the Bishop (then in the Tower) desired him to retain his benefice by dispensation during his absence. Bernard would listen to no argument or persuasion. "The Devil," replied he, "will not be restrained by any bond of dispensation from labouring in my absence for the destruction of my people committed to my charge. And I fear when GOD shall call me to an account of my stewardship, it will not serve my turn to make answer that I was dispensed withal, whiles the Devil made havoc of my flock." Resign he did; the Bishop yielded after a long reluctance, saying, "Gilpin will die a beggar."

During three years he was visiting foreign cities; residing the greater part of the time at Mechlin, where George Gilpin, his brother, was a student, but occasionally at Ghent, Brussels, Louvain, and Antwerp. In 1554-5, he was an inmate in the house of the famous printer Vasancon, at Paris, while engaged in printing his uncle's treatise. The doctrines and ceremonials prevalent in these parts, filled him with reasons for being confirmed in the reformed faith. Difficulties and distractions on certain points, however, sorely tried his constancy; but he returned estranged from the Church of Rome.

His brother was the British resident in the Low Countries. The noble library of an adjoining Friary, and the learned members of that society, afforded him ample means of study, over and above the University of Antwerp, then one of the most considerable in Europe. His uncle, once more living in his diocese, recalled him to England, to accept the Archdeaconry of Durham and the Rectory of S. Mary's, Essington. He wrote back, that his student's " "life, if GOD be pleased, he desired before any benefice." He had not held them long when, worn out by the factious and intolerant Clergy of the north, on account of his preaching on salvation by the SAVIOUR, and repentance, rather than on doctrine, and yet more for declaiming against non-residence, and plurality of benefices, (being decried as a heretic, and no lover of the Church,) he surrendered both preferments, and lived with the Bishop as his Chaplain. At one time they would ply him about Luther and his opinions: he replied, he had not read his writings, but if late authors

produced the opinions of the ancient Fathers, the novelty of the men was not to be disdained, but the antiquity of the doctrine to be reverenced ;" and "therefore he would refuse none, when and where they agreed with the ancients." Tonstal, when on twelve articles from Newcastle he was cited before him, on one occasion silenced them with the remark, that Bernard knew more than all they together; and marked his love for the man, by giving him (Oct. 29, 1558,) the rich living of Houghton-leSpring; and offering him a Prebend at Durham, which he declined.

At Houghton, among its Rectors are found the names of Bishops Lyndsell and Barnes, Peter Heylin, Dean Barwick, Sancroft, and Secker. Its name is derived from the beautiful streams that flow from the high chain of limestone hills on the north and east, which shelter the valley in which it is built. The parsonage was in decay; fourteen villages were included within the bounds of the parish; ignorance, the darkest and most rude, prevailed throughout the neglected districts. No prudence could avert enemies, whose rage he had provoked in the conscientious discharge of archidiaconal visitations. A second time, at Easter, on fresh charges from York and Durham, he was summoned before his diocesan, Tonstal, and again acquitted. Tonstal had shielded him as far as he durst; but the effect was, (so great was the prejudice of the people, and the irritation of the Clergy) that, weary of these controversies, and himself opposed to Gilpin's teaching, the aged prisoner at Lambeth struck his name out of his will. Bernard felt the slight with a wounded heart for the wealth he had forfeited, he acknowledged no regret.

:

There was another tribunal,-one marked by blood,that of Bishop Bonner. Before that infatuated man thirty-two articles were laid; within a fortnight that zealot vowed the heretic Gilpin should be at the stake. The messengers came to arrest him; he sent for his old almoner and steward, William Airey. "At length," said he, "they have prevailed. No man escapes the Bishop of London: I am accused before him; GOD forgive them, and make me strong." He wrapped

his best long robe about him wherein to die, as in a comely covering, at his fiery death. On the journey, he fell, and broke his leg. "Ha!" said the officers, tauntingly, "how say you; is that broken limb intended for your good ?" "I doubt not, sirs, so it be," he answered: and thus it was; for before he set out again for London, Queen Mary died, and he was again free.

With the change of religion, on the accession of Elizabeth, suspicion attached to the good pastor. On the arrival of the Visitors, in autumn, Dr. Sandys sent for him to Auckland, and appointed him time and place to preach against the primacy of Rome. On the following day, with the other Clergy of the diocese, he was required to subscribe to the Articles; but on the next night conscientiously sent in his interpretation of the meaning of two of them, by way of protest. Weakness, ignorance, and natural fear, caused him many a bitter struggle. He prayed for pardon of his ignorance, and greater light of knowledge. He had "many and grievous temptations, which would not let him sleep for many nights, and drove him betwixt sleeping and waking into such dreams as few men ever had the like."

No temptation of rank, emolument, or ease, could draw him from his labours. In vain, in 1560, the Earl of Bedford and Sandys, Bishop of Worcester, importuned him to accept the vacant See of Carlisle by the amplest promises and most earnest adjurations. He believed he could not be so useful as a Prelate, as in his Rectory of Houghton. But a year after, he refused to return as Provost of Queen's College, to Oxford. In April, 1574, he was with John Heath, a merchant of London, co-founder of the Kepyer Grammar School, (so called because chiefly endowed with the alienated estates of S. Giles' Hospital, at Kepyer, near Durham,) wherein he educated many poor children, supplying them with food and clothes besides; providing that on the one weekly holiday the boys, in spring, should go out "to exercise their bows upon the moors.' The English archer was still famous in those days. On his foundation were educated Airay, Provost of Queen's College; his biographer, Bishop Carleton; Surtees, the historian of Durham; and the ungrateful, but learned Hebraist, Broughton,-whom he

found running at his horse's side in a desolate part of the borders of Wales.

In the state of the northern Church, destitute of a preaching Clergy, the labours of Gilpin as a missionary were abundant: they extended through the six counties nearest the borders. Once a-year, in Ribblesdale and Tynedale, in Northumberland, he went to spread the glad tidings, in those days unknown, save by his teaching. Of Christmas-time, when the holy days came in quick succession, and round the cheerful hearth men gathered, not caring to travel over the snow-hidden tracts and bridle roads of that wild district, he usually made choice. Many a time was he benighted, and lodged out in the bleak, frosty air, while his constant companion, William Airay, rode up and down with the horses, and he bestirred himself, walking or running, till the dawn broke, lest he should be benumbed to death.

Those "half-barbarous" people esteemed him a very prophet, coming to teach the ignorant, and distributing money among their poor. One day, while he was preaching, a man of those parts stole his horses; the whole country was roused to catch the thief: but when he heard they were those of Master Gilpin, he was full of superstitious fears; with all speed he came back to Gilpin, craved pardon for his offence, and a blessing from the good father, "for Sir," said he, "when I knew they were your horses, my conscience told me I should go down quick into torment if I wronged you."

At Rothbury, so turbulent were the factions of the place that, while he was in the pulpit, two parties, burning for revenge in some deadly feud, ranged themselves in the nave and chancel. At length, swords and javelins were crossed; he paused in his sermon, and, coming down, threw himself between them. The utmost promise. he could draw from them was, that while he remained in the Church, no weapon should be drawn. Once more in the pulpit, he preached against such horrible customs as unchristian, and deserving to be banished from the land. After that time, the man who feared a deadly foe, found a surer safeguard by Gilpin's side, than if he had a troop of armed retainers round him.

His courage was fearless and indomitable; a quality.

which would not weigh lightly among a half savage race. One day when he arrived at a certain church on Sunday morning, before the people had come together, Gilpin espied a glove hanging on the wall. "Sexton," said he, "how and wherefore came that glove there?" The man replied, "it was a challenge of defiance to any man, friend, or foe, who would take it down." Gilpin bade him remove it. "Not I," returned he, "I durst do no such thing." "Then will I," straight said Gilpin ; "bring me a long staff;" and having fetched it off the nail, put the glove in his cassock. The congregation filled the Church; and Bernard in due time denounced their evil ways. Here," said he, "is one among you, who in this sacred place has hung up his glove, to seek out a quarrel to the death with him who should remove it-look you ;" and he held aloft the glove. "I have taken it down myself! Do I speak to Christian men ?"

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Such were the demands made on Gilpin, at a time when Grindal in his articles forbade such indecencies as the following: pedlars selling their wares in the Church porch; or morice-dancers, lords of misrule, mummers and disorderly jesters playing with unseemly talk in time of Divine Service.

On another occasion in the same wild district of Redesdale, he alighted at a Church where there was neither priest, nor bell, nor book, save an old one of the reign of Edward VI., and a psalter worn to pieces. Gilpin sent the parish clerk round to give notice of a sermon to the neighbours. As he paced thoughtfully before the porch, a man rode up to the lych-gate with a little dead child on his saddle crutch. "Ho! Parson!" quoth the mourner, "and come do the cure." So saying, he dismounted, and laid his burden on the ground: in a few moments his horse's hoofs were ringing along the highway of the hamlet, as the solitary pastor celebrated the last office. Scarce had he done, when he found the church rapidly filling with a motley congregation. The good Bernard mounted the pulpit, and spake on the crying sins of that benighted place, lying and robbery. 'Nay, sir," cried out a voice, we are all thieves here." The sorrowful preacher looked down,