veil was cast over the clerical infirmities, and their vices were forgotten as soon as they ceased to be proclaimed.[1] Henry VIII., a mere boy on his accession, was borne away with the prevailing stream; and trained from his childhood by theologians, he entered upon his reign saturated with theological prepossessions. The intensity of his nature recognizing no half measures, he was prepared to make them the law of his life; and so zealous was he, that it seemed as if the Church had found in him a new Alfred or a Charlemagne. Unfortunately for the Church, institutions may be restored in theory; but theory, be it never so perfect, will not give them back their life; and Henry discovered, at length, that the Church of the sixteenth century as little resembled the Church of the eleventh, as Leo X. resembled Hildebrand, or Warham resembled St Anselm.
If, however, there were no longer saints among the clergy, there could still arise among them a remarkable man; and in Cardinal Wolsey the King found an adviser who was able to retain him longer than would otherwise have been possible in the course which he had entered upon; who, holding a middle place between an English statesman and a Catholic of the old order, was essentially a transition minister; and who was qualified, above all men then living, by a combination of talent, honesty, and arrogance, to open questions which could not again be closed when they had escaped the grasp of their originator. Under
- ↑ See Warham's Register, MS. Lambeth.
