His Epistles-dedicatory and private Letters (several of which are preserved in the British Museum, and of which I have copies--one very long to Sir Julius Cæsar on his brother's illness) and his Will, make it plain that our Worthy mingled in the highest society, and was consulted in the most delicate affairs. His dedication of one of his most pronounced books, 'Consilium quorundam Episcop. Bononiæ &c.' (1613), to Shakespeare's Earl of Southampton, _as to a trusted friend_, settles, to my mind, the (disputed) fact as to the Earl having become a Protestant. So too the translation of Augustine's 'City of God' (1620, 2d edition) is dedicated to William Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Arundel, and the Earl of Montgomery. The last matter to be touched on is the Verse of the paternal Crashaw, which has a unique character of its own. It consists of translations from the Latin. His 'Loyola's Disloyalty' is based on a rendering of a Latin poem in super-exaltation of the Virgin Mary by Clarus Bonarscius (= Carolus Scribanius); and Crashaw animadverts on such 'pointes' as these: 'That the milke of Mary may come into comparison with the blood of Christ;' 'that the Christian man's faith may lawfully take hold of both as well as one;' 'that the best compound for a sicke soule is to mix together her milke and Christ's blood;' 'that Christ is still a little child in His mother's armes, and so may be prayed unto;' 'that a man shall often-times be sooner heard at God's hand in the mediation of Mary than Jesus Christ;' and so on. I give the opening, middle, and closing lines. TO OUR LADY OF HALL AND THE CHILD JESUS. 'My thoughts are at a stand, of milke and blood, Delights of brest and side, which yeelds most good; And say, when on the teates mine eyes I cast, O Lady, of thy brest I beg a taste. But if mine eyes upon the wounds doe glide, Then, Jesu, I had rather sucke Thy side. Long have I mused, now knowe I where to rest; For with my right hand I will graspe the brest, If so I may presume: as for the wounds, With left He catch them; thus my zeale abounds.' Again: 'Mother and Son, give eare to what I crave, I beg this milke, that bloud, and both would have. Youngling, that in Thy mother's armes art playing, Sucking her brest sometimes, and sometimes staying, Why dost Thou view me with that looke of scorne? 'Tis forceless envie that 'gainst Thee is borne. Oft hast Thou said, being angry at my sinne, Darest thou desire the teates My food lyes in? I will not, oh I dare not, golden Child; My mind from feare is not so farre exild: But one, even one poore drop I doe implore From Thy right hand or side, I ask no more. If neither, from Thy left hand let one fall; Nay from Thy foot, rather than none at all: If I displease Thee, let Thy wounds me wound, But pay my wage if I in grace be found.' Finally: