It will be found connected with the history of one of the most learned youths of his age, even with that of the Boy-Bachelor of Oxford; with the stirring events of the Reformation; with the pride and downfall of the proudest Chancellor England ever knew, and will afford a lesson to readers of both sexes of the punishment of haughtiness, and the reward of true nobility and patience, even in their present existence. In sending forth the present edition, the Author is gratified by the thought that some benefit may arise therefrom to the Hospital in his native town. RECTORY, WORTHAM. [Illustration: Preface tailpiece] [Illustration: Chapter I headpiece] FRESTON TOWER. CHAPTER I. GENIUS. Who is that youth walking upon the soft sands of Frestonstrand, intently meditating upon the contents of an old parchment-covered book, with silver clasps, which, from their length, proclaim that the work is one of some considerable size and depth? He seems to devour that work; and, if a stranger might judge from his countenance, to be enjoying, with great relish, the sentiments it contains--for, every now and then, he soliloquizes in a foreign tongue, as if repeating with admiration the lines he has been studying. That book he holds in his hand is the first edition of the greatest Grecian poet ever printed. It is the Iliad, printed by Aldus, who first cast the Greek alphabet in the year 1476. The book has been lent him by Lord De Freston, his distant kinsman, and he is on his way from the ancient town of Gypesswick (now called Ipswich) to return it to its rightful owner. Like a true valuer of his treasure, he seems to store up in his mind the most beautiful passages it contains. Every now and then he pauses, and, with his dark eye averted from the book, he scans the beauty of the scene around him. He is walking beside one of the loveliest rivers in England, and at a spot where hill, dale, wood, and water, under the influence of the bright beams of the rising sun, exhibit nature in those splendid colors which an early riser only can appreciate. That eye, even in its glance across the waves of the river Orwell, is a most thoughtful one; for it can view all the tracery of nature, and find a corresponding beauty in the poetical ideas which crowd in upon his mind. He has been reading high-sounding words, heroic actions, and exalted feelings; and his breast is as naturally inspired with the thoughts of what he has read as his eye is with the view before him. But nature is not able to chain down his soul to any terrestrial object, nor can the charms of scenery engross his attention; for his spirit seems on fire with enthusiasm, and his eye swells with a conscious hopefulness in himself, arising out of the question--For what purpose am I born?