habited in a close-fitting garment of black serge, with his brawny arms bare to the shoulder. He was the cxc: _■ lioner, the common hangman, and while his subordinates fastened a strong chain round the waist of the condemned friar, the hangman rings a bell, and makes proclamation in the following ribald lines — " Forest the friar, This infamous liar, That wilfully will be dead ; Iv his contumacy, " The gospel does deny, The king to be the supreme head !" Then was the old man, faint and feeble with his long and cruel " imprisonment, dragged to the pile. Swung \ip, and secured by the chain round his waist, to the iron hook that hung up from the transverse bar of the gallows. For the most the populace were silent in horrid expectation. Some there were, however, among the lowest parasites of power, who mocked, and gibed, and cried out, that the prophecy had come to pass, that the idolatrous image, "Darvell G-atkerenV' brought from Wales, should indeed ''burn a Forest !"

Others there were among tho crowd who felt more for the old man than he felt for himself. These claßped their hands, murmuring, " Jesu Maria!" give him strength to bear the cruel flames. Among these more gentle spirits were a man and woman, who were in the foremost rank of the spectators, for they had stood by the barrier since the dawn. These were the worthy lace dealer, Alice Holt, and Master Lambton the mercer. " Oh, sweet saints !" murmured Alice, "to hear of this cruei sight, will almost kill the poor little Francis ; to witness it would have slain him outright. 'Tis well that he is still at Croydon, where the air so much revives him, for had he been in London, I could nofc have kept him from going daily to the Newgate." Even as Alice spoke there was a great shout from the people. Tho executioner had set light to the pile, and the flames immediately surged upwards, with but little smoke from the light dry wood ranged round the solid mass of the desecrated wood. The old man hung suspended within a few feet of the fire, and the flame singed his white locks as it soared upwards. Then was heard, mingled with the hoarse voices of blie multitude a cry shrill and piercing, and full of agony. At the same momeut a light aerial-looking figure of a boy, a mere ehUd, vaulted over the barrier, and skimming along like a bird upon the wing, leaped into the mid .? of the pile. A general cry of horror and consternation was heard. Tfc needed nofc the command of the king's councillors, of the .Bishop Latimer, the clamour from all who witnessed the immolation of the child, to prompt even the executioner to attempt the boy's rescue. J Master Lambton sprung over the barrier, and severely were both he aud tho hangman scorched in dragging little Francis from the names. Tenderly, in spite of his sinister office, did that most dreaded official bear the child to Mistress Holt, who had been admitted within the barrier. Little Francis lay. quite motionless in the hangman's arms nor ' Holt mOT 6 When encircled b^ fcho9e of his S entle benefactress, Alice "He is dead !" exclaimed the kind hearted woman, as her tears rained upon the child's face. "2fo, no !— fftintod, perhaps; but nofc dead. See, Ms hair is harely singed 2 The fire has not caught his face," said Master Lamb- ! 01 ?'<i it ** deacl , ! repeated Alice, pointing to the blood that bubo ed from the pale W and dyed the warm wollen tunic in which her chanty had clothed the consumptive child.. "It is the little acolyte, Francis, who ured to watch at the Newgate, said a woman among the crowd who now surrounded Alice Holt ; and lie is surely dead ; for see you, friends, that white dove that hovers over us. Lo, behold how it wings its flight to the pile jjd lights upon he martyr's head ! Look how its plumes gleamffi silver thnmgh the red flames! Now f now! See^how it soars up! yard, uninjured by the wicked fire. Its mission is done. The poor • l^ lsslfl f edb / tll ?«r\" C and W ' and t^e innocent soul o f P ?ho little acolyte wings its flight to heaven in tho shape of a white dove