The body, with the face uncovered, being laid out in pontifical robes, the magistrates and inhabitants of Leicester were permitted to see it, in order that they might certify the death. In the evening it was removed into the church, but the funeral service was protracted by unusual dirges and orisons, and it was past midnight before the interment took place. Such was the end of this proud and famous Cardinal; who, for a subject, had more of the pomp and glory of this world than any man who ever lived—few have been thrown down from so great a height with so few crimes. He cannot be reproached with anything mean, vile, malicious, cruel, or vindictive. He was a character of the most splendid class—superior as a statesman to any of his contemporaries. He was haughty to the haughty—proud to the proud. Stern and unbending to those who loved him not—but to those who showed him respect, “sweet as summer!” All his undertakings showed the foreseeing facilities of his genius. It was he who, more than any other man, laid the foundation of those maxims of prudence, which, in our own day, among all European States, restrict the domination of the Pope. My young friends cannot do better than to study at large the history of this justly celebrated man. They will find in it much to exalt their minds and to touch their hearts, and they will rise from their perusal of his memoir wiser and better children. Those wretched people who like to contemplate the little blemishes of the most illustrious characters, will see in the errors of Wolsey much to condemn. But more generous minds will look upon them as “specks upon a sun,” whose rays enlightened and benefited the world. An Adventure with a Bear. Bears are very funny fellows, sometimes, particularly the “Brown Bears.” All Black Bears are savage; the White Bears are melancholy and spiteful, but the Brown Bears give, at times, the oddest sport, and make us laugh the most. I remember well, upon my travelling from Moscow to St. Petersburgh, seeing some fun with one, and I can’t help telling it to my young readers. The road from Moscow to St. Petersburg is dreary enough; long wastes of ground stretching far away—straight roads without hedges or ditches—clumps of trees here and there—savage-looking dens, and as savage-looking men—rude hovels not fit for pigs to stop in—women not half so clean as the pigs in Mr. Bendall’s styes—and rough old chaps, with beards so rough, hard, and bristly, that you might make shoe-brushes of them. These are the characteristics of the Russian peasantry, and when, therefore, we talk of bears, we talk of gentlemen—polite, generous but determined, and not very ceremonious gentlemen; of one of these it is my object to speak. [Illustration]