after all, in the sick bed, with
his expiation but half completed. A year before, he
had thrown down the cross, when it was offered him.
He was to take it again; the very cross which he had
refused. He recovered. He was brought before the
council; with what result, there are no means of knowing.
To admit the papal supremacy when officially
questioned was high treason. Whether he was constant,
and received some conditional pardon, or whether his
heart again for the moment failed him--whichever he
did--the records are silent. This only we ascertain of
him: that he was not put to death under the statute of
supremacy. But two years later, when the official list
was presented to the parliament of those who had
suffered for their share in "the Pilgrimage of Grace,"
among the rest we find the name of Robert Hobbes,
late Abbot of Woburn. To this solitary fact we can
add nothing. The rebellion was put down, and in the
punishment of the offenders there was unusual leniency;
not more than thirty persons were executed, although
forty thousand had been in arms. Those only were
selected who had been most signally implicated. But
they were all leaders in the movement; the men of
highest rank, and therefore greatest guilt. They died
for what they believed their duty; and the king and
council did their duty in enforcing the laws against
armed insurgents. He for whose cause each supposed
themselves to be contending, has long since judged
between them; and both parties perhaps now see all
things with clearer eyes than was permitted to them
on earth.

We too can see more distinctly in a slight degree.
At least we will not refuse the Abbot Hobbes some
memorial, brief though it be. And although twelve
generations of Russells--all loyal to the Protestant
ascendancy--have swept Woburn clear of Catholic
associations, they, too, in these later days, will not regret
to see revived the authentic story of its last abbot.
____

THE PHILOSOPHY OF CHRISTIANITY

"We should do our utmost to encourage the Beautiful, for the
Useful encourages itself."--GOETHE.

A Moss rose-bud hiding her face among the leaves one
hot summer morning, for fear the sun should injure her
complexion, happened to let fall a glance towards her
roots, and to see the bed in which she was growing.
What a filthy place! she cried. What a home they
have chosen for me! I, the most beautiful of flowers,
fastened down into so detestable a neighbourhood! She
threw her f