et prisci vivit non immemor ævi.”

They are the words of old Mantuan.

Montesinos.—I am to understand, then, that you cannot see into the ways of futurity?

Sir Thomas More.—Enlarged as our faculties are, you must not suppose that we partake of prescience.  For human actions are free, and we exist in time.  The future is to us therefore as uncertain as to you; except only that having a clearer and more comprehensive knowledge of the past, we are enabled to reason better from causes to consequences, and by what has been to judge of what is likely to be.  We have this advantage also, that we are divested of all those passions which cloud the intellects and warp the understandings of men.  You are thinking, I perceive, how much you have to learn, and what you should first inquire of me.  But expect no revelations!  Enough was revealed when man was assured of judgment after death, and the means of salvation were afforded him.  I neither come to discover secret things nor hidden treasures; but to discourse with you concerning these portentous and monster-breeding times; for it is your lot, as it was mine, to live during one of the grand climacterics of the world.  And I come to you, rather than to any other person, because you have been led to meditate upon the corresponding changes whereby your age and mine are distinguished; and because, notwithstanding many discrepancies and some dispathies between us (speaking of myself as I was, and as you know me), there are certain points of sympathy and resemblance which bring us into contact, and enable us at once to understand each other.

Montesinos.—Et in Utopiâ ego.

Sir Thomas More.—You apprehend me.  We have both speculated in the joys and freedom of our youth upon the possible improvement of society; and both in like manner have lived to dread with reason the effects of that restless spirit which, like the Titaness Mutability described by your immortal master, insults heaven and disturbs the earth.  By comparing the great operating causes in the age of the Reformation, and in this age of revolutions, going back to the former age, looking at things as I then beheld them, perceiving wherein I judged rightly, and wherein I erred, and tracing the progress of those causes which are now developing their whole tremendous power, you will derive instruction, which you are a fit person to receive and communicate; for without being solicitous concerning present effect, you are contented to cast your bread upon the waters.  You are now acquainted with me and my intention.  To-morrow you will see me again; and I shall continue to visit you occasionally as opportunity may serve.  Meantime say nothing of what has passed—not even to your wife.  She might not like the thoughts of a ghostly visitor: and the reputation of conversing with the dead might be almost as inconvenient as that of dealing with the devil.  For the present, then, farewell!  I will never startle you with too sudden an apparition; but you may learn to behold my disappearance without alarm.

I was not able to behold it without emotion, although he had thus prepared me; for the sentence was no sooner completed than he was gone.  Instead of rising from the chair he vanished from it.  I know not to what the instantaneous disappearance can be likened.  Not to the dissolution of a rainbow, because the colours of the rainbow fade gradually till they are lost; not to the flash of cannon, or to lightning, for these things are gone as so on as they are come, and it is known that the instant of their appearance must be that of their departure; not to a bubble upon the water, for you see it burst; not to the sudden extinction of a light, for that is either succeeded by darkness or leaves a different hue upon the surrounding objects.  In the same indivisible point of time when I beheld the distinct, individual, and, to all sense of sight, substantial form—the living, moving, reasonable image—in that self-same instant it was gone, as if exemplifying the difference between to be and not to be.  It was no dream, of this I was well assured; realities are never mistaken for dreams, though dreams may be mistaken for realities.  Moreover I had long been accustomed in sleep to question my perceptions with a wakeful faculty of reason, and to detect their fallacy.  But, as well may be supposed, my thoughts that night, sleeping as well as waking, were filled with this extraordinary interview; and when I arose the next morning it was not till I had called to mind every circumstance of time and place that I was convinced the apparition was real, and that I might again expect it.

COLLOQUY II.—THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE WORLD.

On the following evening when my spiritual visitor entered the room, that volume of Dr. Wordsworth’s ecclesiastical biography which contains his life was lying on the table beside me.  “I perceive,” said he, glancing at the book, “you have been gathering all you can concerning me from my good gossiping chronicler, who tells you that I loved milk and fruit and eggs, preferred beef to young meats, and brown bread to white; was fond of seeing strange birds and beasts, and kept an ape, a fox, a weasel, and a ferret.”

“I am not one of those fastidious readers,” I replied, “who quarrel with a writer for telling them too much.  But these things were worth telling: they show that you retained a youthful palate as well as a youthful heart; and I like you the better both for your diet and your menagerie.  The old biographer, indeed, with the best intentions, has been far from understanding the character which he desired to honour.  He seems, however, to have been a faithful reporter, and has done as well as his capacity permitted.  I observe that he gives you credit for ‘a deep foresight and judgment of the times,’ and for speaking in a prophetic spirit of the evils, which soon afterwards were ‘full heavily felt.’”

“There could be little need for a spirit of prophecy,” Sir Thomas made answer, to “foresee troubles which were the sure effect of the causes then in operation, and which were actually close at hand.  When the rain is gathering from the south or west, and those flowers and herbs which serve as natural hygrometers close their leaves, men have no occasion to consult the stars for what the clouds and the earth are telling them.  You were thinking of Prince Arthur when I introduced myself yesterday, as if musing upon the great events which seem to have received their bias from the apparent accident of his premature death.”

Montesinos.—I had fallen into one of those idle reveries in which we speculate upon what might have been.  Lord Bacon describes him as “very studious, and learned beyond his years, and beyond the custom of great princes.”  As this indicates a calm and thoughtful mind, it seems to show that he inherited the Tudor character.  His brother took after the Plantagenets; but it was not of their nobler qualities that he partook.  He had the popular manners of his grandfather, Edward IV., and, like him, was lustful, cruel, and unfeeling.

Sir Thomas More.—The blood of the Plantagenets, as your friends the Spaniards would say, was a strong blood.  That temper of mind which (in some of his predecessors) thought so little of fratricide might perhaps have involved him in the guilt of a parricidal war, if his father had not been fortunate enough to escape such an affliction by a timely death.  We might otherwise be allowed to wish that the life of Henry VII. had been prolonged to a good old age.  For if ever there was a prince who could so have directed the Reformation as to have averted the evils wherewith that tremendous event was accompanied, and yet to have secured its advantages, he was the man.  Cool, wary, far-sighted, rapacious, politic, and religious, or superstitious if you will (for his religion had its root rather in fear than in hope), he was