ood."

His father was at the roadside as he passed. "God be with thee, son
William!" the old man said. "God be with thee, good father," the son
answered, "and be of good comfort!"

When he was come to the stake, he took one of the faggots, knelt upon
it, and prayed for a few moments. The sheriff read the pardon with the
conditions. "I shall not recant," he said, and walked to the post, to
which he was chained.

"Pray for me, good people, while you see me alive," he said to the
crowd.

"Pray for thee!" said the magistrate who had committed him, "I will no
more pray for thee than I will pray for a dog."

"Son of God," Hunter exclaimed, "shine on me!" The sun broke out from
behind a cloud and blazed in glory on his face.

The faggots were set on fire.

"Look," shrieked a priest, "how thou burnest here, so shalt thou burn
in hell!"

The martyr had a Prayer-book in his hands, which he cast through the
flames to his brother.

"William," said the brother, "think on the holy passion of Christ, and
be not afraid of death."

"I am not afraid," were his last words. "Lord, Lord, Lord, receive my
spirit!"

Ten days later another victim was sacrificed at Carmarthen, whose fate
was peculiarly unprovoked and cruel.

Robert Ferrars, who twenty-seven years before carried a faggot with
Anthony Dalaber in High Street at Oxford, had been appointed by
Somerset Bishop of St. David's. He was a {p.204} man of large
humanity, justice, and uprightness--neither conspicuous as a
theologian nor prominent as a preacher, but remarkable chiefly for
good sense and a kindly imaginative tenderness. He had found his
diocese infected with the general disorders of the times. The Chapter
were indulging themselves to the utmost in questionable pleasures. The
church patronage was made the prey of a nest of Cathedral lawyers,
and, in an evil hour for himself, the bishop endeavoured to make
crooked things straight.

After three years of struggle, his unruly canons were unable to endure
him longer, and forwarded to the Duke of Northumberland an elaborate
series of complaints against him. He was charged with neglecting his
books and his preaching, and spending his time in surveying the lands
of the see, and opening mines. He kept no manner of hospitality, it
was said, but dined at the same table with his servants; and his talk
was "not of godliness," "but of worldly matters, as baking, brewing,
enclosing, ploughing, mining, millstones, dischargin