even as late as the reign of James the First, the custom still subsisted. The monument however had by this time disappeared, and the place of the inscription been supplied by the following rhymes, affixed to an adjoining pillar by Sir Edward Barkham, who was Lord Mayor in 1622 :

WALKERS Whosoe're you be,
If it prove your chance to see,
Upon a solemn scarlet day,
The city senate pass this way,
Their grateful memory to shew
Which they the rev'rend ashes owe
Of Bishop Norman here inhum'd,
By whom this city hath assum'd
Large priviledges: those obtain'd

By him when Conqueror William reign'd.
This being by thankful Barkham's mind renew'd,
Call it the Monument of Gratitude.

Gilbert Foliot, who succeeded in 1163 to the bishopric of London, is described as the first English bishop that was ever canonically translated from one see to another. He had previously been Bishop of Hereford, and owed his promotion to his learning, wisdom, and loyalty. Matthew Paris makes use of an amusing fable to illustrate the character of this respectable prelate. We are told, that as he lay musing in his bed one night, after a long conference with Henry II. on the subject of the differences between that monarch and Archbishop Becket, to whose arrogant pretensions Foliot was stoutly opposed, a terrible voice sounded in his ears, "O Gilbert Foliot dum revolvis tot tot, Deus tuus est Ascaroth!" The worthy

bishop, confident in his own probity, thus boldly made "Mentiris dæmon: Deus meus est Deus

answer:

Sabaoth."

During the episcopate of Eustace de Falconbridge, who was appointed to the see in 1221, a great dispute arose with respect to a right of exemption claimed by the abbots and monks of Westminster, from the jurisdiction of the bishops of London. The matter was referred to the pope, and by his holiness remitted to the archbishop of Canterbury, and some other heads of the church, who decided that Westminster abbey, and the adjoining church of St. Margaret, should be, as they have ever since continued, independent of the see of London.

Fulco Basset, "a man stout and corrageous," filled the see of London, at that troubled period of our history, when the Pope, by his Legate Rustand, shared with Henry the Third, in those schemes of spoliation, by which the people of England were, during the reign of that monarch, so much oppressed. Basset steadily refused lending his countenance to the exactions, which were attempted to be imposed on the clergy of his diocese, and when threatened with deprivation, he made this spirited answer, that " though he might be unjustly deprived of his mitre and crosier, ne still hoped to be able to retain his helmet and sword."

In 1292, there occurred a remarkable instance of collision between the claims of the Bishop of this diocese and the citizens. The Bishopric had a manor attached to it, situated in the parish of Stepney, on which there grew "two faire woods." Richard de Gravesend, the Bishop at that period, wished to enclose

these woods for a deer park, and with that view obtained a grant of free warren from the king. The Mayor, Aldermen, and commonalty, however, would not permit the project to be carried into execution, contending successfully that time out of memory, "they had used to take and hunt within the aforesaid woods and without, hares, foxes, conies, and other beasts, where and when they would."

Simon de Sudbury, who filled this see at the time when Wickliff began the work of Reformation, presents in his unhappy fate a memorable example of the fickleness of popular favour.

When, in 1376, Wickliff was, by the command of the Pope, summoned before the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop of London, to answer for the tenets contained in what was called the Lollard's Creed; he appeared before them, accompanied by his friends and protectors, the Duke of Lancaster and Earl Marshal. The Earl Marshal, having insisted that Wickliff should be allowed a seat during his examination, the following curious dialogue ensued.

Bishop of London. If I could have guessed, Lord Percy, that you would have played the master here, I would have prevented your coming.

Duke of Lancaster. Yes, he shall play the master here for all of you.

Lord Percy. Wickliff, sit down! You have need of a seat, for you have many things to say.

Bishop. It is unreasonable that a clergyman cited before the ordinary should sit during his answer. He shall stand!

Duke of Lancaster. My Lord Percy, you are in the right. And for you, my Lord Bishop, who are grown

so proud and arrogant, I will take care to humble your pride; and not only yours, my Lord, but that of all the prelates in England. Thou dependest on the credit of thy relations, but so far from being able to help thee, they will have enough to do to support themselves.

Bishop. I place no confidence in my relations, but in God alone, who will give me the boldness to speak the truth.

Duke of Lancaster. (Speaking to Lord Percy.) Rather than take this at the bishop's hands, I will drag him by the hair of the head out of the church."

A crowd of citizens interposed, to protect the bishop from the execution of this indecent threat; and the duke and earl marshal were glad to secure their own safety by a hasty retreat. The populace afterwards evinced their resentment of the indignity which their bishop had received, by a riotous attack on the Duke of Lancaster's house in the Savoy, and by other outrages. (See vol. 1. p. 192.)

On the breaking out, a few years after, of Wat Tyler's insurrection, Sudbury, who had by that time been promoted to the archbishopric of Canterbury, received, at the hands of a mob, the very fate from which a mob had before most probably protected him. When the rebels burst into the Tower, the archbishop was on his knees in the chapel, employed in prayer and supplication. The noise of the rushing throng broke on his ear. "Let us now rise," said he placidly to his attendants, " and go; surely it is best to die when it is no pleasure to live." The words were scarcely uttered, when a party of the rebels rushed into the chapel, calling out furiously, "Where is the

traitor?" "Behold the archbishop," replied Sudbury, "whom you seek, but who is no traitor." The ruffians laid instantly violent hands upon him, and dragged him forth to the usual place of execution on Towerhill. He seized upon the interval employed in preparing the block, to address the multitude; desired to know what offence he had committed, and warned them to take heed how, by the slaying of their pastor, they brought not on them the indignation of the Just Avenger. But finding all remonstrances in vain, he prepared to suffer with dignity and resignation. The sword seems to have trembled in the execution of its dreadful office; for it was not till the ninth stroke that the head was severed from the body. After the first blow the unhappy victim put up his hand to his neck, and was heard to exclaim, "It is the hand of God."

At the Council of Constance, in 1414, Robert Clifford, bishop of London, and several other eminent ecclesiastics, attended as the representatives of the Church of England. He was one of the thirty cardinals-extraordinary created on that occasion, and was even nominated to the purple on the deposition of the three rival popes of that period, but lost the election, which terminated in favour of Cardinal Odo Calonna, Pope Martin the Fifth.

The sanguinary Henry VIII. gave to this diocese the equally sanguinary Bonner. On the establishment of the reformed religion under Edward VI, he was displaced by the pious Ridley; but on the restoration of popery, under Mary, the" high priest of blood," as he has been well named, was reinstated in the see, and Ridley exchanged his mitre for a crown of martyrdom. When Elizabeth came to he throne, Bonner