They are wedded, says Courtenay, at the end of 1654; and thus my task ends. Of Lady Temple there is little to know, and this is not the place to set it down. She lies on the north side of the west aisle at Westminster, with her husband and children.
“Her body sleeps in Capel’s monument,
And her immortal past with angels lives.”
You, reading for yourself, will perhaps gaze upon the darkened tablet, with new interest; and may, perhaps, thank him who has shown you this picture. Yes, thank him, not as author or historian, but as a servant holding a lamp, but ill-trimmed may be, before a glowing picture, careful that what light he holds, may not glisten on its shining surface, and hide the painting from sight; or as a menial, drawing aside with difficulty the heavy, dusty curtain of intervening ages which has veiled from human eyes the beautiful figure of Dorothy Osborne. She herself is the picture, and the painter of it; the historian of her own history. But not even to her are the real thanks due; these must be humbly offered to Him from whom she came to represent
“A holy woman and the perfect wife.”
THE DEBTOR OF TO-DAY.
“He that dies pays all debts.”
Tempest iii., 2.
The debtor is a slave. In the nature of things he always has been and must be a slave. The debtor of to-day is not such a direct slave as his ancestor of remote ages, but he is, in political phrase, a relic of barbarism living under servile conditions. As he has no organisation, and as, in the picturesque analogy of the man in the street, he is a bottom-dog in every sense of the word, no one worries about him. Eleven thousand of him go to gaol every year, and process is issued against three or four hundred thousand, but there is no party capital to be made out of the subject, no one statesman can abuse any other statesman for neglecting the question, and the churches and chapels are so keen about fighting over the technicalities of catechisms that they have no time to worry over the sorrows of the debtor of to-day.