The “goodness” of Duke Humphrey must be, at the very least, an historic doubt. Born in 1391, the youngest son of Henry the Fourth, he was a man of affable and easy manners, cultured, and a patron of literature, and considered by the people a patriot. Those were the days when to be a “patriot” with one party was to be a “traitor” with another, and jealousy on the part of Queen Margaret, consort of his nephew, Henry the Sixth, caused his arrest at Bury St. Edmunds in 1447. The day after his arrest, the Duke died, not without suspicion of foul play; the times being such that the sudden death of any prominent person could never be put down to natural causes; which sufficiently shows the uncomfortable nature of those times. It seems, however, clear that he died from paralysis, brought on through a life of debauchery, and hastened by the shock of his arrest; but, if we may judge by the temper of the age, his death happened in time to prevent the political murder that assuredly would have been committed. [Sidenote: _IMPOSTURE_] So much for the “goodness” of the “good Duke,” who, whatever his morals, was, if we are to believe the story told of him by Sir Thomas More, a good deal more keen-witted than most people. It seems that he completely exposed an impostor who claimed to have been born blind, but to have recovered his sight at the shrine of St. Alban. The Duke asked him the colours of the clothes himself and his suite were wearing, and they were readily given by the man, who did not perceive that, had he been born blind, he could not possibly know the names of colours. The answer exposed him, and he was put in the stocks. The story was long a favourite one at St. Albans, and forms a scene in the second part of _King Henry the Sixth_; and by the same token fortifies many in the belief that Bacon, and not Shakespeare, wrote that play. [Sidenote: _MIRACLES WHILE YOU WAIT_] _Enter a_ Townsman _of St. Albans, crying_, “A miracle!” _Gloucester._ What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? _Towns._ A miracle! a miracle! _Suffolk._ Come to the king and tell him what miracle. _Towns._ Forsooth, a blind man at St. Alban’s shrine, Within this half hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne’er saw in his life before. _K. Henry._ Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! _Enter the_ Mayor of St. Albans _and his brethren_, bearing Simpcox, _between two in a chair_; SIMPCOX’S Wife _following_. _Cardinal._ Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. _K. Hen._ Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. _Glo._ Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness’ pleasure is to talk with him. _K. Hen._ Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?