_/■ tf W *«°* °* •'■• ^° <^ 8 "° \* °* " c° .« =5 ". c "*- o A <* *"* <0^ iP^ ^°* .^s •'fill': " oV :WIr ** 0< A^. >°t ^ ^ °o V p'*°- O. is * . & 5i . «£ . 4 o Mat* & ^ • ***** <* <^ .n* » ^ : »°*«. o, * • , i • * aQ ^ "* o „ o '" .-ft 5 " °c> *»;■.* 1 ^o ^ itf # <*&$* t C^f *** THE Century of Queens. WITH SKETCHES OF SOME PRINCES LITERATURE AND ART. ILLUSTRATED. Slew gorlt: JAMES MILLER, PUBLISHER 647 BROADWAY. 1872. Eutered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, By JAMES MILLER, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. JOSEPH J. LITTLE, Electrotypes, Sterkotypkr, and Printer, New York. PREFACE. HE sixteenth century, throughout the world, was proba- bly the most pregnant of great events of any other similar period before or since. The Reformation in religion which shook thrones to their foundation, and has proved the most potent power the world has ever seen, was developed in this century. The invention of gunpowder first showed its power in the revolution of the modes of warfare. The discovery of a new world, the cradle and home of liberty, first made its influence felt, and poured its wealth into the lap of the old world. The invention of printing, too, in this century received that development which made books cheap and plenty, comparatively, and truth and light stronger and more resplendent. And the names of the actors of their parts in this century ! Their name is legion, and the events conspicuous in the historic roll. Ferdinand and Isabella, Charles V., Francis I., Luther, Calvin, Cranmer, Wolsey, Columbus, and a long list of others, claim special attention. Thus in the political and religious world! But in the world of literature what a brilliant galaxy presents itself, when Ave think of Spenser, Shakspeare, Bacon, More, Wyatt, Foxe, Sackville, Raleigh, Hooker, Sidney, Chapman, and others. In England's history, the sixteenth century is crowded with import- ant events, and brilliant and prominent characters. It was particularly PREFACE. the Century of Queens, as one after the other of Henry VIII.'s six queens make their appearance upon the public stage, followed by Queen .Mary, Lady Jane Grey, Elizabeth, and Mary of Scots. Of course the social history of the people receives more attention, more importance, and more development and improvement. In the present volume all these points have been noticed in the course of our narrative of queenly actions, drawn from such sources as Miss Strickland, Henry Wra. Herbert, Mary Howitt, Lucy Aikin, Mrs. Balmanno, and others, sufficient authority for the authenticity of the facts stated. We have concluded the volume with some sketches of a few of the princes of Literature and of Art of the current century. We can only hope the present volume may be found to be an agree- able melange of History, Literature, and Art, culled from the best and most authentic sources. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. ON STEEL. TAOS Henry VIII 33 Katharine of Arragon 36 Anne Boletn 43 Jane Seymour 60 Anne op Cleves '65 Katharine Howard ~69~ • Katharine Parr 76 ^ Mary, Queen op Soots 85 Queen Elizabeth 142 Shakespeare reading Macbeth before Queen Elizabeth . . . 167 ON WOOD. Haddon Hall and Garden by Moonlight 15 ' Haddon Hall and Grounds 31 Portrait, Mary, Queen of Scots 86 Procession of Cupids, after Stothard 102 Mary, Queen of Scots ; medallion portrait 109 Holyrood Palace 112 ' Portrait of Maiy iu her mourning hood, from a miniature in the British Museum 137 Signet Riug of Mary, and a copper coin— bawbee — bearing her likeness when nine mouths old 141 "' Queen Elizabeth dancing " high and disposedly" 146 Facsimiles from Queen Elizabeth's Prayer-Book 147- 6 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Broad-piece of Queen Elizabeth ; restored 153 i The celebrated Essex Ring 155 Sir Christopher Hatton and Queen Elizabeth daucing 163 Portrait of Mre. Cowden Clarke 172- Ornamental pages — Shakespearean emblems 173 < Chair presented to Mrs. Cowden Clarke 176 Bell's Statuette of Shakespeare 178 Portrait of Thomas Crofton Croker .180.. Shakespeare's Gimmel-riug , 188 . The Gimmel-ring, with portrait of Anne Hathaway 190 > Shakespeare embracing his bride 192 • Gimmel-ring surrounded by Fairies 193 Mask of Shakespeare, from the bust at Stratford 196 Rose Malcolm " 1«)9 ' Portrait of Thomas Hood 200 ■ March of the Clans 217 Barberini, or Portland Vase 219 > Heraldic Shield, in wreath 287 Numerous Initial Letters from original designs scattered throughout the volume. CONTENTS. PAGE Haddon Hall, in Derbyshire 15 A Dream of Home 31 Henry the Eighth and his six Queens 33 Queen Katharine 36 Anne Boleyn 43 Jane Seymour ' 60 Anne of Cleves 65 Katharine Howard 69 Katharine Parr 76 Mary, Queen of Scots 85 Letter from Mary, Queen of Scots, to Queen Elizabeth 90 Poems illustrative of eventful scenes in the life of Mary ..... 101 Her Coronation at Notre-Dame 102 The Burial of Francis II. at St. Denis .... 106 Banquet at Holyrood 112 Chastellar 115 The Lady of Munro 117 Letter of Nicholas White to Sir William Cecill 126 Queen Mary's Reverie 132 Queen of Scots' Letter to her Adopted Daughter, Bess Pierrepont . . . 134 Bess Pierrepont, her Song 135 Incidents and Traits of Queen Elizabeth and her Courtiers .... 142 Extracts from Queen Elizabeth's Prayer- Book 147 \ 8 CONTEXTS. PAGE Anecdote of Queen Elizabeth and one of the Court Painters .... 152 The Broad-piece of Queen Elizabeth 153 The Celebrated Essex Ring 155 L"tters from Essex to the Queen 157 Letter from Sir Walter Raleigh to Sir William Cecill 158 Letter from Sir Philip Sydney to the Queen 160 The Earl of Oxford 161 Sir Christopher Hatton 163 The Countess of Shrewsbury 165 Queen Elizabeth and Shakespeare 167 To Mrs. Cowden Clarke, author of Shakespeare Concordance .... 172 Bell's Statuette of Shakespeare 178 Thomas Crofton Croker and Shakespeare's Ring 180 Mask of Shakespeare 196 Rose Malcolm 197 Recollections of Lamb and Hood 200 The March of the Clans 217 The Barberini, or Portland Vase 219 A Legend of an Old Scottish Castle 226 HADDON HALL. ADDON Hall in Derbyshire is one of the finest specimens in England of an ancient baronial resi- dence. A memento of her early ages and feudal times. Castellated and embattled, with dark woods for its back-ground, it is grandly placed on a rocky eminence over-hanging the river Wye, amidst one of the loveliest vales in Derby- shire. It comprises within its walls architec- tural remains of the Saxons, Romans, Plantagenets, and Tudors. !(} IIADDON HALL. The present structure, erected on the site of an old Saxon Castle, dates from the beginning of the fourteenth century ; and after re- ceiving successive alterations and additions from the reign of Stephen to that of Elizabeth, at the hands of its various owners, the Avenels, Peverels, Vernons, Bassets, and Manners, in which last noble family it still remains (being the property of the Duke of Rutland), it affords at the present time one of the best means now extant, whereby to form a correct idea of the style of living prac- tised by the Old English Nobility, whose rude magnificence and bounteous hospitality are strikingly evidenced in all the interior arrangements. Here, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, dwelt the powerful and magnificent old knight, Sir George Vernon, " King of the Peak," who with fourscore servants in his halls, and hundreds of vassals and re- tainers, kept open house twelve clays after Christmas, and at all other times held his state right royally, exercising within his own domain all the power and privileges of a king, even to the award of the death penalty on those of his tenants found guilty of crimes de- serving condign punishment ; the ominous name of Gallows-acre still stigmatizing a haunted glade in the vicinity, which, as a matter of right, has still several " sperrits " of departed free-booters lurking about its precincts. With this exception all the traditions of Iladdon are of a peaceful and pleasing character, tinged with love and romance, but never with strife and bloodshed; they do not, how- ever, go farther back than the days of Queen Elizabeth, otherwise, the Eagle's Tower, the most ancient part of the building, inhabited during the reign of Stephen by one of the descendants of William Peverel, would doubtless furnish many a startling incident of that stormy period, when the whole kingdom was convulsed with civil war, and every nobleman's house a fortress. The general plan of Haddon is that of two immense quadrangular courts, each surrounded by ancient battlemented buildings of dark grey stone, interspersed with open balconies, flights of steps, and jutting oriels; together with an infinity of towers and turrets, springing from unknown heights and depths in picturesque confusion, HADDON HALL. 17 all venerable with age, mossy and ivied, but perfect, no part having so far yielded to time as to present the appearance of a ruin. The main entrance to Iladdon is a gloomy archway beneath a tower. The enormous gates ribbed and wedged with iron, of strength sufficient to resist a battering-ram. These are only opened on state occasions, the usual mode of ingress being through a small wicket- door cut at the side of one of them. A cavity in the pavement im- mediately beneath it, bearing resemblance to a stone shoe, has been worn by the pressure of the feet of those who have for ages stepped over this ancient threshold, whose lofty arch is surmounted with the shields of Basset, Vernon, and others, finely carved in the stone. Through this archway the lower court is ascended by a flight of very broad and shallow stone steps, moss-grown, and dinted, to the wide area of the court, the sight of whose surrounding buildings carries the mind hundreds of years back to the days of the Edwards and Henrys. The court slopes greatly, so that standing at the low- est side the eye looks, as it were, up hill, towards the large church- looking windows of the great hall, which, with their stained glass, and diamond shaped panes, occupy a considerable portion of the upper range of the buildings, on that side. Beneath these windows are formal beds of flowers bordered with box, clipped so squarely as to form solid walls of verdure a foot or more in breadth on the top, and smoothly shorn at the sides. These old parterres harmonize wonder- fully with all around, and in June and July, are full of lilies, roses, and flower-de-luce, while great bushes of lavender and rosemary grow at the corners. These fine ornaments of the old court-yard of Iladdon derive ad- ditional interest from being the lineal descendants of those which grew in the same place hundreds of years ago : where Queen Elizabeth herself may have plucked a rose, or Mary of Scotland perchance have gazed in one of those holiday excursions sometimes permitted to her when at Chats worth. The great charm of Hacldon, is, that every- thing is venerable — even the old-fashioned flowers. No new-fangled ones being allowed to root out the ancient Floras of the soil, in the still trimly kept and beautiful parterres of Dorothy Yernon. lg HADDON HALL. Although it is now verging towards a century and a half since Iladdon was last inhabited, the whole is kept in the most perfect order and repair. His Grace the Duke of Rutland, the noble pro- prietor, with a liberality beyond all praise, securing this stately abode of his ancestors not only from the havoc of time and decay, but from the desecrating hand of modern " improvement." One side of this court is full of irregularly shaped windows, turrets and archways ; some closed, others open, here and there strong primitive doors swinging ajar ; while over the whole range they occupy, clamber some beautiful old pear and apricot trees which have grown and nourished year after year till they have be- come part of the building itself, making their way up slender towers, peeping into windows, and scrambling along grotesque water-spouts in a manner wonderful to behold, and most beautiful in spring, when the whole side of the court is hung with their pure and delicate blossoms. A curious old tower with steps outside it, and open work windows of carved stone, leads by a spiral staircase to some of the principal rooms. It has little chambers on different landings where the earl's pages slept; the Earl of Rutland in the olden time. At the lowest part of the court, in one of its extreme angles, a low, pointed archway, with a descent of many huge steps of stone, forms the en- trance to the chapel, which consists of a body and two aisles, divided from each other by pillars and pointed arches ; one of the pillars, a relic from the most ancient part of the erection, being massive Saxon. There is also a font of the same workmanship and period, probably belonging to the Avenels. Close by the altar stands, in a niche, a benitier for holy water. The windows are of the time of Henry VI., and although much of the stained glass has been remov- ed, sufficient remains to attest their former beauty. The east win- dow bears a Latin inscription in old English letters : " Pray for the souls of Richard Vernon and Benedicta his wife, who made this in the year of our Lord 1427 ;" another window bears one of similar purport with the name of Richard Trussel, 1427. These windows are very thickly curtained with ivy, giving to the interior of this ancient chapel that solemn gloom which in a religious place, so much con- HADDON HALL. 19 duces to devotion, doubly impressive here, where the inevitable fin- ger of desolation and decay, though gently laid, is yet visible. The lordly pew though cushioned and gilded, is time-stained and tar- nished ; its high railing and faded curtains, no longer needed to screen its proud occupants from the prying gaze of the vulgar, rather attracts its observation, contrasting forcibly in all its appoint- ments with the long bare benches of oak destined for the servants. These are narrow and most uninviting, rudely carved in knobby pro- jections at the back, and highly polished as if by constant use. Beneath one of the windows stands an enormous black coffer of solid oak, covered with bands of iron, and fastened by means of rusty hasps and staples ; it is filled with old family prayer books, chiefly of the time of Elizabeth, many of them much thumbed and worn, others fresh and in good condition. Near the pulpit, and completely overlooking the family pew to which it is almost opposite, is a wooden balcony, and at the back a small massive door, which opens into a tower whose stone staircase ascends to the chapel leads, whence a descent is easily obtained by means of outside steps to the garden terraces, at whose foot, a rustic bridge crosses a narrow bend of the river Wye in the open meadows below. Here, tradition says, Sir John Manners used to lie concealed, and when all were devoutly occupied in the chapel, he, by the means above indicated, having gained entrance to the tower aforesaid, would most irreligiously apply one of his bright black eyes to a small aperture in the wall, and thus command a view of his lady-love, the beautiful Dorothy Vernon, while at her devotions, crowning the sacrilegious act by afterwards eloping with, and marrying the Lady Dorothy ; a circumstance made memorable by this token, that bril- liant black eyes are still the distinguishing mark of their descend- ants to this very day. In ascending from the chill and gloomy chapel into the open court, the free air is most cheering and reviving, but after the first few moments, the silence and utter lifelessness that prevails is felt more impressively than before. Towers, gateways, strange-looking buildings in all directions ; interior glimpses, too, present themselves of melancholy rooms, and dusky corridors, with 20 II ADDON HALL. level rays of sunshine, that seem to pierce them through without lighting up their contents — the faded tapestry and antique furniture which was used by their former inhabitants, centuries ago. One side of the court is devoted to various offices and apartments: guard-room, chaplain's room, those of the huntsman, porter, warder, grooms, and pages, many of their garments and weapons, with much of their rude furniture still remaining. Hanging on the walls or standing upon the floors, apparently just as their owners left them, are several pairs of prodigious jack-hoots, perfectly square at the toes, and having long sharp spurs fastened upon the heels ; buff -coats of thickest leather, some of them pierced with bullets, steel skull-caps with many a dint, and firelocks, holster pistols, and other warlike implements in great profusion, some of them very curious in construction, and all of ancient date. A great quantity of armour formerly occupied a large room in the inner quadrangle, but it has been removed to Belvoir Castle, together with many other reliques of Iladdon's former splendour. In one of the offices is an immense pile of pewter platters, or rather gigantic soup plates ; a chicken on the very smallest of them, would appear a morsel. Directly opposite these inferior apartments, stands an open porch with stone seats, and leaning against its wall a Roman altar dug up in the vicinity some centuries ago, the inscription ac- cording to Camden is ©H® ©^©oloak] Over the ample entrance arch of this noble porch are two shields of anus beautifully cut in stone, the one being the coat of Vernon, the other of Fulco de Pembruge, Lord of Tonge, in Shropshire. This is the entrance to the grand hall, which, paved with large slabs of sandstone, and having overhead a massive and intricate tracery IIADDON HALL. 21 composed of the joists, beams, rafters, and other supports of the roof, all blackened with smoke and age, at once gives the spectator the impression that he stands within the banquet hall of Saxon Thane, or Norman Baron, nor, probably, would the idea be erroneous, for this portion of Haddon is, with the exception of the chapel and Eagle Tower, more ancient than any other part of the edifice. At the upper 'end of the hall is a raised floor, or dais, which extends en- tirely across its whole breadth, and is occupied by a table of its own length, composed of thick beams of oak riddled with worm-holes, supported on strong trestles, and surrounded by benches of the same rude workmanship and solid material. Around this rugged table in former days sat the lord of the castle and his principal guests, Avhilst at other tables below the dais, and running lengthwise from it down the hall, those of lower rank were accommodated with less sumptuous fare, and beverage of a more homely kind. Round two sides of the hall, at the height of what in modern houses would be called the first story, runs a wide wainscotted gallery for musicians and spectators, often, during the days of Sir George Vernon, crowded with lords and knights, noble ladies and demoiselles, to behold the lmtsqueings, interludes, and revels carried on in the hall below. That Haddon was frequently enlivened by such scenes may readily be imagined, when it is remembered that Prince Arthur, eldest son of Henry the Seventh, spent much time here with Sir Henry Vernon, who was his governor. The portraits of Henry VII. and his queen Elizabeth of York, of Henry VIIL, and his jester Will Somers, and many other distinguished personages carved in the panels of the drawing-room, dining-room, and many of the cham- bers, give the reasonable belief that they were familiarly known at Haddon. The ample accommodation afforded in its long suites of apartments and numerous nests of rooms of all sorts and sizes, serves to confirm this, and it seems certain that during the reigns of Henry VII., Henry VIIL, and Queen Elizabeth, those personages, their families, and many of their courtiers trod a measure in the grand ball-room or feasted merrily in the old hall with its huge black 22 IIADDOX HALL rafters overhead, and its stone pavement covered with rushes or rich carpets beneath their feet. This ancient hall has two doorways : close to one of them stands an old beaufet, curiously carved, while on the wainscot above it are two enormous antlers, and beside them, about seven or eight feet from the ground, some iron bracelets of peculiar construction, formerly used for the purpose of suspending any one by the wrist, and pouring down his sleeve a cup of cold water, who had been guilty of refusing to drink his allowance of strong ale. Tradition also attributes sterner uses to this fixture in cases of more serious offence. A great oaken screen which extends entirely across the hall detracts much from the general effect of that noble apartment, though it must be con- fessed that it has its important uses, amongst which may be reckoned that, of excluding from view several long dark alleys, which, directly opening from one end of it, and unprovided with doors, run down a steep descent into the fiery regions of the kitchen. This is always a grand focus of attraction to all married ladies and good housewives. Down the old black passages they wend their way delightedly ; as with assured steps and pleasant countenances they thread the windings of this culinary labyrinth, consisting of many dens and crooked holes surrounding the principal kitchen, which resembles a* large brown vault, with iron-barred windows all around the upper part of its walls, and having in the centre of its floor as a huge chopping-block, the solid trunk of a large tree, on which an ox might lie at its ease, the grates, two in number, being each ample enough to roast the same. Stoves in great number, and double rows of dressers, are all that now remain in the kitchen. These dressers have great hollows in them like boM'ls. This effect is always pointed out as having been pro- duced by chopping the mincemeat. Could the said bowls or hollows reflect the brightness of all the ladies' eyes which have looked pleasantly into them at that announcement, what a sight were there! The traditions of these regions of good cheer are very hospitable and agreeable, all tending to confirm the idea that most noble house- keeping was one of the golden rules observed at Iladdon. Adjoin- ing the kitchen is a complete suite of larders; salting-rooms, drying- HADDON HALL. 23 rooms and other nondescript retreats, furnished with great troughs formed of the trunks of trees. There are also many apartments of various sizes suitable for every rank. In returning from this once densely populated part of the mansion, along the steep dark passage, it may now be perceived that it has a half door, or " hatch," with a broad shelf on the top, which door when closed forms a barrier across the passage ; it is directly opposite one of the doors in the hall screen, serving as a landing-place for the various dishes of the feast, whence they were transferred to the great hall by the sewer and his atten- dants, preceded on grand occasions with the sound of trumpets. In recrossing the old hall, the mind which loves to contemplate antiquity takes in more and more of satisfaction and pleasure; scenes pourtrayed by the historian, the poet, and the novelist pass vividly before it, and are more fully understood and appreciated; the whole air and aspect of the place belonging to the earliest times, and being in itself a history. From one corner of the hall, opens a short pas- sage, paved with huge blocks of sand-stone ; it leads to the garden terrace, and also to a grand dining-room wainscotted with dark oak, enriched by a broad border of carved shields, bearing the arms of Vernon, Avenel, Pierrepont, and others ; with the boar's head (the Vernon crest) carved; portraits of Henry VII. and his queen, besides an infinite number of devices and decorations. Over the fire-place, which has most curious open worked andirons and fender, is finely carved in the oak panel in large Old English letters, " Drede God, and Honor the King." It is surmounted by the royal arms, and is accompanied by the names of Sir George Vernon and his lady, with the date 15i5. The portrait of Will Somers is also carved on the wainscot of this room, which is worthy of particular notice on ac- count of the multiplicity of its ornaments, all bearing the regal and feudal stamp. A bronze wine-cooler of great size, some curious old coronation chairs, whose cushions seem filled with the very softest down : and last though not least, a most capacious family cradle — are amongst the numerous objects of interest contained in this apartment. The windows, once filled with richly stained glass, only retain a 5>4 IIADDON HALL. few specimens of if, the rest being plain. Adjoining this room are several others, designated "The Earl's chambers." All of them hung with ancient arras representing Scriptural subjects and field sports, in which the dogs are clothed in armour, with projecting spikes, implying that they had been engaged in boar hunting. The doors are everywhere concealed by tapestry hangings which had to be drawn aside by the person entering, and either fell down again over the doorway, or were fastened back on great hooks in the wall. A stranger, on entering such an apartment, unless he narrowly scrutinized the pattern of the tapestry which fell over the door as it closed behind him, would experience no little difficulty in finding his way out again, a circumstance often treacherously taken advantage of during the Middle Ages. This little suite of " Earl's chambers " is very pretty, each room being smaller than the other, till the last comprises only the space within a slender tower, whose spiral stone steps descend outside of it into the first court, and inside, conduct to a great elevation, with very small rooms on every landing, till at last egress is found on the leads. Emerging on them, an assemblage of towers of all sizes, with long lines of leaden roofs, astonish not less by their number and extent than by the picturesque effect they produce amidst the surrounding scenery of richly wood- ed hills and valleys, the bright and winding river Wye gliding with a continual murmur in the midst, in a perfectly serpentine course, whilst immediately beneath lie the stately gardens, terrace after terrace, balustraded and embanked, having noble nights of white stone steps to each of them, leading from the river low down in the valley, close up to the walls of the ancient mansion. There i^ an inconceivable charm in the gardens of Iladdon, its long broad avenues and spaces of green sward crossing each other at wide inter- vals ; its excess of dark and solemn foliage permitting a thousand beau- tiful effects under varying skies and seasous, and above all, the magic stillness — broken only in summer by the warbling of birds, and the mur- muring of the river, and in winter by the sough of the wind howling through the snow-covered courts and pleached alleys. The following lines were written after a stroll through this most delightful old domain. H ADDON HALL. ADDON, within thy silent halls, Deserted courts, and turrets high, How mournfully on memory falls The light of antique pageantry. A holy spell pervades thy gloom, A silent charm breathes all around ; And the dread stillness of the tomb Reigns o'er thy hallowed haunted ground. Where be the high and stately dames, Of princely Vernon's bannered hall ? And where the Knights, and what their names, Who led them forth to Festival ? Arise ! ye mighty Dead ! arise ! Can Vernon, Rutland, Stanley sleep, Whose gallant hearts and eagle eyes, Disdained alike to crouch or weep ? They slumber lowly in the dust ; Prostrate and fallen the mighty lie ; The warrior's sword is dim with rust ; Quenched is the light of beauty's eye. Those arms which once blazed thro' the field, Their brightness never shall resume ; O'er spear and helm, and broken shield, Low droops the faded sullied plume. King of the Teak ! thy hearth is lone, No sword-girt vassals gather there : No minstrel's harp pours forth its tone, In praise of Maude, or Margaret fair — 26 II ADDON HALL. No hunter's horn is heard to pound, No dame with swan-like mien glides by, Accompanied with hawk and hound, On her fair palfrey joyously. Fair Iladdon's sun has set in night : — Yet gentler, holier, more subdued Than garish day's more dazzling light Its moonlit garden's solitude. From the enchanting prospect on the leads it is necessary to re- trace the lonely and dimly-lighted chambers previously described, in order to gain access to the grand staircase, opening on which is the drawing-room, decorated much like the dining-room, bnt in ad- dition exhibiting the Prince of Wales' plume, motto, and initials — E. P. ; adjoining this room are many others extending far into the building, while directly opposite the door, are six very large and broad semicircular steps of solid oak, which ascend to the long gal- lery, a noble apartment one hundred and nine and a half feet long, eighteen feet wide and fifteen feet high. The flooring is of solid oak, which, as well as the steps, is affirmed to have been cut from a single tree which grew in the park. The wainscotting is likewise of oak, decorated with Corinthian pilasters, over which are arches, and between the arches are the shields of the arms of Manners impaling those of Vernon. The frieze is ornamented with rich carvings of the boar's head crest of Vernon, the peacock crest of Manners, this- tles, roses, portcullises, and other royal and noble heraldic emblems and devices belonging to the family. Along one side of this immense apartment are spacious bay-windows, each affording a deep semicir- cular recess, the centre one being larger than the others. They all overlook the garden terraces, as represented in the engraving which accompanies this article : they are beautifully ornamented with stained glass depicting the arms of Rutland, Vernon, Shrewsbury, and the royal arms of England, and are garlanded with climbing roses, honeysuckles, and ivy, in great profusion. Many other large IIADDON HALL 27 windows on tlie opposite side of the gallery and at the upper end are similarly adorned. Queen Elizabeth is said to have been a guest of the King of the Peak, at Iladdon, when this room was first used, and to have trode a measure with him, " high and disposedly," on that festive occasion. A scene more suitable for such a display can hardly be imagined. The portrait of her Majesty in a great scarlet hoop, farthingale, and ruff, is over one of the doors. One very singular ornament finds place in this regal apartment — a cast of the head of the celebrated Lady Dorothy Vernon before named, the daughter of Sir George ; one of the greatest beauties of her time, but who, in life, valued her charms so little as never to have consented to sit to sculptor or painter. The cast' was taken after death with the swathing drapery bandaged around it — and presents a truly cadaverous object. This is the more to be regretted, as she is the heroine of Iladdon whose marriage with Sir John Manners brought it into the Rutland family, the present duke being their lineal descendant. Sir John is invested by tradition with all that is most captivating to maiden's eye and maiden's heart ; and few are they, amongst those of Derbyshire, who think the Lady Dorothy did anything but what was " wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best," in eloping with so gallant a knight. It is said, that for the love he bore her, he lurked in the woods around Iladdon for months previous to the night of the grand masqued ball ; when, after mingling unknown amongst the company, he met the Lady Dorothy at the door of her chamber, which opened on the garden, " and bore her away for his bride/' The door through which she made her escape is still shown, and the avenue of lime-trees along which the lovers flew towards the open fields is honored with the title of u The Lady Dorothy's Walk." It contains but few pictures; one, however, shines conspicuous; it is a fine portrait of Thomas, the first Earl of Rutland; he is strikingly handsome. At the upper end of the gallery is the entrance to the ante-room of the state bed-chamber ; both are adorned with friezes and cornices of boars' heads and peacocks al- ternately — and also with several good pictures of Queen Elizabeth, 28 HADDON HALL. Charles I., Prince Rupert, and Prince Maurice, by Yan Dyck. In tlie bed-room is a large bas-relievo of Orpheus charming the animals with his lyre : wliile opposite to it, in a spacious oriel which is raised ;i few steps from the level of the floor, is a large antique mirror in a very curious frame, and several old-fashioned chairs. In the centre of the room, on a floor of hard plaster partially covered by a carpet, stands the state bed of green velvet lined with white satin, golden lined with age. The velvet curtains hang in heavy folds, surmounted at the top by large white plumes. The white satin coverlet, elabo- rately ornamented with needlework of silk and gold, has the letters K. R. embroidered in the centre; the whole is said to have been the work of Eleanor, co-heiress of Lord Poos, who became the wife of Sir Robert Manners in the reign of Henry VI., and brought the princely domain of Bel voir as her marriage portion. This room is hung with Gobelin tapestry of brilliant colours — the subjects from JEsop's Fables. Close to the side of the bed is a door concealed by the tapestry. When opened, it swings heavily back upon the stone steps of a tower of great height, with small rooms on every landing- place. A corresponding door in its wall, directly opposite the one near the bed, opens on the terraced side of the hill, which is covered with trees. Nearly all the rooms of Haddon are hung with tapestry, some of it very fine. The doors concealed beneath it are often only bare boards fastened together with great nails, and having for fastenings iron bars, wooden bolts, hasps, or staples. The walls which it covers are of the roughest masonry, seldom plastered, and resembling the outside Mall of some common barn. The Eagle Tower is loftier than all the rest, and is supposed to have been the keep of some more ancient edifice. In one of its small rooms on the leads is a frame formerly used for stringing the bows. This tower is circular, and contains a spiral staircase, with nume- rous chambers at different elevations, which are supposed to have been occupied at some remote period by the family and its retainers. Nearly all the rooms in Haddon art' very gloomy, the greater number having seldom more than one window with small leaded HADDON HALL. 29 panes deeply set in the thickness of the enormous wall, and placed very high. Though extremely comfortless, according to the luxurious ideas of modern times, yet this place was for ages renowned for its hospitality and magnificence. The hoar's head was served up every Christmas with great pomp, garnished with sprigs of rosemary, and ushered in with a song, the sound of trumpets, and minstrelsy; it was received with high honour and reverence as the chief dish, but instead of being devoured like the other substantial viands which accompanied it to the festive board, it was reserved to grace the sideboard during the twelve days after Christmas. Until within the last few years one of the chief attractions of ITaddon Hall was Mistress Dorothy Hage, its hereditary and most honoured housekeeper, whose tine antique appearance corresponded so completely with the old feudal pile of which she was the tutelary guardian and cicerone, that she seemed to those whom she attended in that capacity, more like one of the old family pictures reanimated, than a personage of flesh and blood. Tall and gaunt, with aquiline features, clear brown complexion, and eyes like a mountain eagle, Mistress Dorothy, who in her youth had been very handsome, still retained at a very advanced age many of the tricks of beauty : bri- dling her long neck, and casting down her eyes with a meek purring look, when pleased, or flashing awful glances of scorn and displeasure at those who dared to undervalue anything that had belonged to the Ver-nons, which name pronounced by her in two prolonged syllables in a sonorous tone was truly imposing, the ear vibrated beneath its weight, as with solemn cadence, it perpetually recurred in the slow and measured description which, in raven tones, she was wont to give of the former glories of Iladdon. Quaintly habited in long wasp-waisted gown with stiff skirt of great amplitude, having on her head a small Phrygian-shaped bonnet or cowl of black silk, and holding in her hand a bunch of strange-looking keys, she walked with erect figure before the stranger through the old halls and courts of Iladdon, like one of its former inhabitants. A few pithy words oracularly delivered, with an occasional lifting of the long, lean arm 00 IIADDtiN HALL. to point out some object under description, included all her display of oratory. Woe to the thoughtless maiden who should be observed snipping a morsel of fringe or tapestry to carry home as a relic; woe to the reckless youth who should presume to race through the Long Gallery. These were offences which bore down her philosophy, and invariably resulted in the summary and ignominious ejectment of the culprit. Her phraseology was peculiar. The late beautiful and highly-gifted Duchess of Rutland, with whom she was a great favour- ite, was always styled by her " Our Dame the Duchess," and the duke, " Our Master the Duke." This fine old specimen of feudal attachment and honest worth, died at a very advanced age at Haddon, — having never been more than a few miles from it in the whole course of her life. A DREAM OF HOME. H Mother ! sacred ! dear ! in dreams of thee, I sate, again a child beside thy knee ; Nestling amid thy robe delightedly. And all was silent in the sunny room Save bees that hummed o'er honeysuckle bloom, I gazed upon thy face, so mild — so fair — I heard thy holy voice arise in prayer ; Oh Mother ! Mother ! thou thyself wcrt there I Thou, by the placid brow, the thoughtful eye, The clasping hand, the voice of melody. I clung around thy neck, the tears fell fast- Like rain in summer, yet, the sorrow passed— And smiles more beautiful than e'en the last Played on thy lip, dear Mother! such it wore To bless our happy home in days of yore. ( r HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. N" the 22d day of April, 1509, King Henry VII., who had ascended the throne of England twenty-four years before, amid the acclama- tions of a whole people, almost unanimously hailing him as the man of a new era, and the founder of a new epoch, died in the midst of joy far more general, sincere, and better founded than that which had greeted his ac- cession. For the oppressions, bad as they were, of the seventh Henry, there are palliations, if not excuses, to be found in the circumstances, both antecedent and subsequent to his seizure of the throne. Even for his seizure of it there was some shadow of apology. England, at the period of his invasion, was groaning under the usurped rule " Of an untitled tyrant, bloody sceptered ;" the true heiress to the crown, Elizabeth of York, was a weak girl, who, even if it had been possible for her to attain her rights, could by no conceivable chance have governed the turbulent spirits of the two rival factions which, for well-nigh a century, had torn the intestines of their native land ; and he himself, if not the legitimate heir, had in some degree been led to regard himself as such, and was, it must be ad- mitted, the only living person who could hope to unite such a force under his banners as to rescue England, and when rescued, to give her peace, repose, and the blessings of a permanent and just government. That he did not, scarcely made a show even of doing, this latter is his crime and his disgrace. He died the wealthiest, probably the most powerful, assuredly the most detested, prince in Europe. 34 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. His son, aged 17, King Henry VIII., ascended the same puissant seat, among the same joy, the same acclamations that greeted his father, under far brighter auspices, far loftier promise, in his turn to die, after a reign of thirty-seven years, on the 28th day of January, 1547, amid the undissembled rejoicings of the most loyal people in the world, alienated from the true affections, which they bore him, by tyranny, cruelty, crime, happily unexampled in Europe, unless we return to the days of Tiberius, Nero, and Domitian. Henry VIII. ascended the throne with the gayest and most glorious auguries that ever lighted a young heir to royalty. There was not one cloud to cast a shadow upon the sunshine of his promise. His title was undisputed, his crown his by right, as in fact, and as by the universal consent of the people, over whom God in his wonder- ful wisdom permitted him to reign. He had no hatreds, public or domestic, to gratify, no injuries to avenge, no feuds to cherish, no onerous benefits to repay, no clamorous adherents to conciliate or sat- isfy. He was in the flower of youth, just entering his eighteenth year ; overflowing with health and animal spirits ; handsome, of royal port and manly stature of the largest mould ; expert in all graceful and ath- letic exercises ; blessed, with an education, most rare for princes or nobles in those da} T s, and entitled to be held learned, even among men of uncommon learning. He possessed a bold, frank, open address, which ever wins favor from the people ; he had a ready wit; was not without that sort of bluff and burly good-humor arising, in truth, only from a sense of well-being and self-gratification, which so often passes in the great for goodness of heart; and was abundantly liberal, even to lavish profusion, which, of all qualities in princes, most challenges the admiration and pur- chases the affection of the masses. In view of his occasions, his personal capacities, his acquired quali- fications, the real grandeur of his position, which had no single draw- back, and his general popularity with all classes and estates of the realm, it may be safely said, that no monarch ever climbed the steps of state with such opportunities of real utility, greatness, and goodness, HENKY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 35 of living rich in a people's love, and dying with an immortal name, as Henry VIII. of England. There was not much to be admired in the character of Henry VIII. He had an original proclivity to evil, increasing gradually, through self-indulgence, through entire absence of all governance or restraint by himself or others, through almost absolute power of self-gratifica- tion, and through the basest adulation of those around him, until everything that there had existed in him of relatively good was merged in a slough of sensuality, selfishness, self-sufficiency, and disregard to all but his own pleasures ; and he became a mere slave to his lust and unbridled passions. He ascended the throne of England, at the commencement of a great epoch in the world's history, and in an era distinguished by more great names of greatest men contemporaneous, and greatest events crowding each one the other out of notice, than any that had occurred before, since the fall of the Roman Empire, or has occurred since, until the end of the eighteenth and the commencement of the nineteenth centuries. Less than forty years before his birth, in 1455, the first Bible had been printed at Mentz ; when he was but one year old, America was rediscovered by Christopher Columbus, who, as the phrase went in those days, gave a new world to Castile and Leon ; ten years after he ascended the throne, Luther began to preach against the sale of indulgences and the supremacy of the Pope ; five years later, when he had ruled England only fifteen years of the thirty-seven dur- ing which he oppressed the throne with the weight of his bloody tyr- anny, chivalry fought its last fight, and found its grave at Marignano and Pavia ; and gunpowder decided that the steel-clad cavalry of the feudal aristocracies should no longer override the people, and decide the fate of nations, by the shock of their lances, and the clang of their iron horse-hoofs. Four new powers in the world, in the space in which one man creeps from his cradle to his grave ! And what four powers ! — each mightier in itself and in its consequences, than all which the intellect of man had developed, in all the antecedent centuries — each one in itself sufficient to have revolutionized the world, and recreated a new HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 37 But the happiness of the young pair, if happiness there were, was as transitory as the show that inaugurated it ; for on the second day of April, 1502, "Prince Arthur died of the plague, being in the prin- cipality of Wales, in a place they call Ludlow. In this house was Donna Catalina left a widow when she had been married scarcely six months." After the death of her young husband, Katharine still continued in England ; until, as it appears, much against her will, Henry TIL and her father, Ferdinand, a cold-blooded, crafty politician, not widely dif- fering in manner from the English usurper, hatched up a marriage be- tween her and Henry, duke of York, her brother-in-law, and obtained a dispensation from the then ruling pope, Julius II. Katharine objected to this second marriage, and yielded only to the policy of her father. Her mother, Isabella of Castile, in some sort shared in her daughter's repugnance ; for she would not consent until she had obtained a breve, or authenticated copy of the bill of dispen- sation, which she afterward contrived to transmit to her daughter, who had it in her possession twenty -six years afterward, when the validity of her marriage was so basely and brutally called in question. Her marriage took place on the day of St. Bernabo, June 11th, 1509, and she was crowned afterward on the day of St. John. Warham, archbishop of Canterbury, and chancellor of England, did object in council to the celebration of this marriage, in consequence of undue affinity of the parties, but Fox, bishop of Winchester, urg- ing it strongly on the grounds of expediency, and the king pressing it with all the wilful headstrongness of his passionate nature, all opposition was withdrawn, and the nuptials were performed with great pomp and splendor. Katharine was at this time very beautiful, in the Spanish style, tall and of stately person, with a profusion of magnificent black hair. She had been married but a few days, and was attired as a bride, in white embroidered satin ; her hair, which was black and very beautiful, hung at length down her back, almost to her feet ; she wore on her head a coronal set with many orient stones. The queen, thus attired as a royal bride, was seated in a litter of white cloth of gold, borne by 38 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. two white horses. She was followed by the female nobility of Eng- land, drawn in whirlcotes, a species of car that preceded the use of coaches. Thus she proceeded to the palace of Westminster, where diligent preparation was making for the coronation next day. Caven- dish asserts that all the orders for the king's coronation and the funeral of King Henry VII. was given by Katharine; the illness of the king's grandmother and the youth of the king were, perhaps, the reasons that she had 'thus to exert herself. For two years the court of England was brilliant with one continu- ous display of masques, banquets, balls by night, tournaments, joust- ing, and fighting at the barriers with sword or battle-axe by day, in the presence of the queen and her ladies, who dispensed the rewards of valor to the victors. Vanity was as distinct and as active an ingredient as either sensu- ality or seltislmess, in the character of Henry VIII. It was, moreover, as is not unusual, the first to develop and display itself in broad colors, for both sensuality and selfishness require indulgence and nutriment, whereby to grow great, and are rarely- strongly marked in the young. Henry's noble stature, immense power, and vigorous ac- tivity, in his earlier years, before his limbs grew heavy and his frame obese, gave him surpassing advantage in all military and athletic ex- ercises; and it cannot be doubted that, in all that pertained to the use of weapons, the management of horses, the personal skill of the knight, he was a consummate man-at-arms. Proud, young, and strong, he was brave by concurrence of natural endowments, as by the neces- sities of blood and birth. In 1511, Queen Katharine was delivered, on the first day of the year, of a son. to the great joy of the lather, and among the general rejoic- ings of the nation. The happiness, however, of both king and people proved to be premature; for the child died before the month closed, and his fate seemed to be in sonic sort prophetic; since out of several births no heir male was spared to Henry, who earnestly desired one, nor did any other child survive of this marriage, except the Princess Mary, afterward queen, who was born on February 18, 1516. It was about this time that Thomas Wolsey, a man of inferior HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 39 birth, but of parts, energy, capacity, and ambition equal only to the elevation to which he afterward arose, and to the depth of his downfall and disgrace, began to acquire the great ascendency over the king which he so long enjoyed. lie was a liberal and munificent protector of letters, a powerful patron of the arts ; he had a noble taste in architecture, which he bounteously promoted, having built at his own cost, and it is said from his own designs, the chaste and splendid palace of Hampton Court, which he afterward presented to the king, his master, fully furnished in a style of princely munificence — the most noble gift ever bestowed by a subject on a crowned head. If he were grasping of wealth, it was to spend it in lordly lavislmess, promoting all the arts of industry and civilization, not to hoard it in avaricious coffers, or bestow it on unworthy favorites. lie has been accused of encouraging Henry to extravagance, and discouraging him from business, in order to have the greater hold on him, as being the more necessary both to his pleasures and his councils. His establishment consisted of eight hundred individuals, earls, knights, and gentlemen of high lineage ; his splendor and pomp were scarce surpassed by those of royalty itself. From this time forth, "on solemn fast-days he would say mass after the manner of the pope him- self; not only bishops and abbots serving him therein, but even dukes and earls giving him water and the towel. Besides, not contented with the cross of York to be carried before him, lie added another of his legacy, which two of the tallest priests that could be found carried on great horses before him. Insomuch that it grew to a jest, as if one cross might not suffice for the expiation of his sins." Never, perhaps, before or since, had any subject risen in so short a time to such pre- ferment, wealth, preeminence, and power; never in after-days did one fall more lamentably. We have seen the splendor of his ascension ; the next act in the drama of the master's life is the superb servant's downfall and disgrace. Up to this period, 1518, Henry, aged 26, was a rash, vain, luxu- rious, headstrong, and self-willed prince ; but little had yet shown itself in his disposition which indicated the obstinate and brutal 40 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. tyranny, or the merciless love of blood, which hereafter grew upon him, till they became his most distinctive attributes. But now the influences had begun to affect him, which soon converted him into a savage and brutal tyrant, void equally of justice, gratitude, or mercy. From this point the declension of his character commences, and the decline is lamentably rapid. Though she had been beautiful and majestic when she was first wedded to him, Katharine was eight years Henry's senior; her health seems to have been delicate from the beginning, none of her children surviving many months, with the exception of the Princess Mary, who was subject from her childhood to violent attacks of constitutional and probably neuralgic headaches; her beauty soon faded, and, though she retained to the last so much of respect and esteem as Henry was capable of feeling toward any woman, she had already lost all hold on his passions, which seem to have been his nearest sentiment to love or affection. In June, 1520, the celebrated conference between the two kings of England and France, Henry and Francis, was held within the con- fines of the then English district of Calais, so far-renowned in legend and romance, as well as in the sober page of history, as the Field of Cloth of Gold. The queens, with all their trains and retinues all the beauty and brilliancy, all the valor and glory of the two great rival realms, were present. All the leaders of England's feudal aristocracy were summoued by name to attend, which they did in such extrava- gant style and at so great expense, as to entail even to this day its effects on many of their estates. At this interview, Anne Boleyn was present, as well, probably, as Jane Seymour, another embryo queen of England, both officiating as uiaids-of-honor to Queen Claude, surnanied the Good, and therefore brought into the closest contact with the royalty of England. The presence of Anne Boleyn was, as yet, of no moment to the royal Katharine, although her mind had been already somewhat troubled by the " coquetries" of the other sister, Mary Boleyn, with King Henry. It is not, however, improbable that the royal eye had been attracted by both these fair English maids-of-honor of the French Queen ; HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 41 since, when the war broke out, a year or two later, they were both summoned to vacate their situations in the French court, and on their return, Anne was appointed to the same place in the household of Katharine which she had previously held in that of Claude ; and. on her advancement to the crown, Jane Seymour occupied that very position, and with similar results, which she had herself misused toward her right-royal predecessor. Queen Katharine and Cardinal "VVolsey had lived in the greatest harmony till this time, when his increasing personal pride urged him to conduct which wholly deprived him of her esteem. One day, the Duke of Buckingham was holding the basin for the king to wash, when it pleased the cardinal to put in his hands. The royal blood of the duke rose in indignation, and he flung the water in Wolsey's shoes, who, with a revengeful scowl, promised Buckingham " that he would sit on his skirts." The duke treated this as a joke, for he came to court in a jerkin, and being asked by the king the reason of this odd costume, he replied that " it was to prevent the cardinal from executing his threat, for if he wore no skirts they could not be sat upon." Buckingham had been guilty of such imprudences, to call them by no lighter name, and had committed himself so strangely in speeches, showing that he looked forward to the king's death without issue, as a desirable contingency which might have the effect of raising him- self to the vacant throne, as might well have excited the suspicions and even the fears of a king less jealous, suspicious, and vindictive than he whom he had unfortunately aroused. And there can be no manner of doubt, that without any instiga tion on the cardinal's part, though probably his instigation was not wanting, Henry would himself have pursued Buckingham to the block, on less ground of suspicion than the unhappy nobleman had actually given. There is no pretence brought forward that he was not tried fairly ; indeed, unusual impartiality would seem to have been used in this case, which was tried by a duke, a marquis, seven earls, and twelve barons. In answer to his sentence, he professed ';hat he never had been a 42 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. traitor, declared that he had nothing against his judges, prayed God to pardon them his death, even as he did, and declining to beg his life, left himself to the king's disposal, and died as he had lived, a gentleman, lie was accordingly beheaded, the other revolting par- ticulars of a traitor's doom being remitted to him. Queen Katharine made strenuous intercession for the duke, and after useless pleading for him with the king, did not conceal her opin- ion of Wolsey's conduct in the business. The point of succession was an extremely sore subject with Henry. Heirs male were ever his grand disiderata ; and it is more than pos- sible that, had the sons of Queen Katharine lived and promised hearty health, Anne Bolcyn never had succeeded to her honors, while she was yet alive ; and that, if Anne's child, Elizabeth, had been as mas- culine in sex as she proved afterward to be in soul, her mother would never have made way for Jane Seymour, by the brief and bloody pas- sage from the tower to the grave. Henry had, at this time, no heir male, no hope of having any. Buckingham had announced his intention of claiming the crown, should Henry die childless ; and, when we consider the fact, that since the Conquest, but one woman, Matilda, had ever succeeded to the throne, and she only to have it disputed through twenty years of civil war at the sword's point, we cannot wonder, or much blame the king, if he merely enforced the law, without granting mercy. At this period, Katharine disappears almost entirely from the page of history. Her ill-health probably incapacitated her from taking, any longer, a part in Henry's absurd pageants and revelries; as her gentle and domestic habits held her aloof from his hunting matches, in which she never took any delight. Her studious tastes increased on her, at the same time her religious observances degenerated into something like asceticism, and, at the very moment when her declin- ing beauty, her increasing years, and her failure to give him a son, had begun to operate on Henry to her disadvantage, she furnished her rival with weapons against herself, by withdrawing herself from par- ticipation in the king's boisterous amusements. It is significant of Henry'- infatuation, and of his probable deter- HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEEXS. 43 mination, already formed, that at the conferences held between Francis, king of Franco, and Henry, for the marriage of the Princess Mary, Katharine's daughter, to the Dauphin, according to his own and Wolsey's statement, that Mary's legitimacy was called in question by the Bishop of Tarbez, the envoy of the French king, through which, as they allege, the king's conscience was awakened to the illegality and incestuous nature of his connection with his late brother's widow. From this time he began to move, secretly however, and carefully concealing his proceedings from the injured queen, for a divorce, in order to gratify at once his licentious passion for the charms of the coy and coquettish maid-of-honor, Anne Boleyn, who would be ap- proached on no terms save those of matrimony, and his scarcely in- ferior desire for heirs male. That the Bishop of Tarbez should have raised doubts as to the legitimacy of the princess, whom Henry had ever represented as his heiress, presumptive, at the least; the legality oi whose mother's marriage had never been called in question ; and whom ho was him- self, then and there, soliciting as a wife for the king, his master, who vehemently urged an immediate performance of the ceremony, despite the immature years of the bride, is so unlikely, and as it were ridicu- lous, that, were proof wanting, we might doubt the Avhole story. Evidently, it was a device of the king and Wolsey, to account for the origination of such a scruple in the eighteenth year of an acknowl- edged, undisputed, fertile, and apparently happy marriage, and for the demand of a divorce, literally speaking, after the twelfth hour. From this time forth, until the whole of that iniquity was accom- plished, England had no continental policy, other than this of " the king's secret matter," as it was henceforth styled by himself and the counsellors in whom he trusted. For this, he risked a rupture witli one or both of the two puissant princes between whom he affected to hold the balance; for this he attempted to throw dust in the eye- of both, making and breaking contracts in a manner which can only be explained by considering how impossible it was that he could do aught consistently, or even promise aught with a prospect of its fulfilment, so long as he had at his heart this unworthy project determined, but 44 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QL'KKNS. uii revealed ; and for this, in the end, he broke with the Holy See, mid, at the imminent hazard of a religious rebellion, enforced a total change of church policy, if not of faith, on his country, certainly before it was prepared in general for such a change. It must have been a cruel aggravation to Katharine's anxieties, to have Anne always about her person, present at all her progresses and entertainments, attracting, doubtless, all the king's eyes by the co- quetries which she so Avell knew how to practice, and monopolizing the attentions which had once been her own, and which she was not content to resign. During all this trying time, the conduct of Katharine was more than irreproachable; it combined all that consummate wisdom, per- fect temper, feminine dignity, and conjugal duty could effect or sug- gest. Thus far, all decorum had been preserved between Henry and his new dulcinea, however he might solicit her in private, ply her with love-letters, decorate her with jewels, distinguish her above all other ladies. Thus far, it is probable, save in the resolve to rise unlawfully, Anne was an innocent woman. So tar, therefore, since Katharine sacri- ficed nothing of self-respect, dignity, or decorum, resolute to do nothing which should provoke, or in any way justify, a separation from her on Henry's part, and determined to maintain her own rights and those of her daughter, at all hazards, she would see nothing, hear nothing, though of course seeing and hearing all things, but treated her rival with un- varying gentleness and propriety, accommodated herself to every wish of her husband, mingled more generally in the sports and amusements of the court, took part in the balls and masques, inclined her ear to minstrelsy, and made every effort to reconciliate the affections of her capricious and licentious despot. To the accomplishing the divorce from Queen Katharine, Wolsey had now, though reluctantly, brought himself to agree, though not with a view to the king's marriage with Anne; for, reckoning on his master's wonted fickleness of humor, and probably underrating the lath's powers of resistance to her royal lover's passion, he calculated fully on his being soon weaned from this short-lived folly, and went so tar as to speculate on his marriage with Renee, the younger sister HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX. QUEENS. 45 of Claude, queen of France, and even to assure Louise, the queen- mother, and probably Francis also, that such a connection, between the two crowns, would certainly and speedily ensue. On his return to England, he learned Henry's determination, and the inutility of attempting to oppose it. He went so far, indeed, as to implore the king on his knees to abandon the project ; but on finding him resolute, and knowing the perduracy and violence of his resolution, he yielded his own judgment and conscience, and served his master to the last, more truly, as he himself confessed too late, than he served his God, until his bad ends were accomplished. But not so truly as to save himself innocent from the beautiful favorite's displeasure ; for Anne learned, from her lover, the opposition of the cardinal, and never forgave it, as it seems she never forgave any one whom she thought an enemy. From this day, therefore, although it was by his means, solely, that the divorce was accomplished, and Anne's marriage rendered possible, Wolsey's downfall w T as dated. From this day, likewise, may be dated the death-sentence of the venerable Fisher, bishop of Rochester, and of the excellent Sir Thomas More ; for they had both given opinions adverse to the divorce, and, although they continued to hold office, and even apparently to enjoy the royal favor, they were both in- scribed on the black-list of the revengeful mistress, who never rested from her ill-offices toward them until their heads had fallen. The pope signed two instruments, but requested that, forthe present, they might be kept secret ; and afterward, at Henry's request, appointed a cardinal, to be chosen by Henry himself, out of six of that rank, who should try the cause in conjunction with Wolsey. It is worthy of remark here, in connection with what followed in regard to Henry's rupture with Rome, that Clement, who was favorably disposed and bound by gratitude to him from the beginning, warned him " That he was taking the most circuitous route." In April, 1528, plenary powers were issued to Wolsey to try the cause, without judicial forms, to pronounce according to his own con- science, without regard to exception or appeal, the marriage valid or invalid, and the issue thereof legitimate or illegitimate, according to the desire of Henry. HENKY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX.QUEENS. 45 of Claude, queen of France, and even to assure Louise, the queen- mother, and probably Francis also, that such a connection, between the two crowns, would certainly and speedily ensue. On his return to England, he learned Henry's determination, and the inutility of attempting to oppose it. He went so far, indeed, as to implore the king on his knees to abandon the project ; but on finding him resolute, and knowing the perduracy and violence of his resolution, he yielded his own judgment and conscience, and served his master to the last, more truly, as he himself confessed too late, than he served his God, until his bad ends were accomplished. But not so truly as to save himself innocent from the beautiful favorite's displeasure ; for Anne learned, from her lover, the opposition of the cardinal, and never forgave it, as it seems she never forgave any one whom she thought an enemy. From this day, therefore, although it was by his means, solely, that the divorce was accomplished, and Anne's marriage rendered possible, Wolsey's downfall w T as dated. From this day, likewise, may be dated the death-sentence of the venerable Fisher, bishop of Rochester, and of the excellent Sir Thomas More ; for they had both given opinions adverse to the divorce, and, although they continued to hold office, and even apparently to enjoy the royal favor, they were both in- scribed on the black-list of the revengeful mistress, who never rested from her ill-offices toward them until their heads had fallen. The pope signed two instruments, but requested that, for the present, they might be kept secret ; and afterward, at Henry's request, appointed a cardinal, to be chosen by Henry himself, out of six of that rank, who should try the cause in conjunction with Wolsey. It is worthy of remark here, in connection with what followed in regard to Henry's rupture with Rome, that Clement, who was favorably disposed and bound by gratitude to him from the beginning, warned him " That he was taking the most circuitous route." In April, 1528, plenary powers were issued to Wolsey to try the cause, without judicial forms, to pronounce according to his own con- science, without regard to exception or appeal, the marriage valid or invalid, and the issue thereof legitimate or illegitimate, according to the desire of Henry. 40 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. The king and Anne were at first in ecstasies, imagining- that the whole matter was decided, and all difficulty at an end ; but at this moment Wolsey took the alarm. If he granted the divorce, he was ruined with both France and Spain, and all for the sake of one, from whom he was well assured he had no kindness to expect ; for he well knew that Anne Boleyn hated him, with a perfect and sufficient hatred. If he refused the divorce, he lost Henry's favor, lost his posi- tion, his power, his fortunes, probably his head ; for, although the king had not yet shown himself the sanguinary executioner into which he, a few years later, degenerated, Wolsey unquestionably knew his nature, and had discovered the latent instincts of the royal tiger, which needed only to be thwarted, that they should display themselves in all their brutal force and fury. Wolsey now temporized; he required that Cardinal Campeggio should be sent from Rome to join him in the commission, and as being more acquainted with the laws of the Romish Church. On the eighteenth of June, the court met to try the case in the parliament chamber at Black Friars. The king and queen were both cited to appear. The latter, on doing so, protested against the judges, denied the jurisdiction of the court, and appealed to Rome. On the following clay, she cast herself at the king's feet, uttered a pathetic ap- peal to his sympathies, and then with a low obeisance retired, whisper- ing to an attendant, when an officer was sent to recall her, " I never before disputed the will of my husband, and shall take the first oppor- tunity to ask pardon for this disobedience." On her refusal to appear, either in person or by attorney, she was pronounced contumacious ; and the trial proceeded in her absence, Henry's counsellors demanding the abrogation of the marriage on these three grounds: 1. That her marriage with Arthur having been consummated, her subsequent marriage with Henry was contrary to divine law, and therefore null and void from the beginning ; 2. That the bull of Pope Julius II. had been obtained under false pretences ; and, 3. That the breve of dispensation, produced by Katharine, which was not liable to the defects of the bull, was a forgery. As Katharine had declined the jurisdiction of the court, no reply was made by her HEXRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 47 to these allegations ; but Campeggio did not choose to pronounce judgment, and solicited the pope to call the cause before himself. In the meantime the term expired, and the matter was adjourned until the following October. Henry and Anne were furious. The lady extorted from her lover a promise never again to see Wolsey, and the tyrant kept his word. When the Michaelmas term arrived, Campeggio bade his brother car- dinal farewell, and departed for Rome. From this time, however, the fall of Wolsey must be dated. He had, it is true, strained every point, sacrificed conscience, duty, truth, used every solicitation, every exertion, left no stone unturned, to gratify the will of his exacting, unrelenting master. But he had failed. It was known that he had been originally, probably was still, opposed on principle, and in his own heart, to Henry's marriage with Anne. Therefore she hated him, and it would seem that, under her soft, se- ductive, gentle exterior, she concealed a nature almost as unforgiving as her royal lover's. Henry, probably at her suggestion, was led to mistrust the sincerity of the cardinal's endeavors, perhaps even to sus- pect him of double-dealing. His want of success was attributed to want of faith, and he was marked for destruction. On the very day when he opened his court, as chancellor, two bills were filed against him by the attorney -general, Hales, under what was commonly called the statute praemunire, which he was accused of hav- ing transgressed in his legatine court. Nothing could have been more inquitous than the whole transaction. It was doubtful whether that statute had any application to the court of the pope's legate. At all events, he had the royal license previously obtained, and the sanction of parliament ; besides that immemorial usage was in his favor. He knew too well, however, the temper of the royal brute, fiercer and more untamable than the animal which has obtained the title, and the pitch of frenzy to which opposition aroused him. He declined, therefore, to plead even the royal license, but owned his guilt, resigned his seals, submitted to every demand, divested himself of all his personal property, granted to the king by indenture the reve- nues of all his benefices and church preferments, and threw himself 4:8 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. wholly and unconditionally on Henry's mercy, professing his willing- uess to give up even the shirt from his back, and to live in a hermit- age, if Henry would but cease from his displeasure. But that, it was not in the nature of the regal monster to do. Fluctuate he might, and in the variations of his tickle, cruel mood show glimpses of re- lenting. But to one who had, in truth, once incurred his resentment, or, what was the same thing, his suspicion, he relented never. The king himself took possession of his palace at York House, and the car- dinal was banished to Esher, a large, unfurnished house, where ho dwelt for above three months, with his large family, destitute of every comfort and convenience, neglected by his friends — if a fallen favorite have any friends — forgotten by the king, but unforgotten by his ene- mies, who never ceased to possess Henry's ear with all ill-rumors against him. Here he conducted himself with such a mixture of quiet dignity, liberal generosity, christian charity, and clerical propriety, that he gained all hearts. He became beloved, alike by the rich and the poor, and those who had the most hated him in his prosperity, the most in- clined toward him in his adversity. Still Anne's word was ever against him. She was the " nightcrow," as he said, that ever whis- pered in the royal ear misrepresentations of his most loyal and most virtuous actions. On the 7th of November he was arrested on a charge of high- treason. The closing scene of this great man — for, if he had his errors of ambition, vanity, and pride, as who hath not his errors ? he was still both a great man and a great minister — is admirably and curtly told by Lingard. "His health," says he (he suffered much from dropsy), "would not allow him to travel with expedition; and at Sheffield park, a seat of the Earl of Shrewsbury, he was seized with a dysentery, which confined him a fortnight. As soon as he was able to mount his mule, he re- sumed his journey ; but feeling his strength rapidly decline, he said to the Abbot of Leicester, as he entered the gate of the monastery, ' Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones among you.' lie was immediately carried to his bed ; and the second day seeing Kingston, the lieuten- HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 49 ant of the tower, in his chamber, he addressed him in these well-known words; 'Master Kingston, I pray yon have me commended to his majesty; and beseech him on my behalf to call to mind all things that have passed between us, especially respecting good Queen Katharine and himself; and then shall his grace's conscience know whether I have offended him or not. He is a prince of most royal courage ; rather than miss any part of his will, he will endanger one half of his kingdom ; and I do assure you I have often kneeled before him, sometimes for three hours together, to persuade him from his appe- tite, and could not prevail. And Master Kingston, had I but served God as diligently as i have served the king, he would not have given over my gray hairs. But this is my just reward for my pains' and study, not regarding my service to God, but only my duty to my prince.' Having received the last consolations of religion, he expired the next morning, in the sixtieth year of his age. The best eulogy on his character is to be found in the contrast between the conduct of Henry, before and after the cardinal's fall. As long as Wolsey con- tinued in favor, the royal passions were confined within certain bounds ; the moment his influence was extinguished, they burst through every restraint, and by their caprice and violence alarmed his subjects, and astonished the other nations of Europe." For one year longer, the unhappy queen continued to dwell as his loving wife with her reluctant husband, accompanying him in his progresses, eating at his board, and playing her part in the court pageants of which Anne was, in truth, the queen; but when, on the following Whitsuntide, she refused to submit her case to an English court, consisting of four prelates and four temporal nobles, and ex- pressed her determination "to abide by no decision but that of Kome," she was ejected contumeliously from Windsor castle ; all her jewels, all her wardrobe, except what she chanced to have on her person at the moment, and all the rich dowry she had brought to England, were confiscated; she was separated from her child, and infamously robbed of her dignity and title. Thenceforth she resided at her manor of More Park, and afterward at Ainpthill. On her expulsion from Windsor, Katharine replied only in these 50 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. touching words, — "Go where I may, I am his wife, and for him I will ever pray." She never again saw her husband or her child. Until after the marriage of Anne, she was allowed the title of queen, and the empty honor to be served on the knee, and to be treated with the external deference due to the rank which had been so rudely wrested from her. Of silent sorrow, of domestic grief, of anguish beyond ex- pression, patiently, nobly, nnmurmuringly endured, history never pre- serves a record. We know only of Katharine's life, during her seclu- sion, between her abandonment and her divorce, that her time was passed among her faithful ladies, in acts of charity, devotion, piety, varied only by the feminine arts and occupations of embroidery, to which she had always been addicted. Wherever she lived, the poor inhabitants of the neighborhood profited by her goodness, loved her, prayed for her, followed her with their sighs when she was removed from among them. From this time forth, Henry held no intercourse with his queen ; while on the contrary, Anne, who had ceased altogether from residing in her father's house, lived constantly under the same roof with him, ate at the same table with him, assisted at his councils, was present with him on all his journeys, at all public ceremonies, at all his parties of pleasure. When this indecorous mode of life had continued three years, she was secretly married to the king, on the 25th of January, which marriage was not acknowledged until the first of June, and bore him the Princess Elizabeth, on the 7th day of September, 1533, all these events taking place previously to the annulling of his mar- riage with Katharine. Three years elapsed, during which, so far from making any pro- gress toward gaining his object, he was constantly losing ground. Clement issued a breve forbidding Henry to many until his sentence should be published, and ordering him to treat Katharine as his law- ful wife. In England, where his influence would have seemed the most certain to prevail, he only at length extorted a favorable answer from the universities by threats and even open violence. For once Henry wavered. Fie fancied the difficulties insur- mountable, and told his confidants that he had been deceived ; that HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEE.VS. 51 he should never have sought for a divorce, had he not been led to believe that the pope's concurrence might easily be obtained, and that, finding that assurance false, he was minded to abandon the attempt forever. He had, in fact, carried his suit with Anne, had been disappointed by her not bearing him a son, or appearing likely to do so ; and his ardor for the divorce, as his passion for Anne, were on the decline. But at tins moment Cromwell, who had risen, from being a ser- vitor of Wolsey, on the ruin of his patron, instigated undoubtedly by Anne and her friends, suggested to Henry the wisdom of following the example of the German princes, shaking off the yoke of Rome, declaring himself the head of the church within his own realm, and taking into his own hands all the powers and privileges usurped by the pontiff. The avaricious and ambitious tyrant listened in aston- ishment and delight. It was not now his passion for Anne only — that was, perhaps, half satiated, and required some newer stimulus — it was his greed of gold, his burning thirst for authority and power, that were now awakened. Cromwell was sworn, at once, a member of the privy council, and instructed forthwith to take measures for carrying out his project. In January, 1531, the inhibitory breve was published, forbidding the king to proceed in his divorce of Katharine, or in his marriage with Anne. In the meantime, Henry, despairing of bringing Clement to terms by conciliation, refused to plead in person at Rome, or to send an excusator, endowed with full powers, to account for the cause of his absence, and convoked his parliament. They, assembling in the beginning of January, passed a series of bills, which were the com- mencement of that great revolution, which ended in the total aboli- tion of popish power in the British empire. The first of these prohibited all payment of the annates, or first-fruits of the Episcopal sees, to the see of Rome, by the English bishops, on pain of forfeiture to the king by the delinquent of the profits of his church preferments. The second provided for the consecration of future English bishops, by the archbishop, or two other prelates, in default of the issue, or in 52 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. despite of the prohibition, of the necessary Romish bulls. A third measure, vet more hostile to the pretensions of Rome, was the compul- sory assent of the clergy to a declaration, that they would never more enact, publish, or enforce their constitutions, without the royal author- ity and assent; and that they would submit those now in existence, to a committee of thirty-two, half laymen and half clergymen, with the king superintending in person, for rejection, confirmation, or altera- tion. And this, thenceforth, became the law of the land; and here- after the bishop of Rome ceased, in fact, and by law, to hold any juris- diction, spiritual or temporal, within the dominions of the English crown. During the past year, TVarham, archbishop of Canterbury, who had contended in vain with Wolsey, and been driven from the court on his ascendency, died; and "to' the surprise and sorrow" of many, Henry determined to raise Cranmer — whose zeal in favor of the divorce, his book in defence thereof, and his bold advocacy of the mea- sure at Rome, had conciliated both the king's and the favorite's regard, though he had not lung been in holy orders, — to that high dignity. The first measure taken by this prelate was to write a letter to Henry, as if of his own free will and suggestion, beseeching him, for the better regulation of the succession of the crown, to allow him to take cognizance of the case in his a rchi episcopal court, and hear the cause of the divorce, and put an end, as a duty to God and the king, to the doubts concerning the validity of the marriage. The next step was to procure the passing of an act of parliament, prohibiting, under the penalties of praemunire, any appeal from the spiritual judges of England to the courts of the pontiff. A convocation was then as- sembled, consisting of two courts, one of theologians, the other of canonists, who should give their decisions severally. . The theologians decided against the power of the pope's dispensa- tion, to render such a marriage valid, by sixty-six dissenting voices to nineteen ayes. The canonists declared on the sufficiency of proofs, by thirty-eight ayes to six negative votes. Botli courts thus deciding, directly, in Henry's favor, he granted HENEY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 53 to Cranmer his royal permission to proceed in his court, though he judged it necessary, in the first place, to remind him that he was only, as primate of England, the principal minister of the indefeasible spiritual jurisdiction resident in the crown, and that " the sovereign had no superior on earth, and was not subject to the laws of any earthly creature." Cranmer was ordered to proceed, and Katharine was cited to appear before him, at Dunstable, near Ampthill, where she resided. The service of the citation was proved on the tenth day of May, and on her non-appearance she was pronounced " contumacious." On the twelfth, a second citation was proved, when she was pronounced " verily and manifestly contumacious," and the court proceeded to hear arguments and read depositions, in proof of the consummation of her marriage with Prince Arthur. On the seventeenth she was a third time cited to hear the judgment of the court ; but to none of these citations did she pay any attention, having been advised that to do so would be to admit the archbishop's jurisdiction. Cranmer, therefore, on the Friday of Ascension-week, pronounced the marriage between her and Henry null and invalid, having been contracted and consummated in defiance of the divine prohibition, and, therefore, without force and effect from the very beginning. Thus, at the expense of all honor, honesty, justice, and religion, by the present change of the whole ecclesiastical polity, and future alteration of the entire faith of a great nation, by a total subversion of all domestic laws, and disruption of foreign relations, was consum- mated, to gratify a bad king's insane caprice for an heir male, this great and flagrant wrong against a woman, justly admitted, in all times, to be of the most virtuous, the most womanly, the most queenly, the most loyal, and most royal of her sex. But let none say that Katharine was unavenged. On that day, forever, Henry's good angels all abandoned him. From that day, no one of the manly virtues, no one of the kingly graces, any more abode with him. Up to this time he had been a man, though an obstinate, a selfish, and a willful man — a king, though a despotic, arrogant, self-sufficient, and ungovernable kimr. Henceforth he was deserted ol HEN BY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. by his better genius, given up, soul and body, "to the world, the flesh, and the devil."' Of Anne Boleyn's early life but little can be positively ascertained, owing to her long-continued absence from England, and to the want of correct memoranda concerning a person who was of little personal consequence, until her romantic rise and disastrous fall, after she had advanced, at least, toward maturity. The date even, about 1501, and the place of her birth, are doubtful ; the records and anecdotes of her youth are few and far between ; and it was found necessary to treat so fully of her conduct, in relation to her predecessor, Katharine, in mak- ing up the memoir of that sovereign lady, so closely were the threads of their fortunes and fates intermingled during the pendency of the pro- ceedings for divorce, and of Anne's accession to her perilous, and, as it proved, disastrous dignity, that little remains to be given, beyond a brief recital of facts, up to the date of her royal rival's decease, and the commencement of her own decline. She was of illustrious if not strictly noble blood ; of a family which had long enjoyed a high degree of royal favor, and which was con- nected by intermarriage with many of the proudest and most ancient lines in the realm. Her father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, who had distin- guished himself in the late reign, fighting for the present king's father against the Cornish insurgents, was the son of Sir William Boleyn, of Blickling Hall, in Norfolk. "No fairer spot than Blickling," says Miss Strickland, "is to be seen in the county of Norfolk. " Those magnificent, arcaded avenues of stately oaks and' giant chestnut-trees, whose majestic vistas stretch across the velvet verdure of the widely extended park, reminding us, as we walk beneath their solemn shades, of green cathedral aisles, were in their meridian glory three hundred and fifty years ago, when Anne Boleyn first saw the light in the adjacent mansion. " The room where she was born was shown, till that portion of the venerable abode of the Boleyns was demolished to make way for modern improvements." Anne Boleyn was in stature rather tall and slender, with an oval HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 55 face, black hair, and a complexion inclining to sallow ; one of her up- per teeth projected a little. She appeared, at times, to suffer from asthma. On her left hand a sixth linger might be perceived. On her throat there was a protuberance, which Chateaubriant describes as a disagreeably large mole, resembling a strawberry ; this she carefully covered with an ornamental collar-band, a fashion which was blindly imitated by the rest of the maids -of-honor, though they had never before thought of wearing anything of the kind. Her face and figure were in other respects symmetrical ; beauty and sprightliness sat on her lips ; in readiness of repartee, skill in the dance, and in playing on the lute, she was unsurpassed. She was unrivalled in the gracefulness of her attire, and the fertility of her inventions in devising new pat- terns, which were imitated by all the court belles, by whom she was i*egarded as the glass of fashion. The first procedure after the annulling of Henry's marriage with Katharine, was a declaration officially promulgated by Cranmer, in his court at Lambeth, that Henry and Anne were and had been joined in lawful matrimony, and that he himself confirmed it, of his own author- ity, as judge and prelate. This occurred on the 28th of May, 1533. On the first of June, Anne was crowned queen, with great pomp and unusual magnificence, amid jousts and tourneys, gorgeous proces- sions and triumphal arches, banquets and barriers, splintering of lances, bellowing of ordnance, flowing of conduits with wine and hypocras, smooth congratulations of the nobility, loud lip-loyalty of the mob, but amid the secret sorrow and contained wrath of the English people, and the openly expressed disgust and disdain of all Europe, Catholic and Protestant alike, without distinction of party, creed, or country. On this day Anne gained the cherished wish of her ambitions heart, the crown for which she had played so long, so skillfully, and, it must be said, so foully — the crown, which was so soon to bring- down the lair head that wore it, in sorrow, to a bloody grave. She was the queen of England ; and the last queen, in that cruel reign, although four yet succeeded her, who was indued solemnly with the diadem of the English empire. 56 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. An unusual ostentation of magnificence appears to have attended the celebration of these august nuptials. The fondness of the king for pomp and pageantry was at all times excessive, and on this occa- sion his love and his pride equally conspired to prompt an extraor- dinary display. Anne, too, a vain, ambitious, and light-minded woman, was probably greedy of this homage from her princely lover ; and the very consciousness of the dubious, inauspicious, or disgraceful circumstances attending their union, would secretly augment the anxiety of the royal pair to dazzle by the magnificence of their public appearance. Only once before, since the Norman conquest, had a king of England stooped from his dignity to elevate a private gentle- woman and a subject to a partnership of his bed and throne ; and the 1 litter animosities between the queen's relations on one side, and the princes of the blood and great nobles on the other, which had agi- tated the reign of Edward IV., and contributed to bring destruction on the heads of his helpless orphans, stood as a strong warning against a repetition of the experiment. On the seventh of September, Anne deceived his hopes by bearing him a girl, stronger to be in after days than any man-monarch who has preceded or succeeded her — a girl, Elizabeth, thereafter the woman-king of England. But this the blinded despot saw not; more than his light consort discerned the bloody winding-sheet, which had begun already to enfold her, still slowly creeping upward until it should envelope, to the neck, that headless trunk, which was now so soft and fair to look upon. The first warp of that ensanguined shroud was struck, on the day and hour when the baffled despot cursed and raved over the birth of a female offspring. With Katharine, no more than with Heaven, not profanely or irreverently be it spoken, could he prevail by any violence or fury of intimidation. It was in vain that he fulminated his orders against her. to forbear the style and avoid the title of queen, contenting her- self with the rank of dowager-princess of Wales, and the income settled on her by her husband, Arthur. It was in vain that he dis- missed such of her attendants, as should presume to style her queen, irrevocably front her service. To every injunction, e\vvy menace. HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 57 she had but one answer. She had lived, and would die, queen of England. And she did so. If Katharine were no longer queen of England, she was, more than ever, queen of the English ; and if he robbed her of all else, even her brute and most unworthy husband could never wholly rob her of his own esteem. For, when at last she exchanged a faded earthly crown for an incorruptible crown in heaven, he — even he, who garbed himself in white, and married another bride, on the very day when Anne died — who bade the physicians let beautiful Jane Seymour perish, if they might save her son, untimely born, "since wives were to be had for the getting, but sons only by the gift of God " — he, that bloated, bloody, remorseless, tearless monster, let fall one tear, almost his only one from childhood to the grave, at tidings of her decease, who certainly loved him — the only one of women. Before the ultimate decision of Rome, confirming the marriage of Katharine, and excommunicating both the king and Anne Boleyn, unless he repudiated her and took back to him his lawful wife, had reached the ears of Henry, the acts had passed the supreme courts of the land, from which lay no appeal, subtracting England from the sway of Home, and prohibiting, forever, the interference, spiritual or temporal, of foreign pontiff, as of foreign potentate, with the church, as with the state, of the earth-fast isle. On the second of March, 15-34, the blaze of bonfires, the roar of artillery, the shouts of viva VJEspagna, viva Vimperno, expressed the joy of the imperialists at the sentence, rendered by nineteen out of two-and-twenty cardinals, confirming the rights and titles of the noble Spanish princess, and deposing the adulterous concubine, her despised and hated rival, and made the Vatican resound their empty exultation. ( )n the 30th of the same month, silently, solemnly, without noise, or congratulation, or shouting, two bills passed the parliament of Eng- land and received the royal sanction. The one erected the submission of the clergy, made the previous year, into a law of the land. The other set aside the marriage of the queen. By this, all allegiance, all rendition of dues, all acknowledgment of powers or prerogatives, all appointment of prelates, all enactment of ;>S HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. bulls, canons, statutes, having force on English soil, were prohibited to Rome forever. Thus was the power of the pontiff annihilated at a blow, and the king of England, in esse, erected forever, dejure et de facto, into the supreme head of the Anglican church, spiritually no less than tempo- rally, not as an empty title, but as an abiding fact, for all future gen- erations. By the second act, Katharine's marriage was invalidated and made null and of no effect from the beginning — Anne's lawful and valid. The issue of Katharine was made illegitimate, and excluded from the succession — that of Anne's rightly born, and true heirs to the crown. Everything was now accomplished which this king had desired — far more, indeed, than he had at the first hoped or even aspired to gain, since he originally sought only, by a divorce, granted at the hands of the pope, to rid himself of one w T ife, and take to himself a younger and a fairer bride ; nor is it in the slightest degree probable that he would, then or thereafter, had he succeeded in his original ob- ject, have conceived an idea of limiting the pontifical authority in his dominions, much less of converting to himself the revenues of the church, or the right of the chief ruler. From opposition, however, he drew increased determination to resist ; and from the prosecution of resistance came the necessity of agents, able, ambitious and unscrupulous. A Me enough, doubtless, and more than ambitious enough, was AVol- sey ; but, though his conscience was by no means of the tenderest, it was not so completely seared against all sense of justice, patriotism, and religion, as to suit Henry's purpose. Therefore he fell ; partly, that he had not fully satisfied the expectations of his master ; more, that lie had awakened the enmity of the mistress, who never, it seems, spared any whom she had the desire and the power to destroy. This same year, while the process of spoliation was in operation, died in the castle of Kimbolton, where she had lived the last years of her life, almost in durance, that most royal woman, Katharine of Arra- gon. Nothing of persecution, of intimidation, of menace had ever induced her to abandon her style of queen of England, or tempted her to accept the asylum which Charles offered, and Henry dared not. HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 59 have disallowed, in Spain or the Netherlands — not that she valued the empty title, but that she would not invalidate her daughter Mary's claim to the succession, which she ever believed would come to be hers in time. She died on the 7th of January, 1536 ; and Henry, as I have said, wept, when he heard of her decease, and ordered his court into mourning for her loss. But his sympathy did not induce him to grant her last request, for an interview with her child, from whom he had savagely separated her ; nor did it deter him from endeavoring to seize himself of the small effects she had left behind her ; as he had previously done by her dowry, her jewels, and even her wardrobe, all of which, with the exception of what she actually wore, this foul disgrace, not of royalty, but of manhood, had detained, when he drove her out of her apartments at Windsor, to make way for her light rival. Her last letter to the husband of her youth, the father of her child, the destroyer of her happiness, her life, her all, except her honor, might have wrung tears from stone. It is here : — - " My lord and dear husband, I commend me to you. The hour of my death clraweth fast on, and, my case being such, the tender love I owe you forceth me, with a few words, to put you in remem- brance of the health and safeguard of your soul, which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and tendering of your own body, for the which you have cast me into many miseries, and yourself into many cares. For my part, I do pardon you all, yea, I do wish and devoutly pray God that he will also pardon you. " For the rest, I commend unto you Mary, our daughter, beseech- ing you to be a good father unto her, as I heretofore desired. I en- treat you also in behalf of my maids, to give them marriage portions, which is not much, they being but three. For all my other servants, I solicit a year's pay more than their due, lest they should be unpro- vided for. " Lastly, do I vow that mine eyes desire you above all things." Were one to exhaust all history, all romance, to draw to the utmost on the dreams of unmixed imagination, in order to find something nobler in its origin, more blessed in its early promise, more prosperous (Ill HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. and full of all good auguryin the first years of life's voyage, more con- sistent with that promise and augury in its undisturbed and gorgeous noontide, than the career of this illustrious princess and great queen, from her cradle to her fortieth year, or even something later, he would exhaust history, exhaust fiction, bankrupt imagination, to no purpose. Were he to ransack all storehouses of sorrow, humiliation, and indignity, heaped on a virtuous and almost perfect woman's head, and borne with unswerving constancy and patience, with unruffled temper, with more than manly dignity, yet w T ith the grace, the tenderness, the feminine affection of the most delicate and gentlest woman, he could find nothing to surpass, nothing to equal, the examples shown in the latter years of Katharine of Arragon. As Katharine of Arragon, no woman, recorded in veritable history, or portrayed in romance, approaches so nearly to perfection. So far as it is permitted to us to see her character, without or within, there was no speck to mar the loveliness, no shadow to dim the perfection, of her faultless, Christian womanhood. If anything mortal could he perfect, that mortal thing, so far as man may judge, was Katharine of Arragon. That rival now, when all the court wore mourning, and all Eng- land, but the court, mourned indeed, trapped herself in yellow robes, the color which best becomes a brunette, and professed herself " now indeed a queen." But her departed rival better knew Henry's heart than she; hearing one of her ladies cursing Anne, the sad queen cried, " Curse her not — curse her not, but rather pray for her, for even now is the time fast coming when you shall have reason to pity her and lament her case." It was, indeed, fast coming ; for while she was yet exulting over her rival's death, she found her maid-of-honor, Jane Seymour, who had supplanted her, as she had supplanted Katharine, sitting on Henry's knee. In an agony of jealous rage, she was delivered of a dead son — who, had he lived, would probably have prolonged, if not secured, her ascendancy — only twenty days after the decease of Katharine. She recovered her health slowly, but she knew too well that her HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 61 influence was at an end. When she found that she had no power to obtain the dismissal of her rival from the royal household, she became very melancholy, and withdrew herself from all the gayeties of the court, passing her time in the most secluded spots of Greenwich park. It is also related that she would sit for hours in the quad- rangle of Greenwich palace, in silence and abstraction, or seeking joyless pastime in playing with her little dogs, and setting them to tight with each other. What sadder scene can fancy conjure up than this? What thoughts, what memories, must have swept over that soul, once so gay and thoughtless, in those moments of agony ? How little was her mind really there, with the sports or the quarrels of the spaniels, which she probably felt were the only things, now left alive, which loved her ? That mis-delivery decided her fate. On the twenty-fifth day of the ensuing April, a court of commission was held to inquire into her conduct ; a charge of unfaithfulness was brought forward. Of the circumstances of the case, and of the evidence, little is known. Anne was called into court, held up her hand, and pleaded not guilty, without the least emotion. She defended herself with so much courage, wit, and eloquence, that it was rumored, without the court, that she was sure of a triumphant acquittal ; but it proved not to be so. She too, on what evidence we know not, was found guilty of what crime we know not, and w T as sentenced to be beheaded. An executioner from Calais, said to be a fellow of rare skill in his bloody trade, had been imported to deal the fatal blow. Anne, it is said, refused a bandage ; and tradition records that the melting tenderness of her eyes disarmed the professional butcher, until, casting off his shoes, he stole behind his fair victim, and ter- minated her sorrows at a single blow. It has been recorded by Spelman, that, when the head, yet bleeding, was held aloft by the executioner, the eyes and lips were seen to quiver, and the former to regard, with mournful tenderness, the body from which they were so cruelly dissevered : this, however, savors of romance more than of sober truth. Her remains were thrust, with indecent haste, into an old oak-chest, which had formerly contained arrows, and are said to have been interred in the Tower, with no religious ceremonies. 62 HENRY THE EIGHTH AM) HIS .SIX QUKEXS. Henry sat on horseback, under an oak, in Greenwich park, until the tower-gun announced that the lovely head had rolled in the dust; and then uncoupled the hounds, and away on the wings of the morn- ing! to wed Jane Seymour, on the succeeding day, at Wolf's Hall, in Wiltshire, and to feast, with her, on a bridal banquet literally furnished forth, while her predecessor's life hung on the falchion's edge. Jane Seymour was the eldest daughter of Sir John Seymour of Wolf Hall, Wiltshire ; she was almost exactly of the same age as Anne Boleyn, which we have set clown as dating from 1501. Anne was at least thirty-two, when she was married, if not in her thirty- third year, and thirty-six at the time of her decapitation. Jane is unanimously allowed to have been the eldest daughter of her father, who had eight children. Handsome she must undoubtedly have been, for Henry knew well what beauty was, both in man and woman ; and this lady won him away from the all-admired Boleyn, who to beauty united wit, grace and every accomplishment ; while this, her suc- cessful rival, with perhaps the single exception of Anne of Cleves, was the least highly educated and refined of all the king's wives. Henry w T as desirous that, as both his former wives had. enjoyed gor- geous coronations, though they had both been afterward discrowned, his present wife should not lack, at least, the former distinction ; but, in the first place, the plague, which raged at Westminster, intervened ; then the birth of Prince Edward opposed further delay ; and, lastly, the greatest of mortal monarchs, King Death, took the matter into his own hand, and determined, by that decision from which there lies no appeal, that the fair Jane Seymour should be neither crowned nor discrowned by any lingers but his own. There is hardly a fact worthy of commemoration, recorded of the brief reign of this Jane, who has been described as a paragon of hu- man virtues; the only direct document of her queenship which has been preserved, is an order to the park-keeper at Havering at the Bower, to deliver "two bucks in high season" to certain gentlemen named ; and this instrument, as authority to which she cites the king's warrant and seal, is signed, in a sprawling, awkward manuscript, HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 03 " Jane the Quene." The only act of kindness or charity which can be quoted in her favor, is her reception of the young Princess Mary, at Greenwich palace, during the Christmas rejoicings of 1537. Shortly after the present marriage, Henry partially relented toward Mary, whom, on account of what he called her disobedience in up- holding the marriage of her own mother, he had kept hitherto in penury and disgrace ; and granted to her an establishment, in some degree befitted to her birth, though still denying her legitimacy. In this autumn broke out a dreadful insurrection, originating w T ith the starving monks and famished populace of the north, but secretly pa- tronized and fomented by the northern nobility of the old religion. On Friday, October 12th, 1537, Jane Seymour, of whom Lingard most justly observes, that, with no evidence of any positive merit or virtue of her own, she has fared better with historians than any other of Henry's queens, was delivered of a prince, afterward Prince of Wales, and King Edward YI. The immunity from censure which this princess enjoyed, pos- sessing no kind of real merit, beyond grace, beauty, and a certain inoffensiveness, which was, after all is said, merely passive, he ascribes justly to the fact, that, whereas to each one of the other five queens either the Romish or the Protestant writers have been hostile on polemical grounds, both have upheld the character of Jane. The former, because she was uniformly kind and gracious to Mary, the child of Katharine, and afterward the Papistical queen — the latter, because she was the mother of the ultra Lutheran king, Edward VI. On the 12th of October she was delivered, after a labor so dan- gerous that the physicians, apprehensive that to save both lives would be impossible, left it to the option of the king; he ordered the wife "and mother to be sacrificed, if need be, with the pleasant and manly observation, that he could have as many wives as he pleased, but as many sons only as it happened. That she lived at all, was no thanks to her brutal lord ; that she died a few days afterward, was owing wholly to his reckless and boisterous exultation at the birth of a boy, and to the din and uproar of the christening carousals, with which he deafened her sick-chamber, and literally drummed her into the grave. b'-t HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. How much he truly loved her, one may judge, knowing that before she had been cold in her grave a single month, he was moving heaven and earth to win the hand of the beautiful Marie de Longueville, precontracted to his own nephew, James of Scotland. In the christening procession — never in any procession were such persons brought together. The sponsors were the Princess Mary, Cranmer, and the Duke of Norfolk. The infant Elizabeth, borne aloft in the arms of the arrogant and ambitious Seymour, the queen's brother, carried in her baby-hands the crimson, for the son of her, to make whom queen she was herself made motherless and bastardized ; and the Earl of Wiltshire, the father of the murdered Boleyn, assisted at the rite, a weak, white-headed dotard. Of these persons, Mary, the first sponsor, succeeding her brother, the first Protestant defender of the faith, for whom she that evening responded, among the cruel- lest deeds of her cruel Pomish reign consigned to the stake and fagot one of her associates, Cranmer, in that solemn Christian rite ; the other, the Duke of Norfolk, who narrowly escaped his own bloody doom by Henry's timely death alone, being his prosecutor and dead- liest enemy. Elizabeth, destined to be the most puissant of English queens, and to efface by the glories of her reign the dark and doleful memories of her mother, was led back in the returning procession by her sister Mary ; her train borne by the Lady Herbert, sister of yet a future queen of England, Katharine Parr — both disinherited both illegitimated, both to wear the crown of England, the one under the bloodiest, the other under the bravest and brightest, auspices. What a leaf was there to be read in the book of fate, turned at that christening, if any had been there endowed with lore to read it! It is remarkable, that in his last will the king commanded that the bones of his "loving queen Jane," in her quality doubtless of mother to the future king, should be laid in his own tomb ; and his orders were obeyed, for when George IY. caused the vaults of Windsor chapel to be searched for the corpse of Charles II., the coffin of Queen Jane lay, side by side, with the gigantic skeleton of Henry VIII., which some previous accident had exposed to view. It appears that, when, immediately on Jane Seymour's death, this HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 65 truly " marvellous man" expressed his desire for a French wife, a step which, of course, Francis was bound, by his own interest, to promote, that prince made him some general answer, to the effect that there was no unmarried dame, or damsel, in his kingdom, whose hand he might not obtain, at his pleasure ; and when Henry, after vainly perse- cuting Marie de Longueville for live months, to force her to accept him, was compelled to resign all hopes of possessing her, on her sailing to Scotland for the purpose of marrying his nephew, he actually took his brother monarch at his word ; and required him not as a jest, but in all sober seriousness, to produce the handsomest ladies in France, at Calais, for his inspection. Francis declined the proposal to show them for selection ; observing, as such a gay gallant as he well might do, that it was not the mode of France to do with lair ladies as horse-coursers do with their palfreys — trot them out, that he who wants one may choose the easiest-goer. It was, indeed, above two years before he could find any one who would accept his crown ; and when he did find one, it was political motives alone which brought about the sacrifice of the hand of the unhappy lady whom he wedded, only to repudiate not long after the honeymoon was ended. After this interval of widowhood, unable longer to endure the state of celibacy, he determined to listen to the suggestion of Crom- well, who, alarmed at the growing intimacy of alliance between Charles and the French king, advised him to form a counterpoise to the strength of this confederacy, by allying himself to the German princes of the Smalcaldic, Lutheran league. Anne, the sister of the reigning Duke of Cleves, was the lady selected for this doubtful honor, and envoys being sent to inspect her, and reporting of her favorably, as a large, tall personage, of comely stature and queenly deportment, bringing with them, moreover, a portrait of the princess, by Holbein, which represented her as very handsome, the royal voluptuary ex- pressed himself satisfied ; the match was contracted ; and the lady elect was escorted in great pomp, by her own kinsmen, to Calais, where she was met by Lord Southampton, the lord high admiral of England, and a splendid train of gentlemen and nobles. 66 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. On New Year's eve, the king, who was impatient as a child for a new toy, ti i catch a glance of his young and much-lauded bride, rode on to Rochester, where he met her, with the intent to look on her, that he might, as he termed it, "nourish love." Awful was his disappoint- ment, fearful his fury, when he saw her, large, indeed, and well shaped in person, hut coarse-complexioned, with irregular features, and deeply pitted with the sniall-pox. She had no accomplishments, moreover, no graces of air, no skill in dance or song; she could not even converse with him in his native tongue. To a man like him, above all things a connoisseur in beauty ; an admirer of all kinds of art and grace ; himself a musician, a composer, a poet, with an ear exquisitely attuned to all sweet sounds ; a lover, who had possessed the stately dignity of the majestic and right-royal Katharine, the loveliness and perfect gracefulness of the accomplished Anne, the gentle charms of the soft and placid Seymour; the rage of frenzied disgust, which poor Anne of Cleves, with her high German accent, her coarse, scarred features, and her gorgeous, yet ungraceful, attire and attendance, must have produced, can be imagined more easily than described. He swore, in his blunt, brutal humor, that she was no better than " a great Flanders brood-mare," and that he would none of her ; and charged Cromwell, as he had devised, to find, as he regarded his head, some method of dissolving this odious contract. When mi mode of evasion could be discovered, and when he per- ceived, as he said, that " there was no remedy, but he must needs against his will put his head into that noose," he reluctantly consented to celebrate his nuptials, which were performed with unwonted splendor, at Greenwich, on January 6th, being the Epiphany, or feast of kings; but, from that day forth, the fall of Cromwell was dated. During the brief time he lived with her, he made pomp, and solemn pageants and processions, afford an excuse for eschewing her privacy; yet so rude and brutal was his conduct, that when Wriothesley, the meanest, basest, and most sordid of Henry's low- born parasites, rudely broke to her the king's desire to annul the marriage, although she fainted on the first shock, partly at the insult- ing style, partly from apprehension that she was destined to share the HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. (}7 fate of Anne Boleyn, she instantly consented to join with him in pro- curing a divorce, and assented with alacrity to resign the title of queen, for that of the king's adopted sister, with a pension of three thousand pounds a year, and precedence over all ladies of his court, except his children and his future consort. Probably she was, to the full, as much rejoiced as he, to be liberated from the bonds of a wedlock, in which affection or liking never had a share, and which to joylessness and disgust must have combined no small share of awe and appre- hension. Anne of Cleves, in all these difficult matters, showed consummate prudence and judgment. She dressed splendidly ; entered largely into all sports and diversions ; kept a liberal household, partly after the old English open hospitality, partly after the decorous fashion of German economy ; and, whether that she really was exuberantly rejoiced to be free from the perilous chains of royal wedlock, or merely that she affected excessive happiness, in order to lull to sleep Henry's suspicions, showed herself much livelier, cheerfuller, and more openly gay, after the dissolution of her marriage, than she had been before. The silence of history with regard to the high qualities, the gentle virtues, the unmurmuring patience of this much-wronged princess, her unvarying kindness to her step-daughters, Elizabeth and Mary, her domestic excellencies, and all the tine points of her character, which endeared her to her subjects, and preserved their regard when she became their fellow-subject, must be attributed to the report of her plainness of person, homeliness of habit, and entire lack of all the qualifications which we attribute to a gorgeous queen, or a heroine of romance. Happily for her, she had nothing of romance, nothing of sensibility or sentiment in her disposition. She had strong sense of duty, strong love of right, of order, of decorum, of comfort ; and, under circumstances which, to a person of higher excitability, more nervous temperament, and greater need of sympathy, would have been a cause of endless misery, lived happly, and died honored, in a far country and among a foreign people, with whom she had no kindred or community, even of language. 68 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. " The daughter of Cleves " survived her barbarous and brutal lord by ten years, and, by his death, was at liberty, if she chose it, again to try the bitters and the sweets of the matrimonial cup ; but her ex- perience was not such as to tempt her to the trial. She died as she had lived, an honorable, unpretending, happy, English lady ; but strange to say, having entered that Protestant realm a Protestant, she left it, when she died, a Papist. She died peacefully, at the palace in Chelsea, of a declining sickness, in the forty-first year of her age, leaving a will singularly indicative of her amiable and gentle character. Many more beautiful and showy women, many greater and more celebrated queens have gone to their long homes, but few, if any, more highly endowed with all the best and sweetest qualities of womanhood. She was buried, by Queen Mary's order, with some magnificence, in Westminster Abbey. Her tomb occupies a place of great honor, near the high altar, at the feet of King Sebert, the original founder of that minster church ; but it is rarely recognized, though on a close inspection her initials, A. C, interwoven in a monogram, may be discovered on various parts of the structure, which was never finished. " Not one of Henry's w T ives," says Fuller, " excepting Anne of Cleves, had a monument, and hers was but half a one." Before the divorce was carried out by act of parliament, and by means of a convocation of the clergy, principally on the untenable pretext of a pre-contract with the Prince of Lorraine, Cromwell was himself arrested on a charge of high treason, and' condemned without trial by his peers, exhibition of evidence, or confession, by an act of attainder, passed, almost unanimously, by both houses of parliament, Cranmer alone for a while feebly interposing in his behalf, but finally surrendering him to his fate. On the 28th July, 1540, he died by the axe, under the operation of the bill he had himself suggested; one other instance of "the engineer hoist by his own petard.'.' After his di voire from the gentle, patient-minded, and noble Anne of Cleves, the modern Bluebeard did not remain long a HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. (39 widower; for, at his own suggestion, doubtless, his lords humbly petitioned him, in consideration of his people's welfare, to venture on a fifth marriage, in the hope that God would bless him with a numerous issue. Anxious, as his whole career shows him ever to have been, for the good and happiness of his people, this pious mon- arch now lovingly condescended to grant their prayer, the rather that it was so humbly tendered ; and within a month Katharine Howard made her appearance at court as Queen. History, in all its sad details, has no sadder tale than this of the young, beautiful, unhappy Howard, whom youth, station, beauty, seem only to have betrayed into deeper and more inevitable ruin. In all England's splendid and illustrious aristocracy, there is no nobler name than that from which she sprang; and at no period, earlier or later, of English history, was that noble name more gloriously or more constantly brought before the public than during the reign of Henry VIII. She w r as the daughter of that Lord Edmund Howard who commanded the right wing of the English host at Flodden, since deceased ; niece to the Duke of Norfolk, and, of course, cousin to the unhappy Anne JBoleyn, whose fate she was so soon to share. She had been brought up by the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk — who appears to have been a garrulous, half-doting beldame, utterly unfit for such a duty — and first attracted Henry's eye at a dinner-party of the Bishop of AVin Chester, where she was present, it is said, as maid of honor to Queen Anne of Cleves. She was not a tall, commanding beauty, of the king's favorite style, but very small, although beautifully shaped, extremely pretty, with winning ways. She was born previous to the close of the year 1520, or the commencement of 1521 ; and to her extreme youth may be ascribed all the imprudencies and miseries of this un- happy girl, and on it must be founded all .that we can offer in her apology. Early in Katharine's childhood her own mother died — the greatest misfortune, beyond doubt, that can befall a woman — and her father married a second time. At this period it was not the general use of parents, especially of royal or very noble houses, to bring up their children at home, but rather to place them out in other households ,11 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS of equal rank, where they were educated, it was supposed, better and more stringently — a certain degree of honorable semi-servitude being considered necessary to the formation of the youth of both sexes — than they could have been under the domestic roof. In this instance, the practice was the ruin of Katharine. A dashing cavalier, named Francis Dereham, a gentleman pensioner of the Duke of Nor- folk — who maintained a band of these daring desperadoes, the last remains of the feudal retainers of the middle ages — a bold, handsome, insinuating man, an especial favorite of the old duchess, and a distant blood-relation of the family, succeeded to make himself master of her heart and of her person. There is much reason to believe that she truly loved this bold, bad man, and that she was troth-plighted to him. It was shown that they were in the habit of kissing and caressing each other publicly, before witnesses, and calling each other husband and wife. Dereham was wont to procure her articles of dress and feminine finery, at her request, at his own expense ; she wore embroidered pansies for " remembrance" of him, and friar's knots for " Francis." For some wild acts of his, Dereham was obliged to leave the country. After Dereham's departure, a remarkable change came over Katharine. She seemed to awake to a clear sense of her criminality ; of the ruin and disgrace into which she had been betrayed; and to a clear perception of the unworthiness and infamy of those who had destroyed her. She was, henceforth, as remarkable for her extreme modesty, feminine reserve, and maidenly deportment, as she had been before for wilfulness and wantonness, which seem, however, to have arisen more from the thoughtless levity and the want of proper edu- cation, and the absence of proper standards, than from a perverted heart, or the dominion of evil passions. By all evidence that can be adduced, Katharine was guilty of none of that odious levity and treachery in supplanting her mistress, which must create so much indignation against her cousin Anne and Jane Seymour. Her conduct was perfectly decorous; she was not Wedded until after the divorce of Anne of Cleves was pronounced and pro- mulgated: so, at least, it is authoritatively stated, although no records HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 71 of the solemnization of this marriage were ever produced. It is sup- posed to have been in 1540. Of this unhappy queen, little is known save the commencement and the end of her career, the sin and the punishment. Of her mar- ried life, brief as it was, there is scarcely preserved a memorial. The royal treasures were nearly exhausted at the date of her marriage, by the pomps and pageants so profusely bestowed to conceal the hol- lowness which lay within the outer show that blazoned the nuptials of the Flemish bride. The royal pair lived during the first half-year almost like a private couple, amid the peaceful retirements of the country, and in the green shades and grassy parks that surround Hampton Court and Windsor Castle, the loveliest of England's semi- rural yet magnificent suburban palaces. The king waxed every day fonder and fonder of his beautiful young bride ; and but for that fatal, retrospective blot, that hidden blight, cankering unseen the blush of her bosom's purity and faith, it would be difficult to say that she deserved not his love. The only memorial which remains of this portion of her married life is a sweet, a beautiful, a touching memorial. It shows a feeling heart, one unhardened by the policy, the state intrigue, the cruelty of a cold court-world, one fearless of misconstruction or reproach, where charity was called for, or sympathy required. It is an order on her tailor for a suit of warm, winter apparel, furred night-gowns and petticoats, worsted kirtles and the like, for the venerable Count- ess of Salisbury, the last of the Plantagenets, who lay, during the cold winter weather, in the damp dungeons of the Tower, a prisoner under sentence of death. During about twelve months Henry lived with her in great con- tent and delight, lavishing on her every mark of tenderness, confi- dence, and affection. He carried her with him in his progress to York, in the following year ; for it delighted him to have her, at all times, near to his person, and he professed to be more charmed with her than with any of his preceding consorts. Immediately previous to their progress to York, there had been a trivial Romish insurrec- tion in the north, headed by Sir John Neville, which was easily 12 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. suppressed, lmt which, as usual, became a means of strengthening the adverse party, and afforded a pretext for renewed bloodshed. Henry attributed it, as he did all Papistical disturbances, to Cardinal Pole, and seized the occasion to bring- his mother, the aged Countess of Salisbury, so long a prisoner in the Tower, at length to the scaffold. But, alas ! ere long a sadder, " a darker departure was near" — even hers, the delicate, the beautiful, the notably maiden-looking Howard. It is a deep, a dreadful, a mysterious tragedy ; and, like that of her kinswoman and predecessor in the fearful journey down that painful and bloody road, it defies all scrutiny. That there was a religious party, strongly set against Katharine, as there had been one against Anne, is not to be doubted. The Pro- testants detested the former, as the Catholics hated the latter, owing to the religions of the queens, whom they had, each in turn, sup- planted ; and the reformers, with the Duke of Cleves, probably, him- self at their head, believed that if the Howard could be disposed of, Anne of Cleves might resume the ascendency ; even as the Catholics had previously augured the same for Katharine of Arragon, if the Boleyn could be overthrown. That the charge did not originate with the reformers, though they certainly brought it forward, and that it was not all a plot, is certain, from the partial confession of the sufferers. During the progress to the north, it appears that a person of the name of Lascelles came with information to Cranmer, that absolute proof could be brought, that the queen, while Mistress Catharine Howard, had, previously to her royal marriage, been married to a gentleman of the name of Dereham, then page to the Duchess of Norfolk, in whose house they both resided ; and that this said Dere- ham, with certain women who had been privy to the whole affair at its origin, had been taken into the service of the royal household, and employed about the person of the queen. Henry and Katharine reached Hampton Court on their return, just previous to the feast of All Saints, and on that day "the king revered his Maker, and gave him most hearty thanks for the good life he led and trusted to lead with his wife." The next day, while he was at mass, the archbishop HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 73 placed in his hand a paper containing the information which he had received. Henry, for once in his life, was deeply grieved and per- turbed ; and, at length, disbelieving the charges, ordered a private inquiry to be held into the matter, without allowing anything thereof to reach the ears of the queen. Lascelles, his sister, who had been in the Duchess of Norfolk's household, and from whom the story origin- ally came, Dereham himself, and others, were strictly examined ; when it came out that Dereham was not merely admitted to the queen's presence, but had been employed by her as her private secre- tary ; and that while at Lincoln, on the late royal progress, a gentle- man of the name of Culpepper, of the privy chamber, and her kins- man on the mother's side, had remained in the queen's apartment, with none but herself and the lady Kochefort, from eleven at night until two of the morning. This was considered sufficient whereon to proceed farther ; and the council went on to visit and examine the queen. She protested her innocence, fell into fits, and seemed half frantic. Lascelles persisted in her story. Dereham boldly avowed the truth. He had been troth-plighted to Katharine ; had lived with her as a man with his wife; they were regarded so by the servants ; they were wont to call one another husband and wife, before wit- nesses, and he had given her money whenever he had it. He thought, doubtless, to save her life by this avowal ; as, if sustained, it would suffice to procure a divorce, and no one desired her blood. Henry's proud and savage heart was almost broken. He burst into an agony of tears in the presence of all his council — what torture it must have needed to wring such testimony of weakness from his imperious character and merciless temper ! He had really loved this woman, and again and again, even after she had confessed her early sins, which she did earnestly, simply — -and no one can read her depo- sitions without seeing that they were sincere, also — though she still persevered in denying all subsequent wrong, his heart still yearned to her, still relented ; and though he could never, obviously, be recon- ciled to a woman so tainted, or receive her back to his bosom, he would have spared her — he was eager and earnest to spare her, and 74 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. would have done so, could he have been separated from her by any legal process. How different from his conduct toward Anne Boleyn, whom, without half the evidence, he hunted with unrelenting fury to the block. To do Henry justice, it must be said that he does not seem to have, for once in his life, in any wise thirsted after her blood ; and that her life might have been spared, if, by admitting a pre-contract, she had left room for his liberation from her, by divorce. But tins she could not be brought to do; probably nut understanding the urgency of Cranmer, who endeavored strenuously to obtain such an avowal from her, clearly for the purpose of saving her, though he dare not too openly declare his object. Culpepper and Dereham were tried, and found guilty of high treason, and suffered the penalty of their crime. The hapless young queen was never put on her trial, or suffered to speak a word in her own behalf; a privilege which was not denied to her kinswoman, Anne Boleyn, who, though she might not convince her judges, or avert her doom, yet left a burning record of her eloquence and artless pathos to plead for her, with a posterity kinder and less unforgiving than the age in which she lived. Attainted on her own confession, Katharine was sentenced to be beheaded, with the Lady Rochefort, as her aider and abettor, and Culpepper and Dereham as her accomplices. It was two months before the queen and Lady Rochefort were beheaded, within the Tower, meeting their late with perfect calmness and decorum. The unhappy Howard died the first, professing, with her last breath, her penitence for her early sins, though declaring her innocence of the crime for which she suffered. The Lady Bochefort is said — but this is more than doubtful — to have expressed herself as satisfied to die, for that she had betrayed her husband to death by her false accusation of Queen Anne Boleyn, but that otherwise she was conscious of no crime. Several things — among others the fact of Cranmer having felt himself in danger as a favorer of the new learning, and of his having completely recovered his own position and that of his party by means IIEXUY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUKENS. 75 of the eclat they gained by this detected plot, as well as his extreme and evident anxiety to save the life of the queen — seem to indicate a consciousness that she was not guilty of that portion of the crime for which she suffered, and which was not' certainly proved against her. Immediately after the conclusion of this sad and bloody business, the king, as usual, turned himself to a directly opposite course, and betook himself to piety, and to the disciplining his subjects on relig- ious topics. So great was the detestation of his sanguinary conduct, and such the disgust in which he was now held on the European continent, that, when he offered his hand to Christina, the dowager-duchess of Milan, she declined it, with the remark, that " if she had two heads, one would have been at the service of his majesty of England." We have now brought Henry, the nxorious, fairly down to the period when he wedded his sixth and last wife, Katharine Parr of Kendal, a double widow, first of Lord Borough, and then of Neville, Lord Latimer, happier in this than any other predecessors, that she survived her lord, preserving his regard to the last ; though she once nearly lost it and her life together ; at a period of his life, when all the tits of sanguinary frenzy to which he had been formerly liable, were but as passing gusts compared to tropical tornadoes, to those which now possessed him. Yet, in his wildest moods, she seems, although a delicate and gentle creature, of small stature and mild and feminine demeanor, more to have swayed him than any of his consorts, even her first stately and majestic namesake. There are, in fact, but three or four things remarkable in her life. The first, that herself four times a widow, thrice of widowers, she was the sixth wife of a king whom she survived, and then married the only man she had ever loved, only to rue the marriage. She is remarkable, moreover, as the first Protestant English queen of England. At this period, Sir Thomas Seymour, the brother of the late queen Jane, afterward Duke of Somerset, the gayest and most glorious cav- alier of the day, was struck with the charms of the pious young widow, and to him both her ear and her heart she did seriously incline. Put 76 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. at the same moment a greater and more formidable suitor entered the lists, even the king himself; and, although Katharine did not express much delight at the honor, or meet the royal suit with much encouragement, Seymour withdrew, daunted probably by the idea of rivalling the cruel king, and in the end, as usual, the suit of royalty prevailed. It is certain, when the king first disclosed to the lady his intention of raising her to the crown, she showed terror instead of joy. Never- theless, she consented, and on July 10th, 1543, Cranmer granted a dispensation, and on the second day thereafter the fair widow, throw- ing off the weeds of her second widowhood before they had been two months worn, was led to the altar by her singular and formidable bridegroom. The royal coffers were still suffering under the same depletion which had caused the nuptials of Katharine Howard to be celebrated with so little splendor, and so scanty ceremonial ; but if the wedding ceremony of Katharine Parr lacked the pomp and pageantry which distinguished those of Katharine of Arragon and Anne of Cleves, neither were they marred by the indecent haste and unbe- coming secrecy which disgraced those of Anne Boleyn and Katharine Howard. Her married life was less unhappy than might have been expected. Henry, if he had not the furious passion for her which he had for Lis earlier idols, had the fullest confidence in. her judgment and virtue, and suffered her to exercise much influence over him. To her honor be it spoken, that influence was ever exerted for good. Except Katharine of Arragon, none other of his wives could coin- pare, for a moment, with Katharine Parr, who, in addition to domes- tic virtues never surpassed, greatness meekly and mercifully borne, and high talents not wasted, but so used as to bring for than hundred- fold, ran her course through the world, blessed and dispensing bless- ings, yet in a course so noiseless and serene, that she has scarce left a sign or a sound to tell of her transit. Such is ever the case with the purest and holiest lives, as it is with the calmest and most peaceful epochs. Her elevation to the throne seems to have {riven the most general HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 77 satisfaction throughout England ; she was a lady of no less genius and learning, than piety, morals, grace and accomplishment ; specimens of her handiwork in embroidery are still preserved at Sizergh castle, and other places which she honored with her residence ; her Latin corre- spondence with Roger Ascham, and the learned men of the universi- ties, extant to this time, are fully equal to the style of Latinity of the day. But what most shows her influence over the king, more even than the admirable way in which she soothed his peevish and almost insane irritability — now exacerbated and exaggerated almost to actual madness by an inveterate and incurable ulcer in his thigh, the conse- quence, undoubtedly, of his gluttony and excess in wine, to both of which, as he advanced in years, he became much addicted — was her perfect management of the royal children, now wholly committed to her charge. To conciliate the affections, govern the tempers, cultivate the parts of the children of three queens, so widely differing in character, relig- ion, temper, and fortunes, as Katharine of Arragon the stately Span- ish lady, the Catholic daughter of Isabella the most Catholic queen ; as Anne Boleyn, the light, witty, brilliant, impulsive, French coquette, to whom religion was but an outward vestment, not " that within which passes shew;" as Jane Seymour, the moderate, gentle, calm, feminine English woman, with parts never exceeding mediocrity ; was in itself no small task, no un-arduous duty. But, when we look at the children themselves, at the nations which were hanging, breathless partisans, on the ascendency of each — when we consider Mary, cold, taciturn, grave, suffering constantly from excruciating neuralgic headaches, already a severe religionist, and a learned and accurate scholar, who had, as yet, shown no tokens, however, of that hard-heartedness and cruelty which were developed in her as she rose to power, and which probably were caused by the influence of others over her, rather than by innate illness of disposi- tion — Mary, on whom hung the hopes of Spain, of the Empire, of Rome, the idol of the old Roman party in England, w r ho trusted in her again to see their church restored to its pristine grandeur — when we consider Elizabeth, already headlong, impetuous, full of the hot ,S HENRY THE EIGHTH AXD HIS SIX QUEENS, Tudor blood, the fiery daughter of a fiery father, she, too, learned, over- flowing with a strong, steady genius — Elizabeth, already the chosen head of the party of the Anglican church, and looked up to by the pre-eminently English party, as to her one day destined to afford the strongest type of the most English sovereign— when we look at Edward, gentle, high-tempered, with some small taste for letters, but timid, mediocre, formal, narrow-minded, wholly under the dominion of the strongest intellect near him, and those intellects attached to the strictest Puritanism — it will be easy to see how difficult and danger- ous a part she had to play. It is true, that by the execution of Katharine Howard, who be- longed strongly to that faith to which her powerful descendants still adhere, by the elevation of the present queen to the throne, and by the strong influence which the Seymours had obtained over the king, through their relationship to his " best-loved wife," Jane, and to his heir, Prince Edward, the anti-Romish, and even the Protestant party in the kingdom had gained a strong ascendency, which, in fact, during Henry's life-time, they never wholly hist. Still, to deny the seven sacraments, to doubt the real presence, to dispute the efficacy of prayers to the saints, masses for the dead, auri- cular confession, or supreme unction — in short, to be openly a Protes- tant — was to go to the stake just is certainly as to deny the king's supremacy was to be gibbeted, drawn, and quartered for high treason. And Katharine was a Protestant, with all the deep and fervent belief of her tranquil, sincere, and self-possessed soul. But Katharine, though she was the bloated tyrant's " best, dear- est wife and sweetheart," would have been consigned to the flames with as little scruple or hesitation, as would the lowest-born hand- maiden, the poorest clerk, in all England. And ever the greedy eyes of the Catholics were watching her, sharpened by interest and hatred, to catch her in any lapse of faith, any offence against orthodoxy, that they might give her to the fagot, as they alleged the Protestants had given her predecessor to the block. A strange age, truly, when the two great religions of the world hung balanced on the smiles and tears, the sorrows and the sins, the HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 79 misery and the blood, of royal ladies ; and when a whispered word, a stolen kiss, came to be watched and sought for, as the casting weight which was to turn the scale between balanced creeds. During her very honeymoon, owing to the ill-will of Gardiner to the royal bride, Persons, Test wood, and Filmer were passed through flames to a celestial crown, for holding to the new religion. Marbeck, against whom no evidence was adduced, but a few MS. notes on the Bible, and some hundred pages of a Latin concordance, in process of arrangement, found in his house by the informers, would have fol- lowed them to the stake ; but Katharine contrived that the concord- ance should be shown to Henry, w T ho, with all his vices, was learned himself, and loved learning. " Alas ! poor Marbeck !" he exclaimed, moved for once by an honest and manly feeling. " It would be well for thine accusers if they had employed their time no worse !" And so he pardoned him. Shortly afterward, encouraged by his success thus far, Gardiner struck a blow, through his tools, Dr. London and Symonds, at some higher persons, members of the queen's household — Dr. Haines, dean of Exeter and prebend of Windsor, Sir Philip Hoby and his lady, Sir Thomas Carden, and others of the royal household ; and if this blow had told successfully, there is no doubt but that the queen would have been the next accused. But, in order to ensure their conviction, false evidence must be used, by supposititious documents introduced by one Ockley, the clerk of the court, among the papers of the accused. The plot was discovered to the queen ; the forged docu- ments were seized ; London and Symonds, not knowing what had happened, perjured themselves; were tried for that crime, convicted, led through the streets of London, on horseback, with their faces to the horses' tails, and pilloried, with papers on their foreheads setting forth their crime — and so the present danger passed, and the matter ended. In the meantime Katharine had as completely won the affections of the royal children, which, to the day of her death, she never lost, as she had that of the king, their father, and of the best of his sub- jects; and there is no doubt that much 1 he best part of all their 80 HENRY THE EIGHTH AXD HIS SIX QUEENS. characters, is in some degree to be attributed to her education. The Latin style of Mary and Elizabeth, who were both proficients in writ- ing that terse and difficult language, is almost identical with her own ; and the fine penmanship of Edward VI., her step-son, closely resem- bles her beautiful manuscript. She lived on the most intimate terms of friendship with them all, a sweet, domestic, highly accomplished English matron, rather than a mighty queen ; as is clearly shown by many notes, still extant, on familiar subjects, which passed between those royal ladies, as also between Katharine and her predecessor, Anne of Cleves, whose Protestantism was probably another link between them ; and as is farther proved by the list of prices paid for little mutual presents and tokens of affection, which have casually come down to our days — beautiful memorials of the past, rescued like waifs from the ocean of time — as charges on the daybooks ot the royal expenditures. In the year following his marriage, " July 14, 1544, Henry, aged fifty-two, crossed the seas from Dover to Calais, in a ship with sails of cloth of gold." He went in compliance with a treaty of offensive alli- ance, entered into with the emperor, in the year before, by which they were to reclaim Burgundy for Charles, and the French possessions of the English crown for Henry ; and on refusal, make war in common. Before setting out, Henry created his queen, as he had done his first Katharine, in his previous invasion of France, queen-regent of the realm during his absence; Hertford, the uncle of Prince Edward, was to assist her, and be ever resident at her court, and attendant on her person. By an act of parliament, also passed before his departure, he finally settled his succession, which had been settled and unsettled with every successive validation or invalidation of marriage, legitimating or illegitimating of heirs, five or six times, at least, since his accession. This was, indeed, final, and, as it did actually regulate the succession, is worthy of notice. In it he condescends to mention only two of his marriages, those of Jane Seymour and Katharine Parr, passing over all the others as if they had never existed at all. He appoints Prince Edward his HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 81 heir ; and, failing him or his heirs male, then, any issue he may have by his most entirely beloved Queen Katharine. Failing issue by Katharine, then the issue of any other lawful wife ; and tailing all these, his daughter Mary and her issue, and on failure of her line also, his daughter Elizabeth, and her heirs forever. Who those daughters were, or by what mothers, he does not condescend to name, lest he should be led into an acknowledgment of their legitimacy, or the lawfulness of the marriages of the queens from whom they sprung. This French campaign, though Henry was at the head of a mighty force of thirty thousand Englishmen and fifteen thousand imperialists, did not effect much. In the following year the war was earned dn principally at sea. The king's vast prodigalities, though he was esteemed the most wealthy prince in Europe, had utterly exhausted his treasuries ; and he was unable to maintain the war for want of it. At length, in June, 1546, a peace was agreed on with Francis, which was far of longer duration than most measures which depended in any respect for their origin or conclusion on Henry's pleasure or caprices. It endured until he who made it had gone to that place where there are no wars of mortal making. From the day of his return to England to the end, the life of Henry is all horror. The dread of treason in the king had brought forth bloodshed. The dread of bloodshed in the subject had brought forth treason to the king. One day, Gardiner and the Chancellor Wriothesley, working on his jealous suspicions against the heretics, taking advantage of some indiscretion on the part of the queen, actually obtained from him an order for her arrest and committal to the Tower as a heretic. The queen's rare virtue and prudence carried her scathless through the perils of the deep-laid treachery which had so nearly overwhelmed her. All that Wriothesley gained by his base and insidious scheme, when he entered the garden of Hampton Court, where Henry was taking the air with his "sweetheart," with whom he had again be- come "'perfect friends," having the guards at his heels to convey her 6 82 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. to the Tower, was to be called " Beast and fool and knave" — all three of which he indeed was — and to be bade, "Avaunt from his presence !" To dwell on the imbecility of crime and cruelty, as it dwindles into the weakness of the last ashes of itself, is in itself a painful task and horrible. But when that last weakness is perverted and distorted to the commission of yet worse wickedness than the strength and maturity of its power had conceived, it leads us to doubt whether the tyrant himself, or the age of tyranny which he created and fostered to his own destruction, were most savage and tyrannical. The drunkard in blood, as the drunkard in wine, under the curse of habit, when the cup is thrust before his lips, must drink. Wo be to those who administer the cup ! When the noble and gallant, the chivalrous and lettered Surrey was sent to death by the written mandate of the king, his swollen and paralyzed hands could not guide the pen which signed the fatal warrant. When the doom of his father, Norfolk, was decided by the same persons, who had pointed the wavering mind and guided the palsied fingers of the blood-haunted despot against the life of his whilome favorites, they could not find life enough in those wretched mortal fingers to do their bloody business. A stamp was used instead of a sign-manual. But before the stamped warrant could be brought into operation, the spirit of the king had departed to the judgment-place — perhaps to bear testimony against those who had perverted his last judgment, and laid upon his memory even a deeper stain of. blood than that which rests upon his soul. He died on the 28th of January, 15-47, in the thirty-eighth year of his reign, and the fifty- sixth of his age, the most powerless, most useless, most worthless monarch of his day, who might have been the greatest, had he only possessed goodness in a remote degree propor- tionate to his talents, his capacities, his opportunities. By his death he liberated many prisoners — the conqueror of Flod- den among the rest — from the dungeon and the death-doom ; he liberated his kingdom from the terror under which it had groaned HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. 83 and shuddered during the last twenty years; and his last fair wife, happier to be his widow than his wife, from chains, which, if gilded, were nevertheless chains, and that neither the lightest nor the least irksome. It is worthy of remark, that of all the changes which this bad king, and worse man, wrought, simply for his own profit and self- gratification, not one operated as he intended and desired that it should operate. The cherished heir male, whom he so deeply sinned to have his heir, died heirless, after a vain attempt to create an intolerant, domi- nant religion, of that Puritan heresy which his father had most abhorred and persecuted. The daughter of the Spanish queen, the right royal Katharine, whom he had rubbed of all but honor, reinstated, through blood and fire, the church which he had, as he thought, prostrated forever, and all but made England Spanish, and the Church of England Romish. The daughter of the woman whom he had stigmatized with incest, not content to slay, completed the work in which he would not have that she should put a finger, but completed it, not as Henry would, but as God would have it! — completed it, so that out of the worst English despotism grew the most perfect English liberty — out of the deepest Romish darkness dawned the most lustrous light, the day spring from on high, which, once arisen, can go down no more, nor be put out forever. During the brief period of her royal widowhood, Katharine Parr, now queen-dowager, resided at her fine jointure-house at Chelsea, on the banks of the Thames. Here she held her secret meeting's with her adventurous lover, Sir Thomas Seymour, ere royal etiquette would allow her to give public encouragement to his suit. Seymour renewed his addresses to Katharine so immediately after King Henry's death, that she was wooed and won almost before she had assumed the wid- ow'shood and barb, and sweeping sable pall, which marked the relict of the departed majesty of England. Seymour had opportunities of confidential communication with the widowed queen even before the funeral of the royal rival for whom she had been compelled to resign him, 84 HENRY THE EIGHTH AND HIS SIX QUEENS. when Lady Latimer; for he was a member of the late king's house- hold, and had been appointed by Henry's will one of the council of regency during the minority of the young king. He was still in the prime of life, and possessed the peculiar manners calculated to charm the other sex. Katharine, after having been the wife of three mature widowers in succession, was in her thirty-fifth year still handsome, and apparently more passionately beloved than ever by the man of her heart. Womanlike, she gave him full credit for constancy and dis- interested love, and found it difficult to withstand his ardent pleadings for her to reward his tried affection, by at once giving him the hand which had been plighted to him before her marriage with the king. Seymour would brook no delays, not even those which propriety de- manded, determined not to lose her a second time. The marriage was not celebrated till some months elapsed, in May, but was not made public till the end of June. Katharine has been censured, but she owed neither love nor reverence to Henry's memory, and he had led her into a similar breach of decorum himself. Katharine lived happily with her new husband, until the 30th of August, 1548, when she gave birth to a daughter; on the seventh day after she made her will, leaving all her property to her husband ; and on the eighth day she expired, in the thirty-sixth year of her age, hav- ing survived her royal husband, Henry VIII, but one year, six months, and eight days. Lord Seymour having aspired to the hand of the Princess Elizabeth, afterward Queen Elizabeth, and to be guardian to King Edward, in place of his brother, the Duke of Somerset, was arrested by the gov- erning powers, tried, and beheaded on Tower-hill, March 20, 1549, just six months and fourteen days after Katharine's decease. MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, O historical personage has ever possess* eel for mankind a more powerful charm, or inspired a more widely diffused or enduring interest, than Mary Stuart, the lovely and unfortunate Queen of Scots. Freshly remembered now, as when the tidings of her fate sent an in- dignant thrill through every heart in Europe, the mind receives again and 86 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. again with new pleasure the oft-told tale of her unspeakable beauty, exquisite grace, and manifold accomplishments, gleans whatever is to he learned of her from history or portrait, and, embellishing the whole by imagination, cherishes the remembrance as a combination of all that is delightful in woman. There is no incident, however trifling, which, connected with her, does not become valuable; her prisons have become shrines: their mouldering walls and traditionary trees objects of undying interest ; even their weeds and wild-flowers precious relics, as having been gathered in spots associated with her name, and from it deriving a charm which time rather increases than lessens, since every fresh circumstance which comes to light regarding her eventful life, serves but more clearly to establish her innocence, and to bring out her character in bright and strong relief against that of her stern and uncompromising rival, Queen Elizabeth, whose greatness as a sove- reign renders not the less revolting that littleness of mind, and un- faltering cruelty of heart, which were her chief characteristics as a woman. The history of these two Queens is so closely interwoven, that the mention of the one necessarily involves that of the other, and brings before us, though in perpetual antagonism, these cele- brated representatives of the lines of Tudor and of Stuart. A few notices of themselves, and of others whose names in con- nexion with theirs have become famous, may, it is presumed, not be without interest to those who delight in glimpses of feudal times and ancient manners, the whole being extracted from authentic sources, waifs and strays, at once suggestive and illustrative of England's most chivalrous and romantic era. In the library of the Earl of Salisbury at Hatfield House, Hert- fordshire, amongst the Cecil MSS., is preserved an original letter from Mary Queen of Scots to Queen Elizabeth. This letter is one of the most curious and interesting documents in existence : written as it is, by one of the most celebrated Queens the world ever pro- duced, to another Queen equally famous, who, at the time it was written, held the sword suspended, as it were, by a single hair, over the head of the writer: taking also into consideration, the import- MART QUEEN OF SCOTS. g7 ance of the subjects on which it treats, the high rank of the person- ages concerned, and above all, the manner in which the various cir- cumstances, scenes, and characters are displayed as in a comedy, and as if merely for the amusement of Elizabeth herself. This letter, written by the Queen of Scots to Queen Elizabeth, at the particular request of the latter, appears to have been written by Mary in one of those moments of impetuosity which were so often fatal to her interests : when weary of her long protracted imprison- ment, and hopeless of ever regaining her liberty, she determined to fulfil a promise, which, made long before, she had hitherto felt re- luctant to perform, and to make Elizabeth acquainted with the facts which had come to her knowledge through the indiscretion of the Countess of Shrewsbury — facts, which as they so little redounded to the credit of Queen Elizabeth, would, Mary well knew, be likely 1o excite in her the utmost rage and fury, thus serving as weapons of reprisal, for the innumerable and intolerable insults and wrongs that had for a long series of years accumulated upon her own defence- less head. She was the more impelled to this from the Countess having about that time — the latter end of the year 1584 — revived anew some gross slanders which she had previously circulated, regarding the Earl her husband and his unfortunate prisoner. These imputations, which proceeded solely from the envy and jealousy which the Countess had conceived in consequence of the rare beauty and accomplishments of the royal captive, so exasperated the Earl, that although one of the most subjugated of husbands, he was for once completely roused, insisting, as an act of justice both to himself and the Queen of Sco's, that the matter should be thoroughly investigated before the Privy Council. The accusers, consisting of the Countess and her two sons by Sir William Cavendish her former husband, were accordingly summoned before it, and after a most rigid examination, were under the neces- sity of acknowledging upon oath that the whole affair was " malicious, false and scandalous, wrongfully urged against the said Queen and Earl, and without the slightest foundation." That the Queen of qq MAItY QUEEN OF SCOTS. Scots was most anxious to bring to light the machinations of her in- famous traducers, the following instructions to her ambassadors will testify. In 1584, writing to the Master of Gray, she says, "Farther, that in consideration of the scandalous reports which are current as between me and the said Earl, I cannot be removed from him with- out having my name handed about amongst the more malicious, who will certainly make use of it, and the less informed who will fancy that some evil and improper conversation has taken place between us, and for which we have been separated; so that at the utmost, they cannot deny me that before being removed from the custody «>f the said Earl, I shall be completely cleared and sufficiently exo- nerated from the said reports, as I have constantly and very importu- nately required this whole year, and this day week by an express dispatch to the said Queen by the French Ambassador, naming the Countess of Shrewsbury and her two sons Charles and William Ca- vendish as the inventors and disseminators of this report, upon whom you will demand justice." In a letter from her dolorous prison of Chartley, 31st May, 1586, she thus writes to her ambassador Chateauneuf, concerning a mes- sage she had received from the Countess. " And, therefore, I am of opinion, that if they urge farther upon you this reconciliation, you will reply that such great and serious causes of enmity have passed between the said Countess and me, you would not undertake to speak to me of reconciliation without a very solid and very express assur- ance of proof of the repentance of the said Countess ; whereupon you will desire her to enter into particulars, and will endeavor to learn from her as far as you can, promising to her only to give me information of all, by the first conveyance which you can recover, and from yourself exert yourself as far as you can, to effect this recon- ciliation. But before-hand, I do not wish to conceal from you my resolution that her extreme ingratitude, and the terms in which she lias acted against me, do not permit me, with my honor (which I hold dearer than all the greatness in this world), to have ever any thing to do with so wicked a woman." — ConU ■nqjorary <:<>l>>j ', State Paper Office, London, M. Q. Scots, Vol. xvii. MAKY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 89 On the same subject, Mary thus writes to the Archbishop of Glasgow : — " Ciiartley, May IS, 1586. " You will perceive also by this negotiation for my liberty, which has been done to protract my going out of the hands of the Earl of Shrewsbury, awaiting the proof which he might have against his wicked wife ; whom at length I^au made to contradict in the presence of the said Queen and her council, all the reports which she had falsely propagated against my honour, and who is now-a-days reduced to this pass to court me, confess her fault and ingratitude, and beg pardon for it. He likewise obtained a prohibition of Buchanan's history."- — Labanoff, {Contemporary decipher, /State Paper Office, London, M. Q. Scots, Yol. xvii.) From the tenor of these communications it may readily be ima- gined that parties holding towards each other the relative positions of these royal and noble personages, were not careful to exercise much Christian forbearance when an opportunity offered for exposing any weakness or enormity, which in the eye of the world might lessen their opponents in its estimation ; and the Queen of Scots, situated as she was, must have possessed almost more magnanimity than human nature is capable of to avoid aiming a blow, however futile, whenever a weak place was discoverable in the armor of foes, who in their conduct to her had no scruples, but remorselessly violated every observance of decency and dignity : nor, whilst remembering her sex and the personal affronts she w r as compelled to endure, can she be severely censured if, with even somewhat of a malicious zest, she undertook to hold up the mirror of Truth before the eyes of the vain and haughty Elizabeth, with a keen appreciation, doubtless, of the emotions likely to be experienced by one so little accustomed to behold herself through so unflattering a medium. The celebrated Letter alluded to, which, in the original, is written in old French, is here presented to the reader, with a literal transla- tion. A part of it may be found in Lingard ; but it has never before been given entire in English. 2 LETTER FROM MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS TO QUEEN ELIZABETH. UIV ANT ce que je Vous ay promis et auvez despuis desire, je Vous declare ores, qu' aveques regretz,que telles chosessoyentam- menees en question, mays tres sincerement et sans auqune passion, dont j'apelle mon Dieu a tesmoing, que la Comptesse de Schreusb my madit de Vous ce qui suit au plus pres de cesTermes. A la plus part de quoy je pro- teste avoir respondu,reprenant la ditte dame de croire ou parler si lisientieusement de Vous, comme chose que je ne croyois point, ni croy a present congnoissant le Naturel de la Comptesse et de quel esprit elle estoit alors poulssee contre Vous. Premierement, qu'un, auquel elle disoit que Vous aviez faict promesse de mariage devant une Dame de vostre chambre,avoit cousche iniinies toys au vesques Vous avec toute la licence et privaulte qui se pent user entre Mari et famme ; Mays qu' indubitablement Vous nestiez pas comme les aultres famines, et pour ce respect cestoit follie a touz ceulx que affectoient vostre Mariage avec Monsieur le Due d'Anjou, d'aultant qu'il ne ce pourroit accomplir ; et que Vous ne vouldriez jamays perdu la liberte de Vous fayre fayre l'amour, et auvoir vostre plesir tousjours auveques nouveaulx amoureulx, regretant ce, disoit-elle, que l'ous ne vous contentiez de Maister Ilaton, et un aultre de ce Royaulme ; mais que pour l'honneur du pays il luy faschoit le plus, que vous aviez non seullement engasge Vostre honneur auveques un estran- gier Nomme Simier, V a lant trouver de nuit en la chambre (rune LETTER FROM MART TO ELIZABETH. qi dame, que la dicte Comtesse blasmoit fort a ceste occasion la, ou Yous le baisiez, et usiez auvec luy de diverses privaultes deshonnestes ; mays aussi luy revelliez les segretz du Eoyaulme, trahisant vos propres conseillers avvesques luy : Que Vous vous estiez desportee de la mesme dissolution avec le Due son Maystre, qui vous avoit este trouver une nuit a la porte de vostre chambre, ou vous laviez rancontre auvec vostre seulle chemise et manteau de nuit, et que par apres vous laviez laisse entrer, et qu'il demeura avveques Vous pres de troys heures. Quant au diet Raton, que vous le couriez a force faysant si publiquement paroitre Famour que luy portiez que luy mesmes estoit contreint de s'en retirer, et que Yous donnastes un souitlet a Kiligreu pour ne vous avoir ramene le diet Haton, que Yous avviez envoiay rappeller par luy, s'estant desparti en chollere d"auveques vous pour quelques injures que luy auviez dittes pour certeins boutons d'or .qu 1 ! auvoit sur son habit. Qu'elle auvoit tra- vaille de fayre espouser au dit Haton la feu Comtesse de Lenox sa fille, mays que de creinte de Yous, il ne osoit entendre ; que mesme le Comte oVOxfort nosoit ce rappointer auveques sa famine de peur de perdre la faveur qu'il esperoit recepvoir par vous fayre Famour : Que vous estiez prodigue envers toutes telles gens et ceulx qui ce mesloient de telles mesnees, comme a un de Yostre Chambre Gorge, an quel Yous avviez donne troys centz ponds de rante pour vous avvoir apporte les nouvelles du retour de Haton : Qu'a toutz aultres Yous estiez fort ingrate chische, et qu'il ni avoit que troys ou quatre en vostre Eoyaulme a qui Yous ayez jamays faict bien : Me con- seillant, en riant extresmement, mettre mon filz sur les rancs pour vous fayre Famours, comme chose qui me serviroit grandement et metroit Monsieur le Due hors de quartier; qui me seroit tres prejudisiable si il i continuoit ; et lui repliquant, que cela seroit pris pour une vraye moquerie elle me respondit que Yous estiez si vayne et en si bonne opinion de vostre beaute, comme si vous estiez quelque deesse du ciel ; qu'elle prandroitsur la teste de le vousfayre croirefacillement et entre- tiendroit mon filz en ceste humeur : Que Yous preniez si grand plesir enflateries hors de touterayson, que l'on vous disoit, comme de dire, qu'on ne vous osoit par foys reguarder a plain, d'aultant que Yostre 92 LETTER FROM MARY TO ELIZABETH. face lnysoit comme le Soleill : Qu'elle et tontes les anltres Dames cle la Court estoints contreintes d'en user, et qu'en son dernier voyage vers Yous, Elle et la feu Comtesse de Lenox parlant a Vous n'osoient s'entreregarder Tune et l'autre de peur de s'eclater de rire des cassades quelle vous donnoint, me priant a son retour de tancer sa fille quelle n'avoyt jamays sceu persuader de fayre le mesme ; et quant a sa fille Talbot., elle >s'assuroit qu'elle ne fauldroit jamays de vous rire an nez ; la dicte dame Talbot lors quelle vous alia fayre la reverance et donne le serment comme Tune de voz servantes, a son retour imediatement, me le comtaut comme une chose fayte en moquerie, me pria de l'accepter pareill, mays plus ressent et entier vers moy, du quel je feiz long terns refus ; mays a la fin a force de larmes je la laissay faire, disant quelle ne vouldroit pour chose du monde estre en vostre service pres de vostre personne, d'autant quelle auroit peur que quand seriez en cholere ne luy fissies comme a sa cousine Sl'cdmur, a qui vous auviez rompu un doibt, faciant a croire a ceulx de la court, que cestoit un chandelier qui estoit tombe dessubz ; et qu'a une aultre vos servant a talle auviez donne un grand coup de cousteau sur la mayn ; Et en un mot, pour ces derniers pointz et communs petitz raportz, Croyez que vous estiez jouee et contrefaictc par elles comme en commedie entre mes famines mesmes ; ce qu' apercevant, je vous jure que je deffendis a mes famines ne ce plus mesler. Davantasge, la dicte Comtesse ma autrefoys advertie que Vous voulliez appointer Poison pour me fayre rumour et essayer de me deshonorer, soyt en effect on par mauvais bruit, de quoy il avoyt instructions de vostre bousche propre : Que Jtuxby veint ici, il i a environ viii ans, pour atempter a ma vie, ay ant parle a vous mesmes, qui luy auviez dit quil fit ce a que Walsingham luy commenderoit et dirigeroit. Quant la dicte Comtesse poiirsuivoit le mariage de son filz Charles auveques une des niepeces du Milord Paget, et que daultre part Vous voulliez lavoir par pure et absolue aucthorite pour un des Knoles, pour ce quil estoit vostre parent ; elle crioit fort contre vous, et disoit que cestoit une vraye tirannie, voulant a vostre fantasie enlever toutes les heritieres du pays, et que vous aviez in- dignement use le dit Paget par parolles injurieuses, mays qu'enfin LETTER FROM MARY To ELIZABETH. 93 la Noblesse de ce Royaume ne le vous soufrisoit pas mesmement, si vous adressiez a telz aultres quelle connoissoit bien. II y a environ quatre on sing ans que Vous estant malade et moy ausi an niesnie temps, elle me dit que vostre Mai provenoit de la closture d'unefistulle que vous aviez dans line jambe ; et que sans donbte venant a perdre voz moys, Vous raourriez bien tost, s'en lesjouissant sur une vayne imagination quelle a eue de long temps par les predictions d'un uomme Jon Lenton, et d'un vieulx liuvre qui prediroit vostre mort par violence et la succession cVune aultre Poyne, quelle interpretoit estre moy, regretant seullement que par le dit liuvre il estoit predit que la Royne qui vous deubroit succeder ne regneroit que trois ans, et mouroit comnie vous par violance, ce qui estoit represente mesnie en peinture dans le dit liuvre, auquel il y avoyt un dernier feuillet, le contenu duquel elle ne ma jamais voulu dire. Elle scait elle mesine que jay tousjours pris cola pour une pure follie, mays elle fesoit bien son compte destre la premiere aupres de moy, et mesmement que mon filz epouseroit ma niepce Arbela. Pour la fin je vous jure encores un coup sur ma foy et lionneur que ce que desubz est tres veritable ; et que de ce qui conserne vostre lionneur, il ne mest jamays tombe en rentendement de vous fayre tort par le reveller ; et qu'il ne ce scaura jamays par moy, le tenant pour tres faulx. Si je puis avoir cest heur de parler a vous, je vous diray plus particu- lierement les lioms, terns, lieux et aultres sirconstances pour vous fayre congnoistre la verite et de cessi et d'aultres choses que je reserve, quant je seray tout a fayct asseuree de vostre amitie, laquelle com- me je desire plus que jamays, aussi si je la puis ceste foys obtenir, vous neustes jamays parente, amy, ny mesmes subject, plus fidelle et affectionnee que je vous seray. Pour Dieu asseurez Vous de celle qui vous veult et peult Servir. De mon lit forcant mon bras et mes douleurs pour vous satisfayre et obeir. Marie R. TRANSLATION CCORDING to what I have promised yon, and have since wished, I now declare to yon, although with regret, that such tilings should have been called in question, but very sincerely, and without any passion, of which I call God to witness, that the Countess of Shrewsbury told me of yr EXTRACTS FROM QUEEN ELIZABETH'S PRAYER-BOOK. The "Turkes" in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, being objects of most devout abhorrence, were accordingly severely dealt with by all good praying Christians ; at whose head the Emperor Maximilian II. was particularly distinguished. In 1566, he lay encamped in the vicinity of Raab, with the main body of his army, while they, un- der Solyman, again entered Hungary. The battles, marches, and countermarches of these formidable combatants, formed in that day as fruitful a theme of interest as the recent warfare in the Crimea, where the followers of Mahomet have redeemed their good name, fighting manfully under the very banners which have so often waved victoriously over their conquered armies, and sacked cities. Among the marvels of three hundred years, it is not one of the least to see the disciples of " Barbarous Mahomet" taking their place in the list of nations as close allies of France and England — their ambassadors received with the greatest honours at the courts of each, while the combined armies and fleets of Queen Victoria I. of England, and of Napoleon III., Emperor of France, are so warmly espousing their quarrel against the powerful Empire of Russia. During the Elizabethan reign the Catholics also held scarcely a kindlier place in English estimation than the detested Turks — in the accompanying fac-similes of " Queen Elizabeth's Prayer-book" (printed 1558), they are most unmercifully dealt with : the zeal of fanaticism burning with a fire and faggot fury that is unmistakeable. 14* EXTRACTS FliOM QfEEN ELlZAHKTirS PBAYEE-BOOK. ChrilUan iTIirn Iagb it in a lamb ilfliint outoftijr rorUc Mnrrin iuas ntbcr man get lailJ. In this her government be her gover- nour we befeech thee, fo fhall her majefty e\ er govern us, if firft Ihe be governed by thee. Multiply her raign with many daies and her years with much felicity, with aboundance of peace, and life ghoftly, that as ihe hath now doubled the years of her fifter and brother, fo if it be thy plcafure fhe may overgrow in raigning the raigne of her father. And becaufe no government can long ftand without good counfell, neither can any counfell be good except it be prof- pered by thee, blefs therefore, we befeech thee, both her majefty and her honorable counfaile, that both they rightly under- ftand what is to be done, and flic accord- ingly may accomplifh that they doe coun- fell to thy glory and furtherance of the gofpell and public wealth of this Rcalmc. EXTRACTS FROM QUEEN ELIZABETH'S PRAYER-BOOK. 149 The floriflieing Churches in Afia, the learned Churches of Grecia, the mani- fold Churches in Africa, which were wont to ferve thee, now are gone from thee. The feven churches of Afia with their candleftick.es (whom thou didft fo well forwarne) are now removed. All the churches where thy diligent Apoftle St. Paule, thy Apoftle St. Peter, and John and other apoftles, fo laboriouf- ly travaylcd preaching and writyng to plant thy Gofpell are now gone from thy Gofpell. In all the Kyngedome of Syria, Paleftina, Arabia, Perfia, in all Armenia, and the Empire of Cappadocia, throughe the whole compafle of Afia, with Egypt and with Africa alfo (unlefle amonge the farre Ethiopians fome old? fteppes of Chriftianity doe yet remaine), either els in all Afia or Africa thy church; hathe not one foot of free land. ¥ Cljantij jjrurH) Urtltft to tlje tljirstg. 150 EXTRACTS FROM QUEEN ELIZABETH'S PRATER-BOOK. Pnsrbrranrc Cntmrclt) to tl)t CnlJ. {m^^c , ^ I "i^- Christian Almighty and ever living God, our Heavenly Father, we thy difobedient and rebellious children, now by thy juft judg- ment fore afflicted, and in great daungcr to be opprefled by thine and our fworn and molt deadly ennemics, the Turkes — Infidels and Mifcreants — doe make humble fuit to the Throne of thy Grace for thy mercy and ayde agaynft the fame, our mortal ennemies. * * * The Turke goeth aboute to fet up, to extol, and to magnify that wicked Moniter and damned foul, Mahumet. But in thy great mercy fave, defend and deliver all thy afflicted Chriftians in this and all other invafions of thefe Infidels, and give to the Emperour thy fervaunt, and all the Christian army now aflemblcd with him, thy comfortable might and courage. * * The Turke with his fword, what Landes, what Nations and Countrcys, what Empires, Kynge- domes and Provinces, with Cities innumerable hathe he wonne not from us, but from Thee. Where thy name was wont to be invocated, thy word preached, thy facraments adminif- tered, there now remayneth barbarous Mahumet and his filthy Alcoran. i£ Betiding. <3 Soto in tl)c mirf. EXTRACTS FROM QUEEN ELIZABETHS PRAYER-BOOK. 151 Now of Europa a great part also is fhronke away from thy Church. All thcfc with lamentable flaughter of Chriftian bloud is wafted, and all become Turkes. Only a little angle of the Weft partes yet remayneth in fome profeffion of thy name. But here (alacke) cometh another mifchief, as great, or greater, than the other. For the Turke with his fworde is not fo cruell, but the Byfhopp of Rome on the other fide is more fierce and bitter againlt us. Styrringe up his Byfhopps to burne us, his confederates to confpyre our destruction, fet- tynge Kynges agaynft their fubjeds, and fubjectes difloyally to rebell agaynft their Princes. They which be frendes and lovers of the Byfhopp of Rome, although they eat the fat of the land, and have the beft preferments and offices, that live moil at eafe and ayle nothing ; yet are they not therewith content. They grudge, they mutter and murmure, they confpire, they take on agaynft us. It fretteth them that we live by them or with them, end cannot abide that we fhould drawe the bare breathing of the ayre when they have all the molt libertie of the land. fell's Cnnptatian ©toncomc. 152 O.LEE.N ELIZABETH AND UEU COUliTIEBS. N all the portraits of Queen Elizabeth, tliere is a remarkable want of shadow, scarcely suf- ficient being perceptible to bring out the features. This peculiarity arose, in conse- quence of her portrait having once been taken by some painter, who more conscientious than courtly, exhibited in his treatment of the subject a minute attention to detail, which made his work when complete, a most rigidly faithful, but frightful likeness : hard lines, tortus >us wrinkles, and deep shadows abounded ; insomuch, that the Queen on beholding it exclaimed, "Blockhead! do you call that a likeness of me ? Have I those things on my nice ? "What do you call them ?" " Shadows, and it please your majesty !" " And what are shadows ? Accidents, which are no part of the real features, and which it should be the painter's most careful study to avoid. Take the picture out of my sight." The dismayed artist, glad to get off with no more weighty proof of her majesty's displeasure, repaired to his studio, carefully obliterated every shadow and tell-tale wrinkle, and after putting a little more light on the pupil of the eye, a tint or two on the thin lips and high cheek bones, together with a few other embellishments wherever he thought they might be advantageously disposed, he again waited on her majesty, and with a very different result to that of his former interview: praise succeeded blame, encouraging expres- sions instead of angry exclamations, and with a memory that never forgot the Lesson then learned, he became a fashionable court painter. THE BROAD-PIECE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH, ,IIE above is an engraving of one of the last Broad- pieces of Queen Elizabeth, wherein she is represent- ed as extremely old and ill-favored, with a coun- tenance indicative of all the passions and vices for which she was most remarkable. It is partly copied from a fragment, cut out and preserved by some workman of the mint, and although here given in its full proportions, an entire coin with this image is not known, the face alone, having been thought worthy to be retained. The edges are irregularly clipped closely around it. It is universally believed that the die Avas rigorously destroyed by the Queen's command on account of its too terrific faithfulness, abounding as it does in those severe indications of feature and deep shadow, which she maintained to be mere accidents, and as such carefully avoided in all delineations of her countenance. The repulsive but doubtless most accurate likeness as exhibited on the coin, bears evidence of having been minutely copied from the life by some artist, whose reward if in proportion to her astonishment aud rage on its presentation for approval, could have been little less 154 QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HER COURTIERS. than the pillory. It may be considered as the only true likeness of her face as it really appeared at an advanced age, when, -with the infirmities consequent thereon, she yet retained the passions and vanities of her early years, together with that assumption of youth- ful levity and agility whose affected display, always lamentable and ridiculous in the old, appeai-s doubly so in one whose general cha- racter was composed of such stern elements. In such outward seem- ing as the above true likeness, may she be supposed to have received the feigned idolatry of her courtiers ; the high flown rhodomontade of Sir Walter Raleigh, and the passionate word-worship of the unhappy Earl of Essex. The letters of these distinguished men, while illus- trating the inordinate vanity and credulity of their royal mistress, convey also a forcible impression of the moral degradation and con- temptible deceits to which a court life in those days habituated minds, one of which, at least, was originally noble and sincere. In that of the sensitive and generous Essex this mortifying con- sciousness seems to have been perpetually rankling, making him, even when basking in the brightest sunshine of royal favor, the most miserable of men. To this remorsefulness must be attributed those unequal and rebellious moods, those starts of unruly passion, and returns of penitence ; which, while they awakened the pique of Elizabeth, and kept her in continual agitation, only rendered him more interesting, and apparently more worthy of her regard : since these ebullitions were generally caused by some rash generosity to others — some wish to serve a friend rather than to advantage him- self — as when, in 1596, violently pleading for Sir George Carew to be sent deputy to Ireland, instead of his own maternal uncle, Sir William Knollys, he became so exasperated at the Queen's disincli- nation to grant his request as to rudely turn his back upon her, "mut- tering certain words,' 1 as the historian says ; who also adds : tk Where- upon -lie growing impatient, gave him a box on the ear, and bid him begone with a vengeance. Essex laid his hand upon his sword hilt, and -wore a great oath that he could not and would not put up with such an indignity ; and would not have taken it from King Henry the Eighth's own hands: and so, in a rage, flung away from the court. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HER COURTIERS. I55 But afterward, being admonished by the Lord Keeper, he became more mild, and in a short time returned into the Queen's favour." But it does not appear that this great Queen had the art of attaching to herself the affections of others. In her, that exquisite quality, possessed in so pre-eminent a degree by her unfortunate rival the Queen of Scots, was utterly wanting. Possessing the frailties of her sex without its tenderness, devoid of pity, and one to whom love in its purest and noblest sense was unknown, with the exception of Burghley her old and faithful minis- ter, and one or two others, there is no mention of any one who felt for her a higher degree of regard than his own interests prompted ; and, after flattering herself that the impulsive Essex — her last and youngest favourite, the darling of her withered heart — was an excep- tion, how cruelly must she have been wounded by his disparaging remarks on that " crooked carcasse," which she had fondly hoped was to him so inexpressibly beautiful and beloved. The sympathy of her own sex will, on this point, go with her any lengths short of the block, even against so fascinating a personage as Essex. But when, at the last extremity, the precious and mysteriously endowed ring — given from her hand to his in a moment of passionate affection, with a solemn promise to grant any request that might accompany it — was found to have lost its power ; when he, its wretched owner, unconscious of its detention by Lady Nottingham, was suffering all the tortures of suspense ; while nothing but a blank and ominous silence on the Queen's part responded to his sickening hopes and fears, and the fatal hour of execution came at last — and still no answer — how deep is the commiseration for the offender — how intense the hatred against his unforgiving and cruel mistress j the cir- 156 QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HEE COUETIEES. cumstance that she never received the ring, scarcely lessening the antipathy to a nature that could visit with so dire a punishment, one who had once occupied in her heart a place so dear as did the rashbut generous and affectionate Essex. The romantic and touching story of this celebrated ring lias but few parallels in history — the rank of the actors scarcely heightening the interest of a narrative in which the tenderest emotions of every heart are irresistibly called forth; parti- cipating in the agitation and sorrows of the prisoner; the anxious wishes, anger, and final remorse of the Queen. As the engraving represents this antique love-token, imagination makes it the mute embodiment of a thousand tears, kisses, and agonies; and when all this has been done, how infinitely must such fancying fall short of the sad reality. " The ring of which the engraving presents an accurate copy, is of gold, the sides are engraved, and the insides set in blue enamel : the stone is a sardonyx, on which is cut in relief the head of Eliza- beth, the execution of which is of a high order. It is now in the possession of the Rev. Lord John Thynne, and lias descended in direct succession from the Lady Frances Devcreux, afterwards Duchess of Somerset (who was a daughter of Essex)."* The character of Essex was exquisite — chequered with weaknesses, but bright with virtues; whose qualities were all grand and noble, and to whom meanness, selfishness, or dissimulation were impossible. Brave and generous to excess, he was the idol of the soldiery and populace, no less than of the Queen. He was one of those who from the impulses of their own hearts are perpetually doing something strangely graceful, that keeps them alive in the hearts of others. In L592, when forced by the express command of Elizabeth to leave the army, he arrived at Dieppe with a great number of infirm and disabled soldiers, the French ambassador writes of him: "This nobleman, on embarking for England, drew his sword, and kissed the blade.' 1 His letters to the Queen are elaborate compositions, revealing the effort they cost the writer. The two following are among the most remarkable, taken from the invaluable Hulton MSS.: * Devereux's Lives ol the Earls of Essex. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HER C0UUTIER8. LETTER FROM ESSEX TO THE QUEEN* (Ilulton MSS.) " Most fair, most dear, and most excellent Sovereign : " The first suit I make unto your Majesty on my arrival is, that your Majesty will free me from writing unto you of any matters of business ; my duty shall be otherwise performed by advertising my LL. of your Majesty's council of all things here, and yet my affection not wronged, which tells me, that zealous faith, and humble kindness are argument enough for a letter. "At my departure I had a restless desire honestly to disengage myself from this French action : in my absence I conceive an assured hope to do something which shall make me worthy of the name of your servant: at my return I will humbly beseech your Majesty that no cause but a great action of your own may draw me out of your sight, for the two windows of your privy chamber shall be the poles of my sphere, where, as long as your Majesty will please to have me, I am fixed and immoveable. When your Majesty thinks that heaven too good for me, I will not fall like a star, but be con- sumed like a vapour by the same sun that dreAV me up to such a height. While your majesty gives me leave to say I love you, my fortune is, as my affection — unmatchable. If ever you deny me that liberty, you may end my life, but never shake my constancy ; for were the sweetness of your nature turned into the greatest bitterness that could be, it is not in your power, as great a Queen as you are, to make me love you less. Therefore, for the honour of your sex, show yourself constant in kindness, for all your other virtues are confessed to be perfect ; and so I beseech your Majesty receive all wishes of perfect happiness, from your Majesty's most humble, faithful, and affectionate servant. " Dieppe, 18th October." lt - ^bbbiL. This and the following letter were written soon after his return. * Devereux's Lives of the Earls of Essex. i-o QUEEfl ELIZABETH AND UEK COUKTlEEa LETTER FROM THE EARL OF ESSEX TO THE Q U H K N . * (Ilulton MSS) •• Madam : "The delights of this place cannot make me unmindful of one in whose sweet company 1 have joyed as much as the happiest man doth in his highest contentment ; and if my horse could run as fast as my thoughts do fly, I would as often make mine eyes rich in beholding the treasure of my love ; as my desires do triumph when 1 seem to myself in a strong imagination to conquer your resisting will. Noble and dear lady, though I be absent, let me in your favour be second unto none ; and when I am at home, if I have no right to dwell chief in so excellent a place, yet I will usurp upon all the world. And so making myself as humble to do you service; as in my love I am ambitions, I wish your Majesty all your happy desires. Croydon, this Tuesday going to be mad, and make my horse tame. Of all men the most devoted to your service. "R. Essex." The following epistle may lie considered one of the best specimens extant of the style deemed most likely to propitiate the Queen on behalf of an offending courtier. Sir Walter Raleigh, in deep disgrace for having married tin- daughter of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, was then undergoing the discipline usually inflicted by her majesty on those recreants among her admirers who committed the unpardonable sin of matrimony. The letter, though addressed to Sir Robert Cecill, is evidently intended for the eye of the Queen. SIR WALTER RALEIGH TO SIR ROBERT CECILL. "July, 1592. "I pray be a mean to her Majesty for the signing of the Bills for the Gardes' Coates, which arc to be made now for thePrograsse, and * Devereiix's Lives of die Hurls of Kssex. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND 1IEU C0UETIEE3. Jgg which the Cleark of the Cheeck hath importunde me to write for. " My Heart was never broken till this day that I hear the Queen goes away so far off, whom I have followed so many years with so great Love and Desire, in so many journeys, and am now left behind her, in a dark Prison all alone. While she was yet nire at hand, that I might hear of her once in two or three Dayes, my Sorrow T es were the less : but even now my Heart is cast into the Depth of all Misery. I that was wont to behold her riding like Alexander ; hunt- ing like Diana ; walking like Venus ; the gentle Wind blowing her fair Hair about her pure cheeks, like a Nymph. Sometimes sitting in the Shade like a Goddess ; sometime singing like an Angell ; sometime playing like Orpheus. " Behold the Sorrow of this World ! Once amiss hath bereaved me of all. Oh, Glory, that only shineth in Misfortune, what is become of thy Assurance ? All Wounds have Shares but that of Fantasie : all affections their relenting but that of Woman Kind. Who is the Judge of Friendship but Adversity, or when is Grace witnessed but in Offences ? There were no Divinity but by reason of Compassion ; for Revenues are brutish and mortall. " All those Times past, the Loves, the Syth.es, the Sorrowes, the Desires, can they not way down one frail Misfortune ? Cannot one Dropp of Gall be hidden in so great Heaps of Sweetness ? I may then conclude Spes et Fortuna Valete. She is gone in whom I trusted, and of me hath not one thought of Mercy, nor any Respect of that that was. Do with me now therefore what you list. I am more weary of Life than they are desirous I should perish, which, if it had been for her, as it is by her, I had been too happily born. " Yours, not worthy any name or Title, "W. R. "To my Honourable Friend, Sir Robert Cecill, Knight of her Majesty's most Honourable Privy CouncelL"* Bur--] i lev Shite Papers, Murdm. Page 657. 1^0 QUEEN ELIZABETH ASD HEK COUKTIEK& SIR PHILIP SYDNEY TO THE QUEEN". "10 November, 1581. " " Most gracious Soverein. " This rude Peece of Paper shall presume because of your Majes- ty's commandement, most humbly to present such a cypher as little Leysure coold afford me. If there come any Matter to my Know- ledg, the Importance wherof shall deserve to be so masked, I will not fail (since your Pleasure is my onely Boldnes) to your own Handes to recommend it. In the mean Tyme, I beseech your Ma- jestic will vouchsafe legibly to reed my Hart in the course of my Lyfe ; and though itself be but of a mean worth, yet to esteem it lyke a poor Hous well sett. I most lowly kiss your Handes, and prai to God your Enemies may then onely have Peace when thei are weery of knowing your Force. " Your Majestie's most humble Servant, " Philip Sidnei. "At Gravesend, this 10th of November, 1581. To the Queen's Mosl Excellent Majestie." \Burgliley State Papers, Murdin^p. o(J4.] QU^EN ELIZABETH AND UEU CULTtTlEKS. 161 THE EARL OF OXFORD, |HE Earl of Oxford, of whom Mary Queen of Scots makes mention in her letter to Queen Elizabeth, was Edward de Vere, one of the most elegant and accom- plished noblemen of the English court. He shone to the greatest advantage in the tournaments, masques, and other princely pastimes of the period. As victor in two of the former, he had the honour to receive the prize from the Queen's own hand. Clothed in complete armor of the most dazzling and costly workmanship, he was led into her presence by two of the most beautiful ladies of the court, amidst all the ceremo- nies, pomp, and pageantry usual on such occasions. He is recorded to have been the first who brought over from Italy those richly embroidered and perfumed gloves which soon afterwards were so much worn by the great ladies of the time, and which make so elegant a feature in their costume. The Earl must have been a most welcome guest to these fair dames, since, in addi- tion to gloves, he is recorded to have brought also " sweet bags," " a perfumed leather jerkin," and other pleasant things. To the Queen he presented a pair of these perfumed gloves trimmed, we are told, "with four tufts or roses of coloured silk. In which gloves she took such delight as to be pictured with them on her hands." The rich scent with which they were impregnated was, for many years afterwards, called the " Earl of Oxford's perfume." The wife of this nobleman, to whom he did not dare to behave well, for fear of incurring the Queen's displeasure, was Anne Cecil, daughter to Lord Burghley. But at length such restraint was unne- cessary : for so enraged was the Earl against Cecil for the part he took against the unfortunate Duke of Norfolk, his bosom friend, that, in a base spirit of mean, unmanly revenge, he not only 2Q2 Q 1 l;i;N ELIZABETH AND HEE C01 BTIEES. estranged himself from his wife, but wantonly wasted and consumed nearly the whole of his vast inheritance. The carl wa> a comic writer and a poet, many of his plays being greatly celebrated in his day; but — alas! for human praise and glory — their very names are now lost. The Queen of Scots, in a letter to the Archbishop of Glasgow and Cardinal Lorraine, dated August 4, 1574, writes: "If the Earl of Oxford arrives in your neighbourhood, inform my cousin of Guise that hi' is one of the greatest people in this country, and a Catholic, and a friend in secret, and request him to give him a hearty welcome ; he is frolicsome and young, and will gladly seek for the society of young people. I entreat my said cousin and his brothers to cherish him, and give him some horses, and keep company with him, taking him about with them to amuse him.'' That great and overgrown favorite the Earl of Leicester received a somewhat similar mark of attention from Mary — as she thus men- tions him to her uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine, in 1570: "Mon- sieur de la Motile advises me to entreat that my cousin of Guise, my grandmother, and you, will write some civil letters to Leicester, thanking him for his courtesy to me, as if he had done much for ine; and by the same medium send him some handsome present, which will do me much good. He takes great delight in furniture. If you send him some crystal cup in your name, and allow me to pay for it, or some fine Turkey carpet, or such like, as you may think most fitting, it will perhaps save me this winter, and will make him much ashamed, or suspected of his mistress; and all will assist me, for he intends to make me speak of marriage or die, as it is said, so that either he 01" his brother may have to do with this crown. I beseech you to try if such small devices can save me — and 1 shall entertain him with the oilier at a, distance." QUEEN ELIZABETH AND HER COURTIERS. 163 IE, Christopher Hatton, though one of the most worthy of all the favorites of Queen Elizabeth, has received but little notice from biographers, and that little, though comprising the descrip- tion of some admirable qualities and virtues, had probably ere this sunk into oblivion but for the poet Gray, who, remembering that Ilat- ton's graceful person and tine dancing had first won him the notice of the Queen, brought him forward somewhat ludicrously in his " Long Story," as 'WM Siiill ill rs *?*^^3f2 til tBfejife i^W^i Si ^jSllfc$&$k s. S^fiPip? " My grave Lord Keeper led the brawls, The seals and maces danced before him. 1C-J- QUEEN ELIZABETH A.M) IIEE COUKTIERS. "His bushy beard and shoestrings green, His high-crowned hat ai d satin doublet, Moved the stout heart of England's Queen, Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it." " Sir Christopher Hatton,"says Sir John Perrot," came into the court by the Galliard, for he came but as a simple gentleman of the Inns of Court in a masque', and for his activity and person, which was tall and proportionable, was taken into the Queen's favour. Offices and grants were showered upon him until, in 15S7, he was appointed Lord High Chancellor and Knight of the Garter. lie died unmaried in 1591." He is recorded to have been the only one of the Queen's favour- ite's who died a bachelor ; one, who more than all the rest, showed himself worthy of the honours bestowed upon him; and who, in the fulness of prosperity, whilst remembering what belonged to his own dignity, never forgot what was due to that of others. Besides being one of the handsomest and most accomplished men of his time, he is described as possessing "great nobleness of mind, but no ambition ;" a heart tenderly alive to the calls of suffering humanity ; more especially exercising bounty and munificence to students and learned men, whom it was his delight to foster and encourage, and of singnlar moderation in his religious views; holding it as his opi- nion, that in all that appertained to the soul — fire and sword were both culpable and useless. The crown of his character seems to have been a bright and delicate conscientiousness, which amidst a thou- sand temptations and opportunities, preserved him from ever becom- ing their slave. One in whom the elements we're so finely blended should have met with a happier ending, for his death has been ascribed to the harshness and suddenness with which Elizabeth de- manded the instant payment of a great sum in his hands. " He had hopes," says Camden, " in regard of the favour he was in with her, she would have forgiven him; but she could not having once cast him down with a harsh word, raise him up again, though she' visite'd him, and endeavoured to comfort him.'" So died a good and noble man. broken-hearted. THE COUNTESS OF SHREWSBURY. LIZABETH, Countess of Shrewsbury, or, as she was fondly and admiringly styled in her native county of Derby, " Bess of Hardwick," one of the most beautiful women of her time, was also distinguished for her indomitable strength of character, masculine abilities, and excessive pride. Furious of temper, selfish and unfeeling I of heart, she resembled greatly the royal mistress she served, with whom she was a great favorite; and in like manner as Elizabeth conducted the affairs of her kingdom, so did the haughty and imperious countess wisely and ably manage her great estates, increasing their value in every possible manner, overseeing every department, and transacting the various matters of business connected with her buildings, farms, forests, lead and coal-mines, in her own person : lending large sums of money at great profit, and enriching herself marvellously by the exercise of abilities, prudence, and judgment such as are rarely found united in a female character, particularly when accompanied by beauty so rare as that for which the countess was celebrated. This lady was originally one of the co- heirs of Hardwick in Derbyshire, and on account of her great wealth and extreme beauty, was, when quite young, much sought after by many. She married at or before the early age of fourteen, becom- ing successively the tyrant of four husbands, and enriching herself by them all. The first was Robert Barley Esq., of Derbyshire; her second, Sir William St. Lo, captain of Queen Elizabeth's guard, and owner of many fair lordships in Gloucestershire and elsewhere : her third, Sir William Cavendish — and her fourth, the Earl of Shrewsbury. The princely pleasure of building fine houses was the one in which the countess most delighted. A magnificent pastime ; which 1QQ THE COUNTESS OF SHREWSBURY. while affording employment to hundreds, diffused animation, industry and comfort amongst the p 'er classes wherever it was going on. A cunning fortune-teller in whose cajoleries the countess placed great trust, being cither himself fully aware of the benefits derived by her tenantry from her passion for palace architecture, or incited thereto by others, made to her a solemn revelation that so long as she continued to build, Death would have no power over her, hut that as soon as she discontinued the practice, her life would end quickly. Deeply impressed with his words the countess pursued her favourite plans more energetically than ever, one fine edifice after another i-ising into notice beneath her guiding hand, until in the midst of a very severe winter, when the river Derwent seemed reduced to a frozen thread between its icy banks, when the roads were blocked up with snow, and the cold was so intense that out-door work was im- possible, the labourers were obliged to discontinue their operations, and the countess, no longer cheered by the busy sounds of labour and the voices of her numerous workmen, became melancholy, suffering, seriously ill, and in a few days was no more. As the widow of Sir William Cavendish, this beautiful empress of the "Peak" had captivated George Earl of Shrewsbury, at that time one of the greatest peers of England ; but she was inexorable to his suit until he had given his consent that Gilbert, his second son, but afterwards his heir, should espouse Mary (the "Lady Tal- bot" of Queen Mary's letter), her daughter by Sir William Caven- disli ; and that the Earl's younger daughter, the Lady Grace, should become the wile < >f 1 Ienry Cavendish, her eldest son. The earl having consented to this, she demanded further an immense jointure in lands to be settled upon herself; to this also he condescended, and, as Dugdale savs, " to much more hereafter." Indeed, she finally so far prevailed over the Earl that after some years, when a separation was arranged between them, he was obliged to become, as it were, her pensioner — the Queen taking part against him in aid of her favorite. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SHAKSPEARE. ICHMCXND, the magnificent palace which the grandfather of Queen Elizabeth erected upon the ruins of the old palace of the Plan- taffenets, was a favorite residence of the queen. Here, where she danced her galliards, and made the courts harmonious with her music, she closed her life ; not quite so de- serted as was the great Edward upon the same spot, but the victim, in all probability, of blighted affections and unavailing regrets. Scarce a vestige is now left of the second palace of Richmond. The splendid towers of Henry YII. have fallen ; but the name which he gave to the site endures, and the natural beauty which fixed here the old sov- ereigns of England, and which the people of all the land still gaze upon, is something which outlives the works of man, if not the memory of those works. In the Christmas of 1589, the queen's players would be necessarily busy for the diversion of the court. The records are lost which would show us at this period what were the precise performances offered to the queen. We can have no doubt that the last decade of the sixteenth cen- tury was the most brilliant period of the regal patronage of the drama ; the period when Shakspeare, especially, " made those flights upon the banks of the Thames,' 1 to which Jonson so emphatically al- luded. That Shakspeare was familiar with Richmond we can readily believe. He and his fellows would, unquestionably, at the holiday seasons of Christmas and Shrovetide, be at the command of the Lord 168 QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SHAKSPEARE. Chamberlain, and in attendance upon the court -wherever the queen chose to dwell. Wherever the queen was, there was the seat of gov eminent. Elizabeth carried the desire for change of place to an extent not the most agreeable to many of her subjects. But all the palaces Mere the seats of gayety, throwing a veil over fears and jealousies and feverish ambition. Our business is not with their real tragedies. From about the period of Shakspeare's first connection with the stage, and thence with the court, Henry, Lord Hunsdon, the kinsman of Elizabeth, was lord chamberlain. He was the patron of Shaks- peare's company; they were the lord chamberlain's men, or, in other words, the especial servants of the court. Elizabeth bestowed upon Lord Hunsdon as a residence the magnificent palace of the Protector Somerset. Here, in these halls, would the company of Shakspeare be frequently engaged. The queen occasionally made the palace her residence ; and it can scarcely be doubted that on these occasions there was revelry upon which the genius of the new dramatic poet, so im- measurably above all his compeers, would bestow a grace which a few years earlier seemed little akin to the spirit of the drama. That pal- ace also is swept away ; and the place which once witnessed the stately measure and the brisk galliard — where Cupids shook their painted wings in the solemn masque — and where, above all, our great dra- matic poet may first have produced his Comedy of Errors, his Two Gentlemen of Verona, his Romeo and Juliet, and have been rewarded with smiles and tears, such as seldom Mere bestowed in the chill regions of state and etiquette — that place now sees a striking contrast in the Somerset House of Queen Victoria's Commissioners of Stamps and Taxes. In the autumn of 1592 the plague raged in London. At Christ- mas of this year there were no revels at court, "her majesty's own servants in this time of infection may not disport her highness with their wonted and ordinary pastimes." Besides, Shakspeare, during the long continuance of the plague in London, had no occupation at the Blackfriars Theatre; it is probable that he was residing at his own Stratford. The leisure, we think, afforded him opportunity of prepar- ing the most important of that wonderful series of historical dramas Ed y Ed cd Ed © Ed 1^' fa td Ed Ed QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SHAKSPEAKE. 169 which unquestionably appeared within a few years of this period, and of producing some other dramatic compositions of the highest order of jwetic excellence. It is in A Midsummer Night's Dream, that Shakspeare first felt the entire strength of his creative power. That noble poem is some- thing so essentially different from anything which the stage had pre- viously possessed, that we must regard it as a great effort of the highest originality ; probably composed with the express intention of being presented to " an audience fit though few," who were familiar with the allusions of classical story, of " masque and antique pageantry." The exquisite delicacy of the compliment to " the imperial votaress," fully warrants the belief that in the season of calamity, when her own servants " may not disport her highness with their wonted and ordi- nary pastimes," one of them was employed in a labor for her service, which would make all other pastimes of that epoch appear flat and trivial. From the 1st of August, 1593, to the following Christmas, the queen was at Windsor. The plague still raged in London ; living in the dread of infection, the queen would require amusement ; and the lord chamberlain's players, who had so long forborne to resort to the metropolis, were gathered around her without any danger from their presence. If so, was the Midsummer Night's Dream one of the nov- elties which her players had to produce ? But there was another novelty which tradition tells us was written at the special desire of the queen herself- -a comedy which John Dennis altered in 1702, and then published with the following statement : — " That this comedy was not despicable, I guessed for several "reasons ; first, I knew very well that it had pleased one of the greatest queens that ever was in the world — great not only for her wisdom in the arts of government, but for her knowledge of polite learning, and her nice taste of the drama ; for such a taste we may be sure she had, by the relish which she had of the ancients. This comedy was written at her command, and by her direction, and she was so eager to see it acted, that she commanded it to be finished in fourteen days ; and was afterward, as tradition tells us, very well pleased at the representation." The plain 1,11 QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SHAK.SPEA.KE. statement of Dennis, "this comedy was written at her command," was amplified by Rowe into the circumstantial relation that Elizabeth was so well pleased with the character of Falstaff in Henry IV., "that she commanded him to continue it for one play more, and to show him in love." Hence all the attempts, which have only resulted in confusion worse confounded, to connect The Merry Wives of Wind- sor with Henry IV. Let us fix then the performance of the Merry Wives of Windsor at that period when Elizabeth remained five months in her castle, re- pressing her usual desire to progress from country to country, or to move from palace to palace. She has completed her noble terrace, with its almost unrivalled prospect of beauty and fertility. Her gallery, too, is finished, whose large bay-window looks out upon the same magnificent landscape. The comedy, which probably arose out of some local incident, abundantly provocative of courtly gossip and merriment, has hastily been produced. The hand of the master is yet visible in it. Its allusions, contrary to the wont of the authoi", are all local, and therefore agreeable to his audience. As his charac- ters hover about Frogmore, with its farm-house where Anne Page is a-feasting ; as Falstaff meets his most perilous adventure in Datchet Mead ; as Mistress Anne and her fairies crouch in the castle ditch, — the poet shows that he has made himself familiar with the scenes where the queen delighted to dwell. The characters, too, are of the very time of the representation of the play, perhaps more than one of them copied from actual persons. In the original sketch Shaks- peare hardly makes an attempt to transfer the scene to an earlier period. The persons of the drama are all of them drawn from the rich storehouse of the humors of the middle classes of his own day. We may readily believe the tradition which tells us the queen was " very well pleased at the representation." The compliment to her in association with Windsor, in the last scene, where the drollery is surrounded with the most appropriate poetry, sufficiently indicates the place at which the comedy was performed, and the audience to whom it was presented : — QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SHAKSPEARE. 171 " About, about ; Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out: Strew good luck, oupbes, on every sacred room, That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit ; "Worthy the owner, and the owner it." It is believed that Shakspeare. visited Scotland in 1601, and from bis visit came Macbeth, altogether one of the most remarkable of his plays, not only as displaying the highest power, but as presenting a story and a machinery altogether different in character from any other of his works. If it can be inferred, that this story was suggested, or its local details established, or the materials for the machinery col- lected, through the presence of the great poet upon Scottish ground, a new interest is created in Macbeth, not only for the people of Scot- land, but for every one to whom Shakspeare is familiar. The accuracy displayed in the local descriptions and allusions must have been derived from a rapid personal observation ; some of the peculiarities of his witchcraft imagery might have been found in Scottish superstitions, and more especially in those which were rife at Aberdeen at the beginning of the seventeenth century. At the second Christmas after James had ascended the English throne, the early plays of Shakspeare were as much in request at the court as those which belong to a later period. MRS. COWDEN CLAEK.E. 173 TO MRS. COWDEN CLAEKE. WHO SPENT TWELVE SEARS IN COMPILING UE1 11 CONCOKDANCE TO 8HAKESHEAKK." 1 :AiU Vot'ress at great Shakespeare's shrine, Who, echoing every word ami line, A follower in his steps divine, Adorable and bright ! Still basking in the hallowed beam, Still bathing in the living stream, Till twelve full years, passed like a dream Had vanished out of sijdit. 174 TESTIMONIAL CIIAIIi. 175 So highly gratified were the people of America with Mrs. Clarke's Concordance to Shakespeare, that a subscription was set on foot a few years ago, to present her with a fitting testimonial of grati- tude in the shape of a magnificent Library Chair, constructed of rosewood, and beautifully carved with emblems of Shakespeare. Subscriptions came in from eighteen different States of the Union, amounting to four hundred dollars. The chair was presented by the Hon. Abbot Lawrence, then American Minister in London. It must have been very gratifying to this lovely and accomplished lady, to receive such an unexpected compliment from a distant land — par- ticularly as it was accompanied by the letters which transmitted the subscriptions. The following is a copy of that written by the Hon. Daniel Webster, Secretary of State, in answer to one soliciting him to head the subscription with his distinguished name : — " Washington, July 11th, 1851. " Dear Sir, " I had the pleasure of receiving your highly valued letter of the 19th of last month, at the moment of leaving this city for a visit to Virginia. On my return I looked up the letter, but do not find the cir- cular. I shall most heartily concur, my dear sir, in a testimonial of approbation to the lady to whom you refer, and am quite ready to sign the subscription, first, or last, or anywhere. Her work is a per- fect wonder, surprisingly full and accurate, and exhibiting proof of unexampled labour and patience. She has treasured up every word of Shakespeare, as if he were her lover and she were his. I expect to be at the Astor House, about the middle of next month. Pray give me an opportunity to place my name among the contributors to the Testimonial. I am, dear sir, yours with entire regard, "Daniel Webster. "P..S. — Of thoseof my personal friends who know Shakespeare best and admire him most, is Mrs. Edward Curtis, of your city. She first made me acquainted with this admirable Concordance, and I pray you to give her an opportunity of signifying her exalted opinion of it by subscribing to the testimonial.'" 176 TESTIMONIAL CHAIR. The above engraving may serve to convey some idea of this well- deserved and appropriate tribute, at once honourable to the givers and the receiver. To the combined taste of Mrs. Curtis and Mrs. Webster must be attributed much of its richness of effect, since to those ladies is owing the selection of the magnificent gold-coloured brocade which forms so happy a contrast to the sombre hue of the rosewood carvings of the surrounding frame-work. TO MRS. COWDEN CLARKE. All honour to the lady fair Who honours thus the Shakespeare chair. May all her days speed on with joy — No sorrow wound, no care annoy ; May sunrise find her bright and happy — The moonrise snug, composed, and nappy ; And may each thought, as on it flows, Call forth a laurel or a rose, Till a bright chaplet, fading never, Entwines around her brow for ever. Such are the wishes, frank and free, From the blest land of Liberty Sent to the gracious lady fair Who honours thus the Shakes] eare chair. BELL'S STATUETTE OF SHAKESPEARE. Among the innumerable objects which adorn the world of Art, Mr. John Bell's Statuette of Shakespeare is fully entitled to a high pre-eminence. The figure is eighteen inches high, and of the mate- rial called Parian. The poet is represented in the dress of the period in which he lived. The aspect is calm and contemplative, and of an inconceivable grace and dignity. This lovely chef-d'oeuvre, when viewed partially, but not quite in profile, with the light descending on the features, is exquisite ; full of purity and repose, it gives the idea of a mighty mind concentrated in its own imaginings ; impressing on the beholder, that he has before him a reflection from the actual spirit <>f Shakespeare. A soul breathes through the marble, thus re- alizing the noblest effort of the artist, an effort whose attainment gives the stamp of true genius to his work, and especially hallows the Sculptor's art. To a devout worshipper of the immortal Bard, the effect produced by this mind-breathing form and face, is like that experienced by a lover when gazingon the highly finished miniatureof L BELLS STATUETTE OF SHAKESPEARE. 179 his mistress. It haunts -his imagination when the object is no longer visible — rises unbidden in the silence of his solitary hours, to return again and again, a " thing of beauty and a happiness forever.' 1 Such is the effect produced by this eminent sculptor's statuette of Shake- speare. A lady, to whom the lovers of Shakespeare are under greater obligations than to all the commentators and emendators put together, thus writes, on receiving a small daguerreotype taken from the statuette by Mr. Gabriel Harrison of Brooklyn : " On my return from our visit to Ugbrook Park, I found the dainty little packet containing the elegant gift, thatexcjuisite daguerre- otype of Shakespeare, in its beautiful case. We all agree that we have not seen a more tasteful thing altogether, for many a long day. The more 1 look at this charming little daguerreotype figure, the more I admire it. It is so beautifully simple in attitude, so easy in dress, so Shakespearean in short. The droop of the head thoughtful and reposeful, bringing into prominence the broad expansive forehead, suggests intellectual supremacy better than all me upturned looks and eyes cast to heaven, that were ever invented by the Frenchy im- agination of a Roubilliac to represent ideality. Poetic reverie does not take a displayful and commonplace air. When William Shake- speare wrote his great creations, we do not fancy him holding a pen- cil to his brow, after the maimer of a melodramatic actor. In the lovely little portrait of him that now lies before me, we may picture him to ourselves as just pausing in one of his field strolls around green Stratford-on-Avon, and pondering some suddenly conceived thought or fresh inspired scene. The very closure of the hand has elo- quence in it." The writer of this eulogium is Mary Cowden Clarke, authoress of that invaluable work the Concordance to Shakespeare, a work of immense labour, which nothing but an enthusiastic love and perseve- rance could have accomplished. Twelve long years did this lady occupy on the work, and four more in correcting the press. Not- withstanding its vast amount of matter, its accuracy is unrivalled, not one erratum is to be found from beo-iimina; to end. THOMAS CROFTON CROKER. HE " Fairy Legends of the Soutli of Ireland," have made the name of their author known through- out the world. By his lamented death, Ireland has lost one of her most gifted sons ; her fairy-lore and ancient traditions, their most eloquent narrator ; one, who bringing to the task the stores of a highly cultivated mind, the brilliant glow of a most vivid imagination, and the fervid warmth of a gay and generous heart, accomplished it in a manner THOMAS CEOFTON CUOKEB. 181 which at once placed him amongst the most popular, writers of the present day. But, while the reading world regret the loss of the lively and graphic author, who delighted them with his racy anecdotes, and inimitable delineations of the rough emeralds of his native isle, their superstitions, and their drolleries, with here and there a touch that kindles deeper feelings, there are others, who though not allied to him by the ties of blood, lament him as the beloved, the generous, the ever faithful friend ; by them his loss is felt to be irreparable, and mourned with an honest sorrow proportionate to his many admi- rable qualities and virtues. Memory loves to recal him in his bright- est days, the time of vigour, of vividness, and of hope. In those days when in the society of L. E. L., Miss Roberts, Keightley, Lemon, W. II. Brooke, and a host of others, his contemporaries in literature and art, his brilliant dark eyes dancing in light, as he described some incredible feat or shrewdly turned repartee of his witty and light- hearted countrymen, his own spirit the most buoyant of them all. How well he described these things ! How delightful to listen to his recitals ! Full of ardour and genius, replete with all the bright ima- ginings that wait on a vivacious temperament, and with the first bloom of successful authorship hanging fresh about him, he was then entering life under the happiest auspices, his presence, infec- tious of joy, diffusing pleasure wherever he came, while a rich vein of humour, conversation of infinite variety, and an ardent, earnest man- ner, lent a charm to every endowment. Mr. Croker, like his celebrated countryman "Moore," was small in stature, with a countenance full of fire and sweetness. Then, what a laugh — there rang in its joyous sound, the musical cheer of a whole battalion of fairies ! What dark, radiant eyes ! flashing and sparkling with every variation of mood ; their light, even when the lids were lowered, shining between the long curled lashes. Sir Walter Scott, struck with these beautiful eyes, likened them to those of a hawk. To these natural attractions was added a complexion glowing with the tints of youth and health, the bright suffusion that comes and goes so readily with every emotion, and which we look for in vain in ma- 182 THOMAS CKOFTON CROKKR. turer years. An elderly friend, whose pale face, interlined with care and thought, presented a marked contrast, one night at a party whis- pered to his neighbour with a sigh, as he gazed on Croker's animated countenance : " My God ! what a colour that young creature has got ! and his eyes ! they actually shoot lire !" Our acquaintance with Mr. Croker commenced soon afterthe ap- pearance ot'his first two volumes of Fairy Legends; in consequence of sending him a story told to us by Fuseli, to whom it had been related by Captain Steadman, author of the History of Surinam, as a circumstance that had actually come under his own observation while on his way to a literary dinnerparty, which Mr. Joseph John- son, formerly a well-known bookseller in St. Paul's Churchyard, was for a great number of years in the habit of giving every Friday to authors and artists. It was at his house, during the wearisome ten minutes which usually precede the announcement of dinner, that the captain poured into the attentive ear of the marvel-loving Fuseli, the following story of the little Fairy-man : " On my way from Turnham-Green to town this morning, while seated in a corner of the stage, which was rumbling along at its usual rate, and contained several persons besides myself, a strange sort of noise in the air made me look out of the window, when, what should I see, but a little withered old man about two feet high, in scarlet coat, and cocked hat, with a gold-headed cane in his hand, which he swished about, making a great cloud of dust — striding along the foot- path at such a pace as to keep up with the stage, whose passengers crowding to the window, gazed upon him in a state of stupefaction. Although so little, he was very well made, and seemed to know it, carrying himself in a military manner, and with that swinging stride peculiar to soldiers ; his face was all puckered up, and his eyes stand- ing out like those of a lobster ; he stared at us, quite as much as we did at him, and seemed now and then to bid us defiance by twirling his mustachios — and looking as if he could devour us. All at once, he stepped out at such a pace, that, by Jove, in less than a minute he had outwalked the coach, and left us behind, hardly knowing whether to believe the evidence of our senses or not. At last, when opposite the THOMAS CEOFTON CROKEE. 183 well-known green lane leading up to Holland House, he whisked into it, and we lost sight of him altogether, for though the stage passed the entrance of the lane directly afterwards, and every eye was fixed upon it, endeavouring to get another glimpse of his figure, we never again caught sight of the little fellow." Ridiculous as this story may appear, Captain Steadman always vouched for its truth, declaring, even to his dying day, that he had actually seen this little military apparition ; and what makes the assertion more remarkable is, that the alleged circum- stance was related by the captain to Fuseli before dinner, instead of after. The transmission of this story to Mr. Croker laid the foundation of a friendship which after remaining unbroken for more than thirty years, has only been severed by death. During its continuance, much interesting correspondence has taken place, chiefly relative to those antiquarian pursuits in which Mr. Croker so much delighted, and which he has often told us commenced when quite a child, his sister being an enthusiastic sharer with him in all his juvenile efforts. A little anecdote is related of her in an article which appeared in the Dublin University Magazine, showing the zeal with which she endeavoured to aid him in forming his first collection : " On beiner shown some toy which interested her, and which she considered cu- rious, she exclaimed: ' Oh! give me that, sir, for my brother; he is such an .antiquarian.' " In his pedestrian excursions through the south of Ireland Mr. Croker not only gathered the materials for the " Fairy Legends " which made his name at once so deservedly popu- lar, but also enriched the musical world, by bringing to its notice a great number of beautiful ancient Irish airs, besides making nume- rous excellent drawings and sketches. Moore alludes to Mr. Croker when, in a note to his seventh number of Irish melodies, he says : — " One gentleman in particular, whose name I shall feel happy in being allowed to mention, has not only sent us nearly forty ancient airs, but has communicated many curious fragments of Irish poetry, and some interesting traditions current in the country where he re- sides, illustrated by sketches of the romantic scenery to which they refer; all of which, though too late for the present number, will be of infinite service to us in the prosecution of our task." 284 TIIOMAS CROFTOM CROKER. From the west of his native county, Cork, Mr. Croker procured the Irish melody to which ffaynes Bayley afterwards wrote hissong of w " Oh no, we never mention her," and with that generosity which was one of his main characteristics, continually lavished on his friends with warm-hearted carelessness the treasures gathered by himself with so much toil and research, and which more selfish natures would have scrupulously hoarded to enrich themselves. Throughout his life Mr. Croker united in himself Author, An- tiquary, and Artist, the latter as an amateur, yet to sketch beauti- fully, seemed to him as easy as to write ; his aptness in this respect, forming a never failing source of delight to his friends and corre- spondents. Mr. Croker was extremely fond of children, with whom he in- dulged in a thousand freaks and gambols playful as their own : as a matter of course, they were invariably delighted whenever he came amongst them, his visits being made occasions of little festivals got up expressly in his honour; all sorts of innocent artifices being- resorted to in order to gain him for their own especial guest. Often has he described the joyful shout of childish voices which, in one family with whom he was intimate, but from whom his residence was at some little distance, always heralded his arrival ; watchers behind the trees giving notice of the first glimpse of his approach to others, who, leaping suddenly upon him, would cling like bees, only to be shaken off by the pretext of great weakness which caused a sud- den prostration and a general roll-over on the grass. The following account of his good-humoured acceptance of the favours of his ju- venile admirers, is told by a lady in her "Souvenirs of a Summer in ( Germany." kw How we used, when we expected a visit from Crofton Croker, to search 'the twisted brake and bushy dell ' in quest of his favourite flower, the graceful bindweed. Many a pinafore was rent ,ii that cause, and many a stitch did it cost the grumbling Abigail to repair the damage ; but little was that cared for, while the long- wreaths were brought in triumph and the guest made to sit on a mossy stone, or trunk of a tree, until the curling tendrils and snowy bells were wound round his straw hat; and then, our holiday gala in the THOMAS CUOFTON CB0KER. 185 garden summer-house ; that memorable day when, in reply to an invitation written in a large hand on the leaf of a copy-book, and duly despatched to ' Crofton Croker, Esq., the Rookery,' he came at the juvenile hour of six; how good-hunionredly he drank the said tea out of a set of tiny cups and saucers that would have suited his own Titania and Oberon ; and how he delighted our young hearts afterwards by making sketches of his beloved Black-rock Castle on his thumb nail, or else drawing pictures for us with a pencil made of burnt paper and candle grease. Very soft and pretty these were ; by the way, I have one of them still, a moonlight scene, which I would not part with for the world." This love of children never deserted him ; he entered into their amusements with as much zest, and brought forth his talents for their gratification with as much good-will, when Time had transformed him into a sedate gentleman with gouty toe, seated in his tapestried library, as he had done in the merry time of youth, crowned with flowers in the rural summer-house, and waited on by children whose little hearts he had made so happy. In those gay days of legend- hunting and fairy snatching, when prowling by day and night among lonely castles and desolate mountains, gathering their dim supersti- tions, and redeeming from oblivion their ancient traditions and float- ing melodies, some of the happiest and brightest hours of his life were passed, every feeling enlisted in the cause, every vivacious element of his nature attracting corresponding qualities from all around, that forming themselves into shape sprang forth, as visible embodiments of the spirits of his native land. Joyously they arose at his call, little men and women no bigger than a span long. Cluricaunes and Shefroes ; Phookas and Merrows; Pucks and Ban- shees. Sprites, for the most part, of the mirthful order — real Irish fairies — tender and pugnacious, that spoke with the brogue, danced Irish jigs — Planxties and Rincas — drank potheen, gave battle or made love, and indulged in all the comforts and diversions peculiar to the national temperature, with an exuberance of frantic drollery, which made them at once favourites with all the world, and gave them, with their author, a pleasant place in everybody's bosom, not only for their ^36 THOMAS CltOFTON CKOKKU. own Bakes, but for that of the beautiful land whose ancient memories they so happily illustrated. In one of the most delightful of these excursions, during the summer of 1821, Mr. Croker was accompanied by Mr. Alfred Nichol- son and his sister Marianne, a young lady of great wit, talent, and amiability, who afterwards became the wife of Mr. Croker. In a drawing made at that time by her brother, she is represented seated on an Irish jaunting car drawn by a ragged-looking horse, her two companions perched in a precarious manner on the narrow seats of the vehicle, and the driver urging on the horse over a most wild and uneven piece of road. This tour, which extended over part of the counties of Cork, Wa- terford, and Limerick, furnished subjects for a quarto volume, the united products of their literary and artistic efforts. Miss Nicholson contributing some exquisite sketches for the work, worthy even of the pencil of her father, who in his day was justly considered one of the best water-colour painters in England, and the founder of the Art. Their adventures among mountains and bogs, when benighted, or having lost their way, Mr. Croker declared, might have furnished laughter for a month, and doubtless afforded many mirthful recol- lections for them at a subsequent period when seated by their own fireside, doubly pleasant then, to recal the odd predicaments in which they had been placed, and the strange and amusing characters they had encountered during their gipseying sojourn in Ireland. From early youth, through the period of manhood, and those de- clining years to which death has now set his seal, the career of Mr. Croker was alike brilliant, fortunate, and honourable. Firm in his friendships, upright in principle and conduct, in his nature most generous and affectionate, his absence to those who loved him is a light withdrawn — a blank to which recollection brings the painful thought — we shall see him no more, his warm heart will never beat again. By Ins marriage with Miss Nicholson, Mr. Croker leaves an only son, Mr. Dillon Croker, now about twenty-four years of age, who, in- heriting from his parents a taste for literature and the arts, is himself THOMAS CROFTON CROKER. Igf an author, one of tliose, who from early childhood has heen accus- tomed to express his thoughts with an originality and vigour that are at once the omens and elements of future fame. In mention- ing him it is almost impossible to avoid reverting to the fervent and tender manner in which Mr. Cruker always expressed himself regarding this beloved son, who seems to have been cherished in his inmost heart, as the dearest treasure he possessed. Mr. Croker, who during the whole of his life, was a collector of rare and curious things, delighted in adorning his dwelling with the fragments and relics he had accumulated. His walls were covered with tapestry, old paintings, armour and weapons. His tables and cabinets with an array of antique wonders the most varied and inter- esting that can be imagined, all arranged with the most exquisite taste ; old books, old rings, old carvings — jewels of silver, and jewels of gold ; torques and bracelets, goldsmith's work of w T ondrous design and execution, vases, antique seals, coins, and charter-horns ; all with histories, linked to traditions infinite, and anecdotes without end. Among them, there was one old relic especially dear to its owner; he called it, and considered it to be Shakespeare's betrothal-ring, "The Giinmel-ring," which had been placed by the bard's own hand upon the linger of his betrothed bride Anne Hathaway. In a letter to us, dated 1st December, 184S, he says : " I intend to seal this letter with my Shakespeare's betrothing ring, in Elizabethan phrase, 'Gimmel ring.' The evidence upon which its appropriation rests is now as clear as extraordinary. W you have not Fairholt's charming little half-crown book illustrative of Shakespeare's life, I will send it you, and in it see the representa- tion of the piece of painted glass from Shakespeare's residence at New Place. Then see the ring engraved in Halli well's Life of Shakespeare, and finally hear what can be said upon the heraldry of true-lovers' knots from the time of the 8th Harry to that of James the Scot. These make out my case. "The ring itself came into my possession at Gloucester by the merest chance, with another of Roman workmanship which I then considered to be the most valuable of the two. Both were bought 188 SHAK ESI'EA I! E"S G I M M EL-RING. for something less tlian one sovereign, and now, by tbe gods, I would in >t take a hundred for that I then thought tbe least worthy. So much for being halt' an hour too soon for a railway train. 1 ' The ring which had been purchased at Gloucester by Mr. Croker, was entirely formed of silver-gilt, engraved with the letters W A, interlaced by a true-lover's knot of two twists or ties ; this ring was said to have been found at Stratford-on-Avon. Mr. Croker, in producing it before the Society of Antiquaries, observed that there could be no doubt that this ring belonged to the Elizabethan period ; and the device upon it sho.wed that it was a gimmel or betrothing ring. The custom of betrotbment before marriage was considered, in the time of Elizabeth, a ceremony nearly as solemn as that of mar- riage. A ring called a gimmel-ring, or a crooked piece of coin, was broken between the contracting parties, or their parents or represen- tatives, and rings were interchanged ; and the sacrament was some- times taken previous to such betrotbment, or when the betrothing parties were considered too young to be partakers of the holy com- munion, they pledged their faith in cake and wine. The betrotbment was recorded, and the marriage ceremony was delayed only until circumstances rendered it convenient or desirable that it should take place. Shakespeare has made the priest in Twelfth Night thus describe a betrotbment — " A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthened by interchangement of your rings." SHAKESPEARE'S G1MMEL-IUNG. 189 As regards the single, double, and triple ties of true lovers' knots, Mr. Croker adds :' " Tliere was a meaning in the single tie, or Stafford- knot, of an entanglement of the affections, or a declaration of love ; which, when the betrothment took place between the two parties mainly concerned, became doubled for the vow of faithfulness ; when no cohabitation followed, the tassels or ends of the knots were set wide apart ; but when (as in the case of Mr. Wheeler's so-called Shake- speare's ring) cohabitation before marriage had occurred, the tassels were brought together, and the knot issued from the form of a heart. And subsequent to marriage, if the device of a true-lover's knot was continued, the tassels became united after forming a triple tie. This triple tie, we are told, was the ordinary symbol among the northern nations of love, faith, and friendship. Gay alludes to the popular notion when he says — • "Three times a true-lover's knot I tie secure; Firm be tlie knot, firm may Lis love endure." It now remains to be shown in what way the ring bearing the initials W A can be conjecturally connected with Shakespeare. One of the best authenticated relics of our immortal bard with which we are acquainted is the pane of glass represented in the Home of "Shakespeare," illustrated and described by F. W. Fair- holt, F.S.A., where the initials appear tied in a true-lover's knot of three ties and one tassel. Mr. Fairholt tells the history of this piece of painted glass and its connexion with New Place so clearly that no question has been raised respecting it. In Mr. Halliwell's Life of Shakespeare, an engraving of the ring found at Stratford-on-Avon in the possession of Mr. Wheeler, and supposed to have-belonged to Shakespeare, is given. It has the let- ters W T, tied by a true-lover's knot of two ties issuing from a heart, the tassels nearly meeting. In respect to the manufacture and on- graving, it closety resembles the one in Mr. Croker's possession, except that the latter is of superior workmanship. As in the case of contracting parties, the Christian names alone were used, it be- 190 SIIAKESl'EARE'S QIMMEL-RINQ. comes probable that W and A were those of William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway upon betrothment, which, after cohabitation, were exchanged to W S, and upon marriage restored to ~.y . , a mode of marking the plate and linen of married persons not yet quite obsolete. At the sale of Mr. Croker's effects in December, 1854, this Shakespeare ring was purchased by Mr. Ilalliwell. When Mr. Croker first sent us an account of this curious old love- token, with the account of the manner in which it was discovered by him, we sent him the following verses, inserted here solely from the circumstance of having tor their heroine the bride of Shakespeare. SUA KESPE ARE'S G I MM E L- It I NG. K fairies come from bosk and brake, Where'er the sun hath smiled, And every bird that loves to make Sweet music jjlad and wild. Awake! awake! each lovely tiling, In earth or air that dwells. To welcome Shakespeare's Gimmel-ring Fraught with a thousand spells. SHAKESPEA11KS G1MMKL-UING. 191 nr. Ye rays of light ! around it gleam, Till mirror-like it show The maid who charmed his fancy's dream, Three hundred years ago. IV. She comes! no dame in stiff brocade, With high and haughty mien ; But fresh and fair, a village maid, Light dancing on the green. v. Her sunny hair with roses bound, Oh ! who so blithe and gay 'Mong England's maidens might be found As Anna Hathaway? VI. The light of love is on her cheek And swiftly glancing eye, Its resting place not far to seek, For Shakespeare's self is nigh. Apart in blissful reverie 'Neath summer boughs he lies, Listening the murmuring melody That fills the earth and skies ; VIII. "With thoughts that wildly raptured stray, As fades the setting sun, And the lone nightingale's sweet lay Is in the woods begun. L92 SHAKESPEARE'S GIMMEL-RLNG. From such sweet musing see him start. The houghs are drawn aside; He clasps the maiden of his heart, His long-loved promised bride. ■ i a ■ SHAKESPEARE'S GIMMEL-KIN'G. 193 Sylphs, elves, and fays in sportive round, Flowers and sweet odours bring, And the betrothal vows areerowned With Shakespeare's Gimmel-ring. That pledge to every fairy dear, Their last bequest hath been Unto the favoured chronicler,* "Who hath their revels seen. * Thomas Crofton Croker, Esq. 194. THOMAS CKOFTON CEOKEE XII. Long live the ring, and lung may he, If so the fairies will, Charm worlds that are, and worlds to be, With Fairy Legends still. From a mass of correspondence we select the last letter Mr. Cnv ker ever wrote, as a close to the reminiscences his lamented death has awakened. "3 Gloucester Road, Old Bromi'ton*, " Londox, July 21, 1854. " My dear Balmanno : "Surely I must have acknowledged to you and thanked you for all the trouble you have taken on my account ; but I may not have done so, in consequence of Mrs. Crokers dangerous and my own illness, probably produced by mere anxiety and developing itself in the shape of gout, so sharp that I have been able to do nothing, and am obliged to trust a servant to look after my papers. The whistle I received, and delivered with my own hands to Lord Lon- s Kelly to be the rara-avis of his thoughts, by the great attention ho paid to every word she uttered. Truly pleasant it must have been to her, even though accustomed to see people listen breathless with admiration while she spoke, to find her words have so much charm for such a man as Charles Lamb. He appeared to enjoy himself greatly, much to the gratification of Mrs. Hood, who often interchanged happy glances with Mi>s Lamb, who nodded approvingly. lie spoke much — with emphasis and hurry of words, sorely impeded by the stammering utterance which in him was not unattractive. Miss Kelly (charming, natural Miss Kelly, who has drawn from her audiences more heart-felt tears and smiles than perhaps any other English actress), with quiet good- humour listened and laughed at the w T itty sallies of her host and his gifted friend, seeming as little an actress as it is possible to conceive. Once however, when some allusion was made to a comic scene in a new play then just brought out, wherein she had performed to the life the character of a low-bred lady's maid passing herself off as her mistress, Miss Kelly arose, and with a kind of resistless ardour re- peated a few sentences so inimitably, that everybody laughed as much as if the real lady's maid, and not the actress, had been before them ; while she who had so well personated the part, quietly resu- med her seat without the least sign of merriment, as grave as possible. Most striking had been the transition from the calm lady-like person, to the gay, loquacious soubrette ; and not less so, the sudden extinction of vivacity, and resumption of well-bred decorum. This little scene for a few moments charmed everybody out of themselves, and gave a new impetus to conversation. Mrs. Hood's eyes sparkled with joy, as she saw the effect it had produced upon her husband, whose pale lace like an illuminated comic mask, shone with fun and LAMB AND HOOD. 203 humour. Never was happier couple than " The Hoods ;" " mutual reliance and fond faith " seemed to he their motto. Mrs. Hood was a most amiable woman — of excellent manners, and full of sincerity and goodness. She perfectly adored her husband, tending him like a child, whilst he with unbounded affection seemed to delight to yield up himself to her guidance. Nevertheless, true to his humourous nature, he loved to tease her with jokes and whimsical accusations and assertions, which were only responded to by " Hood, Hood, how can you run on so ?" " Perhaps you don't know," said he, " that Jane's besetting weakness is a desire to appear in print, and be thought a Blue." Mrs. Hood coloured, and gave her usual reply ; then observed laughingly, " Hood does not know one kind of material from another — he thinks this dress is a blue print." On looking at it I saw it w T as a very pretty blue silk. The evening was concluded by a supper, one of those elegant little social repasts which Flemish artists delight to paint ; so fresh the fruit, so tempting the viands, and all so exqui- sitely arranged by the very hand of taste. Mrs. Hood has frequent- ly smiled when I have complimented her on setting out " picture suppers " — this was truly one. Mr. Lamb oddly w T alked all round the table, looking closely at any dish that struck his fancy before he would decide where to sit, telling Mrs. Hood that he should by that means know how to select, some dish that was difficultto carve, and take the trouble off her hands ; accordingly having jested in this manner, he placed himself with great deliberation before a lobster-salad, observing that was the thing. On her asking him to take some roast fowl, he assented. " What part shall I help you to, Mr. Lamb?" " Back," said he quickly ; " I al- ways prefer back." My husband laid down his knife and fork, and looking upwards exclaimed : " By heavens ! I could not have be- lieved it, if anybody else had sworn it." "Believed what?" said kind Mrs. Hood, anxiously, colouring to the temples, and fancying there w r as something amiss in the piece he had been helped to. " Be- lieved what ? why, madam, that Charles Lamb was a back-biter !" Hood gave one of his short quick laughs, gone almost ere it had come, whilst Lamb went off into a loud fit of mirth, exclaiming : 20-4 LAMB AND HOOD. " Now that's devilish good! I'll snp with you to-morrow night." This eccentric flight made everybody very merry, ami amidst a most amusing mixture of wit and humour, sense and nonsense, we feasted merrily, amidst jocose health-drinking, sentiments, speeches and songs. Mr. Hood, with inexpressible gravity in the upper part of his face, and his month twitching with smiles, sang his own comic song of " If yon go to France be sure you learn the lingo ;'•' his pensive manner and feeble voice making it doubly ludicrous. Mr. Lamb, on being pressed to sing, excused himself in his own peculiar manner, but offered to pronounce a Latin eulogium instead. This was accepted, and he accordingly stammered forth a long string of Latin words ; among which, as the name of Mrs. Hood frequently occurred, we ladies thought it was in praise of her. The delivery of this speech occupied about five minutes. On enquiring of a gentleman who sat next me whether Mr. Lamb was praising Mrs. Hood, he in- formed me that was by no means the case, the eulogium being on the lobster-salad ! Thus, in the gayest of moods progressed and conclu- ded a truly merry little social supper, worthy in all respects of the author of Whims and Oddities. On the following night, according to his promise, Mr. Lamb hon- oured us with a visit, accompanied by his sister, Mr. and Mrs. Hood, and a few others hastily gathered together for the occasion. On enter- ing the room, Mr. Lamb seemed to have forgotten that any previous introduction had taken place. " Allow me, madam," said he, "to introduce to you, my sister Mary; she's a very good woman, but she drinks !" " Charles, Charles," said Miss Lamb, imploringly (her face at the same time covered with blushes), "how can you say such a thing ?" " Why," rejoined he, " you know it's a fact ; look at the redness of your face. Did I not see you in your cups at nine o'clock this morning ?" " For shame, Charles,'' returned his sister ; " what will our friends think ?" " Don't mind him, my dear Miss Lamb," said Mrs. Hood, soothingly; k ' 1 will answer that the cups were only breakfast-cups full of coffee." Seeming much delighted with the mischief he had made, he LAMB AND HOOD. 205 turned away, and began talking quite comfortably on indifferent topics to some one else. For my own part I could not help telling Mrs. Hood I longed to shake " Charles." " Oh," replied she smiling, " Miss Lamb is so used to his unaccountable ways that she would be miserable without them." Once, indeed, as Mr. Lamb told Hood, " having really gone a little too far," and seeing her, as he thought, quite hurt and offended, he determined to amend his manners, " behave politely, and leave off joking altogether." For a few days he acted up to this resolution, behaving, as he assured Hood, " ad- mirably y and what do you think I got for my pains?" "I have no doubt," said Hood, " you got sincere thanks." " Bless you, no !" rejoined Lamb ; '"why, Mary did nothing but keep bursting into tears every time she looked at me, and when I asked her what she was crying for, when I was doing all I could to please her, she blubbered out : ' You're changed, Charles, you're changed ; what have I done, that you should treat me in this cruel manner V ' Treat you ! I thought you did not like my jokes, and therefore tried to please you by strangling them down :' ' Oh, oh,' cried she, sobbing as if her heart would break ; 'joke again, Charles — I don't know you in this manner. I am sure I should die, if you behaved as you have done for the last few days.' So you see I joke for her good ;" adding, with a most elfish expression, "it saved her life then, anyhow." This little explanation was happily illustrated the next moment, when Miss Lamb, still in an extreme trepidation, and the blush yet lingering on her cheeks, happened to drop her handkerchief. She did not observe it, but her brother, although volubly describing some pranks of his boyhood to a little knot of listeners, stepped aside and handed it to her, with a look that said as plainly as words could say, " Forgive me, I love you well." That she so interpreted it, her pleased and happy look at once declared, as with glistening eyes she sat eagerly listening to the tale he was then telling ; a tale which doubt- less she had heard before, ninety and nine times at least. Charles Lamb seemed a man who, for every minute, had some new idea : bright and broken in conversation — fitful and rambling — but which, in the silence of his study, settling down in beauty and 206 LAMB AND HOOD. harmony, made him one of the most charming of writers. When to this was added the recollection of the sterling good qualities and noble points of character which distinguished him from common men, lie formed a rare object to admire and study — none more original. The evening lie spent with us was but a counterpart of the one we had passed at Mr. Hood's — gaiety and wit being its chief attractions. But who can hope to catch more than the faintest idea of tilings so fleeting? — not more so the "dew on the fountain, the foam on the river;"' or, as Lamb might say, the foam on the champagne — the drop of the mountain dew. The following letters from Lamb and Hood have never before been published. The contents speak for themselves, and require bat little comment, further than to mention that the jelly which Hood so ludicrously describes, was some claret-jelly which Mrs. Hood had accepted from me, in the hope that it might be of service to her husband, who, when he set out for Brighton, was to the last degree feeble and emaciated. Luckily, the Brighton air effected his cure at the time, enabling him soon after to take so lively a part in the little entertainment I have attempted to describe. The letter, addressed to Sir T. Lawrence, Hood kindly permitted us to copy. LAMB AND HOOD. 207 LAMB TO HOOD. "Tuesday, 18 September, 1827. " Dear Hood : — " If I have anything in my head, I will send it to Mr. Watts. Strictly speaking, he should have had my Album verses, but a very intimate friend importnn'd me for the trifles, and I believe I forgot Mr. Watts, or lost sight at the same time of his similar souvenir. Jamieson conveyed the farce from me to Mrs. C. Kemble ; — lie will not be in town before the 27th. Give our kind loves to all at High- gate, and tell them that we have finally torn ourselves outright away from Colebrook, where I had no health, and are about to domiciliate for good at Enfield, where I have experienced good. "'Lord, what good hours do we keep! How quietly we sleep !' See the rest in the Complete Angler. " We have got our books into our new house. I am a dray horse if I was not ashamed of the indigested dirty lumber, as I toppled 'em out of the cart, and blest Becky that came with 'em, for her having an unstufPd brain with such rubbish. We shall get in by Michael's mass. 'Twas witli some pain we were evuls'd from Cole- brook. You may find some of our flesh sticking to the door posts. To change habitations is to die to them ; and in my time I have died seven deaths. But I don't know whether every such change does not bring with it a rejuvenescence. 'Tis an enterprise, and shoves back the sense of death's approximating, which, tho' not ter- rible to me, is at all times particularly distasteful. My house-deaths have generally been periodical, recurring after seven years, but this last is premature by half that time. Cut oft* is the flower of Cole- brook. The Middletonian stream and all its echoes mourn. Even minnows dwindle, A parvis fiunt Minimi. I fear to invite Mrs. 208 LAMB AND HOOD. Hood to our new mansion, lest she should envy it and hate us. But when we are fairly in, I hope she will come and try it. I ljeard she and you were made uncomfortable by some unworthy to he cared for attacks, and have tried to set up a feeble counteraction through the Table Book of last Saturday. Has it not reached you, that you are silent about it? Our new domicile is no manor-house, but new, and externally not inviting, but furnished within with every conve- nience. Capital new locks to every door, capital grates in every room, with nothing to pay for incoming, and the rent £10 less than the Islington one. It was built a few years since for £1100 expense they tell me, and I perfectly believe it, and I get it for £35 exclusive of moderate taxes. It is not our intention to abandon Regent Street and West End perambulations (monastic and terrible thought !), but occasionally to breathe the fresher air of the Metropolis. We shall put up a bed-room or two (all we want) for occasional ex-rustication, where we shall visit, not be visited. Plays, too, will we see, perhaps our own, Urbani Sylvani, and Sylvanus Urbanuses in turns. Cour- tiers for a sport, then philosophers, old homely tell-tmihs, and learn- truths in the virtuous shades of Enfield. Liars again, and mocking gibers in the coffee-houses and resorts of London. And can a mortal desire more for his biparted nature ? "0, the curds and cream you shall eat with us here! O, the turtle-soup and lobster-salads we shall devour with you there! O, the old books we shall peruse here ! O, the new nonsense wc shall trifle over there* O, Sir T. Browne ! here ! O, Mr. Hood, and Mr. Jordan there ! " Thine, C (Ukbanus) L (Sylvanus) (Elia ambo.)" LAMB AND HOOD. 209 Enclosed are verses which Emma sat clown to write, her first on the eve after your departure, of course they are only for Mrs. H.'s perusal. They will show at least that one of our party is not willing to cut old friends. What to call 'em I don't know. Blank verse they are not, because of the rhymes. Rhymes they are not, because of the blank verse. Heroics they are not, because they are lyric. Lyric they are not, because of the heroic measure. They must be called Einmaics. The Hoods, 2 Eobert Street, Adelphi, London. The above letter is dated Tuesday, but it bears the post-stamp Sept. 18, 1627. The following humorous epistle was addressed to us by Hood from Brighton. 25 King's Road, Brighton, Mar. 21, 1828. My dear Friend : "We got down here safe, but heartily tired — I think Jane the most fatigued of the two — and took up our quarters for the night at the Norfolk. The next morning to my own astonishment and my wife's, I got out and walked about a mile on the shingles, partly and against a strong wind which now and then had the best of me. Here we are now settled in a nice lively lodging — the sea fretting about 20 yards in front, and our side window looking down the road west- ward, and along the beach, where, at about 100 yards lies the wreck of a poor sloop that came ashore the night we arrived — nobody lost. She looks somewhat like the " atomies " in Surgeon's Hall, with her bare ribs and back-bone, and the waves come and spit at her, with incurable spite. We have had one warm beautiful clay quite like summer with flies (the hack-flies) all about too ; but to-day is cold — squally, with rain. The effect of the sea upon me is almost incredible, I have found some strength and much appetite already, though I have 210 LAMB AM) HOOD. but sniffed the brine a single time. The warm bath has removed all my stiffness — an effect I anticipated from something that occurred in the coach. The approach to the coast, even at half-way hadsuchan effect on the claret-jelly that it took away all its stiffness, and let it loose in ^Irs. Hood's bag. "The regal purple stream "has caused some odd results. Made mywatcha stop-watch by gum-ming up the works, glued Jane's pocket-book together; and fuddled a letter to Dr. Yates in such a style that I'm ashamed to deliver it. Pray don't let Mrs. Balmanno take any reproach to herself for the misconduct of her jelly — I suspect it was so glad to set off it didn't know whether it sto< »d on its head or its heels. I rather think it was placed for safety bottom uppermost ; I forgot to say that the jelly got into her purse and made all the money stick to it, an effect I shan't object to, if it prove permanent. Jane is delighted with Brighton, and wishes we could live there, regretting almost that I am not a boatman instead of an author. Perhaps when my pen breaks down I may retire here and set up a circulating library like Horace Smith.* I shall deliver your credentials to that gentleman to-morrow. So far was written yesterday. I got up to-day ate a monstrous breakfast and took a walk, but could not fetch up Horace Smith's, for I set out along the beach, which being shingle the fatigue was dovble. As yet I don't think I have any ankles. I don't bore my- self yet with writing (don't tell Yates this) but amuse myself with watching the waves, or a sea-gull, or the progress of a fishing boat, matters trifling enough, hut they afford speculation seemingly to a score old smocked, glazed-hatted, blue-breeched boatmen or fisher- men before my windows, and why not tome '. there is great pleasure in letting a busy restless mind lie fallow a little, and mine takes to it> idleness very complacently. Jane murmurs, and wants books (scandal). 1L r mind is so used to be idle it requires a change. She takes to her vicl uals as well as i do, and has such acolour, particularly on her chin ! Here is a look out of our window,! raging main and * This alludes to Mr. Smith's numerous publications f Here in the original is a drawing of a large French window opening on a balcony with ;■ view of the sea. — The remainder of the letter is written by Mrs. Hood. LAMB AND HOOD. 211 all — Jane made me draw it in my best style for your satisfaction. I leave to her the scraps to write upon, and subscribe myself with best regards to Mrs. Balmanuo and yourself, my dear friend, yours very truly, Tnos. Hood. P. S. Mind and put on your hat when reading near the open window ! I must write a few lines my dear Mrs. Balmanuo to give it under my hand that we are going on as well as your kind and friendly heart can wish. Hood has gained strength already far beyond my hopes when I set out, for I never saw him look so ill as he did during our journey, though he bore the fatigue of it pretty well; the wea- ther is not very favourable, but we cannot expect it better in March. 1 am more reconciled to it as we live on the beach, in the very breath of the sea, and the window Hood has drawn, opens upon leads nearly as large as our drawing-room in Robert Street. I wish you were here within sound of these tumbling waves that I am now hearing, and enjoying the refreshing breeze which is now blowing in at our win- dow. I am delighted with Brighton, which is saying much for it, as I had quite a prejudice against it from what I had heard before we came. I feel much stronger and better for the change, and enjoy it the more, I think, from the anxiety and fatigue I had before we came. Tell our kind friend Mr. Balmanno that my worst half is getting as impertinent as he is when he is quite well, and treats me with as much flippancy and scorn as Jenny Wren used to Cock Robin when she got well and " stood upon her feet." My paper warns me to quit. Pray let us hear from you, and soon. Give my kindest regards to Mr. B., and with love to yourself, lam, my dear friend, Yours affectionately, Jane Hood. There is such a glorious sunset ! 212 LAMB AND HOOD. The following is from Hood, a few weeks later. 25 King's Road, Brighton, 24: March, 1828. Many thanks my dear Balmanno for your very welcome letter — a treat oven when letters are numerous, for almost every house has a ///// <>ii the window. Along with yours came a lot of others like an archangel mail just thawed — and they served very much to relish my breakfast. Literary Gazette, too, was a God-send, particularly as we afterwards exchanged it, or the reading of it, for the perusal of the Times, with our fellow-lodger. I had among the rest an epis- tle from AV. Cooke, and one from Ackermann recommending me to try Mahomet's vapour baths here — that damn'd C. Croker certainly put him up to it. But I trust I know better than to trust my carcase to the Infidel. I might get into his hot-well and come out a Jfusole- m(n). The hot brine of the Artillery Baths (so called, 1 suppose, be- cause they heat water for Perkins and his steam guns) has done more good for me ; taken the stiffness out of my limbs, but my ankles still suffer from a very strong «^#&ness. Thank God, I have found out that I have a stomach ; from the former state of my appetite I seem now to have three, like a camel ; and when the loaf comes up, I take off a very large impression. For example, I have eaten to-day for dinner, a turbot, a tart, and a tough old fowl that nothing but a coast appetite would venture on. But on the beach 3-011 may munch any thing, even an old superannuated fisherman. I called on Horace Smith yesterday, but he was out ; to-day I have had better luck, though he was out still, for we met at his door, and I gave him your letter on the steps. I was delighted with him and with her. He was all that is kind and gentlemanly, and I shall break through my resolu- tion and take a family dinner with them, though 1 had vowed to ac- cept no such invitations. I hope that he and I are to be quite thick ere I leave — if such a stick as I may be thick with any one. Mrs. Smith is an invalid on the sofa, and she and I regard each other I be- lieve, with fellow interest on that account ; I was taken with her very much, and with the little girl too, who seems destined to make hearts LAMB AND HOOD. 213 ache hereafter. She has all the blossom of a beauty about her. There were some grown-up misses making a call, so that we had not our visit all to ourselves, but Smith and I contrived to gossip ; he calls here to-morrow. I should have liked to make one at Green's. Your account of it is very amusing. Your meeting with Reynolds pleases me much, and your liking of him, which I find is reciprocated on his part. I trust you will sometimes meet in Robert Street, if there still be such a place. We are to be up at the Golden Square party, or rather I am to be up to everything on Thursday, and we shall meet in the evening of that day. Don't you think a crowded assem- bly may have all the effect of a hot-air bath f But the real thing is Brighton. C. C. did not give it a fair trial, he was only sham-sham- pooed and dived not into the bath, but the bathos. The fact is, he mistakes his complaint — he keeps his room and calls it room-nt'mm ; no man who pretends to such an affliction should lay claim to Fairy Z^-ends. I am much amused with a squad of mer-men before the window — I observe they never walk more than eight -paces on end — and then " bock again " all things by turns and nothing long. They seem like old duellists so accustomed to that measure of ground that they can't help it. To-day has been beautifully fine ; sunshine and a fresh breeze ; luckily all the winds have been from South and West — great points in my favour and quite " equal to bespoke." I watch over the expanses, and Jane over the expenses, so that I am more careless than cureless, and enjoy myself as though there were no Tilts* in being. I hear the waves constantly like " wood-peckers tap- ping" the hollow beach. Jane says there is something solemn and re- ligious in its music, and to be sure, the sea is the Psalter element. Besides my warm baths, in hobbling along the beach a great surge gave me an extempore ybamentation of the feet and ankles, so that I have tried the cold bath also. But we have not had any Elizabethan sea, that is in the ruff state, though we have violently desired to see a storm, and a wreck, a pleasure admirably described by Lucretius — * His publisher. 21-4 LAMB AND nOOD. " 'Tia sweet to stand by good dry land surrounded, And see a dozen of poor seamen drownded." In the meanwhile Jane lias picked up three oyster-shells and a drowned nettle as marine curiosities — also a jelly fish, but she fears it will melt in her hag and spoil more watches. She enjoys every- thing akin to the sea, even our little moreen curtains, and swears that Ossian's poems are nothing to Ocean's. She is only astonished to find sliecp in the Downs instead of ships. With great labour I have taught her to know a sloop from a frigate, but she still calls masts masks. Pray tell Mrs. B. that Mrs. II. will write to her to-morrow if the tide comes in — it is at present low water with her ideas. The fact is she gets fat and idle, but she was always idolized. The Fairy Legends she has perused (borrowed of Moxon) but don't send her any books here, as it will be more kindness thrown away. I have offered to get Whims and Oddities for her at the Library, but she says she wishes for something lighter and newer. She has over-fed herself like the bull-finch, and I am persuaded can't read. Pray give my kind regards to Mrs. Balmanno with my best thanks for all her good wishes, though she may suffer by the fulfilment, as I am regaining my impertinence, the tide is coming in, and the post going out, so I must shorten sail. It is luck}' for you we stay but a Meek, or you would find our post quite an impost. Thanhs for the /Wwi&ness of yours, we don't hold them cheaply notwithstanding. I am, my dear Balmanno, yours very sincerely, Thomas Hood. The above letter is an excellent specimen of Hood's bantering style towards the wife he so fondly loved ami trusted in. Sometimes, perhaps, the jest was pointed a little too keenly, but never did the sweet face or gentle voice of Mrs. Hood betray anything like cloud or exasperation, even when put to tests which would have proved eminently trying to the female patience of many modern Griseldas. HOOD TO Glii TliOilAS LAWRENCE. 215 LETTER FROM HOOD TO SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. "31 King's Road, Brighton, "Sunday Morning, Nov. 1G, 1828. " My Dear Sir, " There are some sketches of Brighton (in Cooke's copper), and I have undertaken to scribble some notes on the margin of the sea. To this end, I am enjoying the breezes which I inh-ale like a sea- sider, looking over a prospect that, in its calm, reminds me of a sea- peace by Vandervelde, and in its shingles, of Beechey. It is now like royal Bessie in its rough : and the wind, that great raiser of waves, is accompanied by a suitable lather on Neptune's face. It is, besides, high-water — or more properly high waiter, for the tide serves at the Bar, and there is a great influx of the weeds that grow in ' the Garden of the Gull,' i. e., Sea Gull. Afar off,' a lonely vessel is tumbling about, and observe there the goodness of Providence, that the rougher the storm, the better the vessel is pitched, while here and there in the foreground, may be seen what Moliere with his French inversion would call a Tar-tough. The skeleton of a lost Brig, like the bones of a sea monster, lies at the extreme left. I am told by the Brighton people that ship disasters are not uncommon here, they have often had Georgius Bex. You will understand, Sir, from this sample, that my Guide will be unserious chiefly ; but I contemplate a graver description of the Pavilion provided I can gain entrance to the interior, which I understand is more difficult than aforetime. In a conversation with Mr. Balmanno, it occurred to me, however, that you could put me in the way, for I do not even know the proper quarter to apply to amongst the Chain Piers, but, of course, not Captain Brown's. I have spent some time in making up my mind to trouble you on this subject or head, considering how many better ones engage you. But pray frame some excuse for my freedom, which originates in my reliance on your kindly feeling towards me. 216 HOOD TO S1K THOMAS LAWEENCE. 1 have no doubt but that you can at any rate direct me how to get access, and even that will accessively oblige, " My dear Sir, " Yours very respectfully, " Tuomas Hood. " Sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A. " &c, Ac, &c." THE MARCH OF THE CLANS aik — " The Campbells are Coming." II E Clans of the Highlands are up and aw a' ; MacDonald, Clan Ronald, MacGregor, Macraw ! The tartans are streaming; ' : '&J'\tn^f$l}/ ^ ie war-pipes are screaming ; ilf ifllll w\>lf Tlie claymores are gleaming, hurrah ! hurrah ! Qfi^-jflJ if I Saint Andrew for Scotland ! the bonnie and braw. The kilt and the plaidie, the bonnet and a' ; Brave sons of the heather, strike well, and together, For auld Scottish honour, and glory, and a\ There's Gordon the gallant, brave Campbell, and Mar, The Douglas, the Maxwell, Lochiel, and Dunbar. Their pibrochs are pealing From castle and shealing ; Each watch-tower revealing the standard of war. On, on, o'er the hills where the bold eagle flies, O'er muirs, where the stag and the ptarmigan rise, Scott, Farquhar and Menzies ; the stately Mackenzies, Wi' Scotia's proud standard unfurled to the skies. MacPherson, MacDougal, MacLeod, and Dunmore, Graeme, Athole, and Airly ; MacKay, and Kintore, Wi' weapons bright glancing ; Wi' plumes gaily dancing ; 213 TUE MARCH OF THE CLANS. Each dan wi' its pipers proud marching before; Bold Frazers, MacFarlanes, and Grants o 1 the Spey, All gallantly marching in warlike array, Through wild tun cut plashing, through deep ravine dashing, O'er mountains illumed l>y the beacon's fierce ray. Joy, joy to the hour, when returning once more, The march of the Clans shall resound on the shore ; Wi' triumph loud swelling, In ha' and low dwelling, Where groups of gay dancers spring light on the floor ; Like loses in sunshine, when summer winds blow, So gracefully bending, so brightly they glow ; Drink a' wi 1 fu' tassie, the sweet Highland lassie, The sweet Highland lassie wherever you go. THE BARB ERIN I OR PORTLAND VASE. S the most celebrated of all the sepulchral vases of antiquity, the Portland or Barbe- rini Vase may justly be considered one of the most interesting relics of Grecian art which has descended to onr times — a mys- terious relic of the past. It was discovered some time between the years 1623 and 1644, during the pontificate of Pope Urban VIII. of theBarberini family; when some labourers, while tilling a mound 220 THE BARBEKINI OK PORTLAND VASE. called Monte del Grano, about three miles from Home, on the Fras- cati road, accidentally discovered an arch with a large vault beneath, which, on examination, proved to be an ancient tomb, in whose upper chamber stood a magnificent sarcophagus of white marble. On its top, in recumbent positions, were two figures of heroic size (about seven feet in height) — a male and a female — both grandly proportioned. The sides and ends of the sarcophagus were adorned in high relief with sculptured processions of male and female figures, horses, offerings, slaves, &c, designed and executed in the most spirited manner. Within this elaborate and costly covering was the vase itself, then full of ashes. But whose ? ]STo inscription of any kind could be discovered ; and though the names of Alexander Severus and of his mother, Julia Mammsea, have become identified with these matchless objects, the assumption has not been fully sustained, and is grounded solely on some fancied resemblance of the heads to those on their coins. It has been conjectured that at some former period a tower, or other external defence, existed upon the mound wherein the sarco- phagus was discovered, on which would probably have been inscribed the names of those for whom it was erected ; and whose destruction may reasonably be accounted for by the incursions of barbarians, hordes of whom so often spread devastation and terror over the fertile plains of Italy. According to Lampridius, Alexander Severus, who from his youth upwards, and throughout the whole period of his reign was guided solely by his mother, transacting all things by her advice, and with whom he was finally assassinated by the machinations of Maxi- minius, was together with herself both deified, and afterwards uni- versally lamented by the senate and people. A magnificent ceno- taph was erected to them in Gaul, and a grand and ample sepul- chre in Rome. The one, it has been said, in which the vase was found. The,, exquisite workmanship of this antique chef d'ceuvre is a convincing proof of the skill of the artists of the time in which it THE BARBERINI OR PORTLAND VASE. 221 was fabricated, as are also the coins of the Emperor Alexander Severus, which are very fine. It is certain he was both well edu- cated and accomplished, and being himself a judge of painting, sculpture, and architecture, he was most probably a great encou- rager of the arts; for this reason it may be conjectured, that the vase is not of higher antiquity than his reign. It may, too, be probable that as the Monte del Grano is situated not far from the ruins of the aqueduct made by Severus and com- manding a view of that stupendous work from its source to its ter- mination, and also, that in that part of the Campagna Romagna, Julia Mammaea had her delightful villa (as appears from the disco- very of leaden pipes in the vicinity of Lugnano, with the inscription, Julia Mammae Aug. :) that the senate might have appropriately chosen that spot, whereon to found the mausoleum of herself and son. Ancient and modern opinion have received this as true ; and it is certain that no one has hitherto demonstrated it to be false, but should the above mentioned ruined fabric of Monte del Grano, be not indeed the remains of the mausoleum, erected by the senate, to Alexander Severus and his mother, not the least knowledge now remains of Avhere it could have been. Enveloped in mystery, these superb mementoes of a refined and luxurious people have ever presented a favourite theme for antiqua- rian discussion ; every faculty of the learned mind has been racked in their behalf; the meaning of the symbolic figures which surround the vase, no less than the materials of which the vase itself is com- posed, and also the manner of its construction having given rise to innumerable theories and endless conjectures. The vase is nine and three-quarter inches in height, and twenty-one and three-quarter inches in circumference. It is of the kind called Encaustic work, composed of vitrified paste or glass, semi-transparent, and of a dark violet colour, approaching to black, excepting when viewed opposite the light, when its amethystine purple becomes apparent. On this dark ground-work are sculptured in low relief, figures of nearly pearly whiteness, partly opaque, and partly transparent, in 222 THE BARBER1NI OE PORTLAND VASE. strict accordance with the inflections of tlie figures, and the folds of the draperies, thus superadding to the exquisite beauty of the sculp- tured forms, the heightening effects of light and shadow, the dark purple of the ground-work underneath them being more or less visible through the semi-transparent white relief; by this means also, affording those imperceptible gradations of shade which give so much delicacy to the figures. Like the body of the vase, they too are encaustic, the whole having evidently been wrought in a lathe after the manner of a cameo. This Vase, although excelled in form by others of the antique, is unapproachable in the beauty of its figures, which to the utmost ana- tomical correctness of drawing and grace of design, unite the minute finish of the finest gems. So beautiful is this unique funeral urn that it was long considered as fashioned from one entire gem. Bartoli calls it a Sardonyx ; De la Chausse, an Agate; and Montfaucon, simply a precious stone. Various explanations have been given of the figures by which it is adorned ; and amongst the rest, one, by the philosophic poet Darwin, which, whether it be the true one or not, seems so accordant with the mystic beauty in which the ancients were wont to envelope all that related to the soul, as to warrant if not full belief, yet at least warm admiration for its. singularly felicitous com- bination of thoughts and images. lie supposes the figures not to refer to any particular family or event, but rather to portions of the Eleusinian mysteries. Dividing, therefore, the vase into two compartments, he deems the first to be emblematic of Mortal Life, represented by a dying lady or Libitina, who, seated beneath a tree of deciduous leaf, amidst the ruins of a temple,* arid holding an inverted torch, is attended by two- figures whose countenances reveal the terror and commiseration with which mankind naturally look upon suffering and death. This description applies to the figures on that side of the vase whose perfect form has been given to the reader on a previous page. The reverseside of the vase as given on the next page, he judges to be symbolic of Immortal Life, where a hero is seen entering the Ely- sian gate, conducted by Divine Love, and received by Immortality, who is about to present him to Pluto. THE BABBEKINI-Ott PORTLAND VASE. 223 Beneath the foot of the vase the head of a Priestess or Sybil, in a Phrygian coif or bonnet, with a fluttering vest, and having her fin- ger pressed firmly-upon her lips, is supposed to be the goddess Ange- lina, to indicate that silence, which guarded the Eleusinian mysteries. The skill of the Greek artist has strengthened the supposition re- specting the meaning of the figures on the vase, by having made the robe of the newly entered spirit seem as if it adhered to the portal, expressive of reluctance to leave its earthly habitation for the regions of the dread unknown. Pietro Bartoli thought the subject related to the birth of Alex- ander the Great. Monsieur Yon Velthein supposes that it refers to the story of Admetus recovering his wife from Elysium. Mens. d'Hancarville thinks that it represents the descent of Orpheus into Elysium in order to recover his beloved Eurydice. The learned Mons. Ennio Quirino Visconti is of opinion, that it records the mar- riage of Peleus and Thetis. Dr. King considers it to refer to the birth of Alexander Severus himself, while the late T. Windus, Esq. F.S.A., puts forth an idea from what he calls the "phantasmagoria of his own mind" that the vase was the receptacle of the Ashes of Galen, and the figures commemorative of an extraordinary cure, per- 224 THE BAJJBERINI OU I'OUTLAM) VASE. formed by that vainglorious old physician on a noble lady whose disease be discovered to be love; the object of her passion, "an actor,'' or "rope dancer," the discovery being made by the same means employed by Erasistratns, who became cognizant of the love of Antiochus for his mother-in-law Stratonice, by the quickening of the pulse of the patient, at the moment when she entered the apartment. Erasistratns, one of the most celebrated physicians and anatomists of ancient Greece, while sojourning at the court of Seleuctts NTcator king of Syria, was called upon to prescribe for Antiochus the eldest son of the king, who had been seized with a violent and apparently incurable malady, which defied the efforts of all the physicians. Erasistratns, having by his sagacity detected the source of the disease, replied to the questions of Seleucus, that the disease of his son was incurable, as it proceeded from an attachment for an object he could never obtain. On being asked the name of the lady. Erasistratns replied, "My wife!" The king used every argument in his power to induce him to give her up to his son, but in vain — when on being asked in return whether he would yield his wifi for a similar purpose, he answered readily in the affirmative, and immediately transferred his beautiful queen to his son, to- gether with several fine provinces for her dowry. The fee of the fortunate physician was one hundred talents, or 21,375 pounds sterling. Mr. AVindus has entered into the subject of the vase with the most vivid enthusiasm ; and though the story of Galen and the lady seems rather extravagant, it is accompanied by an amount of matter in the highest, degree interesting and valuable. The Barberini Vase remained in the palace of that name in Rome for more than a century, when a Roman princess, the representative of the family, in consequence, it is said, of debts contracted at the gam- ing-table, sold it, together with the finest antiquities of her collection. The circumstances becoming known to the Pope, his Holiness forbade the removal of any of them out of Rome; but the vase, nevertheless, was privately carried away. It was afterwards purchased by dames Byers, Esq., of Tonely, Aberdeenshire, and subsequently sold by him to Sir William Hamilton, from whom it was purchased by THE BARBEEINI OR PORTLAND VASE. 225 the Duchess of Portland, hence its present name of the Portland Vase; but so much secresy was, at the express desire of the Duchess, observed regarding the transaction, that it was not until after her death, that even her own family were aware that she was the posses- sor of it. At the sale of the Duchess's very valuable and curious museum in 1786, the vase was purchased by her son the Duke of Portland for 1029 guineas. To the zeal of this enlightened and liberal nobleman, for the promotion of the line arts, the public are indebted for the numerous and successful imitations of the original, which the celebrated Wedgewood was enabled to make, in conse- quence of having it entrusted to his care, and remaining entirely at his command for twelve months, during which period, copies innumerable of all sizes were produced, by which means the original has become almost universally familiar. "Whilst yet in the possession of Mr. Byers, a mould was made from it, under the superintendence of Pichler the celebrated gem-engraver at Rome, and from this perfect mould, Mr. James Tassie, of London, took oft' a number of casts in plaster carefully prepared with gum. By the noble generosity of the Duke of Portland this unrivalled relique of ancient Greek art has, since the year 1810, adorned the centre of an ante-room in the British Museum, London, where it occupied a place on an octagonal table under a glass-case. Here it remained in safety until 1815, when, after having existed since A. D. 235 without flaw or blemish, it was dashed to pieces by an insane visitor to the museum. It has, however, been so successfully repaired as to leave scarcely any traces of the fractures, and those only visible to the critical eye of the experienced virtuoso. It has been again placed in the museum with a protective barrier, to guard against future accidents. A LEGEND OF AX OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. About a mile and a half from the famous " Bridge of Earn," and about five miles from Perth, stands an ancient castle; a lofty hill rises immediately belrud it. and a thick wood of very aged trees encircles its ancient walls, in tormer days, it possessed strong flank- ing buttresses ana watch-towers, together with a rr.oat, barbican, drawbridge, and other warlike defences peculiar to the feudal strongholds once so numerous in Scotland. Although often modern- ized, the strength and importance of the original structure art' suffi- ciently evidenced in the massive square tower which still remains, as well as the ponderous fragments scattered around. The drawbridge is now gone, and the moat partially filled up, but several pieces of cannon indicate it to have been formerly fortified, its last warlike demonstration occurring probably in the time of Cromwell. The principal entrance is through the large square tower above men- tioned, whose apartments hung with arras, and furnished with a variety of antiquated household articles and ornaments of various kinds, all wear that air of mournfulness and gloom common to ancient dwellings in decay ; the windows are all secured by bars of iron; those of the staircase having evidently served for guns. A large picture-gallery, filled with old portraits, tends greatly to enhance the interest attache^ (o this venerable edifice, forming, as such relics ever do. one of the most touching links between the present and the past. The top of the tower, which is furnished with a bartizan and port-holes, commanus a widely extended view of Strathearn, the valley of Glen-Dearg, and the long low pastoral range of the Ochil Hills; from this elevated position, while the eye takes in delight from a thousand sources, the ear distinguishes no sound save the incessant cawings of the rooks in the tree-tops, which form as itwere, an ocean of dark and heaving foliage, extending far and wide, and ever resounding with this melancholy clamour. From this tower, the remains of orchards, pleached-bowers, ancient gardens, with a A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 227 sparkling burnie running through the midst, and other vestiges of former pleasures joined to the features previously described, com- plete a scene full of interest to those who love to muse on varying fortunes — proud names sunk in oblivion, and great houses fallen to decay; leaving, as in the present instance, but little, save a floating legend, or "grey superstition " to recal their former inhabitants, Here, in the year of grace, 1390, lived its owner, Sir Alureth, of that Ilk, who with a strong arm, a stout heart, and a considerable body of retainers, led a bold baronial life, but little fettered by the restraints of law or gospel ; holding in his own hand, as he was wont to boast, the reins of three counties, Perth, Fife, and Kinross ; to each, and. all of which, he was a most unruly and unquiet neigh- bour ; his old strong fortalice, with its formidable surroundings, being in close proximity, indeed, almost treading as it were, on their very skirts ; while his forays, spreaths, spuilzies, and harryings, with the reprisals consequent thereon, kept the whole region round about in a continual state of activity and alarm. Luckily, however, for those who suffered by his molestations, Sir Alureth was in the habit of making frequent incursions into foreign lands ; taking with him the most turbulent and daring spirits he could muster, leaving behind him a halcyon period of repose, only to be abruptly broken by his ever hasty and unannounced return, which, in its startling effect, might be compared to the pounce of a hawk, on the feathered inhabit- ants of the barn-yard. On one of these occasions, he was accompanied by a foreign lady, to whom under circumstances of extraordinary and romantic peril he had been united while abroad, and who only lived long enough to make him the father of a daughter, who, as infancy merged into girl-hood, bloomed wild and beautiful as the name by which she was distinguished : Erica, the Heath-bell of Strathearn. As the shepherd tends and cherishes some motherless cade-lamb ; as the gardener watches night and day the unfolding of some choice rose ; so did the fond father watch, and almost worship the fair and beam- ing creature who grew beneath his eye, and with tendril-like tena- city wound herself around his stubborn heart till she had made it all 'J-JN A LEGEND (>F AN 0T O SCOTTISH CASTLE. her own; till the parent might be said to live but in his child. In truth, she was very Lovely; regular in feature, with large blue eves, shaded by long lashes, wavering locks of glossy black, lips exquisitely rose-leaved in their enchanting hue and curve, a neck and throat round and white as that of Aphrodite herself, and a form whose graceful and elastic symmetry allured the eve by the unconscious charm which accompanied every movement. Nor was the jewel unworthy of its casket. It was that rare and precious gem — a pure and delicate, vet most warm and generous woman's heart; full of kindly affections, of gentle charities and sweet humility. Those who remembered her Italian mother, detected not a shade of resemblance in the daughter ; still less, could a likeness be traced to the fierce and stalwart Sir Alureth, as with the air almost of a fair spirit, she hovered around him in all his avocations ; in joy and sorrow, sick- ness or health, his never failing resource and constant companion. The household of Sir Alureth, with the exception of fighting-men, hunters, herdsmen, and menials, consisted besides himself and daugh- ter, of but four persons: a young protege, an ancient priest, and Mill more ancient housekeeper and nurse. Of these, first in rank but youngest in years, was Qrthon Munro, a wild and headstrong cadet of the Clan Foulis, placed, according to the fashion of the age, in the household of a superior chief, there to imbibe those soldierly and gentlemanly accomplishments which should hereafter win him honor as a knight, tres hardi, sans peur et sans reproche. Rumour had long assigned him to the beautiful Erica as her allotted bridegroom ; but, though the youth had been her playmate from infancy, and was in all respeets treated by Sir Alureth as his son, yet, in the minds of both father and daughter, there existed a very different degree of regard to that, which would be conceded to one who should be deemed worthy to possess the hand and heart, of the fairest and best dowered heiress in Strathearh. Orthon, however, thought differently. Being inor- dinately vain, and rather good-looking, in spite of hair of a fiery redness, and an awkward way, when in conversation, of never allow- ing hi- eye t<> meet that of the person be addressed, he conceived it impossible that a young girl of seventeen could be daily and hourly A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 229 in his society without loving him ; and though he could not call to mind any instance on the part of Erica which particularly evinced decided partiality, yet he satisfied himself by complacently saying to himself, "Poor thing, she is but a girl, a mere child of seventeen, while I am a man, actually twenty, nineteen and a half at least, and that is all the same ; so, of course, though she is not loving and all that in outward show, she feels it I have no doubt." Thus reasoned Orthon, well pleased not only to listen to every inuendo which took the colour of his own wishes in this respect, but to convey, as far as in him lay, the same impression to others. In consequence of this, when Sir Alureth publicly announced, that he had chosen for the bride- groom of his daughter, Azzo Visconti, a young Milanese knight, with whom he had become acquainted in one of his foreign expeditions — Rumour, with her thousand tongues, proclaimed Orthon an ill-used man — a victim to family pride and female fickleness. Totally uncon- scious of the havoc he had already committed on the young man's feel- ings, Sir Alureth soon afterwards took him into council on the best mode of doing honour to his intended son-in-law, whose arrival he wished not greatly to precede the day of the nuptials, an event he had determined to solemnize with great splendour and solemnity on the ensuing vigil of our Lady, which in that year fell on August 15th. Stunned and bewildered, the unhappy youth was totally at a loss for reply ; when he did so, it was in a strain to which Sir Alureth was but little accustomed. A torrent of reproach, supplication, invec- tive : a maddened appeal — and amid a shower of fiery tears, an indignant farewell. Great was the astonishment of Sir Alureth, and it was with some natural fear as to the manner in which Erica would receive the intelligence he had to convey, that he entered her apart- ment. " Come hither, love," said he, taking a seat in the deep embra- sure of one of the windows, at the same time drawing her towards him, still retaining her hand in his own. " What dost thou think should be the conduct of thy father towards one who hath used to him such words as these ?" lie then narrated the violent tirade which had just fallen from the lips of Orthon. Erica listened with anxiety and agitation. " Those were the words of Orthon" said she. " I know 230 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. none else who would have had the hardihood to utter such in thy presence; l>ut why, my father, were they spoken?" "Listen, Erica," said her father; "thou knowest the engagements which subsist between the Visconti and myself; the promise that our children should be united, as the seal of our mutual amity, and lifelong friendship; and it was but in reply to my request that he would help me to receive Azzo, who will be here anon, in a proper manner, that Orthon dared, thus cur-like, to bite the hand that fed him. But thou hast not answered my question, how should such an offender be treated?" Erica hesitated. " Child, child," cried her father hastily, "do not arouse my anger by saying thou lovest the varlet. Oh, I should go mad, mad! to think of such a downfall to my hopes, not only for myself, hut for thee." "Be satisfied on that point," replied the maiden, with a slight touch of pride in her look and accent. "Orthon is headstrong, furious and sellish — I may have reasoned with him, even pitied him, when he has at times suffered for his misconduct, but as for loving him — oh no, that is impossible." " Now by my halidome this is well," rejoined Sir Alureth. " ( ), Erica, the life thou received from me thou hast returned seventy fold during the short term thou hast been on earth. Was ever father so blest as I?" lie then, while entering on the particulars of Azzo's intended visit, impressively hade her remember that the Italian character, even when possessing the mildest and highest qualities, is yet prone to jealousy and revenge; warning her at the same time, with unwonted solemnity, to beware of giving occasion for either. For a few days all was joyful hurry and preparation, and the evening of the third had deepened into night, when every arrangement being complete, an unwonted tumult in the court announced the arrival of the expected guests. Erica's heart failed her; regardless of what might, be thought of her conduct by the assembled company who had been convened to welcome the noble stranger — regardless of every- thing but the desire to escape from what seemed to her excited fancy an ordeal impossible to endure, she fled to the top of the tower, and for a few moments, with burning cheeks, and heart, beating as if it would burst from its confinement, stood gazing on the moon which A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 231 in resplendent fulness shed its dazzling light on all around ; then hastily traversing the leaded roofs, from time to time as she approached the battlements, cast furtive glances on the court below. All there was bustle and confusion ; figures passed to and fro from the drawbridge to the gates, and one form more proud and stately than the rest, she was at no loss to recognise as that of her betrothed, from whom, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, she now accused herself of having ignominiously absconded ; determined to atone for her folly, she was about to descend the stairway of the tower, when face to face, almost falling into his arms in the surprise of encountering him so unexpectedly in her descent, she found herself alone with Azzo Yisconti. More beautiful in form and face than remembrance or description had ever given her an idea of, but with a wildness of eye, and melancholy expression of countenance which seemed singu- larly inappropriate and ominous in a betrothed lover at the triumph- ant moment of claiming his future bride. Fixing his glorious dark eyes with a kind of despairing energy upon the moon, he pressed his hands to his forehead, then wildly throwing his arms upward, he cried : " Forgive me, Heaven ; save me from this great sin if it be possible !" Meantime, Erica fearing she knew not what, but resolved if possible to ameliorate the mental agony under which he laboured, calmly and with dignity, at once, simple and self-possessed, approached the parapet against which he leaned, and gently as she would have addressed the dying, said : " Tell me your grief, if it be such as a sister may share, and sharing, pity and console — then I will be your sister, and you shall be my brother — my only brother, for none I ever had— will you V continued she pleadingly. A moment's pain- ful pause succeeded; Erica trembled, fearing she had said more than maiden modesty would excuse, when Azzo, turning towards her, displayed a countenance no longer wild and agonized, but full of tenderness and admiration, while in his eyes, tears, in spite of evident efforts to repress them, gathered full and fast ; bending his knee before her, he saluted her hand as in the act of homage to a sove- reign. The young girl felt reassured, and with no witness save the moon and stars, gave him that pure and consecrated offering, the first •j:',-_> A LEGEND OF AN OLD BCOTTISfl CASTLE. kiss of love, reciprocated by mutual lips that vowed unto each otlier fidelity unto death. On arriving at the foot of the stone-steps of the tower, it excited no surprise in the mind of Erica to behold seated there in a crouching attitude, her old nurse, Elsie, whose doleful and questioning counte- nance afforded convincing proof, had any doubt been entertained on the subject, that she had been a concealed witness of the preceding interview, and had heard every word of their short, but most agi- tated conversation : gMnghera bright look of happiness, Erica passed on, leaving the old woman sorely perplexed, muttering to herself, "Weel, weel, may be it's a' richt, but I sairly jalouse lie's a bee in his bonnet for a' that." It was a proud moment for Sir Alureth, as amidst the blaze of lights, the sound of minstrelsy, and the congratulations of his assembled friends, the young betrothed couple, hand in hand, en- tered the banquet-room. Magnificently attired, with conscious happiness beaming in their faces, and meeting on every side com- pliments and good wishes, they gained the side of Sir Alureth, who placing one on either hand proceeded to do the honours of his house right well and courteously ; his old steel morion and buff jer- kin, bullet-proof — exchanged for ample garments of great price and costly workmanship; and his speech neatly filed of its blunt soldier- phrases to suit the bevy of fair dames around him — not perhaps wholly unconscious that many a long-necked spinster remarked in a manner thai might perhaps accidentally reach his ears, " ETech, sirs! Sir Alureth's no thatauld ; he's a lineman yet !" Happiness is a great beautifier, and the old knight was happy. It also is one of the most sovereign philtres for rejuvenescence, and therefore, there might possibly be as much truth as flattery in the remark. Beit as it may, that night was to Sir Alureth the golden fulfilment of the ambitious hopes of long preceding years, and he revelled with a sense of triumph he had never experienced before. After the removal of the tresselled boards on -which the feast had been served, the evening- wore away in all those changes of pleasure and pastime for which the festivals of the olden time were especially famous ; but to the A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 233 heart of Erica the crowning joy of that entertainment was not the splendour of the festival, the praises she had heard lavished on her beauty, nor even the adoring love of her betrothed — it was com- prised in one short sentence from the lips of her lather, who when she was retiring for the night, followed her to the door of her chamber, and folding her in his arms, said tenderly, " God bless my good and dutiful daughter!" On entering her usually peaceful apartment, she was surprised to find, instead of its customary aspect of modest stillness and exact - order, a wilderness of silks and satins, velvets and laces, all shin- ing under the blaze of many lamps and cressets, while the bed, couches, chairs, and other articles of furniture were covered with mag- nificent dresses and ornaments, the gifts and offerings of her father, lover, and friends. As she examined the rich and delicate textures of various costly fabrics, and noted how carefully to each was appended some playful or affectionate reminder of the giver, her heart swelled with delight, and casting a glance on the mirror she smiled ; gazing a moment, and smiling still, at the blooming image — so much more bright and buoyant than she usually saw reflected there. While thus occupied, a flower, thrown by some hand from without, fell fluttering beside her ; deeply blushing, raising the flower to her lips, " It is one of Azzo's graceful Italian gallantries," thought she ; " he told me a folded rose should ever be the lover's good-night token." On surveying the flower more attentively a slip of paper was observable amid its petals : she unfolded it with eager haste and heightened colour, that suddenly faded, leaving lip, cheek, and brow pale as the milk-white rose she held in her hand ; hurriedly glancing around the apartment, to assure herself that she was alone, she plucked apart the petals of the rose, and tearing the paper into minute atoms cast them from her with scorn and disgust ; as she did so, a rustling of the ivy which wreathed the lattice attracted her atten- tion towards it, and in the next moment, Orthon stood before her. Too shocked to speak, Erica could, only look at him with terror- starting eyes, and a resolute and imperious motion of the hand as if to command him out of her sight. " I understand, you," said he 234 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. insolently; "but at present you command in vain;" so saying he approached the lattice, carefully closed it, and drew over it the crimson curtains, which, on account of the heat of the weather, had not yet been drawn. Indignation succeeded to terror in the mind of Erica; she beheld in Orthon no longer the playmate of her youth, but the ruffian intruder on the sanctity of her chamber, and in a voice almost shrill in its proud haughtiness, she commanded hiiri to be gone. " How dare you intrude into this apartment? at such an hour as this, too," continued she, her tone becoming more vehement as the lateness of the hour impressed upon her mind the impropriety of the present interview. Folding his arms, and standing with his shoulders lean- ing against the wall, he looked fixedly on her face, with a malignant scowl, and then with a sweeping scornful glance at the articles of luxury and elegance profusely scattered around. " Erica," said he passionately, " I wished to see you once more ; there was no other way than this; I have perilled my life, and this is my reward." "What reward did you dare to expect?" cried the trembling Erica. " You say you have perilled life by coming here ; have you not perilled more than life of mine, my honor and good name, by thus presuming unbidden to enter my chamber at midnight? Heavens!" said she, shuddering, "-suppose any one saw you enter by that window; close it too — and thus remain !" " Make yourself easy," replied he, carelessly; " in a castle so filled with gay ladies and brave gallants, it would have seemed no such uncommon thing for a lover to scale his ladye-love's windows." "Lover!" cried Erica; "well do you know that your own vanity alone could ever make you imagine you ever were, or ever could be lover of mine." "You are very lofty and proud, Erica ; but I shall coolly finish my sentence, notwithstanding. I was going to say, that even as I did enter I saw, if 1 mistake not, a muf- fled cavalier bent on a similar errand to my own. Some window near this, I presume, contained his treasure." Erica grew faint with terror. "Leave me" cried she, ki I feel, I know not what of horror and presentiment. Leave me, I conjure you ! my good name, my happi- ness is gone for ever, should this idle curiosity of yours have had any witnesses." "Curiosity!" said the youth, indignantly; "curiosity A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 235 call you it? It is love! Erica/' cried lie, casting himself at her feet, "it is distracted, devouring love ! O Erica, forgive me, angel; I would not willingly injure you for all this world." The unfeigned anguish which spoke in every working feature touched the heart of Erica, while a remembrance of his impetuous, thoughtless character, pleaded strongly in extenuation of his fault. "No, no!" said she, more kindly, "I forgive you, Orthon; I do not think you would wound me intentionally." " Now I recognise Erica once more. Ah! Erica, you were a real Pythoness just now. Come," said he, tenderly, "he mine, instead of giving yourself to a vile foreigner ; those Viscontis are bad fellows all — real cut-throats, and besides," added he with seriousness — "they do say Azzo at times is not quite right here (touching his forehead); moon-struck, you know. (Erica shuddered.) Cast him off, dear, good, sweet Erica, and take an honest, hardy Highlander, instead. I have men, money, and horses at command, and in some of those distant lands that your father loves to gallop about in so, never fear but I will soon win you a station far more honourable than this Milanese bravo, or any of his kith or kin can ever aspire to." The passion of his looks, no less than the audacity of his words during the latter part of this tirade, displeased and disgusted her to whom it was addressed. " You have mistaken me, as much as I have misunderstood you," said she coldly. " I must beg of you instantly to retire, or I shall summon my father." "Do!" said he, fiercely; " finish your work by all means ; it would be as well to fall by his hand as by that of another." At this moment steps in the adjoining corridor arrested his attention ; Erica wrung her hands in agony, while Orthon, after a moment's uncertainty, retreated to the lattice, and casting himself headlong from it, flew along the garden. As soon as he was gone, Erica flung herself on her couch, overcome by a tide of emotions ; among which a sense of wounded delicacy, a fear of evil report, were predominant ; should any one have seen the entrance or exit of the intruder, what horror might be the result — and then, the steps in the corridor — perhaps a listener, who, after having heard all, was then departing to spread his baleful report. " Surely, surely not," cried 236 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. she; "perhaps it was my father — vet no ! he would have slain him on the spot. (), 1'or a counsellor in this hour of need !" Suddenly, a ray of consolation beamed over the chaos other thoughts \ ami wi.h a whispered expression of — " Yes, it must and could have been only Father L vias, the good priest, on his return from the convent ; to him I will fly, and entrust the whole to his averting hand." She then endeavoured to compose her agitated thoughts, and gliding along the gallery, soon reached the little room on the leads which formed his cell; when, having fully detailed the event which had given her so much pain, and received his consoling assurances that he would effectually ward off any evil that might accrue, she regained her apartment, and throwing herself on her bed was soon wrapt in the deep sleep of youth and innocence. Her father was less fortunate ; for more than an hour after the last guest had departed, he continued to pace the long picture-gallery, at whose far- thest extremity was a central archway, with a flight of steps descend- ing to his bed-chamber. Lighted by four long and extremely narrow lancet windows, deeply set in the thickness of the wall, the gallery was gloomy in the extreme, redeemed from darkness only by the trembling lines of moonlight that piercing transversely through them, rested in nickering rays upon the old portraits that gazed coldly down from the walls; save these, and the form of Sir Alureth himself, cast- ing huge shadow as he paced backwards and forwards, no other object was visible, the gallery presenting the appearance of a dim and length- ened platform, whose extremities were lost in darkness. From time to time, Sir Alureth paused in his meditative walk before one or other of tin- windows, and looked upon tin 1 silent gardens below, bright and tranquil beneath the light of a full harvest moon. All nature slept ; apparently, not a leaf stirred : the sobbing sough of the night wind, as it swept over the pine-forest which surrounded the castle, and the murmuring flow of distant streams, were the only sounds that rose and fell on the silence, their continuous monotony only deepening the impression of profound repose. Although the most unimaginative of men, Sir Alureth was nevertheless struck with the solemnity and unearthly appearance of a scene, all of whose features A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 237 by day were so pleasant and familiar ; the white balustrades, sur- mounted by balls and spires, contrasting with sepulchral effect the numerous trees of juniper, pine, holly, yew, and other hardy ever- greens, which it had been the pleasure of the gardener to transform into monstrous shapes of men, animals, birds, and fishes which, gro- tesque and whimsical by day, amidst verdant slopes and quaint par- terres of many-coloured flowers, had, when surrounding objects were reduced to the sombre hues and rigid outlines of night, an effect at once uncouth, startling, and melancholy. " Detestable!" muttered Sir Alureth, as he turned away and resumed his walk through the gallery ; " 'tis like a Turkish burial ground."' His brain worked busily, schemes of future aggrandizement presented themselves in quick succession tolas imagination, and a bright future, of which the wealthy marriage of his daughter was but the stepping-stone, dis- played itself before him in the most tempting colours. " Perseve- rando," thought he ; " my old motto may be nobly worked out yet. I am but in the prime of life ; another bride, perchance, than the one who will shine here to-morrow, may again grace these old walls." The bell of a neighbouring convent tolling the second hour after mid- night, roused him from his abstraction. " So late !" said he, in a dreamy undertone; "what shadows we pursue!" As he uttered these words, he descended the steps at the end of the gallery; and passing through the short vaulted passage which formed the entrance to his bedchamber, betook himself to repose. But the perturbed spirit revolted. It ran riot midst hair-breadth escapes, and wild adventures which he had experienced in other years ; through flood and fire, amid ruined towns and blazing castles, whose wretched in- habitants in every variety of horror and suffering were mingled with himself and his martial companions. Throwing back the curtain, he gave a rapid glance around ; the moonlight stole fitfully through the apartment, gleaming and glittering on cuirasses and helmets, parti- zans and broadswords ; bringing out in bold relief the grotesque sculptures of the corbelled ceiling, and flinging long sweeps of wavy light on the tapestried walls and shining floor of polished oak, cold and glassy, dimly reflecting the several objects which it supported. 238 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. "Am I never to sleep?" cried Sir Aluretli, as lie threw himself again on his pillows, and tossed uneasily from side to side, striking angrily as he did so the sides of his bed, a cumbrous structure, whose elabo- rate carving now gilded by the glimmering moonlight, made it seem like some old monument, from which its ghastly tenant was endea- vouring to escape. Dragging. oyer him for the thousandtli time, the disordered coverings, and clutching a falling pillow, he buried his face upon it, as if, by excluding external objects, to conquer the strife within. With a muttered anathema, he cast it from him ; and assuming his usual position, gazed steadfastly at the richly-painted window opposite the foot of his bed, where, amid scriptural figures whose draperies exhibited those gorgeous tints for which the ancient artists were so famous, was blazoned amidst a circle of oak leaves, his black, counter-embattled cross, with its dagger- crest, and indomitable motto. A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 239 The contemplation of this object, so dear to his proud heart, served to restore him to composure ; continuing fixedly to regard it, his fea- tures became placid, his weary eyelids closed, and at length he slept ; how long, he knew not ; when he awoke it was with a start. A low, moaning sound seemed to issue from the tapestry, and, to his surprise and alarm, a female figure slowly emerged from beneath it, and re- mained crouching upon the ground in one corner of the apartment : her head bowed upon her knees, her long white arms bare, nerveless and drooping, the hands folded and prostrate in desolate abandon- ment ; her face entirely concealed by the falling forward of the long dark hair, which covering her like a veil, rested in dishevelled masses on the floor, where it lay mingled with the folds other dress, which was white and shroud-like. As Sir Alureth gazed at the prone and motionless form, it was with indescribable horror that he perceived amotion, as of life, beneath its loose and floating garments impelling it, though still in a grovelling attitude, with a slow and undulating movement, nearer and nearer, till almost close to his bedside. Power- less to move or speak, with eyes dilated to the utmost, he watched it approach; when, while in the act of hovering above him as if to en- close him in its long white arms, he perceived beneath the dark shadowy arch formed by its wavy hair, a dull, watery-looking like- ness of his Erica. Uttering her name with a cry of anguish, he sank back, shrinking and shuddering ; his eyes riveted on the phantom, which slowly melted from his gaze. The moon, which had long been wading through clouds, suddenly withdrew its light, and he was left in total darkness ; large drops stood upon his brow ; his lieart beat loud and irregularly. All at once, there rose upon the air the soft- ened chaunt of the nuns of the nei^hbourino: convent, singino; the Hymn to the Virgin : sweet and clear as angels' voices it penetrated his inmost soul, and a prayer, the first since a child at his mother's knee, was tremblingly uttered for the welfare of his daughter. The first ray of dawn was now apparent in the sky, he could hear afar the sounds of rustic labour ; and half ashamed both of his ter- rors and of his piety, he composed himself to rest, and slept soundly. When he awoke, the remembrance of what he considered a fantasy or 240 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. waiving dream had completely lost its power over him. " It was all owing to those villainous new-fangled French wines," said he to him- self; " a quaigh of honest Grlenlivat would never have stuffed me with such horrible vapours." Attiring his still handsome person in the most becoming manner,he went forth, a smiling host, to do the honours of his house on what he called the proudest day of his life. The morning rose bright and beautiful : all nature smiled, as if in honour of the nuptials. At an early hour there was not a closed eye in the castle — all was life and movement, bustle and activity; the pre- cincts, too, exhibited an unwonted degree of animation : bands of vil- lagers in their gay est apparel, with armed retainers,stoutvarlets, idlers, and loungers of every class, sex, and age, assembled on the most con- venient spots for obtaining a view of the marriage procession, which was expected to issue from the castle gates about an hour before noon- tide. The hearts of the young were especially buoyant, all their best feelings and sympathies being enlisted on the occasion, in consequence of thefalse rumours which had gone abroad, concerning the compulsion which had been used to induce the gentle Erica to accept the hand of the young Italian nobleman, even while, as the said rumour loudly declared, her affections were given solely to Orthon. Dark inuendoes were mysteriously circulated concerning the means employed by Sir Alureth to extort her consent, some averring that a drawn dagger had actually been the argument aimed at her by that fierce and intracta- ble personage ; others, that the victim had actually been chained for a whole night in the dungeon of the castle. These, and other figments equally ridiculous had invested the ceremony with no little interest, and all were anxious to catch a view of the bride, in order to judge for themselves how she looked after such an extraordinary mode of woo- ing. Meanwhile, the sun was shining on her closed eyelids, over which her superstitious old nurse, Elsie, was making an airy sign of the cross, mumbling ai the same time some intricate rhyme, the burden of which was, "unto our Lady ami sweet Saint John" — the namesof other saints being also plentifully invocated. While thus occupied, Erica awoke, sighing heavily ; experiencing that terrible depression which those who lie down after great sorrow so often feel on awakening: A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 241 nevertheless, she smiled, and passing her hand caressingly over the furrowed brow and wrinkled cheeks of the old nurse whose whole life had been a slavery of love to herself and family, " I feel ill," said she to the attached old creature. "I cannot arise yet, Elsie." "Get up, dearie ; it's the nasty saft pillow. My auld pow wad ache for a month an' mair, if I cushioned it e'en o' ane feather — muckle waur I trow, smoor'd up wi' thousands." Erica laughed. " It's a' true, lam- mie ; an ye'd ne'er sifficate yoursel wi 'em ony mair gif ye ance pried a bunch o' green bracken, or a shook o' bonnie heather wi' the blooms on't." Erica sighed. " What for gie ye sic a pech, dearie? it's ainly an auld doddcr'd fule like mysel suld pech an grane ; a lassie atyere age suld be a' smiles an' squeels." " Help me to rise, you talka- tive old darling," said Erica ; " the sound of your bonnie kind voice always cheers me." " Ay, ay, lovey, gif your auld nourrice disna ken how to gabble for her child's gude, mair's the pity!" While thus prattling to her nurse, a band of maidens, attired in the trimmest Scot- tish fashion, witli short tartan skirts and boddices, their shining hair confined by snoods of the most showy colours, and carrying baskets of flowers in their hands, assembled on the terrace immediately be- neath her window, singing a simple and joyous strain in honour of her whom they called the Heath-bell of Strathearn. The air, in parts, was soft and plaintive, murmuring away until nearly lost; then sud- denly bounding back again with that delicious wildness which, like fairy footsteps, flits in and out amid the melodies of Scotland. " Oh, that I were dressed," said Erica ; " I would go down and thank them." "Ne'er fash yoursel, my dault, ahoutthe likes o' thae hissies," said Elsie. " Ye'll see 'em a' sune eneuch mopping and mowing afore the hufes of the naigs as ye gang to the kirk the day ; I heerd 'em say sae my- sel." In spite of this disparaging remark on the " hissies," as Elsie irreverently termed them, Erica sprang to the window and looked into the garden ; it presented a gay and lively scene : the younger portion of the guests being dispersed throughout its whole extent, con- gregated in large or small groups, sauntering in pairs or apart, wander- ing whithersoever they listed, amid a scene rendered thrice beautiful by their presence, as blithely carolling or gaily bounding they indulg- 244 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. heart of her lover returned to its rest, and his jealous and exacting spirit was for the moment satisfied. At this moment, with loud and joyful swell, the family march resounded from the gallery overhead, filling the hall with its martial and inspiring strains, and two pipers, fine old Highlanders, with white hair streaming from beneath their bonnets upon their broad shoulders, their pipes decorated with streamers of the gayest hues, and their erect and powerful frames clothed in that most magnificent of all costumes, the national garb of Scotland, their bonnets adorned with the badge of their lord, made with proud and stately step the circuit of the as- semblage, who formed themselves into lines, while Sir Alureth, ad- vancing to Erica, led her to the entrance, the whole of the company eliding upon their steps in processional order, through the court and over the drawbridge to the open space beyond, where, attended by lackeys, pages, and serving men, a noble train of chargers, light- pacing jennets, and ambling palfreys, splendidly caparisoned, await- ed their approach. After mounting these, the whole splendid caval- cade, through flower-strewn paths and with music sounding, rode beneath the forest boughs to the ancient church crowning the hill behind the castle ; which, richly decorated with tapestries and flow- ers, sent forth the solemn swell of holy chaunt and priestly voices. On entering the sacred edifice, the festive strains became in- stantly stilled, and supported by her father, the bride stood before the altar, the bridegroorn on her left, and the gorgeously-attired assemblage, comprising some of the noblest and loveliest of Fife- shire and the adjacent counties, ranged around; while ever and anon, the solemn sound of sacred music mingled with the deep chaunt that accompanied it, re-echoed through the aisles. Sud- denly it ceased, the voice of Father Uvias alone was heard, followed by the subdued responses of the youthful pair who knelt before him, and the rite was concluded in the most auspicious manner. Returning to the castle in the same imposing array in which it had set forth, the gay bridal march was only dissolved at the en- trance of the great hall, where a banquet, such as would be termed in these days truly royal, awaited their presence, enlivened with A LEGEND OP AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 245 minstrelsy, whose strains, vehemently renewed at the entrance of every fresh course, were mingled at the close by the clatter of stoups and flagons, the clinking of cups, and vociferous drinking of healths to the bride and bridegroom. To this succeeded the merry dance, the masque, the interlude, with a variety of other amusements, sports, and pastimes, kept up with so much zeal and spirit, that when the evening sun was flaunting his crimson banner on the battlements of the castle, leaving the golden shadow of his sandals on the tops of the ancient pine-trees, and making the garden and its adjoining pleas- ance a perfect fairy-land of illusions, there were none who came forth to gaze upon it, save two, the young Yisconti and his beautiful bride. Hand in hand they came smiling upon the terrace, struck silent with delighted awe at the sublime magnificence of the scene before them. Far as the eye could reach, mountain and valley, tower and town, hamlet and river, in endless combinations of beauty and grandeur, were clothed in hues of fire and purply gold, melting and fading, even while they gazed, into spaceless masses, indistinct and shadowy, with spectral hosts of rising vapours, that, curling and wind- ing through the straths and glens, heralded the mellow march of twilight. They spoke not, but their hands were clasped more closely, they looked at each other with such looks as lovers only give, and descending the steps of the terrace, wandered amidst the fragrant flowers and shining herbage of the esplanade below. " Gather me some of your favourite flowers, Erica," said her bride- groom, " and I will keep them in remembrance of our wedding-day." Erica's eyes swam in happiness, as she eagerly began her delightful task, while he, throwing himself on the grassy slope beside her, watched her graceful movements. " How still everything is," said she ; " the ripple of the brook, and the singing of birds we cannot see, are the only sounds excepting those of our own voices." " Ho ! " cried he, suddenly springing up, and looking towards the sky, "who can have released my peregrine falcon? There she goes ! I would not lose her for a thousand crowns. Stay here, dearest, for one moment : I am sure she will come back to my signal ; she is so perfectly trained." " Fly ! fly !" cried Erica gaily. " A trophy shall await 2-4G A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. vour return; a wreath for the victor, and chains, flowery chains, for the captive."' Bounding forward, he soon gained the extremity of the garden, whence he had the satisfaction to behold his favourite bird, who perversely, however, refused to settle on his wrist, decoy- ing him by gentle flights from tree to tree to the entrance of the forest. As Erica watched his pursuit of the capricious falcon, a low laugh from some one close at hand, made her start, and emerging from behind a clump of hollies, Orthon stood before her. "Don't be alarmed, pray," said he, mortified at her evident annoyance ; " 1 merely wished to say good-bye, and to ask your pardon for last night's intrusion/' " O, I forgive you entirely, but pray do not remain," said she hurriedly, at the same time looking anxiously around; "I beg you will not ; you do not know — indeed — pray, Orthon — consider — " "Don't look so dreadfully frightened, Erica," said he ; "your beloved and noble lord is entirely out of sight and hearing, if that can give you any satisfaction. I let his falcon loose on purpose. I was deter- mined to see you once more before I left Scotland for ever." " You are going then, are you ? " said Erica. " Have I not said so ?" replied he pettishly. " You are very glad to hear it, I perceive, and I am sony that 1 told you ; however, I came in good faith, as I have just said, to beg your forgiveness, for last night, you know," said he, provokingly pointing to the window he had entered. "Never mind," said Erica ; "don't point; somebody may see you, and wonder what we are talking about." "Great treason, certainly," exclaimed he, recklessly switching oil' the heads of some beautiful carnations Erica was stooping to gather. " By the way, Erica, you may give me that nice posy for a keepsake ; 1 have nothing in the world of yours, and it -('.in- a little hard that you have no old glove, or tippet, or any trifle to give me for a remembrance; for though you have bow-stringed me in a cruel manner, 1 shall always love you. Erica, far better than that fine-scented popinjay ever will, he who has just left you to chase a carrion hawk." "Your tongue takes its liberty as usual, Orthon ; but as Ave are now about to say farewell, I will not complain." " Vmi are in a great hurry to get rid of me," said he. "Well, be it, so, but have yon no souvenance tor my helmet?" Erica shook her A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 247 head. "Ah!" said he sighing, though his manner was mocking and bitter, — "shake hands; I believe it is time to go. I see a black head with its frightful curls at no great distance !" "Where? where?*' gasped Erica breathlessly. " Oh, a good way off yet ; don't be alarmed. Come, shake hands and good-bye; I will really go now." "Do! do!" said Erica, holding out her left hand, the right being tilled with flowers. " Not worthy even of common courtesy !" said he ; "the left hand !" "Take the right, then," said Erica; "I meant no offence." " No, no, Erica ; I prefer your wishes to my own ; the left will do for me." So saying, he grasped it with more than friendly earnestness, retaining it even when Erica would have with- drawn it, with a lingering forcefulness that alarmed her. "See!" said she ; " oh heavens ! Azzo is passing the sun-dial ; I see him, close by the garden wall ;" and drawing her hand away, she ran from her tormentor in a direction opposite to the one in which she had seen Azzo, anxious if possible to gain a few moments to compose her spirits, whose agitation she felt assured would attract his immediate notice. The yew-tree bower was nigh at hand ; she ran forward and threw her- self on one of its rustic benches almost breathless. " I feel like a hunted hare, coward that I am," thought she ; " but I am glad I came here ; it is so quiet. I feel better already, and what roses ! oh if I could but reach that beauty ; but I am afraid it grows too high." As she made the attempt, a thorn entered her hand, and she perceived for the first time that it was gloveless, and without the wedding ring ! Shocked beyond the power of control, she burst into tears. " What shall I do ? what shall I do ?" cried she, wringing her hands, heedless of the flowers she had so carefully gathered, which now were scattered at her feet. " What will Azzo .think V Com- pletely overcome, she shrank into the deepest shade of the bower, pressing her hand to her eyes, and endeavouring to form some plan to obviate his displeasure. The ring was antique and peculiar, a valued heir-loom, which she knew he regarded with almost supersti : . tious reverence. The loss was irreparable. A faint hope that she had dropped it in the garden was bitterly chased away, by the remem- brance of the strong pressure and forcible retention of her hand by 248 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. ( )rthon, who she felt assured had drawn oft' her glove when she made her escape from him, together with the ring, which being much too large for her, had doubtless accompanied it. " Oh, if it may but have fallen on the flower-bed," was her last hope. She flew to the spot. Alas! there was no trace of it, and truly miserable.jme regained the bower, now sombre in the deepening shades of twilight, where Azzo a moment afterwards rejoined her. "Tears! Confusion! what is this?" said he, in a voice so changed that she could hardly believe it the same which so lately had been melody itself. " Why do you weep?" " Do not ask me," cried she; "I am overwhelmed, and know not what to reply." "May I not know the cause?" said he. " You grieve as if you had lost some great treasure — some dear friend, perhaps ! Methought I had a distant glimpse of such an one hastily leaving the terrace where I last saw you. Am I right ? was it so ? Speak !" said he, imperiously. " 1 saw and spoke to some one," said Erica, trem- bling ; " but not to a dear friend." " What was the motive of such a meeting? at such a time, too, and, if I err not greatly, with the same person who last night — ay, tremble ! 'tis fitting thou shouldst — entered thy chamber, drew the curtain close, and in thy company poured forth his baleful tale of treacherous love. Lost, guilty Erica !" continued he ; " I thought thee purer than the snow of thine own Scottish mountains — yea, thought so, even until this hour ; be- lieving too credulously thy angel voice and looks, when in the hall thou charmed away my doubts and promised explanation. Give it now. Oli, clear thyself, and make me happy. If thou canst," said he, passionately, " I will wash thy feet with tears. Speak to me, Erica/" She took his hands between her own, she kissed them, she pressed them fervently, and with a holy, sweet simplicity told him word for word all that had passed between herself and Orthon in his two last interviews, appealing to the testimony of Father UVias, which would amply corroborate her statement. Azzo appeared to muse, with closed eye.-, from which every now and then tears struggled and fell. Erica wiped them away with her handkerchief ; she parted the dark curls from his agitated brow, and gently encircled him with A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 219 her arras, as, falling on her knees before him, she said, " Oh, Azzo, yon do not think me capable of wishing to deceive you ?" " No, no !" said he, faintly ; " but it seems so strange that if your feelings were so uninterested in this youth, the sorrow for his departure should be strong." " I sorrowed not for him, believe me, Azzo ; it was for a loss totally unconnected with him ; it was something far more precious to ray thought. I dare not — dare not tell it you," said she, weeping. "After so many painful emotions, and now that, per- chance, the dark cloud which threatened us is passing, I cannot, would not bring it back again." " Foolish child," said Azzo, draw- ing her close to him, and placing her head on his bosom, "you shall tell me the remainder another time. I think I believe all you have said ; let us be happy again. So," said he, kissing her tenderly, " let us seal our mutual forgiveness ; and again I press, with a bride- groom's fondness, this dear and trembling dove — this wedded hand." As he raised it to his lips a dreadful pang shot through his heart — a thousand jealous barbs concentrated in one, rent it in twain. "No ring ! No bride ! No wife !" exclaimed he. " I see it all — clear, clear as day ! This, then, is the secret cause of tears ; of prayers and agoniz- ed confusion ! The sacred pledge of love, of holy faith, of marriage, truth, and trust, you bartered as a toy, to please your paramour ! Go ! I ask no more — all, all is proved. The fruit is turned to ashes on ray lips, and thus I spurn it !" Casting her from him, he remained leaning his head against the trunk of a tree, in a desolation of heart terrible to witness. "Oh, Azzo, hear me! I am innocent. You deceive yourself in doubting me. Indeed, indeed, I am innocent. I was about to tell you, when you interrupted me, how rudely my hand had been snatched by Orthon ; and how, in forcing it away from him, I lost the glove. Doubtless the ring remained in it. Do you not remember how much too large it was, and how you said I must have a little golden chain to wear with it, and clasp it round my wrist? Azzo, dear Azzo ! cast away these fearful doubts. Your poor Erica would die sooner than wrong you by loving another; and do but think one moment. Is it likely I would have given away that ancient, curious ring, even if it had not been your gift at the altar? 250 A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. Oh," continued she, weeping piteously, "I know you cannot think me guilty of such a sin." Her touching tones seemed to reach his heart, lie looked tenderly in her eves. " You do look innocent," said he ; "God has made you very fair, Erica; you should not be wicked." " Nor am I, dear Azzo ; oh, believe me," said she, weeping, and clasping his hand to her lips, her forehead, and her heart, in the ag«>nv of her entreaty. There was a little silence, broken only by the sobs of Erica. The manner of Azzo was now full of affection and pity. " Come here, my bird, my love, here, here, close to my breast. Ah, Erica, how I love you ; put your hand upon my heart, for do you know," said he, with a strange, wild look, that terrified her more than his previous reproaches, " it was quite dead a little while ago, and now it is alive, is it not. Erica ? Does it burn your hand ?" " No, no, but it beats so fast." " So it should ; it loves to beat for you. Dost thou love me, sweet Erica ?" " I would fain do so," said she, trembling as she saw his eyes becoming fixed and glaring. " That is no reply," said he. " Say yes, or no ; I like an honest answer." " You know I do, but I am afraid," said Erica, shuddering with terror as she saw the vein on his forehead swelling, and his eyes dilating and sparkling with sudden fury. " Afraid \ true ; guilt is always fearful — and see ! behold a sign from heaven T cried he, falling on one knee, and dragging her down with his left hand, while with his right he pointed to the sky where a meteor, increasing in brightness as they gazed, shed a strange and awful light on the earth, enveloping themselves, and every object around them, in an unnatural and lurid glare, intense, and dazzling. " Be- hold," cried he, " the glorious, the dreadful spectacle ! Even at the moment when the word guilt passed my lips, there came this sign from heaven, and thus," said he, drawing his dagger, "take the reward of guilt!" "Of innocence! true, and holy," murmured the dying Erica. Gazing on her prostrate form, the wretched Azzo, now a raving maniac, rushed through the garden past the affrighted nurse, who was hurrying towards the arbour, and without entering the castle, gained the stables, and mounting a fleet horse, galloped wildly towards the mountains; his flying figure, seen by the startled A LEGEND OF AN OLD SCOTTISH CASTLE. 251 guests, produced an immediate alarm ; they spread themselves over the garden and adjoining chace, where, amidst a pool of blood, lay the pure, the beautiful Erica. For many years after this event, Sir Alureth was a wanderer in foreign lands, whither the wretched Azzo had also retired to linger through a long life, imprisoned in his own castle, a moody maniac. The story of the lovely Erica is still a legend amidst the straths of Fife ; the brook still flows through the <»ld gardens; the remains of the castle still survive, all linked with her remembrance, the castle being even to this day devoutly believed to be visited by her wraith, on all occasions of importance to the interests or happiness of those who dwell within its haunted domain ; gliding through the ancient picture gallery, or flitting from chamber to chamber, a fair and delicate apparition, in robes of purest white with long green sleeves ; its dark hair floating as it glides, its countenance ever sweet and sad, inspiring emotions only of pity and of love. Balmanno Castle is that referred to ; it is in the county of Fife, and is now the property of Major Belches of Invermay. The hill behind the castle commands one of the most beautiful views in Scotland; it was while seated upon it that Sir Walter Scott wrote that iini'iiiiticent description of Scottish sceuery. which forms the introduction to the Fair Maid of Perth. RD -2.29 \ v> ' • • * .O , -' < ° • ' » * . ' • • » < v v- v A ^» */^ A ^ ^ \> - ° * .' A°< ^ AV "K <*> r^ * 'op OOBBS BROS. <% */^ £^32084 l5f* -V <3\ -yi^V* AT ^U. • 021 953 701 3