While the primate was acting this great and noble part in parliament, an unexpected event placed him in a very delicate and dangerous situation.

At an early hour, in the morning, an unknown person, of the name of Lascelles, desired a secret admittance to him; and with much hesitation opened an affair, which the archbishop would often say, gave his spirits a greater agitation, than he ever felt before, or after.—The affair was no less, than the discovery of the queen's incontinence.

The primate with his usual caution weighed the information; and the proof, on which it rested; and he had the more time for deliberation, as the king was then on a progress. If the information were justly founded, it was both wrong, and dangerous, to conceal it—if unjustly, it was equally so to divulge it. The dilemma was difficult.

The business was perplexed also by a circumstance of peculiar delicacy. The queen was niece to the duke of Norfolk, who was at the head of the popish party; and the good primate, who had seen with what sinister arts that class of men had carried on their schemes, was apprehendsive, that such a story as this, might have too much the air of retaliation, and the malignity of party; and if it should prove false, would fix an imputation on his character, which he had ever been careful to avoid. His enemies, he knew, were always on the watch against him; and might, for ought he knew, have taken this very method of doing him an injury.

Thus distracted by a view of the affair in every light, he went at last to the lord chancellor, and the earl of Hertford, whom the king had left with a commission of regency, during his absence; and to them he unbosomed his distress.

After the first impression of terror was over, with which the privacy of such an affair naturally struck every one, who was connected with the tyrant, the chancellor, and lord Hertford were both of opinion, that as the affair rested on such undoubted evidence, it was less hazardous to divulge, than to conceal it. This point being settled, the more arduous one still remained of informing the king. The primate thought it best, that all three should join in the information; and give it that weight, which no single person could give. The two lords, on the other hand, were of a different opinion. As the intelligence, they said, had been given to the primate, and they had only been consulted, the information would come most naturally from him. Besides, they remarked, it was more respectful to keep a matter of so delicate a nature in a single hand; and if so, the primate's ecclesiastical character, and well-known judgment made him the properest messenger of bad news; as when he had given the wound, he could pour in balm to heal it.—In conclusion, the meekness of the archbishop gave way; and he took upon himself alone the task of carrying the unwelcome truth to the king.

It was indeed an unwelcome truth. The king at this time, had so little conception of the queen's dishonesty, and loved her with such entire affection, that he had lately given public thanks for the happiness he enjoyed with her.

The method which the primate took, was, to draw up the whole affair on paper, with all the evidence, on which it rested, and present it to the king in private.

Henry took the information, as we may suppose he would. His sury broke out in vehement execrations, and threats against those, who had been the contrivers of such villainy. And yet even in his rage he seems to have spared the archbishop, as a man who might be imposed on; but could not intend deceit. By degrees however, as his royal sury subsided, and he examined the evidence coolly, it made a deep impression on him; and passions of another kind began to rise. In short, the queen and her accomplices were tried, condemned, and executed. A little before her death she confessed her guilt to the archbishop; and the full voice of history bears testimony to the justice of her sentence.

About the time, in which the archbishop was concerned in this affair, he was engaged in another, almost equally invidious; the visitation of All-souls-college in Oxford. That society was in much disorder. Their dissentions gave great offence; and the irregularity of their manners, still greater. They are taxed, in the language of those times, with their scandalous compotations, commessations, and ingurgitations. The archbishop, as visitor, was called in by one of the contending parties; and he found it no easy matter to compose their heats, and restore good manners. With his usual vigour he went through the disagreeable task; and having mixed as much lenity as possible, with his censures, he reviewed their statutes; and made such additions, as he hoped would prevent any misbehaviour for the future.

In the year 1542, which was the year after these troublesome affairs, happened the battle of Solway-moss; where the Scotish army received a total defeat. Many of their nobility being taken prisoners, were sent to London, and committed to the care of the most considerable persons about the court. The earl of Cassilis, was sent to Lambeth. Here he found himself in a school of philosophy, and religion; where every thing great, and noble, and liberal abounded. Cassilis himself had a turn for literature; and soon became enamoured with this amiable society. The gentleness, and benevolence of the archbishop in particular attracted his esteem; and brought him to think more favourably of the reformers; to whose opinions he soon became a thorough convert. Scotland had not yet received the tenets of the reformation: and the archbishop would often say, "That when it should please God to inlighten that country, he hoped the intimacy, which had subsisted between him and the earl of Cassilis, might not wholly be without effect." And in fact it proved so: for some years afterwards, when the reformed opinions got footing in Scotland, nobody contributed so much to establish them, as that nobleman.