The Year 1641

This year two pidests were put to death for the exercise of their functions, and divers others were sentenced to die. The first was

WILLIAM WARD, alias WEBSTER, Priest.^

WILLIAM WARD, whose true name was Webster, was born at Thornby in Westmoreland, and educated in the Catholic religion. He performed his studies abroad in the English College at Doway, where I find him admitted to the college oath in 1605, and ordained priest, and sent upon the English mission in 1608. The best and fullest account that I have met with of this holy man is in a manuscript relation, written by a priest who was his intimate acquaintance and ghostly child; only that he is in a mistake, when he affirms him to have been made priest in the English Seminary at Rhemes; for the Seminary had been removed from Rhemes to Doway fifteen years before Mr. Ward was made priest. The account of him sent by way of letter, is as follows: —

‘ Sir, — In the way of an exact story I cannot undertake to tell you the entire life of Mr. William Webster, alias Ward, born at Thornby in Westmoreland; but this I can say that I had a perfect knowledge of the man for many years together, and had the happiness to be his ghostly child divers years before myself was priest, and divers years after. He was made priest in the English Seminary at Rhemes, in Champagne, above forty years before his martyrdom, and was ever known to be of an excellent spirit, exceeding zealous in God’s service; not only exemplary in himself, but exhorting others to exemplarity of life; and his zeal was so great in this kind that he got the repute¹ of a rigid ghostly father. And albeit many great persons made use of him in that way, nevertheless, he yielded nothing to their greatness, but was rather more severe to them than to meaner persons; and however his plainness and round language did not always please them, yet his spirit was so good, that he made impressions on their souls, even then when they would scarce lend him patient ears. And I have known many great personages profess, that albeit they could not please him in conforming themselves to that religiousness in their lives which he required of them, nevertheless, they would rather make use of him for their ghostly father, and were better pleased with him in that way, than with any other that was less plain and more indulgent to them.

‘ It was ordinary with him to threaten those that were worldly in plain terms with hell fire, and to tell them they must make a stricter account of their actions in the next world than they did here; that heaven was not so cheap as they thought, but must be bought at a dearer rate than they seemed to value it at; that it was not easy to be saints in heaven if we were not first saints here, and by a perfect charity united to Almighty God.

‘ He did not use to preach set sermons, though his whole life was a continual preaching; but in confessions, wherein he spent most of his time, he would exhort much to virtue and the love of God, and dissuade from vice and the vanity of the world; and seldom spared a threat of damnation if the party were vain, as many of his penitents have told me themselves. And he gave this reason for it, that he found the fear of damnation to work stronger with worldlings for their repentance than the better motive of the pure love of Almighty God.

‘ And however some men held him to be passionate, because his speech was earnest and his face somewhat fiery upon any fervent speaking, yet those that knew he was truly vir doloriim, being in perpetual pain of two infirmities, which for many late years hung upon him, a corroding fistula and an extremity of toothache, never being free from the actual molestation of the one of these at least, and commonly afflicted with both at once in a high degree; and knowing that he had besides in his soul not only a perpetual fire of burning charity, but a passionate yet holy hatred against sin, which made him with eagerness inveigh against sinners, according to that of the holy prophet, Irascimini et nolite peccare. Those, I say, which knew this were of a contrary opinion, and did not think the man to be so choleric as his hasty speech made others believe he was, but were edified at his spiritual zeal to see it exceed his corporal pain and give him leave to take pains in reprehending others, when he had more reason to have been indulgent to himself. And I do profess that for my own particular I had this opinion of his zeal and pure intention in all his actions, that even when he did things which others conceived to be odd, I durst not but attribute it to a holy simplicity; and was much edified at many passages in his life, which I knew divers did not stick to laugh at and make themselves merry withal. And whereas some censorious people presumed to accuse him of avarice, because his diet was ever spare and his apparel homely, though he had means enough to wear good clothes and make better fare; yet this blessed man, the day before he died, purged himself of this aspersion, and made profession to a good poor Catholic and friend of his, that the sole and true reason why he did wear no better clothes, nor covet better diet than he used himself to, was only by reason he did in his own conscience not think himself worthy of better, and this he spake with such an edifying simplicity as would have put a scruple into any man not to have believed him. Besides, the holy man was ever charitable to the poor, which argued no love in him to riches, and he left what he had gathered up to pious uses. It was admirable to see the austerity of this good man’s life, who, albeit he was never free from pain, and always observed a sparing diet, as was said before, whence he must of necessity be exceeding weak; nevertheless, he did with great rigour keep all Vigils, Embers, Fridays throughout the year, and Lent, insomuch as all the Lent long he never eat white meat all his lifetime, notwithstanding he was eighty years old and upwards.

‘ And this, amongst other his virtues, to me seemed rare, that in all the time I knew this holy man, I could never hear him relate any passage or speak of any subject, but it either began or ended with a memory of Almighty God’s service, if his whole speech were not upon that theme. Insomuch that it may truly be said of him, that his lamp of charity and love towards God was ever burning, and that no blast of human commerce was able to blow it out, but still it blazed and gave light to those whose lamps were extinguished, and many times lighted them again by enkindling in their souls a devotion, whom if he found key-cold towards Almighty God’s service, yet he left them with ardent desire to serve God better than they had done formerly. This to my own confusion and His honour hath often happened to myself, and I have heard divers others affirm the same; for the truth is, no man that would look fixedly upon him and observe well his comportment could go out of his company without much edification — so composed an aspect he had, so grave a speech, so religious a carriage, so incessant a zeal, that a man might see he had always God in his mind and his own soul in his hand: Aninia mea in manibus meis semper. As if every one of his thoughts, words, and deeds had been a matter that concerned his soul’s salvation, as in truth it was to him, and is to every one of us, if we reflect (as he did) well upon ourselves.

‘ It was remarkable to see how soon Almighty God was pleased to make trial of this His servant’s constancy. The holy man, when he was sent in mission into England for the conversion of souls, had the fortune, by contrary winds, to be landed in Scotland as he was going to the northern part of England, and being upon suspicion apprehended for a priest, was cast into the dungeon, where for three years together he did not see the sun, yet in this desolate place he continued a zealous and constant professor of his faith and a stout confessor. After three years’ durance, being released out of this dungeon and coming into England, it was not long ere he was taken and put in prison again, insomuch that he had been in several prisons of the several counties of England; and, as I have been credibly told, of forty and odd years that he was priest, he had been a prisoner about twenty of them at several times, and had been banished more than once or twice. Yet so the zeal of Almighty God had eaten up the man, that he would never leave exposing himself to danger of death for the gaining of souls to God’s holy truth and the Catholic religion.

‘ And it seems that he was by God’s singular providence ordained to die a martyr, who had lived so long so glorious a confessor. For some few days before he was taken and condemned to death, a nephew of his and a priest, being careful of his old uncle, and solicitous how to secure him in these dangerous times, came above fifty miles on purpose up to London to convey his uncle into a private house in the country, where he might lie sheltered till the storm of persecution was blown over, which the Parliament had newly raised, banishing by proclamation 3\ Jesuits, priests, and seminarists, menacing death to those that should be found in any of His Majesty’s dominions after the 7th of April, 1641. But no persuasion of the nephew, no entreaty of any other friend, could prevail with the holy man to retire himself, whom Almighty God, it seems, did more strongly persuade to stay in London, out of zeal to his many penitents which were there. And what better proof that it was an holy instinct which made him stay, than that within few days after the blessed martyr was dogged by a pursuivant to his lodgings, and at eleven o’clock at night was taken out of his bed, carried to prison, arraigned, condemned, and executed, all within the space of eleven days. In brief, the remarkable virtues in this saint were profound humility-apostolical poverty, zeal of souls, holy simplicity, approved fortitude and perfect charity.

The manner of his taking^ imprisonment, arraignment, condemnation, and going to execution.

‘ He was apprehended upon Thursday night about midnight being the 15th of July, 1641, in the house of one John Wollam, a nephew of his and a poor Catholic, by Thomas May hew, commonly called Mayo, a pursuivant, in virtue of a general warrant under the hand of the Speaker of the House of Commons; and by this Mayo was brought directly to the prison of Newgate, without any order from Justice of Peace or other officer that had power to commit him, where he remained till the sessions following, which began at the Old Bailey within six days after his imprisonment, viz., Wednesday, the 2 1 St oijuly.

‘ Upon Friday, the 23d oijuly next ensuing, he w^as indicted and arraigned upon the statute of taking orders of priesthood by authority of the Church of Rome. The evidence brought against him was this Mayo aforesaid, who first professed himself to have been a Roman Catholic about nineteen years past, then testified that about the same time he had made his confession to this Mr. Ward, had absolution from him, heard his Mass, and received the Sacrament at his hands. And Sir Thomas Gardener, the Recorder, demanding of Mayo wffiat ornaments Mr. Ward had on when he said Mass, the impudent fellow being ready at his lie said. He had on an alb, a stole, a maniple, a vestment, and such other things as belong to a priest; but as it seems the thing he affirmed was false, so he could not tell the colour or quality of the vestments.

‘ There were two more who pretended to give evidence against him that he was a Roman priest, but the one of them said so little to the purpose, that it was not worth the noting, and so he who gave me this relation, being present at the bar, doth not remember what it was, but affirms it was nothing to the purpose. The other witness testified that about seven years since, he had apprehended Mr. Ward, carried him to the Gatehouse, and took from him a spiritual book wherein were his faculties from the See of Rome.

‘ Aftertheseevidencesgiveninby the three witnesses, the Recorder asked Mr. Ward, and bid him answer directly, whether he was a priest or no? He answered, no man was bound to accuse himself, but required that it should be proved against him, if they desired to know the truth thereof; and then professed openly before the bench that what Mayo had testified was most false; whereupon the Recorder demanded of him if at least those faculties which had been taken about him were his, and he answered he knew of no such thing.

‘ Nevertheless upon these evidences the jury found him guilty, and the same day, in the afternoon, when the judges had dined, he was sent for from the prison to the bar, where the Recorder pronounced sentence of death against him in the usual manner.

‘After this sentence he was brought back to Newgate, whither he went most cheerfully, and there prepared himself for his death, which was to be upon Monday following, being the 26th of July 1641. And it was wonderful to see with what alacrity of countenance and speech he resigned himself unto the holy will of Almighty God, professing an ardent desire to suffer for His sake, and declaring that if any one should attempt to procure his reprieve or pardon, he would hinder it if he could.

‘ Upon Sunday, which was the day before he died, he desired conference with a priest in the same prison, which lasted for some hours, and was sometimes interrupted with tears of joy both in the one and in the other. In which tears the holy martyr expressed his hearty desire of suffering for his blessed Saviour’s sake, and so prettily intermingled his joys with sighs, as if his humility had told him he was not worthy of so great a crown of his unworthy labours as was this of martyrdom, and ever expressed a fear to be deprived of his highest hopes, out of an unworthiness, which he conceived in himself of so great an honour. And to all such as came that day to visit him, he expressed signs of an excessive joy, that he had lived so long as to come to this desired end.

‘ The 26th of July, 1641, which was the day of his suffering, being Monday, he said Mass very early in the morning with great devotion and comfort, administered the Holy Sacrament to some lay Catholics which were his fellow-prisoners, and after thanksgiving, cqmmunicated to the priest that was with him the day before certain things which he desired should be executed after his death; and gave him some money to be distributed amongst the poor Catholics in prison, as also a twenty-shilling piece to give to Mr. Johnson, the master keeper of Newgate, whom he willed him to thank for his kind usage towards him.

‘ And it was noted by all who came this morning to him, especially by the priest, that his countenance, which was ever grave, was at this instant more than ordinarily gracious and sweet, as if it had received an outward beauty from the inward grace which was then no doubt abundant in his soul. And as the priest and devout Catholics who were with him in his chamber, had newly done preparing him for his journey to the gallows, by putting him on a clean cap, band, and cuffs, which were points of great finery in him that affected a contemptible attire (though then as going to his wedding, and so he was content to put on vestes nuptiales) instantly one of the keepers of the prison knocked at the door to know if he was ready, for that the sledge was come for him; whereat the blessed man, as if he had listened for the glad tidings, made answer himself with a cheerful voice, saying. Yes, I am ready. And within a short time after another of the keepers came for him and told him he must go a little about by the leads; because though he had favour shown him not to be lodged after his condemnation in the common dungeon, yet now he was to go to execution, he must pass the ordinary way through the common gaol to the sledge.

‘ The holy man obeyed readily, following the keeper as if he had been his good angel; and when he came up to the leads, was stayed there a pretty while, because the rest of the prisoners that were to suffer as malefactors the same day, were in the chapel, through which he was to pass, receiving their communion, as the custom is; the martyr being told as much, smiled, and passing through the chapel said. Is this their chapel? And here the keeper, whose nam.e was MeareSy was to deliver him to another keeper called Snelling whose office it was to carry the prisoner down to the sledge. And this Meares, taking his leave of the holy man, said to him. Sir, I hope w^e shall one day meet in heaven; whereunto the good man answered. No, in truth shall we not, unless you become a Catholic, and this truth I am now ready to seal with my blood.

' After this he encountered with a woman, prisoner in that place, whom he understood to be allied to Sir Philip Knevet; her he exhorted to become a Catholic, and to lead a virtuous life, using many effectual speeches to that purpose.

‘ It was now about eight o’clock in the morning, when the holy martyr being laid on his back upon the sledge, was drawm from the prison by four horses to Tyhurn; but as he passed up Holhorn, he cast a special eye upon such houses as he had acquaintance in, and with a cheerful countenance, as well as he could, his hands being pinioned, he gave them his benediction.

‘ As he was going to execution, a penitent of his w^ent by him bitterly weeping; to whom the martyr spake, saying. Why weep you, child } The party answered. For you, sir; wffien instantly the martyr said. Weep not for my death, for I can yet live if I please;

but it is my joy to die for this cause, and therefore you have no reason to weep.

‘ And to another he said, with signs of great joy, that he was infinitely happy to be able to lay down that life voluntarily now, which by course of nature he could not hope to keep one month longer.

‘ Of his Comportment at Tyhurn.

‘ When he came to the place of execution, the Sheriff of Middlesex, whose office is to attend in such cases, spake unto the holy man, asking him if he had anything to say before he died? W^hereupon he answered immediately, that he had to declare to all the world the cause of his death, which was purely the point of religion; for he was innocent of any crime that could deserve death. Moreover he said, Mr. Sheriff, I give you and all this company to understand, that whereas I am condemned and brought hither to die for being a Romish priest, even that hath not been proved against me; so I have received hard usage in this sentence; nevertheless, I shall here do you, and all those that had a hand in my death, this right at least to declare that which was never proved, viz., that I am a Romish priest, and have been so about forty years, God be praised for it. And since I am condemned for being such, Mr. Sheriff, I here make profession to all those that are here present, that I do not only die willingly for this cause, but think myself infinitely happy, and honoured highly therein, since it is to die for my Lord and Master Jesus Christ. Here the Sheriff asked him of what religious order he was? who answered, I am of the Apostles’ order, I give God thanks for it; and I do rejoice to receive that superabundant reward of my poor labours, which the holy apostles of our blessed Saviour received of theirs, though mine have been far inferior and less than theirs were. Hereunto the Sheriff replied, saying. You die not for point of religion, but for seducing the King’s liege subjects. To this the holy martyr answered, he had seduced none, but reduced or converted many, the which he was glad of, and did wish he could not only have converted more, but even all England; because there was no other saving faith than that of the Roman Catholic Church; and as for this faith I die myself most willingly, so I say unto you all, that will hope for salvation, you must die in the same faith at least, if not for it. The Sheriff seeing the good Eleazar so stout in this point was willing to divert him from it, and asked him what his true name was, whether it were Ward, or not; and whether he was anything allied to the Bishop of Gloucester? To which he answered that his true name was not Ward, but William Webster; and for the Bishop, he was not allied to him, and so fell upon the profession of his faith again, saying, Mr. Sheriff, I have no relation to that Bishop, but have ever professed this religion which I now die for; and if I had a thousand lives, I should most willingly lose them all for the same cause. Here the Sheriff, being willing that he should do anything rather than inculcate so much to the people the profession of the Roman faith, interrupted him again, and said, Mr. Webster, have you any prayers to say? The blessed man told him, I have said my prayers already; but this sufficed not the Sheriff, who fearing he would fall upon the former subject, asked him the second time. Have you any more prayers to say 1 To this the saint answered. Yes, Mr. Sheriff, and if it please you to give me leave I shall say them; when instantly he fell upon his knees, and made a quarter of an hour’s silent prayer with a grave composed countenance; and when the Sheriff saw the good man stir, either supposing he had done his prayers, or not being willing to give him any longer time, he said unto him with a loud voice, Mr. Webster, have you anything else now to say? To which demand the martyr answered, Y^es, Mr. Sheriff, I have this to say more, that I pray heartily to God to bless the King and Queen, the royal issue and State, and all the people of this realm; and, Mr. Sheriff, I would bequeath some small tokens ere I die amongst poor Catholics; but I can see none of them here. With that the people cried out. Give it to the hangman that he may favour you, at which the saint smiled, saying, Alas! alas! he favour me! see the fire and faggots, the halter and the gallows, what favour can he do me? Nor do I desire to lose the merit of suffering in this cause. Which said, he gave unto the Sheriff forty shillings, beseeching him to distribute that small sum of money amongst the poorer sort of Catholics, the saint himself giving to the hangman two shillings and sixpence. Which is, said he, for thy good office thou art to do me. And looking about him a little, he espied the carman who had driven the hurdle to the gallows, and gave him two shillings. Which is, said he, for thy pains too, though thou be no Catholic. This done, he threw an inkhorn, and handkerchief, and some other things left in his pocket, amongst the people; and then immediately composed himself to die, recommending his soul to his blessed Saviour, and crying out in these words, Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, receive my soul, he ended this life. He hung till he was dead, because they stripped him hanging, then cut him down, dragged him by the heels on his back to the fire, there dismembered and beheaded him, ripped up his belly, plucked out his heart and his bowels, and cast them into the fire, &c., setting up his head and quarters upon several gates and places of the city. But by God’s special providence the heart of this glorious martyr was preserved from the fire, by reason it slid down upon the edge of a sloping stick, and so fell into the embers, where it was rather covered than consumed, and by this accident was found.

‘ A person of great quality. Count Egmond by name, hearing by a servant of his who was present at the action, that an holy priest had suffered martyrdom that morning,’ — being the 26th of July^ 1641, — ‘ asked his servant if he had brought any relic of the martyr away with him, who told him. Yes, and gave him, as he said, the very handkerchief which the saint had cast out of his pocket. The Count, taking it with reverence, kissed it; but finding no blood upon the same, gave the servant his own handkerchief, commanding him to run back instantly to the place of execution, and to dip that in some of the martyr’s blood, if he could find any. The servant, posting away, came back to the gallows, made diligent search for some of the blood, but finding it was all scraped up by the zeal of other pious Catholics who had been before him, takes his stick, and rubbing up the ashes where the bowels of the martyr had been burnt, finds a lump of flesh all parched and singed by the fiery embers wherein it lay covered, and hastily wrapped up what he had found in the handkerchief which his lord had given him, not having time to shake off the fiery coals or hot ashes, by reason that some malicious persons who stood by, and saw this fellow' stooping, and taking somewhat out of the fire, demanded of him what he took thence? The man nimbly slipped over a park pale, and run from them who would have laid hands on him; whereupon divers horsemen passing that w'ay, and hearing a great number of foot cry Stop^ stop, stop (as the ill custom of our nation is, every man making himself an officer and hangman rather than fail), out of officious curiosity in such cases, rid hard round the park pale, hoping at the next gate to encounter with this poor man, who was pursued by a clamorous and still increasing company of footmen who continually kept sight of him. The man perceiving himself so beset on all sides and pursued, resolved not to lose the relic whatever became of himself, dropped it, as he ran, in a bush, and took special mark upon the bush with his eye, w'here he left it, resolving to come another time and fetch what now he could not safely carry any farther. And this he did with such dexterity, making no stop at all, but feigning a small trip or stumble, and yet seeming suddenly to recover himself, ran on, drawing his pursuers after him to delude them and thereby to save the relic. In brief, this poor man recovered the skirts of the town ere he was overtaken, and there being apprehended was carried before officers, yet by the power of his lord was fetched off upon security given that he should be forthcoming; and so went early next morning to the place where he had dropped the relic, and found it in the handkerchief which he.had wrapped it in, and in the same place where he had left it. In which circumstance it is remarkable that the handkerchief was not burnt by any of the fiery coals or hot ashes which might hang upon the flesh when he took it out of the fire. And bringing this home to his lord, upon diligent search what it should be, they found by incision it was the very heart of the holy martyr, and it remained fifteen days untainted. After which time the count, who keeps it as his greatest jewel, caused it to be embalmed, not that he did it to preserve it from corruption, which it seemed no way to incline to, but for reverence and religion to so rich a relic: Quia pretiosa in conspectu Domini mors sanctorum ejus.

‘ And it may serve for an example to all good Christians, that their special devotions and duties to their particular patrons are exercises not only pleasing to God and His saints, but infinitely profitable to souls. For whereas this man of God w’as ever singularly devoted to St. Ann, the mother of the blessed Virgin Mary, keeping her feast every year with more than ordinary solemnity, and this commonly in the houses of some of his penitents, virtuous women who bare that name; see the high reward he received of this his devotion, that Almighty God bestowed the crown of martyrdom upon him on the Feast of St. Ann, the 26th of Jw/jy, 1641! as if that blessed saint had been ambitious to wait upon God’s martyr, and put the triumphant crown upon his head with her own hands, who had so devoutly and so constantly, for many years together, on this her festival day, solemnized her praises.’ So far the manuscript.

EDWARD BARLOW, Priest, O.S.B.^

Edward barlow, called in religion Father Ambrose, was born at Manchester in 1585, of pious and Catholic parents, of the ancient family of Barlozc of Barlow. His father was that constant confessor of Christ, Alexander Barlow, Esq., who made it² his care to give this his son a Catholic and liberal education. By these means his tender mind, which had already a happy sweetness of temper, and an inclination to piety and learning, was improved, and strongly established in the true faith and the love of God. When he was twelve years old he was taken from school to be page to a relation, a person of quality. But as he grew up, and considered the emptiness and vanity of the transitory toys of this life, and the greatness of things eternal, he took a resolution to withdraw himself from the world, and to go abroad, in order to procure those helps of virtue and learning which might qualify him for the priesthood, and enable him to be of some assistance to his native country.

The place he made choice of for his studies was the university of Doway, which had been recommended to him by fame, and by the testimony of many learned and pious priests who had studied there. Here meeting with two other young gentlemen of equal age, and of the same inclinations, he chose them for his chamber fellows, and with them frequented the humanity schools at Anchin College, under the Fathers of the Society, as the alumni of the English Seminary all did during Dr. Worthington's presidency. When he h'ad finished his humanity, he was sent by the aforesaid Dr. Worthington {August 23, 1610), from the English College of Doway to that of Valladolid, where he went through his course of philosophy and part of his divinity; for before he had finished the latter, he followed his brother Dr. Rudesind Barlow to Doway he received the habit of St. Bennet; and after making his noviceship at a house then belonging to the English congregation, near St. Malo in Little Brittany, he was professed at Doway in 1615. And being now thirty years old, and otherwise very well qualified by virtue and learning for the apostolic calling, he was presented by his superiors not long after his profession, to the holy order of priesthood, and sent upon the English mission, to which he found himself strongly invited by an inward call.

The seat of his missionary labours was his native country of Lancashire, ‘ where,’ says Mr. Knareshorough, ‘ his memory is held in great esteem to this day by the Catholics of that county, for his great zeal in the conversion of souls, and the exemplary piety of his life and conversation.’ ’Tis scarce to be expressed what wonderful blessings the Almighty gave to the labours of this His faithful servant, who made it his constant business to join the care of his own soul with that of his flock, and to preach full as much by example as by words. Such was the fervour of his zeal, that, as my author says, he thought the day lost in which he had not done some notable thing for the salvation of souls. Night and day he was ever ready to lay hold of all occasions of reclaiming any one from error; and whatever time he could spare from his devotions, he employed in seeking after the lost sheep and in exhorting, instructing, and correcting sinners; and omitted no opportunity of preaching the Word of God. But then he never neglected the care of his own sanctification. He celebrated Mass, and recited the office with great reverence and devotion; had his fixed hours for mental prayer which he never omitted, and found so much pleasure in this inward conversation with God (from which he received that constant supply of heavenly light and strength), that when the time came on, which he had devoted to this holy exercise, he was affected with a sensible joy, as much as worldlings would be when going to a feast. He had also a great devotion to the rosary which he daily recited, and recommended much to his penitents; and was very tenderly affected with the sacred mysteries of the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection of the Son of God (which he there contemplated), and was much devoted to His blessed Mother. He often meditated on the sufferings of his Redeemer, with his arms extended in the form of a cross, and these meditations enkindled in his soul a desire of suffering for Christ, a happiness for which he daily prayed.

He had a great contempt of the world and its vanities; and a very humble opinion of himself, joined with a great esteem, love and veneration for the virtues of others. He was always afraid of honours and preferments, and had a horror of vainglory, which he used to call the worm or moth of virtues; and which he never failed to correct in others, at sometimes in a jocose way, at others seriously, according to the temper of the persons. He industriously avoided feasts and assemblies, and all meetings for merry making; as liable to dangers of excess, idle talk, and detraction. He had no regard for temporal interest; and refused (though desired by many) to live in great families, where he might be well accommodated with all things; choosing rather to live in a private country-house, where the poor, to whom he had chieffy devoted his labours, might have at all times free access to him; to whom also he plentifully imparted both spiritual and corporal alms, according to his ability. He would never have a servant till forced to it by sickness; never used a horse, but made his pastoral visits always on foot. His apparel was mean; neither would he ever wear a sword, or carry a watch. He allowed himself no manner of play or pastime; and avoided all superffuous talk and conversation, more especially with those of the fair sex, how virtuous or qualified soever; and when the business of his calling obliged him to make any stay in such company, he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and would not look them in the face. Being asked one day by a lady of quality, why he so much avoided the company of women, since he himself was born of a woman } He replied. For that very reason I avoid the company of women, because I was born of a woman; signifying that the corruption of concupiscence, which from our very birth is entailed upon us by original sin, was what made him look upon himself obliged to use those precautions.

He boarded with an honest country farmer, where his diet was chiefly whitemeats and garden stuff; for he seldom eat flesh, unless by occasion of company that came to visit him. He drank only small beer, and that very sparingly; and always abstained from wine: being asked the reason why he did so, he alleged the saying of the wise man. Wine and women make the wise apostatise. He was never idle, but was always either praying, studying, preaching, administering the sacraments, or (which he used sometimes to divert himself with) painting pictures of Christ or His blessed Mother. He was sometimes applied to, to exorcise persons possessed by the devil, which he did with good success. He had a great talent in composing of differences, and reconciling such as were at variance; and was consulted as an oracle by the Catholics of that country in all their doubts and difficulties. He feared no dangers when God’s honour and the salvation of souls called him forth; and has sometimes when engaged in such expeditions, passed, even at noonday, through the midst of enemies, without apprehension. And when some people would desire him to be more cautious he would turn them off with a joke; for he was usually very cheerful and pleasant in conversation; so that they who knew him best, thought he was in this regard not unlike the celebrated Sir Thomas More. Yet he was very severe in rebuking sin, so that obstinate and impenitent sinners were afraid of coming near him. Nothing more sensibly afflicted him, than when he saw any one going astray from the right path of virtue and truth, more especially if it were a person of whom he had conceived a good opinion, or had great hopes. Upon these occasions he would at first be almost oppressed with melancholy, till recollecting himself in God, and submitting to His wise providence justly permitting evil, to draw greater good out of it, he recovered again his usual peace and serenity.

Some months before his last apprehension (for he was several times a prisoner) hearing that some persons, whom he loved as his own soul, were in a resolution of doing something very wicked, which was like to be the ruin of many souls, he was so strongly on a sudden affected with it, that it flung him into a fit of the dead palsy which took away the use of one side, and put him in danger of his life; what added very much to his cross was, the fear lest his poor children whom he had begotten to Christ, should now be left destitute of spiritual assistance. And whereas his convulsions and pains seemed to have brought him to death’s door, he had this additional affliction, that no priest could be found to administer the Holy Sacraments to him. In these extremities God Almighty was pleased to comfort him; and being in a manner out of himself, he broke forth into these words: ‘ Lord, Thy will be done; a due conformity of our will to Thine, is to be preferred to the use of the sacraments, and even to martyrdom itself. I reverence and earnestly desire Thy sacraments; and I have often wished to lay down my life for Thee, in the profession of my faith; but if it be pleasing to Thy infinite wisdom, by this illness to take me out of the prison of this body half dead already. Thy will be done.’ Whilst he was in these dispositions, God was pleased to send him a priest of the Society of Jesus to assist him; as he himself had twelve years before exercised the same charity to Father Arrowsmith in prison before his last conflict; at which time that confessor of Christ is said to have foretold that he should be the next to follow him. At least this is certain, by the testimony of Mr. Barlow himself, in a letter to his brother Rudesind (who quotes it in his manuscript relation) dated out of prison. May 17, 1641, that Father Arrowsmith ‘ the night before he suffered, when as yet Mr. Barlow had not heard of his suffering, came to his bedside, and told him: I have already suffered; you shall also suffer; speak but little, for they will be upon the watch to catch you in your words.’

On the eves before the principal festivals of the year, whilst Mr. Barlow was in health, the Catholics resorted to him from distant places, and passed the night after the manner of the Primitive Church, in watching, prayer, and spiritual colloquies; whilst for his part he was employed almost all the night in hearing confessions. On the next day he treated them all with a dinner, where he, and some of the more honourable sort of his flock, served them that were poor, and waited upon them, and then dined off their leavings. When he sent them home, he gave each of them a groat in alms; and when all had dined, he distributed what remained to the poor of the parish. His zeal had made him as well known in all that neighbourhood, as the very parson of the parish. Some reprehended him for going about so publicly; to whom he replied. Let them fear that have anything to lose^ which they are unwilling to part with; which was not his case, who had set his heart upon nothing in this world; and was even desirous to lay down his life for God’s cause. He could not be persuaded by his friends to retire farther off from danger, to a house of a kinsman of his in Cheshire; being desirous, if it pleased God, to shed his blood at Lancaster.

He was beginning to recover of his illness, but was as yet very weak, when he was apprehended, on Easter Day, 1641, in the following manner, according to the account which he himself sent out of prison to his brother Rudesind. A neighbouring minister who had with him at church a numerous congregation, instead of entertaining them on that solemn day with a sermon and prayers as usual, proposed to them as a work more worthy their zeal for the gospel, to go along with him to apprehend Barlow, that noted Popish priest, whom they would now be sure to find in the midst of his flock; whereas were they to stay till church time was over, they would miss the opportunity. They realized the proposition, and being about 400 in number, armed with clubs and swords, followed the parson, marching in front in his surplice, to the house where Mr. Barlow having finished Mass, was making an exhortation to his people, about 100 in number, on the subject of patience. The Catholics that were within, as soon as they perceived the house was besieged, would have persuaded the man of God to hide himself, there being more than one private place for that purpose in the house, but he would by no means consent to secure himself, and leave his sheep to the mercy of these wolves. Wherefore exhorting them all to constancy, and putting them in mind that these light and momentary tribulations would work in them an eternal weight of glory; and telling them withal how ready he was for his part to suffer all things for Christ, he ordered them to open the doors. The mob immediately rushed in, crying out. Where is Barlow? where is Barlow? he is the man we want; and laying hands upon him, they secured him, letting the rest go upon giving caution for their appearance. In the meantime they searched the whole house, and broke open Mr. Barlow^ s chest, in hopes of finding money; but see the wonderful providence of our Lord! though there was a considerable sum of money there, which had been lately sent him by some charitable gentlemen to be given to the poor; and though they rummaged, and turned over all his clothes, and other things, yet they could not find this bag; for which providence Mr. Barlow was very thankful, and gave proper orders afterwards for the disposing of the money according to the intention of the donors.

Mr. Barlow being now in the hands of this mob and their minister

(who, it seems, had acted in this whole affair without any warrant) was carried by them the same day before a Justice of Peace, who sent him guarded by sixty armed men to Lancaster Castle. Some of his flock would have attempted to rescue him in the way out of their hands, but he earnestly entreated them not to think of it. He was carried to gaol in a sort of a triumph by this armed mob, who insulted over him, and treated him with contempt, which was to him a subject of joy, though at this time he was as yet so weak, that he could not sit on horseback without one behind him to support him. He was kept in prison from Easter till the summer assizes, and in the mean time, instead of being weakened or cast down by his sufferings he wonderfully recovered his strength and health. He would not hear of the propositions made by his friends of using their interest to have him removed up to London^ or sent into banishment, as many others had been; but desired them to be easy and not to concern themselves about him, for that to die for this cause [viz.^ for being a Catholic priest) was to him more desirable than life; that he must die some time or other, and could not die a better death. To some also upon this occasion he imparted in confidence the vision which he had of Father Arrowsmith. In prison he often entertained himself with the book of Boetius, De Consolatione, which the jailer taking notice of, took the book away; at which Mr. Barlow smiling, said. If you take this little book away, I will betake myself to that great book from which Boetius learned his wholesome doctrine, and that book you can never take away from me; and this is what he continually practised by mental prayer. My author adds that when any one came to visit him in prison, he would not suffer the time to be lost in vain or worldly talk, but entertained the party with such discourses only as were for his instruction and edification.

After above four months’ imprisonment, his trial came on, on the 7th of September, before Sir Robert Heath, who is said to have had instructions from the Parliament, if any priest were convicted at Lancaster, to see the law executed upon him, for a terror to the Catholics who were numerous in that county. The indictment being read, Mr. Barlow freely acknowledged himself a priest, and that he had exercised his priestly functions for above twenty years in this kingdom. The Judge asked him why he had not obeyed the King’s proclamation commanding all priests to depart the realm before the yth of April last past? Mr. Barlow answered that several persons there present, and especially they who had brought him to prison, very well knew that he was then so weak, by a long and grievous illness, that he was no ways in condition to]^obey the proclamation.

The Judge asked him what he thought of the justice of those laws by which priests were put to death. He answered that all laws made against Catholics on account of their religion were unjust and impious; For what law, said he, can be more unjust than this, by which priests are condemned to suffer as traitors, merely because they are Roman, that is, true priests } For there are no other true priests but th.t Roman, and if these be destroyed what must become of the Divine law when none remain to preach God’s Word and administer His sacraments? Then, said the Judge, what opinion have you of the makers of those laws, and of those who by their office see them put in execution } Mr. Barlow replied. If, my Lord, in consequence of so unjust a law, you should condemn me to die, you would send me to heaven and yourself to hell. Make what judgment you please, said the Judge, of my salvation; for my part, though the law has brought you hither as a criminal and a seducer of the people, I shall not pass so uncharitable a sentence upon you. I am no seducer, said Mr. Barlow, but a reducer of the people to the true and ancient religion. The Judge, as he afterwards acknowledged, was astonished at the constancy of his answers, and his intrepidity, and put him in mind that his life was in his hands, and that it was in his power to acquit him or condemn him; And don’t you know and acknowledge, said he, that I sit here as your judge? I know, said the prisoner, and acknowledge you judge, but in such causes only as belong to the temporal court and tribunal; but in spiritual matters and in things belonging to the court of conscience, be pleased to take notice that I am judge, and therefore I tell you plainly, that if by that unjust law you sentence me to die, it will be to my salvation and your damnation. Upon this the Judge directed the jury to bring him in guilty; and the next day pronounced sentence upon him in the usual form. Mr. Barlow heard the sentence with a cheerful and pleasant countenance, and said aloud. Thanks he to God; and then prayed heartily to the Divine Majesty to forgive all that had any ways been accessory to his death. The Judge applauded his charity in this, and granted him what he petitioned for, viz., a chamber to himself in the castle, where, for the short remainder of his time, he might, without molestation, apply himself to his devotions, and prepare for his exit.

On Friday, the loth of September, he was brought out to suffer according to sentence, and laid upon the hurdle, on which he was drawn to the place of execution, carrying all the way in his hand a cross of wood which he had made. When he was come to the place, being taken off the hurdle, he went three times round the gallows, carrying the cross before his breast, and reciting the penitential psalm Miserere. Some ministers were for disputing with him about religion, but he told them it was an unfair and an unseasonable challenge, and that he had something else to do at present than to heark^ n to their fooleries. He suffered with great constancy according to sentence, and so passed from short labours and pains to eternal rest and joy, in the fifty-fifth year of his age, the twenty-fifth of his religious profession, and the twenty-fourth of his priesthood and mission.

Seven Priests and Confessors.

In the December following the execution of Mr. Barlow, I find seven priests at once condemned in the sessions at the Old Bailey, to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, for their character and priestly functions. They were condemned on the 8th of December, and were to have been executed on the 13th. At the desire of the French ambassador, the King being willing to have them reprieved and banished, sent a message to both Houses of Parliament to know their thoughts upon the matter. This message being sent, December tht nth, from the Lords to the House of Commons, and there read, it was singly voted upon these following priests: ‘ Resolved that John Mammon, John Rivers alias Abbot, Walter Coleman, and N. Turner, priests, shall be put to execution according to law.’ See Nalson^s Impartial Collections, Vol. IL, pp. 731, 732, &c. However, His Majesty having been pleased to grant his reprieve to all the seven, on the Tuesday following, December the 14th, both Houses agreed to join in a petition that His Majesty would take off the reprieve, and order all the seven to be executed. To which His Majesty, on December the i6th, returned his answer, that he would take the matter into consideration.

This reprieve of the condemned priests, who were shortly after reduced to the number of six, by the death of one of them, was perpetually objected to the King by the Parliament; till His Majesty, answering from York their petition concerning the magazine of Hull, &c., told them, ‘ Concerning the six condemned priests, it is true they w'ere reprieved by our warrant, being informed that they were (by some restraint) disabled to take the benefit of our former proclamation. Since that we have issued out another for the due execution of the laws against Papists, and have most solemnly promised, upon the word of a King, never to pardon any priest

1641] SEVEN PRIESTS AND CONFESSORS without your consent, who shall be found guilty by law — desiring to banish these (the six), having herewith sent warrants to that purpose, if upon second thoughts you do not disapprove thereof. But if you think the execution of these persons so very necessary to the great and pious work of reformation, we refer it wholly to you, declaring hereby, that upon such your resolution signified to the ministers of justice, our warrant for their reprieve is determined, and the law to have its course.’ So far the King. And my Lord Clarendon^ in his Flistory, Vol. I., part 2, p. 490, tells us that this unexpected answer did not a little disturb the Parliament, because the King, by referring the matter to them, removed the scandal from himself and laid it at their doors. And certain it is that we hear no more of this affair, and that these condemned priests were all suffered to linger away their lives in Newgate, th.ou^ no less than eight of their brethren were executed in different parts of the kingdom within the compass of that one year 1642.

It remains that w^e should here put down the chief particulars w^e have been able to discover concerning these seven condemned priests. And first, as to their order: Father Angelas Mason, in his preface to his Certamen Seraphicum, tells us, that excepting Father Coleman, who was a Franciscan, all the rest were either of the secular clergy or of the venerable Order of St. Bennet, Then as to other particulars, to begin with those that were first by Parliament voted to die —

1. John Hammon, or Hammond, was a priest of Doway College, ordained and sent upon the English mission in 1625. He was a gentleman of learning and merit, a leading man amongst his brethren, a member of their chapter, and superior of the secular clergy in the West of England.

2. John Rivers, alias Ahhot, a Londoner, was also a priest of Doway College. He was ordained in 1612, at which time I find he left the college in order to enter into the Society of Jesus. But this design proved ineffectual; for by the account of Father Angelas, above quoted, when he w^as condemned to die he was still a secular priest.

3. Walter Coleman was descended of a good family in Staffordshire, who going abroad studied his humanity in the English College of Doway; then returning home after some years spent among his friends, being disgusted with the pleasures and vanities of the world, he determined to leave all and to follow Christ in a life of poverty, humility, and mortification. Upon this he entered among the English Franciscans in their convent at Doway, where he was called Father Christopher of St. Clare. He died in Newgate in 1645.

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He was author of a small poem called The Duel of Death. See more of him in Certamen Seraphiciim ^ p. 184, ^c.

4. John Turner was a priest of the English College of Doway, ordained and sent upon the mission in 1625. He seems to have survived all the rest in prison, and consequently to have endured the longer martyrdom.

5. The other three (whose names are not recorded in Mr. Nalson^s Collections), were, as far as I can gather from other records, Mr. Henry Myners^ who died prisoner of the common side of Newgate; Father Lawrence Mabhs, O.S.B., who died prisoner in the same gaol anno 1641; and Father Peter Wilford, O.S.B., called in religion Father Boniface, who died in the same prison March 12, 1646, being fourscore years of age or upwards. B. W[eldon], in his manuscript, says ninety.

Father Mason, in his Certamen Seraphicum, p. 192, speaking of Father Coleman, gives this short eulogium of all his six companions: — That they had all laboured for a long time upon the mission with great fruit in gaining souls to God; that they had suffered all the incommodities of a prison for many years; that they are condemned merely on account of their priesthood; and that they received the sentence of death with great joy, giving God thanks that they were thought worthy to suffer in His cause.

Footnotes

1. Yen. William Ward, vere Webster. — From a Manuscript relation by a priest who calls himself Mr. Ward’s ghostly child, and from the Douay Diary; see also De Marsys, ii. ↩

2. Ven. Edward Barlow. — From two Manuscript relations kept by the English Benedictines at Douay, one of them being a letter of his brother, F. Rudesind Barlow, to the Abbot and Monks of Cellanova, dated January i, 1642; see also De Marsys, ii.; Gillow. ↩