cr

bull-running," and is thus described by a writer who lived a century later than Thomas Wolsey:

"The bull-running is a sport of no pleasure, except to such as take a pleasure in beastliness and mischief. It is performed just the day six weeks before Christmas. The butchers of the town, at their own charge, against the time provide the wildest bull they can get. The bull, overnight, is had into some stable or barn belonging to the alderman. The next morning, proclamation is made by the common bell-man of the town, round about the same, that each one shut up their shop doors and gates, and that none, upon pain of imprisonment, offer to do any violence to strangers; for the preventing whereof, the town being a great thoroughfare, a guard is appointed for the passing of travellers through the same without hurt : that none have any iron upon their bull-clubs, or other staff, which they pursue the bull with. Which proclamation made, and the gates all shut up, the bull is turned out of the alderman's house; and then, hivie-skivy; tag and rag; men, women, and children, of all sorts and sizes, with all the dogs in the town, promiscuously running after him with their bull-clubs, spattering dirt in each others faces, that one would think them to be so many furies. And, which is the greater shame, I have seen persons of rank and family, of both sexes, following this bulling business."1

1 The above description is given of bull-running in one particular town (Stamford); but the sport, as it was called, was not confined to one town alone; and it gives an idea of the kind of recreation in favour in the days of which we are writing.

Another barbarous pastime in which the boys of all large towns, and Ipswich among them, were taught to delight, was that of cock-fighting. "Every year," says another writer; "on the morning of ShroveTuesday, the school-boys bring game cocks to their masters, and in the fore part of the day, till dinner time, they are permitted to amuse themselves with seeing them fight;"—the school-room being for the time turned into a cock-pit, and the master the controller and director of the pastime.

These are disagreeable things to write about. Enough, however, has been written for our purpose, which is to show that the former days were not better than these in respect of the moral and humane education given to boys. We have reason to be thankful, young readers, that the times have so much altered for the better, that a respectable youth such as our hero Tom was, would be ashamed to be seen at a bull-ring or a cock-pit, even if such places were within his reach.

It is probable, indeed, that such scenes as have been described, were not the worst that young Wolsey witnessed in his boyhood. Those were times when fires were frequently lighted in almost all parts of England, especially in large towns like Ipswich, for burning heretics; and when popish priests esteemed this horrible cruelty the very best way of rooting out the true faith of Christ, as taught in the Scriptures, from the hearts of the people. If Master Tom ever witnessed one of these frightful burnings, and was led to think them right, we need not wonder if, when he became a man, his heart

was sometimes hardened against the sufferings of others.

There is not much more to be said about Tom, the butcher's son, in this chapter. We know that he was kept at school in Ipswich till he was about fourteen years old; and then there were grave consultations

as to what was to be done with him. Being an only son, and his father being pretty well off, as was understood in those days, it was considered that the big boy might look forward to something in life a little superior

to slaying, cutting up, and selling bullocks and sheep, especially as his school-master gave a glowing account of his talents, and declared that it would be a shame to bring up young Tom to a common trade, even though it might be a good one.

"If I were in your shoes, Master Wolsey," we may fancy him saying to the father, "I would send him to Oxford."

"To Oxford, master School-master ?" exclaims the honest salesman.

"To Oxford, quotha!" echoes the housewife, mistress Wolsey, in sheer astonishment at the audacity of the thought.

And why not to Oxford, good neighbours?" demands the learned dominie. "You can well afford the outlay, or common report much belies you; and let me tell you that many a young man with not half the wit of your boy has come to greatness and renown through being sent to college."

Here was a new idea opened to the parents of Thomas Wolsey; and they pursued it, when by themselves. "I think, good husband, that school-master is a very sensible man," says Joan.1

'Ay, ay; because he praises thy boy," says the husband.

"He is thine as much as mine," retorts the dame; and then she goes on to say that she doesn't believe Tom will ever take kindly to the block and cleaver.

"Tut, tut!" cries Robert Wolsey, peevishly. "What's good enough for the father ought to be good enough for the son."

1This was the name of Thomas Wolsey's mother.

“Then what was the use of teaching Tom Latin and such stuff?" Joan Wolsey wishes to know. "Latin wont help him to tell the weight of a beast by feeling its ribs, will it?"

"Tut, tut!" says the husband again.

"If you didn't want Tom to climb higher than he is now, you shouldn't have had him taught Latin;" the mother goes on, following up her advantage.

"And that was your doing, dame.”

"Because I always did see there was more in him than common."

Ah, dame,” he retorts, laughing good-humouredly; some folks' geese always be swans to their way of thinking."

Maybe," continues Joan.

But, not to continue this dialogue, it is enough to say it was agreed at last that Tom should be sent to college at Oxford, to try whether he could make his way there as a learned man; like friar Bacon, for instance, whose fame, though nearly three hundred years old, was then in its prime.

So Thomas Wolsey (we must not again call him Master Tom) went to Oxford, and was entered as a student at Magdalen College.

CHAPTER II.

STAGE THE SECOND.

HE school-master at Ipswich and Mistress Joan Wolsey must have been very well satisfied with