The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-08-11

lips, "Ob, monstrous impiety of au &C
cursed and sacrilegious kingl" sounded
loudly above the din of the mob.
1t was enough; the unhappy merchant
was Immediately consigned over to the
secular arms.
Oh, sad were those prison hoursl The
girl told her beads-the father prayed to
all the ssints-and then came the vain
consultations by which each endesvored
to cheat the other. They thought of
their own sunny land, it's balmy air, its
living beauty, and that thought was
home.
November came with all its gloom-the
month that should have been the grave
Of the year, coming as it does with
shroud and cere-cloth, foggy and dark,
and dreary; the fathers brow numbered
more wrinkles, the once black hair was
more nearly blesched, the features more
attenuated.
And the daughter-ahl youth is the
transparent lamp of bope-but in her
the light was dim.
In fear and trembling the unhappy
foreigners waited the day of doom. The
merchants offence was one little likely
to meet with mercy. Henry was jealous
of his title of head of the church. He
had drawn up code of articles Of belief,
which his subjects were desired to sub
scribe to, and he had instituted court,
of which he had made Lord Cromwell
vicar. general, for the express trial OF
those whose orthodoxy in the kings
creed was called in question. Neither
could the unhappy merchant hope to
find favor with the Judge, for it was
known that Cromwell was strongly at
teched to the growing reformation; and
from the acts of severity with which he
had lately visited some of the adherents
of the Romish creed, in his new cherac-
ter Of vicar-general, it was scarcely prob
able that he would show mercy to one at
tached by lineage and love to papa,
Rome. Strangers as they were, poor
unknowing and unknown, what had they
The morning of trial came. The fogs
OF that dismal month spread like dark
veil over our earth. There was no beau
ty in the landscape, no light in the
heavens, and no hope in the heart.
The judges took their places; crowd
of wretcbed delinquents came to receive
their doom. We suppose it to be a re-
tinement of modern days, that men are
not punished for their crimes, but only
to deter others from committing them.
This court of Henry's seemed to think
otherwise; there was ell the array of hui
man passion in the judges as we'll as in
the judged. On one hand, recreant fear
abjured his creed ; on another heroism
braved all contingencies, counting the
pile and the stake, with even passionate
desire; and the pile and the stake we're
given with stern and unrelenting cruelty.
At length there stood at the bar an
aged man and youthful girl; the long
white hair of the one fell loosely over
the shoulders, and left unshsded face
wIinkled as much by care as by age; the
dark locks of the other were braided
over a countensnce clouded by sorrow
and wet with tears.
The mockeIy of trial went on. 1t was
easy to prove what even the criminal did
not attempt to gainssy. The aged mer-
chant avowed his fidelity to the pope as
true son of the church; denied the su-
premacy of Henry over any part of the
fold and thus sealed his doom.
There was an awful stiffness through
the court = stiffness, the precursor of
doom-broken only by the sobs of the
weeping girl, as she chung to her fathers
arm. Howbeit, the expected sentence
was interrupted; there came a sudden
rush, fresh attendants thronged the
court.-"Room for Lord CROMWELL room
for Lord Cromwelfl' and the vicar-gen-
eral came in his pomp and his state with
all the insignia of his office, to assume the
place of pre-eminence at that tribunal.
Notes of the proceedings we're laid be-
fore Lord Cromwell. He was told of the
intended sentence; and he made a ges-
ture Of appreciation. A CLEAN OF hope
had dawned upon the mind of the Ital-
ian girl as Lord Cromwell entered. She
watched his countenance while he read;
is was stern, indicative of calm determi-
nation; but there were lines in it that
spoke. more Of mistaken duty than innate
cruelty. Yet when the vicar general
gave his token OF assent, the steel entered
Emilia's soul, and sob, the veriest ac-
cent of despair, rang through that court,
and where it met with human heart,
pierced through all the cruelty and op-
preston that armed it, and struck upon
some of the natural feeling that divide
men from monsters. That sound struck
upon Lord Cromwell's ear; his eye
sought the place whence it proceeded; it
rested on Emilia and her father. A
strange emotion passed over the face of
the stern iudge-a perfect stiffness fol-
lowed.
Lord Cromwell broke the silence. He
glanced over the notes that had been
handed to him, speaking in low voice,
sppare ntly to himself, From Italy-a
nt-Milan-runed by the wars