SAMUEL HARSNETT, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 293 
antidote to papal autocracy ; nor need we blame him if he 
was blinded by his age and strenuous life to the desirability 
of co-operating with that rising tide of political liberalism which 
influenced the sons of grave and cultured Elizabethan squires 
and thrifty merchants among whom his earlier years were 
passed. “ The fathers had eaten sour grapes and the children’s 
teeth were set on edge.” After a vain search for health at the 
Bath waters the Archbishop turned homewards to his palace at 
Southwell, but died before reaching it, at Moreton-in-the-Marsh, 
Gloucestershire, on May 25th, 1631, within a month of completing 
his 71st year. 
On June 7th, appropriately enough St. Botolph's day, he 
was buried, not amid the glories of York minster, but in the 
humble village church at Chigwell, ** at the foot of Thomazine, 
late his beloved wife,”—a proof that the pride often associated 
with prelacy had not usurped the place of natural affection in 
the old man’s heart. His will, made a few months before his 
death, is a characteristic document. Its opening sentence, “ I 
die in the ancient faith of the true Catholic and Apostolic Church, 
renouncing from my heart all modern papal superstitions and 
all novelties of Geneva not accordant with the maxims of the 
Primitive renowned Church,” indicates his consistent lifelong 
orthodoxy. 
His desire that his brass should show him clothed in the 
ancient vestments appropriate to his Order as a Bishop, with 
his mitre and crosier, is valuable as the first, and for long the 
only, instance of an Anglican bishop, consecrated after the final 
breach with Rome, so depicted. 
His poorer parishioners, his servants and his few surviving 
relatives all received full and appropriate benefactions, besides 
generous bequests of ornaments to the churches he had served. 
The childless old man had especially tender thoughts for the 
“ poor scholars ” at his recently founded Grammar School at 
Chigwell, whom he wished “ nurtured and disciplined in good 
manners rather than instructed in good arts,” much as he desired 
their liberal education. 
His curious insistence on his “ unworthiness ” was surely 
no mock humility—conscious as he may have been of much 
falling short of his high ideals. We, who are perhaps more 
conscious of our neighbours’ unworthiness than of our own, 
