Cassell's History of England, Vol. II (of 8)

CHAPTER I.

WARS OF THE ROSES. PAGE

Cade's Rebellion—York comes over from Ireland—His Claims and the Unpopularity of the Reigning Line—His First Appearance in Arms—Birth of the Prince of Wales—York made Protector—Recovery of the King—Battle of St. Albans—York's second Protectorate—Brief Reconciliation of Parties—Battle of Blore Heath—Flight of the Yorkists—Battle of Northampton—York Claims the Crown—The Lords Attempt a Compromise—Death of York at Wakefield—Second Battle of St. Albans—The Young Duke of York Marches on London—His Triumphant Entry 1

CHAPTER II.

REIGN OF EDWARD IV.

The Battle of Towton—Edward's Coronation—Henry escapes to Scotland—The Queen seeks aid in France—Battle of Hexham—Henry made Prisoner—Confined in the Tower—Edward marries Lady Elizabeth Grey—Advancement of her Relations—Attacks on the Family of the Nevilles—Warwick negotiates with France—Marriage of Margaret, the King's Sister, to the Duke of Burgundy—Marriage of the Duke of Clarence with a Daughter of Warwick—Battle of Banbury—Rupture between the King and his Brother—Rebellion of Clarence and Warwick—Clarence and Warwick flee to France—Warwick proposes to restore Henry VI.—Marries Edward, Prince of Wales, to his Daughter, Lady Ann Neville—Edward IV.'s reckless Dissipation—Warwick and Clarence invade England—Edward expelled—His return to England—Battle of Barnet—Battle of Tewkesbury, and ruin of the Lancastrian Cause—Rivalry of Clarence and Gloucester—Edward's Futile Intervention in Foreign Politics—Becomes a Pensioner of France—Death of Clarence—Expedition to Scotland—Death and Character of the King 17

CHAPTER III.

EDWARD V. AND RICHARD III.

Edward V. proclaimed—The Two Parties of the Queen and of Gloucester—Struggle in the Council—Gloucester's Plans—The Earl Rivers and his Friends imprisoned—Gloucester secures the King and conducts him to London—Indignities to the young King—Execution of Lord Hastings—A Base Sermon at St. Paul's Cross—Gloucester pronounces the two young Princes illegitimate—The Farce at the Guildhall—Gloucester seizes the Crown—Richard crowned in London and again at York—Buckingham revolts against him—Murder of the two Princes—Henry of Richmond—Failure of Buckingham's Rising—Buckingham beheaded—Richards title confirmed by Parliament—Queen Dowager and her Daughters quit the Sanctuary—Death of Richard's Son and Heir—Proposes to Marry his Niece, Elizabeth of York—Richmond lands at Milford Haven—His Progress—The Troubles of Richard—The Battle of Bosworth—The Fallen Tyrant—End of the Wars of the Roses 46

CHAPTER IV.

PROGRESS OF THE NATION IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

The Study of Latin and Greek—Invention of Printing—Caxton—New Schools and Colleges—Architecture, Military, Ecclesiastical, and Domestic—Sculpture, Painting, and Gilding—The Art of War—Commerce and Shipping—Coinage 64

CHAPTER V.

REIGN OF HENRY VII.

Henry's Defective Title—Imprisonment of the Earl of Warwick—The King's Title to the Throne—His Marriage—Love Rising—Lambert Simnel—Henry's prompt Action—Failure of the Rebellion—The Queen's Coronation—The Act of Maintenance—Henry's Ingratitude to the Duke of Brittany—Discontent in England—Expedition to France and its Results—Henry's Second Invasion—Treaty of Étaples—Perkin Warbeck—His Adventures in Ireland, France, and Burgundy—Henry's Measures—Descent on Kent—Warbeck in Scotland—Invasion of England—The Cornish Rising—Warbeck quits Scotland—He lands in Cornwall—Failure of the Rebellion—Imprisonment of Warbeck and his subsequent Execution—European Affairs—Marriages of Henry's Daughter and Son—Betrothal of Catherine and Prince Henry—Henry's Matrimonial Schemes—Royal Exactions—A Lucky Capture—Henry proposes for Joanna—His Death 76

CHAPTER VI.

REIGN OF HENRY VIII.

The King's Accession—State of Europe—Henry and Julius II.—Treaty between England and Spain—Henry is duped by Ferdinand—New Combinations—Execution of Suffolk—Invasion of France—Battle of Spurs—Invasion of England by the Scots—Flodden Field—Death of James of Scotland—Louis breaks up the Holy League—Peace with France—Marriage and Death of Louis XII.—Rise of Wolsey—Affairs in Scotland—Francis I. in Italy—Death of Maximilian— Henry a Candidate for the Empire—Election of Charles—Field of the Cloth of Gold—Wolsey's Diplomacy—Failure of his Candidature for the Papacy—The Emperor in London 102

CHAPTER VII.

REIGN OF HENRY VIII. (continued).

The War with France—The Earl of Surrey Invades that Country—Sir Thomas More elected Speaker—Henry and Parliament—Revolt of the Duke of Bourbon—Pope Adrian VI. dies—Clement VII. elected—Francis I. taken Prisoner at the Battle of Pavia—Growing Unpopularity of Wolsey—Change of Feeling at the English Court—Treaty with France—Francis I. regains his liberty—Italian League, including France and England, established against the Emperor—Fall of the Duke of Bourbon at the Siege of Rome—Sacking of Rome, and Capture of the Pope—Appearance of Luther—Henry writes against the German Reformer—Henry receives from the Pope the style and Designation of "Defender of the Faith"—Anne Boleyn—Henry applies to the Pope for a Divorce from the Queen—The Pope's Dilemma—War declared against Spain—Cardinal Campeggio arrives in England to decide the Legality of Henry's Marriage with Catherine—Trial of the Queen—Henry's Discontent with Wolsey—Fall of Wolsey—His Banishment from Court and Death—Cranmer's advice regarding the Divorce—Cromwell cuts the Gordian Knot—Dismay of the Clergy—The King declared Head of the Church in England—The King's Marriage with Anne Boleyn—Cranmer made Archbishop—The Pope Reverses the Divorce—Separation of England from Rome 130

CHAPTER VIII.

REIGN OF HENRY VIII. (continued).

The Maid of Kent and Her Accomplices—Act of Supremacy and Consequent Persecutions—The "Bloody Statute"—Deaths of Fisher and More—Suppression of the Smaller Monasteries—Trial and Death of Anne Boleyn—Henry Marries Jane Seymour—Divisions in the Church—The Pilgrimage of Grace—Birth of Prince Edward—Death of Queen Jane—Suppression of the Larger Monasteries—The Six Articles—Judicial Murders—Persecution of Cardinal Pole—Cromwell's Marriage Scheme—Its Failure and his Fall 158

CHAPTER IX.

REIGN OF HENRY VIII. (concluded).

Divorce of Anne of Cleves—Catherine Howard's Marriage and Death—Fresh Persecutions—Welsh Affairs—The Irish Insurrection and its Suppression—Scottish Affairs—Catholic Opposition to Henry—Outbreak of War—Battle of Solway Moss—French and English Parties in Scotland—Escape of Beaton—Triumph of the French Party—Treaty between England and Germany—Henry's Sixth Marriage—Campaign in France—Expedition against Scotland—Capture of Edinburgh—Fresh Attempt on England—Cardinal Beaton and Wishart—Death of the Cardinal—Struggle between the two Parties in England—Death of Henry 183

CHAPTER X.

REIGN OF EDWARD VI.

Accession of Edward VI.—Hertford's Intrigues—He becomes Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector—War with Scotland—Battle of Pinkie—Reversal of Henry's Policy—Religious Reforms—Ambition of Lord Seymour of Sudeley—He marries Catherine Parr—His Arrest and Death—Popular Discontents—Rebellion in Devonshire and Cornwall—Ket's Rebellion in Norfolk—Warwick Suppresses it—Opposition to Somerset—His Rapacity—Fall of Somerset—Disgraceful Peace with France—Persecution of Romanists—Somerset's Efforts to regain Power—His Trial and Execution—New Treason Law—Northumberland's Schemes for Changing the Succession—Death of Edward 204

CHAPTER XI.

REIGN OF MARY.

Proclamation of Lady Jane Grey—Mary's Resistance—Northumberland's Failure—Mary is Proclaimed—The Advice of Charles V.—Execution of Northumberland—Restoration of the Roman Church—Proposed Marriage with Philip of Spain—Consequent Risings throughout England—Wyatt's Rebellion—Execution of Lady Jane Grey—Imprisonment of Elizabeth—Marriage of Philip and Mary—England Accepts the Papal Absolution—Persecuting Statutes Re-enacted—Martyrdom of Rogers, Hooper, and Taylor—Di Castro's Sermon—Sickness of Mary—Trials of Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer—Martyrdom of Ridley and Latimer—Confession and Death of Cranmer—Departure of Philip—The Dudley Conspiracy—Return of Philip—War with France—Battle of St. Quentin—Loss of Calais—Death of Mary 221

CHAPTER XII.

REIGN OF ELIZABETH.

Accession of Elizabeth—Sir William Cecil—The Coronation—Opening of Parliament—Ecclesiastical Legislation—Consecration of Parker—Elizabeth and Philip—Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis—Affairs in Scotland—The First Covenant—Attitude of Mary of Guise—Riot at Perth—Outbreak of Hostilities—The Lords of the Congregation apply to England—Elizabeth hesitates—Siege of Leith—Treaty of Edinburgh—Return of Mary to Scotland—Murray's Influence over her—Beginning of the Religious Wars in France—Elizabeth sends Help to the Huguenots—Peace of Amboise—English Disaster at Havre—Peace with France—The Earl of Leicester—Project of his Marriage with Mary—Lord Darnley—Murder of Rizzio—Birth of Mary's Son—Murder of Darnley—Mary and Bothwell—Carberry Hill—Mary in Lochleven—Abdicates in favour of her Infant Son—Mary's Escape from Lochleven—Defeated at Langside—Her Escape into England 246

CHAPTER XIII.

REIGN OF ELIZABETH (continued).

Elizabeth Determines to Imprison Mary—The Conference at York—It is Moved to London—The Casket Letters—Mary is sent Southwards—Remonstrances of the European Sovereigns—Affairs in the Netherlands—Alva is sent Thither—Elizabeth Aids the Insurgents—Proposed Marriage between Mary and Norfolk—The Plot is Discovered—Rising in the North—Its Suppression—Death of the Regent Murray—Its Consequences in Scotland—Religious Persecutions—Execution of Norfolk—Massacre of St. Bartholomew—Siege of Edinburgh Castle—War in France—Splendid Defence of La Rochelle—Death of Charles IX.—Religious War in the Netherlands—Rule of Don John—The Anjou Marriage—Deaths of Anjou and of William the Silent 274

CHAPTER XIV.

REIGN OF ELIZABETH (continued).

Affairs of Ireland: Shane O'Neil's Rebellion—Plantation of Ulster—Spanish Descent on Ireland—Desmond's Rebellion—Religious Conformity—Campian and Parsons—The Anabaptists—Affairs of Scotland—Death of Morton—Success of the Catholics in Scotland—The Raid of Ruthven—Elizabeth's Position—Throgmorton's Plot—Association to Protect Elizabeth—Mary removed to Tutbury—Support of the Protestant Cause on the Continent—Leicester in the Netherlands—Babington's Plot—Trial of Mary—Her Condemnation—Hesitation of Elizabeth—Execution of Mary 295

CHAPTER XV.

REIGN OF ELIZABETH (concluded).

State of Europe on the Death of Mary—Preparations of Philip of Spain—Exploits of English Sailors—Drake Singes the King of Spain's Beard—Preparations against the Armada—Loyalty of the Roman Catholics—Arrival of the Armada in the Channel—Its Disastrous Course and Complete Destruction—Elizabeth at Tilbury—Death of Leicester—Persecution of the Puritans and Catholics—Renewed Expeditions against Spain—Accession of Henry of Navarre to the French Throne—He is helped by Elizabeth—Essex takes Cadiz—His Quarrels with the Cecils—His Second Expedition and Rupture with the Queen—Troubles in Ireland—Essex appointed Lord-Deputy—His Failure—The Essex Rising—Execution of Essex—Mountjoy in Ireland—The Debate on Monopolies—Victory of Mountjoy—Weakness of Elizabeth—Her last Illness and Death 313

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PROGRESS OF THE NATION IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

The Tudors and the Nation—The Church—Population and Wealth—Royal Prerogative—Legislation of Henry VIII.—The Star Chamber—Beneficial Legislation—Treason Laws—Legislation of Edward and Mary—Elizabeth's Policy—Religion and the Church—Sketch of Ecclesiastical History under the Tudors—Literature, Science, and Art—Greatness of the Period—Foundation of Colleges and Schools—Revival of Learning—Its Temporary Decay—Prose Writers of the Period—The Poets—Scottish Bards—Music—Architecture—Painting and Sculpture—Furniture and Decorations—Arms and Armour—Costumes, Coins, and Coinage—Ships, Commerce, Colonies, and Manufactures—Manners and Customs—Condition of the People 342

CHAPTER XVII.

REIGN OF JAMES I.

The Stuart Dynasty—Hopes and Fears caused by the Accession of James—The King enters England—His Progress to London—Lavish Creation of Peers and Knights—The Royal Entrance into the Metropolis—The Coronation—Popularity of Queen Anne—Ravages of the Plague—The King Receives Foreign Embassies—Rivalry of the Diplomatists of France and Spain—Discontent of Raleigh, Northumberland, and Cobham—Conspiracies against James—"The Main" and "The Bye"—Trials of the Conspirators—The Sentences—Conference with Puritans—Parliament of 1604—Persecution of Catholics and Puritans—Gunpowder Plot—Admission of Fresh Members—Delays and Devices—The Letter to Lord Mounteagle—Discovery of the Plot—Flight of the Conspirators—Their Capture and Execution—New Penal Code—James's Correspondence with Bellarmine—Cecil's attempts to get Money—Project of Union between England and Scotland—The King's Collisions with Parliament—Insurrection of the Levellers—Royal Extravagance and Impecuniosity—Fresh Disputes with Parliament and Assertions of the Prerogative—Death of Cecil—Story of Arabella Stuart—Death of Prince Henry 404

CHAPTER XVIII.

REIGN OF JAMES I (concluded).

Reign of Favourites—Robert Carr—His Marriage—Death of Overbury—Venality at Court—The Addled Parliament—George Villiers—Fall of Somerset—Disgrace of Coke—Bacon becomes Lord Chancellor—Position of England Abroad—The Scottish Church—Introduction of Episcopacy—Andrew Melville—Visit of James to Scotland—The Book of Sports—Persecution of the Irish Catholics—Examination into Titles—Rebellion of the Chiefs—Plantation of Ulster—Fresh Confiscations—Quarrel between Bacon and Coke—Prosperity of Buckingham—Raleigh's Last Voyage—His Execution—Beginning of the Thirty Years' War—Indecision of James—Despatch of Troops to the Palatinate—Parliament of 1621—Impeachment of Bacon—His Fall—Floyd's Case—James's Proceedings during the Recess—Dissolution of Parliament—Reasons for the Spanish Match—Charles and Buckingham go to Spain—The Match is Broken Off—Punishment of Bristol—Popularity of Buckingham—Change of Foreign Policy—Marriage of Charles and Henrietta Maria—Death of James 448

CHAPTER XIX.

REIGN OF CHARLES I.

Accession of Charles—His Marriage—Meeting of Parliament—Loan of Ships to Richelieu—Dissolution of Parliament—Failure of the Spanish Expedition—Persecution of the Catholics—The Second Parliament—It appoints three Committees—Impeachment of Buckingham—Parliament dissolved to save him—Illegal Government—High Church Doctrines—Rupture with France—Disastrous Expedition to Rhé—The Third Parliament—The Petition of Right—Resistance and Final Surrender of Charles—Parliament Prorogued—Assassination of Buckingham—Fall of La Rochelle—Parliament Reassembles and is Dissolved—Imprisonment of Offending Members—Government without Parliament—Peace with France and Spain—Gustavus Adolphus in Germany—Despotic Proceedings of Charles and Laud 508

CHAPTER XX.

Reign of Charles I (continued).

Visit of Charles to Scotland—Laud and the Papal See—His Ecclesiastical Measures—Punishment of Prynne, Bastwick, and Burton—Disgrace of Williams—Ship-money—Resistance of John Hampden—Wentworth in the North—Recall of Falkland from Ireland—Wentworth's Measures—Inquiry into Titles—Prelacy Riots in Edinburgh—Jenny Geddes's Stool—The Tables—Renewal of the Covenant—Charles makes Concessions—The General Assembly—Preparations for War—Charles at York—Leslie at Dunse Hill—A Conference held—Treaty of Berwick—Arrest of Loudon—Insult from the Dutch—Wentworth in England—The Short Parliament—Riots in London—Preparations of the Scots—Mutiny in the English Army—Invasion of England—Treaty of Ripon—Meeting of the Long Parliament—Impeachment of Strafford—His Trial—He is abandoned by Charles—His Execution—The King's Visit to Scotland 550

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THE WARS OF THE ROSES.

Cade's Rebellion—York comes over from Ireland—His Claims and the Unpopularity of the Reigning Line—His First Appearance in Arms—Birth of the Prince of Wales—York made Protector—Recovery of the King—Battle of St. Albans—York's second Protectorate—Brief Reconciliation of Parties—Battle of Blore Heath—Flight of the Yorkists—Battle of Northampton—York Claims the Crown—The Lords Attempt a Compromise—Death of York at Wakefield—Second Battle of St. Albans—The Young Duke of York Marches on London—His Triumphant Entry.

Henry the Sixth and his queen were plunged into grief and consternation at the extraordinary death of Suffolk in 1450. They saw that a powerful party was engaged in thus defeating their attempt to rescue Suffolk from his enemies by a slight term of exile; and they strongly suspected that the Duke of York, though absent in his government of Ireland, was at the bottom of it. It was more than conjectured that he entertained serious designs of profiting by the unpopularity of the Government to assert his claims to the crown. This ought to have made the king and queen especially circumspect, but, so far from this being the case, Henry announced his resolve to punish the people of Kent for the murder of Suffolk, which had been perpetrated on their coast. The queen was furious in her vows of vengeance. These unwise demonstrations incurred the anger of the people, and especially irritated the inhabitants of Kent. To add to the popular discontent, Somerset, who had lost by his imbecility the French territories, was made minister in the place of Suffolk, and invested with all the favour of the court. The people in several counties threatened to rise and reform the Government; and the opportunity was seized by a bold adventurer of the name of John Cade, an Irishman, to attempt a revolution. He selected Kent as the quarter more pre-eminently in a state of excitement against the prevailing misrule, and declaring that he belonged to the royal line of Mortimer, and was cousin to the Duke of York, he gave himself out to be the son of Sir John Mortimer, who, on a charge of high treason, had been executed in the beginning of this reign, without trial or evidence. The lenity which Henry V. had always shown to the Mortimers—their title being superior to his own, their position near the throne was of course an element of danger—had not been imitated by Bedford and Gloucester, the infant king's uncles, and their neglect of the forms of a regular trial had only strengthened the opinions of the people as to the Mortimer rights. No sooner, therefore, did Jack Cade assume this popular name, than the people, burning with the anger of the hour against the unlucky dynasty, flocked, to the number of 20,000, to his standard, and advanced to Blackheath. Emissaries were sent into London to stir up the people there, and induce them to open their gates and join the movement. As the Government, taken by surprise, was destitute of the necessary troops on the spot to repel so formidable a body of insurgents, it put on the same air of moderation which Richard II. had done in Tyler's rebellion, and many messages passed between the king and the pretended Mortimer, or, as he also called himself, John Amend-all.

In reply to the king's inquiry as to the cause of this assembly, Cade sent in "The Complaints of the Commons of Kent, and the Causes of the Assembly on Blackheath." These documents were ably and artfully drawn. They professed the most affectionate attachment to the king, and demanded the redress of what were universally known to be real and enormous grievances. The wrongs were those under which the kingdom had long been smarting—the loss of the territories in France, and the loss of the national honour with them, through the treason and mal-administration of the ministers; the usurpation of the Crown lands by the greedy courtiers, and the consequent shifting of the royal expenditure to the shoulders of the people, with the scandals, offences, and robberies of purveyance. The "Complaints" asserted that the people of Kent had been especially victimised and ill-used by the sheriffs and tax-gatherers, and that the free elections of their knights of the shire had been prevented. They declared, moreover, that corrupt men were employed at court, and the princes of the blood and honest men kept out of power.

Government undertook to examine into these causes of complaint, and promised an answer; but the people soon were aware that this was only a pretence to gain time, and that the answer would be presented at the point of the sword. Jack Cade, therefore, sent out what he called "The Requests of the Captain of the Great Assembly in Kent." These "Requests" were based directly on the previous complaints, and were that the king should renew the grants of the Crown, and so enable himself to live on his own income, without fleecing the people; that he should dismiss all corrupt councillors, and all the progeny of the Duke of Suffolk, and take into his service his right trusty cousins and noble peers, the Duke of York, now banished to Ireland, the Dukes of Exeter, Buckingham, and Norfolk. This looked assuredly as if those who drew up those papers for Cade were in the interest of the York party, and the more so as the document went on to denounce the traitors who had compassed the death of that excellent prince the Duke of Gloucester, and of their holy father the cardinal, and who had so shamefully caused the loss of Maine, Anjou, Normandy, and our other lands in France. The assumed murder of the cardinal, who had died almost in public, and surrounded by the ceremonies of the Church, was too ridiculous, and was probably thrown in to hide the actual party at work. The "Requests" then demanded summary execution on the detested collectors and extortioners, Crowmer, Lisle, Este, and Sleg.

The court had now a force ready equal to that of the insurgents, and sent it under Sir Humphrey Stafford to answer the "Requests" by cannon and matchlock. Cade retreated to Sevenoaks, where, taking advantage of Stafford's too hasty pursuit, with only part of his forces, he fell upon his troops, put them to flight, killed Stafford, and, arraying himself in the slain man's armour, advanced again to his former position on Blackheath.

This unexpected success threw the court into a panic. The soldiers who had gone to Sevenoaks had gone unwillingly; and those left on Blackheath now declared that they knew not why they should fight their fellow-countrymen for only asking redress of undoubted grievances. The nobles, who were at heart adverse to the present ministers, found this quite reasonable, and the court was obliged to assume an air of concession. The Lord Say, who had been one of Suffolk's most obsequious instruments, and was regarded by the people as a prime agent in the making over of Maine and Anjou, was sent to the Tower with some inferior officers. The king was advised to disband his army, and retire to Kenilworth; and Lord Scales, with a thousand men, undertook to defend the Tower. Cade advanced from Blackheath, took possession of Southwark, and demanded entrance into the city of London.

The lord mayor summoned a council, in which the proposal was debated; and it was concluded to offer no resistance. On the 3rd of July Cade marched over the bridge, and took up his quarters in the heart of the capital. He took the precaution to cut the ropes of the drawbridge with his sword as he passed, to prevent his being caught, as in a trap; and, maintaining strict discipline amongst his followers, he led them back into the Borough in the evening. The next day he reappeared in the same circumspect and orderly manner; and, compelling the lord mayor and the judges to sit in Guildhall, he brought Lord Say before them, and arraigned him on a charge of high treason. Say demanded to be tried by his peers; but he was hurried away to the standard in Cheapside, and beheaded. His son-in-law, Crowmer, sheriff of Kent, was served in the same manner. The Duchess of Suffolk, the Bishop of Salisbury, Thomas Daniel, and others, were accused of the like high crimes, but, luckily, were not to be found. The bishop had already fallen at the hands of his own tenants at Edington, in Wiltshire.

On the third day Cade's followers plundered some of the houses of the citizens; and the Londoners, calling in Lord Scales with his 1,000 men to aid them, resolved that Cade should be prevented from again entering the city. Cade received notice of this from some of his partisans, and rushed to the bridge in the night to secure it. He found it already in the possession of the citizens. There was a bloody battle, which lasted for six hours, when the insurgents drew off, and left the Londoners masters of the bridge.

On receiving this news, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, who were in the Tower, determined to try the ruse which had succeeded with the followers of Wat Tyler. They therefore sent the Bishop of Winchester to promise redress of grievances, and a full pardon under the great seal, for every one who should at once return to their homes. After some demur, the terms were gratefully accepted; Cade himself embraced the offered grace, according to the subsequent proclamation against him, dated the 10th of July; but quickly repenting of his credulity, he once more unfurled his banner, and found a number of men ready to rejoin it. This mere remnant of the insurgent host, however, was utterly incapable of effecting anything against the city; they retired to Deptford, and thence to Rochester, hoping to gather a fresh army. But the people had now cooled; the rioters began to divide their plunder and to quarrel over it; and Cade, seeing all was lost, and fearing that he should be seized for the reward of 1,000 marks offered for his head, fled on horseback towards Lewes. Disguising himself, he lurked about in secret places, till, being discovered in a garden at Heathfield, in Kent, by Alexander Iden, the new sheriff; he was, after a short battle, killed by Iden, and his body carried to London.

That the party of the Duke of York had some concern in Cade's rebellion, the Government not only suspected, but several of Cade's followers when brought to execution, are said to have confessed as much. But stronger evidence of the fact is, that there was an immediate rumour that the duke himself was preparing to cross over to England. The court at once issued orders in the king's name, to forbid his coming, and to oppose any armed attempt on his part. The duke defeated this scheme by appearing without any retinue whatever, trusting to the good-will of the people. His confidence in thus coming at once to the very court put the Government, which had shown such suspicion of him, completely in the wrong in the eye of the public.

We are now on the eve of that contest for the possession of the crown, which figures so eminently in history as the Wars of the Roses. The accession of Henry IV., productive of very bloody consequences at the time, had nearly been forgotten through the brilliant successes of his son, Henry V.; but still the heirs of the true line, according to the doctrine of lineal descent, were in existence. The Mortimers, Earls of March, had been spared by the usurping family; and Richard, Duke of York, was now the representative of that line. To understand clearly how the Mortimers, and from them Richard, Duke of York, took precedence of Henry VI., according to lineal descent, we must recollect that Henry IV. was the son of John of Gaunt, who was the fourth son of Edward III. On the deposition of Richard II., who was the son of the Black Prince, the eldest son of Edward III., there was living the Earl of March, the grandson of Lionel, the third son of Edward III., who had clearly the right to precede Henry. This right had been, moreover, recognised by Parliament. But Henry of Lancaster, disregarding this claim, seized on the crown by force, yet took no care to destroy the true claimant. Now, the Duke of York, who was paternally descended from Edmund of Langley, the fifth son of Edward III., was also maternally the lineal descendant of Lionel, the third son through the daughter and heiress of Mortimer, the Earl of March. By this descent he preceded the descendants of Henry IV., and was by right of heirship the undoubted claimant of the English crown.

The Marches had shown no disposition whatever to assert that right, and this had proved their safety. They had been for several generations a particularly modest and unambitious race; and so long as the descendants of Henry IV. had proved able or popular monarchs, their claim would have lain in abeyance. But they were never forgotten; and now that the imbecility and long minority of Henry VI. had created strong factions, and disgusted the people, this claim was zealously revived. Henry IV. had but one real and indefeasible claim to the throne—namely, that of the election of the people, had he chosen to accept it; but this he proudly rejected, and took his stand on his lineal descent from Edward III., where the heirs of his uncle Lionel had entirely the advantage of him.

The people who had favoured, and would have adopted Henry IV., had now become alienated from the house of Lancaster, through the incapacity of the present king, by which they had lost the whole of their ancient possessions, as well as their conquests in France. Nothing remained but heavy taxation and national exhaustion, as the net result of all the wars in that kingdom. In this respect the very glory of Henry V. became the ruin of his son. While the people complained of their poverty and oppression in consequence of those wars, they were doubly harassed by the factious quarrels of the king's relatives. They had attached themselves to the Duke of Gloucester, and he had been murdered by these cliques, and, as was generally believed, at the instigation of the queen. Queen Margaret, indeed, completed the alienation of the people from the house of Lancaster. She was not only French—a nation now in the worst odour with the people of England—but through her they had lost Maine and Anjou.

These circumstances now drew the hearts of the people as strongly towards the Duke of York, as they had formerly been attracted to the house of Lancaster. They began to regard him with interest, as a person whose rights to the throne had been unjustly overlooked. He was a man who seemed to possess much of the modest and amiable character of the Marches. He had been recalled from France, where he was ably conducting himself, by the influence of the queen, as was believed, and sent as governor into Ireland, as a sort of honourable banishment. But though treated in a manner calculated to provoke him, he had retained the unassuming moderation of his demeanour. He had yet made no public pretensions to the crown, and though circumstances seemed to invite him, showed no haste to seize it. There were many circumstances, indeed, which tended to make all parties hesitate to proceed to extremities. True, the queen was highly unpopular, but Henry, though weak, was so amiable, pious, and just, that the people, although groaning under the consequences of his weakness, yet retained much affection for him. There were also numbers of nobles of great influence who had benefited by the long minority of the king, and who, much as they disliked the queen's party, were afraid of being called on, in case another dynasty was established, to yield up the valuable grants which they had obtained.

Thus the kingdom was divided into three parties: those who took part with Somerset and the queen, those who inclined to the Duke of York, and those who, having benefited by the long reign of corruption, were afraid of any change, and endeavoured to hold the balance betwixt the extreme parties. Almost all the nobles of the North of England were zealous supporters of the house of Lancaster, and with them went the Earl of Westmoreland, the head of the house of Neville, though the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, the most influential members of the family, were the chief champions of the cause of York. With the Duke of Somerset also followed, in support of the crown, Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and the Lords Clifford, Dudley, Scales, Audley, and other noblemen. With the Duke of York, besides the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, went many of the southern houses.

Such was the state of public feeling and the position of parties when the insurrection of Cade occurred. The Duke of York had made himself additionally popular by his conduct in Ireland. He had shown great prudence and ability in suppressing the insurrections of the natives; and thus made fast friends of all the English who had connections in that island. No doubt the members of his own party used every argument to incite the duke to assert his right to the throne, and so to free the country from the dominance of the queen and her favourites. That it was the general opinion that the Cade conspiracy was a direct feeler on the part of the Yorkists, is clear from Shakespeare, who wrote so much nearer to that day. But when York appeared upon the scene, Cade had already paid the penalty of his outbreak. On his way to town, York, passing through Northamptonshire, sent for William Tresham, the late Speaker of the House of Commons, who had taken an active part in the prosecution of Suffolk. But, on his way to the duke, Tresham was fallen upon by the men of Lord Grey de Ruthin, and murdered. York proceeded to London, as related, and appeared before the king, where he demanded of him to summon a Parliament for the settlement of the disturbed affairs of the realm. Henry promised, and York meanwhile retired to his castle at Fotheringay.

Scarcely had York retired when Somerset arrived from France, and the queen and Henry hailed him as a champion sent in the moment of need to sustain the court party against the power and designs of York. But Somerset came from the loss of France, and, therefore, loaded with an awful weight of public odium; and with her vindictive disregard of appearances, Queen Margaret immediately transferred to him all her old predilection for Suffolk. When the Parliament met, the temper of the public mind was very soon apparent. Out of doors the life of Somerset was threatened by the mob, and his house was pillaged. In the Commons, Young, one of the representatives of Bristol, moved that, as Henry had no children, York should be declared his successor. This proposal seemed to take the house by surprise, and Young was committed to the Tower. But a bill was carried to attaint the memory of the Duke of Suffolk, and another to remove from about the king the Duchess of Suffolk, the Duke of Somerset, and almost all the party in power. Henry refused to accede to these measures, any further than promising to withdraw a number of inferior persons from the court for twelve months, during which time their conduct might be inquired into. On this the Duchess of Suffolk and the other persons indicted of high treason during the insurrection, demanded to be heard in their defence, and were acquitted.

The spirit of the opposite factions ran very high; the party of Somerset accusing that of York of treasonable designs, and that of York declaring that the court was plotting to destroy the duke as they had destroyed Gloucester. York retired to his castle of Ludlow, in Shropshire, where he was in the very centre of the Mortimer interest, and under plea of securing himself against Somerset, he actively employed himself in raising forces, at the same time issuing a proclamation of the most devoted loyalty, and offering to swear fealty to the king on the sacrament before the Bishop of Hereford and the Earl of Shrewsbury. The court paid no attention to his professions, but an army was led by the king against him. York, instead of awaiting the blow, took another road, and endeavoured to reach and obtain possession of London in the king's absence. On approaching the capital, he received a message that its gates would be shut against him, and he then turned aside to Dartford, probably hoping for support from the same population which had followed Cade. The king pursued him, and encamping on Blackheath, sent the Bishops of Ely and Winchester to demand why he was in arms. York replied that he was in arms from no disloyal design, but merely to protect himself from his enemies. The king told him his movements had been watched since the murder of the Bishop of Chichester by men supposed to be in his interest, and still more since his partisans had openly boasted of his right to the crown; but for his own part, he himself believed him to be a loyal subject, and his own well-beloved cousin.

York demanded that all persons "noised or indicted of treason" should be apprehended, committed to the Tower, and brought to trial. All this the king, or his advisers, promised, and as Somerset was one of the persons chiefly aimed at by York, the king gave an instant order for the arrest and committal of Somerset, and assured York that a new council should be summoned, in which he himself should be included, and all matters decided by a majority. At these frank promises York expressed himself entirely satisfied, disbanded his army, and came bareheaded to the king's tent. What occurred, however, was by no means in accordance with the honourable character of the king, and savoured more of the councils of the queen. No sooner did York present himself before Henry, and begin to enter upon the causes of complaint, than Somerset stepped from behind a curtain, denied the assertions of York, and defied him to mortal combat. So flagrant a breach of faith showed York that he had been betrayed. He turned to depart in indignant resentment, but he was informed that he was a prisoner. Somerset was urgent for his trial and execution, as the only means of securing the permanent peace of the realm. Henry had a horror of spilling blood; but in this instance York is said to have owed his safety rather to the fears of the ministers than any act of grace of the king, who was probably in no condition of mind to be capable of thinking upon the subject. There was already a report that York's son, the Earl of March, was on the way towards London with a strong army of Welshmen, to liberate his father. This so alarmed the queen and council that they agreed to set free the duke, on condition that he swore to be faithful to the king, which he did at St. Paul's, Henry and his chief nobility being present. York then retired to his castle of Wigmore.

In the autumn of 1453 the queen was delivered of a son, who was called Edward. There was a cry in the country that this was no son of the king—a cry zealously promoted by the partisans of York—but it did not prevent the young prince from being recognised as the heir-apparent, and created Prince of Wales, Earl of Cornwall and Chester. But the king had now fallen into such a state of imbecility, with periods of absolute insanity, that those who had denied the legitimacy of his mother, Queen Catherine, might well change their opinion; for Henry's malady seemed to be precisely that of his reputed grandfather, Charles VI. of France. Such was his condition, that Parliament would no longer consent to leave him in the hands of the queen and Somerset. In the autumn the influence of Parliament compelled the recall of York to the council; and this, as might have been expected, was immediately followed by the committal of Somerset to the Tower. In February Parliament recommenced its sittings, and York appeared as lieutenant or commissioner for the king, who was incapable of opening it in person. It had been the policy of the queen to keep concealed the real condition of the king, but with York at the head of affairs, this was no longer possible. The House of Lords appointed a deputation to wait on Henry at Windsor. The Archbishop of Canterbury, who was also Lord Chancellor, was dead; and the Lords seized upon the occasion as the plea for a personal interview, according to ancient custom, with the king. Twelve peers accordingly proceeded to Windsor, and would not return without seeing the monarch. They found him in such a state of mental alienation that, though they saw him three times, they could perceive no mark of attention from him. They reported him utterly incapable of transacting any business; and the Duke of York was thereupon appointed protector, with a yearly salary of 2,000 marks. The Lancastrian party, however, took care to define the duties and the powers of this office, so as to maintain the rights of the king. The title of protector was to give no authority, but merely precedence in the council, and the command of the army in time of rebellion or invasion. It was to be revocable at the will of the king, should he at any time recover soundness of mind; and, in case that he remained so long incapacitated for Government, the protectorate was to pass to the prince Edward on his coming of age. The command at sea was entrusted to five noblemen, chosen from the two parties; and the Government of Calais, a most important post, was taken from Somerset, and given to York.

With all this change, the session of Parliament appears to have been stormy. The Duke of York had instituted an action for trespass against Thorpe, the Speaker of the Commons, and one of the Barons of the Exchequer, and obtained a verdict with damages to the amount of £1,000, and Thorpe was committed to prison till he gave security for that sum, and an equal fine to the Crown. In vain did the Commons petition for the release of the Speaker. The Lords refused; and they were compelled to elect a new one. Many of the Lords, not feeling themselves safe, absented themselves from the House, and were compelled to attend only by heavy fines. The Duke of Exeter was taken into custody, and bound to keep the peace; and the Earl of Devonshire, a Yorkist, was accused of high treason and tried, but acquitted. So strong was the opposition of the court party, that even York himself was compelled to stand up and defend himself.

These angry commotions were but the prelude to a more decisive act. The king was found something better, and the fact was instantly seized on by the queen and her party to hurl York from power, and reinstate Somerset. About Christmas the king demanded from York the resignation of the protectorate, and immediately liberated Somerset. This was not done without Somerset being at first held to bail for his appearance at Westminster to answer the charges against him. But he appealed to the council, on the ground that he had been committed without any lawful cause; and the court party being now in the ascendant, he was at once freed from his recognisances. The king himself seemed anxious to reconcile the two dukes, a circumstance more convincing of his good nature than of his sound sense—for it was an impossibility. He would not restore the government of Calais to the Duke of Somerset, but he took it from York and retained it in his own hands. York perceived that he had been regularly defeated by the queen, and he retired again to his castle of Ludlow to plan more serious measures.

The Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Salisbury and his son, the celebrated Earl of Warwick, destined to acquire the name of the "King-maker," hastened there at his summons, and it was resolved to attempt the suppression of the court party by force of arms. They were quickly at the head of a large force, with which they hoped to surprise the royalists. But no sooner did the news of this approaching force reach the court, than the king was carried forth at the head of a body of troops equal to those of York, and a march was commenced against him. The royal army had reached St. Albans, and on the morning of the 22nd of May, 1455, as it was about to resume its progress, the hills bordering on the high road were covered with the troops of York. This army marching under the banners of the house of York, now for the first time displayed in resistance to the sovereign, halted in a field near the town, and sent forward a herald announcing that the three noblemen were come in all loyalty and attachment to the king; but with a determination to remove the Duke of Somerset from his councils, and demanding that he and his pernicious associates should be at once delivered up to them. The Yorkists declared that they felt this to be so absolutely necessary, that they were resolved to destroy those enemies to the peace of the country, or to perish themselves. An answer was returned by or for the king, "that he would not abandon any of the lords who were faithful to him, but rather would do battle upon it, at the peril of life and crown."

It would have appeared that the royal army had a most decided advantage by being in possession of the town, which was well fortified, and where a stout resistance might have been made in the narrow streets; but, spite of this, the superior spirit of the commanders on the side of York triumphed over the royalists. York himself made a desperate attack on the barriers at the entrance of the town, while Warwick, searching the outskirts of the place, found, or was directed by some favouring persons to a weak spot. He made his way across some gardens, burst into the city, and came upon the royal forces where he was little expected. Aided by this diversion, York redoubled his attack on the barriers, and, notwithstanding their resolute defence by Lord Clifford forced an entrance. Between the cries of "A York! a York!" "A Warwick! a Warwick!" confusion spread amongst the king's forces, they gave way, and fled out of the town in utter rout. The slaughter among the leaders of the royal army was terrible. The Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland, and Lord Clifford were slain; the king himself was wounded in the neck, the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Dudley in the face, and the Earl of Stafford in the arm. All these were arrow wounds, and it was plain that here again the archers had won the day. The fall or wounds of the leaders, indeed, settled the business, and saved the common soldiers; for though Hall reports that 8,000, Stowe that 5,000 men fell, yet Crane, in a letter to his cousin, John Paston, written at the time, declares that there were only six-score, and Sir William Stonor states that only forty-eight were buried in St. Albans.

The king was found concealed in the house of a tanner; and there York visited him, on his knees renewed his vows of loyal affection, and congratulated Henry on the fall of the traitor Somerset. He then led the king to the shrine of St. Albans, and afterwards to his apartment in the abbey. It might have been supposed that the fallen king, being now in the hands of York and his party, the claims of York to the crown would have been asserted. But at this time York either had not really determined on seizing the throne, or did not deem the public fully prepared for so great a change. On the meeting of Parliament it was reported that York and his friends sought only to free the king from the unpopular ministers who surrounded him, and to redress the grievances of the nation. That party complained—with what truth does not appear—that, on the very morning of the battle, they had sought to explain these views and intentions in letters, which the Duke of Somerset and Thorpe, the late Speaker of the Commons, had withheld from his grace. The king acquitted York, Salisbury, and Warwick of all evil intention, pronounced them good and loyal subjects, granting them a full pardon. The peers renewed their fealty, and Parliament was prorogued till the 12th of November. Thus the first blood in these civil wars had been drawn at the battle of St. Albans and all appeared restored to peace. But it was a deceitful calm; rivers of blood were yet to flow.

Scarcely had Parliament reassembled when it was announced that the king had relapsed into his former condition. Both Lords and Commons refused to proceed with business till this matter was ascertained and settled. The Lords then requested York once more to resume the protectorate for the good of the nation; but this time he was not to be caught in his former snare. He professed his insufficiency for the onerous office, and begged of them to lay its responsibilities on some more able person. He was quite safe in this course, for he had now acquired a majority in the council, and the office of chancellor and the Governorship of Calais were in the hands of his two stout friends, Salisbury and Warwick. Of course, the reply was that no one was so capable or suitable as he; and then he expressed his willingness to accept the protectorate, but only on condition that its revocation should not lie in the mere will of the king, but in the king with the consent of the Lords spiritual and temporal in Parliament assembled. The protectorate was to devolve, as before, on the Prince of Wales, in case the malady of the king continued so long.

York might think that he was now secure from the machinations of the queen, but he was deceived. This never-resting lady was at that very moment actively preparing for his defeat; and no sooner did Parliament meet after the Christmas recess than Henry again presented himself in person, announcing his restoration to health, and dissolved the protectorate. The Duke of York resigned his authority with apparent good-will. Calais and the chancellorship passed from Salisbury and Warwick to the friends of the queen; the whole Government was again on its old footing. Two years passed on in apparent peace to the nation, but in the most bitter party warfare at court. The queen and her associates could never rest while the Duke of York and his friends were permitted to escape punishment for the late outbreak. The relatives of Somerset and the Earl of Northumberland, and of the other nobles slain at St. Albans, were encouraged to demand with eagerness vengeance on the Yorkists. Both parties surrounded themselves more and more with armed retainers, and everything portended fresh acts of bloodshed and discord. The king endeavoured to avert this by summoning a great council at Coventry in 1457. There the Duke of Buckingham made a formal rehearsal of all the offences committed by York and his party; at the conclusion of which the peers fell on their knees and entreated the king to make a declaration that he would never more show grace to the Duke of York, or any other person who should oppose the power of the crown or endanger the peace of the kingdom. To this the king consented; and then the Duke of York, Salisbury, and Warwick renewed their oaths of fealty, and all the lords bound themselves never for the future to seek redress by arms, but only from the justice of the sovereign.

At the close of this council, the Duke of York retired to Wigmore, Salisbury to Middleham, and Warwick to Calais. It was soon found that, notwithstanding all these oaths and these royal endeavours, the same animosity was alive in the two hostile parties, and the king tried still further the hopeless experiment of reconciliation. He prevailed on the leaders to meet him in London. On the 26th of January, 1458, the leaders of the York and Lancaster factions appeared in the metropolis, but they came attended by armed retainers—the Duke of York with 140 horse, the now Duke of Somerset with 200, and Salisbury with 400, besides fourscore knights and esquires. York and his friends were admitted into the city, probably as being more under the control of the authorities; for the lord mayor, at the head of 5,000 armed citizens, undertook to maintain the peace. The Lancastrian lords were lodged in the suburbs. Every day the Yorkists met at the Blackfriars and the Lancastrians at the Whitefriars, and after communicating with each other, the result was sent to the king, who lay at Berkhampstead with several of the judges. The result of their deliberations was this:—The king, as umpire, awarded that the Duke of York, and the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, should, within two years, found a chantry for the good of the souls of the three lords slain in battle at St. Albans, that both those who slew, and those who were slain at that battle should be reputed faithful subjects; that the Duke of York should pay to the dowager Duchess of Somerset and her children the sum of 5,000, and the Earl of Warwick to the Lord Clifford 1,000 marks; and that the Earl of Salisbury should release to Percy Lord Egremont all the damages he had obtained against him for an assault, on condition that the said Lord Egremont should bind himself to keep the peace for ten years.

The next day, March 25th, the king came to town, and went to St. Paul's in procession, followed by the whole court, the queen conducted by the Duke of York, and the lords of each party walking arm-in-arm before them, in token of perfect reconciliation. But real reconciliation was as distant as ever. The causes of contention lay too deep for the efforts of the simple and well-intentioned king, or even for the subtlest acts of diplomacy. It was the settled strife for a crown; and swords, not oaths, could alone decide it. The whole show was a mocking pageant. The slightest spark might any day light up a flame which would rage through the whole kingdom; and in a little more than a month such a spark fell into the combustible mass. News arrived that a large fleet of merchantmen from Lübeck had been attacked by Warwick as it passed down the Channel, and five sail of them captured after a severe contest, and carried into Calais. As Lübeck was a town of the Hanseatic League, that powerful association—which was in amity with England—speedily sent commissioners to London demanding redress. Warwick was summoned to appear before the council; and, whilst in attendance, a quarrel arose betwixt his followers and those of the court. Warwick believed, or feigned—to escape out of the scrape into which he had fallen—that there was a design upon his life. He fled to his father, Salisbury, and York, and they resolved that their only safety lay in arms. There was a story circulated, and thoroughly believed in by the Yorkist party, that the queen, who never forgot or forgave an enemy, kept a register, written in blood, of all the Yorkist chiefs, and had vowed never to rest till they were exterminated. In fact, both parties were arrived at that pitch of rancour which nothing could appease but the blood of their opponents. The feud was no longer confined to the nobles and their immediate retainers; the leaven of discord had pervaded the whole mass of the nation. The conflicting claims had been discussed till they had penetrated into every village, every family, into the convents of the monks, and the cottages of the poor. One party asserted that the Duke of York was an injured prince, driven from his hereditary right by a usurping family, and now marked to be destroyed by them. The other contended that, though Henry IV. had deposed Richard II., he had been the choice of the nation; that his son had made the name of England glorious; that more than sixty years' possession of the crown was itself sufficient warrant for its retention; that the Duke of York had, over and over again, sworn eternal fealty to Henry VI., which was in itself a renunciation of any claim he might previously possess; and that, in seeking now to deprive the king of his throne, he was a perjured and worthless man. One party argued that York owed his life to the clemency of the king; and the other replied that the king equally owed his to that of York, who had him in his power at St. Albans.

While the nation was thus heating its blood in these disputes, the heads of the different factions were busy preparing to meet each other in the field. The three lords spent the winter in arousing their partisans. Warwick called around him at Calais the veterans who had fought in Normandy and Guienne. On the other hand, the court distributed in profusion collars of white swans, the badge of the young prince; and the friends of the king were invited by letters, under the privy seal, to meet him in arms at Leicester. The spring and summer had come and gone, however, before the rival parties proceeded to actual extremities. The finances of the court impeded its proceedings; and the Yorkist party still averred that it had no object but its own defence and the rescue of the Government from traitors.

At length, on the 23rd of September, 1459, the Earl of Salisbury marched forth from his castle of Middleham, in Yorkshire, to form a junction with York on the borders of Wales. Lord Audley, with a force of 10,000 men, far exceeding that of Salisbury, sought to intercept his progress at Blore Heath in Staffordshire; but the veteran Salisbury was too subtle for his antagonist. He pretended to fly at the sight of such unequal numbers; and having thus seduced Audley to pass a deep glen and torrent, he fell upon his troops when part only were over, and, throwing them into confusion, made a dreadful slaughter of them. Some writers contend that Salisbury had only 500 men with him; but this appears incredible, for they left Lord Audley with 2,000 of his men dead on the field, and took prisoner Lord Dudley, with many knights and esquires. The earl pursued his way unmolested to Ludlow, where York lay, and where they were joined in a few days by Warwick with his large reinforcement of veterans under Sir John Blount and Sir Andrew Trollop.

The king, queen, and lords of their party had assembled an army of 60,000 men. With these they advanced to within half a mile of Ludiford, the camp of York, near Ludlow, on the 10th of October; and Henry, after all his experience, had the goodness, or the weakness, once more to renew his offers of pardon and reconciliation on condition that his opponents should submit within six days. York and his colleagues replied that they had no reliance on his promises because those about him did not observe them, and that the Earl of Warwick, trusting to them last year, nearly lost his life. Yet they still protested that nothing but their own security caused them to arm, and that they had determined not to draw the sword against their sovereign unless they were compelled. It was concluded by the royal party to give battle on the 13th, but they found York posted with consummate military skill. His camp was defended by several batteries of cannon, which played effectively on the royal ranks as they attempted to advance. The royalists, therefore, deferred the engagement till the next morning, and were relieved from that necessity by Sir Andrew Trollop, who was marshal of the Yorkist army, going over in the night with all his Calais auxiliaries to the king. Trollop had hitherto believed the assurances of the Yorkist leaders that they sought only Government redress, and not subversion of the throne; but something had now opened his eyes, and, as he was a staunch royalist, he acted accordingly. This event struck terror and confusion through the Yorkist army. Every man was doubtful of his fellow; the confederate lords made a hasty retreat into Wales, whence York and one of his sons passed over to Ireland, and the rest followed Warwick, who hastened to Devonshire, and thence escaped again to Calais.

Nothing shows so strikingly the feeble councils of the royal camp as that these formidable foes should have been permitted to decamp without any pursuit. A vigorous blow at the now panic-struck enemy might for ever have rid the king of his mortal antagonists. But Henry, always averse from shedding blood, was, no doubt, glad of this unexpected escape from it, and his generals were weak enough to acquiesce. The court returned to London, and satisfied themselves with passing an act of attainder against the Duke and Duchess of York, and their sons, the Earls of March and Rutland, against the Earl and Countess of Salisbury, and their son the Earl of Warwick, the Lord Clinton, and various knights and esquires. Even this was painful to the morbidly tender mind of Henry. He reserved to himself the right to reverse the attainder, if he thought proper, and refused to permit the confiscation of the property of Lord Powis, and two others who had thrown themselves on his clemency.

Meanwhile the insurgent chiefs, though dispersed, were not crushed. York had great popularity in Ireland; Warwick had a strong retreat in Calais. To deprive him of this, the Duke of Somerset was appointed governor, and, encouraged by the conduct of the Calais veterans at Ludiford, set out to drive Warwick from that city. But he met with a very different reception to that which he had calculated upon. He was assailed by a severe fire from the batteries, and compelled to stand out. On making an attempt to reach Calais from Guisnes, he found himself deserted by his sailors, who carried his fleet into Calais, and surrendered it to their favourite commander. Warwick stationed a sufficient force to watch Somerset in Guisnes, and, so little did he care for him, set out with his fleet, and dispersed two successive armaments sent to the relief of Somerset from the ports of Kent. When this had been done, he sailed to Dublin, to concert measures with York, and returned in safety to Calais, having met the high-admiral, the Duke of Exeter, who at sight of him escaped into Dartmouth.

In the spring of 1460 the Yorkists, who had fled so rapidly from the royal army at Ludiford, and had seemed to vanish as a mist, were again on foot, and in a threatening attitude. They had sedulously scattered proclamations throughout the country, still protesting that they had no designs on the crown; that the king was so well assured of it that he refused to ratify the act of attainder, but that he was in the hands of the enemies of the nation. These documents concluded by saying that the maligned lords were resolved now to prove their loyalty in the presence of the sovereign. Following up this, Warwick landed in June, in Kent—next to the marches of Wales the great stronghold of the house of York. He had brought only 1,500 men with him, but he was accompanied by Coppini, the Pope's legate, who had been sent indeed to Henry, but was gained over by Warwick. In Kent they were joined by the Lord Cobham with 400 men; by the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had received his preferment from York during his protectorate; and by a large number of knights and gentlemen of the county. As he advanced towards the capital, people flocked to him from all sides till his army amounted to 30,000, some say 40,000, men. He entered London on the 2nd of July, and, proceeding to the convocation, prevailed on no less than five bishops to accompany him to an interview with the king, who was lying at Coventry. The legate issued a letter to the clergy, informing them that he had laid it before the king; that the Yorkists demanded nothing but personal security, peaceable enjoyment of their property, and the removal of evil counsellors. All this was calculated to turn the credulous, or to prevent them from swelling the forces of the court.

Henry advanced to Northampton, where he entrenched himself in a strong camp. On arriving before it, Warwick made three successive attempts to obtain an interview with the king, but finding it unavailing, the legate excommunicated the royal party, and set up the papal banner in the Yorkist camp. For this he was afterwards recalled by the Pope, imprisoned, and degraded; but for the time it had its effect. Warwick gave the king notice that, as he would not listen to any overtures, he must prepare for battle at two in the afternoon on the 10th of July, 1460. The royal party made themselves certain of victory, but were this time confounded by Lord Grey of Ruthin going over to the enemy, as Sir Andrew Trollop had deserted the other party at Ludlow. Grey introduced the Yorkists into the very heart of Henry's camp, and the contest was speedily decided. Warwick ordered his followers to spare the common soldiers, and direct their attacks against the leaders; and accordingly of these there were slain 300 knights and gentlemen, including the Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and the Lords Beaumont and Egremont. A second time Henry fell into the hands of his rebellious subjects, but they treated him with all respect. The queen and her son escaped into Wales, and thence into Scotland, after having been plundered on the way by their own servants.

The victors then marched back to London, carrying the king along with them a captive, but with studied appearance of being still at the head of his loving subjects. He entered the city, as in triumph, Warwick riding bareheaded before him, carrying the sword. Writs were issued in his name, applauding the loyalty of the very man who had made war on and seized his person, and a Parliament was summoned for the redress of grievances, the chief of these being the acts issued last year in the Parliament at Coventry, attainting the Yorkist leaders, which, of course, were abolished. This had scarcely been effected when the Duke of York arrived from Ireland, at the head of 500 horse. He rode into Westminster, entered the House of Lords, and advancing to the throne laid his hand on the gold cloth, and seemed to wait as in expectance that he should be invited to seat himself there. But no such invitation was given. To do so would have been to act in opposition, on the part of the peers, to all the assurances that from first to last had been made by York and his friends, that he sought no such thing. It was now, however, the intention of York to throw off the mask, and openly lay claim to the crown. The manner in which the public, both aristocracy and people, had flocked to the standard of Warwick, led him to believe that it was now safe to declare himself; but he had himself defeated, in a great measure, his own object. His constant assertions that he sought only reform, not the subversion of the royal authority, his repeated oaths of fealty, had convinced all parties, except that of his own private friends, that he was sincere in his declarations, and they esteemed him for his honourable conduct to the gentle and inoffensive king. When, therefore, he did declare his intention of seizing the crown, the astonishment and disapprobation were proportionate.

As all remained silent when he laid his hand on the throne, he turned and looked, as if for help, towards the assembled nobles. The Archbishop of Canterbury, to put an end to the embarrassing dilemma, asked him if he would not pay his respects to the king, who was in the queen's apartment. York replied that he knew no one to whom he owed that title; that he was subject to no man in that realm, but, under God, was himself entitled to the sovereignty. The peers preserved a profound and discouraging silence; and York, not finding that response which he had hoped, left the house. It was, however, only to take possession of the palace as his hereditary right. Thence he sent to the peers a written demand of the crown, tracing his descent, showing its priority to that of the line of Lancaster, and that, by every plea of right, law, and custom, the possession of the throne centred in him. To this he requested an immediate answer. This demand was carried by the lords to the king, who, on hearing it, said, "My father was king: his father also was king. I have worn the crown forty years from my cradle; you have all sworn fealty to me as your sovereign; and your fathers have done the same to my fathers; how, then, can my right be disputed?"

The Lords resolved to take the matter into consideration, as if it were a thing to be decided by evidence, without any heat or violence. They called upon the judges to defend, to the best of their ability, the claims of the king. But the judges objected that they were judges, not advocates; that it was their business not to produce arguments, but merely to decide on such as were advanced. They declared this to be a case above the law, and only to be decided by the high court of Parliament. The Lords then called upon the king's serjeants and attorneys, who also endeavoured to escape from the dangerous task, but were not permitted, their office being, in reality, to give advice to the Crown.

The Peers then proceeded to the discussion of this great question. They objected to York's claims, that he had really renounced any right given him by descent, by repeatedly swearing fealty to Henry; that the many Acts of Parliament passed to sanction the right of the house of Lancaster themselves were sufficient, and had authority to defeat any measure of title; that the duke bore the arms of Edmund, the fifth son of Edward III., and not those of Lionel, the third son, from whom he claimed, showing that he himself held that to be his true descent. York replied to all these arguments, but especially to that wherein he knew the main force to lie, the effect of his own oaths. This he declared nugatory, inasmuch as those oaths were of necessity and constraint, and, therefore, acknowledged by all men in all ages to be utterly void.

The result was that the Lords came to the conclusion which the power of outward circumstances rather than their real convictions, dictated. They attempted a compromise, which, had Henry had no issue, might have succeeded, but which, as it went to disinherit the son of Henry, and much more the son of Margaret, was certain to produce fresh conflicts. The queen, whose resolute spirit would have been worthy of all admiration had it been accompanied by a spirit of liberality and conciliation, was sure never to acquiesce in the rejection of her own son while she could move a limb, or raise a soldier. The verdict of the Lords was that York's claim was just, but should not take effect during the lifetime of the present king. The decision of the Peers was accepted by York and his two sons, March and Rutland, who swore not to molest the king, but to maintain him on his throne; and, on the other hand, Henry gave his assent to the Bill, declared any attempt on the duke high treason, and settled estates on him and his sons as the succeeding royal line.

But Margaret of Anjou never for a moment conceded this repudiation of the rights of her son. She upbraided Henry for his unnatural conduct, and quitting her retreat in Scotland, appeared in the midst of her northern friends, calling on them by every argument of loyalty to the throne, and security to themselves, to take the field against the traitor York. The Earl of Northumberland, the Lords Dacre, Clifford, and Neville were soon in arms. They assembled at York; and Margaret, roused to the highest state of indignation by the disinheriting of her son, put forth all her powers to attach adherents to her standard. She assumed the most fascinating affability, and lavished her caresses and her promises on all whom she came near. She excited the jealousy of the northern barons by depicting the bold assumption of the southern nobles, who had presumed to give away the crown as if it were their own; and she promised to every one unlimited plunder of the estates and property of the people south of the Trent. These arts and allurements speedily brought 30,000 men to her standard, which was now joined by the Earls of Somerset and Devon.

York and Salisbury set out in haste from London to oppose this growing force. They seem not to have been duly informed of its real strength, for they pushed forward with only 5,000 men. They received a rude admonitory attack at Worksop, in Nottinghamshire, on the 21st of December; but, still advancing, York threw himself, before Christmas, into the strong castle of Sandall. Here it was the evident policy of York to await the arrival of his son, the Earl of March, who was collecting forces in the marches of Wales; but either he was straitened for provisions, or was weak enough to be influenced by the taunts of the queen, who sent him word that it did not become the future king of England to coop himself up in a fortress, but to dare to meet those whom he dared to depose. He issued into the open country, in defiance of the warnings of Salisbury and Sir David Hall, and gave battle, on the 30th of December, to the queen's troops near Wakefield. The Duke of Somerset commanded the queen's army. He led the main body himself, and gave the command of one wing to the Earl of Wiltshire, and the other to Lord Clifford, ordering them to keep concealed till the action had commenced, and then to close in upon York. This was done with such success that York, who fell with great fury on Somerset, found himself instantly surrounded. Two thousand of his men were speedily slain, and the greater part of the remainder compelled to surrender. He himself, with most of his commanders, was left dead upon the field; the veteran Salisbury was taken, conveyed to Pontefract Castle, with several knights and gentlemen, and there beheaded.

When the body of York was found, his head was cut off and carried to Queen Margaret, who rejoiced excessively at the sight, uttered most unfeminine reproaches upon it, and ordered it to be crowned with a paper crown in mockery, and placed upon the walls of York. Whethamstede, a cotemporary, says that the duke was taken alive, and beheaded on the field. At all events, Lord Clifford brought the head to the queen, stuck upon a spear; and this ferocious nobleman, whose father was killed at the battle of St. Albans, not satisfied with this revenge, perpetrated the murder of York's son, Rutland, with a fell barbarity which has covered his name with infamy. This youth, who was but about seventeen years of age, handsome and amiable, was met by Clifford as he was endeavouring to escape across the bridge of Wakefield in the care of his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall. The poor boy, seeing the bloody Clifford, fell on his knees, and entreated for mercy. The savage demanded who he was; and Aspall, thinking to save him by the avowal, said it was the younger son of York. Then swore Clifford—"As thy father slew mine, so will I slay thee, and all thy kin;" and plunging the dagger into his heart, ruthlessly bade the tutor go and tell his mother what he had done.

The spirit of the "she-wolf of France" seemed to animate all her army on this occasion. There was nothing but butchery, and exultation in it. Margaret thought she had now removed the danger in destroying York. "At this deadly blood-supping," says Hall, "there was much joy and great rejoicing: but many laughed then that sore lamented after—as the queen herself and her son; and many were glad of other men's deaths, not knowing that their own were near at hand, as the Lord Clifford and others."

The revenge soon came. The Earl of March, York's eldest son, was advancing to prove that York was still alive in the new possessor of the title. Yet, before his blow of vengeance fell, Margaret had one more triumph. She had pursued her march on London after the battle of Wakefield, and had reached St. Albans. But there she came in contact with the army of Warwick. Flushed with victory, her forces fell upon the enemy. Warwick had posted himself on the low hills to the south-east of the town. The royalists penetrated to the very town cross, where they were repulsed by a strong body of archers. But they soon made their way by another street through the town, and the battle raged on the heaths lying betwixt St. Albans and Barnet. The last troops which made a stand were a body of Kentish men, who, maintaining the conflict till night, enabled the Yorkists to retreat from the victorious van, and disperse. The king was found in his tent, under the care of Lord Montague, his chamberlain, where he was visited by Margaret and his son, whom he received with the liveliest joy. The Yorkists in this second battle of St. Albans, fought February 17th, 1461, lost about 2,000 men. Edward, called "the late Earl of March," was proclaimed a traitor, and rewards offered for his apprehension. But the success of this action was defeated by the insubordination of the troops. They were chiefly borderers, who had been led on by hopes of plunder, and had been freely promised it by Margaret and her allies. Nothing could induce them to advance farther. They were only bent on ravaging the neighbourhood, and the citizens of London closed their gates against them and held out for York.

Edward was rapidly marching to the capital. He was at Gloucester when the news of the fall of his father and the atrocious murder of his brother reached him; and the intelligence arousing the Welsh borderers, they flocked to his standard, breathing vengeance. His march was harassed by a party of royalists—consisting chiefly of Welsh and Irish—under Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, the king's half-brother. To free himself of them, Edward turned upon them, on the 2nd of February, at Mortimer's Cross, near Hereford. A dreadful battle ensued, in which Edward gained a complete victory, slaying nearly 4,000 of the royalists. Jasper Tudor escaped; but his father Owen Tudor, the second husband of Catherine of Valois, and ancestor of the Tudor line of sovereigns, was taken prisoner, and with Throgmorton and seven other captains, was beheaded at Hereford, in retaliation for those who had been similarly put to death after the battle of Wakefield. The news of this butchery reaching Margaret before the battle of St. Albans, instigated her to reply with the execution of Lord Bonville and Sir Thomas Kyriel, who had so much distinguished himself in France. The spirit of deadly malice was now raging betwixt the contending parties, and one deed of cruelty provoked another.

Edward found no further obstacle on his march towards London. The terrible chastisement of the royalists made a deep impression. His force grew as he advanced. He soon joined Warwick, and collected his dispersed troops. Once united, they were more than a match for the royalists. When Edward approached London, he was welcomed as a deliverer. The lawless army of the queen had carried terror, wherever they came. The queen was as impolitic as her soldiers. She sent from Barnet into the city demanding supplies; and though the lord mayor was inclined to comply, the people stoutly refused to let any provisions pass. A party of 400 horse were sent to enforce the demand; they plundered the northern suburbs, and would have continued their depredations in London itself, but the people fell upon them, and drove them out. Such was the situation of affairs when Edward and Warwick appeared. The gates were joyfully thrown open, and Edward rode in triumph into the city. He was still but in his nineteenth year, of a remarkably handsome person, of a gay and affable disposition, and reputed to be highly accomplished. The fate of his father and brother, and the recent conduct of the queen, added greatly to the interest which he excited. While Lord Falconbridge reviewed a body of troops in the fields of Clerkenwell, Neville, the Bishop of Exeter, seized the opportunity to harangue the crowded spectators. He drew a miserable picture of the imbecility of the king, of the haughty and bloody spirit of the queen, and of the calamities which had resulted from both; and maintained that Henry, by joining the queen's forces, had forfeited the crown. He then demanded whether they would still have him for king. They shouted—"No, no!" He then asked whether they would have Edward for king, and they cried—"Yes, yes! long live King Edward!"

The popular feeling being thus ascertained, a great council was convoked by the Yorkists, on the 3rd of March, 1461, which confirmed the verdict of the public, declared Henry to have justly forfeited the crown by breaking his oath and joining in proceedings against the Duke of York, who had thus been slain; and on the 4th Edward rode in procession to Westminster Hall, where he mounted the throne, and made a speech to the thronging thousands, detailing the just claims of his family, according to hereditary succession. He then adjourned to the abbey church, where he repeated the same harangue to the same consenting audience, and was duly proclaimed by the style and title of King Edward IV.

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REIGN OF EDWARD IV.

The Battle of Towton—Edward's Coronation—Henry escapes to Scotland—The Queen seeks aid in France—Battle of Hexham—Henry made Prisoner—Confined in the Tower—Edward marries Lady Elizabeth Grey—Advancement of her Relations—Attacks on the Family of the Nevilles—Warwick negotiates with France—Marriage of Margaret, the King's Sister, to the Duke of Burgundy—Marriage of the Duke of Clarence with a Daughter of Warwick—Battle of Banbury—Rupture between the King and his Brother—Rebellion of Clarence and Warwick—Clarence and Warwick flee to France—Warwick proposes to restore Henry VI.—Marries Edward, Prince of Wales, to his Daughter, Lady Ann Neville—Edward IV.'s reckless Dissipation—Warwick and Clarence invade England—Edward expelled—His return to England—Battle of Barnet—Battle of Tewkesbury, and ruin of the Lancastrian Cause—Rivalry of Clarence and Gloucester—Edward's Futile Intervention in Foreign Politics—Becomes a Pensioner of France—Death of Clarence—Expedition to Scotland—Death and Character of the King.

Edward IV., at this period of his great success, and his acknowledgment by the people of London and the council as king, was only in his twentieth year. Handsome of person and of popular manners, he was not restrained by any such conscientious scruples as guided his father, but was bold and impetuous. He was fond of pleasure, addicted to gallantry, and at the same time as ready to shed blood as he was to make love and revel in courtly pageants. The reluctant approaches to sanguinary measures which had marked the earlier proceedings of his father, had long since vanished in the heated progress of the strife, and Edward might be regarded as the representative of the leaders now on both sides, with the exception of the gentle and forgiving Henry. But on this side Queen Margaret was as energetic as she was ambitious, and as resolute as her husband was the contrary. The circumstances into which she had been thrown had roused in her the spirit of a tigress fighting for its young.

Margaret, on the warm reception of Edward by the Londoners, had retired northward with her marauding soldiers, who had so fatally damaged her cause by their outrages. Three days after his reception in London, Edward despatched Warwick, the chief bulwark of his cause, in pursuit of her, and on the 12th of March, only five days afterwards, he followed himself. On reaching the Earl of Warwick, their combined troops amounted to 40,000. The queen was exerting all her activity and eloquence amongst her northern friends, and lay at York with 60,000 men. Everything denoted the eve of a bloody conflict.

This civil war was now known all over the world as the War of the Roses, a name said to be derived from a circumstance which took place in a dispute in the Temple Gardens betwixt Warwick and Somerset, at an early period of the rival factions. Somerset, in order to collect the suffrages of those on the side of Lancaster, is said to have plucked a red rose from a bush, and called upon every man who held with him to do the like. Warwick, for York, plucked a white rose, and thus the partisans were distinguishable by these differing badges.

The vanguard of the two armies met at Ferrybridge, the passage of the river Aire. The Duke of Somerset was commander-in-chief of the royal army. The king, queen, and prince remained at York. Lord Clifford led the vanguard, and was opposed by Lord Fitzwalter on the part of the Yorkists. The battle at the bridge was furious; Fitzwalter was killed. Lord Falconbridge was instantly sent forward to replace him, and instead of opposing Clifford in front in his strong position, allowing the troops there to hold him in play, he himself crossed the Aire, some miles above Ferrybridge, and falling unexpectedly on the rear of Clifford, routed his force, and revenged the death of Fitzwalter by that of Clifford himself. The Yorkists poured over the bridge, took possession of the town, and advanced towards Towton. Meantime, Warwick, excited by the temporary repulse at the bridge under Fitzwalter, had called for his horse, stabbed him in sight of the whole army, and kissing the hilt of his bloody sword, swore that he would fight on foot, and share every fatigue and disadvantage with the common soldiers.

With minds inflamed to the utmost pitch of animosity, the two armies met on the morning of Palm Sunday, March 29th, in the fields betwixt the villages of Saxton and Towton, about ten miles south of York. Edward issued orders that no quarter should be given, no prisoners taken. The action began at nine o'clock in the morning, under circumstances most unfortunate for the Lancastrians. A snowstorm was blowing full in their faces; and Lord Falconbridge seized at once on this circumstance by an adroit stratagem. He ordered the archers to advance, discharge their arrows, and again retire out of the reach of those of the enemy. The Lancastrians, believing themselves within bow-shot of the enemy, whose arrows did great execution amongst them, returned the compliment without being able to see where their arrows reached for the snowflakes. The Yorkist archers were now out of their range, and they fell useless. Again the Yorkists advanced, and poured in a fresh flight with such effect that the Lancastrians, probably doubting of the success of their own arrows, rushed forward and came hand to hand with their opponents. It was now one terrible clash of swords, battle-axes, and spears, amid the thick-falling and blinding storm; and thus the two infuriated armies continued fighting desperately for nearly five hours. Towards evening the Lancastrians, disheartened by the fall of their principal commanders, broke and fled. They were pursued as far as Tadcaster with the fiercest impetuosity, and fearful slaughter. It was one of the bloodiest battles ever fought in Britain. According to a contemporary historian, those who were employed to number and bury the dead, declared them to be 38,000.

After celebrating the feast of Easter at York, Edward marched to Newcastle, and, leaving Warwick there to keep the north in order, returned to London on the 26th of June.

On reaching Scotland, Margaret placed Henry in a secure retreat at Kirkcudbright, and then hastened to Edinburgh, to try what could be done towards renewing the contest, which no dispersion of her friends and forces could ever teach her to relinquish. There she found a boy sovereign, a divided court, and a country which had suffered by factions almost as deadly as her own. James I., who had seemed to return to his kingdom after his long captivity under such auspicious circumstances—full of intelligence and plans for the improvement of his country, married to the woman of his affections, and courted by both England and France,—was soon murdered by the rude and lawless nobles whom he endeavoured to reduce to some degree of order and subordination. His son, James II., when arrived at years of maturity, endeavoured to recover from distracted England some of the places it had reft from Scotland formerly, but in besieging Roxburgh in 1460, he was killed by the bursting of a cannon. His son was at this time a child of only eight years old, and the kingdom was governed by a council of regency; but the care of the king's person was committed to the queen-mother, Mary of Guelders, who was ambitious of engrossing not only that duty, but the actual powers of the government. In this she was opposed by the powerful family of Douglas.

Margaret had no willing listeners amongst parties who were occupied with their own schemes and feuds. She had the difficult task of appealing to their various interests; and she found no one thing capable of fixing their attention till she hit on the idea of proposing the surrender of Berwick as the price of Scotland's assistance. That key of the northern frontiers of England, for the possession of which so much blood had been spilled from age to age, was an object the proposed recovery of which at once gave her the command of the ears of the whole court. In addition to this, she offered a marriage betwixt her son, Edward, Prince of Wales, and the eldest sister of the young King of Scotland. These treaties were carried into effect, and Berwick was put into the hands of the Scots on the 25th of April, 1461.

Edward, on his return to London, was crowned on the 29th of June. He then summoned a Parliament to meet at Westminster on the 6th of July, but an invasion appearing not improbable, he prorogued it till the 4th of November. The sword and the scaffold had already so thinned the nobility that only one duke, four earls, one viscount, and twenty-nine barons were summoned to this Parliament. The great battle of Towton, which had laid so many of them low, had rendered the rest very submissive. There was no longer any hesitating betwixt the two families, or seeking of those compromises which, in the end, only produced more discord. Whatever Edward dictated was accepted as law and constitution. Of course Henry IV. was declared to have been an arrant usurper; and his posterity were held incapable, not only of wearing the crown, but of enjoying any estate or dignity in any portion of the British dominions for ever. Henry VI., Margaret, Edward, called Prince of Wales, the Dukes of Somerset and Exeter, the Earls of Northumberland, Devonshire, and Pembroke, and a vast number of lords, knights, and gentlemen, were attainted. Edward IV. was proclaimed to be the only rightful king; and all those of the York party who had been declared traitors by the Lancaster party when it was uppermost, and expelled from honours and estates, were restored.

Meanwhile, nothing daunted, Margaret was exerting her ingenuity to rouse a party in Scotland. She pleaded to deaf ears. Her surrender of Berwick brought her no real assistance; and she now sent over Somerset to endeavour to obtain succour from France. All these efforts were equally vain. Charles VII. died in 1461, and his successor, Louis XI., was immovable. Somerset, her ambassador, returned completely unsuccessful. He and his attendants had, indeed, been arrested by Louis when they attempted to escape in the guise of merchants, for fear of the despicable king giving them up to Edward to propitiate his favour. It was only through the earnest intercession of the Count of Charolais, the son of the Duke of Burgundy, that they were liberated. Louis XI. was cousin-german to both Margaret and Henry VI.; but such relationships weigh nothing with selfish men, in comparison to their own immediate interests. While this unwelcome news was arriving, Margaret was rendered the more uneasy and unsafe by the appearance of Warwick at the court of Scotland, proposing a marriage betwixt the Scottish queen and the victorious Edward of England. Under these circumstances, neither Margaret nor Henry was safe. She resolved, therefore, to make one more effort with Louis of France, and a personal one. By means of a French merchant, who owed her some kindness for past benefit, she managed to get over to France, where she threw herself at the feet of Louis, who was at Chinon in Normandy. She was only able to reach his court by the assistance of the Duke of Brittany, who gave her 12,000 crowns.

Margaret agreed to surrender the rights of the crown in Calais, and that Henry should do the same. And what was to be the price of this sacrifice—this sacrifice of this proud stronghold of England, this sacrifice of her own honour, and this last remaining fragment of her good fame in Britain? The paltry sum of 20,000 livres! That was all she could squeeze from the miserable French king for this intensely desired object. True, he had it still to win, for it was not in the possession of Margaret or her husband; but the acknowledged purchase from the Lancastrian king would give him great weight in any attempts to compel the surrender, and if Henry did again recover his throne, Calais must be made over to him at once.

With her 20,000 livres Margaret was enabled to engage the services of Pierre de Brézé, the seneschal of Normandy. He had been an old admirer of Margaret's, and now offered to follow her with 2,000 men. With this force, after an absence of five months, she set sail for England, and attempted to land at Tynemouth, in October, 1462, but was repelled by the garrison. The fleet was now attacked by a terrible storm; the very elements seemed to fight against her. Many of her ships ran ashore near Bamborough. Yet, spite of all her difficulties, Margaret effected a landing, and gained possession of the castles of Bamborough, Dunstanburgh, and Alnwick. She sent for Henry from his safe hiding-place at Harlech Castle in Merionethshire, where she had left him while she went to France, and was gathering some considerable forces of Scots and French when Warwick drew near with 20,000 men, and news was received that Edward was approaching with an equal number. Edward halted at Newcastle, but Warwick advancing, divided his forces into three bodies, and simultaneously invested the three strongholds. Somerset surrendered Bamborough on condition that himself and Sir Ralph Percy, and others, should be allowed to take the oath of fealty to Edward, and be restored to all their honours and estates; and that the rest of the two garrisons, with the Earl of Pembroke, and some others, whose lands had been conferred on Edward's friends, and could not, therefore, be now restored, should be conveyed in safety to Scotland. This defection of her chief supporters was a dreadful blow to the queen, and, to add to her misfortunes, 500 of her French followers, who had established themselves in Holy Island were attacked and cut to pieces by Sir Robert Ogle. Alnwick Castle still held out in the hands of the brave De Brézé and Lord Hungerford; but the Earl of Angus coming up with a party of relief, the besieged took the opportunity to make a sally and escape from the castle to their friends. Bamborough and Dunstanburgh were restored by the king to Lord Percy; but Alnwick he gave to Sir John Ashley, to the great offence of Sir Ralph Grey, who had formerly won it for Edward, and now expected to have had it.

It might have been supposed that all hope of ever restoring the Lancastrian cause was now at an end. But in the soul of Margaret hope never seemed to die. With an admirable and indomitable resolution, she again turned her efforts to reconstruct a fresh army. She traversed Scotland, drew together her scattered friends, joined them to her French auxiliaries, whom she again mustered on the Continent: and by the spring of 1464 was in a condition once more to march into England. For some time her affairs wore a promising aspect. She retook the castles of Alnwick, Bamborough, and Dunstanburgh. Somerset, Sir Ralph Percy, and the rest who had made their peace with Edward, hearing of her successes, again flew to her standard. Sir Ralph Grey, who resented the preference given to Sir John Ashley by Edward in the disposal of Alnwick, came over to her, and was made commander of Bamborough.

Edward, on the news of these reverses, dispatched the Lord Montague, the brother of Warwick, into the north to raise his forces there, and make head against the never-resting queen. He met with Sir Ralph Percy on Hedgeley Moor, near Wooler, on the 25th of April, defeated his forces, and killed Sir Ralph. Having received fresh reinforcements from the south, he advanced towards Margaret's main army, and encamped on a plain, called the Levels, near Hexham. There, on the 15th of May, the two armies came to a general action, and after a long and bloody conflict the Lancastrians were again completely routed. Poor King Henry fled for his life, and this time managed not to be left in the hands of his enemies.

Margaret and her son, with a few attendants, were meanwhile flying wildly through the neighbouring forests from the tender mercies of this sanguinary young king. She was endeavouring to reach the Scottish borders, when they were met by a party of marauders, with whom the Border country abounded. The queen on her knees implored mercy, and avowed who she was; but the villains who had hold of her, seeing their associates busy dividing the rich booty, turned to them, and she seized the opportunity, while they were quarrelling over it, to fly with her son. The fugitives rushed onward, not knowing whither they were going, till night overtook them. Nearly fainting with terror, fatigue, and hunger, as the moon broke through the clouds they beheld a huge man, armed, and with threatening gestures hastening towards them. Imagining it was one of the band that had robbed them who had now overtaken her, she expected nothing but death; but, mustering her characteristic resolution, she bade the man see that if he hoped for booty it was useless, for she and her child had been stripped even of their upper garments for their value. The man appeared to be one of the numerous outlaws harboured in that locality, and many of whom had seen better days. He was touched by her appeal, and Margaret, perceiving it, said, "Here, my friend, save the son of your king! I charge thee to preserve from violence that innocent royal blood. Take him, and conceal him from those who seek his life. Give him a refuge in thine obscure hiding-place, and he will one day give thee free access to his royal chamber, and make thee one of his barons." The man, struck by the majestic presence of the queen, the pleading innocence of the prince, and the words of Margaret, knelt, and vowed he would rather die a thousand deaths than injure or betray them. He carried the young prince in his arms to his cave, on the south bank of a little stream which runs at the foot of Blockhill, and, from this circumstance, still called "Queen Margaret's cave." There the man's wife made them right welcome, and, after two days' concealment, the outlaw succeeded in meeting with De Brézé, and his followers soon afterwards discovered the Duke of Exeter and Edward Beaufort—from the execution of his brother now Duke of Somerset; and with them Margaret escaped to Scotland, and, after many adventures, reached France. There Margaret received the melancholy news of the capture and imprisonment of her husband. For about twelve months the unfortunate monarch had contrived to elude the eager quest of his enemies. He went from place to place amongst the friends of the house of Lancaster in Westmoreland, Lancashire, and Yorkshire. At the various halls and castles where he sojourned, tradition has to this day retained the memory of his presence. He was at length betrayed by a monk of Abingdon, and he was taken by the servants of Sir John Harrington, as he sat at dinner at Waddington Hall. He was treated with the utmost indignity on his way to London. He was mounted on a miserable hack, his legs being tied to his stirrups, and an insulting placard fixed on his back. At Islington Warwick met the fallen king, and disgraced himself by commanding the thronging spectators to show no respect to him. To enforce his command by his own example, he led the unhappy man three times round the pillory, as if he had been a common felon, crying, "Treason! treason! Behold the traitor!"

Edward, now freed from his enemies, considered himself as established on the throne beyond all doubt. He created Lord Montacute Earl of Northumberland for his services at Hexham, and Lord Herbert Earl of Pembroke. He issued a long list of attainders to exhaust the resources of his opponents and increase those of his adherents. He then passed an Act for the resumption of the Crown lands to supply a royal income; but this was clogged by so many exceptions that it proved fruitless. He then gave himself up to mirth and jollity, and in the pursuit of his pleasures made himself so affable and agreeable, especially with the Londoners, that, in spite of his free gallantries, he was very popular. So strongly did he now seem to be grounded in the affections of his subjects, that he ventured to make known a private marriage, which he had contracted some time before, though he knew that it would give deep offence in several quarters.

It is a curious circumstance that in the early part of the reign of Henry VI., two ladies of royal lineage, and one of them of royal rank, had condescended to marry private gentlemen, to the great scandal of their high-born connections. One of these was Catherine of Valois, the widow of Henry V., and mother of Henry VI., who married Owen Tudor. The other was Jacquetta of Luxembourg, the widow of the great Duke of Bedford, Regent of France, who married Sir Richard Woodville. Both Tudor and Woodville were men of remarkable beauty; and both were imprisoned and persecuted for the offence of marrying, without permission of the Crown, princesses who chose to fall in love with them. Woodville regained his liberty by the payment of a fine of 1,000 crowns. Tudor's persecutions were more severe and prolonged. Yet, from these two scandalous mésalliances, as they were regarded by the Court and high nobility, sprang a line of the most remarkable princes that ever sat upon the English throne. The blood of both these ladies mingled in the burly body of Henry VIII. and his descendants. We have seen how Tudor became the grandfather of Henry VII.; we have now to observe how Woodville became the grandfather of Henry's wife, Elizabeth of York.

Jacquetta had several children by Sir Richard Woodville, one of whom, Elizabeth, was a woman of much beauty and great accomplishments. She had been married to Sir John Grey of Groby, a Lancastrian, who fell at the second battle of St. Albans. His estate was consequently confiscated; his widow, with seven children, returned to her father, and was living at his seat at Grafton, in Northamptonshire. Edward being out on a hunting party in the neighbourhood, took the opportunity to call on the Duchess of Bedford. There he saw and was greatly struck with the beauty of the Lady Grey. She, on her part, seized the occasion to endeavour to secure some restitution of their property for her children. The whole of her subsequent life showed that she was not a woman to neglect such opportunities. She threw herself at the feet of the gay monarch, and with many tears besought him to restore to her innocent children their father's patrimony.

Lady Grey made more impression than she probably intended. Edward was perfectly fascinated by her beauty and spirit. He raised her from her suppliant posture, and promised her his favour. He soon communicated to her the terms on which he would grant the restitution of her property; but he found in Elizabeth Woodville, or Grey, a very different person to those he had been accustomed to meet. She firmly refused every concession inconsistent with her honour, and the king, piqued by the resistance he encountered, became more and more enamoured.

On the 1st of May, 1464, he married her at Grafton, in the presence only of the priest, the clerk, the Duchess of Bedford, and two female attendants. Within a few days after the marriage he set out to meet the Lancastrians in the north; but the battles of Hedgeley Moor and Hexham were fought before his arrival; and on his return he became anxious to open the matter to his council, and to obtain its sanction. Accordingly, at Michaelmas, he summoned a general council of the peers at the abbey of Reading, where he announced this important event. Amongst the Peers present were Edward's brother the Duke of Clarence, and the great king-maker, Warwick. To neither of these individuals was the transaction agreeable. To Clarence it appeared too inferior a choice for the King of England, though Elizabeth Grey, by her mother's side, was of princely blood. But to Warwick there was offence in it, personal and deep. He had been commissioned by Edward to solicit for him the hand of Bona of Savoy, the sister of the Queen of France. The proposal had been accepted; the King of France had given his consent; the treaty of marriage was actually drawn; and there lacked nothing but the ratification of the terms agreed upon, and the bringing over of the princess to England. At this moment came the order to pause in the proceedings, and the mystery was soon cleared up by the confident rumour of this sudden matrimonial caprice of the king. Warwick returned in high dudgeon; from Edward he did not try to conceal it; but the time for revenge of his injured honour was not yet come; and therefore, after the royal announcement in the council, Clarence and Warwick took Elizabeth by the hand, and introduced her to the rest of the peers. A second council was held at Westminster, in December, and the income of the new queen was settled at 4,000 marks a year.

It was not to be expected that this sudden elevation of a simple knight's daughter to the throne would pass without murmuring and discontent, which was probably the more fully expressed as it was shared by the all-powerful Warwick and the king's brothers. There were busy rumours that the politic old duchess, Jacquetta, and her daughter, had practised magical arts upon the king, and administered philtres; and that, recovering from their effect, he had grievously repented, and endeavoured to free himself. But Edward's whole conduct towards the queen showed the falsity of this jealous gossip; and to make it obvious that she was of no mean parentage, he invited to the coronation her mother's brother, John of Luxembourg, with a retinue of a hundred knights and gentlemen.

But if the king had made apparent her noble birth and his continued affection for her, it became speedily as apparent that the marriage of a subject was to be followed by all its inconveniences. Elizabeth, though raised to the throne, might still be said to be on her knees, imploring the favour of the king. There was nothing which she thought too much for her numerous relations, and the king displayed a marvellous facility in complying with her requests. Her father was created Earl Rivers, and soon after the Lord Mountjoy, a partisan of the Nevilles, was removed to make way for him as Treasurer of England; and again, on the resignation of the Earl of Worcester, the office of Lord High Constable was conferred on him. That was very well for a beginning, but it was nothing to what followed; every branch of the queen's family must be aggrandised without delay. She had five sisters, and each of them was married to one of the highest noblemen in the realm: one to the Duke of Buckingham; one to the heir of the Earl of Essex; a third to the Earl of Arundel; a fourth to Lord Grey de Ruthin, who was made Earl of Kent; and the fifth to Lord William Herbert, created Earl of Huntingdon. Her brother Anthony was married to the heiress of the late Lord Scales, and endowed with her estate and title. Her younger brother John, in his twentieth year, was married to the wealthy old dowager Duchess of Norfolk, in her eightieth year; such was the shameless greed of this family. The queen's son, Thomas Grey, was married to the king's niece, the daughter and heiress of the Duke of Exeter. The Nevilles looked on all these extraordinary proceedings with ominous gloom.

Fresh cause of disunion arose between the king and Warwick. A marriage had for some time been in agitation between Margaret, the king's sister, and the Count of Charolais, son and heir of the Duke of Burgundy. The count was sprung from the house of Lancaster, and even when his father showed the most settled coolness towards Henry VI. and Margaret, had displayed a warm sympathy for them. It was a good stroke of policy, therefore, to win him over by this marriage to the reigning dynasty. But Warwick, who in his former intercourse with Burgundy in France had conceived a deep dislike to him, opposed this match, and represented one with a son of Louis XI. as far more advantageous. To Warwick's arguments was opposed the evident policy of maintaining our commercial intercourse with the Netherlands, and of possessing so efficient an ally on the borders of France against the deep and selfish schemes of Louis. But in the end Warwick prevailed. He was sent over to France to negotiate the affair with Louis. Warwick went attended with a princely train, and with all the magnificence which distinguished him at home, more like that of a great sovereign than of a subject. Louis, who never lost an opportunity of sowing jealousies amongst his enemies, even while he appeared to be honouring them, met Warwick at Rouen, attended by the queen and princesses. The inhabitants, obeying royal orders, went out and escorted Warwick into the city with banners and processions of priests, who conducted the earl to the cathedral, and then to the lodgings prepared for him at the Jacobins. There also Louis and the court took up their quarters, and for twelve days, during which the conference lasted, Louis used to visit the earl in private, passing through a side door into his apartments. With all this secret and familiar intercourse, no pains were taken to conceal its existence; and the consequence was such as the astute and mischievous Louis intended. Reports were forwarded to Edward from those whom he had placed in Warwick's train, which roused his ever uncalculating anger. He hastened to the house of Warwick's brother—the Archbishop of York and Chancellor of the kingdom—demanded the instant surrender of the seals; and, enforcing the act of resumption of Crown lands lately passed, deprived the archbishop of two manors formerly belonging to the Crown.

Warwick returned, as may be supposed, in no very good humour, but still with every prospect of success in his mission. The court of France was agreeable to the match. And on the heels of the earl came the Archbishop of Narbonne and the Bastard of Bourbon to complete the arrangements. They were prepared to offer an annual pension to Edward from Louis, and to pledge the king to submit to the Pope Edward's demand for the restoration of Normandy and Aquitaine, which should be decided within four years. But the importance of these propositions, and the evident prudence of at least appearing to listen to the terms of a monarch like that of France, had no weight with Edward, who was far more distinguished for petulance and rashness than for policy. He treated the French ambassadors with the most insulting coldness; and unceremoniously quitted the capital, leaving his ministers to deal with the ambassadors, and, in fact, to get rid of them. His resentment against Warwick made him not only thus forget the courtesy due to the envoys of a great foreign prince—conduct sure to create its own punishment,—but he gave all the more favour to the suit of the Count of Charolais from the same cause.

The count had sent over his relative, the Bastard of Burgundy, ostensibly to hold a tournament with Lord Scales, the queen's brother, but really to press forward the match with the English princess. The Duke of Burgundy dying at this juncture, all difficulties vanished. The princess was affianced to the new Duke of Burgundy.

This completed the resentment of Warwick. The open insult offered to the court of France, and the rejection of the alliance which he had effected, sunk deep into his proud mind. He retired to his castle of Middleham, in Yorkshire; and occasion was taken of his absence from court to accuse him, on the evidence of one of Queen Margaret's emissaries taken in Wales, of being a secret partisan of the Lancastrian faction. The charge failed; but Edward, resolved to mortify and humiliate the man to whom he owed his throne, affected still to believe him a secret ally of the Lancastrians, and that his own safety was threatened by him. He therefore summoned a body-guard of 200 archers, without whose attendance he never stirred abroad. He expelled the Nevilles from court, and took every means to express his dislike and suspicion of that house. On the other hand, the Nevilles repaid the hatred of the upstart family of Woodville with interest; and from this moment, whatever might be the outward seeming, the feud betwixt these rival families was settled, deadly, and never terminated till it had completed the ruin of all parties.

At present the Archbishop of York, though suffering under the immediate severity of the king, was too wise to give way to his resentment. He justly feared the influence of the Woodvilles with the king, and that it might prove most injurious to his own family. He therefore stood forth as a peacemaker. He volunteered a visit to Earl Rivers, the queen's father; met him at Nottingham, and agreed on terms of reconciliation between the families. The king, queen, and court were keeping the Christmas of 1467 at Coventry. The archbishop hastened to his brother at Middleham, and prevailed upon him to accompany him to Coventry, where he was graciously received by Edward; all subjects of offence betwixt him and the relatives of the queen—especially her brothers-in-law, the Lords Herbert, Stafford, and Audley—were arranged; and the king expressed himself so much pleased with the conduct of the archbishop, that he restored to him his two manors. This pacific state of things lasted for little more than a year. On the 18th of June, 1468, the king's sister set out on her journey to meet her husband in Flanders. The king accompanied her to the coast; and, as a proof that Warwick at this moment held his old position of honour at court, the princess rode behind him through the streets of London. A conspiracy having been discovered, or supposed, of several gentlemen with Queen Margaret, Warwick and his brother, the Earl of Northumberland, were joined with the king's brothers, Clarence and Gloucester, in a commission to try them; and the two Nevilles certainly executed their part of the trust with a zeal which looked like anything but disaffection. Very arbitrary measures were used towards the prisoners, several of whom were condemned and executed.

This calm was soon broken. The Duke of Clarence had from the first shown as deep a dislike to the ascendency of the Woodvilles as the Nevilles themselves. This drew him into closer intimacy with Warwick. He frequently withdrew for long periods from court, and was generally to be found at one of the residences of Warwick. It soon came out that there was a cause still more influential than his dislike of the queen's relations; it was his admiration of the Earl's eldest daughter, Isabella, who was co-heiress of his vast estates. Warwick was delighted with the prospect of this alliance, for as yet the king, having no male heir, and his only daughter being but four years old, Clarence stood as the next male heir to his brother. Edward, on the contrary, beheld this proposed connection with the utmost alarm. The Nevilles were already too powerful; and should Warwick succeed, through Clarence, in placing his descendants so near the throne, it might produce the most dangerous consequences to his own line. He therefore did all in his power to frustrate the marriage, but in vain. Clarence and Warwick retired to Calais, of which Warwick remained the governor; and there the marriage was celebrated, in the Church of St. Nicholas, on the 11th of July, 1469.

With the exception of this annoying event, at this moment Edward appeared so firmly seated on his throne, and so well secured by foreign treaties with almost all the European powers, and especially with the Dukes of Burgundy and Brittany, the latter of whom had recently become his ally, that he actually contemplated the enterprise of recovering by his arms the territories which his weak predecessor had lost in France. His hatred of the cold-blooded Louis XI., who in political cunning was infinitely Edward's superior, probably urged him to this idea. To draw off the attention of the different factions at home, and find some common medium of uniting them in action abroad, might be another. The most remarkable circumstance of all was, that Parliament, after its experience of the drain which these French wars had been to the blood and resources of the nation, received the king's proposal with cordial approbation.

But these dreams of martial glory were very quickly swept from the brain of the king by domestic troubles. At first these troubles appeared to originate in private and local causes, but there was such food for combustion existing throughout the kingdom, that the farther they went, the wider they opened, and at every step onwards assumed more and more the aspect of a Warwick and Clarence conspiracy. Nothing could be farther removed from such an appearance than the opening occurrence.

The hospital of St. Leonard, near York, had possessed, from the reign of King Athelstan, a right of levying a thrave of corn (twenty-four sheaves) from every ploughland in the county. There had long been complaints that this grant was grossly abused, and instead of benefiting the poor, as it was intended, was converted to the emolument of the managers. During the last reign many had refused in consequence to yield the stipulated thrave, and Parliament had passed an act to compel the delivery. Now again the refusal to pay the demand was become general. The vassals had their goods distrained, and were themselves thrown into prison. This raised the peasantry, who were all of the old Lancastrian party, and regarded the present dynasty as usurpers and oppressors. They flew to arms, under the leadership of one Robert Hilyard, called by the insurgents Robin of Redesdale, and vowed that they would march south and reform the Government. Lord Montague, Earl of Northumberland, brother of Warwick, marched out against them, forming as they now did a body of 15,000 men, and menacing the city of York. He defeated them, seized their leader Hilyard, and executed him on the field of battle.

So far there appeared certainly no hand of the Nevilles in this movement. Northumberland did his best to crush it, and Warwick and Clarence were away at Calais, thinking, apparently, not of rebellion, but of matrimonial festivities. But the very next move revealed a startling fact.

The insurgents, though dispersed, were by no means subdued. They had lost their peasant head, but they reappeared in still greater forces, with two heads, and those no other than the Lords Fitzhugh and Latimer, the nephew and the cousin-german of Warwick. Northumberland contented himself with protecting the city of York. He made no attempt to pursue this still more menacing body, who, dropping their cry of the hospital and the thrave of corn, declared that their object was to meet the Earl of Warwick, and by his aid and advice to remove from the councils of the king the swarm of Woodvilles, whom they charged with being the authors of the oppressive taxes, and of all the calamities of the nation. The young noblemen who headed the insurrection were assisted by the military abilities of an old and experienced officer, Sir William Conyers. At the name of Warwick, his tenants came streaming from every quarter, and in a few days, the insurgent army numbered 60,000 men.

Edward, on the news of this formidable movement, called together what troops he could, and fixed his headquarters at the castle of Fotheringay. Towards this place the insurgent army marched, growing, as they proceeded, in numbers and boldness. The whole outcry resolved itself into a capital charge against the Woodvilles, and the movement being headed by the Nevilles, there could not be much mystery about the matter. Yet Edward, after advancing as far as Newark, and becoming intimidated by the spirit of disaffection which everywhere prevailed, wrote imploringly to Warwick and Clarence to hasten from Calais to his assistance. The result was such as might have been expected. Warwick and Clarence, instead of complying with the king's urgent entreaty, summoned their friends to meet them at Canterbury, on the following Sunday, to proceed with them to the king to lay before him the petitions of the Commons.

In this alarming extremity, Edward looked with impatience for the arrival of the Earls of Devonshire and Pembroke, who had been mustering forces for his assistance. Devon was at the head of a strong body of archers, and Pembroke of 10,000 Welshmen. They met at Banbury, where the demon of discord divided them in their quest of quarters, and made them forget the critical situation of their sovereign. Pembroke, leaving Devon in possession, advanced to Edgecote. There he came in contact with the insurgents, who, falling upon him, deprived as he was of the assistance of Devon's archers, easily routed him. In this engagement 2,000 of his soldiers are said to have perished, and Pembroke and his brother were taken and put to death, with ten other gentlemen, on the field. Devon made no attempt to restore the fortunes of his party.

This fatal defeat completely annihilated the hopes of Edward. At the news of it, all his troops stole away from their colours, and his favourites fled for concealment. But the queen's father, Earl Rivers, was discovered in the Forest of Dean, with his son, Sir John Woodville; and the Earl of Devon, late Earl Stafford, the queen's brother-in-law, abandoned by his soldiers, was taken at Bridgewater. The whole of them were executed, Rivers and his son Woodville being conveyed to their own neighbourhood, and beheaded at Northampton.

Warwick, Clarence, and Northumberland, who had, no doubt, conducted all these movements from a distance, now appeared as principals on the scene. They marched forward from Canterbury at the head of a powerful force, and overtook Edward at Olney, plunged in despair at the sudden ruin which had surrounded him. They approached him with an air of sympathy and loyal obeisance; and Edward, imposed upon by this, with his usual unguarded anger, upbraided them with being the real authors of his troubles. He very soon perceived his folly, for he found himself, not their commander, but their captive. Warwick dismissed the insurgent army to their homes, who retired laden with booty, and sensible that they had executed all that was expected of them. Under protection of their Kentish troops, they then conducted Edward to Warwick Castle, and thence, for greater security, to Middleham.

Thus England had at the same time two kings, and both of them captive; Henry in the Tower of London, Edward at Middleham, in Yorkshire. Men now expected nothing less than that Warwick would proclaim Clarence as king, but probably the measures of Warwick and Clarence were deranged by a fresh insurrection which broke out. This time it was the Lancastrians, who seized the opportunity to raise again the banner of Henry. They appeared in the marches of Scotland, under Sir Humphrey Neville, one of the fugitives from the battle of Hexham. Warwick advanced against him in the king's name, but he found that the soldiers refused to fight until they were assured of the king's safety. Warwick was therefore compelled to produce Edward to the army at York. After that they followed him against the Lancastrians, whom they defeated, and taking their leader, brought him to the king, who ordered his instant execution.

Edward was now permitted to return to London, accompanied by several leaders of the party. There a council of peers was summoned, and then it appeared that though Warwick's faction had probably not accomplished all they had intended, they bound the king to terms which, while they neutralised the hopes of Clarence in some degree, still were calculated to add to the greatness of the house of Neville. The king announced that he had proposed to give his daughter, yet only four years old, to George, the son of the Earl of Northumberland, and presumptive heir of all the Nevilles. The council gave its unanimous approbation of the measure, and the young nobleman, to raise his name to a level with his affianced bride, was created Duke of Bedford.

Outwardly everything was so harmonious, that not only was a general pardon granted to all who had been in any way concerned in the late disturbances, but the king and his reconciled friends were again proposing to invade France in concert with the Duke of Burgundy. The French court was so convinced of the reality of this invasion that it commanded a general muster of troops for the 1st of May, 1470.

But the designs of the Nevilles lay nearer home in reality. The Archbishop of York invited the king to meet Clarence and Warwick at his seat—the Moor—in Hertfordshire. As Edward was washing his hands preparatory to supper, John Ratcliff, afterwards Lord Fitzwalter, whispered in his ear that 100 armed men were on the watch to seize him and convey him to prison. Edward, having been once before trepanned by his loving friends, gave instant credence to the information, stole out, mounted a horse, and rode off to Windsor. This open confession of his opinion of the Nevilles produced a fresh scene of discord, which, with some difficulty, was appeased by the king's mother, the Duchess of York, and the parties were reconciled with just the same sincerity as before.

The Nevilles were now in too critical a position to pause. They or the king must fall. At any hour some stratagem might surprise them, and give the advantage to their injured and deadly enemies, the Woodvilles. Insurrection, therefore, was not long in showing itself again. This time it broke out in Lincolnshire, and, as in the case of the hospital of St. Leonard, appeared to have nothing whatever to do with Warwick or his party. Its ostensible cause was the old grievance of purveyance, and Sir Robert Burgh, one of the purveyors, was attacked, his house burnt down, and himself chased out of the county. Had the cause been really local, there the mischief would have ended; but now again stepped forward a partisan of Warwick, Sir Robert Wells, who encouraged the rioters to keep together, and proceed to redress, not the evils of one county, but of the nation. He put himself at their head, and they soon amounted to 30,000 men. The king required a number of nobles to raise troops with all speed, and so well did Warwick and Clarence feign loyalty that they were amongst this number.

Edward summoned Lord Wells, the father of the insurgent chief, and Sir Thomas Dymoke, the Champion, both Lincolnshire men, to the council, in order to obtain information of the extent of the insurrection, and to engage them to exert their influence to check it. Both these gentlemen, as if conscious of guilt, fled to sanctuary, but, on a promise of pardon, repaired to court. Edward insisted that Lord Wells should command his son to lay down his arms, and disperse his followers, with which order Lord Wells complied; but Sir Robert Wells received at the same time letters from Warwick and Clarence, encouraging him to hold out, assuring him that they were on the march to support him. When Edward reached Stamford, bearing Lord Wells and Dymoke with him, he found Sir Robert still in arms, and in his anger he wreaked his vengeance on his father, Lord Wells, and on Dymoke, beheading them in direct violation of his promise. He then sent a second order to Sir Robert to lay down his arms, but he replied that he scorned to surrender to a man destitute of honour, who had murdered his father. Edward then fell upon the insurgents at Empingham, in Rutlandshire, and made a terrible slaughter of them. The leaders, Wells and Sir Thomas Delalaunde, were taken and immediately executed. The inferior prisoners, as dupes to the designs of others, were dismissed.

Warwick and Clarence made for Calais. But there Warwick's lieutenant, Vauclerc, a Gascon knight, to whom he had entrusted the care of the city, refused to admit them. When they attempted to enter, the batteries were opened upon them; and when they remonstrated on this strange conduct, Vauclerc sent secretly to inform Warwick that the garrison, aware of what had taken place in England, were ill affected, and would certainly seize him if he entered; that his only chance of preserving the place for him was to appear at present hostile; and he prayed him to retire till a more favourable opportunity. To Edward, however, Vauclerc sent word that he would hold the town for him as his sovereign against all attempts—for which Edward rewarded him with the government of the place, and the Duke of Burgundy added a pension of a thousand crowns. Warwick and Clarence, enraged at this unexpected repulse, sailed along the coast towards Normandy, seizing every Flemish merchantman that fell in their way in revenge against Burgundy, and entered Harfleur, where they were received with all honour by the admiral of France.

Low as were now the fortunes of Warwick and Clarence, decided as had been the failure of their attempts against Edward IV., Louis of France thought he had, in the possession of these great leaders, a means of consolidating a formidable party against Edward, who had treated his alliance with such contempt, and who entered into the closest relations with his most formidable opponent, the Duke of Burgundy. He therefore received them at Amboise, where he was holding his court, with the most marked honours, and ordered them and their ladies to have the best accommodations that could be procured in the neighbourhood. He proposed to these two chiefs to coalesce with the Lancastrian party, by which means they would be sure to gain the instant support of all that faction. He sent for Queen Margaret, who was then at Angers, and assured her that Providence had at length prepared the certain means of the restoration of King Henry and his family.

Warwick engaged, by the assistance of Louis and of the Lancastrians, to replace Henry again upon the throne. By this means Warwick was to depose, and if possible to destroy, Edward of York. But Warwick never forgot the suggestions of his ambition. He must, if possible, sit on the throne of England in the persons of his descendants. For this he had married one daughter to Clarence. When the success of Edward had enfeebled his chance, he had succeeded in affiancing his nephew to the daughter of Edward, so that if not a Warwick at least a Neville might reign. He now sacrificed both these hopes to that of placing another daughter on the throne, as the queen of Margaret's son, the Prince of Wales. This alliance was the price of Warwick's assistance, and, however bitter might be the necessity, Margaret submitted to it, and the young Prince of Wales was forthwith married to Anne, the daughter of Warwick. Warwick then acknowledged Henry VI. as the rightful sovereign of England, and at the same time entered into solemn engagements to exert all his power to reinstate and maintain him on the throne. Margaret on her part swore on the holy Gospels never to reproach Warwick with the past, but to esteem him as a loyal and faithful subject. The French king, on the completion of this reconciliation, engaged to furnish the means necessary for the expedition.

Edward, on hearing of the extraordinary meeting and negotiations of Warwick and Margaret, of the active agency of the French king, and the proposed marriage of Edward, Prince of Wales, and Anne of Warwick, sent off a lady of pre-eminent art and address, who belonged to the train of the Duchess of Clarence, but who had somehow been left behind. The clever dame no sooner reached the court of Clarence than she expressed to him and the duchess her amazement at their permitting such a coalition as the present; that in every point of view it was destructive to their own hopes, and even security; that the continued adhesion of Warwick and Margaret was impossible. Their mutual antipathies were too deeply rooted ever to be eradicated.

Clarence was only one-and-twenty years of age. He was of a slender capacity, easily guided or misguided, and he agreed, on the first favourable opportunity, to abandon Warwick and go over to the king.

On the other hand, Warwick was as actively and secretly engaged in preparing the defection of partisans of the king in England. His brother, Montague, though he had not deemed it prudent to join Warwick and Clarence in their unfortunate attempt to raise the country against Edward, had been suspected by him, and stripped of the earldom of Northumberland. He was still an ostensible adherent of the king, but he was watched. Warwick apprised him of the new and wonderful turn of affairs, and engaged him to keep up a zealous show of loyalty that his defection at an important moment might tell with the more disastrous effect on the Yorkist cause.

Edward, satisfied with having detached Clarence from Warwick's interests, continued as careless as ever. The Duke of Burgundy, more sagacious than his brother-in-law, the King of England, did all that he could to arouse him to a sense of his danger, and to obstruct the progress of the expedition. He sent ambassadors to Paris to complain of the reception given to the enemies of his brother and ally. He menaced Louis with instant war if he did not desist from aiding and protecting the English traitors. He sent spies to watch the proceedings of Vauclerc, in Calais, and dispatched a squadron to make reprisals on the French merchantmen for the seizures made by Warwick, and to blockade the mouth of the Seine. Edward laughed at the fears and precautions of Burgundy. He bade him take no pains to guard the Channel, for that he should enjoy nothing better than to see Warwick venture to set foot in England.

He was not long without that pleasure. A tempest dispersed the Burgundian fleet, and the fleet of Warwick and Clarence, seizing the opportunity, put to sea, crossed the Channel, and landed on the 13th of September, 1470, without opposition, at Portsmouth and Dartmouth. Warwick had prepared his own way very skilfully. Edward was deluded by a ruse on the part of Lord Fitzwalter, the brother-in-law of Warwick, who appeared in arms in Northumberland, as if meditating an insurrection; by which means the unwary king was induced to march towards the north, leaving the southern counties exposed to the invaders. This was the object of Warwick, and, as soon as it was effected, Fitzwalter retreated into Scotland. Meantime, the real danger was growing rapidly in the south. The men of Kent rose in arms; London was thrown into a ferment by Dr. Goddard preaching at St. Paul's Cross in favour of Henry VI.; and from every quarter people hastened to the standard of Warwick with such eagerness that he speedily found himself at the head of 60,000 men.

As London and the southern counties appeared safe, Warwick proclaimed Henry, and set out to encounter Edward without delay. He advanced towards Nottingham. Edward, who had taken up his headquarters at Doncaster, had issued his orders for all who could bear arms to join his banner. They came in slowly; and Edward, who had ridiculed the idea of the return of Warwick, saying Burgundy would take care that he did not cross the sea, was now rudely aroused from his fancied security. He was compelled with unequal forces to advance against Warwick. A great battle appeared imminent in the neighbourhood of Nottingham; but the rapid defection of Edward's adherents rendered that unnecessary. The speedy movements of Warwick, and the general demonstration in favour of Henry, had not permitted Clarence to carry into effect his intended transit from Warwick to Edward, when a startling act of desertion occurred to the king's side, which completed Edward's ruin. Before Edward could reach Nottingham, and while lying near the river Welland, in Lincolnshire, Montague, Warwick's brother, from whom Edward had taken the earldom of Northumberland, now revenged himself by suddenly marching from York at the head of 6,000 men, and in the night, and in full concert with his officers, advancing upon Edward's quarters, his men wearing the red rose instead of the white, and with loud cries of "God bless King Henry!"

Edward commanded his troops to be put in array to meet the traitor; but Lord Hastings told him that he had not a regiment that he could rely upon; that nothing was to be thought of but his personal safety, and that on the instant. Accordingly, he took horse with the Duke of Gloucester, the Earl Rivers, seven or eight other noblemen, and a small troop of the most reliable followers, with whom he rode away. A guard was posted on a neighbouring bridge to prevent the crossing of Warwick, for he also was within a day's march of him; and with all haste Edward and his little band rode at full speed till he reached Lynn, in Norfolk. It is probable that the royal party had made for this small port on the Wash, knowing that some vessels which had brought provisions for the troops still lay there. They found, indeed, a small English ship, and two Dutch vessels, on board of which they hurried, and put to sea. Edward, on starting from his quarters, had recommended his army to declare at once for Warwick, as the best means of saving themselves, and of again rejoining his standard when opportunity should offer.

The fugitives made sail for the coast of Holland, but no sooner had the king escaped from his enemies on land than he fell amongst fresh ones at sea. These were the Easterlings, or mariners of Ostend, who were now at war with both France and England. The Easterlings were at this time as terrible at sea as the pirates of Algiers were afterwards. They had committed great ravages on the English coast, while the nation was thus engaged in suicidal intestine warfare, and no sooner did they perceive this little fleet than they immediately gave chase. There were eight vessels to Edward's three, and to escape the unequal contest, he ran his vessels aground on the coast of Friesland, near Alkmaar. To ascertain how Vauclerc, the Governor of Calais, was disposed, in case Warwick resolved to attack the duke in his own territories, he sent an envoy to him to sound him. The envoy found all the garrison wearing the red rose. This discovery added to the alarm and chagrin of Burgundy, and, while he conceded to Edward a place of refuge, he publicly declared himself the ally, not of this power or that, but of England, and avowed himself adverse to Edward's designs, who was to expect no aid from him in endeavouring to recover his crown.

On the other hand Louis of France was thrown into ecstasies of delight. He sent for Queen Margaret and her son, the Prince of Wales, who had been living for years totally neglected, and almost forgotten in their poverty, and received her in Paris with the most splendid and expensive pageants and rejoicings. He at the same time despatched a splendid embassy to Henry at London, and immediately concluded with him a treaty of peace and commerce for fifteen years.

Warwick and Clarence made their triumphal entry into London on the 6th of October, 1470. Warwick proceeded to the Tower, and brought forth King Henry, who had lain there as a captive for five years. Henry was proclaimed lawful king, and conducted with great pomp through the streets of London to the bishop's palace, where he resided till the 13th, when he walked in solemn procession, with the crown upon his head, attended by his prelates, nobles, and great officers, to St. Paul's, where solemn thanksgivings were offered up for his restoration.

All this time Clarence was looking on, an immediate spectator of proceedings which pushed him farther from the throne. To keep him quiet, Warwick heaped every favour but the actual possession of the kingdom upon him. He joined him with himself in the regency which was to continue till the majority of the Prince of Wales; he made him Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and conferred upon him all the estates of the house of York. Warwick retained himself the offices of Chamberlain of England, Governor of Calais, High Admiral of the seas; his brother, the archbishop, was continued Chancellor; and his other brother, Montague, returned to the Wardenship of the Marches.

Warwick summoned a Parliament, which, surrounded by his troops and his partisans, of course passed whatever acts he pleased. The crown was settled on Edward, the Prince of Wales, and his issue; but that failing, it was to devolve upon Clarence.

Queen Margaret might have been expected, from her characteristic energy and rapidity of action, to have been in London nearly as soon as Warwick; but this was not the case. In the first place, she was in want of the necessary funds. Louis, who was chary of his money, probably thought he had done sufficient in enabling the victorious armament of Warwick to reach England; and poor King Réné, Margaret's father, was in no condition to assist her. In the meantime all the exiled Lancastrians flocked to her; and all were destitute. In February, 1471, she set sail to cross the Channel, but was driven back by tempests. Three times did she make the daring attempt to cross, though warned against it by the seamen of Harfleur; and every time she was driven back with such fury and damage, that many declared it was the will of Heaven she should not pass over; nor was she able to do so till the following month. Till that time Warwick held England in the name of Henry, and appeared established, if not exactly on the throne, in the seat of supreme and settled power.

The mock restoration of Henry VI. was not destined to be of long continuance. The ups and downs of royalty at this period were as rapid and strange as the shifting scenes of a theatre. There is no part of our history where we are left so much in the dark as to the real moving causes. It is difficult to see how Warwick, with his vast popularity, should, in the course of a single winter, become so unpopular as to render his fall and the success of Edward so easy. It must be remembered, however, that there was a secret schism in his party. Clarence was only waiting to seize a good opportunity to overthrow his father-in-law, Warwick, and climb the throne himself. Though he was by no means high-principled, Clarence was not so weak as to build any hopes on Warwick's having given him the succession in case of the issue of the Prince of Wales failing. Warwick had married another of his daughters to the prince, and it was his strongest interest to maintain that line on the throne.

All these causes undoubtedly co-operated to produce what soon followed. Burgundy determined to assist Edward to regain his throne, and thus destroy the ascendency of Warwick. While, therefore, issuing a proclamation forbidding any of his subjects to follow Edward in his expedition, he privately sent to him the cross of St. Andrew; and a gift of 50,000 florins furnished him with four large ships, which were fitted up and stored for him at Vere, in Walcheren. Besides these, he hired for him fourteen ships from the merchants of the Hanse Towns, to transport his troops from Flushing to England. These transactions could leave no question in the minds of the subjects of Burgundy which way lay the real feelings of their sovereign. But the number of troops embarking with Edward was not such as to give to the enterprise a Burgundian appearance. The soldiers furnished him were only 2,000. Edward undoubtedly relied on information sent him from England as to the forces there ready to join him.

The fleet of Edward steered for the Suffolk coast. It was in the south that the Yorkist influence lay, and Clarence was posted in that quarter at the head of a considerable force. But Warwick's preparations were too strong in that quarter; an active body of troops, under a brother of the Earl of Oxford, deterred the invaders from any attempt at landing. They proceeded northward, finding no opportunity of successfully getting on shore till they reached the little port of Ravenspur, in Yorkshire—singularly enough, the very place where Henry IV. landed when he deposed Richard II. From this same port now issued the force which was to terminate his line.

At first, however, the undertaking wore anything but a promising aspect. The north was the very stronghold of the Lancastrian faction, and openly was displayed the hostility of the inhabitants towards the returned Yorkist monarch. But Edward, with that ready dishonesty which is considered defensible in the strife for crowns, solemnly declared that he had abandoned for himself all claims on the throne; that he saw and acknowledged the right of Henry VI. and his line, and for himself only desired the happy security of a private station. His real and most patriotic design, he gave out, was to put down the turbulent and overbearing power of Warwick, and thus give permanent tranquillity to the country, which never could exist so long as Warwick lived. He exhibited a forged safe-conduct from the Earl of Northumberland; he declared that he sought for himself nothing but the possessions of the Duke of York, his father; he mounted in his bonnet an ostrich feather, the device of the Prince of Wales, and ordered his followers to shout "Long live King Henry!" in every place through which they passed.

These exhibitions of his untruth were too barefaced to deceive any one. The people still stood aloof, and, on reaching the gates of York, Edward found them closed against him. But by the boldest use of the same lying policy, Edward managed to prevail on the mayor and aldermen to admit him. He swore the most solemn oath that he abjured the crown for ever, and would do all in his power to maintain Henry and his issue upon it. Not satisfied with this, the clergy demanded that he should repeat this oath most emphatically before the high altar in the cathedral. Edward assented with alacrity, and would undoubtedly have sworn anything and any number of oaths to the same effect. He then marched in with that bold precipitance which was the secret of his success, and which, as in the case of the great Napoleon, always threw his enemies into consternation and confusion. At Pontefract lay the Marquis of Montague, Warwick's brother, with a force superior to that of Edward, and all the world looked to see him throw himself across the path of the invader, and to set battle against him. Nothing of the kind; Montague lay still in the fortress, and Edward, marching within four miles of this commander, went on his way without any check from him.

As Edward approached the midland counties, and especially when he had crossed the Trent, the scene changed rapidly in his favour. He had left the Lancastrian districts behind, and reached those where Yorkism prevailed. People now flocked to his standard. At Nottingham the Lord Stanley, Sir Thomas Parr, Sir James Harrington, Sir Thomas Montgomery, and several other gentlemen, came in with reinforcements. Edward felt himself strong enough to throw off the mask: he assumed the title of king, and marched towards Coventry, where lay Warwick and Clarence with a force sufficient to punish this odious perjury. But a fresh turn of the royal kaleidoscope was here to astonish the public. Edward challenged the united army of Warwick and Clarence on the 29th of March, 1471. In the night, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, paid a visit to his brother Clarence. The two brothers flew into each other's arms with a transport which, if not that of genuine affection, was at least that of successful conspiracy. The morning beheld the army of Clarence, amounting to 12,000 men, arrayed, not on the part of Warwick, but of Edward, the soldiers wearing, not the red, but the white rose over their gorgets.

Here, then, was fully disclosed the secret which had induced Edward to march on so confidently through hostile districts, and people standing aloof from his banners. Clarence, whether in weak simplicity, or under the influence of others, sent to Warwick to apologise for his breach of his most solemn oaths, and offered to become mediator betwixt him, his father-in-law, and Edward his brother. Warwick rejected the offer with disdain, refusing all further intercourse with the perjured Clarence; but he was now too weak to engage him and Edward, and the Yorkist king then boldly advanced towards the capital. The gates of the city, like those of York, he found closed against him, but he possessed sufficient means to unlock the one as he had done the other. There were upwards of 2,000 persons of rank and influence, including no less than 400 knights and gentlemen, crowded into the various sanctuaries of London and Westminster, who were ready not only to declare, but to act in his favour. The ladies, who were charmed with the gay and gallant disposition of Edward, were avowedly his zealous friends; and perhaps still more persuasive was the fact that the jovial monarch owed large sums to the merchants, who saw in his return their only chance of payment. Edward even succeeded in securing the Archbishop of York, who was, in his brother Warwick's absence, the custodian of the city and the person of King Henry. All regard to oaths, and all fidelity to principle or party, seemed to have disappeared at this epoch. By permission of the archbishop, Edward was admitted on Thursday, April 2nd, by a postern into the bishop's palace, where he found the poor and helpless King Henry, and immediately sent him to the Tower.

So confident now was Edward of victory, that he disdained to shelter himself any longer within the walls of the city, but marched out against the enemy. It was late on Easter eve when the two armies met on Barnet Common. Both had made long marches, Edward having left London that day. The Earl of Warwick, being first on the ground, had chosen his position. Edward, who came later, had to make his arrangements in the dark, the consequence of which was, that he committed a great error. His right wing, instead of confronting the left wing of Warwick, was opposed to his centre, and the left wing of Edward consequently had no opponents, but stretched far away to the west. Daylight must have discovered this error, and most probably fatally for Edward; but day—the 14th of April—came accompanied by a dense fog, believed to have been raised by a celebrated magician, Friar Bungy. The left wing of each army, advancing through the obscurity of the fog, and finding no enemy, wheeled in the direction of the main body. By this movement the left wing of Warwick trampled down the right wing of Edward, and defeating it, pursued the flying Yorkists through Barnet on the way to London.

Meantime, the left wing of the Yorkists, instead of encountering the right of the Lancastrians, came up so as to strengthen their own centre, where Edward and Warwick were contending with all their might against each other. Both chiefs were in the very front of the battle, which was raging with the utmost fury. Warwick, contrary to his custom, had been persuaded by his brother Montague to dismount, send away his horse, and fight on foot.

The battle commenced at four o'clock in the morning, and lasted till ten. The rage of the combatants was terrible, and the slaughter was proportionate, for Edward, exasperated at the commons, who had shown such favour to Warwick on all occasions, had, contrary to his usual custom, issued orders to spare none of them, and to kill all the leaders if possible. The conflict was terminated by a singular mistake. The device of the Earl of Oxford, who was fighting for Warwick, was a star with rays, emblazoned both on the front and back of his soldiers' coats. The device of Edward's own soldiers on this occasion was a sun with rays. Oxford had beaten his opponents in the field, and was returning to assist Warwick, when Warwick's troops, mistaking through the mist the stars of Oxford for the sun of Edward, fell upon Oxford's followers, supposing them to be Yorkists, and put them to flight. Oxford fled with 800 of his soldiers, supposing himself the object of some fatal treachery, while, on the other hand, Warwick, weakened by the apparent defection of Oxford, and his troops thrown into confusion, rushed desperately into the thickest of the enemy, trusting thus to revive the courage of his troops, and was thus slain, fighting.

No sooner was the body of Warwick, stripped of its armour and covered with wounds, discovered on the field, than his forces gave way, and fled amain. Thus fell the great "king-maker," who so long had kept alive the spirit of contention, placing the crown first on one head and then on another. With him perished the power of his faction and the prosperity of his family. On the field with him lay all the chief lords who fought on his side, except the Earl of Oxford and the Duke of Somerset, who escaped into Wales, and joined Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, who was in arms for Henry. The Duke of Exeter was taken up for dead, but being found to be alive, he was conveyed by his servants secretly to the sanctuary at Westminster; but the holiness of the sanctuary does not appear to have proved any defence against the lawless vengeance of Edward, for, some months after, his dead body was found floating in the sea near Dover. On the side of Edward fell the Lords Say and Cromwell, Sir John Lisle, the son of Lord Berners, and many other squires and gentlemen. The soldiers who fell on both sides have been variously stated at from 1,000 to 10,000; the number more commonly credited is about 1,500. The dead were buried where they fell, and a chapel was erected near the spot for the repose of their souls. The battle-field is now marked by a stone obelisk. The bodies of Warwick and Montague were exposed for three days, naked, on the floor of St. Paul's Church, as a striking warning against subjects interfering with kings and crowns. They were then conveyed to the burial-place of their family in the abbey of Bilsam, in Berkshire.

In the fall of Warwick Edward might justly suppose that he saw the only real obstacle to the permanency of his own power; but Margaret was still alive. She was no longer, however, the elastic and indomitable Margaret who had led her forces up to the battles of St. Albans, Northampton, Wakefield, Towton, and Hexham. On the day that she landed at Weymouth, imagining she had now nothing to do but to march in triumph to London, and resume with her husband their vacant throne, the fatal battle of Barnet was fought. The first news she received was of the total overthrow of her party and the death of Warwick. The life of the great king-maker might have caused her future trouble; his fall was her total ruin. Confounded by the tidings, her once lofty spirit abandoned her, and she sank on the ground in a swoon.

It was the plan of her generals to hasten to Pembroke; and, having effected a junction with him, to proceed to Cheshire, to render the army effective by a good body of archers. But Edward, always rapid in his movements, allowed them no time for so formidable a combination. He left London on the 19th of April, and reached Tewkesbury on the 3rd of May. Margaret and her company set out from Bath, and prepared to cross the Severn at Gloucester, to join Pembroke and Jasper Tudor. But the people of Gloucester had fortified the bridge, and neither threats nor bribes could induce them to let her pass. She then marched on to Tewkesbury, near which they found Edward already awaiting them.

The troops being worn down by the fatigue of a long and fearful march, Margaret was in the utmost anxiety to avoid an engagement, and to press on to their friends in Wales. But Somerset represented that such a thing was utterly impossible. For a night and a day the foot-soldiers had been plunging along for six-and-thirty miles through a foul country—all lanes, and stony ways, betwixt woods, and having no proper refreshment. To move farther in the face of the enemy was out of the question. He must pitch his camp in the park, and take such fortune as God should send.

The queen, as well as the most experienced officers of the army, were much averse from this, but the duke either could not or would not move, and Edward presented himself in readiness for battle. Thus compelled to give up the cheering hope of a junction with the Welsh army, Margaret and her son did all in their power to inspire the soldiers with courage for this most eventful conflict. The next morning, being the 4th of May, the forces were drawn out in order. The Duke of Somerset took the charge of the main body. The Prince of Wales commanded the second division under the direction of Lord Wenlock and the Prior of St. John's. The Earl of Devonshire brought up the rear. The Lancastrian army was entrenched in a particularly strong position on the banks of the Severn; having, both in front and on the flanks, a country so deeply intersected with lanes, hedges, and ditches, that there was scarcely any approaching it. This grand advantage, however, was completely lost by the folly and impetuosity of the Duke of Somerset, who, not content to defend himself against the superior forces and heavier artillery of Edward, rushed out beyond the entrenchments, where he was speedily taken in flank by a body of 200 spearsmen, and thrown into confusion. The Lancastrians were utterly defeated, and the Prince of Wales fell on the field, or, according to other accounts, was put to death immediately after the battle. Somerset was condemned and beheaded.

No fate can be conceived more consummately wretched than that of Margaret now—her cause utterly ruined, her only son slain, her husband and herself the captives of their haughty enemies. They who had thus barbarously shed the blood of the prince might, with a little cunning, shed that of her husband and herself. No such good fortune awaited Margaret. She was doomed to hear of the death of her imprisoned consort, and to be left to long years of grief over the utter wreck of crown, husband, child, and friends—a great and distinguished band.

Edward returned to London triumphant over all his enemies, and the next morning Henry VI. was found dead in the Tower. It was given out that he died of grief and melancholy, but nobody at that day doubted that he was murdered, and it was generally attributed to Richard of Gloucester, but probably without reason. The continuator of the chronicles of Croyland prays that the doer of the deed, whoever he was, may have time for repentance, and declares that it was done by "an agent of the tyrant" and a subject of the murdered king. Who was this? The chronicler in Leland points it out plainly. "That night," he says, "King Henry was put to death in the Tower, the Duke of Gloucester and divers of his men being there." Fabyan, also a contemporary, says, "Divers tales were told, but the most common fame went that he was sticked with a dagger by the hands of the Duke Gloucester."

To satisfy the people the same means were resorted to as in the case of Richard II. The body of the unfortunate king was conveyed on a bier, with the face exposed, from the Tower through Cheapside to St. Paul's. Four of the principal chroniclers of the day assert that the fresh blood from his wounds "welled upon the pavement," giving certain evidence of the manner of his death; and the same thing occurred when he was removed to Blackfriars. To get rid of so unsatisfactory a proof of Henry's natural death the body was the same day put into a barge with a guard of soldiers from Calais, and thus, says the Croyland chronicler, "without singing or saying, he was conveyed up the dark waters of the Thames at midnight, to his silent interment at Chertsey Abbey, where it was long pretended that miracles were performed at his tomb."

Henry's reputation for holiness during his life, and his tragical death, occasioned such a resort to his tomb, that Gloucester, on mounting the throne as Richard III., caused the remains of the poor king to be removed, it was said, to Windsor. Afterwards, when Henry VII. wished to convey them to Westminster, they could not be found, having been carefully concealed from public attention.

Margaret, who was conveyed to the Tower the very night on which her husband was murdered there, was at first rigorously treated. There had been an attempt on the part of the Bastard of Falconberg, who was vice-admiral under Warwick, to liberate Henry, during the absence of Edward and Gloucester, at the battle of Tewkesbury. He landed at Blackwall with a body of marines, and, calling on the people of Essex and Kent to aid him, made two desperate attempts to penetrate to the Tower, burning Bishopsgate, but was repulsed, and on the approach of Edward, retreated. To prevent any similar attempt in favour of Margaret she was successively removed to Windsor, and lastly to Wallingford. She remained a prisoner for five years, when at the entreaty of King Réné, she was ransomed by Louis of France, and retired to the castle of Reculé, near Angers. She died at the château of Dampierre, near Saumur, in 1482, in the fifty-third year of her age.

The two brothers, Clarence and Gloucester, came now, on the first return of peace, to quarrel at the very foot of the throne for the vast property of Warwick. Edward would fain have forgotten everything else in his pleasures. The blood upon his own hands gave him no concern; he was only anxious to devote his leisure hours to Jane Shore, the silversmith's wife, whom he had, like numbers of other ladies, seduced from her duty. But Clarence and Gloucester broke through his gaieties with their wranglings and mutual menaces.

The fact was, that Clarence having, as we have seen, married Isabella, the eldest daughter, was determined, if possible, to monopolise all the property of Warwick, as if the eldest daughter were sole heiress. But Gloucester, who was always on the look out for his own aggrandisement, now cast his eyes on Anne, the other daughter, who had been married to the Prince of Wales. Clarence, aware that he should have a daring and a lawless rival in Gloucester, in regard to the property, opposed the match with all his might. On this point they rose to high words and much heat. Clarence declared at length that Richard might marry Anne if he pleased, but that he should have no share whatever in the property; but only let Richard get the lady, and he would soon possess himself of the lands. The question was debated by the two brothers with such fury before the council, that civil war was anticipated.

All this time the property was rightfully that of the widow of Warwick, the mother of the two young ladies. Anne, the Countess of Warwick, was the sole heiress of the vast estates of the Despensers and the Beauchamps, Earls of Warwick. To all the great court party, who had once been her friends—as the world calls friendship—and many of them her humble flatterers and admirers, she applied from her sanctuary at Beaulieu, in the most moving terms, for their kind aid in obtaining a modicum of freedom and support out of her own lands, the most wealthy in England. But it was not her that the two princes courted, it was her property; and nobody dared or cared to move a finger in favour of the once great Anne of Warwick. The daughter, Anne, so far from desiring to marry Richard of Gloucester, detested him. Cooperating, therefore, with the wishes and interests of Clarence, she, by his assistance, escaped out of the sanctuary of Beaulieu, where she had been with the countess, her mother, and disappeared. For some time no trace of her could be discovered; but Gloucester had his spies and emissaries everywhere; and, at length, the daughter of Warwick, and the future queen of England, was found in the guise of a cookmaid in London. Gloucester removed her to the sanctuary of St. Martin's-le-Grand. Afterwards she was allowed to visit her uncle, the Archbishop of York, before his disgrace, and the Queen Margaret in the Tower. All this was probably conceded by Gloucester in order to win Anne's favour; but Anne still repelling with disgust his addresses, he refused her these solaces, and procuring the removal of her mother from Beaulieu, sent her, under the escort of Sir John Tyrrell, into the north, where he is said to have kept her confined till his own death, even while she was his mother-in-law. Anne was at length compelled to marry the hated Gloucester; and her hatred appeared to increase from nearer acquaintance, for she was soon after praying for a divorce.

The king was compelled to award to Gloucester a large share of Warwick's property; and the servile Parliament passed an act in 1474, embodying the disgraceful commands of these most unnatural and unprincipled princes. The two daughters were to succeed to the Warwick property, as though their mother, the possessor in her own right, were dead. If either of them should die before her husband, he should continue to retain her estates during his natural life. If a divorce should take place between Richard and Anne, for which Anne was striving, Richard was still to retain her property, provided he married or did his best to marry her to some one else. Thus, by this most iniquitous arrangement, while Richard kept his wife's property, they made it a motive with her to force her into some other alliance, if not so hateful, perhaps more degrading. It is impossible to conceive the tyranny of vice and selfishness carried farther than in these odious transactions. But this was not all. There was living a son of the Marquis of Montague, Warwick's brother; and to prevent any claim from him as next heir male, all such lands as he might become the claimant of were tied upon Clarence and Gloucester, and their heirs, so long as there should remain any heirs male of the marquis. By these means did these amiable brothers imagine that they had stepped into the full and perpetual possession of the enormous wealth of the great Warwick. Edward, having rather smoothed over than appeased the jealousies of his brothers, now turned his ambition to foreign conquest.

In all his contests at home, Edward had shown great military talents. He had fought ten battles, and never lost one; for at the time of the treason of Lord Montague in 1470, he had not fought at all, but, deserted by his army, had fled to Flanders. He had always entertained a flattering idea that he could emulate the martial glory of the Edwards and of Henry V., and once more recover the lost territories of France, and the lost prestige of the British arms on the Continent. His relations with France and Burgundy were such as encouraged this roseate notion. Louis XI. had supported the claims of Henry, and accomplishing the alliance of Margaret and his most formidable enemy Warwick, had sent them to push him from his throne. The time appeared to be arrived for inflicting full retribution. Burgundy was his brother-in-law, and had aided him in recovering his crown. True, the assistance of Burgundy had not been prompted by love to him, but by enmity to Warwick and Louis; nor had his reception of him in his distress been such as to merit much gratitude, but he did not care to probe too deeply into the motives of the prince; the great matter was, that Burgundy was the antagonist of Louis, and their interests were, therefore, the same.

The Duke of Burgundy, formerly Count of Charolais—called Charles le Téméraire, or the Bold—was no match for the cold and politic Louis XI. He and his ally, the Duke of Brittany, fancied themselves incapable of standing their ground against Louis, and now made an offer of mutual alliance to Edward, for the purpose of enforcing their common claims in France. Nothing could accord more with the desires of Edward than this proposition. He had employed 1473 in settling his disputes with the Hanse Towns, in confirming the truce with Scotland, and renewing his alliances with Portugal and Denmark. His Parliament had granted him large supplies. They voted him a tenth of rents, or two shillings in the pound, calculated to produce at that day £31,460, equal to more than £300,000 of our present money. They then added to this a whole fifteenth, and three-quarters of another. But when Edward entered into the scheme of Burgundy and Brittany for the French conquest, they granted him permission to raise any further moneys by what were called benevolences, or free gifts—a kind of exaction perhaps more irksome than any other, because it was vague, arbitrary, and put the advances of the subjects on the basis of loyalty. Such a mode of fleecing the people had been resorted to under Henry III. and Richard II. Now there was added a clause to the Act of Parliament, providing that the proceeds of the fifteenth should be deposited in religious houses, and, if the French campaign should not take place, should be refunded to the people: as if any one had ever heard of taxes, once obtained, ever being refunded to the payers!

All being in readiness, Edward passed over from Sandwich to Calais, where he landed on the 22nd of June, 1475. He had with him 1,500 men-at-arms, and 15,000 archers, an army with which the former Edwards would have made Louis tremble on his throne. He dispatched Garter-king-at-arms with a letter of defiance to Louis, demanding nothing less than the crown of France. The position of Louis was to all appearance most critical. If Burgundy, Brittany, and the Count of St. Pol, the Constable of France, who had entered into the league against him, had acted wisely and faithfully together, the war must have been as dreadful, and the losses of France as severe, as in the past days. But probably Louis was well satisfied of the crumbling character of the coalition. Comines, who was at the time in the service of Louis, has left us ample accounts of these transactions and, according to them, the conduct of the French king was masterly in the extreme. Instead of firing with resentment at the proud demands of the letter, he took the herald politely into his private closet, and there, in the most courteous and familiar manner, told him he was sorry for this misunderstanding with the King of England; that, for his part, he had the highest respect for Edward, and desired to be on amicable terms with him, but that he knew very well that all this was stirred up by the Duke of Burgundy and the Constable St. Pol, who would be the very first to abandon Edward, if any difficulty arose, or after they had got their own turn served. He put it to the herald how much better it would be for England and France to be on good terms, and gave the greatest weight to his arguments by smilingly placing in Garter's hand a purse of 300 crowns, assuring him that if he used his endeavours effectually to preserve the peace between the two kingdoms, he would add to it a thousand more.

The herald was so completely captivated by the suavity, the sound reasons, and the money of Louis, that he promised to do everything in his power to promote a peace, and advised the king to open a correspondence with the Lords Howard and Stanley, noblemen not only high in the favour of Edward, but secretly adverse to this expedition. This being settled, Louis committed Garter-king-at-arms to the care of Philip de Comines, telling him to give the herald publicly a piece of crimson velvet thirty ells in length, as though it were the only present, and to get him away as soon as he could, with all courtesy, without allowing him to hold any communication with the courtiers. This being done, Louis summoned his great barons and the rest of the courtiers around him, and ordered the letter of defiance to be read aloud, all the time sitting with a look of the greatest tranquillity, for he was himself much assured by what he had heard from the herald.

The words of Louis came rapidly to pass as regarded Edward's allies. Nothing could equal the folly of Burgundy and the treachery of the others. Charles the Rash, instead of coming up punctually with his promised forces, and in his usual wild way, led them to avenge some affront from the Duke of Lorraine, and the princes of Germany, far away from the really important scene of action. When the duke appeared in Edward's camp, with only a small retinue instead of a large army, and there was no prospect of his rendering any effective aid that summer, Edward was highly chagrined. All his officers were eager for the campaign, promising themselves a renewal of the fame and booty which their fathers had won. But when Edward advanced from Péronne, where he lay, to St. Quentin, on the assurances of Burgundy that St. Pol, who held it, would open its gates to him, and when, instead of such surrender, St. Pol fired on his troops from the walls, the king's wrath knew no bounds; he upbraided the duke with his conduct in thus deceiving and making a laughing-stock of him, and Burgundy retired in haste from the English camp. To add to Edward's disgust, Burgundy and his subjects had from the first landing of the English betrayed the utmost reluctance to admit the British forces into any of their towns. Artois and Picardy were shut against them, as if they came, not as allies, but as intending conquerors.

Precisely at this juncture, the herald returned with his narrative of his kind reception, and the amiable disposition of Louis. This was by no means unwelcome in the present temper of Edward. It gave him the most direct prospect of punishing his perfidious allies. On the heels of Garter-king-at-arms arrived heralds from Louis, confirming all he had stated, and offering every means of pacification. The king called a council in the camp of Péronne, in which it was resolved to negotiate a peace with France on three grounds—the approach of winter, the absence of all supplies for the army, and the failure of assistance from the allies. For two months, while the terms of this treaty were being discussed, the agents and money of Louis were freely circulating amongst the courtiers and ministers of Edward.

The plenipotentiaries found all their labours wonderfully smoothed by the desire of Louis to see the soil of France as soon as possible clear of the English army. The French King agreed to almost everything proposed, never intending to fulfil a tithe of his contracts. A truce for seven years was concluded at Amiens. The King of France agreed to pay the King of England 75,000 crowns within the next fifteen days; and 50,000 crowns a year during their joint lives, to be paid in London. Apparently prodigal of his money, it was at this time that Louis paid 50,000 crowns for the ransom of Queen Margaret. To bind the alliance still more firmly, Edward proposed that the dauphin should marry his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, which was readily assented to. To testify his great joy in the termination of this treaty, Louis sent 300 cart-loads of the best wines of France into the English camp, and proposed, in order to increase the feeling of friendship between the two monarchs, that they should have a personal interview before Edward's departure.

The treaty being signed, Gloucester and some others of the chief nobility who were averse from the peace, and therefore would not attend the meeting of the kings, now rode into Amiens to pay their court to him, and Louis received them with that air of pleasure which he could so easily put on, entertained them luxuriously, and presented them with rich gifts of plate and horses.

Thus was this singular treaty concluded, and each monarch thought most advantageously to himself. Edward had paid off the Duke of Burgundy for neglecting to fulfil his agreement as to the campaign, and he now sent the duke word, patronisingly, that if he wished, he would get a similar truce for him; to which Burgundy sent an indignant answer. Edward had, moreover, got a good round sum of money to pay his army, and a yearly income of 50,000 crowns for life. Like Charles II. afterwards, he did not trouble himself about the disgrace and disadvantage of having made himself a pensioner of France. Besides this, he had arranged to set his eldest daughter on the French throne after Louis' decease.

The people were very much of the French king's opinion, that their own monarch had been sadly over-reached. The army, which on its return was disbanded, promoted this feeling everywhere. The soldiers came back disappointed of the plunder of France, and accordingly vented their chagrin on the king and his courtiers, who for their private emolument had sold, they said, the honour of the nation. As to the general terms of the peace, the people had good cause to be satisfied. It was much better for the nation to be left at liberty to pursue its profitable trade than to be year after year drained of its substance to carry on a useless war. But the real cause of discontent was the annual bribe, which bound the king and his court to wink at any proceedings of France on the Continent against our allies and commercial connections, and even to suffer intrusions on our own trade, rather than incur the danger of losing the pay of the French king.

Edward endeavoured to silence these murmurs by severity. He sent amongst the people spies who reported any obnoxious language, and he punished offenders without mercy. At the same time, he extended an equally stern hand towards all disturbers of the peace; the disbanded soldiers having collected into hordes, and spread murder and rapine through several of the counties. Seeing, however, that the general discontent was such that, should some Wat Tyler or Jack Cade arise, the consequences might be terrible, he determined to ease the burdens of the people at the expense of the higher classes. He therefore ordered a rigorous exaction of the customs; laid frequent tenths on the clergy; resumed many of the estates of the Crown; and compelled the holders of estates to compound by heavy fines for the omission of any of their duties as feudal tenants. He moreover entered boldly into trade. Instead of permitting his ships to lie rotting in port—since he had no occasion for them as transport vessels,—he sent out in them wool, tin, cloth, and other merchandise, and brought back from the ports of the Levant the produce of the East. By these means Edward became the wealthiest monarch of Europe, and while he soon grew popular with the people, who felt the weight of taxation annually decreasing, he became equally formidable to those who had more reason to complain.

But however generally prosperous was the remainder of Edward's reign, it was to himself filled with the deepest causes of grief and remorse. The part which his brother Clarence had taken, his allying himself to Warwick, with the design to depose Edward and secure the crown to himself, could never be forgotten. He had been named the successor to the Prince of Wales, the son of Henry VI., and, should anything happen to Edward, might assert that claim to the prejudice of his own son. Still further, Clarence had given mortal offence to the queen. Her father and her brother had been put to death in Clarence's name. Her brother Anthony, afterwards, had narrowly escaped the same fate from the orders of Clarence. He had been forward in the charge of sorcery against her mother, the Duchess Jacquetta. Scarcely less had he incensed his brother Richard of Gloucester, the vindictive and never forgiving, by his opposition to his marriage with Anne of Warwick, and to sharing any of Warwick's property with him. Clarence was immensely rich, from the possession of the bulk of Warwick's vast estates, and he seems to have borne himself haughtily, as if he were another Warwick. He was at the head of a large party of malcontents, those who hated and envied the queen's family, and those who had been made to yield up their valuable grants from the crown under Henry VI. Clarence himself was one of the reluctant parties thus forced to disgorge some of his lands, under the act of resumption, on Edward's return from France. While brooding over this offence, his wife Isabella of Warwick died, on the 22nd of December, 1476, just after the birth of her third child. Clarence, who was so extremely attached to her that he was almost beside himself at the loss, accused, brought to trial, and procured the condemnation of one of her attendants, on the charge of having poisoned her.

Directly after this, January 5th, 1477, the Duke of Burgundy fell at the battle of Nancy, in his vain struggle against the Duke of Lorraine, backed by the valiant Swiss. His splendid domains fell to his only daughter, Mary, who immediately became the object of the most eager desire to numerous princes. Louis of France disdained to sue for her hand for the Dauphin, but attacked her territories, and hoped to secure both them and her by conquest. There had been some treaty for her by the Archduke Maximilian, of Austria, for his son during the late duke's life; but now Clarence aroused himself from his grief for the loss of his wife, and made zealous court, on his own account, to this great heiress. Her mother, Margaret, the sister of Clarence, favoured his suit warmly, but the idea of such an alliance struck Edward with dismay. Clarence already was far too powerful. Should he succeed in placing himself at the head of one of the most powerful states on the Continent, and with his avowed claims on the English crown, and his undisguised enmity to Edward's queen and family, the mischief he might do was incalculable.

Edward, therefore, lost no time in putting in his most decided opposition. In this cause he was zealously seconded by Gloucester. But if ever there was a choice of a rival most unfortunate, and even insulting, it was that put forward by Edward against Clarence, in the person of Lord Rivers, the queen's brother. This match was rejected by the court of Burgundy with disdain, and only heightened the hatred of the queen in England—an odium which fell heavily on her in after years. She was now regarded as a woman who, not content with filling all the chief houses of England with her kin, aimed at filling the highest Continental thrones with them. The result was that Edward succeeded in defeating Clarence without gaining his own, or rather his wife's, object.

From this moment Clarence became at deadly feud with Edward and all his family. The king, the queen, and Gloucester, united in a league against him, which, where such men were concerned—men never scrupling to destroy those who opposed them—boded him little good. The conduct of Clarence was calculated to exasperate this enmity, and to expose him to its attacks. He vented his wrath against all the parties who had thwarted him, king, queen, and Gloucester, in the bitterest and most public manner; and on the other side, occasions were found to stimulate him to more disloyal conduct. They began with attacking his friends and members of his household. John Stacey, a priest in his service, was charged with having practised sorcery to procure the death of Lord Beauchamp, and being put to the torture was brought to confess that Thomas Burdett, a gentleman of Arrow, in Warwickshire, also a gentleman of the duke's household, and greatly beloved by Clarence, was an accomplice. It was well understood why this confession was wrung from the poor priest. Thomas Burdett had a fine white stag in his park, on which he set great value. Edward in hunting had shot this stag, and Burdett, in his anger at the deed, had been reported to have said that he wished the horns of the deer were in the stomach of the person who had advised the king to insult him by killing it. This speech, real or imaginary, had been carefully conveyed to the king, and he thus took his revenge. Thomas Burdett was accused of high treason, tried, and, by the servile judges and jury, condemned, and beheaded at Tyburn.

Clarence had exerted himself to save the lives of both these persons in vain. They both died protesting their innocence, and the next day Clarence entered the council, bringing Dr. Goddard, a clergyman, who appeared on various occasions in those times as a popular agitator. Goddard attested the dying declarations of the sufferers; and Clarence, with an honourable but imprudent zeal, warmly denounced the destruction of his innocent friends. Edward and the court were at Windsor, and these proceedings were duly carried thither by the enemies of Clarence. Soon it was reported that, having for many days sat sullenly silent at the council-board, with folded arms, he had started up and uttered the most disloyal words, accusing the queen of sorcery, which she had learned of her mother, and even implicating the king in the accusation.

The fate of Clarence was sealed. The queen and Gloucester were vehement against him. Edward hurried to Westminster; Clarence was arrested and conducted by the king himself to the Tower. On the 16th of January a Parliament was assembled, and Edward himself appeared as the accuser of his brother at the bar of the Lords. He charged him with a design to dethrone and destroy him and his family. He retorted upon him the charge of sorcery, and of dealing with masters of the black art for this treasonable purpose; that to raise a rebellion he had supplied his servants with vast quantities of money, wine, venison, and provisions, to feast the people, and to fill their minds at such feasts with the belief that Burdett and Stacey had been wrongfully put to death; that Clarence had engaged numbers of people to swear to stand by him and his heirs as rightful claimants of the throne—asserting that Edward was, in truth, a bastard, and had no right whatever to the crown; that to gain the throne, and support himself upon it, he had had constant application to the arts for which his queen and her mother were famous, and had not hesitated to poison and destroy in secret. As for himself—Clarence—he pledged himself to restore all the lands and honours of the Lancastrians, when he gained his own royal rights.

To these monstrous charges Clarence made a vehement reply, but posterity has no means of judging of the truth or force of what he said, for the whole of his defence was omitted in the rolls of Parliament. Not a soul dared to say a word on his behalf. Edward brought forward witnesses to swear to everything he alleged; the duke was condemned to death; and the Commons being summoned to attend, confirmed the sentence. No attempt was made to put the sentence into execution, but about ten days later it was announced that Clarence had died in the Tower. The precise mode of his death has never been clearly ascertained. The generally received account is that of Fabyan, a cotemporary, who says that he was drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine.

Edward now again gave himself up to his pleasures, and would have been glad, in the midst of his amorous intrigues, to have forgotten public affairs altogether. But for this the times were too much out of joint. It was not in England alone that the elements of faction had been in agitation. Nearly the whole of Europe had witnessed the contentions of overgrown nobles and vassal princes by which almost every crown had been endangered, and the regal authority in many cases brought into contempt. The changes consequent on the accession of Henry IV. we have fully detailed; those storms which raged around the throne of France we have partially seen; but similar dissensions betwixt the Electors of Germany and the Emperor Sigismund prevailed; the Netherlands were divided against each other; and Spain was equally disturbed by the conspiracies of the nobles against the crown. Edward of England, as if sensible of the weakness of his position, strove anxiously to strengthen it by foreign alliances. Though his children were far too young to contract actual marriages, he made treaties which should place his daughters on a number of the chief thrones. Some of these contracts were entered into almost as soon as those concerned in them were born. Elizabeth, the eldest, was affianced to the Dauphin of France; Cecilia, the second, to the eldest son and heir of the King of Scotland; Anne, to the infant son of Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, and husband of Mary of Burgundy; Catherine, to the heir of the King of Spain. His eldest son was engaged to the eldest daughter of the Duke of Brittany. On the other hand, all these royal negotiators appear to have been equally impressed with the precarious character of Edward's power, and were ready at the first moment to annul the contracts.

That subtle monarch, Louis of France, never from the first moment seriously meant to adhere to his engagement; and in a very few years all these anxiously-planned marriages were blown away like summer clouds. Edward was not long in suspecting the hollowness of the conduct of Louis XI. Though repeatedly reminded that the time was come to fetch the Princess of England, in order to complete her education in France, preparatory to her occupying the station assigned to her there, Louis took no measures for this purpose; and when Edward remonstrated on the subject, threatened to withdraw the payment of the annual 50,000 crowns. Edward boiled with indignation, and vowed, amongst his immediate courtiers that he would hunt up the old fox in his own cover if he did not mind. But that wily prince was not so easily dealt with. He saw with chagrin the proposed alliances betwixt Edward and his dangerous neighbours, the Duke of Brittany and Maximilian of Austria, now, through his wife, the ruler of Burgundy. Edward, in his resentment at the threat of Louis to withdraw his annual payment, made offers of closer union with Maximilian and Mary of Burgundy, and engaged, on condition that they should pay him the 50,000 crowns which he now had from Louis, to assist them against that monarch. But Louis was not to be out-manœuvred in this manner; he was a profounder master in all the arts of diplomatic stratagem than Edward. He, therefore, made secret and tempting advances to Maximilian and Mary, one article of which devoted the Dauphin to their infant daughter, despite of her engagement to the English heir. At the same time he stirred up sufficient trouble in Scotland to occupy Edward for some time.

The circumstances of Scotland were at this time very favourable to the mischievous interference of Louis. James III. was a monarch far beyond his age. He was of a pacific and philosophic turn. Surrounded by a rude and ignorant nobility, he conceived an infinite contempt for them, and was not politic enough to conceal it. They were received at court with coldness and neglect, while they saw men of science and letters admitted to the king's most intimate conversation. To avenge their slighted dignity, they stirred up the king's two brothers, the Duke of Albany, and the Earl of Mar, to rebellion. James, however, showed that, though pacifically disposed, he did not lack energy. He seized Mar and Albany, and confined them—Mar in Craigmillar Castle, and Albany in that of Edinburgh. Albany managed to escape, and made his way, by means of a French vessel, to France. Mar, who was of a vehement temper, was seized in his prison with fever and delirium. He was, therefore, removed from Craigmillar to a house in the Canongate, at Edinburgh, where, having been bled, he is said on a return of the paroxysm to have torn off his bandages while in a warm bath, and died from loss of blood. The incident was suspicious; but public opinion, for the most part, exonerated the king from the charge of any criminal intention; and even when he was afterwards deposed, no such charge was preferred against him by the hostile faction.

It was at this crisis that Edward—roused to indignation by the conduct of the French king, who neglected to fetch the Princess of England, and withdrew his annual payment of the 50,000 crowns, and still more by tracing Louis' hand in Scottish affairs—invited over Albany from Paris, promising to set him on the throne of Scotland. Albany, smarting with his brother's treatment, was but too ready to accept the proposal. Edward launched reproaches against the King of Scotland for his perfidy in listening to Louis of France, whilst under the closest engagements with himself. Three years' payments of the dowry of Edward's daughter, Cecilia, had already been paid to the Scottish monarch, and yet he had thrown constant obstacles in the way of a marriage agreed upon between the sister of James and the Earl Rivers, the brother-in-law of Edward. In reply to Edward's reproaches, James flung at him the epeithet of reiver, or robber, alluding to his seizure of the English crown.

Edward despatched an army to the borders of Scotland, under his brother Gloucester and Albany. He engaged to place Albany on the throne of James, and, in return, Albany, who was believed already to have two wives, was to marry one of Edward's daughters. With upwards of 22,000 men Gloucester and Albany reached Berwick, which speedily surrendered, though the castle held out.

James, to meet this formidable attack, summoned the whole force of his kingdom to meet him on the Burghmuir, near Edinburgh, and at the head of 50,000 men advanced first to Soutra, and thence to Lauder. But sedition was in his camp. Edward and Albany had opened communications with the discontented nobles. Albany, at the treaty of Fotheringay, where the Scottish scheme was made matter of compact, had assumed the title of Alexander, King of Scotland, and the adhesion of the principal chiefs of Scotland was confirmed by the impolicy of James, who had not only given to his favourite Cochrane, the architect, the bulk of the estates, along with the title of the Earl of Mar, but now placed him in command of the artillery, and permitted him to excite the envy and indignation of the great barons by the splendour of his appointments. Cochrane was, therefore, put to death by a band of conspirators, headed by Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, known, therefore, as Archibald "Bell-the-Cat."

Albany and Gloucester quickly followed the conspirators to the Scottish capital, and there appeared now every prospect of the crown being placed on the head of Albany; but this was suddenly prevented by a new movement. The whole body of the Scottish nobles had joined in the destruction of the favourites, but there was a strong party of them who contemplated nothing further. The loyalty of this section of the aristocracy being well known to Angus and his friends, they had not ventured to communicate to them their design of deposing James. The moment that this became known to them, they quitted Edinburgh, collected an army, and planted themselves near Haddington, determined to keep in check any proceedings against the king. At the head of this loyal party were the Archbishop of St. Andrews, the Bishop of Dunkeld, the Earl of Argyll, and Lord Evandale. They called on all loyal Scots to gather to their standard, and, being posted betwixt Edinburgh and the English border, threw Gloucester and his adherents into considerable anxiety as to their position. Albany, Gloucester, and the insurgent lords were glad to come to an accommodation. It was agreed that James should retain the crown; that Albany should receive a pardon and the restoration of his rank and estates; that the money paid by Edward as part of the dowry of Cecilia should be repaid by the citizens of Edinburgh, and that Berwick and its castle should be ceded to England. Gloucester thereupon marched homeward, and Albany laid siege to the castle of Edinburgh, where the Earls of Atholl and Buchan still detained the king. He soon compelled them to capitulate, and James being now in the hands of Albany, the two brothers, in sign of perfect reconciliation, rode together on the same horse to the palace of Holyrood, and slept together in the same bed. The treason of Albany, however, only hid itself in his bosom for a season.

The Scottish difficulty being settled, Edward now turned his attention to Louis of France. Whilst the Scottish campaign had been proceeding, an occurrence had taken place which raised Edward's wrath to its pitch. Mary of Burgundy had one day gone out hawking in the neighbourhood of Bruges, when her horse, in leaping a dyke, broke his girths, and threw her violently against a tree. She died in consequence, leaving three infant children, one of whom, Margaret, was a little girl two years old. Mary herself was only twenty-five at the time of her death. No sooner did Louis hear of this, than he immediately demanded the infant Margaret for his son the Dauphin, totally regardless of the long-standing engagement with Edward for the Princess Elizabeth. Maximilian of Austria, the father of Margaret, was strongly opposed to the match, seeing too well that Louis only wanted to make himself master of the territories of the children. Louis, however, had intrigued with the people of Ghent, and they would insist upon the alliance. Margaret was delivered to the commissioners of Louis, who settled on her the provinces which he had taken from her mother. The French, who regarded this event as bringing to the kingdom some very fine territories, without the trouble and expense of a conquest, received the infant princess with great rejoicings.

The rage of Edward knew no bounds. He had been so often warned, both by his courtiers and by Parliament, that the crafty Louis would play him false, that he now vowed to take the most consummate vengeance upon him. The best means of inflicting the severest punishment on the King of France engrossed his whole soul, and occupied him day and night. This violent excitement, operating upon a constitution ruined by sensual indulgence, brought on an illness, which, not attended to at first, soon terminated his existence. He died on the 9th of April, 1483, in the twenty-third year of his reign and the forty-first of his age. The approach of death awoke in him feelings of deep repentance. He ordered full restitution to be made to all whom he had wronged, or from whom he had extorted benevolences. But such orders were not likely to receive much attention from Gloucester, who became the source of power. Immediately after his death he was exposed on a board, naked from the waist upwards, for ten hours, so that the lords spiritual and temporal, and the Lord Mayor and aldermen of London, might see that he had received no violence. He was then buried in Westminster Abbey, with great pomp and ceremony.

Edward IV. was a man calculated to make a great figure in rude and martial times. He was handsome, lively of disposition, affable, and brave. So long as circumstances demanded daring and exertion in the field, he was triumphant and prosperous. Rapid in his resolves and in his movements, undaunted in his attacks, he was uniformly victorious; but peace at once unmanned him. With the last stroke of the sword and the last sound of the trumpet he flung down his arms, and flew to riot and debauchery. Ever the conqueror in the field, he was always defeated in the city. He never could become conqueror over himself. By unrestrained indulgence he destroyed his constitution, and hurried on to early death. Whether in the battle-field or in the hour of peace, he was unrestrained by principle, and sullied his most brilliant laurels with the blood of the young, the innocent, and the victim incapable of resistance. He was magnificent in his costume, luxurious at table, and most licentious in his amours. As he advanced in years he grew corpulent and unhealthy. He had the faculty of never forgetting the face of any one whom he had once seen, or the name of any one who had done him an injury. There was no person of any prominence of whom he did not know the whole history; and he had a spy in almost every officer of his government, even to the extremities of his kingdom. By this means he was early informed of the slightest hostile movement, and by a rapid dash into the enemy's quarters he soon extinguished opposition. Such a man might be a brilliant, but could never be a good monarch. He attached no one to his fortunes; therefore all his attempts to knit up alliances and his other projects failed; and his sons, left young and unprotected, speedily perished.

His children were Edward, his eldest son and successor, born in the Sanctuary in 1470; Richard, Duke of York; Elizabeth, who was contracted to the Dauphin, but who became the queen of Henry VII.; Cecilia, contracted to James, afterwards IV. of Scotland, but married to John, Viscount Wells; Anne, contracted to the son of Maximilian of Austria, but married to Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk; Bridget, who became a nun at Dartford; and Catherine, contracted to the Prince of Spain, but married to William Courtney, Earl of Devonshire.

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EDWARD V. AND RICHARD III.

Edward V. Proclaimed—The Two Parties of the Queen and of Gloucester—Struggle in the Council—Gloucester's Plans—The Earl Rivers and his Friends imprisoned—Gloucester secures the King and conducts him to London—Indignities to the young King—Execution of Lord Hastings—A Base Sermon at St. Paul's Cross—Gloucester pronounces the two young Princes illegitimate—The Farce at the Guildhall—Gloucester seizes the Crown—Richard crowned in London and again at York—Buckingham revolts against him—Murder of the Two Princes—Henry of Richmond—Failure of Buckingham's Rising—Buckingham beheaded—Richard's Title confirmed by Parliament—Queen Dowager and her Daughters quit the Sanctuary—Death of Richard's Son and Heir—Proposes to marry his Niece, Elizabeth of York—Richmond lands at Milford Haven—His Progress—The Troubles of Richard—The Battle of Bosworth—The Fallen Tyrant—End of the Wars of the Roses.

By the death of Edward IV. England was destined once more to witness all the inconveniences which attend the minority of a king. Edward V. was a boy of only thirteen. His mother and her family had made themselves many enemies and few friends by their undisguised ambition and cupidity. The Greys and Woodvilles had been lifted above the heads of the greatest members of the aristocracy, enriched with the estates, and clothed with the honours of ancient houses. They had been posted round the throne as if to keep aloof all other candidates for favour and promotion. At the time of the death of Edward IV., Richard of Gloucester was in the North, attending to his duties as commander against the army in the Scottish marches. He immediately commenced his proceedings with that consummate and hypocritical art of which he was a first-rate master. He at once put his retinue into deep mourning, and marched to York attended by 600 knights and esquires. There he ordered the obsequies of the departed king to be performed with all solemnity in the cathedral. He then summoned the nobility and gentry of the country to take the oath of allegiance to his nephew, Edward V., and he led the way by first taking it himself. He wrote to the queen-mother to condole with her on her loss, and to assure her of his zealous support of the rights of his beloved nephew. He expressed his ardent desire for the close friendship of the queen, of Earl Rivers, her brother, and of all her family. He announced his intention of proceeding towards London to attend the coronation, and if Elizabeth had not already known the man, she might have congratulated herself on the enjoyment of so affectionate a brother-in-law, and so brave and faithful a guardian of her son.

But there is every reason to believe that the same messenger who carried these letters of condolence and professed friendship to the queen, carried others of a different tone to a hostile section of her council. The Lords Howard, Hastings, and Stanley, though personal friends of the late king, and Hastings, the chosen confidant and associate of his pleasures, were at heart bitter enemies of the queen's family. It was only the authority of Edward which had maintained peace between them, and now they showed an undisguised hostility to them at the council-board. The Earl Rivers, the queen's brother, and the Marquis of Dorset, her son by her former marriage, occupied the chief seats at that board, and Edward was no stranger to their real sentiments. This knowledge had led him, on perceiving his health failing, to bring these rivals together, and to state to them how much it concerned his son's peace and security that they should forget all past causes of difference, and unite for that loyal purpose. This they promised, but only with the tongue. No sooner was the king dead, than all the old animosity and jealousy showed themselves in aggravated form.

Elizabeth now proposed that the young king should be brought up to town in order to be crowned, and that he should be attended by a strong body of soldiery for the safety of his person. At this, Hastings, who, in common with three-fourths of the nobility, was jealous of the design of the queen and her party to make themselves masters of the government during the king's minority, no longer concealed his real feelings. Edward had been kept on the borders of Wales, where the power of the Mortimers and the Yorkists lay. It was believed that the object was to give a preponderance to the royal family through the Welsh and the borderers; and now to march up to London, attended by a Welsh army, appeared a direct attempt to control the capital by these means. Hastings, therefore, warmly demanded—"What need of an army? Who were the enemies they had to dread? Was it the king's own uncle, Gloucester? Was it Lord Stanley, or himself? Was this force meant by the Woodvilles to put an end to all liberty in the council and the government, and thus to break the very union the king, on his death-bed, had pledged them to?" Hastings concluded his speech by hotly declaring that if the king was brought to London by an army, he would quit the council and the kingdom.

Deterred by this open opposition, Elizabeth yielded, and reduced the proposed guard to 2,000 cavalry. But she did it with deep and too well-founded anxiety. She had had too much opportunity of studying the character of Gloucester to trust him, and the event very soon justified her conviction. Secret messages had, during this interval, been passing between Gloucester and Hastings and the Duke of Buckingham, a weak man, descended from Thomas of Woodstock, the youngest son of Edward III. No doubt he had instructed them to defeat any measures of the Woodville family, which could leave the king in their hands. The moment was accurately calculated; and, accordingly, when the Lords Rivers and Grey, on their way to London with the young king, arrived at Stony Stratford, they found Gloucester had already reached Northampton, only ten miles from them. Gloucester had increased his forces on the way to a formidable body, and he was there joined by the Duke of Buckingham with 500 horse. The Lords Rivers and Grey, on learning the presence of Gloucester at Northampton, immediately rode over to him to welcome him in the king's name, and to consult with him on the plan of their united entrance into London. Gloucester received them with all the marks of that friendship which he had written to avow. They were invited to dine and spend the night, the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham promising to ride with them in the morning to pay their respects to the king. Morning appeared, and Gloucester and Buckingham set out with them in the best of humours. They rode in pleasant converse till, arriving at the entrance of Stony Stratford, Gloucester suddenly accused Rivers and Grey of having estranged the affections of the king from him. They denied the charge with as much vehemence as astonishment; but they were immediately arrested and conducted to the rear. Gloucester and Buckingham rode on to the king, where the two dukes humbly on their knees professed their loyalty and attachment. This they proceeded to make manifest by arresting also the king's faithful servants, Sir Thomas Vaughan and Sir Richard Hawse. In spite of the poor young king's entreaties, he led him away with him to Northampton, his relatives and friends, Rivers, Grey, Vaughan, and Hawse, following in the rear as prisoners. These prisoners of State were sent off by Gloucester, under a strong guard, to his castle of Pontefract—that blood-stained fortress, the very entrance to which, in bondage, was equivalent to a death-warrant.

At midnight following the very day of these transactions, being the 1st of May, the appalling tidings reached the court that Gloucester, followed by a large army, had seized the king, and sent prisoners the queen's brother and son no one knew whither. Struck with consternation, and deeply rueing her weakness in giving up her own plans of caution, the queen, hastily seizing her younger son by the hand, and followed by her daughters, rushed from the palace of Westminster to the Sanctuary, which had protected her before; but not against a person so base and deadly in his ruthless ambition as this her brother-in-law of Gloucester. She knew the man, and she dreaded everything. Her eldest son, Dorset, who was Keeper of the Tower, in his turn weakly abandoned that important stronghold, and also fled to the Sanctuary. Rotherham, the Archbishop of York and Chancellor of the realm, hastening thither, found the queen seated on the rushes with which the floors at that time were strewn, an image of abandonment and woe.

Meanwhile, London was thrown into the utmost dismay and confusion. Many of the nobles and citizens flew to arms, and some flocked to the queen at Westminster, and others to Lord Hastings in London. Hastings continued to assure them that there was no cause of alarm; that Gloucester was a true man; and he was most likely the more ready to believe this himself from his own dislike of the queen's family.

On the 4th of May Gloucester conducted his royal captive into the capital. At Hornsey Park, the lord mayor and corporation, in scarlet, met the royal procession, followed by 400 citizens, all in violet. The Duke of Gloucester, habited, like his followers, in mourning, rode into the city before the king, with his cap in hand, bowing low to the people, and pointing out to their notice the king, who rode in a mantle of purple velvet. Edward V. was first conducted to Ely Place, to the bishop's palace; but he was soon removed to the Tower, on the motion of the Duke of Buckingham, on pretence that it was the proper place in which to await his coronation. That ceremony Elizabeth and her council had ordered to take place this very day, but the crafty Gloucester prevented that by not arriving in time. He took up his quarters in Crosby Place, Bishopsgate, where one part of the council constantly sat, while another, but lesser portion of it, assembled with Lord Hastings and others in the Tower. The day of the coronation was then fixed for the 22nd of June, leaving an interval of nearly seven weeks in which the schemes of Gloucester might be perfected. The first object of this man had been to impress the queen and her party with his friendly disposition, till he had secured their persons; this being, in a great measure, effected, the next was to persuade the public of his loyalty to his nephew. For this purpose he conducted him with such state into the capital, and so assiduously pointed him out as their king to the people. To have openly proclaimed his designs upon the crown would have united all parties against him. He averted that by his calling on all men to swear fealty to his nephew, and by first swearing it himself. Having now procured full possession of the king's person, the next step was to secure that of his younger brother, without which his plans would all be vain. He was surrendered by the queen, and also placed in the Tower.

The victims were secured. Gloucester had feigned himself a kind relation till he had got them into prison; now he yearned to put forth his claws and devour them. But for this it required that the public should be duly prepared. His followers, and especially his imbecile tool, Buckingham, busily spread through town and country reports of the most terrible plots on the part of the queen and her friends to destroy Gloucester, Buckingham, and other great lords, in order that she and her family might have the king, and through him, the whole government, in their power. They exhibited quantities of arms, which they declared the queen's party had secreted in order to destroy Gloucester and the other patriotic lords, as they pleased to represent them. This did not fail to produce its effect on the people without, and it was promptly followed up by a picture of treason in the very council.

Lord Stanley, who was sincerely attached to Edward IV.'s family, had often expressed his suspicions of what was going on at Crosby Hall; but Hastings had replied, that he had a trusty agent there who informed him of all that passed. But Hastings, who had been completely duped by Gloucester, had been unconsciously playing into his hands, till his own turn came. While he imagined that Richard was punishing the assumption of the queen and her relations, the latter was preparing the bloody acts of one of the most daring dramas of historic crime ever acted before the world. Richard, no doubt, had thought Hastings ready to go the whole way with him. At this crisis, however, he became aware that he was an honest though misguided man, who would stand staunchly by his young sovereign, and must therefore be removed. The tyrant was now beginning to feel secure of his object, and prepared to seize it at whatever cost of crime and infamy. Accordingly, on the 13th of June, says Sir Thomas More, he came into the council about nine in the morning, "in a very merry humour. After a little talking with them, he said to the Bishop of Ely, 'My lord, you have very good strawberries in your garden in Holborn: I request you let us have a mess of them.' 'Gladly, my lord,' quoth he; 'would to God I had some better things as ready to your pleasure as that!' and then, with all haste, he sent his servant for a mess of strawberries. The protector set the lords fast in communing, and thereupon praying them to spare him a little while, departed thence, and, soon after one hour, between ten and eleven, he returned into the chamber amongst them all, changed, with a wonderful sour, angry countenance, knitting his brows, frowning and fretting, gnawing on his lips, and so sat him down in his place. Soon after he asked, 'What those persons deserved who had compassed and imagined his destruction.' Lord Hastings answered that they deserved death, whoever they might be; and then Richard affirmed that they were that sorceress, his brother's wife (meaning the queen), with others with her; 'and,' said the protector, 'we shall see in what wise that sorceress, and that other witch of her councils, Shore's wife, with their affinity, have by their sorcery and witchcraft wasted my body.' So saying, he plucked up his doublet sleeve to his elbow upon his left arm, where the arm appeared to be withered and small, as it was never other." He then included Hastings in the charge. The unfortunate man was hurried out by the armed ruffians of the tyrant, and scarcely allowing him time to confess to the first priest that came to hand, they made use of a log which accidentally lay on the green at the door of the chapel, and beheaded him at once. Lord Stanley, the Archbishop of York, and the Bishop of Ely, were kept close prisoners in the Tower. Shortly afterwards the queen's brother and son, Earl Rivers and Lord Grey, were executed at Pontefract.

The united troops of Gloucester and Buckingham, to the amount of 20,000, now held the metropolis in subjection; the terror of the protector's deeds enchained it still more. On the following Sunday, June 22nd, the day which had been fixed for the coronation, instead of that ceremony taking place, a priest was found base enough—tyrants never fail of such tools—to ascend St. Paul's Cross, and preach from this text, from the Book of Wisdom, "Bastard slips shall not strike deep root."

This despicable man was one Dr. Shaw, brother of the Lord Mayor. He drew a broad picture of the licentious life of Edward IV., and asserted that his mode of destroying such ladies as he found unwilling to incur dishonour was to promise them marriage, and occasionally to go through a mock or real ceremony with them. He declared that Edward had thus, in the commencement of his reign, really contracted a marriage with the Lady Eleanor Butler, the widow of Lord Butler, of Sudeley, and daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury; that he afterwards contracted a private and illegal marriage with Elizabeth Woodville, which, however it might be real and legal in other respects, was altogether invalid and impossible, from the fact that Edward was already married to Lady Butler. Hence he contended that Elizabeth Woodville, though acknowledged by Parliament, was, in reality, nothing more than a concubine; that she and the king had been living in open and scandalous adultery; and that, of consequence, the whole of their children were illegitimate, and the sons incapable of wearing the crown.

But the preacher went further. Determined to destroy the claims of the young Edward V. to the crown, he boldly asserted not only his illegitimacy, but that of his father, Edward IV. This could only be done at the expense of the honour of the proud Cicely, Duchess of York, the mother of Gloucester, as well as of Edward. But the man who was wading his way to the throne through the blood of his own nephews, and of the best men in the country, was not likely to be stopped by the honour of his mother. The son of Clarence was living, and in case of the deaths of Edward's sons had a prior right to Gloucester. That right was at present in abeyance, through Clarence's attainder, but would revive on reversion of the attainder, and the possibility of this must be destroyed.

The preacher, therefore, stoutly maintained that both Edward IV. and Clarence were the children of other men, not of the late Duke of York; that it was notorious, and that their striking likeness to their reputed fathers fully confirmed it. Gloucester, he contended, was alone the son of the Duke of York; and this vile prostitutor of the pulpit exclaimed, "Behold this excellent prince, the express image of his noble father—the genuine descendant of the house of York; bearing no less in the virtues of his mind than in the features of his countenance the character of the gallant Richard!" At this moment Gloucester, by concert, was to have passed, as if accidentally, through the audience to his place, and the preacher exclaimed, "Behold the man entitled to your allegiance! He must deliver you from the dominion of all intruders!—he alone can restore the lost glory and honour of the nation!"

Here it was expected that the people would cry out "Long live King Richard!" but they stared at one another in amazement, and the more so that Gloucester did not appear at the nick of time, but after the preacher's apostrophe was concluded; so that, when Gloucester did appear, he was obliged to repeat his lesson, which threw such an air of ridicule upon the whole, that Gloucester could not conceal his chagrin, and the preacher—perceiving that the odium of the attempt, as it had failed, would fall upon him—stole away home, and, it is said, never again recovered his standing. Gloucester, of course, would be the first to fling him by as a worthless tool, and he received that reward of public contempt which it would be better for the world if it always measured out to such vile subserviency.

But Gloucester was now fully prepared to complete his necessary amount of crime for the attainment of the throne, and was not to be daunted by one failure. The preacher, having broken the ice, he renewed his attempt in another quarter—the council chamber of the city. The Lord Mayor—as great a sycophant as his brother the preacher—lent himself, as he had probably done before, to the scheme. On the next Tuesday, the 24th of June, the Duke of Buckingham appeared upon the hustings at Guildhall, and harangued the citizens. He called upon them to recollect the dissolute life of the late king; his frequent violation of the sanctity of their homes; the seduction of most respectable ladies; the extent of his extortions of their money under the name of benevolences. In fact, he repeated, in another form, the whole sermon of Shaw, and went through the whole story of the marriage of Lady Butler, by the king, previous to that with Lady Grey, of which he assured them Stillington, Bishop of Bath, was a witness. Stillington, however, was never called to give such evidence. He then asked whether they would have the illegitimate progeny of such a man to rule over them. He assured them that he would never submit to the rule of a bastard, and that both the aristocracy and the people of the northern counties had sworn the same. But there, he observed, was the Duke of Gloucester, a man calculated to rescue England from such a stigma, and from all its losses—a man valiant, wise, patriotic, and of true blood, the genuine descendant of the great Edward III. On this the servants of Buckingham and Gloucester incited some of the meanest apprentices to cry out, and there was a feeble voice raised of "God save King Richard!" That was enough. Buckingham returned the people thanks for their hearty assent, and invited them to attend him the next morning to the duke's residence of Baynard's Castle, near Blackfriars Bridge, to tender him the crown. After a show of refusal Gloucester accepted it.

Thus ended this scene, which Hume calls a ridiculous farce, but which was, in fact, a most diabolical one, to be followed by as revolting a tragedy. The next day this monster in human form went to Westminster in state. There he entered the great hall, and seated himself on the marble seat, with Lord Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, on his right hand, and the Duke of Suffolk on his left. He stated to the persons present that he chose to commence his reign in that place, because the administration of justice was the first duty of a king. Every one who heard this must have felt that if there were any justice in him he could not be there. It is clear that the spirit of the nation was with the poor boy Edward, but there was no man who dared to lift up his voice for him. The axe of Gloucester had already lopped off heads enough to render the others dumb, and London was invested by his myrmidons. He was already a dictator, and could do for a while what he pleased. He proclaimed an amnesty to all offenders against him up to that hour, and he then proceeded to St. Paul's, to return thanks to God. Thus, on the 26th of June, 1483, successful villainy sat enthroned in the heart of London.

On the 6th of July, not a fortnight after his acceptance of the crown at Baynard's Castle Richard was crowned with all splendour. The terror of the blood-stained despot was all-potent, and was evidenced in the fact that few of the peers or peeresses ventured to absent themselves. With consummate tact Richard, the Yorkist usurper, appointed the heads of the Lancastrian line to bear the most prominent part in the ceremony, next to royalty itself. Buckingham bore his train, and the Countess of Richmond bore that of his queen. Both these persons were descendants of John of Gaunt, and the countess was the wife of that Lord Stanley who had been wounded at the very council board by Richard's ruffian guards, at the time of the seizure of Hastings. There can be little doubt but that it was the intention of Gloucester to have thus got rid, as by accident, of that respectable and powerful nobleman, who had great influence in the north; but having failed in that, he now made a merit of liberating him and his fellows, the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Ely, from the Tower. On Stanley he conferred the stewardship of the household, and soon after made him Constable of England. Probably, it not only entered the mind of Richard that it would be politic to secure the favour of a nobleman so much esteemed in Cheshire and Lancashire, but that, by ingratiating himself with the Countess of Richmond, the wife of Stanley, and the mother of the young Earl of Richmond, who, during the reign of Edward IV., had been a cause of anxiety, as a probable aspirant to the throne, he might succeed in beguiling Richmond into his hands; and this is the more probable because he was, at the very time, negotiating some private matters with the Duke of Brittany, at whose court Richmond was.

Besides the promotion of Stanley, the Lord Howard was made Earl Marshal and Duke of Norfolk, his son was created Earl of Surrey, Lord Lovel was made a viscount, and many others of the nobility now received higher rank. The vast wealth which Edward IV. had left he distributed lavishly amongst those who had done his work, and those whom he sought to win over. The troops who had come from the north, and were seen with wonder and ridicule by the Londoners from their mean and dirty appearance, and called a rascal rabble, but who were ready at a word to do desperate things, he amply rewarded, and sent home again, as soon as the coronation was over.

This great display over, Richard called no Parliament, but merely assembled the nobility before their returning to their respective counties, and enjoined them to maintain the peace there, and to assist his officers in putting down all offenders and disturbers. But he did not satisfy himself with injunctions. He set out to make a wide circuit through his kingdom, in order to awe all malcontents by his presence. He proceeded by slow journeys to Oxford, Woodstock, Gloucester, and Worcester. At Warwick he was joined by the queen; and as she was the daughter of the late Earl of Warwick, she might be considered as presiding in her ancestral home; and there, therefore, a considerable court was held for the space of a week, the Spanish ambassadors and members of the English nobility coming there. Thence the royal pair advanced by Coventry, Leicester, Nottingham, and Pontefract to York. The inhabitants of that stronghold of Lancastrian feeling had been warned to receive the king "with every mark of joy;" and to conciliate the northern population, Richard sent for the royal wardrobe from London, and once more repeated the coronation in York, as if to intimate that he scarcely felt himself sovereign till he had their sanction and homage.

But after all the crimes perpetrated by Richard, the public had been terrified into silence, not into approval. No sooner was the south relieved from his presence than it at once recovered breath and language. As if the oppression of a nightmare were withdrawn, people began to utter their true feelings. Some were for marching in thousands upon the Tower, and forcibly liberating the innocent victims; others suggested that it were wise to enable the daughters of Edward to escape to the Continent, so that Richard should never be free from the fear of legitimate claimants to the crown. All the foreign potentates had shrunk from entering into alliance with so blood-stained a character, and would be ready to cherish these princesses as a means of annoying or controlling him.

But Richard had thought of all these things long before the public, and had taken such measures to prevent them as would soon make the ears of all England tingle at their discovery. On attempting to communicate with Elizabeth and her daughters in the sanctuary, they found that asylum invested by a strong body of soldiers under one John Nesfield, and that there was no approaching the royal family. The only alternative was to endeavour to liberate the young princes.

For this purpose private meetings were held in nearly all the counties of the south and west. The nobility and gentry bound themselves by oath to take arms and unite for the restoration of Edward V. In the midst of these movements the agitators were agreeably astonished to find themselves in possession of a most unexpected and powerful ally. This was no other than the Duke of Buckingham, the man who had so unscrupulously taken the lead in putting down all who were formidable obstacles to Richard's plans, and in bringing London to declare for him. The circumstances which produced this marvellous change have rather been guessed at than ever satisfactorily known.

Buckingham was descended from Thomas, Duke of Gloucester, sixth son of Edward III. His claims to the throne were far superior to those of the Earl of Richmond, who was of an exactly parallel descent from John of Gaunt, but with a flaw of illegitimacy through that prince's connection with Catherine Swynford. Buckingham not only stood higher amongst the princes of the Lancastrian blood than Richmond, but he was married to the sister of Queen Elizabeth, and was thus closely connected with the imprisoned prince. Yet he had at once supported the most unscrupulous of the Yorkists, and helped more than any other man to dethrone his near relative. If this were strange, his sudden conversion was stranger. For his signal services to Richard he had received signal rewards. The Earl of Gloucester, Buckingham's ancestor, had married one of the daughters and co-heiresses of Humphrey Bohun, Earl of Hereford. Their property, on the Yorkist family ascending the throne, had been seized by it. Buckingham had probably made it his bargain for what he was to do for Richard, that these estates should be restored to him. They were, accordingly, restored, and beyond that he was made Constable of England, Justiciary of Wales, and many other honours were heaped upon him. Why, then, this sudden revolt? The real causes were most likely those which have ever separated successful villains—distrust of each other, and the desire of the principal to be rid of his too knowing and, therefore, dangerous accessory. Buckingham was the confidant in many and terrible State secrets. He knew why Hastings was suddenly hurried to his death, and all the dark work by which the true prince had been thrust down to a dungeon, and the false one set up.

He resolved, therefore, to reinstate Edward V.; and circular letters were addressed to all those chiefs who were likely to unite in the enterprise. In Kent, Essex, Sussex, Berkshire, Hants, Wilts, and Devonshire, preparations were made for the purpose; and Buckingham was about to move forward to put himself at their head, when the confederates were thunderstruck with the news that the king and his brother had been already murdered in the Tower.

The account which has been generally followed of this horrid event, is that of Sir Thomas More. According to the learned chancellor, Richard, while making his holiday progress through the country, was plotting the death of the young princes in the Tower. From Gloucester he despatched one of his pages to Sir Robert Brackenbury, the Governor of the Tower, commanding him to get them quietly made away with. Sir Robert refused the office of assassin. Richard, however, from Warwick sent Sir James Tyrell, with orders to command the Tower for one night. This Tyrell had been vice-Constable under Edward IV., and always employed by him to execute illegal commissions, like Tristan, the tool of Louis XI. Tradition holds that the Portcullis Tower was the one in which the young princes were confined, and it is stated that they were under the constant surveillance of four keepers, and waited on by a fellow called Black Will, or Will Slaughter.

The murderer Richard is said to have roused Tyrell from his bed at midnight, and sent him off; and Brackenbury, though he would not stain his own hands with innocent blood, had to give the keys by the king's command to the man who would. "Then," says Sir Thomas More, "Sir James Tyrell desired that the princes should be murdered in bed, to the execution whereof he appropriated Miles Forest, one of their keepers, a fellow flesh-bred in murder, and to him he joined one John Dighton, his own horse-keeper, a big, broad, square knave. The young king had certainly a clear apprehension of his fate, for he was heard sighingly to say, 'I would mine uncle would let me have my life, though he taketh my crown.' After which time the prince never tied his points nor anything attended to himself, but with that young babe his brother, lingered in thought and heaviness, till the traitorous deed delivered them from their wretchedness.

"All their other attendants being removed from them, and the harmless children in bed, these men came into their chamber, and suddenly lapping them in the clothes, smothered and stifled them till thoroughly dead. Then laying out their bodies on the bed, they fetched Sir James to see them, who caused the murderers to bury them at the stairfoot, deep in the ground under a heap of stones. Then rode Sir James in great haste to King Richard, and showed him the manner of the murder, who gave him great thanks, but allowed not their bodies in so vile a corner, but would have them buried in consecrated ground. Sir Robert Brackenbury's priest then took them up, and where he buried them was never known, for he died shortly afterwards. But when the news was brought to the unfortunate mother, yet being in sanctuary, that her two sons were murdered, it struck to her heart like the sharp dart of death; she was so suddenly amazed that she swooned and fell to the ground, and there lay in great agony, yet like to a dead corpse."

This dismal news, however, probably did not reach the unhappy queen till some time after the perpetration of the murder, for the tyrant kept the deed close till it suited his purpose to disclose it.

The whole of this circumstantial account has been called in question by some modern historians, on the plea that the history of Richard was written by men after his death, who invented half the crimes and repulsive features of Richard to please the court of Henry VII. But perhaps two more highly credible historians could not be found than Sir Thomas More and the continuator of the Croyland Chronicle, the latter of whom wrote immediately after the death of Richard; and every circumstance known confirms their accounts. We shall see that the younger of these princes was supposed to reappear in the reign of Henry VII. as Perkin Warbeck. But, unfortunately for this story, the bodies of the two murdered children were discovered buried in one coffin or box. This occurred so late as 1674, when workmen were digging down the stairs which led from the king's lodgings to the chapel in the Tower, where, about ten feet deep, they came upon this chest containing the bones of two youths "proportionable to the ages of the two brothers; namely, about thirteen and eleven years."

What is more, all those said to be concerned in this diabolical deed were afterwards specially patronised by Richard. Greene, the messenger, was made receiver of the lordships of the Isle of Wight and Porchester Castle; Tyrell and Brackenbury received numerous grants of lucrative offices, money, and lands, as may be seen in Strype's notes to Bucke's history, in Kennet. Dighton, one of the murderers, was made bailiff for life of the manor of Aiton, in Staffordshire; and Forest dying in possession of a lucrative post in Bernard Castle, his widow and son received an annuity of five marks. Still, further, Sir Thomas More says, "Very truth it is, and well known, that at such times as Sir James Tyrell was in the Tower for treason against King Henry VII., both Dighton and him were examined, and confessed the murder in manner above written." Henry, in consequence, sought for the bodies, but at that time they could not be found, the chaplain, the depositary of the secret, being dead.

When, in addition to this, it shall be seen that Richard was anxious to marry Elizabeth of York, the sister of these young princes, and to prevent Richmond from marrying her, nothing can be more conclusive of the death of the boys as described—for, otherwise, the issue of Elizabeth could not succeed rightfully to the throne. Moreover, Richard is himself stated to have allowed the fact of the murder to come out, in order to crush the rising of Buckingham and his confederates in their behalf. Under all these circumstances, we conceive no event of history stands more strongly authenticated.

It is said to have been in the midst of the gaieties of the coronation at York that Richard received the news of Buckingham's movement, and of the confederation of the southern counties. The circumstances were so alarming that, notwithstanding the execration which he was conscious such an avowal would bring down upon him, he permitted the account of the princes' death to be published. One universal burst of horror, both from friend and foe, went through the kingdom; and from that hour, instead of saving him, the knowledge of that cruel deed repelled all hearts from him.

For the moment, the nobles, marching forward to rescue the young king, were taken aback: the tyrant had anticipated them; the king they would restore had perished. But the astute Bishop of Ely reminded them that there was Henry of Richmond, descended from John of Gaunt, who might marry Elizabeth of York, and thus, uniting the two rival houses, put an end to the divisions of the nation. This uniting all parties would annihilate the murderer. The idea was seized upon with avidity. Reginald Bray, the steward to the Countess of Richmond, was instructed to open the project to her, who immediately embraced it in favour of her son. Dr. Lewis, a Welsh physician, who attended the queen-dowager in the sanctuary, was made the bearer of the scheme to her. Elizabeth was well prepared by the wrongs heaped upon her, the murder of her brother and her three sons, and her own confinement and degradation, to forget her opposition to the house of Lancaster. She fully agreed to the project, on the condition of Richmond swearing to marry her daughter Elizabeth on his arriving in England. She even borrowed a sum of money and sent it to him, to aid his enterprise. A messenger was despatched to Henry in Brittany to inform him of the agreement, and to hasten his arrival, the 18th of October being fixed for the general rising in his favour.

But it was not to be supposed that all these arrangements could escape the suspicious vigilance of Richard. He proceeded from York to Lincolnshire as if he were only attending to the ordinary affairs of the kingdom. But on the 11th of October—a week before the day appointed for the rising of the confederates—he summoned all his adherents to meet him at Leicester. Four days afterwards he proclaimed Buckingham a traitor, and set a reward of £1,000, or of £100 a year in land, on his head. For those of the Marquis of Dorset and of the two bishops he offered 1,000 marks, or 100 marks a year in land each; and for the head of any hostile knight half that sum. He sent at the same time to London for the great seal to authenticate these and similar acts.

On the day fixed, the rising, notwithstanding, took place. The Marquis of Dorset proclaimed Henry VII. at Exeter; the Bishop Of Salisbury proclaimed him in that city; the men of Kent at Maidstone; those of Berkshire at Newbury, and the Duke of Buckingham raised his standard at Brecon. Few revolutions ever opened with more favourable auspices. But untoward events made wholly abortive this well-planned popular attempt. The Duke of Richmond set sail from St. Malo on the 12th of October for England, with a fleet of forty sail, carrying 5,000 men; but tempestuous weather prevented him from reaching the coast of Devonshire till the dispersion of his unfortunate allies. He therefore put back. In the meantime Richard had joined his army at Leicester, and issued a proclamation which reads nowadays like the ravings of a madman.

To draw off the followers of the confederates, while he offered rewards for the heads of their leaders, he granted free pardons to all who would abandon them. And the elements at this moment fought for Richard. Buckingham set out on his march to unite his forces to those of the other leaders, but there fell such heavy and continuous rains during the whole of his march from Brecon through the Forest of Dean to the Severn, that the bridges were carried away, and all the fords rendered impassable. Such rains and floods had not been known in the memory of man; and the inundation of the Severn was long after remembered as Buckingham's Flood.

The Welsh, struck with a superstitious dread from this circumstance, and pressed by famine, dispersed, and Buckingham turned back to Weobly, the seat of Lord Ferrers. The news of Buckingham's failure confounded all the other confederates, and every man made the best of his way towards a place of safety. Merton, Dorset, Courtenay the Bishop of Exeter, and others, escaped to Flanders and Brittany. Weobly was closely watched, on one side by Sir Humphrey Stafford, and on the other by the clan of the Vaughans, who were promised the plunder of Brecon if they secured the duke. Buckingham, in disguise, escaped from Weobly, and hid himself near Shrewsbury, in the hut of a fellow of the name of Bannister, an old servant of the duke's family. This wretch, to secure the reward, betrayed his master to John Mitton, the sheriff of Shropshire, who conducted him to Richard at Salisbury, who ordered his head to be instantly struck off in the market-place. Amongst others who shared the same fate, Richard had the satisfaction of thus silencing a witty rhymester, William Collingbourne, who had dared to say that,

That is, Ratcliffe, Catesby, and Lord Lovel; the hog being in allusion to Richard's crest, the boar.

Richard, thus relieved, marched into Devonshire, where he put to death, amongst others, Sir Thomas St. Leger, a knight who had married the Duchess of Exeter, his own sister. He then traversed the southern counties in triumph, and, arriving in London, he ventured to do what hitherto he had not dared, that is, call a Parliament. This assembly, prostrate at the feet of the prosperous despot, did whatever he proposed. They pronounced him "the undoubted king of England, as well by right of consanguinity and inheritance, as by lawful election, consecration, and coronation;" and they entailed the crown on his issue; the Lords, spiritual and temporal, binding themselves to uphold the succession of his son, the Prince of Wales. They attainted his enemies by wholesale, and beyond all precedent. One duke, one marquis, three earls, three bishops, with a whole host of knights and gentlemen, were thus deprived of honour, title, and estate; and their lands, forfeited to the Crown, were bestowed by Richard liberally on his northern adherents, who were thus planted in the south to act as spies on the southern nobles and gentry. The Countess of Richmond, though attainted, was permitted to hold her estates for life, or rather, they were thus conceded for that term to her husband, Lord Stanley, to bind him to the usurper.

To avenge himself on the queen-dowager for her acceptance of the proposal to bring over Henry of Richmond and unite him to her daughter, Richard now deprived her and her daughters of all title, property, and honour. He treated them, not as the legitimate wife and children of Edward IV., but as what he had before proclaimed them. He had ordered the late murdered king to be called officially "Edward the bastard, lately called Edward V." The queen-dowager was styled "Elizabeth, late wife of Sir John Gray," and her daughters were treated and addressed as simple gentlewomen.

But the design of placing Henry of Richmond on the throne, Richard knew well, though for the moment defeated, was not abandoned. At the last festival of Christmas Henry had met the English exiles, to the number of 500, at Rhedon, in Brittany, and had there sworn to marry Elizabeth of York as soon as he should subdue the usurper; and thereupon the exiles had unanimously sworn to support him as their sovereign. Henry was, as we have observed, descended on the father's side merely from Owen Tudor, a yeoman of the royal guard, and Catherine, the widow of Henry V. On the mother's side he was descended from Edward III. through John of Gaunt, but from an illegitimate branch. The bar of illegitimacy, though legally removed, would always have operated against his claim to the crown; but, independent of this, there were still various princes and princesses of Spain and Portugal, descendants of John of Gaunt, whose titles to the English crown were much superior to his. Yet, from his very infancy, there seems to have been a singular feeling that one day he would mount the throne of this kingdom. Henry VI. is said to have laid his hand on his head as a child, and declared that one day the crown would sit there. Edward IV. had evinced a perpetual fear of him, and had not only bargained for his secure detention at the court of Brittany, but on one occasion he had bribed the Duke of Brittany to give him up on the pretence of his intending to marry him to his eldest daughter—that daughter, in fact, he was destined eventually to marry. The duke, however, at the last moment, feeling a strong misgiving, had followed Henry to St. Malo, and there stopped him from embarking. Richard, on succeeding to the throne, had tried to purchase the surrender of Henry from the Duke of Brittany. In short, Henry assured the historian, Comines, that from the age of five years he had either been a captive or a fugitive. With this long traditionary presentiment that he was to reign in England attached to him, his marriage to Elizabeth of York would at once obviate all scruples as to his complete title. He would come in on the strength of her title, as William of Orange afterwards did on that of his queen, Mary Stuart.

As the prospect of this event became more imminent—as Richard felt more deeply that the heart of the nation was not with him, but that all men were looking to this alliance as the hope of better times, he set himself to defeat it. Though he had so lately robbed, degraded, and insulted Queen Elizabeth and her family—though he had murdered her children and usurped their throne, he now suddenly turned round, and fawned on them. He began to smile most kindly on Elizabeth, and wished her to quit the sanctuary and come to court—a court dyed in the blood of her sons and brothers. He made her the most flattering promises; and, when they failed to draw her forth, he followed them by the most deadly threats. Elizabeth Woodville had never been found insensible to prospects of advantage for herself and family; but to put herself into the power of so lawless a butcher, and to unite her daughter with the son of the murderer of her children, was by no means reconcilable to her feelings. She stood out stoutly; but fear of worse consequences at length compelled her to succumb, and a private contract was concluded. Richard, in the presence of a number of the nobles and prelates, as well as of the Lord Mayor and aldermen, swore that the lives of Elizabeth and her daughters should be safe; that the mother should receive an annuity of 700 marks for life, and each of the daughters lands to the value of 200 marks on their marriage, which should be to none but gentlemen.

When this bitter draught was swallowed, she had to endure another not the less sorrowful—that was, to appear at the court of the usurper, and behold him sitting in the seat of her murdered son, and receiving that homage which was his right. But this strange patron now smiled sunnily upon her. She and her daughters were received with every mark of distinction, and especially Elizabeth, the eldest, whom he was intending to pluck from the hopes of Richmond, by wedding her to his own son. But these views were suddenly destroyed by the death of this, Richard's only legitimate, son. He died at Middleham, where Richard was often residing, but was then with his queen absent at Nottingham. His death, which took place about the 9th of April, had something so remarkable about it, that Rous, the family chronicler, calls it "an unhappy death." Both Richard and his queen were so overwhelmed by this unexpected blow, that the continuator of the Croyland Chronicle says that they almost went mad.

It was indeed a fatal stroke. The son on whom Richard had built the hopes of his family's succession, and for whom he killed his nephews, was now gone, and he was left without an heir, and without any prospect of one. It might be supposed that this event would raise the confidence of the Richmond party; and Richard, appearing to entertain the same idea, conceived the design of securing Richmond, and, no doubt, dealing with him as effectually as he had done with all others who stood in his way. For this purpose he opened secret communications with Francis, Duke of Brittany. That prince, who had been so long the generous protector of Richmond, was now in a feeble and failing state of health, and his minister, Peter Landois, administered his affairs pretty much at his own will. The interest of Landois was purchased by heavy sums, and he agreed to deliver Richmond into the hands of Richard. But the sagacious Morton, Bishop of Ely, gave him timely warning, and Richmond fled for his life. He reached France with only five attendants, and went at once to the French court at Angers, where he was cordially received by the sister of Charles VIII., then acting as regent. He accompanied the French court to Paris, where he again repeated his oath to marry Elizabeth of York, in case of deposing the tyrant, and he was immediately hailed by the students of Paris as King of England. He was promised assistance by the princess regent for his enterprise, and while these things were proceeding, Francis of Brittany, who had recovered his health, and was made acquainted with the villainy of Landois, sent a messenger to offer him aid in his design.

Thus Richard had driven his enemy into a more safe and formidable position, instead of capturing him, and he taxed his subtle genius to thwart this dangerous rival by other means. To prepare for any serious attack from France, he put an end to a miserable state of plunder and reprisal betwixt Scotland and his subjects. He concluded an armistice with James of Scotland; and having since his son's death nominated John Earl of Lincoln the son of his sister the Duchess of Suffolk heir to the crown, he now contracted Anne de la Pole, the sister of the young earl, to the eldest son of the King of Scotland.

But Richard had designs more profound than this. He determined, as he could not marry Elizabeth of York to his son, he would snatch her from Richmond by wedding her himself. True, he had already a wife; but monarchs have frequently shown how soon such an obstacle to a fresh alliance can be removed. Richard now held a magnificent court at Westminster. There was a constant succession of balls, feastings, and gaieties. In the midst of these no one was so conspicuous as Elizabeth of York; and what very soon excited the attention and the speculations of the court, she always appeared in precisely the same dress as the queen.

The poor queen, Anne of Warwick, who began with hating Richard most cordially, and even disguised herself as a cookmaid to escape him, since the death of her son, had never recovered from her melancholy and depression. Probably, knowing the real character of her ruthless Bluebeard, she foresaw what must take place, and was too weary of life to care to retain it. Though she penetrated the designs of the king, these never influenced her in her conduct to Elizabeth, to whom she was kind as became an aunt. And now she fell ill, and Richard is said to have assured Elizabeth that the queen would "die in February," and that she should succeed her.

Anne of Warwick, the last queen of the Plantagenet line, did not die in February, but she did not survive through March. Yet that event did not in any degree contribute to Richard's marriage with Elizabeth. Whether we are to suppose with Sir Thomas More, and others, that Elizabeth herself manifested a steady repugnance to so abhorrent a union, or whether Richard deemed her in greater security there, he sent her under close guard to the castle of Sheriff-Hutton, in Yorkshire, and no sooner did he permit it to be whispered that such a marriage was probable, than the rumour was received with universal horror. No persons were more resolutely opposed to it than Ratcliffe and Catesby, Richard's great confidants in his crimes. They naturally dreaded the idea of Elizabeth, the sister of the murdered princes and the representative of a family on which they had heaped such injuries, becoming queen, and in a position to wreak her vengeance upon them. But they also saw, quite as clearly, the ruin which the king would certainly bring down upon himself by such a measure, in which they must also be inevitably involved.

The instinct of self-preservation in these men led them to remind the king that a marriage with his own niece would be regarded as incestuous, would be reprobated by the clergy, and abhorred by the people; that there was a general persuasion abroad that he had poisoned his wife, and this union would convert that persuasion into absolute conviction; that the men of the northern counties, on whom he chiefly depended, and who adhered to him, more than for any other cause, through their attachment to the late queen, as the daughter of the great Earl of Warwick, would be totally lost, and nothing but ruin could await him.

This strong and undisguised feeling, displayed thus both in public and private, drove Richard from this design. Just before Easter, he called a meeting of the city authorities in the great hall of St John's, Clerkenwell, and there declared that he had no such intention as that of marrying his niece, and that the report was "false and scandalous in a high degree." He also sent a letter to the citizens of York, dated the 11th of April, contradicting such slanderous tales, and commanding them to apprehend and punish all who should be found guilty of propagating them.

But the time was fast drawing near which must decide whether Richard or Henry of Richmond should wear the crown. Richard was informed by his agents on the Continent that Charles of France had permitted the Earl of Richmond to raise an army in that country. They amounted to 3,000 men, consisting of English refugees and Norman adventurers. Richard pretended to be delighted at the news, as confident that now he should speedily annihilate his enemy. He was, however, so impoverished by his lavish gifts and grants to secure the faith of his adherents, that he was unprovided with the means of maintaining an army; neither had he a fleet to intercept that of Henry. He dared not call a Parliament to ask for supplies, for he had expended those granted by the only one he had called. In that Parliament, to cast odium upon the memory of his brother Edward, he had called on his subjects to remember his tyranny in extorting benevolences; yet now he resorted to the very same thing; and the people, in ridicule of his pretended denunciation of benevolences, called them malevolences. By these arbitrary exactions he destroyed the last trace of adhesion to his Government. On all sides he felt coldness—on all sides he saw defection. The brave old Earl of Oxford, John De Vere, who had been a prisoner twelve years in the prison of Ham, in Picardy, was set at liberty by Sir James Blount, the governor of the castle, and they fled together to Henry. Sir John Fortescue, the Porter of Calais, followed their example, and numbers of young English gentlemen, students of the University of Paris, flocked to his standard. The same process was going on in England. Several sheriffs of counties abandoned their charge, and hastened over to France; and numerous parties put off from time to time from the coast. But no nobleman occasioned, however, so much anxiety as Lord Stanley. His connection with Richmond, having married his mother, made Richard always suspicious. He had lavished favours upon him to attach him, and had made him steward of the household to retain him under his eye. Stanley had always appeared sincere in his service, but it was a sincerity that Richard could not comprehend. This nobleman now demanded permission to visit his estates in Cheshire and Lancashire, to raise forces for the king; but Richard so little trusted him that he detained his son, Lord Strange, as a hostage for his fidelity. We have already seen that Stanley had long secretly pledged himself to Elizabeth of York in her cause, and only waited the proper occasion to go over.

On the 1st of August, 1485, Henry of Richmond set sail from Harfleur, with the united fleet of France and Brittany, and an army of 3,000 men, on that memorable expedition which was to terminate the fatal wars of the Roses, and introduce into England a new dynasty, and a new era of civilisation. On the seventh of that month he landed at Milford Haven. He himself and his uncle, Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, went on shore at a place called Dale, while his army was disembarking. The Welsh accosted the old earl with this significant welcome on his setting foot on his native shore, "Welcome! for thou hast taken good care of thy nephew!"

Having refreshed his forces, Henry marched on through Haverfordwest and Pembroke to Cardigan. Everywhere he was received with manifest delight; but his forces did not increase till he reached Cardigan, where Richard Griffith and Richard Thomas, two Welsh gentlemen, joined his standard with their friends. His old friend Sir Walter Herbert, who had been expressly sent by Richard into that quarter with Rice ap Thomas to raise the country in his behalf, though he did not join him, suffered him to pass unmolested. Rice ap Thomas, on receiving a promise of the Government of Wales, went over at once to Henry. When the army reached Newport Sir Gilbert Talbot, with a decision of character in keeping with the account of him by Brereton, came at the head of the tenantry of his nephew, the Earl of Shrewsbury, 2,000 in number, and there, too, he was followed by Sir John Savage. The invading force now amounted to more than 6,000 men.

Henry crossed the Severn at Shrewsbury. Richard now advanced to Leicester, whence he issued despatches to all his subjects to join him on the instant, accompanied by the most deadly menaces against all defaulters. The Duke of Norfolk was there with the levies of the eastern counties; the Earl of Northumberland with those from the north; Lord Lovel commanded those from London; and Brackenbury those from Hampshire. Stanley alone held aloof, and sent word, in reply to Richard's summons, that he was ill in bed with the sweating sickness. Richard received this ominous message with the utmost rage; and, as he had vowed that, on the first symptom of disaffection on his part, he would cut off the head of Lord Strange, his son, Strange made an instant attempt at flight. He was brought back, and frankly confessed that he and his uncle, Sir William Stanley, chamberlain of North Wales, had agreed to join the invaders; but protested that his father knew nothing of their intention, but was loyal, and his forces were already on the way to the royal camp. Richard compelled him to write to his father, bidding him come up at once, or that his son was a dead man.

On the 21st of August Richard rode forward from Leicester, and encamped about two miles from Bosworth. He was mounted in the march on a magnificent white courser, and clad in the same rich suit of burnished steel which he wore at his victorious field of Tewkesbury. On his helmet blazed a regal crown, which he had displayed there since he took up his headquarters at Nottingham. His countenance is represented as stern and frowning; his manner haughty, and as if putting on an air of bravado, rather than of calm confidence; for, though his troops amounted to 30,000, and his cavalry was the finest in Europe, he well knew that there was secret and wide-spread disaffection under all that martial show. Were his followers true to him, the little army of Richmond would be shivered in the first shock, and trodden under foot. But, perhaps, not a man except the Duke of Norfolk was really stanch in his devotion; and that night Norfolk's followers found pinned upon his tent this ominous couplet:—

That night Henry, who had reached Tamworth, marched to Atherstone. His army did not amount to half that of Richard: yet all were earnest in the cause, and the number of men of rank and character in it gave it a very imposing air in the eyes of the soldiers. On the contrary, Richard's soldiers, if we are to believe "Twelve Strange Prophecies"—still in the British Museum—had been discouraged, not only by the warning to John, or—as he was familiarly called—Jocky of Norfolk, but by the following singular incident. As the king rode out of Leicester by the south gate, at the head of his cavalry, a blind old man, well known as a superannuated wheelwright, sat begging at the foot of the bridge. In reply to the remarks of the soldiers as to the weather, the old man cried out just as the king was at hand—"If the moon change again to-day, which has changed once in the course of nature, King Richard will lose life and crown." This was supposed to allude to Lord Percy, whose crest was a crescent, and of whose faith Richard was sorely in doubt. When Richard passed, his foot struck against a low post placed to defend the corner of the bridge, and the beggar said, "His head will strike there as he returns at night."

The night before the battle, Henry of Richmond had a secret meeting near Atherstone with Lord Stanley, who assured him of his adherence, but showed him how impossible it was that he could join him till Richard was engaged in arraying the battle, or his son's life would immediately be sacrificed. Stanley had 5,000 men, and engaged to appear for Richard till the moment for battle, when his defection would do Henry the most signal service.

On the evening of the 21st of August, the two armies lay encamped near the little town of Bosworth, opposite to each other. Richard is represented by the chroniclers as passing that night in the most agonising state of restlessness and uncertainty. The deeply-rooted disaffection of his troops destroyed his confidence, though his 30,000 were only opposed by Richmond's 6,000. He went through the camp examining secretly the state of his outposts, and finding at one of them a sentinel asleep, he stabbed him to the heart, saying, "I find him asleep, and I leave him so." His own slumbers are said to have been broken, and the chroniclers express his state by saying he "was most terribly pulled and haled by devils."

But other agents than those thus troubling the tyrant's mind were active throughout the camp. Many of his soldiers stole away to Richmond, and probably some of these left the warning to Jocky of Norfolk. These desertions produced dismay in Richard's ranks, and confidence in those of his rival.

When morning broke, Richmond's little army was discovered already drawn up. The van, consisting of archers, was led by the Earl of Oxford; the right wing by Sir Gilbert Talbot; the left by Sir John Savage. In the main body Henry posted himself, accompanied by the Earl of Pembroke. Richard confronted the foe with his numerous lines, taking his place also in the main body, opposite to Richmond, but giving the command of the van to the Duke of Norfolk. Lord Stanley took his station on one wing, and Sir William on the other, so that, thus disposed, they could flank either their own side or the opposed one. The battle was begun by the archers of both armies, and soon became furious. No sooner was this the case, than the Stanleys, seizing the critical moment, wheeling round, joined the enemy, and fell on Richard's flanks. This masterly manœuvre struck dismay through the lines of Richard; the men who stood their ground appeared to fight without heart, and to be ready to fly. Richard, who saw this, and beheld the Duke of Northumberland, sitting at the head of his division, and never striking a single stroke, became transported with fury. His only hope appeared to be to make a desperate assault on Henry's van, and, if possible, to reach and kill him on the spot. With this object he made three furious charges of cavalry; and, at the third, but not before he had seen his chief companion, the Duke of Norfolk, slain, he broke into the midst of Henry's main body, and, catching sight of him, dashed forward, crying frantically, "Treason! treason! treason!" He killed Sir William Brandon, Henry's standard-bearer, with his own hand; struck Sir John Cheyney from his horse; and, springing forward on Henry, aimed a desperate blow at him; but Sir William Stanley, breaking in at that moment, surrounded Richard with his brave followers, who bore him to the ground by their numbers, and slew him, as he continued to fight with a bravery as heroic as his political career had been—in the words of Hume—"dishonourable for his multiplied and detestable enormities." The blood of Richard tinged a small brook which ran where he fell, and the people are said to this day never to drink of its water.

The body of the fallen tyrant was speedily stripped of his valuable armour and ornaments, and the soldier who laid hands upon the crown hid it in a hawthorn bush. But strict quest being made after it, it was soon discovered and carried to Lord Stanley, who placed it upon the head of Henry, and the victor was immediately saluted by the general acclamations of the army with "Long live King Henry!" and they sang Te Deum, in grand chorus, on the bloody heath of Bosworth. From the poetical circumstance of the hawthorn bush, the Tudors assumed as their device a crown in a bush of fruited hawthorn. Lord Strange, the son of Lord Stanley, being deserted by his guards, as soon as the defeat was known, made his way to the field, and joined his father and the king at the close of the battle.

King Henry VII. advanced from the decisive field of Bosworth, at the head of his victorious troops, to Leicester, which he entered with the same royal state that Richard had quitted it. The statements of the numbers who fell on this field vary from 1,000 to 4,000, but of the leaders, the Duke of Norfolk, and Lord Ferrars of Chartley, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Sir Robert Percy, and Sir Robert Brackenbury, fell with the king. On the side of Henry fell no leaders of note.

Henry used his victory mildly; he shed no blood of the vanquished, except that of the notorious Catesby, and two persons of the name of Brecher, who were probably men of like character and crimes. Thus, in one day, the world was relieved of the presence of Richard and of his two base commissioners of murder, Catesby and Ratcliffe.

Richard's naked body, covered with mud and gore, was, according to the local traditions of Leicester, flung carelessly across a horse, and thus carried into that town; his head, say these historic memories, striking against the very post which the blind beggar had said it should, and the rude populace following it with shouts of mockery. The corpse was begged by the nuns of the Grey Friars, to whom Richard had been a benefactor, and was decently interred in their church.

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THE PROGRESS OF THE NATION IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

The Study of Latin and Greek—Invention of Printing—Caxton—New Schools and Colleges—Architecture, Military, Ecclesiastical, and Domestic—Sculpture, Painting, and Gilding—The Art of War—Commerce and Shipping—Coinage.

It might be very reasonably supposed that during a century spent almost entirely in war, and during the second half of it in the most rancorous intestine strife, there could not be much national progress. There is no doubt but that the population was greatly decreased. It was calculated that at the beginning of the century the population of England and Wales amounted to about 2,700,000. At the end of it, it is supposed that there were not 2,500,000.

In these depopulating wars, there can be no question that, besides the actual destruction of so many men, there must have been terrible sufferings inflicted, and an immense interruption of all those peaceful transactions by which nations become wealthy and powerful.

During this century, two events of the highest importance to art and learning took place—the introduction of the knowledge of Greek and the invention of printing.

If the knowledge of Greek had not entirely died out in western Europe, it had nearly so till this century. The crusades, leading the Christians of western Europe to the east, had opened up an acquaintance betwixt the people of the Greek empire and those of the West. The destruction of that empire in this century drove a number of learned men into Italy, where they taught their language and literature. Amongst these were Theodore Gaza, Cardinal Bessarion, George of Trebizond, Demetrius Chalcondyles, John Argyropulus, and Johannes Lascaris. Before that time some knowledge of the Greek philosophy had reached us through the Arabians, but till the fourteenth century very little of the literature of Greece was known in the western nations, not even the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" of Homer. In Italy Petrarch and Boccaccio learned the language and studied the writings of Greece, and an enthusiasm for Greek literature spread over all Europe. Grocyn studied it in Italy in 1488, under Chalcondyles, and came and taught it in England.

At the same moment that Greek began to be studied, Latin in Europe was in the lowest and most degraded state. Though it still continued the language of divines, lawyers, philosophers, historians, and even poets, it had lost almost every trace of its original idiom and elegance. Latin words were used, but in the English order, and where words were wanting, they Anglicised them.

But that wonderful art which was destined to chase this darkness like a new sun was already on its way from Germany to this country. The Chinese had printed from engraved wooden blocks for many centuries, when the same idea suggested itself to a citizen of Haarlem, named Laurent Janszoon Coster. Coster, who was keeper of the cathedral, first cut his letters in wood, then made separate wooden letters, and employed them in printing books by tying them together with strings. From wood he proceeded to cut his letters in metal, and finally to cast them in the present fashion. Coster concealed his secret with great care, and was anxious to transmit it to his children; but in this he was disappointed, for at his death one of his assistants, John Gensfleisch, the Gutenberger, went off to Mayence, carrying with him movable types of Coster's casting.

That is the Dutch story, but the Germans insist on Gutenberg being the originator of printing. They contend that Coster's were only the wooden blocks which had long been in use for the printing of playing cards, and manuals of devotion. They even insinuate that all that the Dutch claim had probably been brought from China by Marco Polo in the thirteenth century, who had seen the paper-money thus printed there in letters of vermilion, and that Holland had no share in the invention at all. But we know that the Germans have a vast capacity for claiming. It is notorious that all the earliest block-printing, the Bibliæ Pauperum, the Bibles of the Poor, the Speculum Humanæ Salvationis, with its fifty pictures, and other block works, were all done in the Low Countries in the century we are reviewing.

Taking a broad view, however, it is certain that Gutenberg, Fust, and Schoeffer, were the men who first printed any known works in movable types, and from Mayence, in 1445, diffused very soon the knowledge of the present art of printing over the whole world. The first work which they are supposed to have printed was the Bible, an edition of the Latin Vulgate, known by the name of the Mazarin Bible, of which various copies remain, though without date or printer's name.

Printing was introduced into England in 1474, according to all the chief authorities of or near that time, by William Caxton. Caxton was a native of the weald of Kent. He served his apprenticeship to a mercer of London, and left England in 1441 to transact business in the Low Countries. There he was greatly regarded by Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy, Edward IV.'s sister, who retained him as long as she could at her court. Caxton was now upwards of fifty years of age, but his inquisitive and active temperament led him to learn, amongst other things, the whole art of printing from one Colard Manson. He saw its immense importance, and he translated Raoul le Feure's "Recueil des Histoires de Troye," and printed it in folio. This great work he says himself that he began in Bruges, and finished in Cologne in 1471. The first work which he printed in England was the "Game and Playe of Chesse," which was published in 1475. From this time till 1490, or till nearly the date of his death in 1491 or 1492, a period of sixteen years, the list of the works which Caxton passed through his press is quite wonderful. Thomas Milling, the Abbot of Westminster, was his most zealous patron; and at Westminster, in the Almonry, he commenced his business. Earl Rivers, brother to the queen of Edward IV., another of his friends and patrons, translated the "Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers" for his nephew, the Prince of Wales, and introduced Caxton, when it was printed, to present it to the king and royal family.

But while Caxton was thus busy he saw others around him also as hard at work with their presses: Theodore Rood, John Lettow, William Machelina, and Wynkyn de Worde, foreigners, and Thomas Hunt, an Englishman. A schoolmaster of St. Albans set up a press there, and several books were printed at Oxford in 1478, and to the end of the century. There is no direct evidence of any work being printed in Scotland during this century, though such may have been the case, and all traces of the fact obliterated in the almost universal destruction of the cathedral and conventual libraries at the Reformation. James III. was known to collect the most superb specimens of typography, and Dr. Henry mentions seeing a magnificent edition of "Speculum Moralitatis," which had been in that king's possession, and contained his autograph.

Not less meritorious benefactors of their country, next to the writers and printers of books, were those who collected them into libraries, and the most munificent patron and encourager of learning in this manner was the unfortunate Duke Humphrey of Gloucester. He gave to the University of Oxford a library of 600 volumes in 1440, valued at £1,000. Some of these very volumes yet remain in different collections. Duke Humphrey not only bought books, but he employed men of science and learning to translate and transcribe. He kept celebrated writers from France and Italy, as well as Englishmen, to translate from the Greek and other languages; and is said to have written himself on astronomy, a scheme of astronomical calculations under his name still remaining in the library of Gresham College. The great Duke of Bedford, likewise, when master of Paris, purchased and sent to this country the royal library, containing 853 volumes, valued at 2,223 livres.

The schools and colleges founded during this century were the following:—Lincoln College, Oxford, founded in 1427, by Richard Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, and completed by Thomas Scott, of Rotherham, Bishop of Lincoln, in 1475. All Souls' College, Oxford, was founded by Chicheley, Archbishop of Canterbury, in 1437. He expended upon its erection £4,545, and procured considerable revenues for it out of lands of the alien priories dissolved just before that time. Magdalene College, Oxford, was founded by William of Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, in 1458, and soon became one of the richest colleges in Europe. King's College, Cambridge, was founded by Henry VI. in 1441. Queens' College, Cambridge, was founded by Margaret of Anjou, in 1448; and Catherine Hall, Cambridge, was founded by Robert Woodlark, third provost of King's College, in 1473.

Besides these, Henry VI. founded Eton College, and Thomas Hokenorton, Abbot of Osney, founded the schools in Oxford, in 1439. Before that time the professors of several sciences in both universities read their lectures in private houses, at very inconvenient distances from each other. To remedy this inconvenience, schools were erected in both universities at this period. Hokenorton's schools comprehended the teaching of divinity, metaphysics, natural and moral philosophy, astronomy, geometry, arithmetic, music, logic, rhetoric, and grammar. They required liberal aid from other benefactors, and they found these in the noble Humphrey of Gloucester, and the two brothers Kemp, the one Archbishop of York and the other Bishop of London. They were completed in 1480, including Duke Humphrey's noble library, the nucleus of the present Bodleian, which was refounded by Sir Thomas Bodley in 1597. The quadrangle, containing the schools of Cambridge, was completed in 1475.

Up to this period Scotland had possessed no university whatever, and its youth had been obliged to travel to foreign universities for their education. But now the University of St. Andrews was founded in 1410, and obtained a charter in 1411 from Bishop Wardlaw, which was confirmed by the Pope in 1412, and by James I. in 1431. The great need of such an institution was soon evidenced by the university becoming famous. In 1456 Kennedy, the successor of Wardlaw, founded the College of St. Salvator in that city; and in 1450 William Turnbull, the Bishop of Glasgow, founded the University of that city; and in the same year was founded the college or faculty of arts in Glasgow, King James II. taking both college and university under his especial patronage and protection. This college received a handsome endowment from James, Lord Hamilton, and his lady, Euphemia, Countess of Douglas, in 1459.

The castles erected during this period are few. The wars of the Roses brought the force of cannon and gunpowder against the massive erections of the barons of past ages, and many a terrible stronghold was demolished. But there was, from the beginning of these wars, little leisure for repairing, or for building new castles. The proprietors, for the most part, were killed or reduced to ruin, and the workmen shared the same fate, so that labour became too scarce and dear for such great undertakings. Scotland was affected by similar circumstances.

The castles of this period bear unmistakable traces of the Perpendicular style, which was prevalent in the ecclesiastical architecture of the age. That portion of Windsor built by William of Wykeham, though much altered, retains some marked and good features of this age. The exterior of Tattershall Castle, in Lincolnshire, remains nearly unaltered. All the castles of this time blend more or less of the domestic character, and tended towards that style which prevailed in the next century under the name of Tudor. Another great change in the castellated architecture of this period was the use of brick in their construction. Bricks, though introduced into Britain by the Romans, had gone almost out of use till the reign of Richard II.; now they were in such favour that the castles of Tattershall, Hurstmonceux, and Caistor were built chiefly of them, as Thornbury Castle was in the next century. Hurstmonceux, in Sussex, was erected in 1448 on the plan of Porchester Castle. It was a stupendous building, of which the ruins now remain, forming a regular parallelogram of 180 feet square, flanked by seventeen octagon towers, and with a fine machicolated gateway forming the keep. Tattershall, in Lincolnshire, built in 1455, is erected in the style of the ancient keep, a huge square tower with polygonal turrets at the angles. Caistor, in Norfolk, erected about 1450, was remarkable for two very large circular brick towers at the northern angle, one of which remains.

But the castles and the mansions of this period possessed frequently so many features and qualities in common, that some of them are actual hybrids, the uniting links of the two kinds of houses. They had alike towers, battlements, and moats, and the chief apartments looked into the interior quadrangle as the safest. Oxburgh Hall, in Norfolk, is one of this mixed class. Though called a hall, it is moated, and has a massive gateway of a remarkable altitude. Raglan Castle, built in the reign of Edward IV., has more of the true castellated style; Warwick and Windsor, more of the union of the two styles. At the same time such castles as had their gateways battered down, and rebuilt at this period, present in them all the older characteristics of castellated buildings. Such is the gateway of Carisbrooke Castle, built in the reign of Edward IV., and the west gate of Canterbury, built towards the close of the fourteenth century, which retain the stem old circular towers, lighted only by mere loopholes and œillets.

The style of ecclesiastical architecture prevailing through this century, and to the middle of the next, is that called the Perpendicular. It appears to have commenced about 1377, or at the commencement of the reign of Richard II., just twenty years prior to this century, and it terminated at the Reformation, in the reign of Henry VIII. The Reformation was anything but a reformation in architecture. That great convulsion broke up the period of a thousand years, during which, from the first introduction of Christianity into this island, this peculiar character of architecture, often called Gothic, but more properly Christian, had been progressing and perfecting itself. The Western princes and prelates, evidently copying the Grecian in their columns, but adding curves and ornaments unknown to the Greeks, and introducing principles of pliancy, and of long and lofty aisles, from the suggestions of the forests, in which they were accustomed to wander, and the linden groves which they planted, originated a new school of architecture, in many particulars far exceeding that of the classic nations. No church took up and perpetuated this noble Christian architecture more cordially and more inspiredly than the Catholic. Over the whole of Europe, wherever the Roman Church prevailed, it erected its churches and monasteries in a spirit of unrivalled grandeur and beauty. In architecture, in music, and in painting, it acquitted itself royally towards the public, however it might fail in spirit, in doctrine, or in discipline. The remains of painted windows, to say nothing of the productions of such men as Raphael, Michael Angelo, Guido, and a host of others, who drew their inspiration from the devotions of that church, are sufficient to excite our highest admiration; and the sublime anthems which resounded through their august and poetical temples, through what are called "the Dark Ages," were well calculated to enchain the imagination of minds not deeply reflective or profoundly informed.

In every country we find, moreover, a different style in all these arts—music, painting, and architecture; demonstrating the exuberance of genius turned into these channels during long centuries, when all others, except warfare, seemed closed. England had its distinctive style in these matters, and in architecture this Perpendicular style was the last. During its later period it considerably deteriorated, and with the Reformation it went out. In England sufficient power and property were left to the Anglican Church to enable it to preserve the majority of its churches, and many of its conventual buildings: in Scotland the destruction was more terrible. There public opinion took a great leap from Catholicism to the simplicity and sternness of the school of John Knox; and in consequence of his celebrated sermon at Perth, in which he told his congregation that to effectually drive away the rooks they must pull out their nests, almost every convent and cathedral, except that of Glasgow, was reduced to a ruin.

Of the Perpendicular style we have many churches throughout the country, and still more into which it has been more or less introduced into those of earlier date in repairs and restorations. Every county, and almost every parish, can show us specimens of this style, if it be only in a window, a porch, or a buttress. Rickman is of opinion that half the windows in English edifices over the kingdom are of this style. Whilst our neighbours on the Continent were indulging themselves in the flamboyant style, and loading their churches with the most exuberant ornament, as in the splendid cathedrals of Normandy and Brittany, our ancestors were enamoured of this new and more chaste style. There are writers who regard the perpendicular lines of this style as an evidence of a decline in the art. We cannot agree with that opinion. The straight, continuous mullions of the Perpendicular are—combined with the rich and abundant ornaments of other portions of the buildings, as the spandrils enriched with shields, the finely-wrought and soaring canopies, and crocketed finials, the canopied buttresses, the groined roofs and fan-tracery of ceilings—a pleasure to the eye, when chastely and richly designed.

The windows of this style at once catch the observation of the spectator. The mullions, running through from bottom to top, give you, instead of the flowing tracery of the Decorated style, a simple and somewhat stiff heading; but the stiffness is in most instances relieved by the heading of each individual section being cuspated, and the upper portions of the window presenting frequent variations, as in the grand western window of Winchester Cathedral. Some of these windows, with their cinquefoils and quatrefoils, approach even to the Decorative. Amongst the finest windows of this kind are those of St. George's, Windsor, of four lights; the clerestory windows of Henry the Seventh's Chapel, of five. The east window of York Cathedral is of superb proportions. The window of the Beauchamp Chapel, Warwick, is extremely rich and peculiar in its character. Those of the Abbey Church of Bath have the mullions alternating, by the perpendicular line being continued from the centre of each arch beneath it.

The mullions in this style are crossed at right angles by transoms, converting the whole window into a series of panels; for panelling in the Perpendicular style is one of its chief characteristics, being carried out on walls, doors, and, in many cases, even roofs and ceilings. Take away the arched head of a window, and you convert it at once into an Elizabethan one.

Every portion of a Perpendicular building has its essential characteristics: its piers, its buttresses, its niches, its roofs, porches, battlements, and ornaments, which we cannot enumerate here. They must be studied for themselves. We can only point out one or two prominent examples.

Many of the buildings of this style are adorned with flying buttresses, which are often pierced, and rich in tracery, as those of Henry VII.'s Chapel. The projection of the buttresses in King's College Chapel, Cambridge, is so great that chapels are built between them. Many of these buttresses are very rich with statuary niches and wrought canopies. Pinnacles are used profusely in this style; but in St. George's, Windsor, and the Beauchamp Chapel, Warwick, the buttresses run up, and finish square.

Panelling, as we have said, is one of the most striking features of the Perpendicular style. This is carried to such an extent in most of the richly-ornamented buildings, that it covers walls, windows, roofs; for the doors and windows are only pierced panels. St. George's, Windsor, is a fine example of this; but still finer is Henry VII.'s Chapel, which, within and without, is almost covered with panelling. King's College Chapel, Cambridge, is another remarkable example, which is all panelled, except the floor. The roof of this chapel is one of the richest specimens of the fan-tracery in the kingdom. Amongst the most graceful ornaments of this style are the angels introduced into cornices, and as supporters of shields and corbels for roof-beams, rich foliated crockets, and flowers exquisitely worked, conspicuous amongst them being the Tudor flower.

Some of the finest steeples in the country belong to this style. First and foremost stands the unrivalled open-work tower of St. Nicholas, Newcastle-on-Tyne. This forms a splendid crown in the air, composed of four flying buttresses, springing from the base of octagonal turrets, and bearing at their intersection an elegant lantern, crowned with a spire. From this have been copied that of St. Giles's, Edinburgh, that of the church of Linlithgow, and the college tower of Aberdeen. Boston, Derby, Taunton, Doncaster, Coventry, York, and Canterbury boast noble steeples of this style.

The arches of the Perpendicular are various; but none are so common as the flat, four-centred arch. This in doors, and in windows also, is generally enclosed by a square plane of decoration, appearing as a frame, and this mostly surmounted by a dripstone; the spandrels formed betwixt the arch and frame being generally filled by armorial shields, or ornamental tracery. In some doorways there is an excess of ornament. The Decorative style in this country, or the florid abroad, has nothing richer. Every part is covered with canopy-work, flowers, heraldic emblems, and emblazoned shields. Such is the doorway of King's College Chapel, Cambridge; and such are the chapels of Henry V. and Henry VII. at Westminster.

The groined roofs of the Perpendicular style are noble, and often profusely ornamented. The intersections of the ribs of these groined roofs are often shields richly emblazoned in their proper colours. The vaulted roof of the cloisters of Canterbury Cathedral is studded with above 800 shields, of kings and other benefactors; and the whole presents a perfect blaze of splendour. Some of these groined roofs are adorned with a ramification of ribs, running out in a fan-shape, circumscribed by a quarter or half-circle rib, the intervals filled up with ornament. The cloisters of Gloucester Cathedral present, perhaps, the first specimen of the fan-tracery roof; and after that King's College Chapel, Cambridge, Henry VII.'s Chapel, and the Abbey Church at Bath. The Red Mount Chapel, at Lynn, in Norfolk, is a unique and very beautiful specimen of the Perpendicular, not only having a richly ornamental roof of this kind, but though much injured by time, displaying in every part of it design and workmanship equally exquisite. Henry VII.'s Chapel and the Divinity School at Oxford have pendants which come down as low as the springing line of the fans.

A simpler roof, but quaint and impressive in its appearance, is the open one—that is, open to the roof framing. Here, as all is bare to the eye, the whole framework of beams and rafters has been constructed for effect. The wood-work forms arches, pendants, and pierced panels of various form and ornament. Such are the roofs of Westminster Hall, Crosby Hall (just removed), Eltham Palace, the College of Christ Church, Oxford, and many an old baronial hall and church throughout the country.

Specimens of this style of architecture in whole or in part will meet the reader in every part of England, Wales, and Scotland; and it should be remembered that it is an especial and exclusively English style, no other country possessing it. In Scotland Melrose Abbey and Roslin Chapel present fine specimens of the Perpendicular, the latter one displaying some singular variations, the work of foreign artists.

When we descend from the military castle to more domestic architecture, we find the large houses of the gentry, or nobility, though totally incapable of resisting cannon, yet frequently battlemented, flanked with turrets, and surrounded by the flooded moat. The large houses of this period were generally built round one or two quadrangles. These buildings often possessed much variety of exterior detail: a great arched gateway with the armorial escutcheon above it; projections, recesses, tall chimneys, flanking buttresses, handsome oriel windows, and pointed gables, terminated by some animal belonging to the emblazonry of the family. They were commonly adorned with fanes, in the form of the military banner of the chief, duly emblazoned in proper colours. Within, the great hall, with its open groined roof, the kitchen, and the buttery, cut the principal figure. At the upper end of the hall was the daïs or raised part, on which stood the table of the lord and his immediate family or particular guests; and below the great salt-cellar sat the remainder of the establishment. At the lower end was commonly a music gallery. The fire was still frequently in the centre of the hall, and there was a hole in the roof to permit the smoke to escape, as at Penshurst, where the front of the music gallery is true Perpendicular. In other houses there were large open fireplaces, the mantelpieces of which were frequently richly carved with the armorial shields of the family.

The floors were still strewn with fresh rushes instead of a carpet, and the walls were hung with arras, which clothed them, and at the same time kept out cold draughts. Plaster ceilings were yet unknown. The greater portion of these houses, however, was required for the sleeping apartments of the numerous retainers.

In the humbler halls, granges, and farmhouses, the same plan of building round a quadrangle was mostly adhered to, and a large number of such houses were of framed timber, with ornamental gables and porches, and displaying much carving. Great Chatfield manor-house in Wiltshire, Harlaxton in Lincolnshire, Helmingham Hall, Norfolk, Moreton Hall in Cheshire, and probably some of the framed timber houses of Lancashire, as the Hall-in-the-Wood, Smithell's, Speke Hall, &c., in whole or in part, date from this period. Ockwells, in Berkshire, is another of the fine old timber houses of this century.

In the towns the houses were also chiefly of wood. The streets were extremely narrow, and the upper storeys of the houses projected over the lower ones, so that you might almost shake hands out of the third or fourth storey windows. This was the cause of such frequent fires as occurred in London. Many of the small houses in these narrow streets were adorned with abundance of carving. The houses or inns of the great barons, prelates, and abbots were extensive, and surrounded inner courts. Here, during Parliament, and on other grand occasions, the owners came with their vast retinues. We are told that the Duke of York lodged with 400 men in Baynard's Castle, in 1457. The Earl of Warwick had his house in Warwick Lane, still called after it, where he could lodge 800 men. At another house of his called the Herber, meaning an inn, the Earl of Salisbury, his father, lodged with 500 men. Still more extensive must have been the abodes of the Earls of Exeter and Northumberland, who occasionally brought retinues of from 800 to 1,500 men. The sites of these great houses are yet known, and bear the names of their ancient owners, but the buildings themselves have long vanished. The great houses of Scotland still kept up the show of feudal strength and capability of defence. The peels, or Border towers, yet bear evidence of the necessity of stout fortification in those times. We may form some idea of the devastation made amongst private dwellings in the Wars of the Roses, from the statement of John Rous, the Warwick antiquary, who says that no fewer than sixty villages, some of them large and populous, with churches and manor-houses, had been destroyed within twelve miles of that town. From all that we can learn, the common people of this age were but indifferently lodged, and the mansions of the great were more stately than comfortable.

Though such extensive destruction of the statuary which adorned both the exterior and interior of our churches took place at the Reformation, sufficient yet remains to warrant us in the belief that the fifteenth surpassed every prior century in its sculpture. The very opposition which the Wycliffites had raised to the worship and even existence of images, seems to have stimulated the Church only the more to put forth its strength in this direction. Sculptors, both foreign and English, therefore received the highest encouragement, and were in the fullest employ. The few statues which yet remain in niches, on the outside of our cathedrals, especially those on the west end of the Cathedral of Wells, though probably not the best work of the artists, are decided proofs of their ability. The effigies of knights and ladies extended on their altar tombs received grave damage, with the rest of the ecclesiastical art, from the misguided zeal of the reformers, yet many such remain of undoubted beauty, and the chantries, which were in this century erected over the tombs of great prelates, are of the most exquisite design and workmanship. Such are those in Winchester Cathedral of Bishops Wykeham, Beaufort, and Waynflete. The shrine of Bishop Beaufort, in particular, is a mass of Portland stone, carved like the finest ivory, and is a most gorgeous specimen of a tomb of the Perpendicular period. Henry V.'s chantry, in Westminster Abbey, is the only one erected in this period to royalty, and it is a monument of high honour to the age.

The names of some of the artists of this era are preserved. Thomas Colyn, Thomas Holewell, and Thomas Poppehowe, executed, carried over, and erected in Nantes, in 1408, the alabaster tomb of the Duke of Brittany. Of the five artists who executed the celebrated tomb of Richard, Earl of Warwick, in the Beauchamp Chapel, four were English, and the fifth was a Dutch goldsmith. Besides the great image of the earl, there were thirty-two images on this monument. These were all cast by William Austin, a founder of London, clearly a great genius, on the finest latten (brass), and gilded by Bartholomew Lambespring the Dutch goldsmith. The monument and the superb chapel in which it stands cost £2,481 4s. 7d., equivalent to £24,800 now.

Most of the monumental brasses which abound in our churches were the work of this period. There are some of much older date, but, during this century they were multiplied everywhere, and afforded great scope for the talents of founders, engravers, and enamellers.

In painting, the age does not appear to have equally excelled. There was, unquestionably, abundance of religious pictures on the walls of our churches, and the images themselves were painted and gilt; but there do not seem to have existed artists who had a true conception of the sublimity of their pursuit. The painting of such works was undertaken by the job, by painters and stainers. John Prudde, glazier in Westminster, undertook to "import from beyond seas glass of the finest colours, blue, yellow red, purple, sanguine, and violet," and with it glaze the windows of the Beauchamp Chapel. Brentwood, a stainer of London, was to paint the west wall of the chapel "with all manner of devices and imagery;" and Christian Coliburne, painter, of London, was to "paint the images in the finest oil colours." The great Earl of Warwick bargained with his tailor to paint the scenes of his embassy to France, for which he was to receive £1 8s. 6d. The "Dance of Death," so common on the Continent in churches and churchyards, made also so famous by Holbein, was copied from the cloister of the Innocents in Paris, and painted on the walls of the cloister of St. Paul's. It was a specimen of the portrait painting of the age, for it contained the portraits of actual persons, in different ranks of life, in their proper dresses. The portraits of our kings, queens, and celebrated characters, done at this time, are of inferior merit.

Gilding was in great request, not only for ornamenting churches and their monuments, but for domestic use, the precious metals being very scarce, and therefore copper and brass articles were commonly silvered or gilt. But it was in the illumination of manuscripts that the artistic genius of the time was, more than almost in any other department, displayed. The colours used are deemed inferior in splendour to those of the fourteenth century, but the illuminations are superior in drawing and power of expression. The terror depicted in the faces of the Earl of Warwick's sailors in expectation of shipwreck, and the grief in those who witnessed his death, are evidences of the hand of a master. Many of the portraits of the leading characters of the age are to be found in these illuminations; and they afford us the most lively views of the persons and dresses of our ancestors of that day—their arms, ships, houses, furniture, manners, and employments. But the art of printing was already in existence, and before it the beautiful art of illumination fell and died out.

The deadly arts of destruction were more practised during this century than all others. First the English turned their arms against the French, and then against each other, and though many of their armies were hastily raised, and therefore ill-disciplined, they not only showed their accustomed bravery, but many advances were made in the manner of raising, forming, paying, and disciplining troops, as well as in the modes of attacking fortifications and towns. Henry V. was a consummate master in this, his favourite art, and was, perhaps, the first of our kings who introduced a scheme of superior discipline, teaching his troops to march in straight lines at proper distances, with a steady, measured pace; to advance, attack, halt, or fall back without breaking, or getting into confusion. This, combined with his mode of employing his archers, which we have described in the account of his battles, gave him an invincible superiority over his enemies.

As the feudal system decayed, the kings of England no longer depended on their barons appearing in the field with their vassals, but they bargained with different leaders to furnish men at stated prices, which, as we have shown, were high. It was only in cases of rebellion and intestine struggle that they summoned all their military tenants to raise the people in mass, and the same summonses were issued to the archbishops, bishops, and all the principal clergy, to arm all their followers, lay and clerical, and march to the royal standard.

The pictures of battles and sieges at this period give us an odd medley of bows and arrows, crossbows, spears, cannon, and hand-guns. The old weapons were not left off, because the new ones were too imperfect and too difficult of locomotion to supersede them. The cannons, though often of immense bore and weight, throwing balls of from one to five hundredweight, were, for the most part, without carriages, and therefore difficult and tardy in their operations. The Scots were the first to anticipate the modern gun-carriage, by what they called their "carts of war," which carried two guns each, while many of the guns of the English required fifty horses to drag them. They had, however, smaller guns; as culverins, serpentines, basilisks, fowlers, scorpions, &c. The culverins were a species of hand-gun in general, fired from a rest, or from the shoulder. The Swiss had 10,000 culverins at the famous battle of Morat. These hand-guns are said to have been first brought into England by Edward IV. on his return from Flanders in 1471. Ships were also supplied with small guns.

The trade of England continued to flourish and extend itself through this century, in spite of the obstacles and ruinous effects of almost perpetual war. Our kings, however warlike they might be, were yet very sensible of the advantages of commerce, and during this century made numerous treaties in its favour. At the same time, it is curious that, even when two countries were at war, such was the spirit of trade, that the merchants went on trading whenever they could, just as if there was no war at all. This was the case, especially between England and Flanders. Our monarchs were already ambitious of reigning supreme masters of the seas, and this doctrine was as jealously urged upon them by the nation. In a rhyming pamphlet, written about 1433, and to be found in Hakluyt (Vol. I., p. 167), the writer says, that "if the English keep the seas, especially the main seas, they will compell all the world to be at peace with them, and to court their friendship."

Henry IV., though harassed by the difficulties of a usurped crown, strenuously set himself to promote commerce, and to put an end to the continual depredations committed upon each other by the English and the merchants of the Hanse Towns, as well as those of Prussia and Livonia, subject to the grand master of the Teutonic order of knights.

Henry V. was as victorious at sea as on land; and by his fleet, under his brother, the great Duke of Bedford, in 1416, and again in 1417, the Earl of Huntingdon being his admiral, swept the seas of the united fleets of France and Genoa, and made himself complete master of the ocean during his time. This ascendency was lost under the disastrous reign of Henry VI., but was regained by Edward IV., a monarch who, notwithstanding his voluptuous character, was fully alive to the vast benefits accruing to a nation from foreign trade, and thought it no dishonour to be, if not a merchant-prince, a prince-merchant. He had ships of his own, and in time of peace he did not suffer them to remain useless in harbour, but freighted them with goods on his own account, and grew rich by traffic.

Notwithstanding all this, the nation was not yet much more enlightened as to the real principles of trade than it was in the previous century. The same absurd restrictions were in force against foreign merchants. Such foreign merchants were required to lay out all the money received for goods imported in English merchandise. No gold or silver coin, plate or bullion, was, on any account, to be carried out of the kingdom. Banks were now established in most countries, and bills of exchange had been in use since the thirteenth century—so that these remedied, to a large extent, this evil; but it is clear that where the exports of a country exceeded its imports, the balance must be remitted in cash; and the commercial men were clever enough to evade all the laws of this kind. No fact was so notorious as that the coinage of England abounded in all the countries to which she traded.

Besides the prohibition of carrying out any English coin or even bullion, foreign merchants were to sell all the goods they brought within three months, but they were not to sell any of them to other merchant strangers, and when they arrived in any English town they were assigned to particular hosts, and were to lodge nowhere else. Yet, under all these obstacles, our commerce grew, and our merchants extended their voyages to ports and countries which they had not hitherto frequented. In 1413 they fitted out ships in the port of London for Morocco, having a cargo of wool and other merchandise valued at £24,000, or £240,000 of our money. This raised the ire of the Genoese, who seized these precious ships; but Henry IV. soon made ample reprisals by granting to his subjects letters of marque to seize the ships and goods of the Genoese wherever they could be found. And so well did the English kings follow this up, that we find them in Richard III.'s reign not only successfully competing with the Genoese, but obtaining a footing in Italy itself, and establishing a consul at Pisa. Consuls, or, as they were then called, governors, of the English traders abroad, were also employed during this period in Germany, Prussia, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Holland, and Flanders.

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Wool, woollens, tin, hides, and corn, were still our chief exports. Slaves, says the historian, were no longer an article of commerce; but the conveyance of pilgrims to foreign shrines was a source of great emolument to merchants. A curious pamphlet of the middle of this century, called "The Prologue of English Policy," gives us a complete view of our imports:—The commodities of Spain were figs, raisins, wines, oils, soap, dates, liquorice, wax, iron, wool, wadmote, goatfell, redfell, saffron, and quicksilver—a valuable importation. Those of Portugal were very much the same. Brittany sent wine, salt, crest-cloth or linen, and canvas; Germany, Scandinavia, and Flanders, iron, steel, copper, osmond, bowstaves, boards, wax, corn, pitch, tar, flax, hemp, felting, thread, fustian, buckram, canvas, and wool-cards; Genoa, gold, cloth of gold, silk, cotton, oil, black pepper, rockalum, and wood; Venice, Florence, and other Italian states, all kinds of spices and grocery wares, sweet wines, sugar, dates.

The age abounded with great merchants. The Medici of Florence; Jacques le Cœur, the greatest merchant that France ever produced, who had more wealth and trade than all the other merchants of that country together, and who supplied Charles VII. with money by which he recovered his country from the English. In our own country John Norbury, John Hende, and Richard Whittington, were the leading merchants of London, the last of whom was so far from a poor boy making his fortune by a cat that he was the son of Sir William Whittington, knight. In Bristol also flourished at this time William Cannynge, who was five times mayor of that city, and who had, for some cause not explained, 2,470 tons of shipping taken from him at once by Edward IV., including one ship of 400 tons, one of 500, and one of 900. The name of this Cannynge is familiar to readers of Chatterton's ingenious Rowley poems.

Of the ships and shipping of the age we need not say more than that, with all the characteristics of the past age, there was an attempt to build larger vessels in rivalry of the Genoese. John Taverner, of Hull, had a royal licence granted him in 1449, conferring on him great privileges and exemptions as a merchant, for building one as large as a Venetian carrack, one of their first-class ships, or even larger. And Bishop Kennedy, of St. Andrews, was as much celebrated for building a ship of unusual size, called the Bishop's Berge, as for building and endowing a college.

In Scotland the state of the shipping interest was much the same as in England. James I. displayed enlightened views of trade. He made various laws to ascertain the rate of duty on all exports and imports, to secure the effects of any traders dying abroad, and permitted his subjects to trade in foreign ships when they had no vessels of their own. In both countries great care was taken to protect and promote their fisheries.

The coin of those times in England was chiefly of gold and silver. The gold coin consisted of nobles, half-nobles, and quarter-nobles, originally equivalent to guineas (the exact value of a noble in Henry IV.'s reign was 21s. 1½d.), half-guineas, and quarter-guineas, or dollars of 5s. 3d. The silver coins were groats, half-groats, and pennies. But it must be remembered that all these coins were of ten times the intrinsic value of our present money; so that the labourer who in the fifteenth century received 1½d. per day, received as much as fifteen pence of the present money. But the great historical fact regarding the money of this age was its continual adulteration, and consequent depreciation.

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THE REIGN OF HENRY VII.

Though Henry Tudor had conquered Richard III. on the field of Bosworth, he had no title whatever to the crown of England, except such as the people, by their own free choice, should give him. He was descended, it is true, from Edward III., through John of Gaunt, but from the offspring of not only an illicit, but an adulterous connection. When the natural children of John of Gaunt, therefore, were legitimatised by Act of Parliament, that Act expressly declared them incapable of inheriting the crown. Still more, the true hereditary claim lay in the house of York; and had that line been totally extinct, and had the bar against his line not existed, the royal house of Portugal at least had a superior title in point of descent from John of Gaunt. Further still, he stood attainted as a traitor by Act of Parliament, and could not, therefore, assert a Parliamentary right. Yet, as we have said, for years public expectation, overlooking the claims of all others of both the contending lines, had turned towards him, as the individual destined by Providence to put an end to the sanguinary broils of York and Lancaster, and unite them in peace.

The only son of the late Duke of Clarence, who, next to the children of Edward IV., was the heir apparent of the line of York, had been confined by his uncle, Richard III., in the castle of Sheriff Hutton, in Yorkshire. Richard had at first treated this poor boy with kindness; he had created him Earl of Warwick, the title of his illustrious grandfather, the king-maker. On the death of his own son, he had at first proposed to nominate him his heir; but, fearing that he might be too dangerous a competitor, he had omitted that favour, and conferred it on the Earl of Lincoln, John de la Pole, the son of his sister the Duchess of Suffolk, and therefore nephew both of himself and Edward IV. Henry, the very first day after the battle of Bosworth, despatched Sir Robert Willoughby to take the young earl from Sheriff Hutton, and convey him to the Tower of London. Henry then put himself at the head of his victorious troops, and commenced his march towards the capital. Everywhere he was received, not as a conqueror, but a deliverer.

He arrived safely at Kennington, and after dining with Thomas Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury, he proceeded with a splendid attendance of lords, both spiritual and temporal, towards the city. The nobles, imitating the absurd custom of France, rode two together on one horse, to show how completely the rival parties had amalgamated, and in this ridiculous style they passed through the city to the Tower, where Henry for the present took up his residence. On the 30th of October he was crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he immediately appointed a body-guard of fifty archers to attend upon him. This was an indication of distrust in his subjects or of the state of a conqueror, which astonished and dismayed the public; but Henry assured them that it was merely the state which, on the Continent, was now deemed essential to a king.

The Parliament assembled on the 7th of November, to settle the new order of things. Before proceeding to business they found themselves in a great dilemma. No less than 107 of the members were persons attainted during the last two reigns, and were therefore disqualified for acting. They were the most zealous partisans of the house of Lancaster, and immediate application was made to the judges for their decision on this new and singular case. They came to the conclusion that the attainted members could not take their seats till their attainders were reversed, and a bill was passed by the remaining members accordingly.

When Henry met his duly qualified Parliament, he informed them that "he had come to the throne by just title of inheritance, and by the sure judgment of God, who had given him the victory over his enemies in the field." In this declaration he was careful, while he asserted what was not true, to avoid what would alarm the pride and the fears of the nation. He had no just title of inheritance, as we have shown, and he dared not use the words "right of conquest," for such right was held to imply a lapse of all the lands in the nation to the Crown, since they had been held of the prince who had been conquered. Lest he had, even in speaking of victory, gone too far, he immediately added, that "every man should continue to enjoy his rights and hereditaments, except such persons as in the present Parliament should be punished for their offences against his royal majesty."

Another claim to the crown, which Henry was still more careful to ignore, though it was one on which he secretly placed confidence, was the right of Elizabeth of York, whom he had pledged himself to marry, and who was the undoubted owner of the throne. But as Henry would not owe his throne to his people, so he would not owe it to his wife. He therefore used every means to establish his own title to the throne before he in any way alluded to hers, or took any steps towards fulfilling his pledge of marriage. He renewed that pledge, indeed, on arriving in London, to satisfy the York party; but he proceeded to have his claims to the throne acknowledged by Parliament without any reference to hers. If he had mentioned the right of Elizabeth of York, his extreme caution suggested that he would be held to possess the throne, not by his own claims, but by hers, an idea which equally offended his pride, and alarmed him for the security of the succession in his offspring. Should Elizabeth die without children, in that case the right would die with her; and any issue of his by another marriage might be accounted intruders in the succession, and they might be removed for the next heirs of Edward IV. If she should die childless, and even before him, even his own retention of the throne might be disputed. All these points the mind of Henry saw clearly; and in a moment, and as if no such person as Elizabeth existed, and as if no pledge to marry her had helped him to his success, he procured an Act of Parliament, which provided that "the inheritance of the crown should be, rest, remain, and abide in the most royal person of the then sovereign lord, King Henry VII., and the heirs of his body lawfully coming, perpetually with the grace of God so to endure, and in none other."

But this excess of caution and this nicely balanced policy had not been carried through without alarming all parties, and greatly disgusting that of York. The whole country looked to the union of the houses by the marriage of Henry and Elizabeth as the only means of putting an end to the civil wars which had so long rent the nation. Still Henry, though now securely seated on the throne, evinced no haste to fulfil his pledge of placing Elizabeth of York upon it. It was not, therefore, till the feeling of the public became strongly manifested at his neglect of the princess, and till the Commons presented him a petition praying him "to take to wife the Princess Elizabeth, which marriage they hoped God would bless with a progeny of the race of kings;" and till the Lords, spiritual and temporal, had testified their participation in this wish, by rising simultaneously and bowing as it was uttered, that Henry consented to the celebration of the marriage.

The marriage took place on the 18th of January, 1486, and the rejoicings in London, Westminster, and other cities were of the most lively kind. They were heartfelt, for now all parties concluded that there was hope of peace and comfort. They were far more ardent than at the king's accession or coronation, and the mean-souled monarch saw it with sullen displeasure, for it seemed to imply that though he had taken such pains to place foremost his right to the throne, the people recognised, spontaneously, the superior title of the house of York, and that of his beautiful, and by him superciliously treated wife. Lord Bacon, who is the great historian of this period, and who may be supposed to be sufficiently informed, does not hesitate to add that the manifest affection of the people for the queen produced in him towards her additional coldness and dislike.

Henry, before dismissing his Parliament, conferred favours and promotions on many of his friends. The two persons, however, whose counsels and administrative services he chiefly valued, were Bishops Morton and Fox, the latter of whom he raised to the see of Exeter. They had shared in all his adversities, and were now admitted to participate in his high fortune. Morton was, on the death of Bourchier, made Primate of England; and Fox was entrusted with the Privy Seal, and successively made Bishop of Bath and Wells, Durham, and finally, Winchester. These two able prelates were Henry's ministers and constant advisers. "He loved," says the historian of the time, "to have a convenient number of right grave and wise priests to be of his council; because," adds Bacon, "having rich bishoprics to bestow, it was easy to reward their services."

Having dismissed his Parliament, and left all in order, Henry set out on a progress through the kingdom. The people of the northern counties had been the most devoted to Richard, and he sought, by spending some time amongst them, to remove their prejudices and attach them to his interests. He had advanced as far as Lincoln, and was there keeping his Easter, on the 2nd day of April, when he learned that Lord Lovel, formerly chamberlain to Richard, with Humphrey and Thomas Stafford, had left the sanctuary at Colchester, and were gone with dangerous intentions, no man knew whither. The news did not seem to give him much concern, and he proceeded towards York. At Nottingham, more pressing and alarming intelligence reached him, that Lord Lovel was advancing towards York with 4,000 men, and that the two Staffords were besieging Worcester with another army.

At Nottingham, Henry received an embassy from the King of the Scots; and despatching his uncle, the Duke of Bedford, with about 3,000 men in pursuit of Lord Lovel, on the 6th of April he quitted Northampton in the same direction. At Pontefract he was met, on the 17th, by the news that Lovel had passed him on the road, had raised a force in the neighbourhood of Ripon and Middleham, and was preparing to surprise him on his entrance into York. Henry's courage did not fail him; he was now surrounded by most of the northern and southern nobility, who had brought up considerable forces. But the man who always trusted more to his shrewd knowledge of human nature than to arms, now hit on a means of dispersing the insurgent army without a blow. He sent on his uncle, Jasper of Bedford, to offer a free pardon to all who would desert Lovel's standard, and the whole host dispersed as by magic. It was, in fact, the magic of the right incentive applied at the right moment. Lovel, who was as much affected by the proclamation of pardon as his followers—for it instantly struck him with the fear of universal desertion—fled at once to the house of his friend, Sir Thomas Broughton, in Lancashire; and, after lying concealed there some days, contrived to escape to the court of the Duchess of Burgundy, in Flanders. Some of his followers, as it would seem, in defiance of the king's offer of pardon, were seized and executed by the Earl of Northumberland.

On the 30th of September the queen was prematurely delivered of a son, who, however, was pronounced a strong and healthy child, and was christened by the name of Arthur, after Prince Arthur of the ancient Britons, from whom Henry pretended to derive his descent. But the birth of an heir-apparent tried too severely the temper of the numerous malcontents who still existed. Though Henry had put himself to much trouble, and to some cost, to win over the people of the northern counties, his conduct in general had not been such as to conciliate the enemies of the Lancastrian line.

However, the Yorkist party, though roused to disturb the quiet of the king, prepared their measures of annoyance with a lack of acumen which was more likely to irritate than overturn. Perhaps they did not want to dethrone him, because that would overturn also the head, and most popular representative of their own party—Elizabeth; especially as she was now the mother of a legitimate prince, capable of uniting all interests. Perhaps they wished rather to show the cold and unforgiving monarch that he was more at their mercy than he supposed, and that they could embitter, if they did not proceed to terminate, his reign. Such, in fact, whether this was their purpose or not, were the character and tendency of the plots and impostures which, for so many years, kept Henry in disquiet and anxiety.

The first attempt was to bring forward a youth as the Earl of Warwick, the son of Clarence, whom Henry was keeping confined in the Tower. So little depth was there in this plot, that at first it was evidently the plan to bring the impostor forward as the Duke of York, the younger of the two princes supposed to be murdered in the Tower. It was given out that though his elder brother had been murdered, the younger had been allowed to escape. Had this story been adhered to, and well acted, it might have raised a most formidable rebellion; but, for some unknown reason, it was as speedily abandoned as adopted, and the Earl of Warwick pitched upon as the preferable impersonation. Nothing, however, could be more absurd, for the true earl being really alive, Henry could at any moment bring him forward.

Towards the close of the year 1486, there appeared at the castle of Dublin a priest of Oxford named Richard Simon, attended by a boy of about fifteen years of age. The boy was of a peculiarly handsome and interesting appearance; and Simon, who was a total stranger in Ireland, presented him to the lord-deputy, the Earl of Kildare, as Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, who, he represented, had fortunately escaped from his dungeon in the Tower of London, and had come to throw himself under the protection of the earl and his friends. Thomas Fitzgerald, Earl of Kildare, was a zealous Yorkist; his brother was chancellor, and almost all the bishops and officers in the Irish Government had been appointed by Edward IV. or Richard. It is most likely that the lord-deputy and the party were already cognisant of the whole scheme of this agitation; for it is neither likely that Simon the priest should have originated so daring and arduous an enterprise as that of presenting a new claimant for the throne in opposition to the astute and determined Henry Tudor, nor that he should have so particularly singled out Ireland as the opening ground of his operations, and the lord-deputy as his patron and coadjutor. What sufficiently proved this was, that simultaneously the Earl of Lincoln, of whom we have lately made mention, son to the eldest sister of the two late kings, had disappeared from England and gone over to his aunt Margaret, Duchess-Dowager of Burgundy, Henry's most inveterate enemy. This satisfied the king that the plot which showed itself in Ireland was produced in England, and was fomented by the Yorkist party at large. It was soon found that Simon had been diligently instructing the young pretender, whose name was Lambert Simnel, before he produced him in public, in all the arcana of the character he had to support.

The loyalty of the lord-deputy had been already questionable. Henry had sent him a summons to attend in London, but he evaded that by a petition from the spiritual and temporal peers of Ireland, stating strongly the absolute necessity of his presence there. No sooner did Simon present his protégé to Kildare, than that nobleman received him without any apparent reluctance to put faith in his story.

When Henry received this news, he hastened to do what he ought to have done long before. He took the Earl of Warwick out of the Tower, conducted him publicly to St. Paul's, so that all might see him, and all who desired it were allowed to approach him, and converse with him. The nobility and gentry were personally introduced to him, and the king then took him with him to Sheen, where he held his court, and gave familiar access to all those who had seen or known him before. By this politic act he completely satisfied the people of England, who laughed at the impostor in Ireland; but the Irish, on the contrary, declared that Henry's Warwick was the impostor, and theirs the real one. To consult on the best measures for defeating this plot, Henry called a great council at Sheen; but at its breaking up, the public were thrown into still greater surprise and perplexity by the king, who, instead of offering to crown the queen, seized her mother, the queen-dowager, confiscated her property, and consigned her to the custody of the monks of Bermondsey. The reason assigned was, that the queen-dowager, in the last reign, had promised her daughter to Henry, and then put her into the hands of Richard. Such a reason, if really put forward, was a simple absurdity, because since then Elizabeth Woodville had been living at court as the queen-mother, in all public honour. The real cause was presumably connected with the business in hand—the Simnel conspiracy. This is the opinion of Lord Bacon, who, living a hundred years later, nevertheless had access to sources of information not available to the modern student, though his authority may easily be overrated. Speaking of Simon, he says:—"It cannot be but that some great person, that knew particularly and familiarly Edward Plantagenet, had a hand in the business, from whom the priest might take his aim. That which is most probable out of the preceding and subsequent acts is, that it was the queen-dowager from whom this action had the principal source and motion; for certain it is that she was a busy, negotiating woman, and in her withdrawing-chamber had the fortunate conspiracy for the king against Richard III. been hatched, which the king knew, and remembered, perhaps, but too well; and was at this time extremely discontented with the king, thinking her daughter—as the king handled the matter—not advanced but depressed; and none could hold the book so well to prompt and instruct this stage play as she could."

But the most formidable and unwearied enemy of Henry VII. was Margaret, the Dowager-Duchess of Burgundy. As the sister of Edward IV. and of Richard, no circumstance could induce her to tolerate Henry Tudor, in her eyes a low-born man, who had thrust the Yorkist line from the throne. To her Lord Lovel had fled, and to her also fled the Earl of Lincoln. To her the Irish party sent emissaries for aid; and she despatched 2,000 veteran German troops, under a brave and experienced general, Martin Schwarz, accompanied by the Earl of Lincoln.

The moment that Henry Tudor learned the flight of the Earl of Lincoln, he set out on a progress through the counties of Essex, Suffolk, and Norfolk, in which the chief interest of the earl lay. He was at Kenilworth when news was brought him that the Earl of Lincoln and Lord Lovel had landed with the pretended Edward VI., supported by Martin Schwarz and his German legion, at the pile of Foudray, an old keep in the southern extremity of Furness. Henry advanced by Coventry and Leicester to Nottingham; Lincoln had already approached Newark. The royal army advancing to oppose the whole force lost its way between Nottingham and Newark, and there was such confusion in consequence, and such rumours of the enemy being upon them, that numbers deserted. But five guides were procured from Ratcliff-on-Trent, and soon afterwards the vanguard of Henry's army, led by the Earl of Oxford, encountered the forces of Lincoln at Stoke, a village near Newark. The battle lasted for three hours, and was obstinately contested. The veteran Germans, under Schwarz, fought till they were exterminated almost to a man. The Irish displayed not the less valour; but, being only armed with darts and skeans—for the English settlers had adopted the arms of the natives—were no match for the royal cavalry. The whole of the troops of the insurgents, expecting no mercy if they were taken, seemed prepared to perish rather than to yield. Four thousand of the insurgents and 2,000 of the king's best troops are said to have fallen in this desperate engagement; but nearly all the leaders of the rebel army, the Earl of Lincoln, Sir Thomas Broughton, the brave Schwarz, and the Lords Thomas and Maurice Fitzgerald, having fallen, the victory on Henry's part became complete.

The pretender Lambert Simnel and the priest Simon were captured by Sir Robert Bellingham, one of the king's esquires; but nothing was seen of Lord Lovel. He was believed to have escaped, but no traces of him were discoverable; many thought that he had perished in attempting to swim his horse across the Trent. But nearly two centuries afterwards a subterranean chamber was discovered accidentally by some workmen at Minster Lovel, in Oxfordshire, the ancient seat of his family. In this chamber was seated a skeleton in a chair, with its head resting on a table; and this was supposed to be the remains of this same Lord Lovel, who had reached his house, and secreted himself in this apartment, where he had perished by some unknown cause.

After the battle, Henry travelled northward to ascertain that all was secure in the tract through which the insurgents had passed, and to punish such as had aided the rebels, and those who just before the battle had spread the rumour of his defeat. The royal punishments did not consist in putting his enemies to death, but in fining them severely, for Henry Tudor much preferred making a profit of a man to killing him. The late insurrection had taught him that if he did not wish for a repetition of it, he must concede something to the Yorkist party, and must pay some respect to the queen. Accordingly, on the 25th of November, 1487, Elizabeth was crowned with much state at Westminster.

Having thus made this amende to public opinion, Henry, instead of giving Simnel consequence by putting him to death, or making a State prisoner of him in the Tower, turned him into his kitchen as a scullion, thus showing his contempt of him. "He would not take his life," says Lord Bacon, "taking him but as an image of wax that others had tempered and moulded;" and considering that if he was made a continual spectacle, he would be "a kind of remedy against the like enchantments of people in time to come." The priest Simon he shut up in a secret prison, saying he was but a tool, and did not know the depths of the plot. He even professed to regret the death of the Earl of Lincoln, who, had his life been spared, he said, "might have revealed to him the bottom of his danger." In his peculiar way he threw much mystery over the matter, for mystery was one of his greatest pleasures.

Having settled these matters, which he did on his own authority, Henry summoned a Parliament to grant him supplies, and to increase those supplies by bill of attainder against all those who had been engaged in the late conspiracy. To prevent similar risings, he demanded that the law should be rigorously put in force against the practice of maintenance. This maintenance was the association of numbers of persons under a particular chief or nobleman, whose badge or livery they wore, and to whom they were bound by oath to support him in his private quarrels against other noblemen. But the instrument was too convenient not to be turned on occasion against the Crown, whenever rich chiefs took up the opposite party, and by this means it was that such numbers of troops could be brought at the shortest notice into the field against the monarch. Various laws had been passed on this subject, and heavy penalties decreed; but now it was ordained that, instead of calling such offenders before the royal council, as had been the custom, a particular Court should be established for the purpose. The chancellor, the treasurer, the keeper of the privy seal, or two of them, one bishop, one lay peer, and the judges of the King's Bench and Common Pleas, were empowered to summon all such persons before them, and to punish the guilty just as if they had been convicted by ordinary course of law. This was the origin of what came to be called the Court of the Star Chamber, from the walls or ceiling of the room where it met being decorated with stars.

The affairs on the Continent were now in a state which demanded the most serious attention, but which were by no means likely to be settled to the honour of the country by a monarch of the penurious character of Henry VII. If ever a monarch was bound by gratitude to succour another prince, it was Henry VII. He had been protected in Brittany from all the attempts of the Yorkist monarch for years. The Duke Francis, who had been his host and friend during his long exile, was now growing old. He appears never to have been of a very vigorous mind, and now mind and body were failing together. He had two daughters, and the hope of securing the patrimony of the eldest, Anne, drew the attention of many suitors, the chief of whom were Maximilian, King of the Romans; the Duke of Orleans, the first prince of the blood in France; and the Count D'Albret, a powerful chieftain, at the foot of the Pyrenees. But hostile alike to all these wooers was Charles VIII. of France, who, though he was under engagement to marry the daughter of Maximilian, and therefore apparently debarred from the hand of Anne of Brittany, was resolved, if possible, to secure her territory. In this dilemma, Francis sent repeated importunate entreaties to Henry to come to his rescue. France, at the same time, sent to him, praying him to be neutral, alleging that Charles was only seeking to drive his revolted subjects out of Brittany. Henry was bound by honour to give prompt succour to his old friend; he had received from Parliament two-fifteenths for the purpose, and was urged by it to send efficient aid to prevent France from seizing this important province. But Henry could not find it in his heart to spend the money in active service; he proposed to mediate between the parties. This suited the views of France exactly, because while Henry was negotiating they could continue to press on their victories. The poor Duke Francis was compelled to submit to a treaty, in August, at Verger, by which he surrendered to the French all the territory they had conquered, and was bound never again to call in assistance from England or any other country, nor to marry either of his daughters without the consent of the King of France. Having signed this humiliating treaty, the duke died of a broken heart, on the 7th of September, 1488, only three weeks afterwards.

The people of England received these tidings with undisguised indignation. Twice had they voted large sums to enable their ungrateful and pusillanimous king to aid his old benefactor and the ally of England; twice had he put the money in his coffers, and sold the honour of the country and the fortunes of the unfortunate ally to the French, wholly insensible to honour or shame. But whilst the public were foaming in wrath over this despicable conduct, the indefatigable French were pressing on. Anne, the young orphan duchess, was a mere child of only twelve years of age. Around her were contending rivals and their adherents. But all this time the French were seizing town after town. The news of this awoke such a fermentation in England, and Henry was upbraided in such vehement terms for thus, as the sovereign of a great people, sacrificing the honour of the nation, and permitting the helpless orphan of his benefactor to become the prey of France, that he was compelled to rouse himself. He determined to send ambassadors to Maximilian, to his son, the Archduke Philip, to the Kings of Spain and Portugal, inviting them to act in concert with him for the repression of French ambition. Having taken this magnanimous, and, if it had really been intended to follow it up vigorously, most admirable step, Henry called a Parliament, and demanded more money to carry on the war.

The pretences of this huckstering king were now become too transparent to deceive any one. All the money hitherto voted for a war that never took place was still in Henry's coffers. The people thought that he ought first to bring out that before he asked for more. Parliament, therefore, made strong opposition, and finally reduced his demand of £100,000 to £75,000. But, when they had voted, the indignant people refused to pay it, considering that the selfish monarch had their cash already in hand. Great disturbances arose in the endeavour to enforce the collection of the tax. This manifested itself especially in the north, where Henry had used such endeavours to soothe and win the inhabitants.

The Earl of Northumberland directed the collection to be enforced, accompanying the command with such menaces as he deemed necessary to procure obedience. But these had a contrary effect. The people flew to arms, and, turning their vengeance first against the earl, as the rigorous instrument of an imperious monarch, they stormed his house and put him to death. They then declared war against the tyrant, as they termed Henry, himself. Their leader was a fiery fellow of the common order, named John à Chambre, but, as they assumed a formidable aspect, Sir John Egremont, one of the Yorkist faction, put himself at their head. Henry lost no time in despatching Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, who soon suppressed the insurrection, and hanged John à Chambre and some of his accomplices. Sir John Egremont escaped to Flanders to the Duchess of Burgundy.

Henry now sent over to Brittany a body of 6,000 men under Lord Willoughby de Broke; but he limited their service to six months, which was, in fact, to render them nearly useless, especially when they had instructions not to fight, and he would not even afford that aid until he had exacted from the poor orphan girl, the young duchess, the surrender of her two best sea-ports in security of payment. He moreover compelled the duchess to bind herself by the like oath to him as she had taken to the French king, not to marry without his consent. Before the end of the year Anne found herself invested by the French army in Rennes; and rather than fall a helpless and humiliated captive into the hands of Charles, she consented to marry him, having not a single soul left to stand by her in her resolute opposition. She was married to Charles on the 13th of December, 1491, at Rennes, was crowned in the abbey church of St. Denis, and made her entrance into Paris amid the acclamations of a vast multitude, who regarded this event as one of the most auspicious which had ever happened to France.

The rage of Maximilian may be imagined. He had lost Brittany, his daughter had lost the throne of France, and he was duped and insulted in the most egregious manner before all Europe. He made his complaints ring far and wide, but they were only echoed by the laughter of his enemies, and he proceeded to vow revenge by the assistance of Spain and England.

Henry was now bent, according to all appearance, on war. He was too clear-sighted not to perceive the immense advantage France had obtained over him in securing Brittany, and how the political foresight and sagacity on which he prided himself had suffered from the paltry promptings of his avarice. He therefore put on a most belligerent attitude. He summoned a Parliament at Westminster, and addressed it in the most heroic strain. He commented on the insolence of France, elated with the success of her late perfidy, and on—what he no doubt felt more deeply than anything else—her refusal to pay what he called the tribute agreed by Louis XI. to be paid to Edward IV., and hitherto continued to himself. Two-fifteenths were at once granted him, and the nobility were on fire with the anticipation of realising all the glories and the plunder of the past ages.

He availed himself of the paroxysm of the moment, not only to gather in and garner the two-fifteenths newly granted, but the remains of the benevolence voted last session. Whilst the fresh tax fell on the nation generally, this fell on the monied and commercial capitalists. London alone furnished £10,000 of it or £100,000 of our money. The wily old archbishop, Morton, instructed the commissioners to employ this dilemma, which was called "Morton's fork." They were to urge upon people who lived in a modest and careful way, that they must be rich in consequence of their parsimony; on those who indulged in expensive abodes and styles of living, that they must be opulent, because they had so much to expend. To afford ample time for harvesting these riches, Henry found perpetual causes for delaying his expedition. The nobles were already crowding to his standard with their vassals, and impatient to set out, but Henry had always some plausible excuse for lingering. At one time it was the unsafe state of Scotland, and four months were occupied in negotiating an extension of the truce; then it was the necessity of contracting for fresh levies of troops. These troops, however, were ready in June and July, but still they were not allowed to move. "The truth was," says Bacon, "that though the king showed great forwardness for a war, not only to his Parliament and Court, but to his Privy Council, except the two bishops (Fox and Morton), and a few more, yet, nevertheless, in his secret intentions, he had no purpose to go through with any war upon France. But the truth was, that he did but traffic with that war to make money."

At length, in the beginning of October, 1492, he landed at Calais, with a fine army of 25,000 foot, and 1,600 horse, which he gave in command to the Duke of Bedford and the Earl of Oxford. This was a force capable of striking an alarming blow, but the whole affair was a sham. In fact, Henry had entered into a treaty of peace before he had set out, and the only difficulty now was how to get out of the war without incurring too much resentment at home. To guard against this, the odium of the abortive expedient must be carefully removed from himself to other parties. The machinery for this was already prepared. His ambassadors appeared in the camp at Boulogne, informing them that their visit to his previous ally Maximilian had been useless; he was incapable of joining him. These were followed by others from Spain, bringing the intelligence that Ferdinand had concluded a peace with France, Roussillon and Cerdagne being ceded to him by Charles. But with Henry's fine army, and the defenceless state of France, the defection of these allies, from whom little or nothing had been expected, would have scarcely cost him a thought had he been a Henry V. As it was, after all his boasts, it was not even for him to propose an abandonment of the enterprise, and therefore, the Marquis of Dorset and twenty-three other persons of distinction were employed to present to him a request that he would also make a peace with France. They urged, as they were instructed for this purpose, the defection of these allies, the approach of winter, the difficulty of obtaining supplies at Calais at that season, and the obstinacy of the siege of Boulogne. All these were circumstances that had been foreseen from the first, and treated with indifference, as they deserved to be; but now Henry affected to listen to the desires of his army, and sent off the Bishop of Exeter and the Lord Daubeney to confer with the Marshal de Cordes, who had been sent as plenipotentiary on the part of Charles to Étaples. They soon returned, bringing the rough draft of a treaty, by which peace and amity were to be maintained betwixt the two sovereigns during their lives, and a year afterwards. Even this Henry affected to decline, and only consented to give way at the earnest entreaty of his already-mentioned four-and-twenty officers.

After having thus assumed all this pretence to exonerate himself from censure, Henry signed a peace on the following terms:—Charles was to retain Brittany for ever, and he was to pay Henry 620,000 crowns in gold for the money advanced by Henry on account of Brittany and his present expenses, and 125,000 crowns in gold as arrears of the pension paid to Edward IV. by Louis XI. He was also to continue this pension of 25,000 crowns to Henry and his heirs. The whole amount which Henry sacked was 745,000 crowns, equal to £400,000 of our present money. The members of his council, who openly acted the part of petitioners of this peace, are said not only to have been instructed by Henry to perform this obnoxious duty, but to have been gained by the bribes of the French king, who was anxious to make short work of it, that he might proceed on an expedition which he had set his mind upon against Naples. They went about declaring that it was the most glorious peace that any king of England ever made with France, and that if Henry's subjects presumed to censure it, they were ready to take the blame upon themselves.

Having used these precautions to ward off the reproaches of his subjects, Henry ratified the peace on the 6th of November, and led back his army to England. There, though he had the money safely in his chests, the disappointment and indignation of the people were extreme, and tended to diminish his sordid satisfaction. The people protested that he had been trading on the honour of the nation, and had sold its interests and reputation for his own vile gain, and his enemies did not neglect to avail themselves of his unpopularity. During the past year, a young man had landed in Cork, of a singularly fascinating exterior and insinuating address. He represented himself to be no other than the Duke of York, the younger of the two princes who were supposed to have been murdered in the Tower. He was a fine young man, apparently exactly of the age of the Duke of York, and bearing a striking likeness to Edward IV. "Such a mercurial," says Bacon, "as the like hath seldom been known; and he had such a crafty and bewitching fashion, both to move pity and induce belief, as was like a kind of fascination or enchantment." What would appear to have been the real story of this remarkable pretender, so far as we can gather from the records of the time, is this:—

Margaret, the Duchess-Dowager of Burgundy, having played off Lambert Simnel, devised this scheme, or was supplied with it by the Yorkist refugees at her Court, who had immediate and constant communion with the heads of the York faction in England. A young man was industriously sought after who should well represent the Duke of York, though she knew him to be dead. Such a youth was found in the son, or reputed son, of one John Osbeck, or Warbeck, a renegade Jew of Tournay. This Warbeck had lived and carried on business in the time of Edward IV., and had dealings with the king, who was so free with him that the Jew prevailed on him to become godfather to his child, who was called Peter, and whose name became converted into the diminutive Peterkin or Perkin. Others assert that Warbeck's wife had been amongst the numerous favourites of Edward, and that this Perkin was really his son—whence the striking resemblance, the cleverness and liveliness of his character. Warbeck had returned to Flanders, and there, in course of time, his son had attracted the attention of the Yorkist conspirators as the very youth, in all respects, for their purpose. He was introduced to the duchess, who found him already familiar with the whole story of Edward's Court from the past affairs and position there of his parents.

The scheme being now matured and the chief actor ready, they only waited for the true moment for his appearance. That came in the prospect of Henry being involved in war with France. As soon as this seemed inevitable, the pretended Duke of York landed in Ireland. The York faction was still strong in that country, and, despite the failure of the former pretender, Simnel, the Irish were ready, to a certain extent, to embrace another claimant of Henry's crown. He landed at Cork, where the mayor and others of that city received him as the true Richard Plantagenet, as, no doubt, they had previously agreed to do. Many of the credulous people flocked after him, but the more prudent stood aloof. He wrote to the Earls of Desmond and Kildare, inviting them to join his standard, but those powerful noblemen kept a cautious distance. Kildare had been disgraced by Henry for his reception of Simnel, and dreaded his more deadly vengeance in case of a second failure. But Warbeck, undismayed, spread everywhere the exciting story of his escape from the cruelty of his uncle Richard, and was gradually making an impression on the imaginative mind of Ireland, when a summons came to a new scene.

Charles VIII. of France was now menaced by Henry with invasion. He knew the man too well to doubt the real object of his menace, and the power of money to avert it, but it was of consequence to reduce the bribe as much as possible; and every instrument which promised to assist in effecting that was most valuable. Such an instrument was this self-styled Duke of York, who had suddenly appeared in Ireland. The watchful Duchess of Burgundy is said to have adroitly turned Charles's attention to this mysterious individual through the agency of one Frion, a man who had been a Secretary of Henry, but who had been won over by his enemies. Charles caught at the idea; an invitation was instantly despatched to Perkin Warbeck to hasten to the French Court, where he was "to hear of something to his advantage," and he was received by the king as the undoubted Duke of York and true monarch of England. Perkin's person, talents, and address, being worthy of a real prince, won him the admiration of all who approached him; and not only the Court and capital, but the whole of France, soon rang with praise of the accomplishments, the adventures, and the unmerited misfortunes of this last of the Plantagenets. The king settled upon him a princely income; a magnificent abode was assigned him, and a body-guard befitting a royal personage was conferred upon him, of which the Lord of Concressault was made captain.

The news of this cordial reception of the reputed Duke of York by the French Court flew to England, and Sir George Neville, Sir John Taylor, and above a hundred gentlemen hastened to Paris, and offered to him their devoted services. This decided and rapidly-growing demonstration had the effect which Charles contemplated. Henry was greatly alarmed, and hastened to close the negotiations for peace. These once signed, the puppet had done its work in France. Henry made earnest demands to have Warbeck handed over to him, but Charles, who, no doubt, was bound by agreement with the Duchess of Burgundy to refuse any such surrender, declared that to do so would be contrary to his honour; but he gave the pretender a hint to quit the kingdom, and he retired to the Court of Burgundy.

The duchess now heaped on Perkin all the marks of affection and the honours which she would have deemed due to her own nephew. She ordered every one to give him the homage belonging to a real king; she appointed him a guard of thirty halberdiers, and styled him the "White Rose of England." On all occasions her conduct towards him was that of an affectionate aunt, who regarded him as the head of her family, and the heir of the brightest crown in Europe.

It is not to be supposed that the tempest which was gathering around Henry had escaped his attention. On the contrary, he was aware of all that was passing, and with the caution and concealment of his character, he was at work to counteract the operations of his enemies. The first object with him was to convince the public that the real Duke of York had perished at the same time as his brother, Edward V. Nothing, he concluded, would be so effectual for this purpose as the evidence of those who had always been held to be concerned in the death of the young princes. Of five implicated, according to universal belief, two only now survived, namely, Sir James Tyrell—who had taken the place of Sir Robert Brackenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower, during the night of the murder—and John Dighton, one of the actual assassins. These two were secured and interrogated, and their evidence was precisely that which we have stated when relating the murder of the princes. The bodies, therefore, were sought for, but as the chaplain was dead who was supposed to have witnessed their removal, according to the order of Richard III., they could not then be found and produced. The testimony of Tyrell and Dighton, however, was published and circulated as widely as possible, and these two miscreants, after their full and frank avowal of the perpetration of this diabolical murder, were, to the disgrace of the king and of public justice, again allowed to go free. Everyone, however, must perceive at once how important it was to Henry that the real witnesses of that murder should exist, and be forthcoming to confound any one pretending to be either of these princes.

Henry next applied to the Archduke Philip, the son of Maximilian and Mary of Burgundy, and now sovereign of the Netherlands in his own right, to deliver up to him the impostor, Warbeck, who, he contended, was entertained in his dominions contrary to the existing treaties, and the amity betwixt the two sovereigns. But Margaret had the influence to render his application abortive. Philip professed to have every desire to oblige his great ally, Henry of England, but he pleaded that Margaret was sole ruler in her own states, and, though he might advise her in this matter, he could not control her. Henry resented the polite evasion by stopping all commercial intercourse between England and the Low Countries, by banishing all Flemings from his dominions, and recalling his own subjects from Flanders; and Philip retaliated by issuing similar edicts.

In 1494, several Yorkist lords were arrested and executed, but there remained a conspirator far higher than any who had yet been unveiled—a conspirator where it was least expected, in the immediate vicinity of the throne, and in the person who more than all others, perhaps, had contributed to place Henry upon it. His name stood in the secret list of traitors furnished by spies, but he had been left for a more striking and dramatic discovery, for a dénouement calculated to produce the most startling and profound impression.

After the festivities of Christmas the king took up his residence in the Tower, where he held his council on the 7th of January, 1495. If there was one man more distinguished than another by the royal favour in that august circle, he was Stanley, Lord Chamberlain. Sir William Stanley had burst upon Richard III. at Bosworth Field, at the critical moment, slain his standard-bearer, and, by his followers, killed the tyrant. His brother, Lord Stanley, had put the crown of the fallen monarch on Henry's head. For this he had been created Earl of Derby, and had been allowed to ally himself to the throne by the marriage of Henry's mother, the Countess of Richmond. Sir William had been made Lord Chamberlain, and both brothers had been glutted, as it were, with the wealth and estates of proscribed families. There were no men—not even Fox and Morton—who were supposed to stand so high, not merely in the favour, but in the friendship of Henry. He was suddenly arrested at the council chamber and executed, his vast wealth passing to the Crown.

The fall of Stanley was a paralysing blow to the partisans of Warbeck. They saw that even that great nobleman, while apparently living in the very centre and blaze of royal favour, had been surrounded by spies who watched all his actions, heard his most secret communications, and carried them all to the king. No man who was in any degree implicated felt himself safe. Henry's cautious and severe temper, while it made him hated, made him proportionately feared. Assured by the success which had attended all his measures, Henry every day displayed more and more the grasping avarice of his disposition, and accusations and heavy fines fell thickly around. He fined Sir William Capel, Alderman of London, for some offence, £2,743; and, though he failed to secure the whole, he obtained £1,615. Encouraged by this, he repeated the like attempts; and, while he depressed the nobility, he especially countenanced unprincipled lawyers, as the ready tools of his rapacity. Whilst this conduct, however, kept alive the rancour of many influential people, it rendered the common people passive; for they escaped the oppressions of many petty tyrants, who were kept in check by the one great one. Warbeck's party, therefore, was much disabled. It was now three years since he made his appearance, but, with the exception of his brief visit to Ireland, he had attempted nothing in Henry's dominions. But the Flemings, who were smarting under the restrictions put upon their trade with England, began to murmur loudly, and the Archduke Philip to remonstrate warmly with Margaret on account of the countenance given to the English insurgents.

Under these circumstances it was necessary for Warbeck and his adherents to make an effort of some kind. Taking advantage, therefore, of the absence of Henry on a visit to his mother at Latham House, in Lancashire, Warbeck and a few hundred followers made a descent in July on the coast of Kent, near Deal. It was hoped that Henry's severity would have made numbers ready to join them. The people, indeed, assembled under the guidance of some gentlemen of property, and, professing to favour Warbeck, invited him to come on shore. But he, or those about him, observing that the forces collected had nothing of that tumultuous impetuosity about them which usually characterises insurgents in earnest, kept aloof, and the men of Kent perceiving that they could not draw Warbeck into the snare, fell on his followers already on land, and, besides killing many of them, took 169 prisoners. The rest managed to get on board again, and Warbeck, seeing what sort of a reception England gave him, sailed back with all speed to Flanders. The prisoners were tied together like teams of cattle, and driven to London, where they were all condemned and executed to a man, in various places, some at London and Wapping, some on the coasts of Kent, Sussex, Essex, and Norfolk, where they were gibbeted, as a warning to any fresh adventurers who might appear on those shores.

Flanders was now become no durable place of sojourn for Perkin and his party. The Flemings would no longer submit to the interruption of their trade; and the archduke entered into a treaty with Henry, which contained a stipulation that Philip should restrain the Duchess Margaret from harbouring any of the king's enemies, and that the two princes should expel from their territories all the enemies of each other. This treaty was ratified on the 24th of February, 1496, and thereupon Warbeck betook himself to Ireland. But there he found a sensible change had taken place since his former visit. The king had sent over Sir Edward Poynings as lord-deputy, who had taken such measures that the people were much satisfied. On landing at Cork, therefore, the Irish refused to recognise their late idol, and from Cork he sailed away to Scotland. There a new and surprising turn of fortune awaited him. For a long time his interest had been on the decline. In Flanders the public had grown weary of him; in England they had endeavoured to entrap him; from Ireland they had repulsed him. He is said to have presented letters of recommendation from Charles VIII. of France, and from his great patroness the Duchess-Dowager of Burgundy; and James IV. of Scotland received him with open arms.

James IV. of Scotland was a brave, generous, and patriotic monarch. When Henry offered him his daughter Margaret, he, therefore, unceremoniously rejected the offer. The disposition which Henry was said to have shown to encourage his subjects, during the truce, to molest the Scottish merchantmen at the very mouth of the Forth, was highly resented by James, who supported his admiral—Wood of Largo—in severely chastising the pirates, and did not fail to warn Henry that such practices must not be repeated. The dislike which James entertained for the insidious character of Henry—who began that system of bribing the nobles around the throne of Scotland which was never discontinued so long as a Tudor reigned, and which ended in the destruction of Mary, Queen of Scots—was violently aggravated by a base attempt of Henry in 1490. This was no other than a scheme to seize and carry off James to England, which failed ignominiously.

In this temper of the Scottish King, nothing could come more opportunely than such a person as Perkin Warbeck. James had, from the first moment of mounting his throne, been careful to strengthen his alliances with the whole European continent. With France, Spain, Portugal, Denmark, and Flanders, his intercourse, both official and mercantile, was active and constant. Of course, James was kept in full information of all that was agitating England. With the Duchess of Burgundy, the inveterate enemy of Henry, it is clearly provable that James was in secret correspondence only five months after his accession. In 1488, even, there were busy messengers and heralds passing to and fro betwixt Flanders, Ireland, and Scotland.

From these circumstances, which are attested by the "Treasurer's Accounts," and other records of Scotland, it is manifest that James was intimately informed of everything which could be known about Warbeck. There could be no mistake made by James in his reception of that personage, when, in November, 1495, he presented himself at the palace of Stirling. Whatever James did he did with his eyes wide open and his mind fully made up. Yet from the very first he received him apparently with the most undoubting faith as to his being the true Plantagenet.

Warbeck was welcomed into Scotland with much state and rejoicing as the veritable Duke of York. James addressed him as "cousin," and celebrated tournaments and other courtly gaieties in his honour. The reputed prince, by his noble appearance, the simple dignity of his manners, and the romance of his story and supposed misfortunes, everywhere excited the highest admiration. James made a grand progress with him through his dominions, and beheld him wherever he appeared produce the most favourable impression. If James did not himself really believe Warbeck to be the Duke of York before he came to Scotland, his conduct during his abode there seems to have convinced him of it. At no time was he known to express a doubt of it, and on all occasions he spoke and acted as if morally certain of it. Nothing could be more convincing than his giving him to wife one of the most beautiful and high-born women of Scotland, Lady Catherine Gordon, daughter of the Earl of Huntly, and grand-daughter of James I. James now mustered his forces for the grand expedition which he hoped would drive Henry from the throne of England, and establish there the son of Edward IV., in the person of Warbeck.

Meantime, Henry VII. was diligently at work at his favourite plans of bribing and undermining. He had an active agent in Lord Bothwell, whom James had weakly forgiven for his numerous conspiracies. By his means Henry had won over the king's brothers, the Duke of Ross, the Earl of Buchan, and the Bishop of Moray. These traitors engaged to do everything in their power to defeat the expedition. The Duke of Ross promised to put himself under the protection of the King of England the moment his brother crossed the borders. Nor did the plot stop there. Again there was a scheme to seize James at night in his tent, suggested by Henry, and entered into by Bothwell, Buchan, and Wyat, an English emissary. This disgraceful plot was defeated by the vigilance of the royal guard, but not the less actively did the paid spies of Henry Tudor, including some of the most powerful barons in Scotland, labour to defeat the success of the enterprise. They accompanied the army only with the hope of betraying it, while their efforts were essentially aided by the remonstrances of more honest counsellors, who doubted the wisdom of the expedition, and did all they could to dissuade James from it.

Burning with resentment at the base and insidious attempts of Henry to disturb the security of his government, and to seize upon his person, and coveting the glory of restoring the last noble scion of a great race to the throne of his ancestors, James was deaf alike to warnings of secret treason or more public danger. He made his last muster of his forces at Ellam Kirk, near the English border and, proclaiming war on Henry, marched forward. Warbeck, as Richard Duke of York, at the same time issued a proclamation calling upon all true Englishmen to assemble beneath the banner of the true inheritor of the crown. He denounced Henry Tudor as a usurper, and as the murderer of Sir William Stanley, Sir Simon Montfort, and others of the ancient nobility; he charged him with having invaded the liberties and the franchises of both Church and people; and with having plundered the subjects by heavy and illegal impositions. He pledged himself to remedy all these abuses; to restore and defend the rights and privileges of the Church, the nobles, the corporations, and the commerce and manufactures of the country. He related the dangers through which he had passed since his escape from the Tower to this moment, and he set a price of a thousand pounds in money, and land to the value of a hundred marks per annum, for the capture or destruction of Henry Tudor.

But however judiciously the proclamation was drawn up, James was confounded as he advanced to see that it produced not the slightest effect. In vain had it been protested in the proclamation that James came only as the friend of the rightful King of England; that he sought no advantage to himself—though he had really bargained for the restoration of Berwick, and was to be paid 1,000 marks for the expenses of the war—and that he would retire the moment a sufficient English force appeared in the field. No such force was likely to present itself. If Warbeck had met with no success when supported by Englishmen, it was not to be expected when followed by an army of the hereditary foes of the kingdom—Scots and French, backed by Germans, Flemings, and other foreigners.

When James saw that, instead of being welcomed as deliverers, they were avoided, and that the expedition was altogether hopeless, he gave way to his wrath, and began to plunder the country, or to permit his troops to do it. Warbeck remonstrated against the devastations committed on the English with all the ardour of a true prince, declaring that he would rather lose the throne than gain it by the sufferings of his people. But James replied that his cousin of York was too considerate of the welfare of a nation that hesitated to acknowledge him either as king or subject. All this time the diligent Bothwell was duly informing Henry of the state of the Scottish camp, and of everything said and done in it. He now assured him that the Scottish army would soon beat a retreat, for that the inhabitants, in expectation of the visit, had driven off all their cattle, and removed their stores; so that the army was on the point of starvation. This was soon verified. The Scots, finding no supporters, about the end of the year retreated into their own country.

The invasion from Scotland afforded Henry another pretext for raising more money. He summoned a Parliament in the February of 1497, to which he uttered bitter complaints of the inroad and devastations of the Scots; of the troubles created by the impostor, and the manifold insults to the crown and nation. All this was now apparently blown over; but Parliament gratified the king by voting £120,000, together with two-fifteenths. Happy in the prospect of such supplies, Henry recked little of Warbeck or the Scots; but the tax roused the especial wrath of the Cornish people, who, knowing that the king only wanted to add their money to his already immense and useless hoards, wanted to know what they had to do with inroads of the Scots, who were never likely to come near them, and who had retired of themselves without so much as waiting for the sight of an army. This excitement of the brave and industrious, but hard-living Cornish men was fanned into a flame by Michael Joseph, a farrier of Bodmin, and one Thomas Flammock, an attorney, who assured the people that the tax was totally illegal, though voted by Parliament; for that the northern counties were bound by the tenures of their estates to defend that frontier; and that if they submitted to the avarice of Henry and his ministers there would be no end to it.

Flammock told them that they must deliver the king a petition, seconded by such numbers as to give it authority; but at the same time he assured them that to procure the concurrence of the rest of the kingdom they must conduct themselves with all order, and refrain from committing any injuries to person or property, demonstrating that they had only the public good in view. Armed with bills, bows, axes, and other country weapons that they could command, they marched into Devonshire 16,000 strong, and called on the people to accompany them, and demand the heads of Archbishop Morton and Sir Reginald Bray, who were declared to be the advisers of the obnoxious impost. At Taunton they made an example of an insolent and overbearing commissioner of the tax of the name of Perin. At Wells they were joined by Lord Audley, a man of an ancient family, but said to be of a vain and ambitious character.

Proud of having a nobleman at their head, they marched through Salisbury and Winchester into Surrey, and thence to Kent, the people of which, Flammock told them, had in all ages been noted for their independence and patriotism, and were sure to join them. They pitched their camp on Blackheath, near Eltham, but not a man joined them. The people of Kent had their causes of complaint; but they had lately shown what was their spirit by repelling Perkin Warbeck, and they were too enlightened to join in the expedition.

Henry had now received the new levies raised to oppose any further motion of the Scots, and he sent them forward to attack and disperse the rebels. He always regarded Saturday as his fortunate day; therefore, on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1497, he gave the order for the attack. He divided his forces into three divisions. The first, under Lord Daubeney, pushed forward to attack the insurgents in front; the second, under the Earl of Oxford, was to take a compass, and assail them in the rear; and the king himself took post with the third division in St. George's Fields, to secure the city. To throw the insurgents off their guard, he had given out that he should not take the field for some days; and to give probability to this notion, he did not send out his advanced forces till the latter part of the day. Lord Daubeney beat an advanced guard of the rebels from Deptford Bridge, and before the main body was prepared to receive him, he charged them with fury. Though they were brave men, and 16,000 strong, thus taken at advantage, and naturally ill-disciplined, ill-armed, and destitute of cavalry and artillery, they were soon broken and compelled to fly. Two thousand of them were slain, and 1,500 made prisoners. The prisoners Henry gave up to the captors, who allowed them to ransom themselves for a few shillings each.

Lord Audley, Flammock, and Joseph only were executed. The peer was beheaded, the commoners were hanged; and Joseph seemed to glory in the distinction, saying he should figure in history. Henry on this occasion displayed great clemency, which some have ascribed to his desire to make a good impression on the Cornish people; others for joy that Lord Daubeney had escaped, for at one time he was surrounded by the enemy but was soon rescued. But the most probable reason was that assigned by Lord Bacon:—"That the harmless behaviour of this people that came from the west of England to the east, without mischief almost, or spoil of the country, did somewhat mollify him, and move him to compassion; or, lastly, that he made a great difference between people that did rebel upon wantonness, and them that did rebel upon want."

James of Scotland seized on the opportunity created by the Cornish insurrection to make a fresh inroad into England. He laid siege to the castle of Norham, and plundered the country round. Henry despatched the Earl of Surrey, with an army of 20,000 men, to drive back the Scots, and punish them by carrying the war of devastation into their country. As Surrey advanced, James retired, and Surrey, following him across the Tweed, took and demolished the little castle of Ayton, ravaged the borders, and returned to Berwick. These useless and worse than useless raids, with no hope of permanent advantage on either side, but only of mischief to the unoffending inhabitants on both, were worthy only of the most savage and unenlightened times. The spies of Henry, however, soon informed him that James was really sick of the war, and he repeated the offer made before of the hand of his daughter Margaret. This he made through the Spanish ambassador, Don Pedro d'Ayala, who came forward as a friendly mediator, thus sparing both kings the humiliation of making the first move. D'Ayala found James quite disposed for peace, but in a somewhat cavalier humour as to the terms. By the advice of D'Ayala, commissioners were appointed to meet at Ayton, where, under the management of Fox, Bishop of Durham, on the part of England, a truce was agreed upon to last for the lives of the two kings, and a year after the death of the longer liver. Though agreed upon, this important truce was not ratified for some years afterwards.

Meantime, James privately admonished Warbeck to quit the kingdom, as he could no longer assist him, and his presence would only tend to endanger the truce. Warbeck is said to have received this intimation with much true dignity and good feeling. He thanked the king for the great effort he had made on his account, for all the honours and favours that he had conferred upon him, and for which he declared he should ever remain deeply grateful. A vessel was prepared for his departure at Ayr, and every comfort was provided for his accommodation which James could have offered to the true prince. His beautiful and accomplished wife would not be left behind—a proof that she was really attached to him, whatever she might think of his pretensions. She quitted rank, fortune, a high position in the Scottish Court, to embrace with him a homeless life and a dark prospect. Flanders was closed to Perkin by the fresh league betwixt that country and England. Ireland was a more than dubious resort, yet thither he turned his prow, and landed at Cork on the 30th of July, 1497, with about 100 followers. The attempt to rouse again the enthusiasm of Ireland was vain; but at this juncture the last gleam of Warbeck's waning fortune seemed to fall upon him.

The Cornish rebels, let off so easily by Henry, had returned to their own county, proclaiming by the way that the king had not dared to put them to death because the whole of his subjects were in the same state of discontent. The people of Cornwall and Devon, reassured by this, again took up arms against the commissioners, who were still collecting the tax with great severity, and, it is said, despatched a message to Warbeck to come over and head them. On the 7th of September, 1497, he accordingly landed at Whitsand Bay, with four or five small barques, and his 100 fighting men. Being joined by 3,000 of the insurgents at Bodmin, he issued a proclamation similar to his former one. Bodmin was the native place of Michael Joseph, their great orator and leader, and the people there were burning to revenge his death. Warbeck set out on his march towards Devonshire, and thousands of those who had lost friends and relations in the bloody battle of Blackheath joined him on the way. He sent his wife to Mount St. Michael for security, and directing his course towards Exeter, he invested that city on the 17th of September with a rude, wild force of about 10,000 men. He announced himself as Richard IV. of England, and called on the inhabitants to surrender; but, having sent notification of his approach to King Henry, they determined to defend themselves, if needful, till succour arrived.

Warbeck had no artillery or engines of any kind to carry on a siege, he therefore attempted to break down the gates. At the one he was repulsed with considerable loss, the other he managed to burn down, but the citizens availed themselves of the fire, feeding it as it failed, till they had dug a deep trench behind the flames. When, the next morning, Warbeck returned to force a passage by that gate, the citizens received him with such spirit that they slew 200 of his men, and daunted the rest. Assistance was now also flowing in from the country to the city, and Warbeck was in danger of being attacked both in front and rear. Seeing this, he demanded a suspension of hostilities, and, depressed by this failure, his Devonshire followers began rapidly to fall away, and steal home as quickly as they could. His Cornish adherents, however, more intrepid, encouraged him to persevere, and vowed that they would perish in his cause. In this state of desperation the pretender marched on towards Taunton, where he arrived on the 20th of September. The country people on their way, smarting under the infliction of the hated tax, wished them success, but did not attempt to help them.

At Taunton, instead of any encouragement, they met the vanguard of the royal army, under the command of Lord Daubeney, the lord chamberlain, and Lord Broke, the steward of the household. The Duke of Buckingham was just behind with a second division, and Henry was declared to be following with a still larger force. The brave Cornish men, scarcely clothed, and still worse armed, shrank not a moment from the hopeless combat. They vowed to perish to a man in behalf of their newly-adopted king, and Warbeck, with an air as if he would lead them into battle in the morning, rode along their lines encouraging them, and made all ready for the attack.

But Warbeck, who had never shown any want of courage, perceived the utter madness of contending with his undisciplined followers against such overwhelming odds, and in the night he mounted a fleet steed and rode off. In the morning the Cornish men, seeing themselves without a leader, submitted to the king, and, with the exception of a few of the ringleaders, they were dismissed and returned homewards as best they might. Meanwhile, Lord Daubeney despatched 500 horsemen in pursuit of Warbeck, to prevent, if possible, his entrance into sanctuary; but the fugitive succeeded in reaching the monastery of Beaulieu, in the New Forest.

Henry sent a number of horsemen, in all haste, to St. Michael's Mount, in Cornwall, to obtain possession of the Lady Catherine Gordon, the wife of Warbeck. This they easily accomplished, and brought her to the king, on entering whose presence she blushed and burst into tears. Henry received her kindly—touched, for once in his life, with tenderness, by beauty in distress; or, probably, bearing in mind that the lady was the near kinswoman of the King of Scots, with whom he was desirous to stand well. He sent her to the queen, by whom she was most cordially received, and in whose court she remained attached to her service. She was still called the White Rose of Scotland, on account of her beauty. Lady Gordon was afterwards, it appears, three times married, but lies buried by the side of her second husband, Sir Matthew Cradock, in Swansea church.

Henry proceeded to Exeter, where he had the ringleaders of the Cornish insurrection brought in procession before him, with halters round their necks. Some of them he hanged, the rest he pardoned; but he, at the same time, appointed commissioners to proceed into the country through which Perkin had passed, and to fine all such people of property as had furnished him with aid or refreshment. They did not confine their scrutiny to those who had assisted Perkin in his march, but extended it to all who had relieved the famishing fugitives; "so that," says Bacon, "their severity did much obscure the king's mercy in sparing of blood, with the bleeding of so much treasure." They extorted altogether £10,000.

The next business was to get Warbeck out of his sanctuary and into the hands of the king. Beaulieu was surrounded by an armed force, and all attempts at escape made impossible. Some of Henry's council urged him to omit all ceremony, and take the pretender from the sanctuary by force; but this he declined, preferring to lure him thence by fair promises. After hesitating for some time, Warbeck at length threw himself upon the king's mercy. Henry then set out to London with his captive in his train. Warbeck rode in the king's suite through the city, along Cheapside, Cornhill, and to the Tower, and thence to Westminster. As the king had promised him his life, he kept his word. He was repeatedly examined by the Privy Council, but it seems as if something had transpired there which Henry deemed better concealed, for a profound silence was preserved on the subject of these disclosures. So far from even being degraded, like Lambert Simnel, to some menial occupation, Warbeck was suffered to enjoy a certain degree of liberty, and was treated as a gentleman. The probability is, that the king satisfied himself that this mysterious personage was in reality a son of Edward IV., by the handsome Jewess, Catherine de Faro, his birth being in Flanders, and agreeing exactly with the time of Edward's exile there. This might account for his admirable support of the character of a prince, for his confidence in his assertion of it for so many years, and the power he had of winning the strong attachment of persons of the highest rank and education. If this were true, he was, moreover, the queen's brother, though an illegitimate one, and might win the interest of herself and sisters by his resemblance in person, and in spirit and ambition, to her father.

But however this might be, he was too dangerous a person to be allowed to get loose again. He lived at Court under a strict surveillance, and he grew so weary of it, that he contrived to make his escape on the 8th of June, 1498. The alarm was instantly given; numbers of persons were out in pursuit of him; every road by which he might escape to sea was vigilantly beset, and the unhappy man, finding himself pressed on all sides, surrendered himself to the Prior of Sheen, near Richmond. The prior exercised the right of sanctuary possessed by the house, and refused to give him up to the king, except under pledge that his life should be spared. Henry agreed, but he confirmed the public opinion, which, excited by the mystery of the Court, fully believed Warbeck a son of Edward's, by now endeavouring to degrade him, and to fix upon him the old story. For this purpose he compelled him to sit in the stocks two whole days, on the 14th of June at Westminster Hall, and on the 15th in Cheapside, and there to read aloud to the people a confession made up of the account of him published in Henry's former proclamation, but with some very contradictory additions. This confession was then printed and circulated amongst the people, but failed entirely to satisfy any one. When this bitter purgatory had been passed through, the bitterest conceivable to a man of Warbeck's character, pretensions, and superior mind, he was committed to the Tower.

Warbeck had not been long in the Tower when there was an attempt to liberate the Earl of Warwick, who was still in confinement there; and it failed only through the conspirators not having properly informed themselves of the real quarter in which he was kept. Soon after that a fresh plot was set on foot for the same object. In this the King of France was said to be concerned. It was said that he had declared his regret for ever having countenanced the usurpation of Henry Tudor, and that he offered money, ships, and even troops, to the friends of Warwick to enable them to release him, and place him on the throne. The Yorkist malcontents were once more active. They wrote to the retainers of the late Duke of Clarence, the father of Warwick, and to Lady Warwick, to come forward and see justice done to the oppressed prince; and an invitation was sent from the Court of France to a distinguished leader of the house of York to go over to that country and assume the command of the expedition. This also failing, a report was then spread of the death of the Earl of Warwick: then it was said that he had escaped, and a person of the name of Ralph Wulford, or Wilford, the son of a shoemaker in Sussex, was taught by one Patrick, an Augustinian friar, to personate the earl.

Whether the Yorkists were determined to give Henry no repose, but to haunt and harass him with a perpetual succession of impostors, or whether Henry himself planned this latter improbable scheme as a pretext for getting rid of the Earl of Warwick altogether, seems never to have been satisfactorily cleared up. All that is known is, that Wulford and the friar were speedily arrested, whereupon Wulford was put to death, and the friar consigned to prison for life.

Scarcely had this blown over, when it was reported that Warbeck and Warwick had endeavoured to escape from the Tower together. Warbeck must have been allowed to have free access to Warwick after he was sent to the Tower—a circumstance not likely to have been permitted by the cautious and vigilant Henry VII. had he not had some ulterior purpose in it. Once together, however, Warbeck won the favour of the simple and inexperienced Warwick, who was as ignorant of the world as a child, having passed nearly all his life in prison. Warbeck, however, exercised the same fascination over the highest and most intelligent persons whenever he had access to them. To the Tower he carried his active spirit of intrigue and adventure, and we soon find him in the enjoyment, for so dangerous a character, of extraordinary liberty and range in that State prison. He had not only completely won over the Earl of Warwick, but their keepers, Strangways, Astwood, Long Roger, and Blewet. These men engaged to murder their master, Sir John Digby, the Governor of the Tower, to get possession of the keys, and to conduct Warbeck and Warwick to the Yorkist partisans, by whom Warbeck was to be proclaimed King Richard IV., and Warwick to be restored to his titles and estates.

This plot, it is said, was discovered in time; and this was another circumstance which caused the public to suspect that the whole thing had been of the contriving, or, at least, of the permission of Henry, to rid him of these troublesome aspirants. The two offenders were immediately confined in separate cells. The servants of the Governor were brought to trial, and Blewet and Astwood were condemned and hanged. On the 16th of November, Warbeck was arraigned in Westminster Hall for sundry acts of high treason, since as a foreigner he had come into these kingdoms. They were, in fact, the attempts on the crown which we have related. He was condemned and hanged at Tyburn on the 23rd of November, 1499. On the scaffold his confession was read, and he declared it, on the word of a dying man, to be wholly true. Such was the end of this extraordinary adventurer. Bacon describes his enterprise as "one of the largest plays of the kind that hath been in memory; and might, perhaps, have had another end if he had not met with a king both wise, stout, and fortunate."

On the 21st of November, the Earl of Warwick was brought to trial before the peers, though he had been attainted from his birth, and had never taken his oath and seat as a peer of the realm. The charge against him was his conspiracy with Warbeck to dethrone the king. The poor youth pleaded guilty, either as weary of a life which had been but one long injury and wrong, in consequence of his birth, or because he was destitute, from his perpetual confinement, of the activity of mind to comprehend his situation. Probably he imagined that if he confessed himself guilty, he would be pardoned, and sent back to his cell. But Henry had no such intention. The Earl of Oxford, as Lord Steward, pronounced judgment, and three days afterwards he was beheaded on Tower Hill. Thus perished the last legitimate descendant of the Plantagenets who could alarm the fears of Henry Tudor.

A few months after these tragic events, a plague broke out in London, which the people considered as a direct judgment from Heaven for such wicked bloodshed. Henry got out of town, but not feeling himself safe, after several changes of residence, he went over to Calais, and whilst there he had an interview with the Archduke Philip of Burgundy. Henry invited the archduke to take up his quarters in Calais, but it is a proof of the distrust which even his own allies entertained of the politic Henry, that the archduke declined putting himself into his power, and agreed to meet him at St. Pierre, near that city. What the archduke was particularly anxious to see Henry for, was to excite his jealousy of France, and secure his co-operation in counteracting its ambition.

Charles VIII. of France, an ambitious youth, had made a grand expedition into Italy to seize on the two Sicilies, having contrived to make out a claim upon them, which, though empty in itself, was good enough for an excuse for conquest. He had passed over the Alps with an army of upwards of 30,000 men. At first all gave way before him, but an extensive league was soon formed against the French encroachment, including Ferdinand of Spain, Maximilian, the King of the Romans, the father of Philip, the Duke of Milan, and the Doge of Venice. Charles, who had led a most dissipated life, died suddenly in 1498 at the castle of Amboise, and the Duke of Orleans succeeded as Louis XII. Louis was as fully bent as Charles had been on prosecuting the conquest of Naples and Sicily, and in 1499 marched with a fresh army into the south of Italy.

It was to secure Henry's assistance in the league against the aggression of France, which alarmed all Europe, that Philip used his most eloquent persuasives, but the only persuasives with Henry were moneys, and these Louis had already extended. He renewed the peace of Étaples, paid up the arrears of Henry's pension, and secured the interest of the Pope, with whom Henry was desirous to stand well, by paying him 20,000 ducats for a dispensation enabling him to divorce his wife, and marry Anne of Brittany, the widow of Charles VIII., and an old flame of his. He had also made over the Valentinois, in Dauphiné, with a pension of 20,000 livres, to the Pope's son, the vile Cæsar Borgia. The Pope, moreover, was coquetting with Henry, inviting him, by an express nuncio, to join a league for an imaginary crusade to the Holy Land, which Henry was ready to do for the cession of some real ports in Italy as places for the retreat and security of his fleet in those seas.

It was not likely that Philip of Burgundy would make much progress with Henry, except so far as he could serve him by keeping certain matters, well known at the Courts of Burgundy and Flanders, concerning the real history of Perkin Warbeck, secret; and his anxiety on this head more and more convinced people that Warbeck had been something more than the son of a Jew.

Henry VII. having succeeded in ridding himself of all the pretenders to his crown, now set himself to complete the marriages of his children, and to make money with redoubled ardour. Negotiations had been going on with James of Scotland for the marriage of Henry's eldest daughter, Margaret. In 1496 James, who had previously declined the match, now in communication with Fox, Bishop of Durham, offered to enter into that contract. Henry gladly assented, and, when some of his council suggested that in case of the failure of the male line in England, a Scottish prince, born of this marriage, would become the heir, and England a mere appendage of Scotland, "No," replied Henry, "Scotland will become an appendage of England, for the smaller must follow the larger kingdom." And, no doubt, this idea had from the first actuated the calculating mind of the Tudor. On the 29th of January, 1502, the parties were solemnly affianced in the queen's chamber, the Earl of Bothwell having come to London as proxy for James. Margaret, at the time of this affiancing, was but just turned twelve years of age, and it was agreed that she should remain twenty months longer under the roof of her parents. Accordingly, it was not till the 8th of July, 1503, that she set out on her journey to Scotland.

Simultaneously had been proceeding the negotiations with the Spanish Court for the marriage between Henry's eldest son, Arthur, and Catherine, the daughter of Ferdinand, King of Aragon. The negotiations for this marriage had commenced so early as 1489, when the young prince was not yet three years old, and Catherine but four. In 1496 a further step was taken; and Ferdinand then promised to give the princess a portion of 200,000 crowns, and Henry engaged that his son should endow her with one-third of his present income, and the same of the income of the Crown, if he should live to be king. It was stipulated that so soon as Prince Arthur reached his twelfth year, a dispensation should be obtained to empower him to make the contract; and, accordingly, the marriage was performed by proxy, the Spanish ambassador assuming this part, in the chapel of the prince's manor of Bewdley. These two children, who were at this period, the one ten, and the other eleven years of age, were educated in the highest possible degree by their respective parents; and at the time of their actual marriage, in 1501, when Arthur was fifteen, and Catherine nearly sixteen, they were perhaps the two most learned persons of their years in the two kingdoms of Spain and England. The festivities over, Arthur retired to his castle of Ludlow with his bride, and there kept a Court modelled on that of the king. Great hopes and auguries were drawn from this marriage, and wonderful futures to them and their descendants were promised them by the astrologers. But little more than five months sufficed to falsify all the earthly predictions; for the young prince fell suddenly ill and died. Various reasons for his death are assigned by different authorities. Some assert that he died of consumption; others declare that he was perfectly sound and robust, and that he died of some epidemic—the sweating sickness, or, as the Spanish historian says, the plague. Great sickness of some kind was prevailing in the neighbourhood, so that at Worcester the funeral, according to the Spanish herald, was but thinly attended. Prince Arthur died on the 2nd of April, 1502. He was a prince of great promise, and the beauty of his person, the sweetness of his manner, and his brilliant accomplishments, won him universal favour, which was equally shared by his young bride.

The death of Arthur was a shock to the political arrangements, as well as to the affections of the royal parties on both sides. Ferdinand was anxious to retain a close alliance with England, as a counterpoise to the ascendency of France. He therefore proposed to Henry that Catherine should be affianced to Henry Duke of York, Prince Arthur's younger brother. This was a very legitimate project according to the Jewish law, but not so much in accordance with the practice of the Christian world. Henry VII. appeared to hesitate—it may safely be surmised with no intention of allowing the young princess, and her dowry of 200,000 crowns, to escape him; but rather, it may be supposed, with a design to exact something more. To hasten his decision, however, the Spanish monarch announced as the alternative that Catherine must be at once restored to her parents, with half of the marriage portion already paid. This had immediate effect on the deliberations of Henry. He showed himself ready to assent, if there were an additional incentive in the shape of another sum. Ferdinand and Isabella were firm. They declared themselves ready to pay the remaining 100,000 crowns on the contract of the marriage, which should take effect two months after the receipt of a dispensation from the Pope. Henry tried every art to extort a larger sum, and it was not till June, 1503, that this proposition was finally accepted. The solemnisation of the marriage was to take place on the young Prince Henry completing his fourteenth year. But the difficulties were not yet over. The two monarchs continued, like two skilful players, to try every move which might delay the payment of the money, or compel it with an augmentation. In this state the matter remained till 1504, when Henry and Catherine, on the 25th of June, were betrothed, but still not married, at the house of the Bishop of Salisbury, in Fleet Street.

Scarcely had the eyes of Elizabeth of York closed (she died in 1503), at the early age of thirty-seven, than Henry was on the look-out for another wife, for it was another opportunity of making a profit. His eyes glanced over the courts and courtly dames of Europe; and the lady who struck him as the most attractive in the world was the widow of the late King of Naples—for the deceased monarch had bequeathed her an immense property. Her ducats were charms that told on the gold-loving heart of Henry most ravishingly. He posted off three private gentlemen, well skilled in such delicate inquiries, to Naples, to learn from real sources whether all was safe as to this grand dowry. Poor Catherine was even made to play a part in this notable scheme of courtship, by furnishing the emissaries with a letter to her relative, the queen-dowager. The gentlemen reported in the most glowing terms the charms of the queen-dowager's person, the sweetness of her disposition, and the brilliant endowments of her mind, but they were obliged to add that, though the lady's fortune was in justice as large as fame reported it, the present king refused to carry out the will by which it was conferred. This one unlucky fact at once blotted out all the rest, and Henry, giving not another thought to the dowager-queen of Naples, turned his attention to the dowager-duchess of Savoy, who was also reported to be rich.

While Henry, however, was traversing Europe with the design of adding to his ever-growing hoards, he was equally diligent at home in prosecuting every art by which he could add another mark to his heap. He sought out and kept in his pay clever and unprincipled lawyers to search the old statute-books for laws grown obsolete, but which had never been formally repealed; and he had another set of spies in correspondence with them, who went to and fro throughout the whole kingdom to mark out all such persons of property as had transgressed these slumbering laws. Such a state of things could never have been tolerated in any former reign; but the wars of the Roses had cut off all the chief nobility, and the House of Commons, terrified by the summary proceedings against offenders, had become utterly cowed, and trembled at the mere word of this imperious monarch. Never, therefore, was the English people at any time so completely prostrated beneath the talons of a royal vampire as at this period. The rich merchants of London found themselves accused of malpractices in the discharge of their civic offices, and were subjected to the same process of squeezing in Henry's universal press.

To drain the coffers of the landed aristocracy, Henry's agents brought up against them all the old obsolete feudal charges of wardships, aids, liveries, premier seizins, and scutages. Their estates had long been held under a different tenure, obtained from former monarchs. No matter: all those marked out for legal bleeding were brought into the private inquisition of the king's commissioners, and compelled to pay whatever was demanded, or to suffer worse inconveniences. Even his own friends were not exempted from the ever-watchful eyes and schemes of this money-making king. The law which he had enacted against the practice of "maintenance" was a prolific source of emolument. A striking example of this species of royal sharp practice was given in the case of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford. This nobleman having entertained the king on one occasion for several days magnificently at his castle of Henningham, to do the utmost honour to him at his departure, summoned all his friends and retainers, arrayed in all their livery coats and cognisances, and ranged them in two rows leading from the reception rooms to the royal carriage. Henry's eye was instantly struck with this prodigious display of wealth and of men, and his mind as suddenly leapt to a felicitous conclusion. There was money to be made out of it. The king said: "By my faith, my lord, I thank you for your good cheer, but I may not endure to have my laws thus broken in my sight: my attorney must speak to you." The earl was prosecuted for thus seeking to flatter the vanity of his master, and compelled to gratify Henry's avarice by a fine of 15,000 marks.

Whilst the king himself set so notable an example of extortion, we may be sure that his commissioners, spies, and tools of all sorts were not slack in this abominable business of ferreting out and putting through the cruel torture of their secret courts, the unhappy subjects of every corner of the kingdom who had any substance to prey upon. "The king," says Bacon, "had gotten for his purpose, or beyond his purpose, two instruments, Empson and Dudley, whom the people esteemed as his horse-leeches and shearers: bold men, and careless of fame, and that took toll of their master's grist. Dudley was of a good family, eloquent, and one that could put hateful business into good language. But Empson, that was the son of a sieve-maker, triumphed always upon the deed done, putting off all other respects whatsoever."

The tempestuous weather of January, 1506, which brought to others the disastrous news of vessels wrecked and lives lost, brought to Henry VII. tidings of a most exciting and elating kind. It was no other than that amongst the foreign vessels driven into the port of Weymouth, were some containing the Archduke Philip of Flanders and his wife Joanna, the elder sister of Catherine of Aragon, his daughter-in-law, and daughter of his friend and ally Ferdinand of Spain. The Archduke Philip knew his man; and at their meeting near Calais, in 1500, though he attempted to hold Henry's stirrup, and heaped upon him the titles of his father and protector, he took good care to keep out of his clutches; nothing would induce him to enter the city. But now circumstances were greatly changed; and the archduke and his wife Joanna would be a much more valuable prize. The mother of Joanna, the Queen Isabella of Spain, was dead, and Joanna was, in her own right, Queen of Castile, and Philip, by hers, king. There was a number of things, any one of which Henry would have been only too happy to extort from Philip.

The prince soon found himself received with much magnificence at the castle of Windsor; but he was not suffered to remain long without feeling that he was in the hands of a man who would have his full advantage out of him. The insatiable old miser went to work and propounded his demands, and there was nothing for it but for Philip to comply, if he ever meant to see Spain. First, Henry informed him that he was intending to marry, and that Philip's sister, the dowager-duchess of Savoy, was the woman of his choice. He demanded with her the sum of 300,000 crowns, of which 100,000 should be paid in August—it was already the 10th of March—and the remainder in six years by equal instalments. Besides this, Margaret, the duchess, was in the annual receipt of two dowries; one as the widow of John, Prince of Spain, and the other as widow of Philibert, Duke of Savoy, for she had been twice married already. This income Henry stipulated should be settled upon himself, and the princess was to receive instead an income as queen of England. That meant that Henry would have an income certain, and give her one most uncertain, for at this very time Catherine, the widow of his son Arthur, and betrothed bride of his son Henry, was kept by him in a condition of the most shameful destitution.

Philip consented—for what could he do?—and that point settled, Henry informed Philip that he had also a son, whom he, Henry, proposed to marry to his youngest daughter, Mary. This must have been a still more bitter draught for the poor Spanish monarch than the former. Henry had already made this very proposal, and it had been at once rejected. This son of Philip, the future celebrated Emperor Charles V., was now a child of six years of age, and the little Princess Mary was just three! Philip, however much he might inwardly rebel, and however differently he had planned the destiny of his son, was in the miser's vice, and the thing was done.

Soon there came about fresh complications. Philip of Flanders, or, as he was oftener called, Philip the Fair of Austria, was but an invalid when he set out on his unlucky voyage to Spain. His detention in England during the three most trying months of its trying climate, January, February, and March, added to the vexation of the engagement forced upon him by the relentless Henry, is said to have completely broken his constitution; he sank and died in about six months. No sooner did King Henry hear this news, than, throwing aside all further thoughts of the Duchess of Savoy, he applied for the hand of Joanna, the widow of Philip. With Joanna, Queen of Castile, married to himself, and Charles, her son, the heir of all Spain, the Netherlands, and Austria, married to his daughter Mary, what visions of greatness and empire must have swum before the keen eyes of Henry, and excited his intense passion of acquisitiveness! Ferdinand returned for answer, that the proposal would have been well pleasing to him, but that Queen Joanna, from violent grief for the loss of her husband, was become permanently insane. This answer, which would have been all-sufficient for most men, was treated as a mere trifle by Henry, who replied that he knew the queen, having seen her in England; that her derangement of mind was not the effect of grief, but of the harsh treatment of Philip; that she would soon be all right, and that he was quite ready to marry her. Ferdinand reiterated the certainty of the lady's fixed madness, and Henry rejoined that if he was not allowed to marry her, the king's other daughter, Catherine, should never marry his son.

There is no doubt that, could Henry have secured the hand of Joanna—"the Mad Queen," as she came to be called—he would have broken off the contract between Henry, his son, and Catherine, and kept her and her dower in England nevertheless. But the marriage of Henry VII. with Joanna being an impossibility, Ferdinand promised to send the remaining half of Catherine's dower by instalments, and Henry consented that the marriage of the two young people should take place as soon as the money was paid. Catherine, whose letters to her father had, for the most part, been intercepted and detained by Henry, at length gave up her opposition also to the wedding, declaring, in one of these letters, that it was better for her to marry the prince than remain in the woful condition of destitution and dependence in which her father-in-law kept her. The remainder of the dower, however, was never paid up during Henry's time, and therefore the marriage did not take place till after his death.

In the midst of his grasping, his hoarding, and his scheming, the king's end was drawing on, though he was far from an old man. The gout had long visited him with its periodical attacks. He was liable, during the cold and variable weather of spring, to complaints of the chest, which assumed the appearance of consumption, and occasionally reduced him very low. When the sickness was strong upon him he ordered Empson and Dudley to cease their villainies; as he got worse he commanded them even to make restitution to those whom they had pillaged and imprisoned; but as he grew better again, he instructed them that it was only necessary to recompense such as had not been dealt with according to the regular forms of law—so that as these vultures generally tore their victims in a legal fashion, and as they themselves were made the judges of the necessary restitution, very little was done. Henry VII. died at his palace of Richmond on the 21st of April, 1509, in the fifty-fourth year of his age and the twenty-fourth of his reign.

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REIGN OF HENRY VIII.

The King's Accession—State of Europe—Henry and Julius II.—Treaty between England and Spain—Henry is duped by Ferdinand—New Combinations—Execution of Suffolk—Invasion of France—Battle of Spurs—Invasion of England by the Scots—Flodden Field—Death of James of Scotland—Louis breaks up the Holy League—Peace with France—Marriage and Death of Louis XII.—Rise of Wolsey—Affairs in Scotland—Francis I. in Italy—Death of Maximilian—Henry a Candidate for the Empire—Election of Charles—Field of the Cloth of Gold—Wolsey's Diplomacy—Failure of his Candidature for the Papacy—The Emperor in London.

No prince ever ascended a throne under more auspicious circumstances than Henry VIII. While his father had strengthened the throne, he had made himself extremely unpopular. The longer he lived, the more the selfish meanness and the avarice of his character had become conspicuous, and excited the disgust of his subjects. Henry was young, handsome, accomplished, and gay. He was in many respects the very opposite of his father, and the people always give to a young prince every virtue under the sun. Accordingly, Henry, who was only eighteen, was regarded as a fine, buxom young fellow; frank, affable, generous, capable of everything, and disposed to the best.

Fox was grown old, and under Henry VII. had grown habitually parsimonious. He, therefore, attempted to keep a tight reign on the young monarch, and discouraged all mere schemes of pleasure which necessarily brought expense. But the old proverb that a miser is sure to be succeeded by a spendthrift, was not likely to be falsified in Henry. He was full of health, youth, vigour, and affluence. He was disposed to enjoy all the gaieties and enjoyments which a brilliant Court and the resources of a great kingdom spread around him, and in this tendency he found in the Earl of Surrey a far more facile counsellor than in Fox.

All this made deep inroads into his parental treasures, but it augmented his popularity, which he vastly extended by bringing to justice the two hated extortioners of Henry VII.'s reign. To prepare for this, he appointed commissioners to hear the complaints of those who had suffered from the grievous exactions of the late reign; but these complaints were so loud and so universal that he was soon convinced that it would be impossible to make full restitution; and he therefore resolved to appease the injured in some degree by punishing the injurers. A number of the most notorious informers were therefore seized, set on horses, and paraded through the streets of London, on the 6th of June, with their faces to the horses' tails. This done, they were set in the pillory, and left to the vengeance of the people, who so maltreated them that they all died soon after in prison. The fate of Dudley and Empson—the two main instruments of popular oppression—was suspended by the coronation, which took place on the 24th of the same month. After it was over they were tried and beheaded.

Henry had been married to Catherine of Aragon on the 3rd of the month at Greenwich. Whatever pretences Henry made in after years of his scruples about this marriage—Catherine having been the wife of his elder brother Prince Arthur—he seems to have felt or expressed none now. Archbishop Warham had protested against it on that ground in Henry VII.'s time; but though the princess was six years older than himself, there is every reason to believe that Henry was now anxious for the match. Catherine was at this time very agreeable in person, and was distinguished for the excellence of her disposition and the spotless purity and modesty of her life. She was the daughter of one of the most powerful sovereigns of Europe; and the alliance of Spain was held to be essentially desirable to counteract the power of France. Besides this, the princess had a large dower, which must be restored if she were allowed to return home. The majority of his council, therefore, zealously concurred with him in his wish to complete this marriage; and his grandmother, the sagacious Countess of Richmond, was one of its warmest advocates. "There were few women," says Lord Herbert, "who could compete with Queen Catherine when in her prime;" and Henry himself, writing to her father a short time after the marriage, sufficiently expresses his satisfaction at the union:—"As regards that sincere love which we have to the most serene queen, our consort, her eminent virtues daily more shine forth, blossom, and increase so much, that if we were still free, her would we yet choose for our wife before all others." The conduct of Henry for many years bore out this profession.

To make the general satisfaction complete, Henry summoned a Parliament, in which the chief topic was the prevention in future of the abominable exactions of the past; and the obsolete penal statutes on which the extortioners had acted were formally repealed. The whole number of temporal peers who were summoned to this Parliament was only thirty-six—one duke, one marquis, eight earls, and twenty-six barons.

Henry was now at peace with all the world. At home and abroad, so far as he was concerned, everything was tranquil. No English monarch had ever been more popular, powerful, and prosperous. Nothing could show more the advance which England had made of late in strength and importance than the deference paid to Henry by the greatest princes on the Continent, and their anxiety to cultivate his alliance. The balance of power in Europe appeared more widely established than at any former period. England had freed herself of her intestine divisions, and stood compact and vigorous from united political power and the active spirit of commerce. The people were thriving; the Crown, owing to the care of Henry VII., was rich. Spain had joined its several provinces into one potent state, which was ruled by the crafty but able Ferdinand. France had begun the same work of consolidation under Louis XII., by his marriage with Anne of Brittany, and the union of Brittany with the Crown. Maximilian, the Emperor of Germany, with his hereditary dominions of Austria, possessed the weight given him by his Imperial office over all Germany; and his grandson Charles, heir at once of Austria, Spain, and the Netherlands, was at this time the ruler of Burgundy and the Netherlands, under the guardianship of his aunt Margaret of Savoy, a princess of high character for sense and virtue. Henry had taken the earliest opportunity of renewing the treaties made by his father with all these princes, and with Scotland, and declared that he was resolved to maintain peace with them, and to cultivate the interests of his subjects at home. But this promise he speedily broke.

The first means of exciting him to mingle in the distraction of the Continent were found in the fact that Louis XII. of France was reluctant to continue the annual payment of £80,000 which he made to his father. Henry had made a considerable vacuum in the paternal treasury chests, and was not willing to forego this convenient subsidy. There were those on the watch ready to stimulate him to hostile action. Pope Julius II. and Ferdinand of Spain had their own reasons for fomenting ill-will between Louis of France and Henry. Louis had added Milan and part of the north of Italy to the French crown. Ferdinand had become possessed of Naples and Sicily, first, by aiding the French in conquering them, and then by driving out the French. Julius II. was equally averse from the presence of the French and Spaniards in Italy, but he was, at the same time, jealous of the spreading power of Venice, and therefore concealed his ultimate designs against France and Spain, so that he might engage Louis and Ferdinand to aid him in humbling Venice. For this purpose he engaged Louis, Ferdinand, and Maximilian of Austria to enter into a league at Cambray, as early as December, 1508, by which they engaged to assist him in regaining the dominions of the church from the Venetians. Henry, who had no interest in the matter, was induced, in course of time, to add his name to this League, as a faithful son of the Church.

No sooner had Julius driven back the Venetians and reduced them to seek for peace, than he found occasion to quarrel with the French, and a new league was formed to protect the Pope from what he termed the ambitious designs of the French, into which Ferdinand, Maximilian, and Henry entered. Louis XII., seeing this powerful alliance arrayed against him, determined to carry a war of another nature into the camp of the militant Pope Julius. He induced a number of the cardinals to declare against the violence and aggressive spirit of the pontiff, as totally unbecoming his sacred character. But Julius, who, though now old, had all the resolution and the ambition of youth, set this schismatic conclave at defiance. He declared Pisa, where the opposing cardinals had summoned a council, and every other place to which they transferred themselves, under an interdict. He excommunicated all cardinals and prelates who should attend any such council, and not only they, but any temporal prince or chief who should receive, shelter, or countenance them.

At the same time that Julius launched his thunders thus liberally at his disobedient cardinals, he made every court in Europe ring with his outcries against the perfidy and lawless ambition of Louis, who, not content with seizing on Milan, he now asserted, was striving to make himself master of the domains of the holy Mother Church. Henry was prompt in responding to this appeal. He regarded the claims of the Church as sacred and binding on all Christian princes; he had his own demands on Louis, and he was naturally disposed to co-operate with his father-in-law, Ferdinand. But beyond this, he was greatly flattered by the politic Pope declaring him "the head of the Italian league;" and assuring him that Louis by his hostility to the Church, having forfeited the title of the "Most Christian King," he would transfer it to him.

Henry was perfectly intoxicated by these skilful addresses to his vanity, and condescended to a piece of deception which, though often practised by potentates and statesmen, is at all times unworthy of any Englishman; he joined the Kings of Scotland and Spain, in recommending Louis to make peace with the Pope, on condition that Bologna should be restored to the Church, the council of cardinals at Pisa dissolved, and the cause of Alphonso, the Duke of Ferrara—whose territories Julius, the fighting Pope, had invaded—referred to impartial judges. These propositions on the part of Henry were made by Young, the English ambassador; but Louis, on his part, was perfectly aware at this very time that Henry was not only in alliance with the Pope and Spain, but had engaged to join Ferdinand in an invasion of France in the spring. He therefore treated the hollow overture with just contempt.

Henry was at this time in profound peace with Louis. He had but a few months before renewed his treaty with him, yet he was at the very time that he sent his hypocritical proposal of arbitration, diligently, though secretly, preparing for war with him. He sent a commission to gentlemen in each county on June 20th, 1511, to array and exercise all the men-at-arms and archers in their county, and to make a return of their names, and the quality of their arms, before the 1st of August.

On opening his plans to his council, he there met with strong dissuasion from war against France, and on very rational grounds. It was contended that "the natural situation of islands seems not to consort with conquests on the Continent. If we will enlarge ourselves, let it be in the way for which Providence hath fitted us, which is by sea." Never was sounder or more enlightened counsel given to an English king. But such language was in vain addressed to the ears of Henry, which had been assiduously tickled by the emissaries of Pope Julius and Ferdinand the Catholic, who assured him that nothing would be more easy, while they attacked France in other quarters, than to recover all the provinces once possessed there. He hastened to form a separate treaty with his cunning father-in-law, who had his own scheme in it, and this treaty was signed on the 10th of November, 1511. The preamble of this treaty was a fine specimen of the solemn pretences with which men attempt to varnish over their unprincipled designs. It represented Louis as an enemy to God and religion, a cruel and unrelenting persecutor of the Church, one who despised all admonition, and had rejected the generous offer of the Pope to pardon his sins.

And what was this pious scheme, so greatly to the glory of God and of heaven? It was professedly to seize on the French province of Guienne, in which Ferdinand promised to help Henry, but in reality to seize Navarre, in which Ferdinand meant Henry to help him, but took care not to say so. The old man, long practised in every art of royal treachery, was far too knowing for the vainglorious young man, his son-in-law.

Things being put into this train, Henry sent a herald to Louis, to command him not to make war upon the Pope, whom he styled "the father of all Christians." Louis, who was well acquainted with what was going on, knew that Pope Julius was as much a soldier and a politician as a Pope. He was the most busy, scheming, restless, and ambitious old man of his time. He not only made war on his neighbours, but attended the field in person, watched the progress of sieges, saw his attendants fall by his very side, and inspected his outposts with the watchful diligence of a prudent general. Louis knew that he was at the bottom of all these leagues against him, and he only smiled at Henry's message. This herald was therefore speedily followed by another demanding the surrender of Anjou, Maine, Normandy, and Guienne, as Henry's lawful inheritance. This, of course, was tantamount to a declaration of war, and the formal declaration only awaited the sanction of Henry by Parliament. Parliament was therefore summoned by him on the 4th of February, 1512, and was opened by Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, with a sermon, the extraordinary text of which was—"Righteousness and peace have kissed each other" (Psalm lxxxv. 10). Two-tenths and two-fifteenths were cheerfully granted Henry for prosecuting the war, and the clergy in convocation voted a subsidy of £23,000.

Thus zealously supported and encouraged, Henry despatched a declaration of war, and sent an army of 10,000 men, chiefly archers, with a train of artillery, under command of the Marquis of Dorset, to co-operate with the Spaniards for the reduction of Guienne. These troops embarked at Southampton, May 16th, 1512, and soon landed safely at Guipuscoa, whilst the fleet under the Lord Admiral, Sir Edward Howard, cruised during the summer off the coast. But Ferdinand's real object was a very different one; his intention, as we have seen, was not to secure Guienne for his duped son-in-law, but Navarre for himself.

Navarre was a separate kingdom in possession of John d'Albret, who had married its heiress, the Infanta Catherine; and, justly suspicious of the covetous intentions of the King of Spain, he had sought to fortify himself by a secret treaty with the King of France. While, therefore, the Marquis of Dorset, the English general, and his army were impatiently waiting for the Spanish reinforcements, they received from Ferdinand a message that it would not be safe for them to quit the Spanish frontiers until they had secured the neutrality of the King of Navarre, who was also Lord of Béarn, on the French side of the Pyrenees. The English had thus to wait while Ferdinand demanded of D'Albret a pledge of strict neutrality during the present war. D'Albret readily assented to this; but Ferdinand then demanded security for his keeping this neutrality. To this also John of Navarre freely acceded; which was again followed by a demand from Ferdinand that this security should consist of the surrender of six of the most considerable places in his dominions into the hands of the Spaniards, and of his son as a hostage. The King of Navarre was compelled to refuse so unreasonable a requisition, and therefore Ferdinand, professing to believe that D'Albret meant to cut off the communication of the Spanish army with Spain if it ventured into France, and showing that he had obtained a copy of the secret treaty of D'Albret with Louis, immediately ordered the Duke of Alva to invade Navarre. The Duke soon made himself master of the smaller towns and the open country, and then summoned, to their profound astonishment, the English to march into Navarre, and assist him in reducing Pampeluna.

Dorset now perceived the real game that was being played. Having no orders, however, to do anything but attack Guienne, he refused to move a foot for the reduction of Navarre, and demanded afresh the supplies of artillery and horse which had been guaranteed for the former enterprise. But Ferdinand replied that it was quite out of the question to furnish him with any till Navarre was made secure; that was the first necessary step, and that effected, he should be prepared to march with him to Bayonne, Bordeaux, and to the conquest of all Guienne.

These representations only increased the disgust of Dorset and his army: but they could do nothing but await the event, and saw themselves thus most adroitly posted by Ferdinand, as the necessary guard of his position against the French, whilst he accomplished his long-desired acquisition of Navarre. So Alva went on leisurely reducing Pampeluna, Ferdinand still calling on Dorset to accelerate the business by marching to Alva's support.

Henry did not yet perceive how grossly he had been deluded by his loving father-in-law, who had only used him to secure a kingdom for himself most essential to the compactness and power of Spain; and he would have been led by him to assist in his still contemplated aggressions. In the meantime Louis, more cognisant of the game, marched his troops into Béarn, and left them, professedly for his ally, whilst the remnant of the English army reached home, shorn of its anticipated honours, reduced in numbers, in rags, and more than half-famished. Henry was disposed to charge upon Dorset the disasters and disappointments of the expedition, but the officers succeeded in convincing him that they could not have done differently, consistent with their orders; but the time was yet far off when the vainglorious young king was to have his eyes opened to the selfish deceptions which his Machiavelian father-in-law was practising upon him.

At sea, the fleet under Sir Edward Howard had not been more successful than the forces on land. Sir Edward harassed the coasts of Brittany during the spring and summer, and on the 10th of August fell in with a fleet of thirty-nine sail. Sir Charles Brandon, afterwards the Duke of Suffolk, bore down upon the Cordelier, of Brest, a vessel of huge bulk, and carrying 900 men. Brandon's vessel was soon dismasted, and fell astern, giving place to the Regent, the largest vessel in the English navy, a ship of 1,000 tons. The Regent was commanded by Sir Thomas Knevet, a young officer of a daring character. He continued the contest for more than an hour, when another ship coming to his aid, the French commander set fire to the Cordelier, the flames of which soon catching the Regent, which lay alongside of her in full action, both vessels were wrapt in fire, amid which the crews continued their desperate fight till the French admiral's ship blew up, destroying with it the Regent; and all the crews went down with the commanders, amid the horror of the spectators. The rest of the French fleet then escaped into Brest; and Sir Edward Howard made a vow to God that he would never see the king's face again till he had avenged the death of the valiant Knevet.

But though Henry had been duped by the wily Ferdinand, and had suffered at sea, his efforts had inflicted serious evil on the King of France. The menace of Louis' dominions in the south, and the English fleet hovering upon his coasts, had prevented him from sending into Italy the necessary force to ensure lasting advantage there. Before Christmas Julius had fulfilled his boast that he would drive the barbarians beyond the Alps. He had done it, says Muratori, without stopping a moment to ask himself whether this was the precise function of the chief pastor of the Church.

Louis, convinced that the Holy League, as it was called, was proving too strong for him, employed the ensuing winter in devising means to break it up, or to corrupt some of its members. Julius, the soul of the League, died—a grand advantage to Louis—in February, 1513, and the new pontiff, Leo X., who was Cardinal John de Medici, though he prosecuted the same object of clearing Italy of the foreigner, did not possess the same belligerent temperament as his predecessor. Leo laboured to keep the League together, but at the same time he was engaged in schemes for the aggrandisement of his own family, and especially of securing to it the sovereignty of Florence. In pursuing this object, Venice felt itself neglected in its claims of support against the emperor, and went over to the alliance with France. Yet the plan of a renewed league between the Pope, the emperor, the kings of Spain and England, against Louis, which had long been secretly concocting at Mechlin, was signed by the plenipotentiaries on the 5th of April, 1513. By this league Leo engaged to invade France in Provence or Dauphiné, and to launch the thunders of the Church at Louis. He had managed to detach the emperor from the French king, and engaged him to attack France from his own side, but not in Italy. To enable him to take the field, Henry of England was to advance him 100,000 crowns of gold. Ferdinand engaged to invade Béarn, for which he particularly yearned, or Languedoc; Henry to attack Normandy, Picardy, or Guienne. The invading armies were to be strong and well appointed, and none of the confederates were to make a peace without the consent of all the rest.

Henry, in his self-confident ardour, blinded by his vanity, little read as yet in the wiles and selfish cunning of men, was delighted with this accomplished league. To him it appeared that Louis of France, encompassed on every side, was certain of utter defeat, and thus as certain to be compelled to restore all the rich provinces which his fathers had wrested from England. But little did he dream that at the very moment he was empowering his plenipotentiary to sign this league, his Spanish father-in-law was signing another with Louis himself, in conjunction with James of Scotland and the Duke of Gueldres. By this Ferdinand engaged to be quiet, and do Louis no harm. In fact, none of the parties in that league meant to fight at all. Their only object was to obtain Henry's money, or to derive some other advantage from him, and they would enjoy the pleasure of seeing him expending his wealth and his energies in the war on France, and thus reducing his too formidable ascendency in Europe. Ferdinand's intention was to spend the summer in strengthening his position in the newly acquired kingdom of Navarre, and Maximilian, the emperor, having got the subsidy from Henry, would be ready to reap further benefits whilst he idly amused the young king with his pretences of service. Henry alone was all on fire to wipe away the disgrace of his troops and the disasters of his navy; to win martial renown, and to restore the ancient Continental possessions of the Crown.

The war commenced first at sea. Sir Edward Howard, burning to discharge his vow by taking vengeance for the death of Admiral Knevet, blockaded the harbour of Brest. On the 23rd of April he attempted to cut away a squadron of six galleys, moored in the bay of Conquêt, a few leagues from Brest, and commanded by Admiral Prejeant. With two galleys, one of which he gave into the command of Lord Ferrers, and four boats, he rowed up to the admiral's galley, leaped upon its deck, and was followed by one Carroz, a Spanish cavalier, and sixteen Englishmen. But the cable which bound the vessel to that of Prejeant being cut, his ship, instead of lying alongside, fell astern, and left him unsupported. He was forced overboard, with all his gallant followers, by the pikes of an overwhelming weight of the enemy, and perished. Sir Thomas Cheney, Sir John Wallop, and Sir William Sidney, seeing the danger of Sir Edward Howard, pressed forward to his rescue, but in vain, and the English fleet, discouraged by the loss of their gallant commander, put back to port. Prejeant sailed out of harbour after it, and gave chase, but failing in overtaking it, he made a descent on the coast of Sussex, where he was repulsed, and lost an eye, being struck by an arrow. Henry, on hearing the unfortunate affair of Brest, appointed Lord Thomas Howard to his brother's post, and bade him go out and avenge his death; whereupon the French fleet again made sail for Brest, and left the English masters of the Channel.

In June, Henry deemed himself fully prepared to cross with his army to Calais. Lord Howard was ordered to bring his fleet into the Channel, to cover the passage, and on the 6th of June, 1513, the vanguard of the army passed over, under the command of the Earl of Shrewsbury, accompanied by the Earl of Derby, the Lords Fitzwalter, Hastings, Cobham, and Sir Rice ap Thomas. A second division followed on the 16th, under Lord Herbert, the Chamberlain, accompanied by the Earls of Northumberland and Kent; the Lords Audley and Delawar, with Carew, Curson, and many other gentlemen. Henry himself followed on the 30th, with the main body and the rear of the army. The whole force consisted of 25,000 men, the majority of which was composed of the old victorious arm of archers.

Before leaving Dover, to which place the queen attended him, Henry appointed her regent during his absence, and constituted Archbishop Warham and Sir Thomas Lovel her chief counsellors and ministers. On the plea of leaving no cause of disturbance behind him to trouble her Majesty, he cut off the head of the Earl of Suffolk. Henry VII. had inveigled this nobleman into his hands at the time of the visit of the Archduke Philip, on the assurance that he would not take his life; but he seems to have repented of this show of clemency, for on his death-bed the king left an order that his son should put him to death. The earl had remained till now prisoner in the Tower, and Henry had been fatally reminded of him and of his father's dying injunction by the imprudence of Richard de la Pole, the brother of Suffolk, who had not only attempted to revive the York faction, but had taken a high command in the French army.

Henry himself, instead of crossing direct to Calais, ran down the coast as far as Boulogne, firing continually his artillery to terrify the French, and then returning, entered Calais amid a tremendous uproar of cannon from ships and batteries, announcing rather prematurely that another English monarch was come to conquer France. In order to effect this conquest, however, he found none of his allies fulfilling their agreements, except the Swiss, who, always alive at the touch of money, and having fingered that of Henry, were in full descent on the south of France, elated, moreover, with their victory over the French in the last Italian campaign. Maximilian, who had received 120,000 crowns, was not yet visible. But Henry's own officers had shown no remissness. Before his arrival, Lord Herbert and the Earl of Shrewsbury had laid siege to Terouenne, a town situate on the borders of Picardy, where they found a stout resistance from the two commanders, Teligni and Crequi. The siege had been continued a month, and Henry, engaged in a round of pleasures and gaieties in Calais amongst his courtiers, seemed to have forgotten the great business before him, of rivalling the Edwards and the fifth of his own name. But news from the scene of action at length roused him. The besieged people of Terouenne, on the point of starvation, contrived to send word of their situation to Louis, who despatched Fontrailles with 800 Albanian horses, each soldier carrying behind him a sack of gunpowder and two quarters of bacon. Coming unawares upon the English camp, they made a sudden dash through it, up to the town fosse, where, flinging down their load, which was as quickly snatched up by the famishing inhabitants, they returned at full gallop, and so great was the surprise of the English that they again cut their way out and got clear off.

On arriving before Terouenne, on the 4th of August, Henry was soon joined by Maximilian, the emperor. This strange ally, who had received 120,000 crowns to raise and bring with him an army, appeared with only a miserable complement of 4,000 horse. Henry had taken up his quarters in a magnificent tent, blazing in silks, blue damask, and cloth of gold, but the bad weather had driven him out of it into a wooden house. To do honour to his German ally—who, by rank, was the first prince in Christendom—Henry arrayed himself and his nobles in all their bravery of attire. They and their horses were loaded with gold and silver tissue; the camp glittered with the display of golden ornaments and utensils; and, in this royal splendour, he rode at the head of his Court and commanders to meet and escort his guest. They encountered the emperor and his attendants clad in simple black, mourning for the recent death of the empress. But there was little opportunity for comparisons—for the weather was terrible; and they exchanged their greetings amid tempests of wind and deluges of rain. Maximilian, to prevent any too-well founded complaints as to the smallness of his force compared with the greatness of his position, his promises in the alliance, and his princely pay, declared himself only the king's volunteer, ready to serve under him as his own soldier, for the payment of 100 crowns a day. He adopted Henry's badge of the red rose, was adorned with the cross of St. George, and, by flattering Henry's vanity, made him forget all his deficiencies.

The pleasure of receiving his great ally was somewhat dashed with bitter by the arrival of the Scottish Lion king-at-arms with the declaration of war from James IV., accompanied by the information that his master was already in the field, and had sent a fleet to the succour of the French king. Henry proudly replied that he left the Earl of Surrey to entertain James, who would know very well how to do it.

The French still continued to throw succours into Terouenne, in spite of the vigilance of the English. In this service no one was more active than the Duke of Angoulême, the heir-apparent to the crown, and afterwards Francis I. When the siege had lasted about six weeks, and the whole energy of the British army was roused to cut off these supplies of provisions and ammunition, the French advanced in great force to effect a diversion in favour of the place. A formidable display of cavalry issued from Blangy, and marched along the opposite bank of the Lis. As they approached Terouenne they divided into two bodies, one under Longueville, the other under the Duke of Alençon. Henry wisely followed the advice of Maximilian, who knew the country well, and had before this won two victories over the French in that very quarter. The troops were drawn out, and Maximilian crossed the river with his German horse and the English archers, also mounted on horseback. Henry followed with the infantry.

The French cavalry, who had won a high reputation for bravery and address in the Italian campaigns, charged the united army brilliantly; but speedily gave way and rode off. The English archers and German horse gave chase; the French fled faster and faster, till in hot pursuit they were driven upon the lines of the main body, and threw them into confusion. This was, no doubt, more than was intended; for the probable solution of the mystery is, that the retreat of the advanced body of cavalry was a feint, to enable the Duke of Alençon to seize the opportunity of the pursuit by the English to throw the necessary supplies into the town. This he attempted. Dashing across the river, he made for the gates of the town, whence simultaneously was made an impetuous sally. But Lord Herbert met and beat back Alençon; and the Earl of Shrewsbury chased back the sallying party. In the meantime the feigned retreat of the decoy cavalry, by the brisk pursuit of the German and English horse, had become a real one. After galloping almost four miles before their enemies, they rushed upon their own main body with such fiery haste that they communicated a panic. All wheeled about to fly; the English came on with vehement shouts of "St. George!" "St. George!" The French commanders called in vain to their terror-stricken men to halt, and face the enemy; every man dashed his spurs into the flanks of his steed, and the huge army, in irretrievable confusion, galloped away, without striking a single blow. The officers, while using every endeavour to bring the terrified soldiers to a stand, soon found themselves abandoned and in the hands of the enemy. The Duke de Longueville, the famous Chevalier Bayard, Bussy d'Amboise, the Marquis of Rotelin, Clermont, and La Fayette, men of the highest reputation in the French army, were instantly surrounded and taken, with many other distinguished officers. La Palice and Imbrecourt were also taken, but effected their escape.

When these commanders, confounded by the unaccountable flight of their whole army, were presented to Henry and Maximilian, who had witnessed the sudden rout with equal amazement, Henry, laughing, complimented them ironically on the speed of their men, when the light-hearted Frenchmen, entering into the monarch's humour, declared that it was only a battle of spurs, for they were the only weapons that had been used. The Battle of Spurs has ever since been the name of this singular action, though it is sometimes called the Battle of Guinegate, from the place where the officers were met with. This event took place on the 16th of August.

The garrison of Terouenne, seeing that all hope of relief was now over, surrendered; but, instead of leaving a sufficient force in the place to hold it, Henry, at the artful suggestion of the emperor, who was anxious to destroy such a stronghold on the frontiers of his grandson Charles, Duke of Burgundy, first wasted his time in demolishing the fortifications of the town, and then, under the same mischievous counsel, perpetrated a still grosser error. Instead of marching on Paris, he sat down before Tournay, which Maximilian wished to secure for his grandson Charles. It fell after eight days' siege.

Here ended this extraordinary campaign, where so much had been prognosticated, and what was done should have only been the stepping-stones to infinitely greater advantages. But Henry entered the city of Tournay with as much pomp as if he had really entered into Paris instead. Wolsey received the promised wealthy bishopric, and Henry gratified his overweening vanity by his favourite tournaments and revelries. Charles, the young Duke of Burgundy, accompanied by his aunt Margaret, the Duchess-Dowager of Savoy, and Regent of the Netherlands, hastened to pay his respects to the English monarch, who had been so successfully fighting for his advantage.

During the reign of Henry VII., Charles had been affianced to Mary, the daughter of Henry, and sister of the present King of England. As he was then only four years of age, oaths had been plighted, and bonds to a heavy amount entered into by Henry and Maximilian for the preservation of the contract. The marriage was to take place on Charles reaching his fourteenth year. That time was now approaching; and, therefore, a new treaty was now subscribed, by which Maximilian, Margaret, and Charles were bound to meet Henry, Catherine, and Mary in the following spring to complete this union.

Meantime, the Swiss, discovering what sort of an ally they had got, entered into a negotiation with Tremouille, the Governor of Burgundy, who paid them handsomely in money, promised them much more, and saw them march off again to their mountains. Relieved from those dangerous visitants, Louis once more breathed freely. He concentrated his forces in the north, watched the movements of Henry VIII. with increasing satisfaction, and at length saw him embark for England with a secret resolve to accumulate a serious amount of difficulties in the way of his return. France had escaped from one of the most imminent perils of its history by the folly of the vainglorious English king. Yet he returned with all the assumption of a great conqueror, and utterly unconscious that he had been a laughing-stock and a dupe.

We have seen that James IV. of Scotland sent his declaration of war to Henry whilst he was engaged at the siege of Terouenne. Among the causes of complaint which James deemed he had against Henry was the refusal to deliver up the jewels left by Henry's father to the Queen Margaret of Scotland—a truly dishonest act on the part of the English monarch, who, with all the wasteful prodigality peculiar to himself, inherited the avaricious disposition of his father. No sooner, therefore, did Henry set out for France, than James despatched a fleet with a body of 3,000 men to the aid of Louis, and by his herald at Terouenne, after detailing the catalogue of his own grievances, demanded that Henry should evacuate France. This haughty message received as haughty a reply, but James did not live to receive it.

In August, whilst Henry still lay before Terouenne, on the very same day that the Scottish herald left that place with his answer, the peace between England and Scotland was broken by Lord Home, chamberlain to King James, who crossed the Border, and made a devastating raid on the defenceless inhabitants. His band of marauders, on their return, loaded with plunder, was met by Sir William Bulmer, who slew 500 of them upon the spot, and took 400 prisoners. Called to action by this disaster, James collected on the Burghmuir, to the south of Edinburgh, such an army as, say the writers of the time, never gathered round a king of Scotland. Some state it at 100,000 men; the lowest calculation is 80,000.

James passed the Tweed on the 22nd of August, and on that and the following day encamped at Twizel-haugh. On the 24th, with the consent of his nobles, he issued a declaration that the heirs of all who were killed or who died in that expedition, should be exempt from all charges for wardship, relief, or marriage, without regard to their age. He then advanced up the right bank of the Tweed, and attacked the Border castle of Norham. This strong fortress was expected to detain the army some time, but the governor, rashly improvident of his ammunition, was compelled to surrender on the fifth day, August 29th. Wark, Etall, Heaton, and Ford Castles, places of no great consequence, soon followed the example of Norham. That accomplished, James fixed his camp on Flodden Hill, the east spur of the Cheviot Mountains, with the deep river Till flowing at his feet to join the neighbouring Tweed. In that strong position he awaited the approach of the English army.

The Earl of Surrey, commissioned by Henry on his departure expressly to arm the northern counties and defend the frontiers from an irruption of the Scots, no sooner heard of the muster of James on the Burghmuir, than he despatched messages to all the noblemen and gentlemen of those counties to assemble their forces, and meet him on the 1st of September at Newcastle-on-Tyne. He marched out of York on the 27th of August, and, though the weather was wet and stormy, and the roads consequently very bad, he marched day and night till he reached Durham. There he received the news that the Scots had taken Norham, which the commander had bragged he would hold against all comers till Henry returned from France. Receiving the banner of St. Cuthbert from the Prior of Durham, Surrey marched to Newcastle, where a council of war was held, and the troops from all parts were appointed to assemble on the 4th of September at Bolton, in Glendale, about twenty miles from Ford, where the Scots were said to be lying.

On the 4th of September, before Surrey had left Alnwick, which he had reached the evening before, he was joined, to his great encouragement, by his gallant son, Lord Thomas Howard, the Admiral of England, with a choice body of 5,000 men, whom Henry had despatched from France. From Alnwick the earl sent a herald to the Scottish king to reproach him with his breach of faith to his brother, the King of England, and to offer him battle on Friday, the 9th, if he dared to wait so long for his arrival.

On the 6th of September, the Earl of Surrey had reached Wooler-haugh, within three miles of the Scottish camp.

When Surrey came in sight, he was greatly struck with the formidable nature of James's position, and sent a messenger to him charging him with having shifted his ground after having accepted the challenge, and calling upon him to come down into the spacious plain of Millfield, where both armies could contend on more equal terms, the army of Surrey amounting to only 25,000 men. James, resenting this accusation, refused to admit the herald to his presence, but sent him word that he had sought no undue advantage, should seek none, and that it did not become an earl to send such a message to a king.

This endeavour to induce James by his high and often imprudent sense of honour to weaken his position not succeeding, on the 8th Surrey at the suggestion of his son the Lord Admiral adopted a fresh stratagem. He marched northward, sweeping round the hill of Flodden, crossed the Till near Twizel Castle, and thus placed the whole of his army between James and Scotland. From that point they directed their march as if intending to cross the Tweed, and enter Scotland. On the morning of Friday, the 9th, leaving their night halt at Barmoor Wood, they continued this course, till the Scots were greatly alarmed lest the English should plunder the fertile country of the Merse, and they implored the king to descend and fight in defence of his country. Moved by these representations, and this being the day on which Surrey had promised to fight him, he ordered his army to set fire to their tents with all the litter and refuse of the camp, so as to make a great smoke, under which they might descend, unnoticed, on the English. But no sooner did the English perceive this, than also availing themselves of the obscurity of the smoke, they wheeled about, and made once more for the Till. As the reek blew aside, they were observed in the very act of crossing the narrow bridge of Twizel, and Robert Borthwick, the commander of James's artillery, fell on his knees and implored his sovereign to allow him to turn the fire of his cannon on the bridge, which he would destroy, and prevent the passage of Surrey's host. But James, with that romantic spirit of chivalry which seems to have possessed him to a degree of insanity, is said to have replied, "Fire one shot on the bridge, and I will command you to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. I will have all my enemies before me, and fight them fairly."

Thus the English host defiled over the bridge at leisure, and drew up in a long double line, consisting of a centre and two wings, with a strong body of cavalry, under Lord Dacre, in the rear. They beheld the Scots, in like form, descending the hill in solemn silence. The two conflicting armies came into action about four o'clock in the afternoon by the mutual discharge of their artillery. The thunder and concussion were terrific, but it was soon seen that the guns of the Scots being placed too high, their balls passed over the heads of their opponents, whilst those of the English, sweeping up the hill, did hideous execution, and made the Scots impatient to come to closer fight. The master gunner of Scotland was soon slain, his men were driven from their guns, whilst the shot of the English continued to strike into the heart of the battle. The left wing of the Scots, under the Earl of Huntly and Lord Home, came first into contact with the right wing of the English, and fighting on foot with long spears, they charged the enemy with such impetuosity, that Sir Edmund Howard, the commander of that wing, was borne down, his banner flung to the earth, and his lines broken into utter confusion. But at this moment Sir Edmund and his division were suddenly succoured by the Bastard Heron. This movement was supported by the advance of the second division of the English right wing, under the Lord Admiral, who attacked Home and Huntly, and these again were followed by the cavalry of Lord Dacre's reserve.

The Highlanders, under Home and Huntly, when they overthrew Sir Edmund Howard, imagined that they had won the victory, and fell eagerly to stripping and plundering the slain; but they soon found enough to do to defend themselves, and the battle then raged with desperate energy. At length the Scottish left gave way, and the Lord Admiral and the cavalry of Dacre next fell on the division under the Earls of Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain.

On the extreme right wing of the Scottish army fought the clans of the Macleans, the Mackenzies, the Campbells, and Macleods, under the Earls of Lennox and Argyle. These encountered the stout bowmen of Lancashire and Cheshire, under Sir Edward Stanley, who galled the half-naked Highlanders so intolerably with their arrows, that they flung down their targets, and dashed forward with claymore and axe pell-mell amongst the enemy. The French commissioner, De la Motte, who was present, astounded at this display of wild passion and savage insubordination, assisted by other French officers, shouted, stormed, and gesticulated to check the disorderly rabble, and restrain them in their ranks. In vain! The English, for a moment surprised by this sudden furious onslaught, yet kept their ranks unbroken, and, advancing like a solid wall, flung back their disintegrated assailants, swept them before them, and despatched them piece-meal. The Earls of Argyle and Lennox perished in the midst of their unmanageable men.

The two main bodies of the armies only were now left where James and Surrey were contending at the head of their troops, but with this difference, that the Scottish right and left were now unprotected, and those of James's centre were attacked on each side by the victorious right and left wings of the English. On one side Sir Edward Stanley charged with archers and pikemen, on the other Lord Howard, Sir Edmund Howard, and Lord Dacre were threatening with both horse and foot.

James and all his nobility about him in the main body were fighting on foot, and being clad in splendid armour, they suffered less from the English archers, who were opposed to them in the ranks of Surrey. On James's right hand fought his natural son, the accomplished Archbishop of St. Andrews. Soon the combatants became engaged hand to hand in deadly struggle with their swords, spears, pikes, and other instruments of death. Whilst hewing and cutting each other down in furious strife, face to face, life for life, showers of English arrows fell amid the Scottish ranks, and dealt terrible destruction to the less stoutly protected. When the Earls of Bothwell and Huntly rushed to the support of the main body on the one side, and Stanley, the Howards, and Dacre came to the aid of Surrey on the other, the strife became terrible beyond description, and the slaughter awful on every side of the environed Scots. Before the arrival of the reserves the Scots appeared at one time to have the best of it, and to be on the very edge of victory; and even after that James and the gallant band around him seemed to make a stupendous effort, as if they thought their sole hope was to force their way to Surrey and cut him down. James is said to have reached within a spear's length of him, when, after being twice wounded with arrows, he was despatched by a bill. This decided the day; the Scots, after suffering fearful losses, retreated next morning from the field, after holding Flodden Hill during the night.

When the news of the Scottish overthrow reached Edinburgh, it plunged the inhabitants into terrible grief and dismay. Women, weeping and seeking for tidings of their friends, thronged the streets. But the civic authorities kept their heads in the crisis. They ordered all the inhabitants capable of bearing arms to assemble for the defence at the tolling of a bell. Women and strangers were required to remain at their work and not to frequent the streets "clamorand and cryand;" while women of higher station were to repair to church, to offer up prayers "for our Sovereign Lord and his army, and the townsmen who are with the army." The crisis soon passed. No invasion was ever likely in view of the serious losses which the English themselves had suffered, and the city in due course regained its wonted aspect.

James IV., who fell at Flodden in the forty-first year of his age, and the twenty-fifth of his reign, was a prince of quick, generous, and chivalric character. Like his father, he had a taste for the arts, particularly those of civil and naval architecture; he built the great ship St. Michael, and several churches, and maintained a Court far superior in its elegance and refinement to that of any of his predecessors. On such a nature, Henry, by kind and even just treatment, might have operated so as to excite the most devoted friendship. As it was, a neighbouring nation, instead of a firm ally, had been made a more embittered enemy; its prince had been slain, and his kingdom left exposed, in the peculiar weakness of a long minority, to the ambitious cupidity of his royal uncle, whose overbearing designs only tended to defeat that union of the crowns which he was most anxious to ensure, and to perpetuate crimes, heartburnings, and troubles between the two governments, for two eventful generations yet to come. Henry, however, overlooking all these things, on returning home elate with his own useless campaign, and this brilliant but cruel victory, rewarded Surrey by restoring to him the title of Duke of Norfolk, forfeited by his father for his adherence to Richard III., and Lord Thomas Howard, his son, succeeded, for his part, to the title of Earl of Surrey, which had been his father's. Lord Herbert was made Earl of Somerset; and Sir Edward Stanley, Lord Monteagle. At the same time, his favourite, Sir Charles Brandon, Lord Lisle, the king elevated to the dignity of Duke of Suffolk. Wolsey, his growing clerical favourite, he made Bishop of Lincoln, in addition to his French bishopric of Tournay.

Henry VIII. had returned from the Continent as much inflated with the idea of his military greatness as if he had been Henry V.; his allies, in the meantime, were laughing in their sleeves at the success with which they had duped him. It was true that he had seriously distressed Louis, but it was for the benefit of those allies, who had all reaped singular advantages from Henry's campaign and heavy outlay. The Pope had got Italy freed from the French; Ferdinand of Spain had got Navarre, and leisure to fortify and make it safe; and Maximilian had got Terouenne, Tournay, and command of the French frontiers on the side of Flanders, with a fine pension from England. It was now time to see what acknowledgment those allies were likely to make him for his expensive services, and they did not permit him to wait long. While he had been so essentially obliging to the Pope, his Holiness had sent four bulls into his kingdom, by every one of which he had violated the statutes of the realm, especially that of Provisors, taking upon himself to nominate bishops and to command the persecution of heretics. The pontiff now went farther, and made a secret treaty with Louis of France, by which he removed the excommunication from Louis, and the interdict from his kingdom, on condition that Louis should withdraw his countenance from the schismatic council of cardinals; but knowing Henry's vain character, the Pope, to prevent him from expressing any anger, sent him a consecrated sword and banner, with many fulsome compliments on his valour and royal greatness.

Henry's father-in-law, Ferdinand, was growing old, and having obtained all that he wanted—Navarre—was most ready to listen to Louis' proposals for peace. Louis tempted him by offering to marry his second daughter, Rénée, to his grandson Charles, and to give her as her portion his claim on the duchy of Milan. Ferdinand not only accepted with alacrity these terms, without troubling himself about what Henry might think of such treachery, but engaged to bring over Maximilian, Henry's ally and paid agent, but still the grandfather of Charles. When the news of these transactions, on the part of his trusty confederates, reached Henry, he was for a while incredulous, and then broke into a fury of rage. He complained that his father-in-law had been the first to involve him with France by his great promises and professions, not one of which he had kept, and now, without a moment's warning, had not only sacrificed his interests for his own selfish purposes, but had drawn over the Emperor of Germany, who lay under such signal obligations to him. He vowed the most determined revenge. Here was Maximilian, for whom he had conquered Terouenne and Tournay, whom he had subsidised to the amount of 200,000 crowns, and whose grandson Charles was affianced to his sister Mary, who had in a moment forgotten all these benefits and his engagement. As the time was come for the marriage of Charles and the Princess Mary, Henry sent a demand for its completion; Maximilian, who had already agreed to Louis' offer of his daughter Rénée, sent an evasive answer, and Henry's wrath knew no bounds. It was impossible for even his egregious vanity to blind him any longer to the extent to which he had been duped all round.

Louis, having thus destroyed Henry's confederacy of broken reeds, next took measures to secure a peace with him. The Duke of Longueville, who was one of the prisoners taken at the Battle of Spurs, was in London, and instructed by Louis, kept his ears open to Henry's angry denunciations of his perfidious allies. He represented to him that Anne, the Queen of France, being dead, there was a noble opportunity of avenging himself on these ungrateful princes, and of forming an alliance with Louis which would make them all tremble. Mary, the Princess of England, might become Queen of France, and thus a league be established between England and France which would decide the fate of Europe.

Henry's resentment and wounded honour would of themselves have made him close eagerly with this proposal; but he saw in it the most substantial advantages, and in a moment made up his mind. He had the policy, however, to appear to demur, and said his people would never consent for him to renounce his hereditary claims on France, which must be the case if such an alliance took place. They would ask themselves what equivalent they should obtain for so great a surrender. The shrewd Frenchman understood the suggestion; he communicated what passed to his Government, and proposals were quickly sent to meet Henry's views. Louis agreed to pay Henry a million crowns in discharge of all arrears due to Henry VII. from Charles VIII., &c.; and Henry engaged to give his sister a dower of 200,000 crowns, to pay the expenses of her journey, and to supply her with jewels—probably those of which he had defrauded the Scottish queen. The two kings agreed to assist each other, in case of any attack, by a force of 14,000 men, or, in case of any attack by either of them on another power, by half that number. This treaty was to continue for the lives of the two kings, and a year longer.

Thus was the Holy League, as it had been called, for the defence of the Pope and the Church against the King of France entirely done away with; and this great pretence was not so much as mentioned in any one of these treaties which put an end to it. The King of France strove hard to obtain Tournay again; but, though it was evidently Henry's interest to restore it, his favourite Wolsey, apprehensive of losing the profits of the bishopric, successfully opposed its restoration. Wolsey and Fox of Durham were Henry's plenipotentiaries for the management of the treaty, which was signed on the 7th of August, 1514.

By this treaty, Mary Tudor, Princess Royal of England, a remarkably beautiful young woman of sixteen, and passionately attached to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, the handsomest and most accomplished man of Henry's Court, was handed over to the worn-out Louis of France, who was fifty-three in years, and much older in constitution.

But this unnatural political mésalliance was not destined to be of long duration. Louis wrote in the course of December to Henry, expressing his happiness in possessing so excellent and amiable a wife, and on the 1st of January he expired. The dissipation at Court, consequent on his marriage, is stated in the "Life of Bayard" to have precipitated his end. "For the good king, on account of his wife, had changed the whole manner of his life. He had been accustomed to dine at eight o'clock, now he had to dine at noon; he had been accustomed to retire to rest at six in the evening, and now he had often to sit up till midnight." Louis was greatly beloved by his subjects, who regarded him as a brave, upright, and wise prince, and gave him the honourable title of "the Father of his People." Mary promptly married her old lover, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Henry was angry at first, but the storm soon lulled. Wolsey is said to have been in the secret from the first, and such was his influence now, that a much more difficult matter would have given way before it. The young couple were received into favour, and ordered by Henry to be re-married before him at Greenwich—an event which took place on the 13th of May, 1515. So far was the part which Francis I. had taken in this matter from being resented, that he and Henry renewed all the engagements which existed between Louis and Henry, and so satisfactorily that they boasted that they had made a peace which would last for ever.

We have had frequent occasion already to introduce the name of Wolsey; we shall have still more frequent and more surprising occasion to repeat that name: and it is therefore necessary to take a complete view of the man who was now rapidly rising into a prominence before Europe and the world, such as has few examples in history, in one whose origin was as mean as his ascent was dazzling, and his fall sudden and irrevocable.

In the reign of Henry VII. we find first the name of Thomas Wolsey coming to public view as the private secretary of the king at the time of the forced visit of the Archduke Philip to the English Court. This originally obscure clergyman was born in 1471 at Ipswich, where his father was a wealthy butcher, and, therefore, could afford to give his son an education at the university. Probably the worthy butcher was induced to this step by a perception of the lad's uncommon cleverness, for at Oxford he displayed so much talent that he was soon distinguished by the title of the "Boy Bachelor." He became teacher of the grammar-school adjoining Magdalen College, and among his pupils were the sons of the Marquis of Dorset, on whom he so far won that he gave him the somewhat valuable living of Lymington, in Somersetshire. This might seem substantial promotion for the butcher's son, but an eagle, though hatched in the nest of a barn-door fowl, is sure to soar up towards the sun. Thomas Wolsey was not destined to the obscurity of a country parish. The same abilities and address which won him the favour of the marquis were capable of attracting far higher patrons.

Leaving his country parish, he seems to have been introduced to Fox, the Bishop of Winchester, and minister to Henry VII., who introduced him to the king, who was so much satisfied with him that he made him one of the royal chaplains. In this position the extraordinary talents and Court aptitude of Wolsey soon became apparent to the cautious old king. He employed him in sundry matters requiring secrecy and address. He was soon advanced to the deanery of Lincoln, and office of the king's almoner. Wolsey was Henry VII.'s envoy to the Duchess of Savoy when that amorous monarch had fallen in love with her fortune.

On the accession of Henry VIII., Wolsey rose still higher in the favour of the youthful monarch. Henry was but nineteen. Wolsey was forty; yet not a young gallant about the Court could so completely adapt himself to the fancy of the young pleasure-loving and power-loving king. In a very few months he was Henry's bosom friend—the associate in all his gaieties, the repository of all his secrets, the dispenser of all his favours, and, in reality, his only confidential minister. Henry seemed wrapped in admiration at the union of intellect and courtly accomplishment in the wonderful man. He gave him a grant of all deodands and forfeitures of felony, and went on continually adding to these other offices, benefices, and grants. In November, 1510, he was admitted a member of the Privy Council, and from that time he was really Prime Minister. Henry could move nowhere without his great friend and counsellor. He took him with him on his expedition to France in 1513, there conferred on him the wealthy bishopric of Tournay, and on his return made him Bishop of Lincoln, and gave him the opulent Abbey of St. Albans in commendam.

The ascent of Wolsey was now rapid. From the very commencement of his career at Court no man had been able to stand before him. Bishop Fox had first recommended his introduction into the Privy Council because, growing old himself, he perceived that the Earl of Surrey, afterwards conqueror of Flodden, and Duke of Norfolk, was winning higher favour with the king than the ancient bishop; because his martial tastes and more courtly character were more attractive to Henry. Wolsey soon showed himself so successful that he not only cast Surrey, but his own patron, into the shade. In everything Wolsey could participate in the monarch's pursuits and amusements. Henry had already an ambition of literary and polemic distinction. He had studied the school divinity, and was an ardent admirer of Thomas Aquinas. Here Wolsey was quite at home; for he was a widely read man, and would, as a matter of course, soon refresh himself on any learned topic which was his master's hobby. While he flattered the young king's vanity, he was ready to contribute to his whims and his pleasures.

On the 14th of July, 1514, Leo X. addressed a letter to Henry, informing him that his ambassador, Cardinal Bambridge, the Archbishop of York, had died that day; and that, at the request of the deceased, he had promised not to appoint a successor till he had learnt the pleasure of his Majesty. This pleasure, there can be no doubt, was already known; and that the Pope, like every one now, perceiving the power of the favourite, was ready to conciliate him. The king at once named Wolsey to his Holiness, and showed that he was quite satisfied that that nomination would be confirmed by at once placing the archbishopric and all its revenues in the custody of the favourite. Thus was this great son of fortune at once possessed of the Archbishopric of York, the Bishoprics of Tournay and Lincoln, the administration of the Bishoprics of Worcester, Hereford, and Bath, the possessors of which were Italians, who resided abroad, and were glad to secure a portion of their revenues by resigning to the native prelate the rest. Henry even allowed Wolsey, with the See of York, to unite that of Durham, as he afterwards did that of Winchester. The Pope, seeing more and more the marvellous influence of the man, before this year was out made him a cardinal. "For," says Hall, "when he was once archbishop, he studied day and night how to be a cardinal, and caused the king and the French king to write to Rome for him." Leo found a strong opposition amongst the cardinals to this promotion; but, desirous to oblige both Henry and Francis, he declared him a cardinal in full consistory, on September 11th.

My Lord Cardinal Wolsey almost immediately received a fresh favour from the Pope, who appointed him legate in England. This commission was originally limited to two years, but Wolsey never relinquished the office. He obtained from succeeding Popes a continuation of the post, asking from time to time even fresh powers, till he at length exercised within the realm almost all the prerogatives of the Pontiff. The only step above him now was the Papacy itself, and on that dignity he had already fixed his ambitious eye.

From the moment that Wolsey saw himself a cardinal and Papal legate, as well as chief favourite of the king, his ambition displayed itself without restraint, and we shall have to paint, in his career, one of the most amazing instances of the pride, power, and grandeur of a subject. When his cardinal's hat was brought to England, he sent a splendid deputation to meet the bearer of it at Blackheath, and to conduct him through London, as if he had been the Pope himself. He gave a reception of the hat in Westminster Hall, which more resembled a coronation than the official investiture of a subject and a clergyman. His arrogance and ostentation disgusted the king's old ministers and courtiers. The Duke of Norfolk, with all his military glory, found himself completely eclipsed, and absented himself from Court as much as possible, though he still held the office of Treasurer. Fox, the venerable Bishop of Winchester, who had been the means of introducing Wolsey, found himself superseded by him, and, resigning his office of Keeper of the Privy Seal, retired to his diocese. On taking his leave, the aged minister was bold enough to caution Henry not to make any of his subjects greater than himself, to which the bluff king replied that he knew how to keep his subjects in order. The resignation of Fox was followed by that of Archbishop Warham, who delivered the Great Seal on the 22nd of December, 1515, resigning his office of Chancellor. Henry immediately handed over the seal to Wolsey, who now stood on the pinnacle of power, almost alone. He was like a great tree which withered up every other tree which came within its shade, and even the kingly power itself seemed centred in his hands. For the next ten years he may be said to have reigned in England, and Henry himself to have been the nominal, and Wolsey the real king. Well might he, in addressing a foreign power, say, "Ego et rex meus:" "I and my king."

Whilst the great looked on all this grandeur in obsequious but resentful silence, the people settled it in their own minds that the wonderful power of the priest over the fiery nature of the monarch was the effect of sorcery. But Wolsey was no mean or ordinary man. His talents and his consummate address were what influenced the king, who was proud of the magnificence which was at once his creation and his representative; and Wolsey had a grasp, an expanse, and an elevation in his ambition, which had something sublime in them. Though he was in the receipt of enormous revenues, he had no paltry desire to hoard them. He employed them in this august state and mode of living, which he regarded as reflecting honour on the monarch whose chief minister he was, and on the Church in which he held all but the highest rank. He devoted his funds liberally to the promoting of literature. He sent learned men to foreign courts to copy valuable manuscripts, which were made accessible by his vast influence. He built Hampton Court Palace, a residence fit only for a monarch, and presented it to Henry as a gift worthy such a subject to such a king. He built a college at Ipswich, his native place, and was in the course of erecting Christ Church at Oxford when his career was so abruptly closed. Besides that, he endowed seven lectureships in Oxford.

The peace which Henry had made with the young monarch of France was not destined to be of long continuance. Francis I. soon had the misfortune to offend both Henry and Wolsey, and in their separate interests. James IV. of Scotland had left by his will the regency of his kingdom to his widow. The Convention of the States confirmed this arrangement, but on condition that the queen remained unmarried. James V., her son, of whom she was to retain the guardianship, was on his father's death an infant of only a year-and-a-half old. In less than seven months after the death of her husband, Margaret was delivered of a second son, Alexander, Duke of Ross; and in less than three months after that she married, in defiance of the Convention of the States, Douglas, Earl of Angus, a young man of handsome person, but of an ambitious and headstrong character. This marriage gave great offence to a large number of the nobility, especially those who had a leaning to France. They asserted that Henry of England, the queen's brother, notwithstanding that he had deprived her of her husband, and notwithstanding her difficult position as the widowed mother of an infant king, so far from supporting her, took every opportunity to attack her borders. They therefore recommended that they should recall from France John, Duke of Albany, the son of Alexander, who had been banished by his brother James III., and place the regency in his hands. Albany, though of Scottish origin, was a Frenchman by birth, education, and taste. He had not a foot of land in Scotland, but in France he had extensive demesnes, and stood high in favour of the monarch.

At the head of the party in opposition to the queen was Lord Home, on whose conduct at Flodden aspersions had been cast. By him and his party it was that Albany was invited to Scotland. Henry was greatly alarmed at this proposition, and for some time the fear of a breach induced Francis I. to restrain Albany from accepting the offer. Yet in May, 1515, Albany made his appearance in Scotland. He found that kingdom in a condition which required a firm and determined hand to govern it. The nobility, always turbulent, and kept in order with difficulty by the strongest monarchs, were now divided into two factions, for and against the queen and her party. Lord Home, by whom Albany had chiefly been invited, had the ill-fortune to be represented to Albany, immediately on his arrival, as, so far from a friend, one of the most dangerous enemies of legitimate authority in the kingdom. Home, apprised of this representation, and of its having taken full effect on the mind of Albany, threw himself into the party of the queen, and urged her to avoid the danger of allowing the young princes to fall into the hands of Albany, who was the next heir to the crown after them, and was, according to his statement, a most dangerous and ambitious man. Moved by these statements, Margaret determined to escape to England with her sons, and put them under the powerful protection of their uncle Henry.

Henry had himself made similar representations to her, for nothing would suit his views on the crown of Scotland so well as to have possession of the infant heirs. But Albany was quickly informed of the queen's intentions; he besieged the castle of Stirling, where she resided with the infant princes, compelled her to surrender, and obtaining possession of the princes, placed them in the keeping of three lords appointed by Parliament. Margaret herself, accompanied by her husband Angus, and Lord Home, succeeded in escaping to England, where she was delivered of a daughter.

The part which Francis I. evidently had in permitting the passage of Albany to Scotland, and in supporting his party there, had given great offence to Henry. He sent strong remonstrances through his ambassador to Francis, complaining that Albany had been permitted to leave France and usurp the government of Scotland, contrary to the treaty; and that by this means the Queen of Scotland, the sister of the King of England, had been driven from the regency of the kingdom and the guardianship of her children. Francis I. endeavoured to pacify Henry by assurances that Albany's conduct had received no countenance from him, but that he had stolen away at the urgent solicitation of a strong body of nobles in Scotland. Henry was not convinced, but there was nothing to be obtained by further remonstrances, for Francis was at this moment at the head of a powerful army, while Henry, having spent his father's hoards, was not in a condition for a fresh war without the sanction of Parliament.

Francis was bent on prosecuting the vain scheme of the conquest of Milan, which had already cost his predecessors and France so much. He had entered into alliance with Venice and Genoa, and trusted to be able easily to overcome Maximilian Sforza the native Prince; Sforza, on his part, depended upon the support of the Pope and the Swiss. Francis professed, in the first place, that his design was to chastise the hostile Swiss. These hardy people had fortified those passes in the Alps by which they calculated that the French would attempt to pass towards Milan, but Francis made his way with 60,000 troops over the mountains in another direction, a large part of his army taking the way to the left of Mount Genèvre, a route never essayed by any army before. The Swiss mercenaries in the service of Sforza, thus taken by surprise, were rapidly defeated by the French, and were on the point of capitulation, when their countrymen, who had been watching to intercept Francis and his army, seeing that he had stolen a march upon them, descended from their mountains, 20,000 strong, and came to the relief of their countrymen under the walls of Milan. At Marignano, Francis won a great victory over them on September 13th, 1515.

The effect at the English Court of this brilliant success was to heighten extremely that discontent with Francis which Henry had shown at the very moment that the chivalric young French king had set out for Italy. Henry, who was ambitious of military renown, was stung to the quick by it, and his envious mood was artfully aggravated by the suggestions of Wolsey.

On the 12th of November, 1515, Parliament was summoned to meet. Henry had caught a very discouraging glimpse of the iron at the bottom of his father's money-chests, and was, therefore, obliged to ask supplies from his subjects. His application does not appear to have been successful, and Parliament was therefore dissolved on the 22nd of December, and was never called again till the 31st of July, 1523, an interval of eight years. A Parliament which would not grant money was not likely to be a very favourite instrument with Henry, and this still less so, because it had involved him in a contention with the Convocation. The Convocation had dared to claim exemption for the clergy from the jurisdiction of the secular courts. The clergy in Henry's interest resisted this claim; it was brought before Parliament, and both the Lords and Commons, as well as the judges, decided against the Convocation. Henry, who was at once as fond of power and as bigoted as the Church, found himself in a most embarrassing dilemma, but declared that he would maintain the prerogatives of the Crown, and was glad to get rid of the dispute by the dismissal of Parliament.

On the 8th of February, 1516, Queen Catherine gave birth to a daughter, who was named Mary, and who survived to wear the crown of England. In the previous month died the queen's father, Ferdinand of Spain, one of the most cunning, grasping, and unprincipled monarchs that ever lived, but who had by his Machiavelian schemes united Spain into one great and compact kingdom, and whose sceptre Providence had extended, by the discovery of Columbus, over new and wonderful worlds. His grandson Charles, already in possession of the territories of the house of Burgundy, and heir to those of Austria, succeeded him, as Charles V. Henry had just entered into a commercial treaty with Charles, as regarded the Netherlands, and perceiving the vast power and greatness which must centre in Charles—for on the death of Maximilian, who was now old, he would also become Emperor of Germany—he was anxious to unite himself with him in close bonds of interest and intimacy. To this end, he gave a commission to Wolsey, assisted by the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Durham, to cement and conclude a league with the Emperor Maximilian and Charles, the avowed object of which was to combine for the defence of the Church, and to restrain the unbridled ambition of certain princes—meaning Francis.

The sordid Emperor Maximilian, who had so often and so successfully made his profit out of the vanity of Henry, seeing him so urgent to cultivate the favour of his grandson Charles, thought it a good opportunity to draw fresh sums from him. Maximilian was now tottering towards his grave, but he was not the less desirous to pave his way to it with gold. In a confidential conversation, therefore, with Sir Robert Wingfield, the English ambassador at his Court, he delicately dropped a hint that he was grown weary of the toils and cares attending the Imperial office. Pursuing the theme, he pretended great admiration for the King of England; he declared that amongst all the princes of Christendom, he could see none who was so fitted to succeed him in his high office, and at the same time become the champion and protector of Holy Church against its enemies. He therefore proposed to adopt Henry as his son, for a proper consideration. According to his plan, Henry was to cross the Channel with an army. From Tournay he was to march to Trèves, where Maximilian was to meet him, and resign the empire to him, with all the necessary formalities. Then the united army of English and Germans was to invade France, and, whilst they thus sufficiently occupied the attention of Francis, Henry and Maximilian, with another division, were to march upon Italy, crossing the Alps at Coire, to take Milan, and, having secured that city, make an easy journey to Rome, where Henry was to be crowned emperor by the Pope.

In this wild-goose scheme—which equally ignored the fact that Charles V. was the grandson of Maximilian, heir of his kingdom, and therefore neither by the natural affection of the emperor, nor by the will of his subjects, likely to be set aside for a King of England; and the difficulty, the impossibility almost, of the accomplishment of the enterprise by two such monarchs as Maximilian and Henry—only one thing was palpable, that Maximilian would give his blessing to the stipulated son for these impossible honours, and then would as quickly find a reason for abandoning the extravagant scheme as he had already done that of taking Milan. Yet it is certain that, for the moment, it seized on the imagination of Henry, and he despatched the Earl of Worcester and Dr. Tunstall, afterwards Bishop of Durham, to the Imperial Court, to settle the conditions of this notable scheme. Tunstall, who was not only an accomplished scholar, but a solid and shrewd thinker, no sooner reached the Court of Maximilian than he saw at a glance the hollowness of the plot and of the Imperial plotter. He, as well as Dr. Richard Pace, the ambassador at Maximilian's Court, quickly and honestly informed Henry that it was a mere scheme to get money.

These honest and patriotic statements perfectly unmasked the wily old Maximilian, and Henry escaped the snare. Francis I., having also now secured the duchy of Milan, set himself to conciliate two persons whose amity was necessary to his future peace and security. These were the Pope and Henry of England. The balance of power on the Continent, it was clear, would lie between Francis and Charles V., the King of Spain. On the death of Maximilian, Charles would be ruler of Austria, and, in all probability, Emperor of Germany. It would be quite enough for Francis to contend with the interests of Charles, whose dominions would then stretch from Austria, with the Imperial power of Germany, through the Netherlands to France, and reappear on the other boundary of France, in Spain, without having that gigantic dominion backed by the co-operation of England. Francis had seen with alarm the cultivation of friendship recently between these two formidable neighbours. To counteract these influences, the French king whilst in Italy had an interview with the Pope at Bologna, where he so won upon his regard that the Pontiff agreed to drop all opposition to the possession of Milan by the French.

Having secured himself in this quarter, Francis returned to France, and knowing well that the only way to the good graces of Henry was through the all-powerful Cardinal Wolsey, he caused his ambassador in England to endeavour to win the favour of the great minister. This was not to be done otherwise than by substantial contributions to his avarice, and promises of service in that greatest project of Wolsey's ambition, the succession to the Popedom. Wolsey was at this time in the possession of the most extraordinary power in England. His word was law with both king and subject. To him all men bowed down, and while he conferred favours with regal hand, he did not forget those who had offended him in the days of his littleness. Not only English subjects, but foreign monarchs sought his favour with equal anxiety. The young King of Spain, to secure him to his views, and knowing his grudge against the King of France, conferred on him a pension of 3,000 livres a year, styling him, in the written grant, "his most dear and especial friend."

Thus were the kings of Spain and France paying humble homage to this proud churchman and absolute minister of England at the same moment. But Francis felt that he must outbid the King of Spain, and he resolved to do it. He commenced, then, by reminding him how sincerely he had rejoiced at his elevation to the cardinalate, and how greatly he desired the continuance and increase of their friendship, and promised him whatever it was in his power to do for him. These were mighty and significant words for the man who could signally aid him in his designs on the Popedom, and who could settle all difficulties and doubts about the bishopric of Tournay, hitherto such a stumbling-block between them. The letters of Francis were spread with the most skilful, if not the most delicate flatteries; he called him his lord, his father, and his guardian, told him he regarded his counsels as oracles; and whilst they increased the vanity of the cardinal most profusely, he accompanied his flatteries by presents of many extremely valuable and curious things.

Being assured by Villeroi, his resident ambassador at London, that the cardinal lent a willing ear to all these things, Francis instructed the ambassador to enter at once into private negotiation with Wolsey for the restoration of Tournay, and an alliance between the two crowns. This alliance was to be cemented by the affiancing of Henry's daughter, Mary, then about a year-and-a-half old, to the infant dauphin of France, but recently born! The price which Wolsey was to receive for these services being satisfactorily settled between himself and Francis, the great minister broke the matter to his master in a manner which marks the genius of the man, and his profound knowledge of Henry's character. He presented some of the superb articles which Francis had sent him to the king, saying, "With these things hath the King of France attempted to corrupt me. Many servants would have concealed this from their masters, but I am resolved to deal openly with your grace on all occasions. This attempt, however," added he, "to corrupt a servant is a certain proof of his sincere desire for the friendship of the master." Oh! faithful servant! Oh! open and incorruptible man! Henry's vanity was so flattered that he took in every word, and looked on himself as so much the greater prince to have a minister thus admired and courted by the most powerful monarchs.

The way to negotiation was now entirely open. Francis appointed William Gouffier, Lord of Bonivet, Admiral of France; Stephen Ponchier, Bishop of Paris; Sir Francis de Rupecavarde and Sir Nicholas de Neuville his plenipotentiaries. They set out with a splendid train of the greatest lords and ladies of France, attended by a retinue of 1,200 officers and servants. Francis knew that the way to ensure Henry's favourable attention was to compliment him by the pomp and splendour of his embassy. The French plenipotentiaries were introduced to Henry at Greenwich, on the 22nd of September, 1518, and Wolsey was appointed to conduct the business on the part of the King of England. When they went to business the ambassadors of Francis prepared the way for the greater matters by producing a grant, already prepared, and, therefore, clearly agreed upon beforehand, which they presented to Wolsey, securing him a pension of 12,000 livres a year, in compensation for the cession of the bishopric of Tournay. This was a direct and palpable bribe; but there was no troublesome and meddlesome Opposition in the House of Commons in those days to demand the production of papers, and the impeachment of corrupt ministers. With such a beginning the terms of treaty were soon settled. They embraced four articles:—A general contract of peace and amity betwixt the two kings and their successors, for ever; a treaty of marriage betwixt the two little babies, the Dauphin and Mary Tudor; the restitution of Tournay to France for 600,000 crowns; and, lastly, an agreement for a personal interview between the two monarchs, which was to take place on neutral ground between Calais and Ardres, before the last day of July, 1519.

But while Wolsey was deeply occupied in his plans and preparations for the royal meeting, an event occurred which for a time arrested the attention of Europe. This was the death of the Emperor Maximilian, and the vacancy in the Imperial office. Francis I. and Charles of Spain were the two candidates for its occupation, and the rivalry of these two monarchs seems to have again awakened in Henry the same wish, though the plain statements of Bishop Tunstall had for a time suppressed it. He despatched a man of great learning, Dr. Richard Pace, to Germany, to see whether there were in reality any chance for him. The reports of Pace soon extinguished all hope of such event, and Henry, with a strange duplicity, then sent off his "sincere longings for success" to both of the rival candidates, Francis and Charles!

Francis declared to Henry's ambassador, Sir Thomas Boleyn, that he would spend three millions of gold, but he would win the Imperial crown; but though the German electors were notoriously corrupt, and ready to hold out plausible pretences to secure as much of any one's money as they could, from the outset there could be no question as to who would prove the successful candidate. The first and indispensable requisite for election was, that the candidate must be a native of Germany, and subject of the Empire, neither of which Francis was, and both of which Charles was. Charles was not only grandson of Maximilian, and his successor to the throne of Austria, and therefore of a German royal house, but he was sovereign of the Netherlands, which were included in the universal German empire.

Even where Francis placed his great strength—the power of bribing the corrupt German electors, the petty princes of Germany, for the people had no voice in the matter—Charles was infinitely beyond him in the power of bribery. He was now monarch of Spain, of the Netherlands, of Naples and Sicily, of the Indies, and of the gold regions of the newly-discovered America. Nor was Francis at all a match for Charles in the other power which usually determines so much in these contests—that of intrigue. Francis was open, generous, and ardent; Charles cool, cautious, and, though young, surrounded by ministers educated in the school of the crafty Ferdinand and the able Ximenes to every artifice of diplomatic cunning. Still more, the vulpine Maximilian, at the very time that he was attempting to wheedle Henry of England out of his money, on pretence of securing the Imperial dignity for him, had paved the way for his own grandson, by assiduous exertions and promises amongst the electors—promises which Charles was amply able to fulfil. Accordingly, after a lavish distribution of both French and Spanish gold amongst the elector-princes of Germany, Charles was declared emperor on the 28th of June, 1519. Francis, though he professed to carry off his disappointment with all the gaiety of a Frenchman, was deeply and lastingly chagrined by the event; and though he and Charles must, under any circumstances, have been rivals for the place of supremacy on the Continent of Europe, there is no doubt that this circumstance struck much deeper the feeling which led to that gigantic struggle between them, which, during their lives, kept Europe in a constant state of warfare and agitation.

Both Charles and Francis were intensely anxious to secure the preference of Henry, because his weight thrown into either balance must give it a dangerous preponderance. Both, therefore, paid assiduous court to him, and still more, though covertly, to his all-powerful minister, Wolsey. Francis, aware of the impulsive temperament of Henry, prayed for an early fulfilment of the visit agreed upon of Henry to France. It was decided that the interview should take place in May. The news of this immediately excited the jealousy of Charles, and his ambassadors in London expressed great dissatisfaction at the proposal. Wolsey found he had a difficult part to play, for he had great expectations from both monarchs, and he took care to make such representations to each prince in private, as to persuade him that the real affection of England lay towards him, the public favour shown to the rival monarch being only a matter of political expedience. When the Spanish ambassadors found they could not put off the intended interview, they proposed a visit of their master to the King of England previously, on his way from Spain to Germany. This was secretly arranged with the cardinal, but was to be made to appear quite an unpremeditated occurrence.

Accordingly, before the king set out for Calais, Charles, according to the secret treaty with Wolsey, sent that minister a grant under his privy seal, from the revenue of the two bishoprics of Badajoz and Placentia, of 7,000 ducats. Henry set forward from London to Canterbury, on his way towards Dover and Calais, attended by his queen and court, with a surprising degree of splendour. Whilst lying there, he was surprised, as it was made to appear, by the news that the emperor had been induced by his regard for the king to turn aside on his voyage towards his German dominions, and had anchored in the port of Hythe, on the 26th of May, 1520. As soon as this news reached Henry, he despatched Wolsey to receive the emperor and conduct him to the castle of Dover, and Henry himself set out and rode by torchlight to Dover, where he arrived in the middle of the night. It must have been a hospitably inconvenient visit at that hour, for Charles, fatigued by his voyage, had gone to bed, and was awoke from a sound sleep by the noise and bustle of the king's arrival. He arose, however, and met Henry at the top of the stairs, where the two monarchs embraced, and Henry bade his august relative welcome. The next day, being Whitsunday, they went together to Canterbury, the king riding with the emperor on his right hand, the Earl of Derby carrying before them the sword of State.

From the cathedral the emperor was conducted by his royal host to the palace of the archbishop, where he was for the time quartered. For three days the archiepiscopal palace was a scene of the gayest festivities; nothing was omitted by Henry to do honour to his august relative; and nothing on the part of Charles to win upon Henry, and detach him from the interests of France. Nor the less assiduously did the politic emperor exert himself to secure the services of Wolsey. He saw that ambition was the great passion of the cardinal, and he adroitly infused into his mind the hope of reaching the Popedom through his influence and assistance. Nothing could bind Wolsey like this fascinating anticipation. Leo X. was a much younger man than himself; but this did not seem to occur to the sanguine spirit of the cardinal, for "all men think all men mortal but themselves;" whilst to Charles the circumstance made his promise peculiarly easy, as he could scarcely expect to be called upon to fulfil it.

On the fourth day Charles embarked at Sandwich for the Netherlands, less anxious regarding the approaching interview of Henry and Francis, for he had made an ardent impression on the king, and had put a strong hook into the nose of his great leviathan—the hope of the triple crown. Simultaneously with the departure of Charles, Henry, his queen and court, embarked at Dover for Calais; and on the 4th of June, 1520, Henry, with his queen, the Queen Dowager of France, and all his court, rode on to Guines, where 2,000 workmen, most of them clever artificers from Holland and Flanders, had been busily engaged for several months in erecting a palace of wood for their reception.

The meeting-place was called, from the splendour of the retinues of the two monarchs, the "Field of the Cloth of Gold," but it did little to cement the alliance between England and France.

On the 25th of June the English Court returned to Calais; half the followers of the nobles were sent home, and then preparations were made for visiting the emperor at Gravelines, and receiving a visit from him at Calais. By the 10th of July all was ready, and Henry set out with a splendid retinue. He was met on the way, and conducted into Gravelines by Charles, with every circumstance of honour and display. Charles, whose object was avowedly to efface any impression which Francis and the French might have made on the mind of Henry at the late interview, had given orders to receive the English with every demonstration of friendship and hospitality, and his orders were so well executed that the English were enchanted with their visit.

On the departure of Charles, Henry and his court embarked for Dover, returning proud of his sham prowess and mock battles, and of all his finery, but both himself and his followers loaded with a fearful amount of debt for this useless and hypocritical display. When the nobles and gentlemen got home, and began to reflect coolly on the heavy responsibilities they had incurred for their late showy but worthless follies, they could not help grumbling amongst themselves, and even blaming Wolsey, as loudly as they dared, as being at the bottom of the whole affair. One amongst them was neither nice nor cautious in his expressions of chagrin at the ruinous and foolish expense incurred, and denounced the proud cardinal's ambition as the cause of it all. This was the Duke of Buckingham. He was executed in 1521 on the absurd charge of having intercourse with astrologers.

The various causes of antipathy between Francis I. and Charles V., which had been long fomenting, now reached that degree of activity when they must burst all restraint. War was inevitable. The first breach was made by Francis. At this crisis Charles appealed to Henry to act as mediator, according to the provisions of the treaty of 1518. Henry at once accepted the office, and entered upon it with high professions of impartiality and of his sincere desire to promote justice and amity, but really with about the same amount of sincerity as was displayed by each of the contending parties. Francis had certainly been the aggressor, and Charles, having intercepted some of his letters, had already convinced Henry, to whom he had shown them, that the invasion of both Spain and Flanders was planned in the French cabinet. Henry's mind, therefore, was already made up before he assumed the duty of deciding; and Charles, from being aware of this, proposed his arbitration. Henry, moreover, was anxious to invade France on his own account, spite of treaties and the dallyings of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, but he had not yet the funds necessary. With these feelings and secrets in his own heart, Henry opened his proposal of arbitration to Francis by declarations of the extraordinary affection which he had contracted for him at the late interview.

There was no alternative for the French king but to acquiesce in the proposal; the place of negotiations was appointed to be Calais, and, of course, Wolsey was named as the only man able and fitting to decide between two such great monarchs—Wolsey, who was bound hand and foot to the emperor by the hope of the Popedom. It was a clear case that Francis must be victimised, or the negotiation must prove abortive. Wolsey set out with something more than regal state to decide between the kings. In addition to his dignity of Papal legate a latere, he received the extraordinary powers of creating fifty counts-palatine, fifty knights, fifty chaplains, and fifty notaries; of legitimising bastards, and conferring the degree of doctor in medicine, law, and divinity. By another bull, he was empowered to grant licences to such as he thought proper to read the heretical works of Martin Luther, in order that some able man, having read them, might refute them. This was to pave the way for a royal champion of the Catholic Church against Luther and the devil, and that such a champion was already at work we shall shortly have occasion to show. Such were the pomp and splendour of the cardinal, that when he continued his journey into the Netherlands, with his troops of gentlemen attending him, clad in scarlet coats, with borders of velvet of a full hand's breadth, and with massive gold chains: when they saw him served on the knee by these attendants, and expending money with the most marvellous profusion, Christian, King of Denmark, and other princes then at the Court of the Emperor at Bruges, were overwhelmed with astonishment, for such slavish homage was not known in Germany.

Wolsey landed at Calais on the 2nd of July, 1521, and was received with great reverence. The ambassadors of the emperor had taken care to be there first, that they might secretly settle with Wolsey all the points to be insisted on. The French embassy arrived the next day, and the discussions were at once entered upon with all that air of solemn impartiality and careful weighing of propositions which such conferences assume, when the real points at issue have been determined upon privately beforehand by the parties who mean to carry out their own views. The French plenipotentiaries alleged that the emperor had broken the treaty of Noyon of 1516, by retaining possession of Navarre, and by neglecting to do homage for Flanders and Artois, fiefs of the French crown. On the other hand, the Imperial representatives retorted on the French the breach of the treaty of Noyon, and denounced in strong terms the late invasion of Spain and the clandestine support given to the Duke of Bouillon. The cardinal laboured to bring the fiery litigants to terms, but the demands of the emperor were purposely pitched so high that it was impossible. The differences became only the more inflamed; and on the Imperial chancellor, Gattinara, declaring that he could not concede a single demand made by his master, and that he came there to obtain them through the aid of the King of England, who was bound to afford it by the late treaty, Wolsey said that there, of necessity, his endeavours must end, unless the emperor could be induced to modify his expectations; and that, as his ambassador had no power to grant such modification, rather than all hope of accommodation should fail, he would himself take the trouble to make a journey to the Imperial Court, and endeavour to procure better terms. Nothing could appear more disinterested on the part of the cardinal, but the French ambassadors were struck with consternation at the proposal. They were too well aware of the cardinal's leaning towards Charles; they did not forget the coquetting of the English and the emperor both before and after the meeting at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; and they opposed this proposal of Wolsey with all their power. But their opposition was useless. There can be no doubt that the prime object of Wolsey in his embassy was to make this visit to Charles for his own purpose, and that it had been agreed upon between himself and Charles before he left London. In vain the French protested that such a visit, made by the umpire in the midst of the conference to one of the parties concerned, was contrary to all ideas of the impartiality essential to a mediator; and they declared that, if the thing was persisted in, they would break off the negotiation and retire. But Wolsey told them that if they did not remain at Calais till his return, he would pronounce them in the wrong, as the real aggressors in the war, and the enemies to peace and to the King of England. There was nothing for it but to submit.

The cardinal set out on his progress to Bruges on the 12th of August, attended by the Imperial ambassadors and a splendid retinue of prelates, nobles, knights, and gentlemen, amounting altogether to 400 horsemen. The emperor met him a mile out of Bruges, and conducted him into the city in a kind of triumph. Thirteen days—a greater number than had been occupied at Calais—were spent in the pretended conferences for reducing the emperor's demands on France, but in reality in strengthening Wolsey's interest with Charles for the Popedom, and in settling the actual terms of a treaty between Charles, the Pope, and the King of England for a war against France. So deep was the hypocrisy of these parties, that before Wolsey had quitted the shores of England he had received a commission from Henry investing him with full authority to make a treaty of confederacy with the Pope, the emperor, the King of France, or any other potentate, offensive or defensive, which the king bound himself to ratify; the words "King of France, or other king, prince, or state," being clearly inserted to cover with an air of generality the particular design. The proposed marriage between the Dauphin and the Princess Mary was secretly determined to be set aside, and a marriage between Charles and that princess was agreed upon; and, moreover, it was settled that Charles should pay another visit to England on his voyage to Spain. Writing from Bruges to Henry, Wolsey told him all this, and added that it was to be kept a profound secret till Charles came to England, so that, adds Wolsey, "convenient time may be had to put yourself in good readiness for war."

After all this scandalous treachery—called in State language diplomacy—Wolsey returned to Calais, and resumed the conferences, as if he were the most honest man in the world, and was serving two kings about as honest as himself. He proposed to the plenipotentiaries a plan of a pacification, the conditions of which he knew the French would never accept. All this time hostilities were going on between Francis and the emperor. The emperor had taken Mouzon and laid siege to Mézières, and Francis, advancing, raised the siege, but was checked in his further pursuit of the enemy by the Count of Nassau. At this crisis Wolsey interposed, insisting that the belligerents should lay down their arms, and abide the award of King Henry; but this proposal was by no means likely to be met with favour on the part of the French, after what had been going on at Bruges, and therefore Wolsey pronounced that Francis was the aggressor, and that Henry was bound by the treaty to aid the emperor.

This was but a very thin varnish for the proceedings which immediately took place at Calais, and revealed the result of the interview at Bruges, in an avowed treaty between the Pope, the emperor, and Henry, by which they arranged—in order to promote an intended demonstration against the Turks, and to restrain the ambition of Francis—that the three combined powers should, in the spring of 1523, invade France simultaneously from as many different quarters; that, if Francis would not conclude a peace with the emperor on the arrival of Charles in England, Henry should declare war against France, and should break off the proposed marriage between the Dauphin and the Princess Mary.

In the meantime, the united forces of the Pope and Charles had prevailed in Italy, and expelled the French from Milan; the emperor had made himself master of Tournay, for which Francis had lately paid so heavy a price, and all the advantages that the French could boast of in the campaign to balance these losses were the capture of the little fortresses of Hesdin and Bouchain. Wolsey landed at Dover on the 27th of November, after the discharge of these important functions, having laid the foundation of much trouble to Europe, by destroying the balance of power between France, the Empire, and Spain, which it was the real interest of Henry to have maintained; and having equally inconvenienced the Government at home by carrying the Great Seal with him, so that those who had any business with it were obliged to go over to Calais, and so that there could be no nomination of sheriffs that year. But his power at this period was unlimited, and nothing could open Henry's eyes to his mischievous and inflated pride—not even his placing himself wholly on a par with the king in the treaty just signed, when he made himself a joint-guarantee, as if he had been a crowned head.

Wolsey had laboured assiduously and unscrupulously for Charles V. in furtherance of his own ambitious views. What convulsions disorganised Europe, what nations suffered or triumphed, troubled him not, so long as he could pave the way to the Papal chair. The time which was to test the gratitude of Charles came much sooner than any one had anticipated. Leo X., who was in the prime of life, elated with the expulsion of the French from Italy, was occupied in celebrating the triumph with every kind of public rejoicing. The moment he heard of the fall of Milan he ordered a Te Deum, and set off from his villa of Magliana to Rome, which he entered in triumph; but that very night he was seized with a sudden illness, and on the 1st of December, but a few days afterwards, it was announced that he was dead, at the age of only forty-six. Strong suspicions of poison were entertained, and it was believed that it had been administered by his favourite valet, Bernabo Malaspina, who was supposed to have been bribed to it by the French party.

The news of Leo's death travelled with speed to England, and Wolsey, who, amid all his secret exertions to attain the Papal tiara, had declared with mock humility that he was too unworthy for so great and sacred a station, now threw off his garb of indifference, and despatched Dr. Pace to Rome, with the utmost celerity, to promote his election; and he sent to put the emperor in mind of his promises. On the 27th of December the conclave commenced its sittings. Another of the Medici family, Cardinal Giulio, appeared to have the majority of votes, but for twenty-three days the election remained undecided. The French cardinals opposed Giulio with all the persevering virulence of enemies smarting under national defeat. Numbers of others were opposed to electing a second member of the same family, and Giulio, growing impatient of the stormy and interminable debates which kept him from attending to pressing affairs out of doors, suddenly nominated Cardinal Adrian, a Belgian. This extraordinary stroke was supposed to be intended merely to prolong the time, till Giulio could throw more force into his own party; but Cardinal Cajetan, a man of great art and eloquence, who knew and admired the writings of Adrian, and had probably suggested his name to Giulio, advocated his election with such persuasive power, that Adrian, though a foreigner, and personally unknown, was carried almost by acclamation. And thus, as Lingard observes, within nine years from the time when Julius drove the barbarians out of Italy, a barbarian was seated as his successor on the Papal throne.

The cardinals had no sooner elected the new Pope than they appeared to wake from a dream, and wondered at their own work. The act appeared to be one of those sudden impulses which seize bodies of people in a condition of great and prolonged excitement, and they declared that it must have been the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. As for Wolsey, it does not appear that his sincere friend the emperor, who had protested that he would have him elected if it were at the head of his army, moved a finger in his behalf. The proud cardinal, however, was obliged to swallow his chagrin, and wait for the next change, Adrian being already an old man; and Dr. Pace remained at Rome to congratulate the new Pontiff on his arrival, and solicit a renewal of his legatine authority.

Francis at this crisis made strenuous efforts to regain the friendship of Henry. Probably he thought that the disappointment of Wolsey might cool his friendship for the emperor, or, which was the same thing, diminish his confidence in his promises; whilst Charles was very well aware that Wolsey was much more serviceable to him as minister of England than he could be or would be as Pope. Francis attacked Henry on his weakest side—his vanity. He heaped compliments upon him, and entreated that if he could not be his fast and avowed friend, he would, at least, abstain from being his enemy. To give force to his flatteries, he held out hopes of increasing his annual payments to England; and when that did not produce the due effect, he stopped the disbursements of that which he had been wont to remit. Finding that even this did not influence Henry, who was kept steady by Wolsey, he laid an embargo on the English shipping in his ports, and seized the property of the English merchants.

At this act of decided hostility Henry was transported with one of those fits of rage which became habitual in after years. As if he had not long been plotting against Francis, and preparing to make war upon him—as if he had not coolly and even insolently repulsed all his advances and offers of advantage and alliance—he regarded Francis as an aggressor without any cause, ordered the French ambassador to be confined to his house, all Frenchmen in London to be arrested, and despatched an envoy to Paris with a mortal defiance. What particularly exasperated Henry was the news that a whole fleet, loaded with wine, had been seized at Bordeaux, and the merchants and seamen thrown into prison. The English were ordered to make reprisals, and this was the actual state of things when Sir Thomas Cheney, his ambassador, announced by dispatch that the envoy had declared war on the 21st of May at Lyons; to which the king had replied, "I looked for this a great while ago; for, since the cardinal was at Bruges, I looked for nothing else." The wily manœuvres of Wolsey had deceived nobody.

On the 26th of May, only five days after the declaration of war with France, the Emperor Charles V. landed at Dover. The passion of Henry had precipitated the outbreak of hostilities, for it was not intended that war should be declared till Charles was on the eve of departure from England, so that he might continue his voyage in safety to Spain. The king, however, received his illustrious guest with as much gaiety and splendour as if nothing but peace were in prospect. Wolsey waited on Charles at the landing-place, and, after embracing him, led him by the arm to the castle, where Henry soon welcomed him with great cordiality. Charles calculated much, in the approaching war, on the fleet of Henry; and, to show him its extent and equipment, Henry conducted him to the Downs, and led him over all his ships, especially his great ship, Henri, Grâce à Dieu, which was considered one of the wonders of the world. He then conducted his Imperial guest by easy journeys to Greenwich, where the Court was then residing, and introduced him to his aunt, the queen, and her infant daughter, whom it was arranged that he should marry.

On the 6th of June Henry conducted the emperor with great state into London, where the inhabitants received him with a variety of shows and pageants. Sir Thomas More spoke the emperor's welcome in a learned oration, and there was a profusion of Latin verses in honour of the occasion. The two monarchs feasted, hunted, and rode at tournaments, whilst their ministers were busily employed in carrying out the terms agreed upon at Bruges into a treaty, which was signed on the 19th at Windsor. The subject of this treaty was the marriage of Charles with the infant Princess Mary, which the two monarchs bound themselves to see completed, under a penalty, in case of breach of engagement, of 400,000 crowns. Charles also engaged to indemnify Henry for the sums of money due to him from Francis; and, what was most extraordinary, both monarchs bound themselves to appear before Cardinal Wolsey in case of any dispute, and submit absolutely to his decision, thus making a subject the arbiter of monarchs.

The emperor also engaged to indemnify the cardinal for his losses in breaking with Francis, by a grant of 9,000 crowns annually; thus paying this proud priest for being the author of the war. Yet, after all his courting and flattering of Wolsey, after again assuring him of his determination to set him in the Papal chair, it is certain that he hated the man, and used him only as a tool. His aunt, Queen Catherine, had deeply resented the cardinal's pursuit of the Duke of Buckingham to death, for whom she entertained a high regard; and Wolsey was aware of it, and never forgave her. It was, probably, in reply to Catherine's relation of this tragic event that Charles, whilst on this visit, was overheard to say, "Then the butcher's dog has pulled down the fairest buck in Christendom"—a witticism which flew all over the Court, and was not forgotten by the vindictive Wolsey.

Having agreed that each was to bring 40,000 men into the field, that France was to be attacked simultaneously on the north and the south, and that Charles was to co-operate with the English for the re-conquest of Guienne, the emperor embarked on the 6th of July, and pursued his voyage to Spain.

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THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. (continued).

The War with France—The Earl of Surrey Invades that Country—More elected Speaker—Henry and Parliament—Revolt of the Duke of Bourbon—Pope Adrian VI. dies—Clement VII. elected—Francis I. taken Prisoner at the Battle of Pavia—Wolsey grows unpopular—Change of Feeling at the English Court—Treaty with France—Francis I. regains his Liberty—Italian League, including France and England, against the Emperor—Fall of the Duke of Bourbon at the Siege of Rome—Sacking of Rome, and Capture of the Pope—Appearance of Luther—Henry writes against him—Is styled by the Pope "Defender of the Faith"—Anne Boleyn—Henry applies to the Pope for a Divorce from the Queen—The Pope's Dilemma—War declared against Spain—Cardinal Campeggio arrives in England to decide the Legality of Henry's Marriage with Catherine—Trial of the Queen—Henry's Discontent with Wolsey—Fall of Wolsey—His Banishment from Court, and Death—Cranmer's Advice regarding the Divorce—Cromwell cuts the Gordian Knot—Dismay of the Clergy—The King declared Head of the Church of England—The King's Marriage with Anne Boleyn—Cranmer made Archbishop—The Pope Reverses the Divorce—Separation of England from Rome.

On the departure of the emperor, Henry commanded the Earl of Surrey to scour the Channel before him; and Charles, out of compliment to Henry, named Surrey, who was Lord Admiral of England, also admiral of his own fleet of one hundred and eighty sail. Surrey, having seen Charles safely landed in Spain, returned along the coast of France, ravaging it on all accessible points. He landed at Cherbourg, in Normandy, burnt the town of Morlaix, in Brittany, and many other maritime villages, houses of the people, and castles of the aristocracy. This was preparatory to the great invasion which Henry contemplated. For this purpose he had recalled Surrey from Ireland, where he had conducted himself with much ability, repressed the disorders of the natives, and won the esteem of the chief population. Henry now gave him the command of the army destined to invade France. That army, Henry boasted, should consist of forty thousand men; but the question was, whence the money was to come for its assembly and payment. The Field of the Cloth of Gold, and the entertainment of the emperor, following on many other extravagances, had entirely dissipated the treasures which his father had left him; and, as he was now endeavouring to rule without a parliament, he was compelled to resort to those unconstitutional measures of forced loans, which had always covered with odium the monarchs who used them.

In this unpopular attempt Wolsey was his instrument, and the work he had now to do ensured him a plentiful growth of dislike. In the first place, he exacted a loan of £20,000 from the merchants of London, and scarcely had he obtained possession of it, when he summoned the leading citizens before him, and demanded fresh advances. On the 20th of August, 1522, the lord mayor, aldermen, and the most substantial merchants of London appeared before him, to whom he announced that the king had sent commissioners into the whole realm, to inquire into the actual rents of the lands in each township, what were the names of the owners and occupiers, and what was the value of each man's movable property. According to his account, a new Domesday Book was in preparation; and he, moreover, informed them that his Majesty had ordered a muster in the maritime counties of all the men betwixt the ages of sixteen and sixty, to enrol their names, and the names of the lords of whom they held their lands.

The deputation returned to the city in deep dejection, and made out their lists of such as were merchants and dealers and reputed men of substance. These men, then, themselves waited on the cardinal, and besought him not to put them to their oath as to their real amount of property, for that it was difficult for themselves to make a correct estimate of it, and that, in fact, many an honest man's credit was more than his substance. Wolsey replied that he "dare swear that the substance of London was no less than two millions of gold." From this it was obvious that the cardinal expected from them at least £200,000. But the citizens replied, "Would to God the city were so rich, but it is sore afflicted by the occupying of strangers!" The cardinal promised to see that that should be rectified, and that their loans should be repaid them out of the first subsidy voted by Parliament, which it was intended to call. But the victims did not appear much cheered by these assurances: they knew that Henry was not fond of calling parliaments. If he meant it, why borrow money when it could be voted? And they went away, saying that for the last loan some lent a fifth, and now to ask a tenth again was too much.

By these means, however, money enough was raised to put an army in motion. About the middle of August the Earl of Surrey landed at Calais with 12,000 men, paid by the king, and 3,000 volunteers. There he was joined by a body of German, Flemish, and Spanish horse, making a total force of 16,000. At the head of these he advanced through Picardy and Artois, desolating the country as he went, burning the defenceless towns, the castles of the nobles, and the huts of the peasants, and destroying whatever they could not carry off as spoil. They left the fortified cities, making no attempt except against Hesdin, which they soon quitted, finding their artillery not of weight enough. The French, under the Duke de Vendôme, avoided a general engagement, but they harassed the outskirts of the army, cut off the supplies, and occasionally a number of stragglers. The weather was the great ally of the French, for it was extremely rainy and cold, and occasioned dysentery to break out in the camp. On the appearance of this fatal foe, the foreign troops hastily retired into Béthune, and Surrey soon after led back his main body to Calais, having done the French much mischief, but obtained no single advantage except the seizure of a quantity of booty.

Francis, meantime, had not only kept his army hovering in front of the invaders, but he had sent active emissaries to rouse the Irish and Scots, and thus to distract the attention of the English. In Ireland he turned his attention to the Earl of Desmond, who still maintained in a great measure his independence of the English Crown. Francis offered him an annual pension, on condition that he should take up arms in Ireland against the English power, and the earl, moreover, seduced by the promise that a French army would be sent over, engaged to join it, and never to lay down his arms till he had won for himself a strong dominion in the island, and the remainder for Richard de la Pole, the heir of the house of York. But Francis, having obtained his object by the very alarm created by this negotiation, never sent any troops, never paid the Earl of Desmond any annuity, and the unfortunate chieftain was left to pay the penalty of his rash credulity in the vengeance of the English Government.

In Scotland affairs assumed a more formidable aspect. After the return of Margaret, the queen-mother, from England, she quarrelled with her weak but headstrong husband, the Earl of Angus, and in 1521 sent and invited her old antagonist, the Duke of Albany, to return to Scotland from France, promising to support him at the head of the Government. Nothing could suit the views of France better than this, for it was already menaced by Henry of England. Albany landed at Gairloch on the 19th of November, and thence hastened to the queen at Stirling. This strange, bold, and dissimulating woman, who had all the imperiousness and the sensuality of a Tudor, received him with open arms, and entered at once on such terms of familiarity with him as scandalised all Scotland.

Her husband and his relatives, the Douglases, being summoned by the regent before Parliament, fled towards the Borders, and took refuge in the kirk of Steyle. By means of the celebrated Gawin Douglas, the Bishop of Dunkeld, and one of Scotland's finest poets, who was the uncle of Angus, the fugitives opened a communication with Henry of England. The bishop represented the conduct of Margaret as of the most flagitious kind, attributing to her the design of marrying Albany, and setting aside her own son. It was even asserted, and Lord Dacre, warden of the Western Marches, joined in the assertion, that the life of the young king was in danger, and as much from his own mother as from Albany. There is no question that the conduct of Margaret was most disgraceful; and though Albany was anxious to establish quietness and order in Scotland, and to obtain peace with England, the emissaries of Henry took care to foment strife between the nobles and the Government. Lord Dacre was—according to the system introduced by Henry VII., and continued so long as there was a Tudor on the throne of England—plentifully supplied with money to bribe the most powerful nobles, especially the Homes, to harass the Government by their factions.

It was in vain, therefore, that Queen Margaret wrote to her brother, the King of England, protesting that the accusations against her were base and abominable calumnies, that the Duke of Albany ruled by the choice and advice of Parliament, and that without him there would be no peace in Scotland, nor safety for the king or herself. Henry only replied by upbraiding her with living in shameful adultery, and insisting that Albany should quit Scotland, or that he would make war upon it. He did not stop there—he made the same demand of Parliament, and hearing that Margaret was applying to the Pope for a divorce from Angus, in order to marry Albany, he exerted all his influence with the Church to prevent it. The Scottish Parliament, notwithstanding it contained many traitors, made such by Henry's gold, yet rejected his proposition for the dismissal of Albany; whereupon Henry ordered all Scottish subjects found in England to be driven with insult over the Borders, having a white cross marked upon their backs. And at the same time that he sent Surrey to France, in the spring of 1522, he also bade the Earl of Shrewsbury march across the Tweed to punish the Scots. Shrewsbury obeyed the order with great celerity, and speedily laid waste the fine pastoral country round Kelso, but was met by a superior force and driven back, not however before he had aroused great indignation among the people at the wantonness of his attack and the outrages upon innocent folk and their property with which it was accompanied.

Instead, therefore, of an invasion of Scotland by the English, Henry was threatened with a descent of the Scots on his own kingdom, whilst the gallant Surrey was absent in France. The Duke of Albany, incensed at the reproaches of Henry regarding his connection with Queen Margaret, at the demands for his extradition, and at the ferocious inroad of the Earl of Shrewsbury, declared war against England, with the consent of Parliament. He called for the muster of all the feudal force of the kingdom, and the call was answered with such promptness that he beheld himself at the head of 80,000 men. With such a force, nothing would have been easier to all appearance than to have overrun the north of England, left almost wholly destitute of defence. But though the Scottish people were in earnest, there was treason not only in the camp, but in the very tent of Albany. The money of Dacre was in the pockets of the most powerful nobles, who silently but actively spread disunion through his host; and worst of all, Margaret, who, like her brother, was continually roving in her affections from one person to another, was already weary of Albany, and was in covert communication with Lord Dacre, and betraying the secrets and plans of Albany to him. It is said that Henry, through Lord Dacre, had completely corrupted the queen, probably by assisting her with money, but still more by offering to receive her again to his favour, and to secure her interests by marrying Mary, the Princess of England, to her son, the young King of Scots. Influenced by these hopes, the unprincipled queen exerted herself to weaken the measures of Albany, and to diminish the influence of France in the country as much as possible.

Albany, therefore, though he advanced to the banks of the Tweed, and even reached within a few miles of Carlisle, found the spirit of his host continually on the decline. On the other hand, Lord Dacre had expended his money in extensive bribery, and was almost destitute of soldiers; yet he pretended that a great army was on the march to him, which would show the Scots another Flodden Field, and so imposed on Albany that he was willing to treat instead of being ready to fight. He engaged to disband his forces if Dacre would engage to keep back the imaginary advancing troops of England. Wolsey, who was watching in the northern counties with deep anxiety the result of this contest between military multitudes and political cunning, could not sufficiently express his astonishment, as he saw the stupendous armament of Scotland melt away before the empty bugbears of Lord Dacre's creation. "By the great wisdom and policy of my Lord Dacre, and by means of the safe-conduct lately sent at the desire and contemplation of the Queen of Scots, the said Duke of Albany hath, our Lord be praised, not only forborne his invasion, but also dissolved his army; which, being dispersed, neither shall nor can, for this year, be gathered or assembled again." And the cardinal proceeds to give us a specimen of the easy nature of his political morality, in saying, "And yet the said abstinence [armistice] concluded by my Lord Dacre, he not having your authority for the same, nothing bindeth your grace; but, at your liberty, ye may pursue your wars against the said Scots, if it shall be thought to your highness convenable." On the 11th of September, 1522, the treaty between Albany and Dacre was concluded, and Albany went over to France for fresh supplies of men and money, leaving the Earls of Huntly, Arran, and Argyle to administer affairs during his absence. Thus, about the same time, Henry saw his French and his Scottish campaign for that year terminated.

His great and difficult business was now to raise the necessary funds for prosecuting his further designs against France. For eight years he had forborne to call a Parliament, but to postpone longer a summons of this engine of supply was not possible. He had pushed to the extreme point all the modes, legal and illegal, of extracting funds from his subjects; and the reluctance with which his last forced loan had been conceded, and the solemn promises which he had made to call a Parliament, left him no alternative. No king who ever reigned had a higher notion of the royal prerogative, and the hearty commendation he afterwards bestowed on Charles V. for destroying the last vestiges of free institutions in Spain showed plainly what he would fain have carried out in England. But sturdy as was his Tudor soul, he found that the English people had an equally stubborn will, and on the 15th of April, 1523, he summoned a Parliament at Blackfriars, London, where Wolsey sat at his feet as Chancellor.

The Commons chose, as was supposed through the influence of the Court, Sir Thomas More as Speaker. Sir Thomas was not only a man of profound learning, but a felicitous genius, and extremely witty. His conversation was greatly relished by the queen, who had introduced him to the private suppers with the king, who became as much fascinated by his society. Sir Thomas was evidently well aware of the difficult part which he would have to sustain in such a post, for he hung back from it, declaring how unfit he was for it. But Wolsey, who calculated greatly on his genius, protested that he was qualified for it by his great abilities and judgment more than almost any man. After a few days' session of Parliament, Wolsey went down to the House, contrary to all custom and privilege, and presented a royal message, to the effect that Francis, by his conduct, had made a war absolutely necessary, that the honour of the country was deeply concerned, and that it was a fine opportunity for England to recover all that it had lost in that country. He concluded his address by recommending them to vote immediately a property-tax of twenty per cent., which would raise the sum of £800,000.

Such a sum had never before been asked by any English king in his wildest dreams of foreign conquest. The House sat as if thunderstruck, and in profound silence. Wolsey had imagined that his presence, surrounded by all the symbols of his grandeur, would completely overawe the House; and that with a Court favourite of such distinction as Sir Thomas More, he should carry the monstrous demand by surprise. He had, therefore, come environed by his pompous retinue of prelates and nobles, and with his silver pillars and crosses, his maces, his poleaxes, his hat and Great Seal borne before him. But not all his magnificence moved the Commons where its privileges had been thus grossly invaded, and its money was thus boldly demanded. The whole House sat as silent as the senate of Rome when Brennus and his savage Gauls burst in upon it. Wolsey gazed upon them in amazement, looking from one to another. The proud cardinal then addressed a member by name. The member arose, bowed, and sat down again without uttering a word. Still more surprised at this dumb show, Wolsey called upon another member for an explanation, but obtained none. Growing wrathful, for he was not accustomed to such treatment, he broke out:—"Masters, as I am sent here by the king, it is not unreasonable to expect an answer. Yet, unless it be the manner of your House, as very likely it may, by your Speaker only in such cases to express your mind, here is, without doubt, a most marvellous silence."

Whilst he said this, he looked fixedly and angrily at Sir Thomas More, unquestionably expecting different conduct from him. But Sir Thomas, dropping on his knee, said that the House felt abashed in the presence of so great a personage—which, he added, was enough to amaze the wisest and most learned men of the realm; that the House, according to its ancient privileges, was not bound to return any answer; and as for himself, unless all the members present could put their several thoughts into his head, he was unable to give his grace an answer on so weighty a matter. The cardinal then retired, much displeased with the House, and still more with the Speaker.

After the great minister had retired, the House went into a warm debate. Some of the members affirmed that there was not above £800,000 of cash in the kingdom; and if the money were gathered into the king's hands, no trade could be carried on except by barter. The courtiers urged all the ingenious arguments that they could invent, or with which they were supplied, to show the necessity of the grant; and the king was in such a rage that he is said to have even threatened some of the members with death. It was, in fact, a stout resistance to oppression of the people, and one of the most determined stands for privilege of Parliament ever made in this country.

The contest grew to such a pitch that the cardinal, fearful of the result, determined to go to the House a second time, notwithstanding the clear intimation given him that his presence was considered a breach of privilege. He made them a speech, going over all the arguments which had been advanced by the opposition, and then begged them to tell him what they had to object; but they only returned him the answer, through the Speaker, that they would hear his grace with humility, but could only reason amongst themselves; and he was obliged to go away as he came.

When he had departed, they resumed the debate; and at length, at the earnest entreaty of the Speaker, they voted two shillings in the pound on all who enjoyed twenty pounds a year or upwards; one shilling on all who possessed from two pounds to twenty; and on all subjects with incomes below that scale, a groat a head. This was not a moiety of what the king had demanded, and the payment was spread over four years, so that it did not really amount to above sixpence in the pound. The lesson which Henry here received did not incline him to call another Parliament speedily. He had summoned none for eight years before; and there is no doubt that he asked for this extravagant sum that he might dispense with Parliament for another term as long. He did not, as it was, call another for seven years.

The king, in his anger at the Commons, boasted to the mayor and aldermen of London that he should find a very different spirit amongst the clergy; but even these he tried beyond their patience. He demanded no less than fifty per cent. of the incomes of their benefices, to make up the deficiency from the laity. But the clergy were not disposed to be mulcted of half their incomes at a blow; they made as stout a resistance as the House of Commons. Wolsey, to make sure of them, summoned the convocations of the two provinces, which had met in their usual manner, by his legatine authority, to assemble in a national synod in Westminster Abbey. But there the proctors declared that they had only power to grant money in regular convocation, not in synod; and he was obliged to permit them to depart, and vote in their ordinary way. The convocation of the cardinal's own province of York waited to see what Canterbury would first do, which was more independent of Wolsey's power. In the Lower House the resistance was resolute, and was kept alive by the eloquence of a preacher of the name of Philips, till he was won over to the Court by substantial promotion. In the Upper House, the Bishops of Winchester and Rochester animated the prelates to such opposition, that the grant was not carried for four months, and then, being spread over five years, amounted, not to fifty, but only to ten per cent.

The money obtained at all this cost of difficulty in Parliament, and of unpopularity with the people, was lavishly expended in repelling the attempts of the Scots, in furnishing aid to the allies in Italy, and in preparing for another expedition into France. It was of the first importance, before sending the army across the Channel, to obtain security on the side of Scotland. To this end Henry made fresh overtures to his sister, Queen Margaret, offering to place her at the head of the Government, and to enable her to put down the party of Albany, who was now absent in France collecting fresh means for maintaining the war. He sent the Earl of Surrey, son of the victor of Flodden Field, to co-operate with her, to win over as many as possible of the nobles with money, and to lay waste the Borders, so that they should be incapable of furnishing supplies to an invading army.

Margaret now had every opportunity which a woman of spirit and reputation could wish. She was strongly supported by the power of England, and her great opponent was for ever defeated. She proclaimed her son, and assumed the regency; but her worst enemy was herself. She fell into her old habits; and her scandalous attachment to Henry Stuart, the son of Lord Evandale, soon ruined her prospects. Henry once more abandoned her, and raised her husband, the Earl of Angus, to the chief power. It was in vain that Margaret applied for assistance to Francis I., and humiliated herself so far as to solicit the return of Albany. From this moment there was more tranquillity in Scotland. The French faction, seeing support from France hopeless, were compelled to remain quiet. Truce after truce was established with England; and for eighteen years the Borders rested from hostilities.

The position of the King of France was, at this crisis, becoming more and more critical. His kingdom was environed with perils, and menaced with ruin, which could only be averted by singular courage and address. Against him was arrayed a most formidable confederacy of the Pope, the emperor, the King of England, and the various states of Italy. He had not a single ally, except the King of Scotland, a minor, and without authority. The internal condition of France was extremely discouraging. The wars of Francis in Italy and at home, his gay life and expensive pleasures, with his extravagant grants to his favourites, had exhausted his treasury, and involved him in grave embarrassment. The troops were ill-paid, and, as is usual in such cases, became disorderly and infested the highways, plundered the peasantry, and filled the whole kingdom with alarm and discontent. The Court partook of the licence and distraction of the nation; it was rent by faction, and the most dangerous secret conspiracy was at work in it. This was the doing of the Duke of Bourbon, Constable of France, who had been wronged in a lawsuit with the king.

Charles V. and Henry of England thereupon entered into a secret treaty with the disaffected prince to betray his sovereign and his native country. The transaction was a disgraceful one to all parties concerned. In Bourbon, notwithstanding his grievous wrongs, it was a base as well as an impolitic deed; in Henry and Charles, it was one destructive of the security of the throne, and of every principle of honour which should guide the counsels of kings. Henry felt the vileness of the proceeding, but endeavoured to justify it as a fair retaliation, for that Francis had tampered with his Irish subject, the Earl of Desmond.

The Lord of Beaurain had been employed as the secret agent of the emperor; and Sir John Russell—this being one of the first public notices of the Russells in history—as that of Henry. A private treaty was concluded, of which the substance was as follows:—The emperor and the King of England were to invade France simultaneously, the one in the north, the other in the south, while Bourbon himself was to excite a rebellion in the heart of the kingdom, supported by all the connections of his family, whom he calculated at 200 knights and gentlemen, with their retainers. The attempt was to be made the moment Francis had crossed the Alps; and when the conquest of France was complete, Bourbon, in addition to his appanage of the Bourbonnais and Auvergne, was to receive Provence and Dauphiné, which together were to constitute a kingdom for him. He was, moreover, to receive the hand of the emperor's sister, Eleanor, Queen-Dowager of Portugal. The emperor was to have, as his share of the spoil, Languedoc, Burgundy, Champagne, and Picardy, and Henry VIII. the rest of France.

Such was the traitorous scheme which was now opened up to the astonished gaze of Francis. Had he crossed the Alps before he received the intelligence, it might have been fatal. He had received some dark hints of mischief to be apprehended from Bourbon previously; and on his way south, he had suddenly presented himself at the duke's castle, and called upon him to accompany the expedition to Italy; but the duke made it appear that the state of his health rendered that impossible. Francis, not by any means satisfied, set a strict but secret guard upon his castle, and proceeded to Lyons; but there the news reached him that the pretended sick man had managed to escape in disguise, and was on his way, through the intricacies of the mountains of Auvergne and Dauphiné, to join the emperor's army in Italy.

The Powers of England and the Netherlands appeared, in pursuance of the secret treaty with Bourbon, on the soil of France about the same time. The Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, the commander of the English army, landed at Calais on the 24th of August, and, joining to his troops those collected from the garrisons of Calais, Ham, and Guines, found himself at the head of 13,000 men. He marched on the 19th of September, and the next day fell in with the Imperial troops from the Netherlands, under Van Buren. The allies now amounted to 20,000; but instead of marching to join the Imperial forces coming from Germany, they remained under the walls of St. Omer, debating whether they should do this or invest Boulogne. After having wasted a precious month, they decided to leave Boulogne, and endeavour to form a junction with the Germans. But they had now allowed Francis ample time to thwart all their objects. He had sent a strong detachment, under the Duke of Guise, to throw themselves in the way of the Germans; whilst the Dukes of Vendôme and Tremouille kept a sharp watch over the movements of the allied army. Suffolk and Van Buren traversed Artois and Picardy, crossed the Somme and the Oise, and alarmed Paris by pitching their tents near Laon, within twenty miles of the capital. They had stopped by the way to invest Bray, Montdidier, and some other small places, and now confidently expected the arrival of the German army.

But the Germans by this time were in full flight before the Duke of Guise, and Vendôme and Tremouille manœuvred more menacingly on the front and flank of the Allies. Tremouille, in particular, grew more and more audacious, beat up their quarters with his cavalry, harassed them by frequent skirmishes, and intercepted their convoys. The position of the allied troops became every day more critical. They were threatened with a growing force in their rear, drawn from the garrisons of Picardy, and there was danger of their supplies, which were all derived from Calais, being cut off. The troops were become sickly, and discontented with their situation. It was high time to retrace their steps, and they commenced their march by way of Valenciennes. But the weather was very rainy, the roads were almost impassable, cold and frost succeeded, and the sickness and murmurs of the troops augmented every day. Numbers perished on the march; all were eager to reach their homes; and, as the Flemings drew near their frontiers, they deserted in shoals. The armies then separated, and Suffolk reached Calais in December, with his forces greatly reduced, and all in miserable condition.

On the 14th of September, whilst the Duke of Suffolk was advancing on Paris, an event occurred which arrested the attention of Cardinal Wolsey even more than the engrossing moves on the great chess-board of war. This was the death of the Pope Adrian. He had occupied the papal chair only about twenty months; and so impatient were the Italians of the Flemish pope and his strict economy, that they styled the doctor who attended him in his last sickness the "saviour of his country." Wolsey lost no time in putting in his claim; and wrote to Dr. Clark, the English ambassador at Rome, telling him to spare neither money nor promises, for that it was by command of the king, who would undoubtedly see all his engagements performed. This time Wolsey was put in nomination, and obtained a considerable number of votes; but there was no real chance for him, for the Italians were clamorous to have no more ultramontane, or, as they styled them, barbarian popes. Charles V., despite his promises to Wolsey, not only did not move a finger in his favour, but threw all his influence into the scale to carry the election of Julius de Medici; whilst the French cardinals, to a man, were opposed to Wolsey as the most dangerous enemy to their sovereign. The conclave met in October, and the discussion was continued through six stormy weeks. The election at length was seen to lie between Jacovaccio Romano and Julius de Medici. Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, who held the most decisive influence in the conclave, threw his weight into the scale for Romano, and the balance hung undecided; but all at once it gave way. Colonna, although he hated the Medici, gave up his opposition, and Julius was unanimously elected.

Wolsey, to all appearance, bore this second disappointment with the equanimity of a philosopher; yet we may justly imagine that it produced a deep change in his feelings towards the emperor, and led to a hostile policy against his interests and those of Queen Catherine, his aunt, in England. But Wolsey had prepared for either event, his election or rejection; and the moment the latter became certain, the whole of the influence of the English Government was employed in favour of the election of Julius de Medici. On the strength of this, the English ambassadors congratulated Julius on his elevation, and solicited the continuance of the legatine commission to Wolsey. The Pope, who assumed the name of Clement VII., not only renewed the commission, but granted it for life, with augmented powers; and added to it a commission to reform or suppress certain religious houses in England. This was a dangerous power, and as Wolsey, in 1525—only two years afterwards—by this authority suppressed a number of monasteries, it is by no means improbable that it led Henry to think of those more sweeping changes of the same kind which he afterwards effected. The money thus procured was devoted, notwithstanding the necessities of the State, to the erection of colleges, where both Wolsey and his master declared they were anxious to educate able men in order to oppose effectually the fast-growing heresies of Martin Luther.

The campaign in Italy opened in the spring of 1524, with wonderfully increased difficulties for the French. Charles V. had appointed the renegade Duke of Bourbon his generalissimo in that country against his own sovereign and compatriots. Henry of England engaged to furnish 100,000 crowns for the first month's pay of the duke's army, and to make a diversion by invading Picardy in July. The emperor promised to defray the cost of the Italian army for the remainder of the campaign, and to invade Languedoc at the same time. Thus supported, Bourbon took the field early in the spring; and by the end of May the duke had completely freed Italy of his countrymen, and driven them across the Alps. The losses of the French in this retreat were dreadful, and perhaps the greatest calamity was the death of the famous Chevalier Bayard, the knight "sans peur et sans reproche," who was killed as he was protecting the rear of the army, on the banks of the Sesia (April 30, 1524.)

Bourbon, ardent and impatient to secure the kingdom which had been promised him in France, as well as thirsting with desire to take the utmost vengeance on Francis I., entreated the emperor to allow him to quit Italy and enter France with his victorious army. The emperor consented, and the Imperial forces soon found themselves descending from the Alps. Unfortunately, Charles had divided the command of this expedition between Bourbon and the Marquis of Pescara, and the certain result was divided councils. Bourbon urged to push forward to Lyons, calculating on his friends and dependants in France flocking to him there; but Pescara had probably different instructions, and accordingly advised that they should descend on Provence, and lay siege to Marseilles. This was palpably the suggestion of the emperor, for he was ambitious of securing Marseilles, and holding it as a key to the south of France, as Calais was to the north, in the hands of the English. Thither, therefore, they marched, entered Provence on the 2nd of July, and on the 19th of August they sat down before Marseilles with an army of 16,000 men.

But the situation of the Imperial troops soon became extremely hazardous there. The place was strongly fortified; it contained a garrison of 3,200 men, and these were zealously supported by 9,000 of the inhabitants, who, detesting the Spaniards, took up arms and fought most gallantly. Bourbon and Pescara spent forty days in mining and bombarding the place, when they became aware of a tempest gathering which boded their utter destruction. This was Francis marching from Avignon at the head of 40,000 men. Neither Henry nor the emperor had made those diversions in Languedoc and Picardy which they had promised, and thus the whole weight of the army of France was at liberty to descend upon them. Bourbon and Pescara precipitately abandoned the siege, made for the Alps, and regained Italy.

At this moment Francis committed a military error, which probably deprived him of the triumph of thoroughly routing his enemies. To have continued the pursuit was almost certain to have destroyed the Imperialist force, for it was worn down by its severe marches, and the road to Lodi by which Pescara retreated was actually strewn with his exhausted horses. The army of Pescara was the sole Imperial force now in Italy, and its defeat would have been the immediate recovery of the Milanese territory. But Francis was beguiled into the delay of besieging Pavia, in which Pescara had left a strong garrison, under Antonio da Leyva. Pavia was a well-fortified city, situated on the deep and rapid Ticino, in a peculiarly strong position, and had repeatedly defied armies for a long time together, particularly those of the Lombards and of Charlemagne. The moment Pescara heard of Francis sitting down before it, he exclaimed that he was saved! Every exertion was made by the Imperialists to profit by the time thus given them. The Duke of Bourbon hastened over the Alps to Germany to raise 12,000 men, for which purpose he had pawned his jewels. Lannoy, the viceroy of Naples, pledged the regular revenues of that kingdom for ready cash for the hiring of troops, and great activity was displayed in raising an army and posting it betwixt the Adda and the Ticino.

For three months Francis continued lying before Pavia, and committed the further error of weakening his forces, by detaching 6,000 of them, under Albany, the late regent of Scotland, to menace the kingdom of Naples.

In the beginning of February, 1525, the Imperialist generals thought themselves strong enough to attack the French in their entrenchments. These entrenchments were very formidable. The rear-guard was posted in the beautiful castle of Mirabello, in the midst of an extensive park, enclosed by high and solid walls. But Leyva, who commanded the garrison, found means to communicate with the Imperial generals outside, and he sent them word that they must either relieve him or that he must attempt to cut his way out, for famine was urgent amongst his troops. The generals themselves were suffering from want of provisions and pay for their troops. In the French camp the wisest commanders counselled Francis to raise the siege and retire to Milan, confident that the enemy must soon disband from want of pay. But Bonivet treated this counsel as mean and dastardly; and, unfortunately, this was the tone most likely to captivate the chivalrous mind of the French king. He resolved to stand his ground.

On the 24th of February, Bourbon, Pescara, and Lannoy, having distracted the attention of the French for several days previously by false attacks, at midnight led out their troops silently to the park. A body of pioneers commenced operations on the wall, and before daylight they had effected a breach of a hundred paces in length, and at dawn they carried the castle by surprise. Francis drew his troops out of their entrenchments and made a push across the Ticino, but he found the bridge demolished, and a strong body of the Spaniards closely drawn up on the banks. Attacked fiercely by the garrison in the rear, and hemmed in by the Imperial army in front, the battle became desperate. Francis had his horse killed under him; the Swiss, contrary to their wont, turned and fled at the first charge; and the Germans, who fought with singular valour, were annihilated to a man. The Spanish musketeers then broke the French ranks; and the king, being already wounded twice in the face, and once in the hand, refused to surrender to the Spaniards who environed him. Fortunately, Pomperant, a French gentleman in the service of the Duke of Bourbon, recognised him, and called Lannoy, to whom the king resigned his sword. Lannoy, kneeling, kissed the king's hand, took the sword, and gave him his own in return, saying it did not become a monarch to appear unarmed in the presence of a subject. The king was relieved of his helmet by James D'Avila; and the Spanish soldiers, who admired his valour, came crowding around him, and snatched the feathers from it, and, when they were all gone, even cut pieces from his clothes, to keep as memorials that they had fought hand to hand with him. Francis was soon left standing in his jerkin and hose, and, despite his misfortune, could not help laughing at his situation, and at the eagerness of the soldiers for something belonging to him.

The amazement and consternation which fell on France at the news of this terrible disaster are scarcely to be imagined. Nothing, indeed, could be more melancholy than the situation of that kingdom. Her king was captive, her most distinguished generals and the flower of the army were taken or slain; powerful and triumphant enemies on all sides were ready to seize her as a spoil, and she was equally destitute of allies, of money, of troops, or wise counsel. Scarcely less was the terror of the princes and the states of Italy, for their only safety—the balance of power—was destroyed, and there appeared no defence against the predominant power of the emperor.

Charles himself assumed an air of singular composure and moderation on the receipt of this brilliant news. He had been daily expecting to hear of the defeat of his army, when, on the 10th of March, came the tidings of this great victory. We may imagine, therefore, his real joy. But such was his command of his feelings that nothing of this appeared in his manner. He perused the dispatches with the most perfect composure, affected even to commiserate the fall of his rival, and moralised sagely on the uncertainty of human greatness. A little time, however, was sufficient to show that this was dissimulation, and his conduct to Francis was ample proof that he had neither pity nor generosity.

Henry of England, on the contrary, gave freedom to his expressions of joy. Though he was actually on his way to coalesce with Francis against Charles, he saw at once the immense advantages this defeat and capture offered for aggressions on his kingdom, and he therefore ordered the most public rejoicings in London and other cities, and rode himself in state to St. Paul's, where Wolsey performed mass, assisted by eleven bishops, in presence of the Court and all the foreign ambassadors; and afterwards Te Deum was sung. Henry then posted off Tunstall, Bishop of London, and Sir Richard Wingfield, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, into Spain to congratulate the emperor on his splendid triumph, and modestly to propose that they should divide France between them.

To induce Charles to consent to this improbable arrangement, Henry proposed at once to put the Princess Mary, who was betrothed to Charles, into his hands—in fact, to make the exchange of her person for that of Francis. Henry was the more buoyed up in these wild notions by the fact that the ambassador of Charles had just been applying for the delivery of the princess.

So confident was Henry of the cession of his claims by the emperor, that he instantly took measures to raise the money necessary for the invasion of France. As he had resolved to rule without the interference of parliaments, he sent out commissioners to every part of the country to levy the sixth part of the goods of the laity and a fourth of those of the clergy. The scheme was entirely unconstitutional, the commissioners performed their part in a harsh and overbearing manner, trusting thus to intimidate the people into compliance, and the consequence was universal resentment and resistance. Clergy and laity, rich and poor, all alike denounced the arbitrary and illegal impost. "How the great men took it," says Hall, "was a marvel: the poor cursed, the rich repugned, the lighter sort railed, and, in conclusion, all men execrated the cardinal as the subverter of the laws and liberties of England. For, said they, if men should give their goods by a commission, then were it worse than the taxes of France, and so England would be bond, and not free." This was the more just because the cardinal in person acted as commissioner in London, and lent all the weight of his office and position to sanction the oppression. He used all his arts to prevail on the citizens to comply, but neither threats nor blandishments moved them. The resistance was obstinate and universal.

In London the excitement became excessive; the people placarded the walls with their complaints, and the clergy preached against the arbitrary tax, and declared that for themselves they would pay no money which was not voted in Convocation. From London the fire spread through the other towns, the people began to take up arms, the clergy to encourage them, and Henry, who was soon terrified, with all his bluster, took the alarm, and declared that he wanted nothing from his loving subjects but as a benevolence. But the very word benevolence awoke a host of hateful recollections. The tumult was only increased by it; and a lawyer in the city published the passage from the Act of Richard III., by which benevolences were abolished for ever. This seemed to arouse the lion spirit in Henry. The prospect of the crown of France was too fascinating to be lightly surrendered; he therefore called together the judges, and demanded their opinion on his power to tax his subjects without Parliament. The venal judges reminded the king that Richard III. was a usurper, and that his Parliament was a factious Parliament, the acts of which were illegal and void, and could in no wise bind a legitimate and absolute king, who, like him, held the Crown by hereditary right. This bold and base doctrine was loudly echoed by the Privy Council, but vain were such authorities with the people. On hearing this decision, they again flew to arms. In Kent they speedily drove the commissioners and tax-gatherers out of the county; in Suffolk they marched in an armed body of 4,000 or 5,000 men, and even threatened the duke of the county, Brandon, the king's brother-in-law, who was the chief commissioner there, with death. Surrey, who stood high in the estimation of the people, interfered to calm them, and to prevent mischief; and Henry saw that the contest was hopeless, and by proclamation retracted his demand. Wolsey, who had been extremely prominent in endeavouring to enforce the detested tax, now caused a report to be industriously circulated, that he had, in truth, never been favourable to it, but the people only replied when they heard it, "God save the king! we know the cardinal well enough."

But Henry might have spared himself this tumult and unpopularity. The emperor was never less likely than now to concede such favours and advantages to him. He was a deep and subtle prince; no man could see more intuitively and instantly the wonderful change in his power and position which the battle of Pavia created. Charles had calculated upon Henry for large subsidies during the war, but instead of receiving these, he had found Henry as much straitened for money as he was himself. It was now discovered that the emperor had already made a truce of six months with France, and he coolly advised the ambassadors to seek from their sovereign power, not negotiations for the invasion of France, but the terms on which the French king should be liberated. To crown all, and leave no question of the feeling which Henry's late conduct had produced in Charles's Court, he wrote to Henry, no longer styling himself his loving uncle and penning the grossest flatteries with his own hand, but he simply and curtly signed himself Charles to official communications duly and officially prepared.

This was a rebuff not to be received complacently by a man of Henry's vain and volcanic spirit. He read the astounding dispatches with an amazement which burst into a tempest of rage. At once a tide of impetuous revulsion flowed over his whole soul. He abandoned in a moment all ideas of conquests, invasions, and the crown of France, and determined to do everything in his power to procure the liberation of Francis, and to unite with him against the perfidious and insulting Spaniard. He had dismissed the French envoys, who were residing privately in London, on the news of the capture of Francis, but he now let it be understood that their presence would be heartily welcome. Louise, the mother of Francis, accepted the hint, and John Brenon, president of the council of Normandy, and her favourite envoy, Giovanni Joacchino, were again despatched to London. A truce for four months was immediately concluded, and Wolsey, who fanned the new flame in Henry's bosom for objects and resentments of his own, soon arranged the terms of a treaty with them. These terms were extremely acceptable to Henry, as they furnished him with a prospect of a considerable addition to his income, without the disagreeable necessity of having to go to Parliament for it. The treaty consisted of six articles. By the first, the contracting parties engaged to guarantee the integrity of each other's territories against all the princes in the world. The object of this was to prevent Francis from bartering any of his provinces with Charles for his liberty. By the second, Francis and his heirs were made to guarantee to Henry the payment of 2,000,000 crowns, by half-yearly instalments, and 100,000 crowns for life, after the payment of that amount. Nine of the chief noblemen of France, and nine of the richest cities also, gave up their bonds for the security of these payments. By the third article, the King of France engaged to pay up all the arrears of the dowry of Mary, the Queen-Dowager of France. The rest of the articles were for the prevention of depredations at sea, for comprehending the King of Scots in the treaty, and for the prevention of the return of the Duke of Albany to Scotland during the minority of James V. This treaty was signed at the king's house in Hertfordshire, on the 30th of August. The cardinal, who never forgot himself on these occasions, was well rewarded for his trouble in promoting and arranging this alliance. He received a grant of 100,000 crowns for his good offices in the affair, and the arrears of his pension in lieu of his surrender of the bishopric of Tournay, the whole to be paid in equal instalments in the course of seven years and a half.

But whilst the French regent, Louise, made these liberal concessions for the friendship of Henry, and showed every apparent disposition to guarantee the conditions, Louise swearing to them, and Francis ratifying them, care was taken to leave a loophole of escape at any future period. The attorney and solicitor-general entered a secret protest against the whole treaty, so that Francis might, if occasion required, plead the illegality of the whole transaction.

But it was not so easy to procure the liberation of the captive King of France. Moderate as Charles had professed to be, and sympathetic regarding the misfortunes of Francis, he soon showed that he was determined to extort every possible advantage from having the royal captive in his hands. He had been detained in the strong castle of Pizzighettone, near Cremona; but, thinking that he should be able to influence the emperor by his presence, he petitioned to be removed to the Alcazar of Madrid. At length, however, on the 14th of January, 1526, was signed the famous treaty called the Concord of Madrid, one of the most grasping and impudent pieces of extortion which one prince ever forced from another in his necessity. By this treaty Francis gave up all that he had offered before—namely, all claims of superiority over Flanders and Artois, and the possession of Naples, Milan, Genoa, and the other Italian territories, for which France had spent so much blood and treasure. But besides this, Francis was to deliver to the emperor his two sons, the Dauphin and the Duke of Orleans, as hostages, and also bind himself, if he did not, or could not, fulfil his engagements within four months, to return and yield himself once more prisoner. He was to marry Queen Eleanora of Portugal, the sister of Charles, and the Dauphin was to marry the Princess Maria, the daughter of Eleanora. But these were but a small part of the demands. Francis was bound to persuade the King of Navarre to surrender his rights in that kingdom to Charles, and the Duke of Gueldres to appoint Charles the heir to his dominions; and if he failed to persuade them, he was to give them no aid when the emperor invaded their states. Next, Francis was to lend his whole navy, 500 men-at-arms, and 6,000 foot-soldiers, to put down the princes of Italy, who were uniting to effect his own freedom! Then, Francis was to pay to the King of England all those sums which the emperor himself had engaged to pay. Still more, he was to restore Bourbon and the rest of the rebels to their estates and honours. The whole of the conditions were so monstrous, that they cannot be read without astonishment at the rapacity of this triumphant prince. But to gain his liberty Francis signed the Treaty.

Henry VIII. was one of the first amongst princes to send ambassadors to congratulate Francis on his restoration to freedom, and to urge him to break every article of the infamous terms which had been forced upon him. Sir Thomas Cheney was sent from England to meet Dr. Taylor, the English ambassador at Paris; and together they proceeded to Bayonne, and were introduced to Francis, who told them he greatly felt the friendship of Henry, who had, indeed, remonstrated with Charles on his behalf, though Charles had not paid much respect to the intercession. There was no need of any arguments from the two English casuists to induce Francis to break the engagements he had entered into. He had never meant to keep them. Before signing the document, he had protested, before two notaries and a few confidential friends, that he had acted under restraint, and that he should hold himself bound to observe none of the conditions which were not just and reasonable.

Two ambassadors had attended him from Spain to take his signature of the Treaty, when he was free and on his own soil, as a ratification of it, which he had engaged to give; but when the ambassadors presented themselves for this purpose, Francis declined, affirming that he could not enter into any such engagements without the advice of his council and the approbation of his subjects. He assured them, however, that he would immediately summon an assembly of the notables at Cognac, and requested them to attend him thither, to learn the decision of the assembly. This body met at that place in June, and declared, with one voice, that the king had no right or power to sever Burgundy from the kingdom without their consent, and such consent they would never give. The Spanish ambassadors were present when this decision was pronounced, and they said that the king, not being able to fulfil his contract, was bound to return to his captivity, and they called upon him to obey. Instead of a direct answer to this demand, a treaty betwixt the King of France, the Pope, the Venetians, and the Duke of Milan, which had been secretly concluded a few days before, was produced, and published in their hearing. As this was tantamount to a declaration of war, the ambassadors demanded their passports, and returned to Spain. The Pope, on entering into this league, absolved Francis from all the forced oaths that he had sworn.

This confederacy of Francis and the Italian princes and states against the emperor, bound the Allies to raise and pay an army of 30,000 foot and 3,000 horse, with a certain number of ships and galleys. The King of France was to be put in possession of the county of Asti and the lordship of Genoa; and Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan, engaged to pay him 50,000 crowns annually. Naples was to be wrested from Charles, and its crown placed at the disposal of the Pope; but the king whom he appointed was to pay an annuity of 75,000 crowns to the King of France. Henry of England, though he declined to take any active part in the league, but consented merely to be nominated its protector, was to have a principality in Naples, with 36,000 ducats a year; and the cardinal, who always came in for his share of spoil, was to have a lordship worth 10,000 ducats.

So closed the year 1526; and the new year opened with preparations for still more terrors for devoted Italy. The Emperor Charles had no money to maintain the troops necessary for the extensive domination that he aimed at, and he therefore allowed the mercenary troops in his employment, rather than in his pay, to indemnify themselves by the plunder of the wretched inhabitants of the countries where they were collected. These troops consisted of a mob of vagabonds, outlaws, and marauders, from every country in Europe, who, by their long course of licentious freedom, were become utterly callous to the sufferings which they inflicted. Freundsberg, a German soldier of fortune, was at the head of 15,000 of these adventurers, consisting of Germans, Spaniards, and Swiss; and Bourbon, at the head of 10,000 more half-starved and half-clad mercenaries, was in possession of the whole duchy of Milan, but with no means of supporting his position. These two ferocious hordes having formed a junction under his banner, clamoured for their pay; Bourbon told them he had no money, and that Milan had been so repeatedly overrun and ravaged, that it was destitute of all means of supporting them; but that he would lead them into the enemy's country—into the richest cities of Italy—where they might amply indemnify themselves for all their past sufferings. Animated by these assurances, they swore to follow him whithersoever he might lead them. They marched on Rome, and sacked it, losing, however, their leader, who fell in the attack.

The news of the sacking of Rome, and the imprisonment of the Pope, excited the most lively sensations of horror and indignation throughout the Christian, and especially the Catholic, world. None appeared more affected than the emperor, by whose troops the sacrilegious deed had been perpetrated. He put himself and his Court into the deepest mourning, forbade rejoicing for the birth of his son, and commanded prayers to be offered in the churches throughout Spain for the liberation of His Holiness. No one could play off a piece of solemn hypocrisy more solemnly than Charles V. Francis and Henry, who were making a fresh treaty of alliance, were at once affected with real or pretended horror. They agreed immediately to invade Italy with 30,000 foot, and 1,000 horse, to join the confederate army there, and drive out the troops of Spain, and liberate the Pope from the Castle of St. Angelo.

But the time was now approaching which was to interrupt the friendship of Henry with the head of the Church of Rome. The Reformation in Germany had made an immense progress, and produced the most astonishing events. The whole mind and intellect of that country had been convulsed by the preaching of the doctrines of Luther. State had been set against state, prince against prince; and the bold monk of Wittenberg had only escaped the vengeance of the Church of Rome by the undaunted championship of the Elector of Saxony. Henry, fond of school divinity from his youth, and a great reader and admirer of Thomas Aquinas, had looked across to Germany with a grim and truculent glance, which seemed to rest on the blunt and unconventional Reformer with an expression of one who longed to strike down the daring heretic, and rid the world of him. As this was out of his power, he determined to annihilate him by his pen; and for this purpose he had written a book against him, with the title of "A Treatise on the Seven Sacraments, against Martin Luther, the Heresiarch, by the Illustrious Prince Henry VIII." This he had caused to be presented to the Pope by the English ambassador, beautifully written and magnificently bound, and Leo X. received it with the most extravagant laudations, and conferred on Henry in 1521 the title of "Defender of the Faith," in a bull signed by himself and twenty-seven cardinals. Henry really believed that he had crushed Luther and all his sect; but the free-mouthed Reformer, who paid no flatteries to king or Pope, soon convinced the literary monarch that he was as much alive as ever. He wrote a reply to Henry, in which, giving him commendation for writing in elegant language, he abused him and his work as broadly as he would have done that of the obscurest mortal. Henry, in his estimation, was "fool," "liar," "ass," "blasphemer." The correspondence which ensued was acrimonious.

The great defender of the faith, at the time at which we are now arrived, was growing dissatisfied with his wife, and was about to seek a divorce from her, which must necessarily involve the Pope in difficulties with the queen's nephew, the Emperor. Henry was married to Catherine when she was in her twenty-fifth year. So long as the disparity of their ages did not appear, for he was six years younger, and so long as she was pleasing in her person, he seemed not only satisfied with, but really attached to her. But she was now forty-two years of age, had undergone much anxiety in her earlier years in England, had borne the king five children, three sons and two daughters, all of whom died in their infancy, except the Princess Mary, who lived to mount the throne. Catherine, of late years, had suffered much in her health, and we may judge from the best-known portrait of her that she had now lost her good looks, and had a bowed-down and sorrow-stricken air.

Anne Boleyn had been living in France, at first as attendant on Mary, King Henry's sister, the queen of Louis XII., and afterwards in the family of the Duke of Alençon. She returned to England on the breaking out of the war with Francis I., in 1522; and seems, by her beauty, wit, and accomplishments, to have created a great sensation in the English Court, where she was soon attached to the service of Queen Catherine. Henry is said to have first met her by accident, in her father's garden, at Hever Castle, in Kent; and was so charmed with her that he told Wolsey that he had been "discoursing with a young lady who had the wit of an angel, and was worthy of a crown." She is supposed at that time to have been about one-and-twenty, a brunette of tall and most graceful figure, and extremely accomplished.

The understanding between Henry and Anne Boleyn soon became obvious to the whole Court. The queen saw it as clearly as any one else, and upbraided Henry with it, but does not seem to have used any harshness to Anne on that account, though she occasionally gave her some sharp rubs. For instance, once when the queen was playing at cards with Anne Boleyn she thus addressed her, "My Lady Anne, you have the good hap ever to stop at a king; but you are like others, you will have all or none." Cavendish, Wolsey's secretary, says the queen at this trying crisis "behaved like a very patient Grissel."

Henry now having resolved to marry Anne Boleyn, as he found he could obtain her on no other terms, felt himself suddenly afflicted with lamentable scruples of conscience for being married to his brother's widow, and entertaining equally afflicting doubts of the power of the Pope to grant a dispensation for such a marriage. For eighteen years these scruples had rested in his bosom without disturbing a moment of his repose. It is true that these doubts had been started before the marriage by Archbishop Warham, but they had no weight with Henry or his father. Henry had gone into the marriage at the age of eighteen with his eyes open, having some time before, by his father's order, made a protest against it for State purposes, and had been ever since, till he saw Anne Boleyn, not only contented but jovial. Now, however, he soon ceased to be merely scrupulous—he became positive that his marriage was unlawful, and set to work to write a book to prove it. The king communicated to Wolsey fully his views regarding the divorce, and Wolsey, who had now his decided quarrel with Charles for deceiving him in the matter of the Papacy, and who was equally the enemy of Catherine, she having openly expressed her resentment of his procuring the destruction of the Duke of Buckingham, readily fell into the scheme. Wolsey was undoubtedly as well aware as any one of the love affair going on between Henry and Anne Boleyn; nothing that was moving at Court could escape him; but he supposed this affair was only of the same kind as the rest of Henry's gallantries, and his notion was that some foreign princess would be selected for Henry's second queen.

But during the discussions on the marriage between the English princess and the French prince, a circumstance had taken place which showed that Henry was resolved to let slip no opportunity of carrying his divorce at all costs. The Bishop of Tarbes suddenly asked the question whether the legitimacy of the Princess Mary was beyond every legal and canonical doubt, considering the nature of the king's marriage with her mother, the queen. Henry and Wolsey affected to be much astonished and agitated at the question; and the King afterwards made it an argument that the idea of the illegality of his marriage, though it had originated with himself, had been greatly strengthened by the question of the bishop, as it showed how apparent the fact was to strangers and even foreigners. Yet the suggestion had undoubtedly been made to the bishop by Wolsey on Henry's behalf. The meaning of the question was quite obvious—it was to serve the cause of the divorce, which was an object highly pleasing to Francis I., in his resentment of the treatment of himself by the Emperor; but it was not believed for a moment to indicate real doubt even on the part of the French king, or he would not have proceeded to confirm the choice of an illegitimate maiden for the Queen of France, or the wife of his son.

At the close of this treaty, Wolsey was sent over to France, rather to show to Europe, and particularly to the King of Spain, the intimate footing between France and England, than for any real use. It was believed that Anne Boleyn and her friends were at the bottom of Wolsey's being sent abroad for a time, that the affairs regarding "the king's secret" might proceed without his cognisance; and, indeed, before his return, it had ceased to be a secret to any one. Anne had become openly acknowledged as the king's favourite, and had assumed an air and style of magnificence and consequence on account of it. Meantime, Wolsey, misled by his idea that the king meant to marry a foreign princess, had committed himself deeply, and supplied fresh and serious materials for his own destruction. He had given hints of the divorce of Henry, and of his probable marriage with a princess of the Court of France. He told Louise, the French king's mother, that "if she lived another year, she should see as great union on one side, and disunion on the other, as she would ask or wish for. These," he added, "were not idle words. Let her treasure them up in her memory; time would explain them."

The cardinal had, in fact, been looking round him at the French Court for a wife for Henry, and had selected the Princess Renée, sister of the late Queen Claude, while Henry himself had settled his choice nearer home. On the return of Wolsey, all being now prepared, Henry communicated to the astonished man the secret of his intended marriage with Anne. Confounded at the disclosure, the proud cardinal dropped on his knees, and, it is said, remained there for some hours pleading with the king against this infatuation, as he deemed it, and which he saw compromised himself with the Court of France, and menaced him darkly in the future, from the deep enmity of her who would thus become his queen. His pleadings and arguments were vain. His fair enemy had made her ground wholly secure in his absence, and Wolsey withdrew with gloomy forebodings.

The communication of the king's secret to Wolsey was immediately followed by more active measures, in which Wolsey, however averse, was obliged to co-operate. The king's treatise was now submitted to Sir Thomas More, who at once saw the peril of acting as a judge in so delicate a matter, declared that he was no theologian, and therefore unqualified to decide. It was next laid before the Bishop of Rochester, who decided against it. Henry then directed Sir Thomas to apply to some other of the bishops; but as he was hostile to the treatise himself, he was not likely to be a very persuasive pleader for it with others. None of the bishops would commit themselves, and Sir Thomas advised Henry to see what St. Jerome, St. Augustine, and the other fathers of the Church said upon it. Henry then employed the more unscrupulous agency of Wolsey with the prelates, who plied them with all his eloquence; but the most that he could obtain from them was that the arguments of the king's book furnished a reasonable ground for a scruple, and that he had better apply to the Holy See, and abide by its decision.

With the nation at large, the proposal of the amorous king was still less popular than with the bishops. They had a great veneration for the insulted Catherine, who had maintained for so many years the most fair and estimable character on the throne, and against whose virtue not a word had ever been breathed. They attributed this scheme to the acts of the cardinal, who was the enemy of the Emperor and the warm ally of France; and they dreaded that the divorce might lead to war and the suppression of the profitable trade with the Netherlands.

Unable to obtain much sanction at home, Henry at length referred the cause to the Pope; and Stephen Gardiner—then known by the humble name of Mr. Stephen—and Bishop Fox went in 1528 to Italy with the Royal instructions. The grand difficulty was to effect the divorce in so legal and complete a manner that no plea might be able to be brought against the legitimacy of the proposed marriage. For three months fresh instructions were issued and revoked, and issued in amended form again, which were laid before Dr. Knight, the king's agent at the Papal Court, and the three brothers Casali, Wolsey's agents, and before Staphilaeo, Dean of the Rota, who had been gained over whilst lately in London.

But the Emperor had not been idle. The Pope, as we have seen, had been shut up by the Imperial troops in the Castle of St. Angelo; and, in negotiation for his liberation, Charles had made it one of the principal stipulations of his release that he should not consent to act preparatory to a divorce without the previous knowledge of Charles himself. Scarcely had the Pope made his escape to Orvieto, when the English emissaries appeared before him. Poor Clement was thrown into a terrible dilemma. The Imperialists were still in possession of Rome, and if he consented to the request of Henry, he had nothing to expect but vengeance from the Emperor. To make the matter worse, a French army, under the command of Lautrec, and accompanied by Sir Robert Jerningham as the English commissary, which had been sent over the Alps to his assistance, and to enable him to recover his capital, loitered at Piacenza, and delayed the chance of the restoration and defence of Rome.

The English envoys presented to him two instruments, which had been prepared by the learned agents above named, by the first of which he was to empower Wolsey, or in case of any objection to him, Staphilaeo, to hear and decide the case of the divorce; and by the second he was to grant Henry a dispensation to marry, in the place of Catherine, any other woman soever, even if she were already promised to another, or related to him in the first degree of affinity. This was a most extraordinary proceeding, an acknowledgment by Henry of the very power in the Pope which he affected to doubt and deny. The objection to the marriage of Henry with Catherine was that she was within the proscribed degree of affinity, having been his brother's wife. Moreover, as Henry was accused, and this instrument appeared to admit the charge, of having established the same degree of relationship, though illicitly, with Mary Boleyn, the sister of Anne, as had existed between Catherine and his brother legally, this document was to prevent any objections to the marriage with Anne.

The Pope signed both instruments, but recommended that Henry should keep them secret till the French army, under Lautrec, should arrive, and free him from fears, even for his life, of the vengeance of the Emperor. When this should have taken place, he promised to issue a second commission of the same import, which might at once be publicly proceeded with.

Scarcely, however, had Dr. Knight left Orvieto, when Gregorio da Casali brought a request from the English Court that a legate from Rome might be joined in the commission with Wolsey. To this Clement observed that the King of England was pursuing a very circuitous course. If the king was really convinced in his conscience that his present marriage was null, he had better marry again, and then he himself or a legate could decide the question at once. But if a legate were to sit in jurisdiction, there must be appeals to himself in Rome, exceptions, and adjournments, which would make it an affair of years. But, after saying this, the Pope signed the requisition.

At the instigation of Wolsey, who was anxious that the treaty which he had signed with France should be carried into effect, war was now declared formally against the Emperor. The news of the war was received in England with the utmost disgust and discontent. The people denounced the cardinal as the troubler of the kingdom and the interrupter of its commerce. The merchants refused to frequent the new marts in France, which were appointed instead of their accustomed ones in the Netherlands. The wool-combers, spinners, and clothiers were stopped in their sales by this resolve on the part of the merchants; their people were all thrown out of work; and the spirit of commotion grew so strong that there were serious fears of open outbreaks. In the council, the cardinal had as little support in his policy as he did elsewhere. There was not a member, except himself, who was an advocate of the French alliance; but all his colleagues at the council-table were eagerly watching for some chance which should hasten his downfall. Even the king himself was averse from the war with his nephew; and especially as he was aware that the fear of Charles's resentment deterred Clement from cordially proceeding with the divorce; and Henry hinted that if peace were restored, Charles might be induced to withdraw his opposition. Fortunately, the Flemings were as much incommoded by the breach of commercial relations as the English; and the Archduchess Margaret, the Governess of the Netherlands, had the prudence to make a proposition that peace should be restored. Negotiations commenced, and were carried on for some time for a general pacification; but this being proved unattainable, a peace was concluded with the Netherlands, and the state of war was allowed to remain between England and Spain.

But the fact was, the war, so far as regarded these two countries, was merely nominal; it raged only in Italy, between the French and the Imperialists. Henry had no money for war, and, besides, his whole thoughts and energies were occupied in carrying through the divorce, which he now found a most formidable affair, fresh difficulties starting up at every step. Had Catherine been only an English subject, instead of the aunt of the great monarch of Germany, Flanders, and Spain, Henry would have made short work of his conscience and of the poor woman who was in the way. He would have charged her with some heinous and revolting crime, and severed her head from her shoulders at a blow, and all his difficulties with it. But he had not only royal blood to deal with, but all the ancient prejudices that surrounded it, and which would have made him execrated over the whole world had he spilled it. He knew that Charles was watching intently to catch him at a disadvantage, and he never felt himself safe in his proceedings.

It now occurred to him that, though the Pope had granted permission for Wolsey and the legate to decide this momentous question, yet he might be induced, by the influence of Charles, to revise and reverse the sentence pronounced by his delegates: and this might involve him in inextricable dilemmas, especially should he have acted on the sentence of divorce, and married again.

Clement was placed in a very trying situation. He was anxious to oblige Henry, but to grant the bull confirming the sentence to be pronounced by Wolsey and the Legate, was to annihilate the dogma of Papal infallibility, for Julius II. had granted the Church's dispensation, notwithstanding the fact of Catherine's union with Henry's brother. Clement had been also informed that Henry's object was only to gratify the wish of a woman who was already living in adultery with him. But this was rebutted by a letter already received from Wolsey, assuring the Pope that Anne Boleyn was a lady of unimpeachable character. Driven from this point, Clement still demurred as to the formidable bull; and only consented, after consultation with a convocation of cardinals and theologians, to issue an order for a commission to inquire into the validity of the dispensation granted by Pope Julius, and to revoke it, if it was found to have been by any means surreptitiously obtained.

Campeggio, who had most reluctantly undertaken the appointment of commissioner in this case, was all this time slowly, very slowly, progressing towards England. He was an eminent professor of the canon law, and an experienced statesman. He had been a married man, and had a family; but, on the death of his wife, in 1509, he had taken orders, was made cardinal in 1517, and had been employed by Leo and his successors in various arduous cases to their highest satisfaction. Campeggio arrived in London at last, on the 7th of October, 1528, but in such exhaustion, from violent and long attacks of the gout, that he was carried in a litter to his lodgings, and remained for some time confined to his bed. Henry, with his characteristic hypocrisy, on the approach of the legate, again sent away his mistress, and recalled his obliging wife, with whom he appeared to be living on the most affectionate terms. They had the same bed and board, and went regularly through the same devotions. The arrival of the legate raised the courage of the people, who were unanimous in the favour of the queen, and, though Wolsey made every exertion to silence and restrain them, they loudly declared that, let the king marry whom he pleased, they would acknowledge no successor in prejudice to Mary.

It was a fortnight before the legate was ready to see the king. On the 22nd of October he made his visit, and was, of course, most graciously received by Henry and the cardinal, but they could extract from him no opinion as to the probable result of the inquiry which was at hand. Henry and Wolsey exerted all their arts to win over the great man. The king paid him constant visits; and to mollify and draw him out heaped all sorts of flatteries upon him, and made him the most brilliant promises. He had already made him Bishop of Salisbury, and presented him with a splendid palace in Rome; and he now offered to confer on him the rich bishopric of Durham, and knighted his son Ridolfo, by whom he was accompanied. But nothing moved the impenetrable ecclesiastic; for if favours were heaped on him here, terrors awaited him at Rome if he betrayed the trust of his master, the Pope. He replied to all solicitations that he had every disposition to serve the king, so far as his conscience would permit him. To produce a favourable bias in the opinions of the inexorable man, the judgments of eminent divines and doctors of the canon law on the king's case were laid before him. These he read, but still kept his own ideas locked in his breast.

Henry next endeavoured to obtain from Campeggio the publication of the decretal bull, or, at least, that it should be shown to the Privy Council, but the legate remained firm to his instructions. The king's agents at the same time plied Clement with persuasives to the same end, but with the same result. So far from giving way, the agents informed Henry that the Emperor had given back to the Pope Civita Vecchia and all the fortresses which he had taken from the Holy See, and that it was to be feared that there was a secret understanding between the Pope and Charles. At this news Henry despatched Sir Francis Bryan, Master of the Henchmen, and Peter Vannes, his secretary of the Latin tongue, to Francis I., upbraiding him with his neglect in permitting this to go on; and they then proceeded to Italy, and requested the Pope to cite all Christian princes to meet in Avignon and settle their differences. In the meantime these agents were to consult the most celebrated canonists at Rome on the following extraordinary points:—"1. Whether, if a wife were to make a vow of chastity, and enter a convent, the Pope could not, in the plenitude of his power, authorise the husband to marry again. 2. Whether, if the husband were to enter into a religious order, that he might induce the wife to do the same, he might not afterwards be released from his vow, and have liberty to marry. 3. Whether, for reasons of State, the Pope could not license a prince to have, like the ancient patriarchs, two wives, of whom one only should be publicly acknowledged, and enjoy the honours of royalty."

On the 6th of February, 1529, the intelligence arrived that Clement was dying, and by that time was probably dead. Now was the time to place Wolsey in the Papal chair, and thus end all difficulties. Francis promised cordially to aid in the attempt; but, to their dismay, Clement revived, and dashed their hopes to the ground. Made desperate by these chances, Henry now gave the invalid Pope no rest from his solicitations. His agents forced themselves into his very sick chamber, and demanded that the fatal mandate of dispensation granted by Julius II.—a copy of which Catherine had obtained from Spain—should be revoked, or that Charles should be compelled to exhibit the original. But the Pope remained firm. He declared that he could not depart from the course already prescribed, that Catherine had even entered a protest in his Court against the persons of her judges, and he recommended Henry to lose no time, but to try to determine the matter in his own realm.

The Court which was to try the cause met in the Parliament chamber in the Blackfriars, and summoned the king and queen to appear before it on the 18th of June. Henry appeared by proxy; Catherine obeyed the summons in person, but only to protest against the judges as the subjects of Henry, her accuser, and to appeal to the Pope. This appeal was overruled, and the Court adjourned to the 21st of June. On this day both Henry and Catherine appeared, the king sitting in state on the right hand of the cardinal and legate, and Catherine sat on their left, attended by four friendly bishops. On their names being called, Henry answered "Here!" but Catherine was unable to reply. On being again cited, however, she rose and repeated her protest on three grounds,—first, as being a stranger; secondly, because the judges were subjects, and held benefices, the gift of her adversary; and last, because from such a Court she could not expect impartiality. This protest being held inadmissible, she rose again, crossed herself, and, leaning on her maids, approached the king, threw herself at his feet, and addressed him in a pathetic speech.

On the 25th of June Catherine was summoned before the Court again, but she refused to appear, sending in, however, and causing to be read, her appeal to the Pope. On this she was declared contumacious; and the king's counsellors asserted that the following points had been clearly proved:—That her marriage with Prince Arthur had been consummated, and, therefore, her marriage with Henry was unlawful; that the dispensation of Julius II. had been obtained under false pretences and a concealment of facts; and that the Papal brief which had been sent from Spain was a forgery. They therefore called on the judges to pronounce for the divorce. But even had all this been proved, which it had not, Campeggio was not intending to do anything of the kind. The peace which had been rumoured between the Pope and the Emperor had been signed on the 29th of June, and Clement was now much at his ease. On the 23rd of July, no progress being made, Henry summoned the Court, and demanded judgment in imperious terms. But Campeggio replied with unmoved dignity:—"I have not come so far to please any man for fear, meed, or favour, be he king or any other potentate. I am an old man, sick, decayed, looking daily for death; what should it then avail me to put my soul in the danger of God's displeasure, to my utter damnation, for the favour of any prince or high estate in this world? Forasmuch, then, that I perceive that the truth in this case is very difficult to be known; that the defendant will make no answer thereunto, but hath appealed from our judgment; therefore, to avoid all injustice and obscure doubts, I intend to proceed no further in this matter until I have the opinion of the Pope and such others of his council as have more experience and learning. I, for this purpose, adjourn this Court till the commencement of the next term, in the beginning of October."

It would be difficult to conceive the state of agitation into which the Court of Henry was now thrown. Instead of receiving a decision, it was put off till October; and this was not the worst, for in a few days news arrived that the commission of the cardinals had been revoked by the Pope on the 15th of July, or eight days previous to the adjournment, and that the Papal Court had entertained the appeal of Queen Catherine, and recalled Campeggio. Thus, not even in October was there any chance of a decision, and had such been arrived at now it would have been null, the commission having previously expired. Still worse, while Henry was in the highest state of irritation, there came an instrument from Rome, forbidding him to pursue his cause by the legates, but citing him to appear by attorney in the Papal Court, under a penalty of 10,000 ducats. Campeggio departed from England at the commencement of Michaelmas term. At the interview in which he took his leave of the king, Henry behaved with much politeness to the Italian legate, but treated Wolsey with marked coldness. Showing a disposition to relent later on in the same day, Henry was at once so worked upon by the Boleyn faction that he undertook never more to see the cardinal, whose fall was now certain.

Indeed, on account of his failure to obtain the divorce, Wolsey was doomed to destruction. On the 9th of October, the same month as he opened the Court of Chancery, he perceived a deadly coldness as of winter frost around him. No one did him honour—the sun of Royal favour had set to him for ever. On the same day Hales, the attorney-general, filed two bills against him in the King's Bench, charging him with having incurred the penalty of Præmunire by acting in the kingdom as the Pope's legate. This was a most barefaced accusation, for he had accepted the legatine authority by Henry's express permission; had exercised it for many years with his full knowledge and approbation, and, in the affairs of the divorce, at the earnest request of the king. But Henry VIII. had no law but his own will, and never wanted reasons for punishing those who had offended him.

Of Wolsey, as he appeared at this moment, scathed and stunned by the thunderbolt of the royal wrath, we have a striking picture. The Bishop of Bayonne, the French ambassador, says in a letter:—"I have been to visit the cardinal in his distress, and I have witnessed the most striking change of fortune. He explained to me his hard case in the worst rhetoric that was ever heard. Both his tongue and his heart failed him. He recommended himself to the pity of the king and madame [Francis I. and his mother] with sighs and tears; and at last left me, without having said anything near so moving as his appearance. His face is dwindled to one-half its natural size. In truth, his misery is such that his enemies, Englishmen as they are, cannot help pitying him. Still, they will carry things to extremities. As for his legation, the seals, his authority, etc., he thinks no more of them. He is willing to give up everything, even the shirt from his back, and live in a hermitage, if the king would but desist from his displeasure."

On the 17th of October Henry sent the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk to demand the Great Seal; and they are said to have done that duty with some ungenerous triumph. But Wolsey delivered up his authority without complaint, and only sent in an offer surrendering all his personal estate to his gracious master, on condition that he might retire to his diocese on his church property. But the property of Wolsey had long been riveting the greedy eye of Henry, and, next to Anne Boleyn, that was, probably, the "weight which pulled him down." A message was soon brought him by the same noblemen that the king expected an entire and unconditional submission, whereupon he granted to the king the yearly profits of his benefices, and threw himself on his mercy. It was then intimated that His Majesty meant to reside at York Place (Whitehall) during the Parliament, and that Wolsey might retire to Esher Place, in Surrey, a house belonging to his bishopric of Winchester.

On the 3rd of November, after the long intermission of seven years, a Parliament was called together. The main object of this unusual occurrence was to complete the ruin of Wolsey, and place it beyond the power of the king to restore him to favour—a circumstance of which the courtiers were in constant dread. The committee of the House of Lords presented to the king a string of no less than forty-four articles against the fallen minister, enumerating and exaggerating all his offences, and calling upon the monarch to take such order with him "that he should never have any power, jurisdiction, or authority hereafter, to trouble, vex, and impoverish the commonwealth of this your realm, as he hath done heretofore, to the great hurt and damage of almost every man, high or low." This address was carried to the Commons for their concurrence; but there Thomas Cromwell, who by the favour of Wolsey had risen from the very lowest condition to be his friend and steward, and was now advanced to the king's service by the particular recommendation of the cardinal, attacked the articles manfully, and caused the Commons to reject them, as the members were persuaded that Cromwell was acting by suggestion of the king; which is very probable, for so far from Henry showing Cromwell any dislike for this proceeding, he continued to promote him, till he became his prime minister, and was created Earl of Essex.

Henry, having now seized upon all the cardinal's property, the incomes of his bishoprics, abbeys, and other benefices, his colleges at Ipswich and Oxford, with all their furniture and revenues, his pensions, clothes, and even his very tomb, seemed contented to leave him his life. He, therefore, on the 12th of February, 1530, granted him a full pardon for all his real and pretended crimes. He allowed him, moreover, to retain the revenues of York. He gave him also a pension of 1,000 marks a year out of the bishopric of Winchester, and soon after sent him a present of £3,000 in money; and in plate, furniture, &c., the value of £3,374 3s. 7d., and gave him leave to reside at Richmond.

This new flow of royal favour wonderfully revived the cardinal's hopes, and as vividly excited the fears of the Boleyn party. To have this formidable man residing so near them as Richmond was too perilous to be thought of. Some fine morning the king might suddenly ride over there, and all be undone. Henry was, therefore, besieged with entreaties to remove him farther from the Court, and to such a distance as should prevent the possibility of an interview. They prevailed, and Wolsey received an order through his friend Cromwell to go and reside in his archbishopric of York. To the cardinal, who felt a strong persuasion that if he could but obtain an interview with the king all would be set right, this was next to a death-warrant. He entreated Cromwell to obtain leave for him to reside at Winchester, but this was refused, and the Duke of Norfolk, Anne's uncle, sent Wolsey word that if he did not get away immediately into the North he would come and tear him in pieces with his teeth. "Then," said Wolsey, "it is time for me to be gone."

Delighted with their metropolitan, the clergy of York waited upon him in a body, and begged that he would allow himself to be installed in his cathedral, according to the custom of his predecessors. Wolsey, after taking time to consider of it, consented, on condition that it should be done with as little splendour as possible. No sooner, however, was this news divulged than the noblemen, gentlemen, and clergy of the county sent into York great quantities of provisions, and made preparations for a most magnificent feast. But this was suddenly prevented by a very unexpected event. On the 4th of November, only three days before the grand installation was to come off, the Earl of Northumberland, accompanied by Sir William Walsh and a number of horsemen, arrived at Cawood. Wolsey, believing in good news, went out to receive the Earl with a cheerful countenance; and, observing his numerous retinue, he said, "Ah! my lord, I perceive that you observe the precepts and instructions which I gave you, when you were abiding with me in your youth, to cherish your father's old servants." He then took the earl affectionately by the hand, and led him into a bed-chamber. There he no doubt expected to hear good tidings; but the earl, though greatly affected and embarrassed, laid his hand on the old man's shoulder, and said, "My lord, I arrest you of high treason." Wolsey was struck dumb, and stood motionless as a statue. He then bowed to the order, and prepared for his journey. On his way to London he was seized with dysentery at Sheffield Park, the mansion of the Earl of Shrewsbury. The attack left him so weak that he was glad to accept the hospitality of Leicester Abbey, where the abbot, at the head of a procession of the monks, with lighted torches, received him. He was completely worn out, and being lifted from his mule, said, "I am come, my brethren, to lay my bones amongst you." The monks carried him to his bed, where he swooned repeatedly; and the second morning his servants, who had watched him with anxious affection, saw that he was dying. He called to his bedside Sir William Kingston, and amongst others, addressed to him these remarkable words:—"Had I but served God as diligently as I have served the king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs. But this is the just reward that I must receive for my diligent pains and study, not regarding my service to God, but only to my prince. Let me advise you to take care what you put in the king's head, for you can never put it out again. I have often kneeled before him, sometimes three hours together, to persuade him from his will and appetite, but could not prevail. He is a prince of most royal courage, and hath a princely heart; for, rather than miss or want any part of his will, he will endanger one half of his kingdom." On the 29th of November, 1530, thus died Thomas, Lord Cardinal Wolsey, one of the most extraordinary characters that was ever raised up and again overthrown by the mere will of a king, and who unconsciously contributed to one of the most extensive revolutions of human mind and government which the world has known.

In following the story of Wolsey to its close, we have a little overstepped the progress of affairs. As soon as the great man was out of the way, a ministry was formed of the leading persons of the Boleyn party. The Duke of Norfolk, Anne's uncle, was made President of the Council, Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, Lord Marshal, and the Earl of Wiltshire, the father of Anne Boleyn, had a principal place. Sir Thomas More, unfortunately for him as it proved, was made Lord Chancellor instead of Wolsey, a promotion which he reluctantly accepted. Amongst the king's servants, Stephen Gardiner, who had been introduced and much employed by Wolsey, still remained high in the king's favour, and occupied the post of his secretary. Gardiner, a bigoted Catholic, and afterwards one of the most bloody persecutors of the Reformers, now, however, in trying to promote the wishes of the king for the divorce, unconsciously promoted the Reformation.

The king, returning from the progress which he had made to Moore Park, and to Grafton, remained one night at Waltham. Gardiner and Fox were lodged in the house of a Mr. Cressy, a gentleman of good family. After supper the conversation turned on the grand topic of the day—the king's divorce, and Gardiner and Fox detailed the difficulties that surrounded it, and the apparent impossibility of getting the Pope to move in it. A grave clergyman, the tutor of the family, of the name of Thomas Cranmer, after listening to the discourse, was asked by Fox and Gardiner what he thought of the matter. At first he declined to give his opinion on so high a matter, but being pressed, he said, he thought they were wrong altogether in the way they were seeking the divorce. As the Pope evidently would not commit himself upon the subject, his opinion was that they should not waste any more time in fruitless solicitations at Rome, but submit this plain question to the most learned men and chief universities of Europe: "Do the laws of God permit a man to marry his brother's widow?" If, as he imagined, the answers were in the negative, the Pope would not dare to pronounce a sentence in opposition to the opinions of all these learned men and learned bodies.

On the return of the Court to Greenwich, Fox and Gardiner related this conversation to the king, who instantly swore that "the man had got the right sow by the ear," and ordered him instantly to be sent for to Court. Cranmer, on his arrival, maintained his opinion in a manner which wonderfully delighted Henry, and raised his hope of having at length hit on the true mode of solving the difficulty.

Agents were despatched to obtain the required opinion from the different universities, both in England and on the Continent, well provided with that most persuasive of rhetoricians—money. At his own universities, however, Henry found no little opposition. On the Continent, where Henry's menaces had no weight, his purse was freely opened; and the universities of Bologna, Padua, and Ferrara, as well as many learned men, were prevailed on to take the view that Henry wished. In Germany his agents were far less successful. Both Protestants and Catholics in general condemned his proposed divorce; and Luther and Melanchthon said he had much better follow the example of the patriarchs, and take a second wife, than put away the first without any crime on her part. From France and its fourteen universities Henry expected much more compliance, but he was disappointed. From Orleans, Toulouse, and Bourges, and from the civilians of Angers, doubtful decisions were procured, but the theologians of the last city maintained the validity of the existing marriage. The answers from other universities were either not received or were suppressed.

The scheme of Cranmer had not worked particularly well; the opinions of the universities were for the most part either adverse, or were forced, and those of learned men more opposed than coinciding. There needed a more determined spirit than that of Cranmer to break the way through the wood of embarrassments in which they were involved, and the right man now stepped forward in Thomas Cromwell, the former secretary of Wolsey. He sought an interview with Henry, and determined, according to his own phrase, "to make or mar," thus addressed him:—"It was not," he observed, "for him to affect to give advice where so many wise and abler men had failed, but when he saw the anxiety of his sovereign, he could no longer be silent, whatever might be the result. There was a clear and obvious course to pursue. Let the king do just what the princes of Germany had done, throw off the yoke of Rome; and let him, by the authority, declare himself, as he should be, the head of the Church within his own dominions. At present England was a monster with two heads. But let the king assume the authority now usurped by a foreign pontiff, an authority from which so many evils and confusions to this realm had flowed, and the monstrosity would be at an end; all would be simple, harmonious, and devoid of difficulty. The clergy, sensible that their lives and fortunes were in the hands of their own monarch—hands which could be no longer paralysed by alien interference—from haughty antagonists would instantly become the obsequious ministers of his will."

Henry listened to this new doctrine with equal wonder and delight, and he thanked Cromwell heartily, and had him instantly sworn of his privy council.

No time was lost in trying the efficacy of Cromwell's daring scheme. To sever that ancient union, which had existed so many ages, and was hallowed in the eyes of the world by so many proud recollections was a task at which the stoutest heart and most iron resolution might have trembled; but Cromwell had taken a profound survey of the region he was about to invade, and had learned its weakest places. He relied on the unscrupulous impetuosity of the king's passion to bear him through; he relied far more on the finesse of his own genius. With the calmest resolution, he laid his finger on one single page of the statute-book, and knew that he was master of the Church. The law which rendered any one who received favours direct from the Pope guilty of a breach of the Statute of Præmunire, permitted the monarch to suspend the action of this Statute at his discretion. This he had done in the case of Wolsey. When he accepted the legatine authority, the cardinal took care to obtain a patent under the Great Seal, authorising the exercise of this foreign power. But Wolsey, when he was called in question for the administration of an office thus especially sanctioned by the Crown, neglected to produce this deed of indemnity, hoping still to be restored to the royal favour, and unwilling to irritate the king by any show of self-defence. There lay the concealed weapon which the shrewd eye of Cromwell had detected, and by which he could overturn the ecclesiastical fabric of ages. He declared, to the consternation of the whole hierarchy, that not only had Wolsey involved himself in all the penalties of Præmunire, but the whole of the clergy with him. They had admitted his exercise of the Papal authority, and thereby were become, in the language of the Statute, his "fautors and abettors."

Dire was the dismay which at this charge seized on the whole body of the clergy. The council ordered the Attorney-General to file an information against the entire ecclesiastical body. Convocation assembled in haste, and offered, as the price of a full pardon, £100,000. But still greater were the amazement and dismay of the clergy, when they found that this magnificent sum was rejected unless Convocation consented to declare, in the preamble to the grant, that the king was "the protector and only supreme head of the Church of England." By the king's permission, however, the venerable Archbishop Warham introduced and carried an amendment in Convocation, by which the grant was voted with this clause in the preamble:—"Of which church and clergy we acknowledge His Majesty to be the chief protector, the only and supreme lord, and, as far as the law of God will allow, the supreme head." The wedge was introduced; the severance was certain: the perfect accomplishment of it only awaited another opportunity for an easier issue. The northern convocation adopted the same language, and voted a grant of £18,840.

Henry, under the guidance of Cromwell, now procured an act to be passed by Parliament, abolishing the annates, or first-fruits, which furnished a considerable annual income to the Pope, and another abrogating the authority of the clergy in Convocation, and attaching that authority to the Crown. Feeling that in this struggle he should need the friendship of Francis, he proposed a new treaty with France, which was signed in London on the 23rd of June, 1532; and the more to strengthen the alliance the two monarchs met between Calais and Boulogne. Great preparations were made on both sides, and Henry begged Francis to bring his favourite mistress with him. This was as an excuse for Henry to bring Anne Boleyn, who was now created the Marchioness of Pembroke, and without whom he could go nowhere. It is said that Francis, during the interview, had urged Henry to wait no longer for the permission of the Pope, but to marry the Marchioness of Pembroke without further delay; but it is quite certain that another counsellor was more urgent, and that was—Time. It was high time, indeed, that the marriage should take place if they meant to legitimatise her offspring, for Anne Boleyn was with child. Accordingly, the marriage took place on the 25th of January, 1533. The ceremony, however, was strictly private. In fact the marriage was kept so secret that it was not even communicated to Cranmer, who had just returned from Germany, and taken up his abode in the family of Anne Boleyn. Cranmer, whilst in Germany, had married, Catholic priest as he was, the niece of Osiander, the Protestant minister of Nuremberg. This lady he had brought secretly to England, and was now living a married priest, in direct violation of the Church that he belonged to.

Archbishop Warham was now dead, and Henry nominated Cranmer to the vacant primacy. He was consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury on the 30th of March, 1533, and he was immediately ordered to proceed with the divorces. The new primate, therefore, wrote on the 11th of April, a formal letter to the king, soliciting the issue of a commission to try that cause, and pronounce a definite sentence. This was immediately done; and Cranmer, as the head of this commission, accompanied by Gardiner, now Bishop of Winchester, the Bishops of London, Lincoln, Bath, and Wells, with many other divines and canonists, opened their court at Dunstable, in the monastery of St. Peter, six miles from Ampthill, where the queen resided. On the 12th of May Cranmer pronounced Catherine contumacious, and on the 23rd, he declared her marriage was null and invalid from the beginning. On the 28th, in a court held at Lambeth, the archbishop pronounced the king's marriage with Anne Boleyn to be good and valid. On the 1st of June, being Whit Sunday, Anne was crowned with every possible degree of pomp and display.

Henry, notwithstanding his separation from Rome, was anxious to obtain the sanction of his marriage by the Pope; but, instead of that, Clement fulminated his denunciations against him over Europe. He annulled Cranmer's sentence on Henry's first marriage, and published a bull excommunicating Henry and Anne, unless they separated before the next September, when the new queen expected her confinement. Henry despatched ambassadors to the different foreign courts to announce his marriage, and the reasons which had led him to it; but from no quarter did he receive much congratulation.

However sincere and earnest the two principals in this contest, the Pope and Henry, might be, there were at work in the Court of England and the Court of Rome parties really more powerful than their principals, who were resolved that the two desiderata to this pacification never should be yielded. Cromwell and his party commenced an active campaign in Parliament for breaking beyond remedy the tie with Rome, and establishing an independent church in this country. This able man, who for his past services was now made Chancellor of the Exchequer for life, framed a series of bills, and introduced them to Parliament, soon after the Christmas holidays. These included an act establishing the title of the king as supreme head of the English Church, and vesting in him the right to appoint to all bishoprics, and to decide all ecclesiastical causes. Payments or appeals to Rome were strictly forbidden by the confirmation of the Annates Act, the Act against "Peter Pence," and that "in Restraint of appeals" whereby the whole Roman jurisdiction in England was decisively repudiated.

By a further bill, the marriage of Catherine—strangely enough at the very moment that Henry had conceded its final decision at Rome—was declared unlawful, and that of Anne Boleyn confirmed. The issue by the first marriage was declared illegitimate, and excluded from the succession, and the issue of the marriage of Anne was made inheritable of the crown, and that only, and any one casting any slander on this marriage, or endeavouring to prejudice the succession of its issue, was declared guilty of high treason, if by writing, printing, or deed, and misprision of treason if by word. Thus was a new power established by the Crown; every person of full age, or on hereafter coming to full age, was to be sworn to obey this act. Not only new powers were thus created, but a new crime was invented; and though this statute was swept away in the course of a few years, yet it is a remarkable one, for it became the precedent for many a succeeding and despotic government.

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REIGN OF HENRY VIII. (continued).

The Maid of Kent and Her Accomplices—Act of Supremacy and Consequent Persecutions—The "Bloody Statute"—Deaths of Fisher and More—Suppression of the Smaller Monasteries—Trial and Death of Anne Boleyn—Henry Marries Jane Seymour—Divisions in the Church—The Pilgrimage of Grace—Birth of Prince Edward—Death of Queen Jane—Suppression of the Larger Monasteries—The Six Articles—Judicial Murders—Persecution of Cardinal Pole—Cromwell's Marriage Scheme—Its Failure and his Fall.

The discontent aroused in the country amongst those attached to the church of Rome, by the separation, and by the seizure of church property, with the fear of still greater spoliation, excited many murmurings. The king, aware that his proceedings were regarded with disapprobation by a vast body of people both at home and abroad, grew suspicious of every rumour, jealous, and vindictive. Amongst the singular conspiracies against the royal transactions, one of the earliest arose out of the visions of a young woman of Addington, in Surrey, of the name of Elizabeth Barton, who was of a nervous temperament, and whose mind was greatly excited by the sufferings of Queen Catherine. The rector of the parish, struck by many of the words which fell from her in her trances, regarded her as a religiously inspired person, and recommended her to quit the village, and enter the convent of St. Sepulchre at Canterbury. There her ecstacies and revelations, probably strengthened by the atmosphere of the place, became more frequent and strong. The nuns regarded her declarations as prophecies, and the fame of her soon spread round the country, where she acquired the name of the "Holy Maid of Kent." It was observed that her visions had all a tendency to exalt the power of the Pope and the clergy, and to denounce the vengeance of Heaven on all who disobeyed or attempted to injure them. At length Henry considered that the words of the maid, which were sedulously taken down and circulated through the press, were a powerful means of stirring up the popular feeling against him, and he therefore ordered the arrest of herself and the chief of her accomplices.

In November they were brought into the Star Chamber and carefully examined by Cranmer, the archbishop, Cromwell, and Hugh Latimer, who soon after was made Bishop of Worcester. This tribunal appears to have intimidated both the maid and her abettors into a confession of the imposture, and they were condemned to stand during the sermon on Sunday at St. Paul's Cross, and there acknowledge the fraud. After that they were remanded to prison, and it was thought that, having disarmed these people by this exposure, he would be satisfied with the punishment they had received. But Henry was now become every day more and more addicted to blood, and ready to shed it for any infringement of those almost Divine rights which the supremacy of the Church had conferred on him. On the 21st of February, 1534, therefore, a bill of attainder was brought into the House of Lords against the maid and her abettors, on the plea that their conspiracy tended to bring into peril the king's life and crown. The bill, notwithstanding that it was regarded with horror by the public as a strange and cruel stretch of authority, was passed by the slavish Parliament; and on the 21st of April, 1534, the seven accused were drawn to Tyburn and hanged. Besides the persons who suffered immediately with her, there were also accused of corresponding with her, Edward Thwaites, gentleman, Thomas Lawrence, registrar to the Archdeacon of Canterbury, the venerable Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, and Sir Thomas More.

Fisher, who was in his seventy-sixth year, confessed that he had seen and conversed with Elizabeth Barton; that he had heard her utter her prophecies concerning the king; and that he had not mentioned them to the sovereign, because her declarations did not refer to any violence against him, but merely to a visitation of Providence; and because, also, he knew that the king had received the communication of the prophecies from the maid herself, who had had for that purpose a private audience with Henry. He was, therefore, he said, guiltless of any conspiracy, and as he would answer it before the throne of Christ, knew not of any malice or evil that was intended by her or by any other earthly creature unto the king's highness.

The name of Sir Thomas More was erased from this bill, though he could not be more innocent than Fisher, but not more than a fortnight passed before the bloodthirsty tyrant had contrived a more deadly snare for them both. He had them summoned, and commanded to take the new oath of allegiance. They were both of them ready to swear to the king's full temporal authority, and to the succession of his children, but they could not conscientiously take the oath which declared Henry the supreme head of the English Church, and the marriage with Anne Boleyn lawful. Cranmer, who on this occasion showed more mildness and liberality than he had shown honest principles in his elevation, would fain have admitted these illustrious men to take the oath so far as it applied to temporal, and to dispense with it as regarded spiritual matters. But he pleaded in vain, and they were both committed to the Tower.

Henry, having got the Acts of Parliament for the Supremacy and the Succession, was not of a temper to let them become a dead letter. Whether it was owing to the carelessness of Parliament or the carefulness of the Crown, the oath of the Succession had not been verbally defined, and Henry now availed himself of this emission to alter and add to it so as to please himself. From the clergy he took care to obtain an oath including the full recognition of his supremacy in the Church, omitting the qualifying clause in the former one; and an assertion that the Bishop of Rome had no more authority within the realm than any other bishop. He spent the summer in administering this oath to the monks, friars, and nuns, also to all clergymen and clerical bodies whatever, and in obtaining decisions against the papal authority from the two convocations and the universities. The oath to the laity was administered to men and women alike. Remembering the mental reservation of Cranmer when he swore obedience to the Pope, he now demanded from every prelate an oath of renunciation of every protest previously or secretly made contrary to the oath of supremacy. He ordered that the very word Pope should be obliterated carefully out of all books used in public worship.

If Henry had been a zealous Reformer, a disciple of the new creed, we might have attributed his proceedings to an arbitrary and uncharitable earnestness for what he deemed the truth; but he was just as bigoted in the old faith as ever. His Bloody Statute, as it was called, the Statute of Six Articles, maintained that the actual presence was in the sacramental bread and wine; that priests were forbidden to marry; that vows of chastity were to be observed; and that mass and auricular confession were indispensable. Those who opposed any of these dogmas were to suffer death; no doctrine was to be believed contrary to the Six Articles; no persons were to sing or rhyme contrary to them; no book was to be possessed by any one against the Holy Sacrament; no annotations or preambles were to exist in Bibles or Testaments in English; and nothing was to be taught contrary to the king's command. In fact, the country had only got rid of an Italian Pope and got an English one in his stead—Pope Henry VIII.

The first-fruits of this awful concession to a vain and selfish man of the usurpation of God's own dominion in the soul, were an indiscriminating mass of Lollards, Lutherans, Anabaptists, and Roman Catholics committed to the flames. On the 22nd of July, during the prorogation of Parliament, Firth, a young man of singular learning, who had written a book against purgatory, transubstantiation, and consubstantiation, was burnt in Smithfield; and a poor tailor, Andrew Hewett, who simply affirmed that he thought Firth was right, was burnt with him. Several Anabaptists underwent the same fate.

As that year closed in blood, so the next opened. The priors of the then Charterhouses of London, Axholm, and Belleval, waited on Cromwell to explain their conscientious scruples; but Cromwell, who was become the harsh and unhesitating instrument of Henry's despotism, instead of listening to them, committed them to the Tower on a charge of high treason, for refusing the king "the dignity, style, and name of his Royal estate." When he brought them to trial the jury shrank from giving such a verdict against men of their acknowledged virtue and character. Cromwell hastened to the court in person, and threatened to hang them instead of the prisoners, if they did not without further delay pronounce them guilty. Five days later these three dignitaries were executed at Tyburn, with Richard Reynolds, a doctor of divinity and monk of Sion, and John Hailes, Vicar of Thistleworth. They were all treated with savage barbarity, being hanged, cut down alive, embowelled, and dismembered. On the 18th of June, nearly a fortnight afterwards, Exmew, Middlemore, and Newdigate, three Carthusian monks from the Charterhouse, were executed, with the same atrocities.

Whilst these horrors struck with consternation all at home, Henry proceeded to a deed which extended the feeling of abhorrence all over Europe. He shed the blood of Fisher and More. We have stated that Parliament had not enacted the precise oath for the refusal of which Fisher and More were arraigned. But this made no difference: the king willed it, and the submissive legislature passed a bill of attainder for misprision of treason against them both. On this they and their families were stripped of everything they had. The poor old bishop was left in a complete state of destitution, and had not even clothes to cover his nakedness. Sir Thomas More was dependent wholly for the support of his life on his married daughter, Margaret Roper. They were repeatedly called up after their attainder, and treacherously examined as to any act or word that they might have done or uttered contrary to the king's supremacy, as if to aggravate their crime and justify a more rigorous sentence. The Pope Clement was dead, and was succeeded by Paul III., who, hearing of the sad condition of the venerable Fisher, sent him a cardinal's hat, thinking it might make Henry less willing to proceed to extremities with him. But the effect on the tyrant was quite the contrary. On hearing of the Pope's intention, he exclaimed, "Ha! Paul may send him a hat, but I will take care that he have never a head to wear it on."

Accordingly, the aged prelate was brought out of the Tower on the 22nd of June, 1535, and beheaded. His head was stuck upon London Bridge, with his face turned towards the Kentish hills, amid which he had spent so many pleasant years. The body of the old bishop was stripped, and left naked on the spot till evening, when it was carried away by the guards, and buried in Allhallows churchyard at Barking. Such was the manner in which this supreme head of the Church treated his former tutor, and one of the most accomplished and pious men in Christendom.

More, the scholar, the wit, the genius, raised reluctantly to the chancellorship, had there so far deteriorated from the noble mood in which he had written his "Utopia" as to have become, contrary to all its doctrines and spirit, a persecutor. On the 14th of June he was visited in the Tower by Doctors Aldridge, Layton, Curwen, and Mr. Bedle, and there strictly interrogated in the presence of Pelstede, Whalley, and Rice, as to whether he had held any correspondence since he came into the Tower with Bishop Fisher, or others, and what had become of the letters he had received. He replied that George, the lieutenant's servant, had put them into the fire, against his wish, saying there was no better keeper than the fire. He was then asked whether he would not acknowledge the lawfulness of the king's marriage, and his headship of the Church. He declined to give an answer.

At length, on the 1st of July, he was brought out of the Tower, and was conducted on foot through the streets of London to Westminster. He was wrapped only in a coarse woollen garment, his hair had grown grey, his face was pale and emaciated, for he had been nearly a year a close prisoner. This was thought well calculated to teach a lesson of obedience to the people; when they saw how the king handled even ex-chancellors and cardinals. When he arrived, bowed with suffering, and supporting himself on a staff, in that hall where he had presided with so much dignity, all who saw him were struck with astonishment. In order to confound him, and prevent the dreaded effect of his eloquence, his enemies had caused the indictment against him to be drawn out an immense length, and the charges to be grossly exaggerated and enveloped in clouds of words. Sentence of death was pronounced upon him, and he rose to address the Court. In the rudest manner they attempted to silence him, and twice, by their clamour, they succeeded; but the firmness of the noble victim at length triumphed, and he told them that he could now openly avow what he had before concealed from every human being, that the oath of supremacy was contrary to English law. He declared that he had no enmity against his judges. There would, he observed, have always been a scene of contention, and he prayed that as Paul had consented to the death of Stephen, and yet was afterwards called to tread in the same path, and ascend to the same heaven, so might he and they yet meet there. "And so," he added, in conclusion, "may God preserve you all, and especially my lord the king, and send him good counsel."

As he turned from the bar, his son rushed through the hall, fell upon his knees, and implored his blessing; and, on approaching the Tower Wharf, his daughter, Margaret Roper, forced her way through the guard which surrounded him, and, clasping him round the neck, wept and sobbed aloud. The noble man, now clothed with all the calm dignity of the Christian philosopher, summoned fortitude enough to take a loving and a final farewell of her; but as he was moved on, the distracted daughter turned back, and, flying once more through the crowd, hung on his neck in the abandonment of grief. This was too much for his stoicism; he shed tears, whilst with deep emotion he repeated his blessing, and uttered words of Christian consolation. The people and the guards were so deeply affected, that they too burst into tears, and it was some time before the officers could summon resolution to part the father and his child.

On the 6th of July he was summoned to execution, and informed that the king, as an especial favour, had commuted his punishment from hanging, drawing, and quartering, to decapitation. On this Sir Thomas, who had now taken his leave of the world, and met death with the cheerful humour of a man who is well assured that he is on the threshold of a better, replied with his wonted promptitude of wit, "God preserve all my friends from such favour." As he was about to ascend the scaffold, some one expressed a fear lest it should break down, for it appeared weak. "Mr. Lieutenant," said More, smiling, "see me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for myself." The executioner then approached, and asked his forgiveness. More embraced him, and said, "Friend, thou wilt render me the greatest service in the power of any mortal; but," putting an angel into his hand, "my neck is so short, that I fear thou wilt gain little credit in the way of thy profession." The same fear of the eloquence of the illustrious victim which had attempted to stop his mouth on the trial, now forbade him to address the multitude; he therefore contented himself with saying that he died a faithful subject to the king, and a true Catholic before God. He then prayed, and, laying his head upon the block, bade the executioner stay his hand a moment while he put back his beard. For "that," said he, "has never committed any treason." His head was severed at a single blow, and was, like Fisher's, fixed on London Bridge.

But it was not merely in lopping off the heads of honest statesmen and prelates that Henry VIII. now displayed the powers of supreme head over the Church. There was a more tempting prey which allured his avaricious soul, and promised to recruit his exhausted treasury. These were the monasteries, convents, and abbeys. These institutions had grown excessively corrupt through time. Without depending on the reports of Henry's commissioners, whose business it was to make out a case for him against them, there is abundant evidence in contemporary writings that the monks, nuns, and friars were grown extremely sensual and corrupt. Rage and cupidity alike urged Henry to imitate the Reformers of Germany, and seize the spoils of this wealthy body. Cromwell—whom he had appointed Vicar-General, a strange office for a layman—went the whole length with him in those views; nay, he was the man who first turned his eyes on this great attractive mass of wealth, and hallooed him to the spoil. He had told him that, if once he was established by Parliament as head of the Church, all that opulence was his. There can be no doubt that it was to carry out this seizure that Cromwell was put into that very office of Vicar-General, as the only man to do the business, and he went to work upon it with right good will.

The first thing was to appoint a commission, and to obtain such a report as should induce Parliament to pass an act of suppression of the religious houses, and the forfeiture of all their property to the Crown. The Archbishop of Paris, years before, had confidently affirmed, that whenever Wolsey should fall, the spoliation of the Church would quickly follow. To expedite this matter as much as possible, the whole kingdom was divided into districts, and to each district was appointed a couple of commissioners, who were armed with eighty-six questions to propound to the monastic orders. As acknowledgment of the supremacy of the king and approbation of his marriage were made requisites of compliance, there was little chance of escape for any monastery, be its morals what they might.

The visitors had secret instructions to seek, in the first place, the lesser houses, and to exhort the inmates voluntarily to surrender them to the king, and, where they did not succeed, to collect such a body of evidence as should warrant the suppression of those houses; but after zealously labouring at this object through the winter, they could only prevail on seven small houses to surrender. A report was then prepared, which considerably surprised the public by stating that the lesser houses were abandoned to the most shameful sloth and immorality, but that the large and more opulent ones, contrary to all human experience, were more orderly. The secret of this representation was, that the abbots and priors of the great houses were lords of Parliament, and were, therefore, present to expose any false statement.

On the 4th of March, 1536, a bill was passed hastily through both Houses, transferring to the king and his heirs all monastic establishments the clear value of which did not exceed £200 per annum. It was calculated that this bill—which, however, did not pass the Commons till Henry had sent for them, and told them that he would apply his favourite remedy for stiff necks—would dissolve no less than 380 communities, and add £32,000 to the annual income of the Crown, besides the presents received of £100,000 in money, plate, and jewels. The cause of these presents was a clause in the Act of Parliament, which left it to the discretion of the king to found any of these houses anew; a clause which was actively worked by Cromwell and his commissioners, and, by the hopes they inspired, drew large sums from the menaced brethren, part of which lodged in the pockets of the minister and his agents, and part reached the Crown. Cromwell amassed a large fortune from such sources.

The Parliament, which had now sat seven years, and which was one of the most slavish and base bodies that ever were brought together—having yielded every popular right and privilege which the imperious monarch demanded, and augmented the Royal prerogative to a pitch of actual absolutism; having altered the succession, changed the system of ecclesiastical government, abolished a great number of the ancient religious houses without thereby much benefiting the Crown—was now dismissed, having done that for this worthless king which should cost some of his successors their thrones or their heads, and a braver and more honourable generation the blood of its best men to undo again.

Anne Boleyn, on hearing of Catherine's death, which occurred in January, 1536, was so rejoiced that she could not help crying out, "Now I am indeed a queen!" And yet, in truth, never had she less cause for triumph. Already the lecherous eye of her worthless husband had fallen on one of her maids, as it had formerly fallen on one of Catherine's in her own person. This was Jane Seymour, a daughter of a knight of Wiltshire, who was not only of great beauty, but was distinguished for a gentle and sportive manner, equally removed from the Spanish gravity of Catherine and the French levity of Anne Boleyn. Before the death of Catherine, this fresh amour of Henry's was well known in the palace to all but the reigning queen; and, according to Wyatt, Anne only became aware of it by entering a room one day, and beholding Jane Seymour seated on Henry's knee, in a manner the most familiar, and as if accustomed to that indulgence. She saw at once that not only was Henry ready to bestow his regards on another, but that other was still more willing to step into her place than she had been to usurp that of Catherine. Anne was far advanced in pregnancy, and was in great hopes of riveting the king's affections to her by the birth of a prince; but the shock which she now received threw her into such agitation that she was prematurely delivered—of a boy, indeed, but dead. Henry, the moment that he heard of this unlucky accident, rushed into the queen's chamber, and upbraided her savagely "with the loss of his boy." Anne, stung by this cruelty, replied that he had to thank himself and "that wench Jane Seymour" for it. The fell tyrant retired, muttering his vengeance, and the die was now cast irrevocably for Anne Boleyn, if it were not before.

It was a great misfortune for Anne that she had never been able to lay aside that levity of manner which she had acquired by spending her juvenile years at the French Court. After her elevation to the throne, she was too apt to forget, with those about her, the sober dignity which belonged to the queen, and to converse with the officers about her more in the familiar manner of the maid-of-honour which she had once been. This freedom and gaiety had been caught at by the Court gossips, and now scandals were whispered abroad, and, as soon as the way was open by the anger and fresh love affair of the king, carried to him. Such accusations were precisely what he wanted, as a means to rid himself of her. A plot was speedily concocted, in which she was to be charged with criminal conduct towards not only three officers of the Royal household—Brereton, Weston, and Norris—but also with Mark Smeaton, the king's musician, and, still more horrible, with her own brother, the Viscount Rochford. A court of inquiry was at once appointed, in which presided Cromwell, the Lord Chancellor, and the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, Anne's determined enemies. On the 28th of April they began with Brereton, and committed him to the Tower. On Sunday, the 31st, they examined Smeaton, and sent him also to the same prison. The following day, being the 1st of May, the court was suspended to celebrate the gaieties usual on that day; and these were used for the purpose of obtaining a public cause of accusation against Sir Henry Norris. There was to be held a tournament at Greenwich that day, in which the Viscount Rochford was to be opposed by Norris as the principal defendant.

In the midst of the tournament, Henry, who, no doubt, was watching for some opportunity to entrap his victims, suddenly found one. The queen, leaning over the balcony, witnessing the tournament, accidentally let fall her handkerchief. Norris took it up, and, it was said, presumptuously wiped his face with it, and then handed it to the queen on his spear. The thing is wholly improbable, the true version most likely being that the courtly Norris kissed the handkerchief on taking it up—an ordinary knightly usage—and that this was seized upon as a pretended charge against him. Henry, however, suddenly frowned, rose abruptly from his seat, and, black as a thunder-cloud, marched out of the gallery, followed by his six attendants. Every one was amazed; the queen appeared terror-stricken, and immediately retired. Sir Henry Norris, and not only Norris but Lord Rochford, who had had nothing whatever to do with the handkerchief (showing, therefore, that the matter was preconcerted), was arrested at the barriers on a charge of high treason. The queen herself was taken to her lodgings in the Tower.

Left alone in her prison, Anne's affliction seemed to actually disturb her intellect. She would sit for hours plunged in a stupor of melancholy, shedding torrents of tears, and then she would abruptly burst into wild laughter. To her attendants she would say that she should be a saint in heaven; that no rain would fall on the earth till she was delivered from prison; and that the most grievous calamities would oppress the nation in punishment for her death. At other times she became calm and devotional, and requested that a consecrated host might be placed in her closet.

But the unhappy queen was not suffered to enjoy much retirement. It was necessary for Henry to establish a charge against her sufficiently strong to turn the feeling of the nation against her, and from him; and for this purpose no means were neglected which tyranny and harshness of the intensest kind could suggest. Whilst the accused gentlemen were interrogated, threatened, cajoled, and even put to the torture in their cells, to force a confession of guilt from them, two women were set over Anne to watch her every word, look, and act, to draw from her in her unguarded conversation everything they could to implicate her, and, no doubt, to invent and colour where the facts did not sufficiently answer the purpose required. These were Lady Boleyn, the wife of Anne's uncle, Sir Edward Boleyn, a determined enemy of hers, and Mrs. Cosyns, the wife of Anne's master of the horse, a creature of the most unprincipled character.

Mrs. Cosyns asked her why Norris had told his almoner on the preceding Saturday "that he could swear the queen was a good woman?" "Marry," replied Anne, "I bade him do so, for I asked him why he did not go on with his marriage, and he made answer that he would tarry awhile. 'Then,' said I, 'you look for dead men's shoes. If aught but good should come to the king [who was then afflicted with a dangerous ulcer], you would look to have me.' He denied it, and I told him I could undo him if I would." Again, the queen expressed some apprehension of what Weston might say in his examination, for he had told her on Whit Monday last that Norris came into her chamber more for her sake than for Madge, one of her maids of honour. She had told him he did love her kinswoman, Mrs. Skelton, and that he loved not his wife; and he answered again that he loved one in his house better than them both. She asked him who, and he said, "Yourself," on which she defied him. Such was the stuff which Kingston gathered at the hands of these wretched spies, to be used against the queen, who was to be got rid of.

Anne exhorted Kingston to convey a letter from her to Cromwell, but he declined such a responsibility; she contrived, however, by some means, on the fourth day of her imprisonment, to forward a letter, which conveys a very different impression from the conversation reported by the female spies, through Cromwell to the king.

"Never," she wrote, "did I at any time so far forget myself in my exaltation or received queenship, but that I always looked for such alteration as I now find; for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation than your grace's fancy, the least alteration was fit and sufficient (I knew) to draw that fancy to some other object.

"Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and as my judges; yea, let me receive an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shame. Then shall you see either mine innocency cleared, your suspicions and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my guilt openly declared."

This letter, a copy of which was found amongst the papers of Cromwell, when his turn came to pay the penalty of serving that remorseless tyrant, is the letter of an innocent woman, and forms a strange contrast to the dubious language put into her mouth by those who reported her speech on the scaffold.

On the 10th of May an indictment for high treason was found by the grand jury of Westminster against Anne and the five gentlemen accused; and on the same day the four commoners were put upon their trial in Westminster Hall, for the alleged offences against the honour and life of their sovereign lord. A true bill was also found against them by the grand juries of Kent and Middlesex, some of the offences being laid in those counties, at Greenwich, Hampton Court, &c. Smeaton, the musician, was the only one who could be brought to confess his guilt; and it is declared by Constantyne, who was in attendance on the trials, and wrote an account of the proceedings, that he "had been grievously racked" to bring him to that confession. According to Grafton's chronicle, he was beguiled into signing the deposition which criminated the queen as well as himself, by an offer of pardon like that so repeatedly made to Norris. The weak man fell into the snare; the rest of the accused stood firmly by their innocence, and neither threats nor promises could move them from it. Norris was a great favourite with the king, who still appeared anxious to save his life, and sent to him, offering him again full pardon if he would confess his guilt. But Norris nobly declared that he believed in his conscience that the queen was wholly innocent of the crimes charged upon her; but whether she were so or not, he could not accuse her of anything, and that he would rather die a thousand deaths than falsely accuse the innocent. On this being told to Henry, he exclaimed, "Let him hang then! hang him up then!" All the four were condemned to death.

On the 16th of May Queen Anne and her brother, Lord Rochford, were brought to trial in the great hall in the Tower, a temporary court being erected within it for the purpose. The Duke of Norfolk, a known and notorious enemy of the accused, was created Lord High Steward for the occasion, and presided—a sufficient proof, if any were needed, that no justice was intended. His son, the Earl of Surrey, sat as Deputy Earl-Marshal beneath him. Twenty-six peers, as "lords-triers," constituted the court, and amongst these appeared the Duke of Suffolk, a nobleman still more inveterate in his hatred of the queen than the chief judge himself. The Earl of Northumberland, Anne's old lover, was one of the lords-triers; but he was seized with such a disorder, no doubt resulting from his memory of the past, that he was obliged to quit the court before the arraignment of Lord Rochford, and did not live many months. Henry, by his tyranny, had forcibly rent asunder his engagement with Anne; had embittered his life; and tired of the treasure which would have made Northumberland happy, he now called upon that injured man to assist in destroying one whom he had already lost.

Lord Rochford defended himself with such courage and ability that even in that packed court there were many who, by their sense of justice, were led to brave the vengeance of the terrible king, and voted for his acquittal. The chief witness against him was his own wife, who had hated Anne Boleyn from the moment that she became the king's favourite; and now with a most monstrous violation of all nature and decency, strove to destroy her queen and her own husband together. Spite of the impression which the young viscount made on some of his judges, he was condemned, for Henry willed it, and that was enough.

When he was removed Anne, Queen of England, was summoned into court, and appeared attended by her ladies and Lady Kingston, and was conducted to the bar by the Constable and Lieutenant of the Tower. She stood alone, without counsel or adviser; yet in that trying moment she displayed a dignified composure worthy of her station and of the character of an innocent woman. Crispin, Lord of Milherve, who was present, says that "she presented herself at the bar with the true dignity of a queen, and curtsied to her judges, looking round upon them all without any signs of fear." When the indictment against her, charging her with adultery and incest, had been read, she held up her hand and pleaded not guilty.

Anne seems to have shown great ability and address on the occasion. She is said to have spoken with extraordinary force, wit, and eloquence, and so completely scattered all the vile tissue of lies that was brought against her, that the spectators imagined that there was nothing for it but to acquit her. "It was reported without doors," says Wyatt, "that she had cleared herself in a most wise and noble speech." But, alas! it was neither wisdom, wit, truth, innocence, eloquence, nor all the powers and virtues which could be assembled in one soul, which could draw an acquittal from that assembly of slaves bound by selfish terror to the yoke of the remorseless despot who now disgraced the throne. "Had the peers given their verdict, according to the expectation of the assembly," says Bishop Godwin, "she had been acquitted." But they knew they must give it according to the expectation of their implacable master, and she was condemned.

Henry lost no time in getting rid of the woman, to obtain whom he had moved heaven and earth for years—threatening the peace of kingdoms, and rending the ancient bonds of the Church. The very day on which she was condemned, he signed her death-warrant, and sent Cranmer to confess her. There is something rather hinted at than proved in this part of these strange proceedings. Anne, when she was conveyed from Greenwich to the Tower, told her enemies proudly that nothing could prevent her dying their queen; and now, when she had seen Cranmer, she was in high spirits, and said to her attendants that she believed she should be spared after all, and that she understood that she was to be sent to Antwerp. The meaning of this the event of next day sufficiently explained. In the morning, on a summons from Archbishop Cranmer, she was conveyed privately from the Tower to Lambeth, where she voluntarily submitted to a judgment that her marriage with the king had been invalid, and was, therefore, from the first null and void. Thus she consented to dethrone herself, to unwife herself, and to bastardise her only child. Why? Undoubtedly from the promise of life, and from fear of the horrid death by fire. As she had received the confident idea of escape with life from the visit of Cranmer, there can be no rational doubt that he had been employed by the king to tamper with her fears of death and the stake, and draw this concession from her. Does any one think this impossible or improbable in Cranmer—the great Reformer of the Church? Let him weigh his very next proceeding.

Cranmer had formerly examined the marriage of Henry and Anne carefully by the canon law, and had pronounced it good and valid. He now proceeded to contradict every one of his former arguments and decisions, and pronounced the same marriage null and void. A solemn mockery of everything true, serious, and Divine was now gone through. Henry appointed Dr. Sampson his proctor in the case; Anne had assigned her the Drs. Wotton and Barbour. The objections to the marriage were read over to them in the presence of the queen. The king's proctor could not dispute them; the queen's were, with pretended reluctance, obliged to admit them, and both united in demanding a judgment. Then the great Archbishop and Reformer, "having previously invoked the name of Christ, and having God alone before his eyes," pronounced definitively that the marriage formally contracted, solemnised, and consummated between Henry and Anne was from the first illegal, and, therefore, no marriage at all; and the poor woman, who had been induced to submit to this deed of shame and of infamous deception, was sent back, not to life, not to exile at Antwerp—but to the block!

Friday, the 19th of May, was the day fixed for her execution, and on that morning she rose at two o'clock and resumed her devotions with her almoner. She sent for Sir William Kingston to be witness to her last solemn protest of her innocence before taking the sacrament. A few minutes before twelve o'clock she was led forth by the Lieutenant of the Tower to the scaffold. "Never," said a foreign gentleman present, "had the queen looked so beautiful before." Her composure was equal to her beauty. She removed her hat and collar herself, and put a small linen cap upon her head, saying, "Alas! poor head, in a very brief space thou wilt roll in the dust on the scaffold; and as in life thou didst not merit to wear a crown, so in death thou deserved not better doom than this." She then took a very affectionate farewell of her ladies. Having given to Mary Wyatt, the sister of Sir Thomas Wyatt, who attended her through all her trouble, the little book of devotions which she held in her hand, and whispered to her some parting words, she laid her head on the block. One of the ladies then covered her eyes with a bandage, and as the poor queen was saying, "O Lord, have mercy on my soul," the executioner, who had been sent for from Calais, severed her head from her body at one stroke of the sword. Her body was thrust into a chest used for keeping arrows in, and buried in the same grave with that of her brother, Lord Rochford, no coffin being provided.

Henry now repealed the late act of settlement, and passed a new one through the compliant Parliament, entailing the crown on the issue by Jane Seymour, whom he married on the morning after Anne's execution. He obtained, moreover, a power to bequeath the succession by letters patent, or by his last will, in case of having no fresh issue of his own, on any person whom he thought proper. In life and in death he demanded absolute power over every principle of the Constitution, and this Parliament, which would have granted him anything, conceded it. It was well understood that he meant to cut off his daughters, and to confer the crown on his illegitimate son, the Duke of Richmond. But as if Providence would punish him in the very act, this son died before he could give his Royal assent to the bill.

But if Henry had found a very submissive body in the Parliament, there was much discontent amongst the people, who were encouraged in their murmurs by the monks who had been dispossessed of their monasteries or who feared the approach of their fall, and by the clergy, who were equally alarmed at the progress of the opinions of the Reformers in the nation. There were two great factions in the Church and the Government, the opposed members of which were denominated the men of the Old and the New learning. At the head of the Old or Romanist faction were Lee, Archbishop of York; Stokesley, Bishop of London; Tunstal, Bishop of Durham; Gardiner, of Winchester; Sherbourne, of Chichester; Nix, of Norwich; and Kite, of Carlisle. These received the countenance and support of the Duke of Norfolk and of Wriothesley, the premier secretary. The leaders of the Reforming faction were Cranmer, the Primate; Latimer, Bishop of Worcester; Shaxton, of Salisbury; Hilsey, of Rochester; Fox, of Hereford; and Barlow, of St. David's. These were especially patronised by Cromwell, whose power as Vicar-General was great, and who was now made Lord Cromwell by the king.

Each of these parties, supported by a large body in the nation, endeavoured to make their way by flattering the vanity or the love of power of the capricious king. The Papist party swayed him to their side by his love of the old doctrines and rites; the Reformers, by his pride in opposing the Pope, and the gratification of his love of power as the independent head of the Church. In this transition state of things, the doctrines of the English Church, as settled by Convocation, exhibited a singular medley, and were liable at any moment to be disturbed by the momentary bias of the king, whose word was the only law of both Church and State. The Reformers succeeded in having the standard of faith recognised as existing in the Scriptures and the three creeds—the Apostolic, Nicene, and Athanasian; but then the Romanists had secured the retention of auricular confession and penance. As to marriage, extreme unction, confirmation, or holy orders, it was found that there could be no agreement in the belief in them as sacraments, and, therefore, they remained unmentioned, every one following his own fancy. The Real Presence was admitted in the sacrament of the Supper. The Roman Catholics asserted the warrant of Scripture for the use of images; but the Protestants denied this, and warned the people against idolatry in praying to them. The use of holy water, the ceremonies practised on Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and other Festivals, were still maintained, but Convocation, yielding to the Reformers, admitted that they had no power to remit sin.

The Church being in this divided state, each party pushed its own opinions and practice where it could, with the certain consequence that there was much feud and heart-burning, and the people were pulled hither and thither. In those places where the Reformers prevailed, they saw the images thrown down or removed, the ancient rites neglected or despised; and they felt themselves aggrieved, but more especially with the ordinances of Cromwell as Vicar-General, who retrenched many of their ancient holidays. He also incensed the clergy, by prohibiting the resort to places of pilgrimage, and the exhibition of relics. These greatly reduced the emoluments of the clergy, whom he on the other hand compelled to lay aside a considerable portion of their revenues for the repairs of the churches, and the assistance of the poor. This caused them to foment the discontents of the people, and the thousands of monks now wandering over the country, without home or subsistence, found ready listeners in the vast population which had been accustomed to draw their main support from the daily alms of the convents and monasteries. The people, seeing all these ancient sources of a lazy support suddenly cut off by Government, grew furious; and their disaffection was strengthened by observing that many of the nobility and gentry were equally malcontent, whose ancestry had founded monasteries, and who, therefore, looked upon them with feelings of family pride, and, moreover, regarded them as a certain provision for some of their younger children. There were many of all classes who thought with horror of the souls of their ancestors and friends, who, they believed, would now remain for ages in all the torments of purgatory, for want of masses to relieve them.

All these causes operating together produced formidable insurrections, both in the north and south. The first rising was in Lincolnshire. It was headed by Dr. Mackrel, the Prior of Barlings, who was disguised like a mechanic, and by another man in disguise, calling himself Captain Cobbler. The first attack was occasioned by the demand of a subsidy for the king, but the public mind was already in a state of high excitement, and this was only the spark that produced the explosion. Twenty thousand men quickly rose in arms, and forced several lords and gentlemen to be their leaders. Such as refused, they either threw into prison or killed on the spot. Amongst the latter was the Chancellor of Longland, an ecclesiastic by no means popular. The king sent a force against them under the Duke of Suffolk, attended by the Earls of Shrewsbury, Kent, Rutland, and Huntingdon.

Suffolk found the insurgents in such force that he thought it best to temporise, and demanded of them what they had to complain of. Thereupon the men of Lincolnshire drew up and presented to him a list of six articles of grievance. These consisted, first and foremost, of the suppression of the monasteries, by which they said great numbers of persons were put from their livings, and the poor of the realm were left unrelieved. Another complaint was of the fifteenth voted by Parliament, and of having to pay fourpence for a beast, and twelvepence for every twenty sheep. They affirmed that the king had taken into his councils personages of low birth and small reputation, who had got the forfeited lands into their hands, "most especial for their singular lucre and advantage." This was aimed by name, and with only too much justice, at Cromwell and Lord Rich, who had grown wealthy on the spoils of the abbeys. To these men they added the names of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of Rochester, Salisbury, St. David's, and Dublin, whom they accused of having perverted the faith of the realm; and they especially attributed the severe exactions on the people to the Bishop of Lincoln and the officers of Cromwell, of whom it was rumoured that they meant to take the plate, jewels, and ornaments of the parish churches, as they had taken those of the religious houses.

The king answered by flatly refusing their petition, bidding them meddle no more in the affairs of their undoubted prince, but deliver up their ringleaders, and leave governing to him and his counsellors and noblemen. This bluster appears to have frightened the simple clodhoppers of the Fens; for we have, a few days later, another letter from the same swelling hand, telling them that he has heard from the Earl of Shrewsbury that they have shown a fitting repentance and sorrow for their folly and their heinous crimes; and assuring them that in any other Christian country they, their wives and children, would have been exterminated with fire and sword. He orders them to pile their arms in the market-place of Lincoln, and get away to their proper habitations and business, or, if they remain a day longer in arms, he will execute on them, their wives and children, the most terrible judgments that the world had ever known.

On the 30th of October, this frightened rabble, which seems to have been led on and then deserted by the clergy and gentry, dispersed, having first delivered up to the king's general fifteen of their ringleaders, amongst whom were Dr. Mackrel, the Prior of Barlings, and Captain Cobbler, said to have been a man of the name of Melton. These prisoners were afterwards executed as traitors, with all the barbarities of the age.

Scarcely, however, was the disturbance in Lincolnshire suppressed, when a far more formidable one broke out in the north. The people there were much more accustomed to arms, and their vicinity to the Scots created alarm at Court, lest the latter should take advantage of the rising to make an inroad into the country. The insurrection quickly spread over Northumberland, Durham, Yorkshire, Westmoreland, and Lancashire. The Lord Darcy was conspicuous in it on the Borders, and there were calculated to be not less than 40,000 men in arms. Henry was this time seriously aroused, and sent Cromwell to the Jewel-house in the Tower to take as much plate as he thought could possibly be spared, and have it coined to pay troops, for he had no money in his coffers, notwithstanding all the monasteries which he had seized. Wriothesley, the Secretary of State, wrote from Windsor to Cromwell to expedite this business, superscribing his letter, "In haste—haste for thy life;" and telling him that the king appeared to fear much this matter, especially if he should want money, "for on the Lord Darcy his Grace had no great trust."

As soon as money could be coined, a good sum was sent to the Duke of Suffolk, who was posted at Newark, and who made free use of it in buying over some of the ringleaders, and in sowing dissensions among the insurgents. Meanwhile the Earl of Shrewsbury was made the king's Lord-Lieutenant north of the Trent, and the Duke of Norfolk was despatched into Yorkshire, to command there with 5,000 men. Robert Aske, a gentleman of ability, was at the head of the rebel forces, and he had given a religious character to the movement by styling it "The Pilgrimage of Grace." Priests marched in the van, in the habits of their various orders, carrying crosses and banners, on which were emblazoned the figure of Christ on the cross, the sacred chalice, and the five wounds of the Saviour. On their sleeves, too, were embroidered the five wounds, and the name of Christ on their centre. They had all sworn an oath that they had entered into the pilgrimage from no other motive than the love of God, the care of the king's person and issue, the desire of purifying the nobility, of driving base persons from the king, of restoring the Church, and suppressing heresy.

Wherever they came, they compelled the people to join their ranks, as they would answer it at the day of judgment, as they would bear the pulling down of their houses, and the loss of their goods and of their lives. They restored the monks and nuns to their houses as they went along. The cities of York, Hull, and Pontefract had opened their gates, and taken the prescribed oaths. The Archbishop of York, the Lords Darcy, Lumley, Latimer, and Neville, with a vast number of knights and gentlemen, gathered to their standard, either by free will or compulsion, and the army presented a formidable aspect. But there was already disunion in the host. The money of the Duke of Suffolk was doing its work, and Wriothesley soon wrote that the insurgents were falling to talking amongst themselves, and, if that went on, a pair of light heels would soon be worth five pairs of hands to them. The Earl of Cumberland repulsed them from his castle of Skipton; Sir Ralph Evers defended Scarborough against them; Courtenay, Marquis of Exeter, the Earls of Huntingdon, Derby, and Rutland, took the field against them; and they only managed to take Pomfret Castle, because the Lord Darcy and the Archbishop of York, lying there, were supposed to be secretly in league with them, and only made a show of force, which they might plead in case of failure.

The insurgents, quite aware that the Government, which was attempting to sow dissension among them by pretended negotiations, was but waiting to seize and crush the leaders, again took the field in the very midst of winter. On the 23rd of January, 1537, bills were stuck on the church doors by night, calling on the commoners to come forth and to be true to one another, for the gentlemen had deceived them, yet they should not want for captains. There was great distrust lest the gentlemen had been won over by the pardon and by money. The rebels, however, marched out under two leaders of the name of Musgrave and Tilby, and, 8,000 strong, they laid siege to Carlisle, where they were repulsed; and, being encountered in their retreat by Norfolk, they were defeated and put to flight. All their officers, except Musgrave, were taken and put to death, to the number of seventy. Sir Francis Bigot and one Hallam attempted to surprise Hull, but failed; and other risings in the north proving equally abortive, the king now bade Norfolk spread his banner, march through the northern counties with martial law, and, regardless of the pardon he had issued, punish the rebels without mercy.

As the monks had obviously been at the bottom of this commotion, Henry let loose his vengeance especially upon them. He ordered Norfolk to go to Sawley, Hexham, Newminster, Lanercost, St. Agatha, and all other places that had made resistance, and there seize certain priors and canons and send them up to him, and immediately to hang up "all monks and canons that be in any wise faulty, without further delay or ceremony." He ordered the Earl of Surrey and other officers in the north to charge the monks there with grievous offences, to try their minds, and see whether they would not submit themselves gladly to his will. Under these sanguinary orders the whole of England north of the Trent became a scene of horror and butchery, and ghastly heads and mangled bodies, or corpses swinging from the trees. Nor did this admirable reformer of religion neglect to look after the property of his victims. Their lands and goods were all to be forfeited and taken possession of; "for we are informed," he says, "that there were amongst them divers freeholders and rich men, whose lands and goods, well looked unto, will reward others that with their truth have deserved the same."

Besides Aske, Sir Thomas Constable, Sir John Bulmer, Sir Thomas Percy, Sir Stephen Hamilton, Nicholas Tempest, William Lumley, and others, though they had taken the benefit of the pardon, were found guilty, and most of them were executed. Lord Hussey was found guilty of being an accomplice in the Lincolnshire rising, and was executed at Lincoln. Lord Darcy, though he pleaded compulsion, and a long life spent in the service of the Crown, was executed on Tower Hill. Lady Bulmer, the wife of Sir John Bulmer, was burnt in Smithfield; and Robert Aske was hung in chains on one of the towers of York. Having thus satiated his vengeance, and struck a profound terror into all the disaffected, Henry once more published a general pardon, to which he adhered; and even complied with one of the demands which the insurgents had made, that of erecting by patent a court of justice at York, for deciding lawsuits in the northern counties.

On the 12th of October, 1537, Jane Seymour gave birth to the long-desired prince, so well known afterwards as King Edward VI. This event took place at the palace of Hampton Court, and the infant was immediately proclaimed Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, and Earl of Chester. The joy on so greatly desired an occurrence may be imagined, though it was somewhat dashed by the death of the queen, which took place only twelve days afterwards. During the confinement there was some question whether the life of the mother or of the child should be sacrificed, and on the question being put to the king, which should be spared, he characteristically replied, "The child by all means, for other wives can be easily found." The queen's death, however, was occasioned by the absurd exposure which the pompous christening necessitated. Henry appeared to be grieved when her death really took place, and put on mourning, which he had never done for his wives before, and never did again. He wore it three months.

By the accession of Queen Jane a new family, greedy and insatiable of advancement, was brought forward, whom we shall soon find figuring on the scene. The queen's brothers, sisters, uncles, and cousins presently filled every great and lucrative office at Court; closely imitating the unpopular precedent of the relations of Elizabeth Woodville. Her eldest brother, Edward Seymour, was immediately made Lord Beauchamp and Earl of Hertford; and, in the joy of having an heir, Henry created Sir William Paulet Lord St. John and Sir John Russell Lord Russell. Sir William Fitzwilliam was made Earl of Southampton, and High-Admiral. Russell and Paulet were sworn of the Privy Council; and John Russell, now in high favour with the king, attended the wedding, flattered the bride, and became, in the next reign, Earl of Bedford. Queen Jane received all the rites of the Roman Catholic Church on her death-bed; thus clearly denoting that neither she nor her husband was of the Protestant faith.

Any grief which might have affected Henry for his wife's death did not prevent him from prosecuting his favourite design of seizing rich monasteries and destroying heretics. The great amount of property which Henry had obtained from the dissolution of monastic houses only stimulated him and his courtiers to invade the remainder. The insurrections laid the inmates of these houses open to a general charge that they had everywhere fomented, and in many places taken public part in, these attempts to resist Government. Prosecutions for high treason and menaces of martial law induced many of the more timid abbots and priors to resign their trusts into the hands of the king and his heirs for ever. Others—like the prior of Henton, in Somersetshire—resisted, declaring that it did not become them "to be light and hasty in giving up those things which were not theirs to give, being dedicated to Almighty God, for service to be done unto His honour continually, with many other good deeds of charity which be daily done in their houses to their Christian brethren."

To grapple the more effectually with these sturdy remonstrants, a new visitation was appointed of all the monasteries in England; and, as a pretence only was wanted for their suppression, it was not difficult to find one where so many great men were eager to share in the spoils. But, while the destruction of the monasteries found many advocates, there were not wanting some who recommended the retention of those convents for women which had maintained order and a good reputation. But the king would hear of nothing but that all should be swept away together; and the better to prepare the public mind for so complete a revolution in social life, every means was employed to represent these establishments as abodes of infamy, and to expose the relics preserved in their shrines to ridicule, as impostures which deluded the ignorant people.

The work of suppressing the monasteries and convents went on briskly, for, says Bishop Godwin, "the king continued much prone to reformation, especially if anything might be gotten by it." The Earl of Sussex and a body of Commissioners were despatched to the north, to inquire into the conduct of the religious houses there, and great stress was laid on the participation of the monks in the insurrection of the Pilgrimage of Grace. The abbeys of Furness and Whalley were particularly rich; and though little concern with the rebellion could be traced to the inmates, yet the Commissioners never rested till, by persuasion and intimidation, they had induced the abbots to surrender these houses into their hands. The success of the Earl of Sussex and his associates led to similar Commissions in the south, and for four years the process was going on without an Act of Parliament.

The system generally adopted was this:—First, tempting offers of pensions were held out to the superiors and the monks or nuns, and in proportion to the obstinacy in complying was the smallness of the pension. The pensions to superiors varied, according to the wealth and rank of their houses, from £266 to £6 per annum. The priors of cells received generally £13. A few, whose services merited the distinction, £20. The monks received from £2 to £6 per annum, with a small sum in hand for immediate need. Nuns got about £4. That was the first and persuasive process; but, if this failed, intimidation was resorted to. The superior and his monks, tenants, servants, and neighbours, were subjected to a rigorous and vexatious examination. The accounts of the house were called for, and were scrutinised minutely, and all moneys, plate, and jewels ordered to be produced. There was a severe inquiry into the morals of the members, and one was encouraged to accuse another. Obstinate and refractory members were thrown into prison, and many died there—amongst them, the monks of the Charterhouse, London.

In 1539 a bill was brought into Parliament, vesting in the Crown all the property, movable and immovable, of the monastic establishments which were already, or which should be hereafter, suppressed, abolished, or surrendered, and, by 1540, the whole of this branch of the ecclesiastical property was in the hands of the king, or of the courtiers and parasites who surrounded him, like vultures, gorging themselves with the fallen carcase. The total number of such establishments suppressed from first to last by Henry was 655 monasteries—of which 28 had abbots enjoying a seat in Parliament—90 colleges, 2,374 chantries and free chapels, and 110 hospitals. The whole of the revenue of this property, as paid to superiors of these houses, was £161,000. The whole income of the kingdom at that period was rated at £4,000,000, so that the monastic property was apparently one twenty-fifth of the national estate; but as the monastic lands were let on long leases, and at very low rents, in the hands of the new proprietors it would prove of vastly higher value.

Henry distributed the property among his greedy courtiers as fast as it came, and never was so magnificent a property so speedily dissipated. What did not go amongst the Seymours, the Essexes, the Howards, the Russells, and the like, went in the most lavish manner on the king's pleasures and follies. He is said to have given a woman who introduced a pudding to his liking the revenue of a whole convent. Pauperism, instead of being extinguished, was increased to a degree which astonished every one. Such crowds had been supported by the monks and nuns as the public had no adequate idea of, till they were thrown destitute and desperate into the streets and the highways, and at length became such a national burden and nuisance as in the reigns of Edward VI. and Elizabeth to cause the introduction of the poor-law system. The aristocracy, in fact, usurped the fund for the support of the poor, and threw them on the nation at large.

Education received an equal shock. The schools supported by the monasteries fell with them. The new race of noblemen who got the funds did nothing to continue them. Religion suffered also, for the wealth which might have founded efficient incomes for good preachers was gone into private hands, and such miserable stipends were paid to the working clergy, that none but poor and unlettered men would accept them.

It is only justice to Cranmer to say that he saw this waste of public property with concern, and would have had it appropriated to the purposes of education and religion, and the relief of the poor; but he was too timid to lay the matter before the Royal prodigal. Yet the murmurs of the people induced Henry to think of establishing a number of bishoprics, deaneries, and colleges, with a portion of the lands of the suppressed monasteries. He had an act passed through Parliament for the establishment of eighteen bishoprics, but it was found that the property intended for these was cleverly grasped by some of his courtiers, and only six out of the eighteen could be erected, namely, Westminster, Oxford, Peterborough, Bristol, Chester, and Gloucester; and some of these were so meagrely endowed that the new prelates had much ado for a considerable time to live. At the same time Henry converted fourteen abbeys and priories into cathedral and collegiate churches, attaching to each a deanery and a certain number of prebendaries. These were Canterbury, Rochester, Westminster, Winchester, Bristol, Gloucester, Worcester, Chester, Burton-upon-Trent, Carlisle, Durham, Thornton, Peterborough, and Ely. But he retained a good slice of the property belonging to them, and, at the same time, imposed on the chapters the obligations of paying a considerable sum to the repair of the highways, and another sum to the maintenance of the poor.

At the same time that Henry had been squandering the monastic property, and had falsified his promises of making the Crown independent of taxation, by coming to Parliament within twelve months for a subsidy of two-tenths and two-fifteenths, he had all along been riveting the doctrines of the Church of Rome faster on the nation, and persecuting those who questioned them. The Lower House of Convocation drew up a list of fifty-nine propositions, which it denounced as heresies, extracted from the publications of different Reformers, and presented it to the Upper House. On this, Henry, who believed himself a greater theologian than any in either house of Convocation, drew up, with the aid of some of the prelates, a book of "Articles" which was presented by Cromwell to Convocation, and there subscribed. This was then carried through Parliament, and became termed too justly the "Bloody Statute," for a more terrible engine of persecution never existed.

No sooner had the statute of the Six Articles passed, than Latimer and Shaxton, the Bishops of Worcester and Salisbury, resigned their sees; and Cranmer, who had been living openly with his wife and children, seeing the king's determination to enforce the celibacy of the clergy, sent off his family to Germany, and made himself outwardly conformable to the law. At the end of the year 1539, the king put to death, in Smithfield, three victims of his intolerance. The first two were a man and a woman who were Anabaptists. The third was John Lambert, formerly a priest, who had become a schoolmaster in London. He was a Reformer, and denied the doctrine which Henry was now enforcing under the penalty of death, that the Real Presence existed in the bread and wine.

During the whole of the years 1538 and 1539 Henry was, nevertheless, not only grown suspicious of his subjects, but greatly alarmed at the rumours of a combination between the Pope, the Emperor, and the King of France against him. It was rumoured that Cardinal Pole, his relative, who had rigorously opposed the divorce, was assisting in this scheme, and as Henry could not reach him, on account of Pole's flight to the Continent, he determined to take vengeance on his relatives and friends in England. A truce for ten years was concluded under the Papal mediation, between Charles and Francis, at Nice, in June, 1538. The two monarchs urged Paul to publish his bull of excommunication against Henry, which had been reserved so long, and Henry, whose spies soon conveyed to him these tidings, immediately ordered his fleet to be put in a state of activity, his harbours of defence strengthened, and the whole population to be called under arms, in expectation of a combined attack.

But at this conference Cardinal Pole had been present, and Henry directly attributed the scheme of invasion to him. At once, therefore, he let loose his fury on his relatives and friends in England. Becket, the usher, and Wrothe, server of the Royal chamber, were despatched into Cornwall to collect some colour of accusation against Henry Courtenay, the Marquis of Exeter, and his adherents and dependents. The marquis and marchioness were soon arrested, as well as Sir Geoffrey Pole and Lord Montagu, brothers of the cardinal, and Sir Edward Neville, a brother of Lord Abergavenny. Two priests, Croft and Collins, and Holland, a mariner, were also arrested, and lodged in the Tower. On the last day of 1538 the marquis and Lord Montagu were tried before some of the peers, but not before their peers in Parliament, for Parliament was not sitting. The commoners were brought to trial before juries; and all on a charge of having conspired to place Reginald Pole, late Dean of Exeter, the king's enemy, on the throne. The king's ministers declared that the charge was well proved, but no such proofs were ever published, which, we may be sure, would have been had they existed.

The fact was, those noblemen were descended directly from the old Royal line of England: Courtenay was grandson to Edward IV., through his daughter Catherine, and the Poles were grandsons to George, Duke of Clarence, the brother of Edward. All had a better title to the throne than Henry, and this, combined with their connection with the cardinal, was the cause of the tyrant's enmity. If these prisoners had been inclined to treason, they had had the fairest opportunity of showing it during the northern insurrection, but they had taken no part in it whatever. But Henry had determined to wreak his vengeance, which could not reach the cardinal, on them; and the servile peers and courts condemned them. It was said that Sir Geoffrey Pole, to save his own life, consented to give evidence against the rest—secretly it must have been, for it was never produced. His life, therefore, was spared, but the rest were executed. Lord Montagu, the Marquis of Exeter, and Sir Edward Neville were beheaded on Tower Hill on the 9th of January, 1539, and Sir Nicholas Carew, master of the king's horse, was also beheaded on the 3rd of March, on a charge of being privy to the conspiracy. The two priests and the mariner were hanged and quartered at Tyburn. A commission was then sent down into Cornwall, which arraigned, condemned, and put to death two gentlemen of the names of Kendall and Quintrell, for having said, some years before, that Exeter was the heir apparent, and should be king, if Henry married Anne Boleyn, or it should cost a thousand lives.

But the sanguinary fury of Henry was not yet sated. The cardinal was sent by the Pope to the Spanish and French courts to concert the carrying out of the scheme of policy against England. Henry defeated this by means of his agents, and neither Charles nor Francis would move: but not the less did Henry determine further to punish the hostile cardinal. Judgment of treason was pronounced against him; the Continental sovereigns were called upon to deliver him up; and he was constantly surrounded by spies, and, as he believed, ruffians hired to assassinate him. Meanwhile it was said that a French vessel had been driven by stress of weather into South Shields, and in it had been taken three emissaries—an English priest of the name of Moore, and two Irishmen, a monk and a friar, who were said to be carrying treasonable letters to the Pope and to Pole. The Irish monks were sent up to London, and tortured in the Tower—a very unnecessary measure, if they really possessed the treasonable letters alleged. On the 28th of April Parliament was called upon to pass bills of attainder against Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, the mother of Cardinal Pole; Gertrude, the widow of the Marquis of Exeter; the son of Lord Montagu, a boy of tender years; Sir Adam Fortescue, and Sir Thomas Dingley. This was a device of Cromwell's, who demanded of the judges whether persons accused of treason might not be attainted and condemned by Parliament without any trial! The judges—who, like every one else under this monster of a king, had lost all sense of honour and justice in fears for their own safety—replied that it was a nice question, and one that no inferior tribunal could entertain, but that Parliament was supreme, and that an attainder by Parliament would be good in law! Such a bill was accordingly passed through the servile Parliament, condemning the whole to death without any form of trial whatever.

The two knights were beheaded on the 10th of July; the Marchioness of Exeter was kept in prison for six months, and then dismissed; the son of Lord Montagu, the grandson of the countess, was probably, too, allowed to escape, for no record of his death appears; but the venerable old lady herself, the near relative of the king, and the last direct descendant of the Plantagenets, after having been kept in prison for nearly two years, was brought out, and on the 27th of May, 1541, was condemned to the scaffold. There she still showed the determination of her character. Unlike many who had fallen there before her, so far from making any ambiguous speech, or giving any hypocritical professions of reverence for the king, she refused to do anything which appeared consenting to her own death. When told to lay her head on the block, she replied, "No, my head never committed treason; if you will have it, you must take it as you can." The executioner tried to seize her, but she moved swiftly round the scaffold, tossing her head from side to side. At last, covered with blood, for the guards struck her with their weapons, she was seized, and forcibly held down, and whilst exclaiming, "Blessed are they who suffer persecution for righteousness' sake," the axe descended, and her head fell.

But, the time of Cromwell himself was coming. The block was the pretty certain goal of Henry's ministers. The more he caressed and favoured them, the more certain was that result. Reflecting anxiously on the critical nature of his position, the deep and unprincipled minister came to the conclusion that the only mode of regaining his influence with the king was to promote a Protestant marriage. For a time at least Henry allowed himself to be governed by a new wife, and that time gained might prove everything to Cromwell. Circumstances seemed to favour him at this moment. The king was in constant alarm at the combination between France and Spain; and a new alliance with the Protestant princes of Germany, if accomplished, would equally serve the purposes of the king and of Cromwell. Now was the time for Cromwell, while Henry was chagrined by these difficulties. He informed him that Anne, daughter of John III., Duke of Cleves, Count of Mark, and Lord of Ravenstein, was greatly extolled for her beauty and good sense; that her sister Sybilla, the wife of Frederick, Duke of Saxony, the head of the Protestant confederation of Germany, called the Schmalkaldic League, was famed for her beauty, talents, and virtues, and universally regarded as one of the most distinguished ladies of the time. He pointed out to Henry the advantages of thus, by this alliance, acquiring the firm friendship of the princes of Germany, in counterpoise to the designs of France and Spain; and he assured him that he heard that the sisters of the Electress of Saxony, educated under the same wise mother, were equally attractive in person and in mind, and waited only a higher position to give them greater lustre, especially the Princess Anne.

The Duke of Cleves died on the 6th of February, 1539, and Henry despatched Hans Holbein to take the lady's portrait. Being delighted with the portrait—which agreed so well with the many praises written of the lady by his agents—he acceded to the match; and in the month of September the count palatine and ambassadors from Cleves arrived in London, where Cromwell received them with real delight, and the king bade them right welcome. The treaty was soon concluded; and Henry, impatient for the arrival of his wife, despatched the Lord Admiral Fitzwilliam, Earl of Southampton, to receive her at Calais, and conduct her to England.

On the 27th of December, 1539, Anne landed at Deal, having been escorted across the Channel by a fleet of fifty ships. She was a thorough Protestant, going into the midst of as thoroughly Papist a faction, and to consort with a monarch the most fickle and dogmatic in the world. She could speak no language but German, and of that Henry did not understand a word. It would have required a world of charms to have reconciled all this to Henry, even for a time, and of these poor Anne of Cleves was destitute. That she was not ugly, many contemporaries testify; but she was at least plain in person, and still plainer in manners. Both she and her maidens, of whom she brought a great train, are said to have been as homely and as awkward a bevy as ever came to England in the cause of royal matrimony.

The impatient though unwieldy lover, accompanied by eight gentlemen of his privy chamber, rode to Rochester to meet the bride. They were all clad alike, in coats "of marble colour;" for Henry, with a spice of his old romance, was going incognito, to get a peep at his queen without her being aware which was he. He told Cromwell that "he intended to visit her privily, to nourish love." On his arrival, he sent Sir Anthony Browne, his master of the horse, to inform Anne that he had brought her a new year's gift, if she would please to accept it. Sir Anthony, on being introduced to the lady who was to occupy the place of the two most celebrated beauties of the day, the Boleyn and the Seymour, was, he afterwards confessed, "never so much dismayed in his life," but of course said nothing. So now the enamoured king, whose eyes were dazzled with the recollection of what his queens had been, and what Holbein and his ambassadors had promised him should again be, entered the presence of Anne of Cleves, and was thunderstruck at the first sight of the reality. Lord John Russell, who was present, declared "that he had never seen his highness so marvellously astonished and abashed as on that occasion."

Instead of presenting himself the new year's gift which he had brought—a muff and tippet of rich sables—he sent them to her with a very cold message, and rode back to Greenwich in high dudgeon. There, the moment that he saw Cromwell, he burst out upon him for being the means of bringing him, not a wife, but "a great Flanders mare." Cromwell excused himself by not having seen her, and threw the blame on Fitzwilliam, the lord admiral, who, he said, when he found the princess at Calais so different from the pictures and reports, should have detained her there till he knew the king's pleasure; but the admiral replied brusquely that he had not had the choosing of her, but had simply executed his commission; and if he had in his dispatches spoken of her beauty, it was because she was reckoned beautiful, and it was not for him to judge of his queen.

No way out of the marriage being found, orders were given for the lady to proceed from Dartford, and at Greenwich she was received outwardly with all the pomp and rejoicings the most welcome beauty could have elicited. But still the mind of the mortified king revolted at the completion of the wedding, and once more he summoned his council, and declared himself unsatisfied about the contract, and required that Anne should make a solemn protestation that she was free from all pre-contracts. Probably Henry hoped that, seeing that she was far from pleasing him, she might be willing to give him up; but though her just pride as a woman must have been wounded by his treatment, and her fears excited by the recollection of the fates of Catherine and Anne Boleyn, the princess could be no free agent in the matter. The ambassadors would urge the impossibility of her going back, thus insulting all Protestant Germany, and her own pride would second their arguments on that side too. The ignominy of being sent back, rejected as unattractive and unwelcome, was not to be thought of. She made a most clear and positive declaration of her freedom from all pre-contracts. On hearing this, the surly monarch fell into such a humour that Cromwell got away from his presence as quickly as he could. Seeing no way out of it, the marriage was celebrated on the 6th of January, 1540, but nothing could reconcile Henry to his German queen. He loathed her person, he could not even talk with her without an interpreter; and he soon fell in love with Catherine Howard, niece to the Duke of Norfolk, a young lady who was much handsomer than Anne, but not well educated, and greatly wanting in principle. From the moment that Henry cast his eyes on this new favourite, the little remains of outward courtesy towards the queen vanished. He ceased to appear with her in public. He began to express scruples about having a Lutheran wife. He did not hesitate to propagate the most shameful calumnies against her, declaring that she had not been virtuous before her marriage.

Anne, in need of counsel, could find none in those who ought to have stood by her. Cranmer, the Reformer, and Cromwell, the advocate of Protestantism, and who had, in fact, brought about the marriage, kept aloof from her. She sent expressly to Cromwell, and repeatedly, but in vain; he refused to see her, for he knew that he stood on the edge of a precipice already; that he had deeply offended the choleric monarch by promoting this match; and that he was surrounded by spies and enemies, who were watching for occasion for his ruin. There is no doubt whatever that his ruin was already determined, but Cromwell was an unhesitating tool of the quality which Henry needed; for it was just at this time that Henry executed the relatives of Cardinal Pole, and probably it was an object of his to load that minister with as much of the odium of that measure as he could before he cast him down. Cromwell still, then, apparently retained the full favour of the king, notwithstanding this unfortunate marriage, but the conduct of his friends precipitated his fate.

Bishop Gardiner, a bigoted Papist, and one who saw the signs of the times as quickly as any man living, did not hear Henry's scruples about a Lutheran wife with unheeding ears. On the 14th of February, 1540, he preached a sermon at St. Paul's Cross, in which he unsparingly denounced as a damnable doctrine the Lutheran tenet of justification by faith without works. Dr. Barnes, a dependent of Cromwell's, but clearly a most imprudent one, on the 28th of February, just a fortnight afterwards, mounted the same pulpit, and made a violent attack on Gardiner and his creed. Barnes could never have intimated to Cromwell his intention to make this assault on a creed which was as much the king's as Gardiner's, or he would have shown him the fatality of it. But Barnes, like a rash and unreflecting zealot, not only attacked Gardiner's sermon, but got quite excited, and declared that he himself was a fighting-cock, and Gardiner was another fighting-cock, but that the garden-cock lacked good spurs. As was inevitable, Henry, who never let slip an opportunity to champion his own religious views, summoned Barnes forthwith before a commission of divines, compelled him to recant his opinion, and ordered him to preach another sermon, in the same place, on the first Sunday after Easter, and there to read his recantation, and beg pardon of Gardiner. Barnes obeyed. He read his recantation, publicly asked pardon of Gardiner, and then, getting warm in his sermon, reiterated in stronger terms than ever the very doctrine he had recanted.

The man must have made up his mind to punishment for his religious faith, for no such daring conduct was ever tolerated for a moment by Henry. He threw the offender into the Tower, together with Garret and Jerome, two preachers of the same belief, who followed his example.

The enemies of Cromwell rejoiced in this event, believing that his connection with Barnes would not fail to influence the king. So confidently did they entertain this notion, that they already talked of the transfer of his two chief offices, those of Vicar-General and Keeper of the Privy Seal, to Tunstal, Bishop of Durham, and Clarke, Bishop of Bath. But the king had not yet come to his own point of action. Cromwell's opponents were, therefore, astonished to see him open Parliament on the 12th of April, as usual, when he announced the king's sorrow and displeasure at the religious dissensions which appeared in the nation, his subjects branding each other with the opprobrious epithets of Papists and heretics, and abusing the indulgence which the king had granted them of reading the Scriptures in their native tongue. To remedy these evils his Majesty had appointed two committees of prelates and doctors—one to set forth a system of pure doctrine, and the other to decide what ceremonies and rites should be retained in the Church or abandoned; and, in the meantime, he called on both houses to assist him in enacting penalties against all who treated with irreverence, or rashly and presumptuously explained, the Holy Scriptures.

Never did Cromwell appear so fully to possess the favour of his sovereign. He had obtained a grant of thirty manors belonging to suppressed monasteries; the title of Earl of Essex was revived in his favour, and the office of Lord-Chamberlain was added to his other appointments. He was the performer of all the great acts of the State. He brought in two bills, vesting the property of the Knights Hospitallers in the king, and settling an adequate jointure on the queen. He obtained from the laity the enormous subsidy of four-tenths and fifteenths, besides ten per cent. of their income from lands, and five per cent. on their goods; and from the clergy two-tenths, and twenty per cent. of their incomes for two years. So little did there appear any prospect of the fall of Cromwell, that his own conduct augured that he never felt himself stronger in his monarch's esteem. He dealt about his blows on all who had offended himself or the king, however high. He committed to the Tower the Bishop of Chichester and Dr. Wilson, for relieving prisoners confined for refusing to take the oath of supremacy; and menaced with the royal displeasure his chief opponents, the Duke of Norfolk, and the Bishops of Durham, Winchester, and Bath.

Yet all this time Henry had determined, and was preparing for his fall. He appointed Wriothesley and Ralph Sadler Secretaries of State, and divided the business between them. The king had met Catherine Howard, it is said, at dinner at Gardiner's, who was Bishop of Winchester. As she was a strict Papist, and niece to Norfolk, it was believed that this had been concerted by the Catholic party; and they were not mistaken. She at once caught the fancy of Henry. Every opportunity was afforded the king of meeting her at Gardiner's; and no sooner did that worldly prelate perceive the impression she had made, than he informed Henry that Barnes, whom neither Gardiner nor Henry could forget, had been Cromwell's agent in bringing about the marriage of Anne of Cleves; that Cromwell and Barnes had done this, without regard to the feelings of the king, merely to bring in a queen pledged to German Protestantism; and that, instead of submitting to the king's religious views, they were bent on establishing in the country the detestable heresies of Luther.

Henry, whose jealousy was now excited, recollected that when he proposed to send Anne of Cleves back, Cromwell had strongly dissuaded him, and as Anne had now changed her insubordinate behaviour to him, he immediately suspected that it was at the suggestion of Cromwell. No sooner had this idea taken full possession, than down came the thunderbolt on the head of the great minister. The time was come, all was prepared, and, without a single note of warning—without the change of look or manner in the king—Cromwell was arrested at the council-board on a charge of high treason. In the morning he was in his place in the House of Lords, with every evidence of power about him; in the evening he was in the Tower.

In his career, from the shop of the fuller to the supreme power in the State, next to the king, Cromwell had totally forgotten the wise counsel of Wolsey. He had not avoided, but courted, ambition. He had leaned to the Reformed doctrines secretly, but he had taken care to enrich himself with the spoils of the suppressed monasteries, and many suspected that these spoils were the true incentives to his system of reformation. The wealth he had accumulated was, no doubt, a strong temptation to Henry, as it was in all such cases, and thus Cromwell's avarice brought its own punishment. In his treatment of the unfortunate Romanists whom he had to eject from their ancient houses and lands, his conduct had been harsh and unsparing; and by that party, now in power, he was consequently hated with an intense hatred; and this was a second means of self-punishment. But above all, in the days of his power, he had been perfectly reckless of the liberties and securities of the subject. He had broken down the bulwarks of the Constitution, and advised the king to make his own will the sole law, carrying for him through Parliament the monstrous doctrine embodied in the enactment that the royal proclamation superseded Parliamentary decrees, and that the Crown could put men to death without any form of trial. Under the monstrous despotism which he had thus erected, he now fell himself, and had no right whatever to complain. Yet he did complain most lamentably. The men who never feel for others, concentrate all their commiseration on themselves; and Cromwell, so ruthless and immovable to the pleadings of his own victims, now sent the most abject and imploring letters to Henry, crying, "Mercy, mercy!"

His experience might have assured him that, when once Henry seized his victim, he never relented; and there was no one except Cranmer who dared to raise a voice in his favour, and Cranmer's interference was so much in his own timid style, that it availed nothing. His papers were seized, his servants interrogated, and out of their statements, whatever they were—for they were never produced in any court—the accusations were framed against him. These consisted in the charges of his having, as minister, received bribes, and encroached on the royal authority by issuing commissions, discharging prisoners, pardoning convicts, and granting licences for the exportation of prohibited merchandise. As Vicar-General, he was charged with having not only held heretical opinions himself, but also with protecting heretical preachers, and promoting the circulation of heretical books. Lastly, there was added one of those absurd, gratuitous assertions, which Henry always threw in to make the charge amount to high treason, namely, that Cromwell had expressed his resolve to fight against the king himself, if necessary, in support of his religious opinions; and Mount was instructed to inform the German princes that Cromwell had threatened to strike a dagger into the heart of the man who should oppose the Reformation, which, he said, meant the king. He demanded a public trial, but was refused, being only allowed to face his accusers before the Commissioners. Government then proceeded against him by bill of attainder, and thus, on the principle that he had himself established, he was condemned without trial, even Cranmer voting in favour of the attainder. His fate was delayed for more than a month, during which time he continued to protest his innocence, with a violence which stood in strong contrast to his callousness to the protestations of others, wishing that God might confound him, that the vengeance of God might light upon him, that all the devils in hell might confront him, if he were guilty. He drew the most lamentable picture of his forlorn and miserable condition, and offered to make any disclosures demanded of him; but though nothing would have saved him, unluckily for him, Henry discovered among his papers his secret correspondence with the princes of Germany. He gave the royal assent to the bill of attainder, and in five days—namely, on the 28th of July—Cromwell was led to the scaffold, where he confessed that he had been in error, but had now returned to the truth, and died a good Catholic. He fell detested by every man of his own party, exulted over by the Papist section of the community, and unregretted by the people, who were just then smarting under the enormous subsidy he had imposed. As if to render his execution the more degrading, Lord Hungerford, a nobleman charged with revolting crimes, was beheaded with him.

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REIGN OF HENRY VIII. (concluded).

Divorce of Anne of Cleves—Catherine Howard's Marriage and Death—Fresh Persecutions—Welsh Affairs—The Irish Insurrection and its Suppression—Scottish Affairs—Catholic Opposition to Henry—Outbreak of War—Battle of Solway Moss—French and English Parties in Scotland—Escape of Beaton—Triumph of the French Party—Treaty between England and Germany—Henry's Sixth Marriage—Campaign in France—Expedition against Scotland—Capture of Edinburgh—Fresh Attempt on England—Cardinal Beaton and Wishart—Death of the Cardinal—Struggle between the Two Parties in England—Death of Henry.

The death of Cromwell was quickly followed by the divorce of Anne of Cleves. The queen was ordered to retire to Richmond, on pretence that the plague was in London. Marillac, the French ambassador, writing to Francis I., said that the reason assigned was not the true one, for if there had been the slightest rumour of the plague, nothing would have induced Henry to remain; "for the king is the most timid person in the world in such cases." It was the preliminary step to the divorce, and as soon as she was gone, Henry put in motion all his established machinery for getting rid of wives. The Lord Chancellor, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Duke of Norfolk, and others of the king's ministers, procured a petition to be got up and presented to his Majesty, stating that the House had doubts of the validity of the king's marriage, and consequently were uneasy as to the succession, and prayed the king to submit the question to Convocation. Of course, Henry could refuse nothing to his faithful peers, and Convocation, accordingly, took the matter into consideration. The marriage was declared—like his two former ones with Catherine and Anne Boleyn—to be null and void; and the same judgment of high treason was pronounced on any one who should say or write to the contrary. The queen being a stranger to the English laws and customs, was not called upon to appear personally, or even by her advocates, before Convocation.

All this being settled, the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Southampton, and Wriothesley proceeded to Richmond, to announce the decision to the queen. On the sight of these ministers, and on hearing their communication, that the marriage was annulled by Parliament, the poor woman, supposing that she was going to be treated like Anne Boleyn, fainted, and fell on the floor. On her return to consciousness, the messengers hastened to assure her that there was no cause of alarm; that the king had the kindest and best intentions towards her; that, if she would consent to resign the title of queen, he proposed to give her the title of his sister; to grant her precedence of every lady except the future queen and his daughters, and to endow her with estates to the value of £3,000 per annum.

Anne received some of the spoils of the fallen Cromwell in different estates which were made over to her for life, including Denham Hall, in Essex. She resided principally at her palace of Richmond, and at Ham House; but we find her living at different times at Bletchingley, Hever Castle, Penshurst, and Dartford. Though she was queen only about six months, she continued to live in England for seventeen years—seeing two queens after her, and Edward VI. and Queen Mary on the throne—greatly honoured by all who knew her, and much beloved by both the princesses Mary and Elizabeth. Not in seventeen years, but in sixteen months, she saw the fall and tragedy of the queen who supplanted her; so that one of her maids of honour, Elizabeth Bassett, could not help exclaiming at the news, "What a man the king is! how many wives will he have?" For which very natural expression the poor girl was very near getting into trouble. As for Anne herself, she appeared quite a new woman when she had got clear of her terrible and coarse-minded tyrant, so that the French ambassador, Marillac, wrote to his master that "Madame of Cleves has a more joyous countenance than ever. She wears a great variety of dresses, and passes all her time in sports and recreations." No sooner was she divorced than Henry paid her a visit, and was so delighted by her pleasant and respectful reception of him, that he supped with her merrily, and not only went often again to see her, but invited her to Hampton, whither she went, not at all troubling herself that another was acting the queen.

Anne's marriage was annulled by Parliament on the 9th of July, and on the 8th of August Catherine Howard appeared at Court as the acknowledged queen. For twelve months all went on well, and the king repeatedly declared that he had never been happy in love or matrimony till now; that the queen was the most perfect of women, and the most affectionate of wives. To gratify his new queen, and to accomplish some objects of importance, Henry this summer made a progress into the north, and took Catherine with him. One object was to judge for himself of the state of the northern counties, where the late insurrections in favour of the old religion had broken out. He promised himself that his presence would intimidate the disaffected; that he should be able to punish those who remained troublesome, and make all quiet; but still more was he anxious for an interview with his nephew, James V. of Scotland. The principles of the Reformation had been making rapid progress in that country, and the fires of persecution had been lit up by the clergy. Patrick Hamilton, a young man of noble family, who had imbibed the new doctrines abroad, and Friar Forrest, a zealous preacher of the same, had suffered at the stake. But far more dangerous to the stability of the Catholic Church, was the fact that the Scottish nobility, poor and ambitious, had learnt a significant lesson from what had been going on in England. The seizure of the monastic estates there by the king, and their liberal distribution amongst the nobility, excited their cupidity, and they strongly urged James to follow the example of his royal uncle. In this counsel they found a staunch coadjutor in Henry, who never ceased exciting James to follow his example, and, to make sure of his doing so, invited him to an interview at York, to which he consented.

Notwithstanding great preparations had been made, the King of Scots excused his coming. The very first announcement of such a project had struck the clergy of Scotland with consternation. They hastened to point out to James the dangers of innovation—the certain mischief of aggrandising the nobility, already too powerful, with the spoils of the Church—the jeopardy of putting himself into the hands of Henry and the English, and the loss of the friendship of all foreign powers, if he was induced by Henry to attack the Church, which would render him almost wholly dependent on England. They added force to these arguments by presenting him with a gratuity of £50,000; promised him a continuance of their liberality, and pointed out to him a certain source of income of at least £100,000 per annum in the confiscations of heretics. These representations and gifts had the desired effect. James sent an excuse to Henry for not being able to meet him at York; and the disappointed king turned homeward in great disgust. The fascinations of the young queen, however, soon restored his good humour, and they arrived at Windsor, on the 26th of October, in high spirits.

Little did the uxorious monarch dream that he was at this moment standing on a mine that would blow all his imagined happiness into the air and send his idolised wife to the block. But at the very time that he and Catherine had been showing themselves as so beautifully conjugal a couple to the good people of the north, the mine had been preparing. It was the misfortune of all the queens of Henry VIII. that they had not only to deal with one of the most vindictive and capricious tyrants that ever existed, but that they were invariably, and necessarily, the objects of the hatred of a powerful and merciless party, which was ready to destroy its antagonist, and, as the first and telling stroke in that progress, to pull down the queen. Catherine Howard was now the hope of the Romanists. She was the niece of the Duke of Norfolk, the most resolute lay-Papist in the kingdom, and the political head of that party. The public evidences of the growing influence of Catherine with the king in the northern progress, had been marked by the Catholics with exultation, and by the Protestants with proportionate alarm. Both Rapin and Burnet assert that Cranmer felt convinced, from what he saw passing, that unless some means were found to lessen the influence of the queen, and thus dash the hopes of the Catholics, he must soon follow Cromwell to the block. A most ominous circumstance which reached him was, that the royal party took up their quarters for a night at the house of Sir John Gorstwick, who, but in the preceding spring, had denounced Cranmer in open Parliament, as "the root of all heresies," and that at Gorstwick's there had been held a select meeting of the Privy Council, at which Gardiner, the unhesitating leader of the Romanists, presided. It was the signal for the Protestants to bring means of counter-action into play, and such means, unfortunately for the queen, were already stored up and at hand.

It was discovered that the queen had been guilty of numerous improprieties before marriage, chiefly with a man called Derham, and it was now alleged that an intrigue had been going on between Catherine and her cousin, Thomas Culpepper, in the northern progress, at Lincoln and York, and that one night Culpepper was in the same room with the queen and Lady Rochford for three hours. But when it was attempted to establish this fact on the evidence of women in attendance, Catherine Tylney and Margaret Morton, this evidence dwindled to mere surmise. Tylney deposed that on two nights at Lincoln, the queen went to the room of Lady Rochford, and stayed late, but affirmed "on her peril that she never saw who came unto the queen and my Lady Rochford, nor heard what was said between them." Morton's evidence amounted only to this, that, at Pontefract, Lady Rochford conveyed letters between the queen and Culpepper, as was supposed; and one night when the king went to the queen's chamber, the door was bolted, and it was some time before he could be admitted. This circumstance must have been satisfactorily accounted for to Henry at the time, jealous person as he was, yet on such paltry grounds was it necessary to build the charge of criminal conduct in the queen.

On the 21st of January, 1542, a bill of attainder of Catherine Howard, late Queen of England, and of Jane, Lady Rochford, for high treason; of Agnes, Duchess of Norfolk, Lord William Howard, the Lady Bridgewater, and four men and five women, including Derham and Culpepper, already executed, was read in the Lords. On the 28th, the Lord Chancellor, impressed with a laudable sense of justice, proposed that a deputation of Lords and Commons should be allowed to wait on the queen to hear what she had to say for herself. He said it was but just that a queen, who was no mean or private person, but a public and illustrious one, should be tried by equal laws like themselves and thought it would be acceptable to the king himself if his consort could thus clear herself. But that did not suit Henry: he was resolved to be rid of his lately beloved model queen; and as there was no evidence whatever of any crime on her part against him, he did not mean that she should have any opportunity of being heard in her defence. The bill was, therefore, passed through Parliament, passing the Lords in three and the Commons in two days. On the 10th of February the queen was conveyed by water to the Tower, and the next day Henry gave his assent to the bill of attainder. The persons sent to receive the queen's confession were Suffolk, Cranmer, Southampton, Audley, and Thirlby. "How much she confessed to them," Burnet says, "is not very clear, neither by the journal nor the Act of Parliament, which only say she confessed." If she had confessed the crime alleged after marriage, that would have been made fully and officially known. Two days afterwards, February 12th, she was brought to the block.

Thus fell Catherine Howard in the bloom of her youth and beauty, being declared by an eye-witness to be the handsomest woman of her time, paying for youthful indiscretions the forfeit of her life to the king, though some think she had not sinned against him. So conscious was Henry of this, that he made it high treason, in the Act of Attainder, for any one to conceal any such previous misconduct in a woman whom the sovereign was about to marry. With Catherine fell the odious Lady Rochford, who had long deserved her fate, for her false and murderous evidence against her own husband and Anne Boleyn.

Having thus destroyed his fifth wife, Henry now turned his attention to the regulation of religious affairs and opinions. In 1539 he had attempted to set up a standard of orthodoxy by the publication of "The Institution of a Christian Man," or "The Bishops' Book," as it was called, because compiled by the bishops under his direction. After that he published his "Necessary Doctrine and Erudition for any Christian Man," which was called "The King's Book." In this it was observable that, instead of approaching nearer to the Protestant creed, he was going fast back into the strictest principles of Romanism. He had allowed the people to read the Bible, but he now declared that, though the reading of it was necessary to the teachers of religion, it was not so necessary for the learners; and he decreed, by Act of Parliament, that the Bible should not be read in public, or be seen in any private families but such as were of noble or gentle birth. It was not to be read privately by any but householders and women who were well-born. If any woman of the ordinary class, any artificer, apprentice, journeyman, servant, or labourer dared to read the Bible, he or she was to be imprisoned for one month.

Gardiner and the Papist party were more and more in the ascendant, and the timid Cranmer and the more liberal bishops were compelled not only to wink at these bigoted rules, but to order "The King's Book," containing all the dogmas which they held to be false and pernicious, to be published in every diocese, and to be the guide of every preacher. By this means it was hoped to quash the numerous new sects which were springing from the reading of the Bible, and the earnest discussions consequent upon it. Such a flood of new light had poured suddenly into the human mind, that it was completely dazzled by it. Opinion becoming in some degree free, ran into strange forms. There were Anabaptists, who held that every man ought to be guided by the direct inspiration of the Holy Ghost, and that, consequently, there was no need of king, judge, magistrate, or civil law, or war, or capital punishment. There were Antinomians, who contended that all things were free and allowable to the saints without sin. There were Fifth-Monarchy men; members of the Family of Love, or Davidians, from one David George, their leader; Arians, Unitarians, Predestinarians, Libertines, and other denominations, whom we shall find abundant in the time of the Commonwealth. What was strangest of all was to see King Henry, who would allow no man's opinion to be right but his own, and who burnt men for daring to differ from him, lecturing these contending sects on their animosities in his speech in Parliament, and bidding them "behold what love and charity there was amongst them, when one called another heretic and Anabaptist, and he called him again Papist, hypocrite, and pharisee;" and the royal peacemaker threatened to put an end to their quarrellings by punishing them all. During the four remaining years of his reign, he burnt or hanged twenty-four persons for religion—that is, six annually—fourteen of them being Protestants. During these years "The King's Book" was the only authorised standard of English orthodoxy.

It is now necessary to take a brief glance at the proceedings of Henry's government in Ireland and Wales, and towards Scotland. In the Principality of Wales the measures of the king were marked by a far wiser spirit than those which predominated in religion. Being descended from the natives of that country, it was natural that it should claim his particular attention. Wales at that time might be divided into two parts, one of which had been subjected by the English monarchs, and divided into shires, the other which had been conquered by different knights and barons, thence called the lords-marchers. The shires were under the royal will, but the hundred and forty-one small districts or lordships which had been granted to the petty conquerors, excluded the officers and writs of the king altogether. The lords, like so many counts palatine, exercised all sovereign rights within their own districts, had their own courts, appointed their own judges, and punished or pardoned offenders at pleasure. This opened up a source of the grossest confusion and impunity from justice; for criminals perpetrating offences in one district had only to move into another, and set the law at defiance. Henry, by enacting, in 1536, that the whole of Wales should thenceforth be incorporated with England, should obey the same laws and enjoy the same rights and privileges, did a great work. The Welsh shires, with one borough in each, were empowered to send members to Parliament, the judges were appointed solely by the Crown, and no lord was any longer allowed to pardon any treason, murder, or felony in his lordship, or to protect the perpetrators of such crimes. The same regulations were extended to the county palatine of Chester.

The proceedings of Henry in Ireland were equally energetic, if they were not always as just; and in the end they produced an equally improved condition of things there. Quiet and law came to prevail, though they prevailed with severity. On the accession of Henry to the throne, the portion of the island over which the English authority really extended was very limited indeed. It included merely the chief sea-ports, with the five counties of Louth, Westmeath, Dublin, Kildare, and Wexford. The rest of the country was almost independent of England, being in the hands of no less than ninety chieftains—thirty of English origin, and the rest native—who exercised a wild and lawless kind of sway, and made war on each other at will. Wolsey, in the height of his power, determined to reduce this Irish chaos to order. He saw that the main causes of the decay of the English authority lay in the perpetual feuds and jealousies of the families of Fitzgerald and Butler, at the head of which were the Earls of Kildare and of Ormond. The young Earl of Kildare, the chief of the Fitzgeralds, who succeeded his father in 1520, was replaced by the Earl of Surrey, afterwards the Duke of Norfolk, whom we have seen so disgracefully figuring in the affairs of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, his nieces. During the two years that he held the Irish government, he did himself great credit by the vigour of his administration, repressing the turbulence of the chiefs, and winning the esteem of the people by his hospitality and munificence.

Unfortunately for Ireland, Surrey had acquired great renown by his conduct under his father at Flodden, and when Henry, in 1522, declared war against France, he was deemed the only man fitted to take command of the army. The government of Ireland, on his departure, was placed in the hands of Butler, Earl of Ormond. In the course of ten years it passed successively from Ormond again to Kildare, from Kildare to Sir William Skeffington, and back for the third time to Kildare.

Kildare, relieved from the fear of Wolsey, who had now fallen, gave way to the exercise of such acts of extravagance, that his own friends attributed them to insanity. At the earnest recommendations, therefore, of his hereditary rivals, the Butlers, he was called to London in 1534, and sent to the Tower. Still, he had left his Irish government in the hands of his son, Lord Thomas Fitzgerald—a young man of only one-and-twenty, brave, generous, but with all the impetuosity of Irish blood. Hearing a false report that his father was beheaded in the Tower, young Fitzgerald flew to arms. He appeared at the head of 140 followers before the council, resigned the sword of State, and demanded war against Henry of England.

Cromer, the Archbishop of Armagh, earnestly entreated him not to plunge himself into a quarrel so hopeless as that with England; but in vain. The strains of an Irish minstrel, uttered in his native tongue, had more influence with him, for they called on him to revenge his father, to free Ireland; and the incensed youth flew to arms. For a time success attended him. He overran the rich district of Fingal; the natives flocked to his standard; the Irish minstrels, in wild songs, stirred the people to frenzy; and surprising Allen, the Archbishop of Dublin, on the very point of escaping to England, and supposed to be one of the accusers of the Earl of Kildare, they murdered him in presence of the young chief and his brothers. He then sent a deputation to Rome, offering, on condition that the Pope should give him the support of his sanction, to defend Ireland against an apostate prince, and to pay a handsome annual tribute to the Holy See. He sent ambassadors also to the Emperor, demanding assistance against the prince who had so grossly insulted him by divorcing his aunt, Queen Catherine. Five of his uncles joined him, but he was repulsed from the walls of Dublin. The strong castle of Maynooth was carried by assault by the new deputy, Sir William Skeffington; and in the month of October Lord Leonard Gray, the son of the Marquis of Dorset, arriving from England at the head of fresh forces, chased him into the fastnesses of Munster and Connaught. On hearing of this ill-advised rebellion, the poor Earl of Kildare, already stricken with palsy, sickened and died in the Tower.

Lord Gray did not trust simply to his arms in the difficult country into which the Fitzgeralds had retired; he employed money freely to bribe the natives, who led him through the defiles of the mountains, and the passable tracks of the morasses, into the retreats of the enemy. He found the county of Kildare almost entirely desolated. Six out of the eight baronies were burnt; and where this was not the case, the people had fled, leaving the corn in the fields. Meath also was ravaged; and the towns throughout the south of Ireland, besides the horrors of civil war, found fever and pestilence prevailing, Dublin itself being more frightfully decimated than the provincial towns. The English Government sent very little money to the troops, and left them to subsist by plunder; and they first seized all the cattle, corn, and provisions, and then laid waste the country by fire. By March, 1535, Lord Thomas Fitzgerald was reduced to such extremity that he wrote to Lord Gray, begging him to become intercessor between the king and himself. Lord Gray, there can be little doubt, promised Fitzgerald a full pardon, on which he surrendered. But Skeffington wrote to the king that, finding that O'Connor, his principal supporter, had come in and yielded, "the young traitor, Thomas Fitzgerald, had done the same, without condition of pardon of life, lands, and goods."

But this assertion is clearly contradicted by the council in Dublin, who wrote entreating the king to be merciful to the said Thomas, to whom they had given comfortable promises. O'Connor had been too wise to put himself into the power of Henry on the strength of any promises: he delivered only certain hostages as security for his good behaviour; but Lord Thomas was carried over to England by Lord Gray, where he was committed to the Tower. Gray was immediately sent back to Ireland, with the full command of the army there, and he was instructed above all things to secure the persons of the five uncles of Lord Fitzgerald. Accordingly, on the 14th of February, 1536, the council of Ireland sent to Cromwell, then minister, an exulting message, that Lord Gray, the chief justice, and others, had captured the five brethren, which they pronounced to be the "first deed that ever was done for the weal of the king's poor subjects of that land." They added, "We assure your mastership that the said lord justice, the treasurer of the king's wars, and such others as his grace put in trust in this behalf, have highly deserved his most gracious thanks for the politic and secret conveying of the matter." But the truth was, that this politic and secret management was one of the most disgraceful pieces of treachery which ever was transacted—the Fitzgeralds being seized at a banquet to which both parties had proceeded under the most solemn pledges of mutual faith. They were conveyed at once to London, and in February, 1537, the young earl and his five uncles were beheaded, after a long and cruel imprisonment in the Tower. Their unprincipled betrayer, however, did not long enjoy the fruits of his treachery. He was made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland as a reward for his dishonourable service, but was soon removed on charges of misconduct, committed to one of the very cells which his victims had occupied, and was beheaded on Tower Hill, as a traitor, on the 28th of June, 1541, ending his life, according to Godwin, very quietly and godlily. Gray certainly deserved better treatment from Henry; for, though his conduct was infamous to the Fitzgeralds, it was most useful to the English king. The rival factions of Fitzgeralds and Butlers continuing to resist the English power, Gray contended against them till, by his brilliant victory at Bellahoe, he broke the power of O'Neill, the northern chieftain, and confirmed the power of England. Yet, being uncle, by his sister, to the last surviving male heir of the Fitzgeralds—Gerald, the youngest brother of the unfortunate Lord Thomas, a boy of only twelve years of age—he was accused of favouring his escape, and all his services were forgotten by his ungrateful sovereign. The young Gerald Fitzgerald escaped to the Continent by the aid of a sea captain of St. Malo, and ultimately to Italy, where he lived under the patronage and protection of his kinsman, Cardinal Pole, till he eventually recovered the honours and estates of his ancestors, in the reign of Queen Mary, at the suggestion of the cardinal.

After the recall of Lord Gray, O'Connor, O'Neill, M'Murdo, and the O'Tooles excited fresh insurrections, but they were speedily put down, and in 1541 Anthony St. Leger found both the Irish chiefs and the lords of the pale eagerly outstripping each other in professions of loyalty. In 1541 Henry raised Ireland from the rank of a lordship to that of a kingdom, and granted letters patent to the Irish chiefs, by the advice of Sir Thomas Cusake, though unwillingly. Thus, by securing them in possession of their lands, and raising them to new honours, he gained their devoted attachment. Henry gave them houses in Dublin, which they were to inhabit when summoned as peers of the Irish Parliament. Ulick Burke was made Earl of Clanricarde, Murroch O'Brien Earl of Thomond, and the great O'Neill became henceforth known by his new title of Earl of Tyrone. The Irish council was instructed to proceed with the suppression of the monasteries, though cautiously, not urging the monks too rigorously, lest they stirred up opposition, but desirably persuading them that "the lands of the Church were his proper inheritance." These matters were so well carried out, that the ascendency of England had never appeared so firmly established since the first invasion of the island by Henry II.

In Scotland the French and Catholic party was all powerful. James V. married a French wife, Mary of Guise, in 1538, and in 1539 David Beaton succeeded his uncle, James Beaton, in the primacy, when the Pope, to add additional honours to so devoted a servant, presented him with a cardinal's hat. It was at this crisis that the Pope, acting in concert with France and Spain, sent Cardinal Pole to co-operate with the Scots in annoying Henry, and James being applied to by the Pontiff Paul, declared himself willing to unite with Francis I. and the Emperor in the endeavour to convert or punish the heretical English king. As if to show Henry that there was no prospect of any co-operation of James with him, the fires of persecution were kindled by Beaton and his coadjutors against the Protestants in that kingdom, and this again drove the Reformers to make common cause with the Earl of Angus and other Scottish exiles in England. Henry, to encourage the Protestants, and to warn James if possible, sent to him his rising diplomatist, Sir Ralph Sadler, who represented to James that Henry was much nearer related to him than were any of the Continental sovereigns, and who endeavoured to prevent there the publication of the bill of excommunication.

But it became necessarily a pitched battle between the Papist party in Scotland and Henry. They beheld with natural alarm his destruction of the Papal Church in England, an example of the most terrible kind to all other national churches of the same creed; and Henry, on the other hand, knew that so long as that faith was in the ascendant in Scotland, there would be no assured quiet in his own kingdom. It was the one proximate and exposed quarter through which the Pope and his abettors on the Continent could perpetually assail him. From this moment, therefore, Henry spared no money, no negotiation, no pains to break down the Roman Catholic ascendency in Scotland.

In the spring of 1541 Cardinal Beaton, and Panter, the Royal secretary, were despatched to Rome with secret instructions. This alarmed Henry, and yet afforded him a hope of making an impression on his nephew whilst the cardinal was away. Once more, therefore, he invited James to meet him at York. Lord William Howard, who was his envoy on the occasion, induced James to promise to meet Henry there, and we have seen him on his way accompanied by his bride, Catherine Howard, to the place of rendezvous. But James came not; and Henry, enraged, vowed that he would compel James by force to do that which he would not concede to persuasion.

The Romanist party in Scotland were better pleased with a hostile than a pacific position, for they greatly dreaded that Henry might at length warp the king's mind towards his own views. The leaders on both sides were, in fact, never at peace. On the one side, the exiled Douglases were always on the watch to recover their estates by their swords, and the fugitives in Scotland, on account of the Pilgrimage of Grace, were equally ready to fight their way back to their homes and fortunes. In the August of 1542, accordingly, there were sharp forays, first from one side of the Border, and then from the other. Sir James Bowes, the warden of the east marches, accompanied by Sir George Douglas, the Earl of Angus, and other Scottish exiles, and 3,000 horsemen, rushed into Teviotdale, when they were met at Haddenrig by the Earl of Huntly and Lord Home, who defeated them, and took 600 prisoners.

Henry, having issued a proclamation declaring the Scots the aggressors, ordered a levy of 40,000 men, and appointed the Duke of Norfolk the commander of this army. He was attended by the Earls of Shrewsbury, Derby, Cumberland, Surrey, Hertford, Rutland, with many others of the nobility. This imposing force was joined by the Earl of Angus and the rest of the banished Douglases who had escaped the slaughter at Haddenrig. After some delay at York the royal army, issuing a fresh proclamation, in which Henry claimed the crown of Scotland, advanced to Berwick, where it crossed into Scotland, and, advancing along the northern bank of the Tweed as far as Kelso, burned two towns and twenty villages. Norfolk did not venture to advance farther into the country, as he heard that James had assembled a powerful force, whilst Huntly, Home, and Seton were hovering on his flanks. He therefore contented himself with ravaging the neighbourhood, and then crossed again at Kelso into England.

James, indignant at the invasion and the injuries inflicted on his subjects, marched from the Burghmuir at Edinburgh, where he was encamped at the head of 30,000 men, in pursuit of the English. But he soon found that different causes paralysed his intended chastisement. Many of the nobles were in favour of the Reformation, and held this martial movement as a direct attempt to maintain the Papal power and the influence of Beaton and his party. Others were in secret league with the banished Douglases, who were on the English side; and there were not wanting those who sincerely advised a merely defensive warfare, and pointed out the evils which had always followed the pursuit of the English into their own country. They urged the fact that Norfolk and his army, destitute of provisions and suffering from the inclemency of the weather, were already in full retreat homewards. But James would not listen to these arguments; he burned to take vengeance on the English, and after halting on Fala Muir, and reviewing his troops, he gave the order to march in pursuit of Norfolk; but, to his consternation, he found that nearly every nobleman refused to cross the Border. They pleaded the lateness of the season, the want of provisions for the army, and the rashness of following the English into the midst of their own country, where another Flodden Field might await them.

James was highly exasperated at this defection, and denounced the leaders as traitors and cowards, pointing out to them their unpatriotic conduct, when they saw all around them the towns and villages burnt, the farms ravaged, and the people expelled or exterminated along the line of Norfolk's march. It was in vain that he exhorted or reproved them; they stole away from his standard, and the indignant king found himself abandoned by the chief body of his army. For himself, however, he disdained to give up the enterprise. He despatched Lord Maxwell with a force of 10,000 men to burst into the western marches, ordering him to remain in England laying waste the country as long as Norfolk had remained in Scotland. James himself awaited the event at Caerlaverock Castle; but, discontented with the movements of Lord Maxwell, whom he suspected of being infected by the spirit of the other insubordinate nobles, he sent his favourite, Oliver Sinclair, to supersede Lord Maxwell in the command.

This was an imprudent step, calculated to excite fresh discontent, as it very effectually did. The proud nobles who surrounded Maxwell threw down their arms, swearing that they would not serve under any such royal minion; the troops broke out into open mutiny; and in the midst of this confusion, a body of 500 English horse riding up under the Lords Dacre and Musgrave, the Scots believed it to be the vanguard of Norfolk's army, and fled in precipitate confusion. The English, charging furiously at this unexpected advantage, surrounded great numbers of the fugitives, and took 1,000 of them prisoners. All these were sent to London, and given into the custody of different English noblemen. Many of the prisoners were believed to surrender willingly, as disaffected men who were ready to sell their country to England; and others are said to have been seized by border freebooters, and sold to the enemy. This was the battle of Solway Moss.

The king was so overwhelmed with grief and resentment at this disgraceful defeat, through the disloyalty of his nobility, that he returned to Edinburgh in deep dejection. From Edinburgh he proceeded to the palace of Falkland, where he shut himself up, brooding on his misfortunes; and such hold did this take upon him, that he began to sink rapidly in health. He was in the prime of his life, being only in his thirty-first year; of a constitution hitherto vigorous, having scarcely known any sickness; but his agonised mind producing fever of body, he seemed hastening rapidly to the grave. At this crisis his wife was confined. She had already borne him two sons, who had died in their infancy, and an heir might now have given a check to his melancholy; but it proved a daughter—the afterwards celebrated and unfortunate Queen of Scots. On hearing that it was a daughter, he turned himself in his bed, saying, "The crown came with a woman, and it will go with one. Many miseries await this poor kingdom. Henry will make it his own, either by force of arms or by marriage." On the seventh day after the birth of Mary, he expired, December 14th, 1542.

No sooner did Cardinal Beaton and his party learn that the king had expired than, guessing all that Henry and his party in Scotland would attempt, they took measures to secure the young queen and the sovereign power. Beaton produced a will as that of James, appointing him regent and guardian of the young queen, assisted by a council of the Earls of Argyll, Huntly, and Murray. The Earl of Arran, James Hamilton, on the other hand, declared this will to be a forgery, and being himself the next heir to the throne, after the infant queen, he assumed the right to make himself her guardian, and to order the kingdom for her. By means of the Protestant nobles, as well as the vassals of his own house, and the prevailing opinion that Beaton had forged the will, Arran succeeded in establishing himself as regent on the 22nd of December, 1542, and the Protestant influence was in the ascendant. It was now conceded that Angus and the Douglases should be recalled from their exile, and they quitted England in the following January, the Earl of Arran giving them a safe-conduct.

It was a deadly warfare between the Protestant and Papal parties. A list of 360 of the nobles and gentry was produced by Arran, which was said to have been found on the person of the king, all of whom were proscribed as heretics, and doomed to confiscation of their estates and other punishments. This list, which the Romanists in their turn denounced as forged, was vehemently charged on Beaton, who was said to have drawn it up when the heads of the army refused to march into England. The Earl of Arran himself stood at the head of the list. The cardinal, who saw the imminent danger of his cause and party, despatched trusty agents to France to solicit instant aid in money and troops, to defend the interests and guard the persons of the queen-dowager, Mary of Guise, and the royal infant. To hasten the movements of the house of Guise, he represented the certain dependence of Scotland on England if the king of England succeeded in accomplishing the marriage of the infant queen with his son.

To silence the cardinal, he was seized and incarcerated in the castle of Blackness, under the care of Lord Seton; and a negotiation was actively carried on through Sir Ralph Sadler for the marriage of the infant queen and the Prince of Wales. It was agreed that Mary should remain in Scotland till she was ten years of age; that she should then be sent to England to be educated; that six Scottish noblemen should be at once delivered to Henry as hostages for the fulfilment of the contract; and when the union of the two kingdoms should take place, Scotland should retain all its own laws and privileges.

But though Beaton was in prison, his spirit was abroad. The clergy had the highest faith in the talents and influence of the cardinal. They considered his liberation as necessary to avert the ruin of their party, and they put in motion all their machinery for rousing the people. They shut up the churches, and refused to administer the sacraments or bury the dead; and the priests and monks were thus set at liberty from all other duties to harangue and influence the passions of the people. Everywhere it was declared that Arran, the regent, had formed a league with Angus and the Douglases, who had been so long in England, to sell the country and the queen to England under the pretence of a marriage; that this was what the English monarchs had long been seeking; and that not only the Douglases, but Arran himself, were pensioned by Henry for the purpose. That this was but too true, the State Papers amply prove. Henry and his successors spared no money for this end; and the traitorous bargaining of a great number of the Scottish nobles with the English monarchs stands too well evidenced under their own hands.

At this juncture Cardinal Beaton managed to escape from his prison, from which he had never ceased to correspond with and inspirit his party. How he came to escape has been considered a mystery; but perhaps that mystery is not very deep when we reflect that Lord Seton, in whose custody he was, was a man, though related to the Hamiltons, yet of a most loyal temper, and a decided Romanist. Seton negotiated with Beaton to give up his castle of St. Andrews; and, as if this could not be accomplished without the cardinal's presence on the spot, Seton allowed him to accompany him, but with so small a force, that the moment the cardinal stood in his own castle he declared himself at liberty, and Seton had no power to say nay had he wished it. As no punishment or even censure befell Lord Seton on this account, it is most probable that Arran himself was cognisant of the scheme. What makes this more likely is that Hamilton, the abbot of Paisley, the natural brother of Arran, the Regent, had returned just before from France; and that he was at the bottom of the plot may not unreasonably be supposed, from the fact that he very soon exercised a powerful influence over the weaker mind of the Regent. Through the means of the abbot, Beaton even attempted to accommodate matters with Henry. He declared that he was sincerely desirous of the union of the young queen and the Prince of Wales, so that there should be peace between the countries, yet a peace preserving the independence of each. But this independence of Scotland was the very thing which Henry was determined to annihilate, and he pressed his desires for it with such violence that all hopes of an amicable arrangement vanished.

Arran, alienated from the English Government by the imperious demands of Henry, and alarmed at the progress of the Papist faction, took care to proclaim his resolute resolve to oppose the aims of Henry, even to the extremity of war, and he dismissed his Protestant chaplains, friar Williams and John Rough; and such was the spirit of the people that Glencairn and Cassillis, the most devoted partisans of England, declared that they would sooner die than agree to the surrender of the French alliance. Such, in fact, was the popular exasperation that Sadler dared not appear in the streets; and the peers in the interest of Henry were equally the objects of the public resentment.

To induce Henry to pause in his fatal career, Sir George Douglas hastened to London, and prevailed on him to abate the extravagance of his demands. The immediate delivery of the infant queen, the surrender of the fortresses and of the Government into the hands of Henry, were waived, and Douglas returned to Scotland, bearing proposals of marriage of a more reasonable kind. Henry, however, did not abandon his schemes in secret. In the Public Record office there is a memorandum in the hand of Wriothesley, saying that "the articles be so reasonable, that if the ambassadors of Scotland will not agree to them, then it shall be mete the king's majesty follow out his purpose by force." Sir George Douglas renewed the offer formerly made by Henry to Arran, of marrying the Princess Elizabeth and his eldest son, and Sir George and Glencairn were sent to London to assist the ambassadors in bringing the negotiation to a close.

But Arran was assailed as vehemently on the other side by the cardinal, and the queen-dowager, who was the real head of the party. They sent Lennox to endeavour to win him over to their side, so that all Scotland might unite against Henry. Lennox delivered a very flattering message from Francis I. to the Regent, offering him both men and money to resist any attempt of invasion by the English; but this failing, the queen-dowager and Beaton prosecuted the negotiation with France, and it was agreed that 2,000 men, under Montgomerie, Sieur de Lorges, should be sent to Scotland. The queen and cardinal called on their partisans to assemble their followers and garrison their castles, whilst Grimani, the Pope's legate, was entreated to hasten to Scotland with a formidable store of anathemas and excommunications. The clergy assembled in convention at St. Andrews, and so ardent were they in the cause which they believed to be that of the very existence of the Church, that they pledged themselves to raise the sum required for the war against England, and, if necessary, not only to melt down the church plate, and to sacrifice their private fortunes, but to fight in person.

Whilst public opinion was in this state of fermentation, Henry VIII., irritated at the conduct of the cardinal and a large body of the nobles, committed one of those rash and foolish acts, into which the wild fury of his temper often precipitated him. After the proclamation of peace, a fleet of Scottish merchant vessels, driven by a storm, took refuge in an English port, where, under the recent treaty, they deemed themselves safe. But Henry had just proclaimed war on France and, making that a pretence, he accused them of carrying provisions to his enemies, and detained them. At this outrage the people of Edinburgh surrounded the house of Sadler the English ambassador, and threatened to burn him in it if the ships were not restored. Arran, the governor, came in for his share of the odium as the staunch ally of Henry; and the common friends of Arran and Henry, the traitorous faction of Angus, Cassillis, Glencairn, and the other barons under secret bond to England, proposed to call out their forces for immediate war. These base sons of a brave country asserted that the time was come for Henry to send a great army into Scotland, with which they would co-operate, "for the conquest of the realm."

Everything boded the immediate outbreak of a bloody war, when a surprising revolution took place. On the 3rd of September, Arran declared to Sir Ralph Sadler that he was devotedly attached to the interests of Henry, and within a week afterwards he met the cardinal at Callender House, the seat of Lord Livingston, and entered into a complete reconciliation with him. A short time before Beaton had refused to hold any intercourse with him for fear of his life, and now he was seen riding amicably with him towards Stirling. This singular exhibition was followed by Arran's renunciation of Protestantism; his return, with full absolution, into communion with the Roman Church; his surrender of the treaties with England, and the delivery of his son as a pledge of his sincerity. So marvellous a conversion must have had powerful causes, and they are only to be explained by the weakness of Arran's character, and the artful and alarming representations of his more able brother, the abbot of Paisley. This zealous partisan of both France and the cardinal is said to have persuaded him that by renouncing the Papal supremacy, and allying himself with the arch-enemy of Rome, Henry of England, he was running imminent danger of the total loss of his titles, estates, and claim to the Regency, which could only be maintained by the Pope declaring valid the divorce of his father from his former wife. All Scotland was now united in its enmity to England.

The year 1544 found Henry bent on war both with Scotland and France. Francis had deeply offended him by disapproving of his divorce and murder of Anne Boleyn, and by his refusal to follow his advice in repudiating his allegiance to the Pope. Francis had declared that he was Henry's friend, but only as far as the altar. Charles V., aggravated as had been the conduct of Henry towards him, by his divorce of his aunt Catherine, and the stigma of illegitimacy which he had cast on her daughter the Princess Mary, was yet by no means displeased to observe the growing differences between Henry and his rival Francis. He, therefore, like a genuine politician, dropped his resentment on account of Catherine, and professed to believe that it was time to bury these remembrances in oblivion. The only obstacle to peace between them was the declared illegitimacy and exclusion from the succession of Mary. Henry lost no time in getting over this point. He had no need to confess himself wrong; he had a staunch Parliament who would do anything he required. Parliament, therefore, passed an Act restoring both Mary and Elizabeth to their political rights. Nothing was said of their illegitimacy, but they were restored to their place in the succession. Thus the Parliament had gone backward and forward at Henry's bidding to such an extent that now it was treason to assert the legitimacy of the princesses, and it was treason to deny it; for if they were illegitimate they could not claim the throne. It was treason to be silent, according to the former Act on this head, and it was now treason to refuse to take an oath on it when required. To such infamy did honourable members of Parliament stoop under this extraordinary despot.

This sorry compromise having been accepted by the necessities rather than the will of the Emperor, Henry and he now made a treaty on these terms: 1st, That they should jointly require the French king to renounce his alliance with the Turks, and to make reparation to the Christians for all the losses which they had sustained in consequence of that alliance; 2nd, That Francis should be compelled to pay up to the King of England the arrears of his pension, and give security for a more punctual payment in future; 3rd, That if Francis did not comply with these terms within forty days, the Emperor should seize the duchy of Burgundy, Henry all the territories of France which had belonged to his ancestors, and that both monarchs should be ready to enforce their claims at the head of a competent army.

As Francis refused to listen to these terms, and would not even permit the messengers of the newly allied sovereigns to cross his frontiers, the Emperor, who was now desirous of recovering the towns which he had lost in Flanders, obtained from Henry a reinforcement of 6,000 men under Sir John Wallop, who laid siege to Landrecies; whilst Charles himself, with a still greater force, overran the duchy of Cleves, and compelled the duke, the devoted partisan of France, to acknowledge the Imperial allegiance. Charles then marched to the siege of Landrecies, and Francis approached at the head of a large army. A great battle now appeared inevitable; but Francis, manœuvring as for a fight, contrived to throw provisions into the town and withdrew. Imperialists and English pursued the retiring army; and the English, by too much impetuosity, suffered considerable loss. Henry promised himself more decided advantage in the next campaign, which he intended to conduct in person. This he had not been able to make illustrious by his presence; for he had been busily engaged with his approaching marriage to a sixth wife.

The lady who had this time been elevated to this perilous eminence was the Lady Catherine Latimer, the widow of Lord Latimer, already mentioned for his concern in the Pilgrimage of Grace. She was born Catherine Parr, a daughter of Sir Thomas Parr. She was fourth cousin to Henry himself, and had been twice married previous to his wedding her. She was the widow of Lord Borough, of Gainsborough, at fifteen, and was about thirty when Henry married her, only a few months after the death of her second husband, Lord Latimer.

Catherine Parr, as she still continues to be called, was educated under the care of her mother at Kendal Castle, and received a very learned education for a woman of those times. She read and wrote Latin fluently, had some knowledge of Greek, and was mistress of several modern languages. She is said to have been handsome, but of very small and delicate features. At all times she appears to have been of remarkable thoughtfulness and prudence, extremely amiable, and became thoroughly devoted to Protestantism; and she may, indeed, justly be styled the first Protestant Queen of England, for Anne of Cleves, though educated in the Protestant faith, became a decided Papist in this country. It was not till after the death of Lord Latimer that her Protestant tendencies, however, were known; yet then, she seems to have made no secret of them, for her house became the resort of Coverdale, Latimer, Parkhurst, and other eminent Reformers, and sermons were frequently preached in her chamber of state, which it is surprising did not attract the attention of the king. The marriage took place on the 12th of July, 1543, in the queen's closet at Hampton Court.

The spring of 1544 opened with active preparations for Henry's campaign in France. During the winter, Gonzaga, the viceroy of Sicily, was despatched to London by Charles, to arrange the plan of operations. An admirable one was devised, had Henry been the man to assist in carrying it out. The emperor was to enter France by Champagne, and Henry by Picardy, and, instead of staying to besiege the towns on the route, they were to dash on to Paris where, their forces uniting, they might consider themselves masters of the French capital, or in a position to dictate terms to Francis. In May the Imperialists were in the field, and Henry landed at Calais in June, and by the middle of July he was within the bounds of France, at the head of 20,000 English and 15,000 Imperialists.

But neither of the invaders kept to the original plan. Charles stopped by the way to reduce Luxembourg, Ligne, and St. Didier. Had Henry, however, pushed on with his imposing army to Paris, Francis would have been at the mercy of the allies. But Henry, ambitious to rival the military successes of Charles, and take towns too, instead of making the capital his object, turned aside to besiege Boulogne and Montreuil. The Imperial ambassador, sensible of the fatality of this proceeding, urged Henry with all his eloquence during eleven days to push on: and Charles, to take from him any further excuse for delay, hastened forward along the right bank of the Marne, avoiding all the fortified towns. But when once Henry had undertaken an object, opposition only increased his resolution, and he lost all consciousness of everything but the one idea of asserting his mastery. In vain, therefore, did Charles send messengers imploring him to advance; for more than two months he continued besieging Boulogne, and the golden opportunity was lost.

Francis seized on the delay to make terms with Charles. He sent to him a Spanish monk of the name of Guzman, and a near relative of Charles's confessor, proposing terms of accommodation. Charles readily listened to them, and sent to Henry to learn his demands. These demands were something enormous, and whilst Francis demurred, Charles continued his march, and arrived at Château-Thierry, almost in the vicinity of Paris. The circumstances of both Francis and Charles now mutually inclined them to open separate negotiations. Francis saw a foreign army menacing his capital, but Charles, on the other hand, saw the French army constantly increasing between him and his strange ally, whom nothing could induce to move from the walls of Boulogne. Under these circumstances Charles consented to offer Francis the terms which he had demanded before the war, and which he had refused; but now came the news that the English had taken Boulogne, and the French king at once accepted them. The Treaty of Crépy, as this was called, bound the two sovereigns to unite for the defence of Christendom against the Turks, and to unite their families by the marriage of the second son of Francis with a daughter of Charles. Henry, on his part, having placed a strong garrison in Boulogne, raised the siege of Montreuil, and returned to England, like a great conqueror, as he always did, from his distant campaigns.

By the end of April a scheme to assassinate Cardinal Beaton, of which Henry was cognisant, having failed, he was prepared to pour on Scotland the vial of his murderous wrath. A fleet of a hundred sail, under the command of Lord Lisle, the High Admiral of England, appeared suddenly in the Forth. The Scots seem to have by no means been dreaming of such a visitant, and it threw the capital into the greatest consternation. In four days, such was the absence of preparation, such the public paralysis, that Hertford was permitted to land his troops and his artillery without the sight of a single soldier. He had advanced from Granton to Leith when Arran and the cardinal threw themselves in his way with a miserable handful of followers, who were instantly dispersed and Leith was given up to plunder.

The citizens of Edinburgh, finding themselves deserted by the governor, flew to arms, under the command of Otterburn of Redhall, the provost of the city. Otterburn proceeded to the English camp and, obtaining an interview with Lord Hertford, complained of this unlooked-for invasion, and offered to accommodate all differences. But Hertford returned a haughty answer that he was not come to negotiate, for which he had no power, but to lay waste town and country with fire and sword unless the young queen were delivered to him. The people of Edinburgh, on hearing this insolent message, vowed to perish to a man rather than condescend to such baseness. They set about to defend their walls and sustain the attack of the enemy; but they found that Otterburn, who had tampered secretly with the English before this, had stolen unobserved away. They appointed a new provost, and manned their walls so stoutly that they compelled Hertford to fetch up his battering ordnance from Leith. Seeing very soon that it was impossible to defend their gates from this heavy ordnance, they silently collected as much of their property as they could carry, and abandoned the town. Hertford took possession of it; and then sought to reduce the castle. But finding this useless, he set fire to the city; and, reinforced by 4,000 horse, under Lord Eure, he employed himself in devastating the surrounding country with a savage ferocity, which no doubt had been commanded by the bitter malice of the English king.

On the 15th of May, Arran, having assembled a considerable force, and liberated Angus and his brother, Sir George Douglas, in the hope of winning them over by such clemency, marched rapidly towards Edinburgh. The English, however, did not wait for his arrival. Lord Lisle embarked a portion of the troops at Leith again, and Lord Hertford led away the remainder by land. Both by land and water the English commanders continued their buccaneering outrages, doing all the mischief and inflicting all the misery they could. Lord Lisle seized the two largest Scottish vessels in the harbour of Leith, and burnt the rest; he then sailed along the coast, plundering and destroying all the villages and country within reach. Lord Hertford, on his part, laid Port Seaton, Haddington, Renton, and Dunbar in ashes, and returned into England, leaving behind him a trail of desolation. Such was the insane and ridiculous manner in which Henry VIII. wooed the little Queen of Scotland for his son. A border war ensued, and Scotland was mercilessly ravaged.

Francis I. could not rest satisfied so long as Boulogne was in the hands of the English, and he resolved in 1545, to make a grand effort to recover not only that town but Calais, which had been for centuries in the possession of England. Large galleys were built at Rouen, and as many vessels were collected as possible from Marseilles and other ports in the Mediterranean for this enterprise. He hired soldiers from the Venetian and other Italian States, and he determined to send a body of troops to Scotland to assist in making a diversion in that country. But he was not contented with endeavouring to regain his own towns; his coasts had often been harassed by the English vessels, and he now ventured to carry the war to Henry's own shores. Henry, aware of his intentions, raised fortifications on the banks of the Thames, and along the shores of Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire. The French fleet, consisting of 130 ships, set sail on the 16th of July, and fell down the Channel. Francis flattered himself that he could seize the Isle of Wight, and perhaps maintain garrisons there, if he should not be able to get possession of Portsmouth. Henry had himself proceeded to Portsmouth, where he had sixty ships lying, under the command of Lord Lisle. The French fleet sailed into the Solent, and anchored at St. Helen's. The sea being very calm, the French admiral put out his flat-bottomed boats and galleys that drew little water, and sailed into the very mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, daring the English admiral to come out. But Henry commanded Lord Lisle to lie still. The French admiral, firing into the port, sank the Mary Rose with her commander, Sir George Carew, and 700 men. On the turn of the tide Lord Lisle bore down on the enemy, and sank a galley with its men, and the French vessels then bore away to the main fleet.

As the French could not provoke the English to come out of harbour, though they burned the villages and farmhouses along the coast, they held a council of war, and resolved to attempt the conquest of the Isle of Wight. The invasion of the island was essayed in three places, but the inhabitants repulsed with great spirit the soldiers as they landed; and, after committing some ravages, the French thought it best to retire. They then sailed along the coast of Sussex, making occasional descents, and finally anchored before Boulogne, to prevent the entrance of supplies for the army there. Another object was to hinder reinforcements of ships from the Thames reaching Portsmouth, but in both these endeavours the superior vigilance of the English prevailed; provisions were conveyed into Boulogne, and a reinforcement of thirty ships arrived at Portsmouth. At length Lord Lisle received orders from Henry to put to sea and attack the enemy; he expressed himself highly delighted, but nothing came of it, for the two fleets manœuvred for some time in the face of each other, exchanged a few shots, and then retired to their respective ports. And thus ended the boastful enterprise of Francis. Henry, as we have seen, had only succeeded in capturing Boulogne, and was accordingly glad to make peace with Francis in 1546, on terms fairly advantageous to England.

As Scotland was included in the peace with France, the French party appeared to be entirely triumphant. But Beaton's end was near, and it was hastened on by his religious persecutions. Notwithstanding the endeavours of Cardinal Beaton, and the apostacy of Arran, the Reformation had now made great progress in Scotland, and it was while the struggle was going on between the party of Angus and the party of the cardinal, backed by the money and the arms of England, that there came upon the scene the remarkable preacher, George Wishart. Wishart is supposed to have been the son of James Wishart of Pitarro, justice-clerk to James V., and he was patronised by John Erskine, Provost of Montrose. In Montrose he became master of a school, and was expelled for teaching Greek to his boys, avowedly as the original tongue of the New Testament. He fled to England, and in Bristol was condemned as a heretic for preaching against the offering of prayers to the Virgin. He then recanted to avoid death, but remained some years in England, returning to all and more than the opinions he had renounced in sight of the fagot. He boldly preached the insufficiency of outward ceremonies when the heart itself was not touched. He admitted only the sacraments recorded in the Scriptures; derided auricular confession; condemned the invocation of saints and the doctrine of purgatory, though he approved of fasting, and maintained that the Lord's Supper was a Divine and comfortable institution. The doctrines, conduct, and corruptions of his opponents he denounced with unsparing severity.

These traits had made him a welcome agent of opposition to the cardinal with the lords of the English party; and Beaton, at once hostile to his religious views and to him personally, as the ally of those who were seeking his life by the most abominable means, soon turned his resentment upon him. Twice he is said to have escaped from the emissaries of the cardinal lying in wait to seize him. How far he was aware of the plots and mercenary villainy of those about him is uncertain; but living in the very midst of the traitor lords, and often under the very roof of the busy agent of Beaton's proposed murder, Brunston, he was so far cognisant of the preparations for the invasion of Scotland and the destruction of the cardinal's party, that he frequently announced in his sermons the approach of the horrors which at length arrived, and thus acquired the reputation of a prophet. Under the protection of the Angus party, he preached in the towns of Montrose, Dundee, Perth, and Ayr, and produced such a spirit of hostility to the old religion, that at Dundee the houses of the Black and Grey Friars were destroyed, and similar attempts were made in Edinburgh.

While the friends of Wishart were seeking the life of Beaton, Beaton, aware of this, was seeking the life of Wishart, and Wishart in his addresses to the people repeatedly declared that he should perish a martyr to the cause of truth. At length Cassillis and the gentlemen of Kyle and Cunningham sent for him to meet them at Edinburgh, where they proposed that he should have an opportunity for public disputation with the bishop. Wishart proceeded to the capital where, Cassillis and the confederates not having arrived, he soon began to preach to the people, under the protection of the barons of Lothian. At Leith, Sir George Douglas bore public testimony to the truth of his doctrine, and declared his resolution to protect the preacher. There, too, he converted John Knox, who was destined to establish the Reformation in Scotland.

In the midst of these proceedings arrived the cardinal and the governor in Edinburgh, and Beaton lost no time in endeavouring to secure the person of the popular apostle. Brunston removed Wishart to West Lothian to be out of the way till the arrival of Cassillis, who was the chief conspirator against the cardinal; but Wishart was not a man to lie concealed. He preached in the very face of danger, though a two-handed sword was constantly borne before him on these occasions; and at length, after a remarkable sermon at Haddington, where he prognosticated deep miseries about to fall upon the country, he took leave affectionately of his audience, and set out for the house of Ormiston, accompanied by Brunston, Sandilands of Calder, and Ormiston. That night the house of Ormiston was surrounded by a party of horse under the command of the Earl of Bothwell. Wishart, Sandilands, and Cockburn were seized. Cockburn and Sandilands were conducted to the castle of Edinburgh, Wishart to Hailes, the house of Bothwell, who for some time refused to give him up to the cardinal, but at length did so under promise of a great reward. Brunston had managed to escape.

Beaton was anxious to have Wishart tried and condemned on a civil charge; but to this Arran would not consent, and the cardinal was therefore obliged to forego his vengeance, or arraign him as a heretic. He was sentenced to be burnt, and this sentence was carried out at St. Andrews, on the 28th of March, 1546. In this execution the cardinal's malice far outran his usually sound policy. Nothing could be more mischievous to his own cause than the murder of Wishart. Till then, the people, whatever their religious opinions, regarded the political views of Beaton as patriotic, and they supported him as the great bulwark against the power and designs of England. But now they regarded him as a horrible persecutor, and they shrank from him and his power fell. The meekness and patience with which Wishart, whom they now honoured with the name of martyr, bore his horrible fate, made a lasting impression on the public mind.

While the people thus unequivocally condemned this barbarous deed, and only the more eagerly inquired into the principles of the sufferer, the immediate confederates against the cardinal found in this event a grand warrant for carrying out their own murderous intentions. Cassillis, Glencairn, and the rest of the nobles had delayed the desperate deed, because they could not extract from Henry a distinct statement of the pay they were to receive for it. But now Norman Leslie, the Earl of Rothes, and John Leslie, his uncle, began to vow publicly that they would have the blood of Beaton as an atonement for that of the martyred Wishart. They opened anew an active correspondence with England, and associated themselves with a number of others who were exasperated at the cardinal's deed.

On the other hand, the partisans of Beaton lauded him to the skies as the saviour of the Church in Scotland, and strong in the alliance of France and the late ill-success of the English party, the cardinal appeared to enjoy a season of triumph; but it was a triumph quickly quenched in blood. Elated with his temporary success, the cardinal made a progress into Angus, and celebrated the marriage of one of his natural daughters, Margaret Béthune, to David Lindsay, Master of Crawford, at Finhaven Castle, bestowing upon her a dowry worthy of a princess. The cardinal was disturbed in his festivities by the news that Henry VIII. was pushing on his preparations for a new invasion, and he hastened to St. Andrews to put his castle into a perfect state of defence. On his arrival he summoned the barons of the neighbouring coast to consult on the best means of fortifying it against any attack of the enemy. But while thus busily engaged in warding off the assault of a foreign enemy, a domestic foe was eagerly at work close at hand for his destruction. The Laird of Brunston was stimulating Henry to give the necessary assurance to those who were ready at a word to plunge the sword into the body of the cardinal. A quarrel arising between Beaton and the Leslies brought the matter to a crisis. Norman Leslie, the Master of Rothes, had given up to Beaton the estate of Easter Wemyss and, at a meeting in St. Andrews, had found the cardinal indisposed to make the promised equivalent for it. High words arose, and Leslie hastened to his uncle John; and both of them deeming that there was no longer any safety after the words Norman Leslie in his rage had let fall, they immediately summoned their confederates, and resolved to put the cardinal to death without delay.

On the evening of the 28th of May, Norman Leslie, attended by five followers, entered the city of St. Andrews, and rode, without exciting any suspicion, in his usual manner to his inn. Kirkaldy of Grange was awaiting him there, and after nightfall, John Leslie, whose enmity to Beaton was most notorious, stole quietly in and joined them. At daybreak the next morning, Norman Leslie and three of his attendants entered the gates of the castle court, the porter having lowered the drawbridge to admit the workmen who were employed on the cardinal's fresh fortifications. Norman inquired if the cardinal were yet up, as if he had business with him; and while he held the porter in conversation, Kirkaldy of Grange, James Melville, and their followers entered unobserved; but presently the porter, catching sight of John Leslie crossing the bridge, instantly suspected treason, and attempted to raise the drawbridge; but Leslie was too nimble for him; he leaped across the gap, and the conspirators, closing round the porter, despatched him with their daggers, seized the keys, and threw the body into the fosse, without any noise or alarm. They then proceeded to dismiss the workmen as quietly from the castle, and Kirkaldy, who was well acquainted with the castle, stationed himself at the only postern through which an escape could be made. The conspirators then went to the apartments of the different gentlemen composing the household of the cardinal, awoke them, and, under menace of instant death if they made any noise, conducted them silently out of the castle and dismissed them. Thus were 150 workmen and fifty household servants removed without any commotion by this little band of sixteen determined men, and, the portcullis being dropped, they remained masters of the castle.

The cardinal, who had slept through the greater part of this time, at length awoke at the unusual bustle, threw open his chamber window and demanded the cause of it. The reply was that Norman Leslie had taken the castle, on which the cardinal rushed to the postern to escape; but finding it in possession of Kirkaldy, he returned as rapidly to his chamber and, assisted by a page, pushed the heaviest furniture against the door to defend the entrance till an alarm could be given. But the conspirators did not allow him time for that. They called for fire to burn down the door, and Beaton, finding resistance useless, threw open the door, when John Leslie and Carmichael rushed upon him, as he cried for mercy, and stabbed him in several places. Melville, however, with a mockery of justice, bade them desist, saying that though the deed was done in secret, it was an act of national justice not that of mercenary assassins, and must be executed with all due decorum. Then, turning the point of the sword towards the wretched cardinal, he said, with formal gravity, "Repent thee, thou wicked cardinal, of all thy sins and iniquities, especially of the murder of Wishart, that instrument of God for the conversion of these lands. It is his death which now cries for vengeance on thee. We are sent by God to inflict the deserved punishment. For here, before the Almighty, I protest that it is neither hatred of thy person, nor love of thy riches, nor fear of thy power, which moves me to seek thy death; but only because thou hast been, and still remainest, an obstinate enemy to Christ Jesus and His holy Gospel." With that he plunged his sword repeatedly into the prelate's body, and laid him dead at his feet.

The death of Cardinal Beaton was at the same time the death-blow to the Church in Scotland. Though he was a man of corrupt moral life and of a persecuting disposition, he was one of the most able men of his time, and resisted the designs of Henry for the subjugation of his native country, with a vigour and perseverance which made Henry feel that whilst he lived Scotland was independent. The death of Beaton, so ardently desired, and so highly paid for by Henry, did not, however, bring him nearer to the reduction of the country, or the accomplishment of his son's marriage with the queen. On the contrary, so intense was the hatred of him and of England, which his tyrannic and detestable conduct had created in every rank and class of the Scottish people, that these objects were now farther off than ever. Henry's own embarrassments were, in consequence of his Scottish and French wars, become so intolerable, that he was compelled, as we have already seen (p. 198), to make peace with France in the month of June, by a treaty called the Treaty of Boulogne, and to agree to deliver up Boulogne, on condition that Francis paid up the arrears of his pension, and to submit a claim of 500,000 crowns upon him to arbitration. Francis took care to have Scotland included in the peace, and Henry bound himself not to interfere with it except on receiving some fresh provocation.

Henry was now drawing to a close of that life which might have been so splendid, and which he had made so horrible. To the last moment he was employed in base endeavours to elude the peace which he had submitted to with Scotland; in the struggles between the two great religious factions, and in still further shocking executions for treason and heresy. Henry himself was become in mind and person a most loathsome object. A life of vile pleasures, and furious and unrestrained passions, succeeded, as other appetites decayed, by a brutal habit of gormandising, had swollen him to an enormous size, and made his body one huge mass of corruption. The ulcer in his leg had become revoltingly offensive; his weight and helplessness were such that he could not pass through any ordinary door, nor be removed from one part of the house to another, except by the aid of machinery and by the help of numerous attendants. The constant irritation of his festering legs made his terrible temper still more terrible.

Of those about him, his queen, Catherine Parr, had the most miraculous escape. With wonderful patience, she had borne his whims, his rages, and his offensive person. She had shown an affectionate regard for his children, and had assisted with great wisdom in the progress of their education, living all the time as with a sword suspended over her head by a hair. She was devotedly attached to the Reformed principles, and loved to converse with sincere Protestants. She had made Miles Coverdale her almoner, and rendered him every assistance in his translation of the Bible. She employed the learned Nicholas Udal, Master of Eton, to edit the translations of Erasmus's "Paraphrases on the Four Gospels," which, according to Strype, she published at her own cost. Stimulated by her example, many ladies of rank pursued the study of the learned languages and of Scriptural knowledge.

Of this school, and one of Catherine's own pupils, was Lady Jane Grey; and another lovely and noble victim, Anne Askew, whose turn it was to fall under the destroying hand of Henry VIII. at this moment, was highly esteemed and encouraged by her. She was tortured and then burnt (July 6, 1546) for denying the Real Presence, and it is said that the Chancellor Wriothesley assisted in the application of the rack in the hope of wringing a confession from her.

An attempt to involve the Queen in similar charges was a complete failure, and Henry never forgave Gardiner for this attempt to deprive him of his true wife and unrivalled nurse. Catherine is said to have treated these her deadly enemies with great magnanimity; but she seems to have become quite aware that Gardiner's was the daring hand that was lifted to ruin her with the king, and it was probably this clear understanding between the king and queen which destroyed Gardiner's influence with Henry for ever. Henry struck Gardiner's name out of the list of his council, and on perceiving him one day on the terrace at Windsor amongst the other courtiers, he turned fiercely on Wriothesley, and said, "Did I not command you that he should come no more amongst you?" "My Lord of Winchester," replied the chancellor, "has come to wait upon your highness with the offer of a benevolence from his clergy." That was a deeply politic stroke of Gardiner's; he knew that if anything could redeem the lost favour of Henry, it was a sacrifice to his avarice next to his vanity. Henry took the money, but turned away from the bishop without a word or a look, and immediately struck his name from amongst his executors, as well as that of Thirlby, Bishop of Westminster, who, he said, was schooled by Gardiner. A deadly feud had grown up between the house of Seymour and the house of Howard. The house of Howard was old, and proud, not only of its ancient lineage, but of its grand deeds. The glory of Flodden lay like a great splendour on their name. Two queens had been selected from this house during the present reign, and the Princess Elizabeth was a partaker of its blood. The Seymours, on the other hand, were of no great lineage; but the two heads of it, Sir Thomas Seymour and Edward, who had been created Earl of Hertford, and whom we have seen executing the king's sanguinary pleasure more than once in Scotland, were the uncles to the heir-apparent, Prince Edward. They had been lifted into greatness entirely through the marriage of their sister with Henry and the birth of the prince; they had no natural connection, therefore, amongst the old nobility, and were regarded by them with jealousy as fortunate upstarts. But there was a circumstance which gave them power besides the alliance with the Crown and the heir to it, and this was the Protestant faith which they held, and which, therefore, bound the Protestant party in England to their cause, and in hope, through their nephew, the future king. The Howards, on the other hand, held by the ancient faith, and were among its most positive assertors. Thus the feud between these rival houses was not only the feud of the old and new aristocracy, but that of the old and new faith; and the rival factions looked up to them as their natural lords and leaders.

The question, therefore, which of these families should become the guardians and ministers of the new king was every day acquiring a more intense interest. The Howards, from their old standing, and their great employments under the Crown, naturally regarded themselves as entitled to that distinction, and in this view they were, of course, supported by the whole Papist party most anxiously. But the Seymours, as the uncles of the prince, were equally bent on securing the preference. They had little connection, as we have stated, amongst the aristocracy, but had the whole Protestant party in their interest. They therefore regarded the Howards with the deepest jealousy and alarm, and they lost no time or opportunity in securing their ruin during the present king's life. There were many things which they could so bring before Henry's mind as to excite his most deadly fear. The Howards were the determined supporters of the Roman faith. What chance, therefore, was there under them of the preservation of the supremacy? What chance was there that they would leave the young king to his own unbiassed choice in matters of religion and of Church government? But still more, the Howards had not escaped his secret dislike through the conduct of Catherine Howard, the queen. A little thing could stimulate this dislike into something fearful. Again, the Duke of Norfolk was rich, and never were the riches of a subject overlooked or unlonged for by Henry Tudor. All these motives were brought successfully into play. Bishop Gardiner was the man most to be feared in the Howard interest, as it regarded the Church, and this had, unquestionably, much to do with his disgrace and banishment from Court.

A few days after that event, namely, on the 12th of December, the Duke of Norfolk and his son the Earl of Surrey, were, unknown to each other, arrested on a charge of high treason, and sent to the Tower, the one by water and the other by land. Surrey had never forgiven the Earl of Hertford for having superseded him in command of the army at Boulogne; he had in his irritation spoken with biting contempt of the parvenu Seymour, and declared that after the king's death he would take his revenge. But Henry was soon persuaded that the designs of Surrey went further. His fears, in his morbid and sinking state, were easily excited, and he was made to believe that there was a conspiracy of the Howards to seize the reins of government during his illness, and make themselves masters of the person of the prince. Surrey, with all the rash and lofty spirit of the poet, denied every charge of disloyalty or treason with the utmost vehemence, and offered to fight his accuser in his shirt.

The Duke of Norfolk wrote to the king from the Tower, expressing his astonishment at the sudden arrest, and saying, "Sir, God doth know that in all my life I never thought one untrue thought against you, or your succession; nor can no more judge nor cast in my mind what should be laid to my charge, than the child that was born this night." The only thing which he thought his enemies might bring against him was for "being quick against such as had been accused for sacramentaries," that is, Protestants. He prayed earnestly to have a fair hearing before the king or his council, face to face with his accusers. His gifted son, one of the finest poets of the age, and whose fame still makes part of England's glory, was brought to trial first, for he was young and full of talent, and, therefore, more dreaded than his father. On the 13th of December he was arraigned for treason in Guildhall, before the Lord Chancellor, the Lord Mayor, and other Commissioners, and a jury of commoners, and beheaded on the 19th of January. The Seymours pursued Norfolk with relentless ferocity. The king was rapidly sinking, there was no time to lose; a bill of attainder was passed through the Peers on the 26th of January, 1547; on the 27th the Royal assent was given in due form, and an order was despatched to the Tower to execute the Duke at an early hour next morning. Before that morning the soul of the tyrant was called to its dread account, and the life of the old nobleman was saved as by a miracle.

Henry VIII. was fifty-five years and seven months old at his death, and had reigned thirty-seven years, nine months, and six days. His will was dated December 30th, 1546. He was authorised by Act of Parliament to settle the succession by his will, and he now named his son Prince Edward, as his lawful successor, then, in default of heirs, the Princess Mary and her heirs; these failing, the Princess Elizabeth, and her heirs. After Elizabeth, was named the Lady Frances, the eldest daughter of his sister, the Queen of France, and her heirs; and such failing, the Lady Eleanor, the youngest daughter of the late Queen of France. On the failure of all these, then the succession was to be to his heirs-at-law; but no particular mention was made in the succession of his sister Margaret, Queen of Scotland, and of her issue.

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THE REIGN OF EDWARD VI.

Accession of Edward VI.—Hertford's Intrigues—He becomes Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector—War with Scotland—Battle of Pinkie—Reversal of Henry's Policy—Religious Reforms—Ambition of Lord Seymour of Sudeley—He marries Catherine Parr—His Arrest and Death—Popular Discontents—Rebellion in Devonshire and Cornwall—Ket's Rebellion in Norfolk—Warwick Suppresses it—Opposition to Somerset—His Rapacity—Fall of Somerset—Disgraceful Peace with France—Persecution of Romanists—Somerset's Efforts to regain Power—His Trial and Execution—New Treason Law—Northumberland's Schemes for Changing the Succession—Death of Edward.

The country was doomed once more to experience the inconveniences of a regal minority, to witness the struggles and manifold mischiefs of ambitious nobles, while the hand of the king was too feeble to keep them in restraint. The execution of Surrey, and the imprisonment and attainder of the great Duke of Norfolk, left the Seymours completely in the ascendant; and having recently risen into note and power, they very soon showed all the inflated ambition of such parvenus. The Earl of Hertford, as uncle of the king, was in reality the man now in possession of the chief power. The king was but a few months more than nine years of age. Henry, his father, acting on the discretion given him by an Act of Parliament of the twenty-eighth year of his reign, had by will settled the crown on Edward, and had appointed sixteen individuals as his executors, who should constitute also the Privy Council, and exercise the authority of the Crown till the young monarch was eighteen years of age. To enable these executors, or rather, to enable Hertford, to secure the person of the king, and take other measures for the establishment of their position, the death of Henry was kept secret for four days. Parliament, which was virtually dissolved by his death, met on the 29th of January, and proceeded to business as usual, so that any acts passed under these circumstances would have clearly become null. On the 31st Edward entered London amid the applause of the people.

On the day after his arrival at the Tower, that is, on February 1st, 1547, the greater part of the nobility and the prelates were summoned, and assembled there about three o'clock in the afternoon, in the presence-chamber, where they all successively knelt and kissed his majesty's hands, saying every one of them, "God save your grace!" Then Wriothesley, the Chancellor, produced Henry's will, and announced from it that sixteen persons were appointed to be his late majesty's executors, and to hold the office of governors of the present king and of the kingdom till he was eighteen years of age. To these were added twelve others, who were to aid them in any case of difficulty by their advice. Yet, although these formed a second council, it was totally destitute of any real authority and could only tender advice when asked.

The announcement of these names excited much animadversion and some censure. It was remarked that the greater part of them were new men; and the chief council consisted of those who had been about Henry in his last illness. But what next was disclosed was more extraordinary. The executors, when assembled in the Tower on the day of the young king's proclamation, declared that "they were resolved not only to stand to and maintain the last will and testament of their master, the late king, and every part and parcel of the same, to the uttermost of their powers, wits, and cunning, but also that every one of them present should take a corporal oath upon a book, for the more assured and effectual accomplishment of the same." And now it was announced that the Privy Council, for the better despatch of business, had resolved to place the Earl of Hertford at their head. This was so directly in opposition to the will, which had invested every member of the council with equal power, that it was received with no little wonder. The fact was that Hertford—who, before the old king's death, had determined to seize the supreme power during the minority of his nephew—had secured a majority in the council, who, as we shall soon find, had their object to attain. Wriothesley was the only one who stood out. He assured them that such an act invalidated the whole will. But he argued in vain and, finding it useless, he gave way; and thus Hertford was now proclaimed Protector of the realm and guardian of the king's person, with the understood but empty condition, that he should attempt nothing which had not the assent of a majority of the council. His triumph was completed by the titles of Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector of England.

Essex, that is Parr, brother of the late queen, became Marquis of Northampton; Lisle, Earl of Warwick; Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton; Sir Thomas Seymour, Baron Seymour of Sudeley, and Lord High Admiral; Rich became Baron Rich; Willoughby, Baron Willoughby; Sheffield, Baron Sheffield. Southampton was, however, soon compelled to resign office on the charge of having illegally put the Great Seal in commission.

Having thus seized and secured the actual sovereign power in England, Somerset began to turn his attention to foreign affairs. Henry VIII. had left it as a strict injunction to his council to secure the marriage of the Queen of Scots with his son Edward. Somerset, therefore, addressed a letter to the Scottish nobility, calling upon them to complete an arrangement which he recommended as equally advantageous with that to which they were bound by oaths, promises, and seals. The Scots took little notice of this communication from the man who had carried the commands of the late king through their land with fire and sword. The castle of St. Andrews, which the murderers of Cardinal Beaton held out against Arran, had in the course of this summer been surrendered to a French force, and the conspirators were conveyed to France. Some of them were confined in fortresses on the coast of Brittany, and others, amongst whom was John Knox, were sent to work in the galleys, whence they were not released till 1550. By the month of August, Somerset was once more prepared to invade Scotland, and to force, if possible, the young queen from the hands of Arran and the queen-mother. The forces were reviewed, and on the 29th they commenced their march. On the 2nd of September they were at Berwick, where they found Lord Clinton with the fleet, and from that point the army marched along the shore, supported by the ships at sea. Somerset took Douglas Castle, the property of Sir George Douglas, without resistance. The castle being rifled, was then blown up with gunpowder, as were also the peels of Thornton and Anderwick. Passing by Dunbar and the castle of Tantallon, the army, on Friday, the 8th of September, sat down near Prestonpans, the fleet being stationed opposite the town of Musselburgh.

To meet this invasion, Arran had sent the Fiery Cross from clan to clan through the Highlands, and had ordered every Scot capable of bearing arms to meet at Musselburgh. The two armies now lay at Pinkie, not much more than a couple of miles from each other. On the 9th the Scottish horse were seen parading themselves boldly on the height which lay between the hosts, called Falside, or Fawside Brae. The two armies had the sea to the north, while Falside rose facing the west, and having on its summit a castellated keep and a few huts.

Somerset and Warwick resolved to occupy the height on which stood St. Michael's Church, and for this purpose, early on the morning of the 10th, long called "Black Saturday" in Scotland, they advanced upon it about eight o'clock. But the Scots had also concluded to advance, and on the English approaching the first height, they were astonished to find that the Scots had quitted their strong position beyond the river, and were occupying the ground they had intended for themselves. It seems that the Scots had somehow got the idea that the English meant to retreat and escape them, and to prevent this they determined to surprise them in their camp, and were on the way for this purpose. At the sight of the English, the Scots pushed forward impetuously, hoping to get possession of Fawside Brae, but they were checked by a sharp discharge of artillery from the admiral's galley, which mowed down about thirty of them, as they defiled over the bridge near the sea. Seeing the English posted on the height with several pieces of artillery, the Scots halted in a fallow field, having in their front a deep ditch. The English, however, reckless of this obstacle, dashed on and, with Lord Grey at their head, made their way up to them. Standing in an almost impenetrable mass, the Scots kept crying, "Come here, loons! come here, tykes! come here, heretics!" and the like, and the English charging upon them, seemed for a moment to have disconcerted them, but soon were fain to turn and retreat. The flight became general, and the Scots rushing on expected to reap an easy victory. Lord Grey himself was severely wounded in the mouth, and the Scottish soldiers pressing on seized the Royal standard, when a desperate struggle ensued and, the staff of the standard being broken, part of it remained in the hands of the enemy, but the standard itself was rescued.

The fight now became general and fierce, and there was a hand-to-hand contest in which many fell on both sides; but the English commanders were men proved in many a great battle, and exerted themselves to restore order amongst their troops. Warwick was seen everywhere encouraging, ordering, and ranking his men afresh; while the artillery from the height, directed over the heads of their own regiments, mowed down the assailing Scots. The ardour of the soldiers restored, advantage was taken of the position of a large body of the enemy who in their impetuosity had rushed forward beyond the support of the main army. They were surrounded and attacked on all sides. Confounded by this unexpected occurrence, the Scots were thrown into confusion, and began to take to flight. Arran himself soon put spurs to his horse; Angus followed, and the Highland clans—who had never been engaged—fled en masse. The rout was general and the slaughter terrible, some making for Leith, some direct for Edinburgh, by fields or woods as they could, and others endeavoured to cross the marsh and reach Dalkeith.

Now was the time to push the object for which this expedition had been undertaken—the securing the young queen for the king. Somerset had attained a commanding position. He held the capital, as it were, under his hand, and fresh forces brought up, and judiciously employed, must have put the country so far into his power as to enable him to treat on the most advantageous terms for the accomplishment of this great national object; or if he could not obtain it by treaty, he might make himself master of her person by arms. But all this demonstration, this signal victory, this sanguinary butchery, which must add finally to the antipathy of the Scottish people if no real gain followed it, was cast aside with a strange recklessness which shewed that though Somerset could conquer in the field, he was totally destitute of the qualities of a statesman. Instead of making his success the platform of wise negotiation, and of a great national union, he converted it into a fresh aggravation of the ill-will of the Scots, by depriving it of all rational result. Being, it is supposed, apprised of some machinations of his brother, the admiral, in his absence, he commenced an instant march homeward, like a man that was beaten rather than a victor. On the 17th of September, only a week from the battle of Pinkie, he took his departure southwards. On entering England, he made the best of his way to London, the whole term of his absence having been only some six weeks. A Parliament was then summoned, and the Protector proceeded to carry out the contemplated reform in the Church. Already an ecclesiastical commission had been busily engaged in visitation of dioceses. For this purpose, the kingdom was divided into six circuits, to each of which was appointed a certain number of visitors, partly laymen partly clergymen, who, the moment they arrived in a diocese, became the only ecclesiastical authority there. They were empowered to call before them the bishop, the clergy, and five, six, or eight of the principal inhabitants of each parish, and put into their hands a body of royal injunctions, seven-and-thirty in number. These injunctions regarded religious doctrines and practice, and the visitors required an answer upon oath to every question which they chose to put concerning them. The injunctions were similar to those which had been framed and used by Cromwell, but the present practice of joining the laity with the clergy was an innovation of a more sweeping character. The commission promptly imprisoned Bonner and Gardiner, the leaders of the Roman Catholic party.

Parliament assembled on the 4th of November, and proceeded to mitigate some of the severities of the last reign. It repealed those monstrous acts of Henry VIII., which gave to Royal proclamations all the force of Acts of Parliament; likewise all the penal statutes against the Lollards, and all the new felonies created in the last reign, including the statute of the Six Articles. It admitted the laity as well as the clergy to receive the sacrament of the Lord's Supper in both kinds. It determined that the old fiction of electing bishops by "congé d'élire" should cease, and that all such appointments should proceed directly by nomination of the Crown; that all processes in the episcopal courts should be carried on in the king's name, and all documents issuing thence should be sealed, not with the bishop's seal, but with that of the Crown. The claim of spiritual supremacy was placed on the same level as the other rights of the Crown, and it was made a capital offence to deny that the king was supreme head of the Church; but with this distinction, that what was printed of that nature was direct high treason—what was merely spoken only became so by repetition. A bill for legalising the marriages of the clergy was brought into the Commons, and carried by a large majority; but, from some cause, was not carried to the Lords during the present session.

Parliament terminated its sitting on the 24th of December, and the council, carrying forward its measures for the advancement of the Reformation, issued an order prohibiting the burning of candles on Candlemas-Day, and the use of ashes on Ash Wednesday, and of palms on Palm Sunday. The order against images was repeated, and the clothes covering them were directed to be given to the poor. The people, however, who delighted in religious ceremonies, processions, and spectacles, and thought the sermons very dull, were by no means pleased with these innovations. There was to be no elevation of the Host, and the whole service was to be in English.

Cranmer employed himself in composing a catechism, which was published "for the singular profit and instruction of children and young people;" and a committee of bishops and divines sat to compile a new liturgy for the use of the English Church. They took the Latin missals and breviaries for the groundwork, omitting whatever they deemed superfluous or superstitious, and adding fresh matter. Before Christmas they had compiled a book of common prayer, differing in various particulars from the one now in use, and all ministers were ordered to make use of that book, under penalty, on refusal, of forfeiture of a year's income, and six months' imprisonment for the first offence; for the second, loss of all preferments, with twelve months' imprisonment; and for the third, imprisonment for life. Any one taking upon him to preach, except in his own house, without licence from the king's visitors, the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the bishop of the diocese, was liable to imprisonment. Latimer, who had resigned his bishopric in 1539, was now called forward again, and appointed to preach at St. Paul's Cross, and also in the king's privy garden, where Edward, attended by his court, used to listen to his bold and quaint eloquence for an hour together.

Towards the close of 1547, as we have seen, a bill passed the Commons authorising the marriage of the clergy, but on the 9th of February, 1548, a different bill for the same object was carried in the House of Lords, and accepted by the Commons.

While these events had been taking place in England, the war had been steadily prosecuted against Scotland, and led to the result which might naturally be expected, but which was least expected by the Protector—that of the passing of the young queen of Scotland into the hands of the French. Very soon after the battle of Pinkie, a council was summoned at Stirling, where the queen-dowager proposed that, to put an end to those barbarous inroads of the English on pretence of seeking the hand of the queen, they should apply to France for its assistance; that as a means of engaging it in effectual aid, they should offer the young queen in marriage to the Dauphin; and that for her better security she should be educated in the French court. There, in August, 1548, she was solemnly contracted to the Dauphin, afterwards Francis II.

But during the session of Parliament commencing on the 24th of November, a question of most serious import was brought forward concerning the Protector's brother. The lord high admiral, Thomas Seymour, had all the ambition of his elder brother, the Protector, but from some cause he had failed to acquire the same position at court. Henry VIII. had not only employed Somerset in great commissions, but had given him such marks of his confidence that, on his death, he easily engrossed all the power of the State under his son. The admiral did not witness this with indifference. The Protector, to satisfy him, got him created Baron Seymour of Sudeley, and with this title he received in August, 1548, the lordship of Sudeley in Gloucestershire, together with other lands and tenements in no less than eighteen counties. He made him, moreover, high admiral, a post which had been held by the Earl of Warwick, who received instead of it that of lord great chamberlain. These honours and estates might have well contented a man of even high ambition, but the aspiring of the Seymours brooked no limits. As he did not seem to succeed in his desire of rising to a station as lofty as that of his brother the Protector, through the Council and political alliance, he sought to achieve this by means of marriage. There were several ladies on whom he cast his eyes for this purpose. The Princesses Mary and Elizabeth were the next in succession, and he did not hesitate to aim at securing the hand of one of them, which would have realised his soaring wishes, or plunged him down at once to destruction. He seems then to have weighed the chances which a union with Lady Jane Grey might give him; but, as if not satisfied with the prospect, he suddenly determined on the queen-dowager. He had, indeed, paid his addresses to Catherine Parr before her marriage with Henry VIII., and Catherine was so much attached to him that she at first listened with obvious reluctance to Henry's proposal. No sooner was Henry dead than Seymour seems to have renewed his addresses to Catherine, and, with all her piety and prudence, the queen-dowager seems to have listened to him as promptly and readily. Though Henry only died at the end of January, 1547, in a single month, according to Leti, she had consented to a private contract of marriage, and she and Seymour had exchanged rings of betrothal. According to King Edward's journal, their marriage took place in May, but the courtship had been going on long before, and was only revealed to him when it was become dangerous to conceal it any longer, and they were privately married long before that. The marriage was publicly announced in June—a rapidity for such a transaction as strange as it was indecorous. Catherine Parr gave birth to a daughter on the 30th of August, 1548, and on the 7th of September, only eight days after, she died of puerperal fever. Rumours that her husband had poisoned her to enable him to aspire to the hand of the Princess Elizabeth, were spread by his enemies, but there does not appear the slightest foundation for the horrible charge.

The lord admiral, who had found it difficult to keep out of danger during the life of his wife, partly through his own rash ambition, and partly through the malice of his near relatives, soon fell into it after her death. In July of 1548, he had been called before the Council on the charge of having endeavoured to prevail on the king to write a letter, complaining of the arbitrary conduct of the Protector and of the restraint in which he was kept by him. Seymour was seeking, in fact, to supersede the Protector, and was threatened with imprisonment in the Tower; but the matter for that time was made up, and the Protector added £800 per annum to his income, by way of conciliating him.

But with Catherine departed his good genius. He gave a free play to his ambitious desires, and renewed his endeavours to compass a clandestine marriage with the Princess Elizabeth, as he had done with Catherine. Finding, however, that such a marriage would annul the claims of Elizabeth to the throne, he next devised means to extort from the Council a consent, which he was well aware it would never yield voluntarily. For this purpose he is said to have courted the friendship of the discontented section of the nobility, and made such a display of his wealth and retainers as was calculated to alarm the Protector and his party. The Protector now resolved to get rid of so dangerous an enemy, though he was his own brother. Sharrington, master of the mint at Bristol being accused of gross peculation by clipping the coin, issuing testoons, or shilling pieces, of a false value, and making fraudulent entries in his books, was boldly defended by the admiral, who owed him £3,000. But Sharrington, to save his life, ungratefully betrayed that of his advocate. He confessed that he had promised to coin money for the admiral, who could reckon on the services of 10,000 men, with whose aid he meant to carry off the king and change the government. This charge, made, no doubt, solely to save his own life, was enough for Somerset. Seymour was arrested on the 16th of January, 1549, on a charge of high treason, and committed to the Tower.

There was no lack of charges against him, true or false. It was stated that he had resolved to seize the king's person, and carry him to his castle of Holt, in Denbighshire, which had come to him in one of the royal grants; that he had confederated for this purpose with various noblemen and others, and had laid in large stores of provisions and a mass of money at that castle. He was also charged with having abused his authority as lord admiral, and encouraged piracy and smuggling, and with having circulated reports against the Lord Protector and Council too vile to be repeated. But the most remarkable were the charges against him of endeavouring, both before and after his marriage with the queen-dowager, to compass a marriage with the king's sister, the Lady Elizabeth, second inheritor to the Crown, to the peril of the king's person and danger to the throne. A Bill of Attainder was brought in against him; he was condemned without a hearing and executed on the 27th of March.

The Protector no sooner had put his brother out of his path into a bloody grave, than he was called upon to contend with a whole host of enemies. A variety of causes had reduced the common people to a condition of deep distress and discontent. The depreciation of the coinage by Henry VIII. had produced its certain consequence—the proportionate advance of the price of all purchasable articles. But with the rise in price of food and clothing, there had been no rise in the price of labour. The dissolution of the monasteries had thrown a vast number of people on the public without any resource. Besides the large number of monks and nuns who, instead of affording alms, were now obliged to seek a subsistence of some kind, the hundreds of thousands who had received daily assistance at the doors of convents and monasteries were obliged to beg, work, or starve. But the new proprietors who had obtained the abbey and chantry lands, found wool so much in demand, that instead of cultivating the land, and thus at once employing the people and growing corn for them, they threw their fields out of tillage, and made great enclosures where their profitable flocks could range without even the superintendence of a shepherd.

The people thus driven to starvation were still more exasperated by the change in the religion of the country, by the destruction of their images, and the desecration of the shrines of their saints. Their whole public life had been changed by the change of their religion. Their oldest and most sacred associations were broken. Their pageants, their processions, their pilgrimages were all rudely swept away as superstitious rubbish; their gay holidays had become a gloomy blank. What their fathers and their pastors had taught them as peculiarly holy and essential to their spiritual well-being, their rulers had now pronounced to be damnable doctrines and the delusions of priest-craft; and whilst smarting under this abrupt privation of their bodily and spiritual support, they beheld the new lords of the ancient church lands greedily cutting off not only the old streams of benevolence, but the means of livelihood by labour, and showing not the slightest regard for their sufferings. The priests, the monks, the remaining heads of the Papist party did not fail to point assiduously at all these things, and to fan the fires of the popular discontent.

The timidity of the Protector forced the ferment to a climax by the very means which he resorted to in order to mitigate it. He ordered all the new enclosures to be thrown open by a certain day. The people rejoiced at this, believing that now they had the Government on their side. But they waited in vain to see the Protector's order obeyed. The Royal proclamation fully bore out the complaints of the populace. It declared that many villages, in which from one hundred to two hundred people had lived, were entirely destroyed; that one shepherd now dwelt where numerous industrious families dwelt before; and that the realm was injured by turning arable land into pasture, and letting houses and families decay and lie waste. Hales, the commissioner, stated that the laws which forbade any one to keep more than 2,000 sheep, and which commanded the owners of church lands to keep household on the same, were disobeyed, the result being that numbers of the king's subjects had diminished. But though the Government admitted all this, it took no measures to make its proclamation effective; the landowners disregarded it, and the people, believing that they were only seconding the law, assembled in great numbers, chose their captains or leaders, broke down the enclosures, killed the deer in the parks, and began to spoil and waste, according to Holinshed, after the manner of an open rebellion. The day approached when the use of the old liturgy was to cease, and instead of the music, the spectacle, and all the imposing ceremonies of high Mass, they would be called on to listen to a plain sermon. Goaded to desperation by these grievances, the people rose in almost every part of the country.

In Wiltshire, Sir William Herbert raised a body of troops and dispersed the insurgents, killing some, and executing others according to martial law. The same was done in other quarters by the resident gentry. The Protector, alarmed, sent out commissioners to hear and decide all causes about enclosures, highways, and cottages. These commissioners were armed with great powers, the exercise of which produced as much dissatisfaction amongst the nobility and gentry as the enclosures had done amongst the people. The spirit of remonstrance entered into the very Council, and the Protector was checked in his proceedings; whereupon the people, not finding the redress they expected, again rose in rebellion.

In Devonshire the religious phase of the movement appeared first, and rapidly assumed a very formidable air. The new liturgy was read for the first time in the church of Sampford Courtenay, on Whit Sunday, and the next day the people compelled the clergyman to perform the ancient service. Having once resisted the law, the insurgents rapidly spread. Humphrey Arundel, the governor of St. Michael's Mount, took the lead, and a few days brought ten thousand men to his standard. As the other risings had been easily dispersed, the Government were rather dilatory in dealing with this; but finding that it steadily increased, Lord Russell was despatched with a small force against the malcontents, accompanied by three preachers, Gregory, Reynolds, and Coverdale, who were licensed to preach in such public places as Lord Russell should appoint.

The rebels had sat down before Exeter when Russell came up with them; but conscious of the great inferiority of his force, and expecting no miracles from the eloquence of his preachers, he adopted the plan of the Duke of Norfolk in the late reign, and offered to negotiate. Upon this, Arundel and his adherents drew up and presented fifteen articles, which went, indeed, to restore everything of the old faith and ritual that had been taken away. The Statute of the Six Articles was to be put in force, the Mass to be in Latin, the Sacrament to be again hung up and worshipped, all such as refused it homage were to be treated as heretics, souls in purgatory should be prayed for, images again be set up, the Bible be called in, and Cardinal Pole was to be of the king's Council. Half of the Church lands were to be restored to two of the chief abbeys in each county; in a word, Popery was to be restored and Protestantism abolished.

All this time Lord Russell lay at Honiton, not venturing to attack, the Government sending him instead of troops only proclamations, by one of which a free pardon was offered to all who would submit; by another, the lands, goods, and chattels of the insurgents were given to any who chose to take them; by a third, punishment of death by martial law was ordered for all taken in arms; and by a fourth, the commissioners were commanded to break down all illegal enclosures. None of these produced the least effect. Lord Russell had sent Sir Peter Carew to urge the Protector and Council to expedite reinforcements; but the Protector and Rich charged Sir Peter with having been the original cause of the outbreak. The bold baronet resented this imputation so stoutly, and charged home the Protector in a style so unaccustomed in courts, with his own neglect, that men and money were promised. Nothing, however, but the proclamations just mentioned arrived, and at length the rebels despatched a force to dislodge Russell from his position at Honiton. To prevent this, he advanced to Feniton Bridge, where he encountered the rebel detachment and defeated it. Soon after Lord Grey arrived with 300 German and Italian infantry, with which assistance he marched on Exeter, and again defeated the rebels. They rallied on Clifton Downs, and Lord Grey coming suddenly upon them and fearing they might overpower him, he ordered his men to despatch all the prisoners they had in their hands, and a sanguinary slaughter took place. A third and last encounter at Bridgewater completed the reduction of the Rising of the West.

But the most formidable demonstration was made by the rebels in Norfolk. It commenced at Aldborough, and appeared at first too insignificant for notice. But the rumours of what had been done in Kent, where the new enclosures had been broken down, gradually infected the people far and wide. They did not trouble themselves about the religious questions, but they expressed a particular rancour against gentlemen, for their insatiable avarice and their grasping at all land, their extortionate rents, and oppressions of the people. They declared that it was high time that not only the enclosure mania should be put a stop to, but abundance of other evils should be reformed.

On the 6th of July, at Wymondham, a few miles from Norwich, on occasion of a play which was annually performed there, the people, stimulated by what was being done elsewhere, began to throw down the dykes, as they were called, or fences round enclosures, and they found a leader in one Robert Ket, a tanner. Under an oak tree, called the Tree of Reformation, which stood on Mousehold Hill, near Norwich, Ket erected his throne, and established courts of chancery, king's bench, and common pleas, as in Westminster Hall; and, with a liberality which shamed the Government of that and of most succeeding times, he allowed not only the orators of his own but of the opposite party to harangue them from this tree. Ket, it is clear, was a man far beyond his times, sincerely seeking the reform of abuses, and not destruction of the constituted authority. The tree was used as a rostrum, and all who had anything to say climbed into it. Into the tree mounted frequently Master Aldrich, the mayor of Norwich, and others, who used all possible persuasions to the insurgents to desist from spoliation and disorderly courses. Clergymen of both persuasions preached to them from the oak, and Matthew Parker, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, one day ascended it, and addressed them in the plainest possible terms on the unwisdom of their attempt, and the ruin it was certain to bring upon them.

At length on the 31st of July, a Royal herald appeared in the camp, "and, standing before the Tree of Reformation, apparelled in his coat-of-arms, pronounced there, before all the multitude, with loud voice, a free pardon to all that would depart to their houses and, laying aside their armour, give over their traitorous enterprise." Some of the insurgents, who were already weary of the affair, and only wanted a good excuse for drawing off safely, took the offered pardon and disappeared; but Ket and the chief part of the people held their ground, saying they wanted no pardon, for they had done nothing but what was incumbent on true subjects.

Expecting that now some attack would soon be made upon them, they marched into Norwich to seize on all the artillery and ammunition they could, and carry it to their camp. The herald made another proclamation to them in the market-place, repeating the offer of pardon, but threatening death to all who did not immediately accept it. They bade him begone, for they wanted no such manner of mercy. From that day the number of Ket's followers grew again rapidly, for he seemed above the Government; and the herald returning to town, dissipated at Court any hope of the rebels dispersing of themselves. A troop of 1,500 horse, under the Marquis of Northampton, accompanied by a small force of mounted Italians, under Malatesta, were, therefore, sent down to Norwich, of which they took possession. But the next day Ket and his host descended from their hill, found their way into the city, engaged, defeated, and drove out the king's troops, killing Lord Sheffield and many gentlemen, and, their blood being up, set fire to the town, and plundered it as it burnt.

Northampton retreated ignominiously to town, where the Protector now saw that the affair was of a character that demanded vigorous suppression. An army of 8,000 men, 2,000 of whom were Germans, under the Earl of Warwick, about to proceed against Scotland, was directed to march to Norwich and disperse the rebels. Warwick arriving, made an entrance, after some resistance, into the city. But there he was assailed on every side with such impetuosity, that he found it all that he could do to defend himself, being deficient in ammunition. On the 26th of August, however, arrived a reinforcement of 1,400 lansquenets, with store of powder and ball, and the next day he marched out, and the enemy having imprudently left their strong position on the hill, he attacked them in the valley of Dussingdale, and at the first charge broke their ranks. They fled, their leader, Ket, galloping off before them. They were pursued for three or four miles, and the troopers cut them down all the way with such ruthless vengeance, that 3,500 of them were said to have perished. The rest, however, managed to surround themselves by a line of waggons, and, hastily forming a rampart of a trench and a bank fortified with stakes, resolved to stand their ground. Warwick, perceiving the strength of the place, and apprehensive of a great slaughter of his men, offered them a pardon; but they replied that they did not trust to the offer; they knew the fate that awaited them, and they preferred to die with arms in their hands rather than on the gallows. Warwick renewed his offer, and went himself to assure them of his sincerity, on which they laid down their arms, or retired with them in their hands. Ket alone was hanged on the walls of Norwich Castle, his brother on the steeple of Wymondham Church, and nine of the ringleaders on the Oak of Reformation.

Circumstances were now fast environing the Protector with danger. The feebleness of his government, his total want of success, both in Scotland and France, with which country he had become involved in an undeclared war, emboldened his enemies, who had become numerous and determined from the arrogance of his manners and his endeavours to check the enclosures of the aristocracy. Henry VIII. had never drawn any signal advantages from his hostile expeditions; but the forces which he collected and the determined character of the man impressed his foreign foes with a dread of him. It was evident that the neighbouring nations had learned Somerset's weakness, and therefore despised him. He had driven the Queen of Scots into the hands of the French, and they had driven him out of the country. He was on the very verge of losing Boulogne, which Henry had prided himself so much on conquering. At home the whole country had been thrown into a state of anarchy and insubordination by the reforms in religion, of which he was the avowed patron, and in the meantime he had allowed another to reap the honour of restoring order.

It was intended that the Protector himself should have proceeded against the rebels; but probably he thought that the man who had encouraged them to pull down the enclosures would appear with a very bad grace to punish them for doing it. Dudley, Earl of Warwick, was, therefore, selected for this office—a man quite as ambitious, quite as unprincipled, and far more daring than Somerset. He returned from Norfolk like a victor, and his reputation rose remarkably from that moment. He was looked up to as the able and successful man, and his ambitious views were warmly seconded by the wily old ex-Chancellor, Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, who hated Somerset for having dismissed him from office, and for having banished him from the Council. He now took up Warwick as a promising instrument for his revenge. He flattered him with the idea that he was the only man to restore the credit and peace of the nation.

Nor was it Warwick only whom Southampton stimulated to enmity against Somerset. He had arguments adapted to all; and where he found any seemingly resolved to stand by the Protector, he would significantly ask what friendship they hoped from a man who had murdered his own brother. Little art was needed to influence the old nobility against Somerset, and his hostility to the enclosures had raised up a host of enemies amongst the new, who should have been his natural friends. The people he had lost favour with, from his total want of success against the enemies of the country, and if there were any whom all these causes had not alienated, these were disgusted with his insolence and rapacity. He had bargained for large slices from the manors of bishoprics and cathedrals as the price of promotion to the clergy. He had obtained from the puppet king in his hands, grants of extensive Church lands for his services in Scotland, services which now were worse than null; and in the patent which invested him with these lands, drawn up under his own eye, he had himself styled "Duke of Somerset, by the grace of God," as if he were a king. He was accused of having sold many of the chantry lands to his friends at nominal prices, because he obtained a heavy premium upon the transaction; but what more than all shocked the public sense of religious decorum was that he had erected for himself a splendid palace in the Strand, where the one called from him Somerset House now stands, and had spared no outrage upon public rights and decencies in its erection. Not only private houses, but public buildings, and those of the most sacred character, had been displaced to make room for his proud mansion. To clear the ground for its site and to procure materials for its building, he pulled down three episcopal houses and two churches on the spot, St. Mary's and a church of St. John of Jerusalem, also a chapel, a cloister, and a charnel-house in St. Paul's Churchyard, and he carted away the remains of the dead by whole loads, and threw them into a pit in Bloomsbury. When he attempted to pull down St. Margaret's Church in Westminster, for the stones, the parishioners rose in tumult and drove his men away. Whatever profession of Reformed religion he might make, such proceedings as these stamped it as a pretence, hollow and even impious, in the minds of the public.

The feeling (which originated out of doors) had now made its way into the heart of the Council. Somerset's friends were silenced. His enemies spoke out boldly. During September there were great contentions in the Council; and by the beginning of October the two parties were ranged in hostile attitudes under their chiefs. Warwick and his followers met at Ely Place; the Protector was at Hampton Court, where he had the king. On the 5th of October, Somerset, in the king's name, sent the Secretary of the Council to know why the lords were assembling themselves in that manner, and commanding them, if they had anything to lay before him, to come before him peaceably and loyally. When this message was despatched, Somerset, fearful of the spirit in which this summons might be complied with, ordered the armour to be brought down out of the armoury at Hampton Court, sufficient for 500 men, to arm his followers, and had the doors barricaded, and people fetched in for the defence. But, instead of coming, Warwick and his party ordered the Lieutenant of the Tower, and the Lord Mayor and aldermen, to be summoned, who duly attended and proffered their obedience. They then despatched letters to the nobility and gentry in different parts of the kingdom, informing them of their doings and the motives for them. Alarmed at the aspect of affairs, Somerset conveyed the king to Windsor, under escort of 500 men; Cranmer and Sir William Paget alone, of all the Council, accompanying them. Finding himself rapidly deserted by his friends, Somerset judiciously submitted and signed a confession of his guilt, his presumption, and incapacity. Having signed this, he was promised his life, on condition that he should forfeit all his appointments, his goods and chattels, and so much of his estates as amounted to £2,000 a year. A bill to this effect passed both Houses of Parliament in January, 1550. Somerset remonstrated against the extent of this forfeiture, but the Council replied to him with so much sternness that the abject-spirited man shrank in terror, and on the 2nd of February signed a still more ignominious submission, disclaiming all idea of justifying himself, and expressing his gratitude to the king and Council for sparing his life and being content with a fine. On the 6th of February he was discharged from the Tower, and ten days after received a formal pardon. His officers and servants, who had been imprisoned, also recovered their liberty, but were heavily fined.

Warwick had humbled Somerset, but he could not prevent the country from being humbled with him. His party had blamed the Protector for proposing to surrender Boulogne, but they were now compelled, by the exhausted and disordered state of the nation, to accept even more disgraceful terms. During the winter the French had cut off all communication between Boulogne and Calais, and the Earl of Huntingdon found himself unable to re-open it, though he led against the enemy all his bands of mercenaries and 3,000 English veterans. His treasury and his storehouses were empty, and the French calculated confidently on taking the place at spring. Unable to send the necessary aid, a fresh proposal was made to the Emperor to occupy it, and this not tempting him, the Council next offered to cede it to him in full sovereignty, on condition that it should never be surrendered to France. Charles declined, and as a last resource a Florentine merchant, Antonio Guidotti, was employed to make the French aware that England was not averse from a peace. The French embraced the offer, but under such circumstances they were not likely to be very modest in their terms of accommodation.

The conference between the ambassadors was opened on the 21st of January, and the English proposed that, as an equivalent for the surrender of Boulogne, Mary of Scotland should be contracted to Edward. To this the French bluntly replied that that was impossible, as Henry had already agreed to marry her to the Dauphin. The next proposition was that the arrears of money due from the Crown of France should be paid up, and the payment of the fixed pension continued. To this the ambassadors of Henry replied, in a very different tone to that which English monarchs had been accustomed to hear from those of France, that their king would never condescend to pay tribute to any foreign Crown; that Henry VIII. had been enabled by the necessities of France to extort a pension from Francis; and that they would now avail themselves of the present difficulties of England to compel Edward to renounce it. The English envoys appeared, on this bold declaration, highly indignant, and as if they would break off the conference; but every day they receded more and more from their pretensions, and they ended by subscribing, on the 24th of March, to all the demands of their opponents.

These conditions were that there should be peace and union between the two countries, not merely for the lives of the present monarchs, but to the end of time; that Boulogne should be surrendered to the King of France with all its stores and ordnance; and that, in return for the money expended on the fortifications, they should pay to Edward 200,000 crowns on the delivery of the place, and 200,000 more in five months. But the English were previously to surrender Douglas and Lauder to the Queen of Scots, or, if they were already in the hands of the Scots, to raze the fortresses of Eyemouth and Roxburgh to the ground. Scotland was to be comprehended in the treaty if the queen desired it, and Edward bound himself not to make war on Scotland unless some new provocation were given.

So disgraceful was this treaty, such a surrender was it of the nation's dignity, that the people regarded it as an eternal opprobrium to the country; and from that hour the boastful claims of England on the French Crown were no more heard of, except in the ridiculous retention of the title of King of France by our sovereigns.

Freed from the embarrassments of foreign politics, the Council now proceeded with the work of Church reform; and during 1550 and part of 1551 was busily engaged checking on the one hand the opposition of the Romanist clergy, and on the other the latitudinarian tendencies of the Protestants. Bonner and Gardiner were the most considerable of the uncomplying prelates, and they were first brought under notice. Bonner had been called before the Council in August of 1549, for not complying with the requisitions of the Court in matters of religion; and in April, 1550, he was deprived of his see of London, and remanded to the Marshalsea, where he remained till the king's death. Ridley was appointed to the bishopric of London. Gardiner and Heath, Bishop of Worcester, were also imprisoned.

From the bishops, the reforming Council proceeded to higher game. The Princess Mary, the king's eldest sister, from the first had expressed her firm resolution of not adopting the new faith or ritual. She had, moreover, declared to Somerset, that during Edward's minority things ought to remain as the king her father had left them. Somerset replied that, on the contrary, he was only carrying out the plans which Henry had already settled in his own mind, but had not had time to complete. On the introduction of the new liturgy, she received in June, 1549, an intimation that she must conform to the provisions of the statute. Mary replied with spirit, that her conscience would not permit her to lay aside the practice of the religion that she believed in, and reminded the lords of the Council that they were bound by their oaths to maintain the Church as left by her father; adding, that they could not, with any decency, refuse liberty of worship to the daughter of the king who had raised them to what they were. The appeal to the liberality, the consciences, or the gratitude of these statesmen producing no effect, she next applied to a more influential person, the Emperor, Charles V., her great relative. He intervened on her behalf with such vigour that war between England and Germany seemed at one time inevitable, and the Council gave way. The persecutions were shortly afterwards renewed, but Mary remained firm, and finally was completely victorious.

The ungenerous conduct of the Warwick party towards Mary, and the disgraceful conditions of the peace with France, naturally caused a considerable revival of Somerset's influence at Court, and the remainder of the summer was spent by him in intriguing for the increase of his favour. He surrounded himself with a strong body of armed men; there were secret debates among his friends on the possibility of raising the City in his behalf, and he did not hesitate to drop hints that assassination only could free him from his implacable enemies. But whilst the irresolute Somerset plotted, Warwick acted. He secured for himself the appointment of warden of the Scottish marches, thus cutting off the danger which had lately appeared of Somerset's retreat thither. Armed with the preponderating influence which that office conferred in the northern districts, on the 27th of September or the 17th of October he was announced as Duke of Northumberland, a title venerated by the Border people, and which had been extinct since the attainder of Earl Percy in 1527. In this formidable position of power and dignity he was strengthened by his friends and partisans being at the same time elevated in the peerage. The Marquis of Dorset was created Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Wiltshire, Marquis of Winchester, and Sir William Herbert, Baron of Cardiff and Earl of Pembroke. Cecil, Cheke, Sidney, and Nevil received the honour of knighthood.

This movement in favour of Warwick was followed by consequences of still more startling character to the Duke of Somerset. His enemies now felt safe, and on the 16th of October, 1551, the news flew through London that he was arrested on a charge of conspiracy and high treason, and committed to the Tower. He had been apprised that depositions of a serious character had been made against him by Sir Thomas Palmer, a partisan of Warwick's, whereupon he sent for Palmer, and strictly interrogated him, but on his positive denial, let him go. Not satisfied, however, he wrote to Cecil, telling him that he suspected something was in agitation against him. Cecil replied with his characteristic astuteness, that if he were innocent he could have nothing to fear; if he were guilty, he could only lament his misfortune. Piqued at this reply, he sent a letter of defiance, but took no means for the security of his person. Palmer, notwithstanding his denial, had, however, it seems, really lodged this charge against him on the 7th of the month with Warwick:—That in a conference with Somerset in April last, in his garden, the duke assured him that at the time that the solemn declaration of Sir William Herbert had prevented him from going northward, he had sent Lord Grey to raise their friends there; that after that he had formed the design of inviting Warwick, Northampton, and the chiefs of that party, and of assassinating them, either there, or on their return home; that at this very moment he was planning to raise an insurrection in London, to destroy his enemy, and to seize the direction of Government; that Sir Miles Partridge was to call out the apprentices of the City, kill the City guard, and get possession of the Great Seal; and that Sir Thomas Arundel had secured the Tower, and Sir Ralph Vane had a force of 2,000 men ready to support them.

Probably this was a mixture of some truth with a much larger portion of convenient falsehood. The duke was accordingly arrested, and the next day the duchess, with her favourites, Mr. and Mrs. Crane, Sir Miles Partridge, Sir Thomas Arundel, Sir Thomas Holcroft, Sir Michael Stanhope, and others of the duke's friends, were also arrested, and committed to the Tower. The king was already brought up from Hampton Court to Westminster for greater security and convenience during the trials of the conspirators. A message was sent in the king's name to the Lord Mayor and Corporation, informing them that the conspirators had agreed to seize the Tower, kill the guards of the City, seize the Great Seal, set fire to the town, and depart for the Isle of Wight; and they were, therefore, ordered to keep the gates well, and maintain a strong patrol in the streets.

The trial of the duke, such as it was, took place on the 1st of December, in Westminster Hall. Twenty-seven peers were summoned to sit as his judges, the Marquis of Winchester being appointed Lord High Steward, to preside. On that morning Somerset was brought from the Tower, with the axe borne before him; whilst a great number of men carrying bills, glaives, halberds, and poll-axes, guarded him. A new platform was raised in the hall, on which the lords, his judges, sat; and above them was the Lord High Steward, on a raised seat ascended by three steps, and over it a canopy of State. The judges consisted almost wholly of the duke's enemies, and conspicuous amongst them were Northumberland, Northampton, and Pembroke. The witnesses against him were not produced, but merely their depositions read. Somerset denied the whole of the charges respecting his intention to raise the City of London, declaring that the idea of killing the City guard was worthy only of a madman. As to the accusation of proposing to assassinate the Duke of Northumberland and others, he admitted that he had thought of it, and even talked of it, but on mature consideration had abandoned it for ever.

On this confession the judges declared him guilty of felony without benefit of clergy. They were desirous to adjudge it treason, but this Northumberland himself overruled. When this sentence was pronounced, Somerset fell on his knees, and thanked the lords for the fair trial they had given him, and implored pardon from Northumberland, Northampton, and Pembroke, for his design against their lives, entreating them to pray the king's mercy to him and his grace towards his wife, his children, and his servants. On the sentence being pronounced only felony, the axe of the Tower was withdrawn; and the people, seeing him returning without that fatal instrument, imagined that he was acquitted, and gave such shouts, that they were heard from Charing Cross to the hall. According to Holinshed, the Duke of Somerset landed from the river "at the crane of the Vine-tree, and so passed through London, where were both acclamations—the one cried for joy that he was acquitted, the other cried that he was condemned."

Six weeks after his sentence, the warrant for his execution was signed. The chronicler quaintly remarks that "Christmas being thus passed and spent with much mirth and pastime, it was thought now good to proceed to the execution of the judgment against the Duke of Somerset." The day of execution was the 22nd of January, 1552. To prevent the vast concourse which, from the popularity of his character among the common people, from his opposition to enclosures during his Protectorship, was sure to take place, the Council had issued a precept to the Lord Mayor, commanding him to take all necessary measures for restraining the rush towards Tower Hill. The constables in every ward had, therefore, strictly charged every one not to leave their houses before ten o'clock that morning. But, by the very dawn, Tower Hill was one mass of heads, assembled more in expectation of the duke's reprieve than of his execution. At eight o'clock he was delivered to the sheriffs of London, who led him out to the scaffold on Tower Hill. He died calmly and nobly.

Parliament met the day after the execution of Somerset; and as it had been originally summoned by him, it appeared to act as inspired with a spirit which resented his treatment and his death; and this spirit tended greatly during this session to revive that ancient independence which Henry VIII. had so completely quelled during his life. Most deserving of notice was the enactment which ordered the churchwardens in every parish to collect contributions for the support of the poor. This, though it appeared at first sight a voluntary contribution under the sanction of Government, was in reality a compulsory one, for the bishop of the diocese had authority to proceed against such as refused to subscribe. From this germ grew the English poor-law, with all its machinery and consequences.

The Crown attempted to re-enact some of the most arbitrary and oppressive laws of Henry VIII., though they had been repealed in the first Parliament of this reign. A bill was sent to the Lords, making it treason to call the king, or any of his heirs, a heretic, schismatic, tyrant, or usurper. The Lords passed it without hesitation, for it most probably proceeded from Warwick, and the Lords were strongly devoted to him; but the Commons drew the same line which had been drawn regarding the deniers of the supremacy. They would admit the offence to be treason only when it was done by "writing, printing, carving, or graving," which indicated deliberate purpose; but what was spoken, as it might result from indiscretion or sudden passion, they decreed to be only a minor offence, punishable by fine or forfeiture, and only rendered treasonable by a third repetition. The Commons also added a most invaluable clause, the necessity of which had been constantly pressing on the public attention, and had just been strikingly demonstrated by the trial of Somerset. It was now enacted that no person should be arraigned, indicted, convicted, or attainted of any manner of treason unless on the oath of two lawful accusers, who should be brought before him at the time of his arraignment, and there should openly maintain their charges against him.

But in prosecuting the reforms of the Church, the Parliament proceeded with a far more arbitrary spirit. The Common Prayer Book underwent much revision, and an Act was passed by which the bishops were empowered to compel attendance on the amended form of service by spiritual censures, and the magistrates to punish corporally all who used any other. Any one daring to attend any other form of worship was liable to six months' imprisonment for the first offence, twelve months for the second, and confinement for life for the third. So little did our Church reformers of that day understand of the rights of conscience. In the same spirit Cranmer proceeded to frame a collection of the articles of religion, and a code of ecclesiastical constitutions.

Parliament, proving too independent, was dissolved, and in preparing for a new Parliament, Northumberland took such measures as showed that his own power and aggrandisement were the first things in his thoughts, the Constitution of the kingdom the last. Letters were sent in the king's name to all the sheriffs, directing them, in the most straightforward manner, to abuse their powers in order to return a Parliament completely subservient to the Government.

The only object which the Duke of Northumberland had in view in calling the new Parliament together was to procure liberal supplies. The appropriation of the monastic and chartered lands had left the Crown nearly as poor as it had found it. Such portions of these lands as still remained in its possession were totally inadequate to meet the annual demands of the Government. Northumberland, therefore, asked for two-tenths and two-fifteenths; but even with his care to pack the Commons he found it no easy task to obtain supplies, and the friends of Somerset again assembled in considerable force in the House, resenting in strong terms the pretence thrown out in the preamble to the bill that it was owing to the extravagance and improvidence of the late Duke of Somerset, to his involving the country in needless wars, debasing the coin, and occasioning a terrible rebellion.

But the king's health was fast failing, and it was high time for Northumberland to make sure his position and fortune. The constitution of Edward had long betrayed symptoms of frailty. In the early spring of the past year he was successively attacked by measles and small-pox. In the autumn, through incautious exposure to cold, he was attacked by inflammation of the lungs, and so enfeebled was he become by the meeting of Parliament on the 1st of March, 1553, that he was obliged to receive the two Houses at his palace of Whitehall. He was greatly exhausted by the exertion, being evidently far gone in a consumption, and harassed with a troublesome cough.

Northumberland, from the day on which he rose into the ascendant at Court, had shown that he was the true son of the old licensed extortioner. He had laboured assiduously not only to surround himself by interested adherents, but to add estate to estate. He inherited a large property, the accumulations of oppression and crimes of the blackest dye. But during the three years in which he had enjoyed all but kingly power, he had been diligently at work creating a kingly demesne. He was become the Steward of the East Riding of Yorkshire, and likewise of all the Royal manors in the five northern counties. He had obtained Tynemouth and Alnwick in Northumberland, Barnard Castle in Durham, and immense estates in Warwick, Worcester, and Somerset shires. The more he saw the king fail, the more anxious he was to place his brother, his sons, his relatives, and most devoted partisans in places of honour and profit around him at Court. This done, he advanced to bolder measures, to which these were only the stepping-stones. Lady Jane Grey was the daughter of Frances, Duchess of Suffolk, whose mother was Mary, the sister of Henry VIII. Mary first married Louis XII. of France, by whom she had no children, and next, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, by whom she had two daughters. The younger of these married Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, but the elder, Frances, whose claim came first, had by the Marquis of Dorset (afterwards Duke of Suffolk) three daughters, Jane, Catherine, and Mary.

Northumberland, casting his eye over the descendants of Henry VIII., saw the only son, King Edward, dying, and the two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, bastardised by Acts of Parliament still unrepealed. A daring scheme seized his ambitious mind—a scheme to set aside these two princesses, the elder of whom, and immediate heir to the throne, was especially dangerous to the permanence of the newly-established Protestantism. It was true that Margaret of Scotland, the sister of Henry VIII., was older than his sister Mary, and her grand-daughter, Mary Queen of Scots, would have taken precedence of the descendants of Mary, but she and her issue had been entirely passed over in the will of Henry. Leaving out, then, this line, and setting aside the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth as legally illegitimate, Lady Jane Grey would become heir to the throne. Northumberland resolved, therefore, to secure Lady Jane in marriage for his son Lord Guilford Dudley; to obtain Lady Jane's sister, Catherine, for Lord Herbert, son of the Earl of Pembroke, who owed title, estates, and everything to the favour of Northumberland; and to marry his own daughter Catherine to the eldest son of the Earl of Huntingdon. The marriages were celebrated at Durham House, the Duke of Northumberland's new residence in the Strand.

Northumberland's next step was to induce the king to bequeath the crown to Lady Jane. The dying prince listened with a mind which had long been under the influence of the more powerful will of Dudley, and saw nothing but the most patriotic objects in his recommendations. He no doubt considered it a great kingly duty to decide the succession by will as his father had done; and that the whole responsibility might rest on himself, and not on Northumberland, who had so much at stake, he was easily induced to sketch the form of his devise of the Crown with his own pen. In this rough draft he entailed the succession on "the Lady Frances's heirs masles," next on "Lady Jane's heirs masles," and then on the heirs male of her sisters. This, however, did not accord with the plans of Northumberland, for none of the ladies named had any heirs male; and, therefore, on the death of Edward, the Crown would have passed over the whole family, and would go to the next of kin. A slight alteration was accordingly made. The letter "s" at the end of "Jane's" was scored out, the words "and her" inserted, and thus the bequest stood "to the Lady Jane and her heirs masles." Northumberland then compelled the judges to draw out letters patent under the Great Seal confirming the disposition of the Crown.

But Northumberland, not satisfied with the will of the king and the act of the Crown lawyer, produced another document, to which he required the signatures of the members of the Council and of the legal advisers of the Crown, who pledged, to the number of four-and-twenty, their oaths and honour to support this arrangement. The legal instrument, being prepared, was engrossed on parchment, and was authenticated by the Great Seal. Northumberland was preparing to secure his position by force of arms, when the poor young king, whose mind had been overtaxed by his advisers, died on the 6th of July, 1553.

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THE REIGN OF MARY.

Proclamation of Lady Jane Grey—Mary's Resistance—Northumberland's Failure—Mary is Proclaimed—The Advice of Charles V.—Execution of Northumberland—Restoration of the Roman Church—Proposed Marriage with Philip of Spain—Consequent Risings throughout England—Wyatt's Rebellion—Execution of Lady Jane Grey—Imprisonment of Elizabeth—Marriage of Philip and Mary—England Accepts the Papal Absolution—Persecuting Statutes Re-enacted—Martyrdom of Rogers, Hooper, and Taylor—Di Castro's Sermon—Sickness of Mary—Trials of Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer—Martyrdom of Ridley and Latimer—Confession and Death of Cranmer—Departure of Philip—The Dudley Conspiracy—Return of Philip—War with France—Battle of St. Quentin—Loss of Calais—Death of Mary.

As Mary fled from the emissaries of Northumberland on the 7th of July, after learning the death of her brother, she arrived on the ensuing evening at Sawston Hall, near Cambridge, the seat of Mr. Huddlestone, a zealous Romanist, one of whose kinsmen was a gentleman of Mary's retinue. There she passed the night, but was compelled to resume her journey early in the morning, the Protestant party in Cambridge having heard of her arrival, and being on the march to attack her. She and her followers were obliged to make the best of their way thence in different disguises, and turning on the Gogmagog Hills to take a look at the hall, she saw it in flames: her night's sojourn had cost her entertainer the home of his ancestors. On seeing this, she exclaimed, as quite certain of her fortunes, "Well, let it burn, I will build him a better;" and she kept her word. She passed through Bury St. Edmunds, and the next night reached the seat of Kenninghall, in Norfolk. Thence without delay she despatched a messenger to the Privy Council, commanding them to desist from the treasonable scheme which she knew that they were attempting, and ordering them to proclaim her their rightful sovereign, in which case all that was past should be pardoned. The messenger arrived just in time to see the rival queen proclaimed on the 10th, and to bring back a reply peculiarly insulting for its gross language, asserting her illegitimacy, and calling upon her to submit to her sovereign, Queen Jane.

Mary on this occasion displayed the strong spirit of the Tudor. Though Northumberland had all the powers of the Government, the military strength, the influence of party, and the support of the nobility of the nation apparently under his hand, and possessed the reputation of being an able and most successful general, and though she had nobody with her but Sir Thomas Warton, the steward of her household, Andrew Huddlestone, and her ladies; though she had neither troops nor money, Mary did not hesitate. Kenninghall was but a defenceless house in an open country; she, therefore, rode forward to Framlingham Castle, not far from the Suffolk coast, where, in a strong fortress, she could await the result of an appeal to her subjects and, were she forced to fly, could easily escape across to Holland, and put herself under the protection of her Imperial kinsman.

Once within the lofty walls of Framlingham, she commanded the standard of England to be cast loose to the winds, and caused herself to be proclaimed Queen-regnant of England and Ireland. The effect was soon seen. Sir Henry Jerningham and Sir Henry Bedingfeld had joined her with a few followers before she quitted Kenninghall, and had served her as a guard in her ride of twenty miles to Framlingham. Sir John Sulyard now arrived, and was appointed captain of her guard. He was speedily followed by the tenants of Sir Henry Bedingfeld, to the number of 140. By the influence of Sir Henry Jerningham, Yarmouth declared for her; and soon after flocked in, with more or less of followers, Lord Thomas Howard, a grandson of the old Duke of Norfolk; Sir William Drury; Sir Thomas Cornwallis, High Sheriff of Suffolk; Sir John Skelton; and Sir John Tyrrel. These were all zealous Papists; and the people of Norfolk and Suffolk hurried to her standard, impelled by the memory of Northumberland's sanguinary extinction of Ket's rebellion, the horrors of which still kept alive a deep detestation of the unprincipled duke in those counties. In a very short time Mary beheld herself surrounded by an army of 13,000 men, all serving without pay, but confidently calculating on the certain recompense which, as queen, she would soon be able to award them. Lord Derby rose for her in Cheshire, and Carew proclaimed her in Devonshire.

Northumberland saw that no time was to be lost. It was necessary that forces should be instantly despatched to check the growth of Mary's army, and to disperse it altogether. But who should command it? There was no one so proper as himself; but he suspected the fidelity of the Council, and was unwilling to remove himself to a distance from them; he therefore recommended the Duke of Suffolk, the father of Lady Jane, to the command of the expedition. The Council, who were anxious to get rid of Northumberland in order that they might themselves escape to Mary's camp, represented privately that Suffolk was a general of no reputation, that everything depended on decisive proceedings in the outset, and that he alone was the man for the purpose. They, moreover, so excited the fears of Lady Jane that she entreated in tears that her father might remain with her.

Northumberland consented, though with many misgivings. He equally distrusted the Council and the citizens. On the 13th of July he set out, urging on the Council at his departure fidelity to the trust reposed in them, and receiving from them the most earnest protestations of zeal and attachment. At every step some expectation was falsified, or some disastrous news met him. The promised reinforcements did not arrive, but he heard of them taking the way to the camp of Mary instead of to his own. He heard of the defection of the fleet; and lastly, a prostrating blow, of the Council having gone over to Queen Mary. Struck with dismay at this accumulation of evil tidings, he retreated from Bury St. Edmunds, which he had reached, to Cambridge, and there betrayed pitiable indecision.

Scarcely had he left London before the Council, whilst outwardly professing much activity for the interests of Queen Jane, set to work to terminate as soon as possible the perilous farce of her royalty. On the evening of Sunday, the 16th, the Lord Treasurer left the Tower, and made a visit to his own house, contrary to the positive order of Northumberland, who had strictly enjoined Suffolk to keep the whole Council within its walls. On the 19th the Lord Treasurer and Lord Privy Seal, the Earls of Arundel, Shrewsbury, and Pembroke, Sir Thomas Cheney, and Sir John Mason, left the Tower, on the plea that it was necessary to levy forces, and to receive the French ambassador, and that Baynard's Castle, the residence of the Earl of Pembroke, was a much more convenient place for these purposes. As they professed to be actuated by zeal for the cause of his daughter, Suffolk, a very weak person, was easily duped. No sooner had they reached Baynard's Castle than they unanimously declared for Queen Mary.

Immediately after proclaiming the new queen, the Council sent to summon the Duke of Suffolk to surrender the Tower, which he did with all alacrity, and, proceeding to Baynard's Castle, signed the proclamations which the Council were issuing. Poor Lady Jane resigned her uneasy and unblessed crown of nine days with unfeigned joy, and the next morning returned to Sion House. This brief period of queenship, which had been thrust upon her against her own wishes and better judgment, had been embittered not only by her own sense of injustice towards her kinswoman, the Princess Mary, and by apprehension of the consequences to herself and all her friends, but still more by the harshness and insatiate ambition of her husband and his mother.

The Council despatched a letter to Northumberland by Richard Rose, the herald, commanding him to disband his army, and return to his allegiance to Queen Mary, under penalty of being declared a traitor. But before this reached him he had submitted himself, and in a manner the least heroic and dignified possible. On the Sunday he had induced Dr. Sandys, the vice-chancellor of the university, to preach a sermon against the title and religion of Mary. The very next day the news of the revolution at London arrived, and Northumberland, proceeding to the market-place, proclaimed the woman he had thus denounced, and flung up his cap as if in joy at the event, whilst the tears of grief and chagrin streamed down his face. Turning to Doctor Sandys, who was again with him, he said, "Queen Mary was a merciful woman, and that, doubtless, all would receive the benefit of her general pardon." But Sandys, who could not help despising him, bade him "not flatter himself with that; for if the queen were ever so inclined to pardon, those who ruled her would destroy him, whoever else were spared." Immediately after, Sir John Gates, one of his oldest and most obsequious instruments, arrested him, when he had his boots half-drawn on, so that he could not help himself; and, on the following morning, the Earl of Arundel, arriving with a body of troops, took possession of Northumberland, his captor, Gates, and Dr. Sandys, and sent them off to the Tower.

Mary dismissed her army, which had never exceeded 15,000, and which had had no occasion to draw a sword, before quitting Wanstead, except 3,000 horsemen in uniforms of green and white, red and white, and blue and white. These, too, she sent back before entering the City gate, thus showing her perfect confidence in the attachment of her capital. From that point her only guard was that of the City, which brought up the rear with bows and javelins. As Mary and her sister Elizabeth rode through the crowded streets, they were accompanied by a continuous roar of acclamation; and on entering the court of the Tower they beheld, kneeling on the green before St. Peter's Church, the State prisoners who had been detained there during the reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. These were Courtenay, the son of the Marquis of Exeter, who was executed in 1538; the old Duke of Norfolk, still under sentence of death; and the Bishops of Durham and Winchester, Tunstall and Gardiner. Gardiner pronounced a congratulation on behalf of the others; and Mary, bursting into tears at the sight, called them to her, exclaiming, "Ye are all my prisoners!" raised them one by one, kissed them, and set them at liberty. To extend the joy of her safe establishment upon the throne of her ancestors, she ordered eighteen pence to be distributed to every poor householder in the City.

It was Mary's misfortune that she had been educated to place so much reliance on the wisdom and friendship of her great relative, the Emperor Charles V. He had been her champion, as he had been that of her mother. When pressed on the subject of her religion during the last reign, he had menaced the country with war if the freedom of her conscience were violated. It was natural, therefore, that she should now look to him for counsel, seeing that almost all those whom she was obliged to employ or to have around her had been her enemies during her brother's reign. Charles communicated his opinions through Simon Renard, his ambassador, who was to be the medium of their correspondence, and to advise her in matters not of sufficient importance to require the Emperor's judgment, or not allowing of sufficient time to obtain it. Renard was ordered to act warily, and to show himself little at Court, so as to avoid suspicion.

Charles advised her to make examples of the chief conspirators, and to punish the subordinates more mildly, so as to obtain a character of moderation. He insisted upon it as necessary, however, that Lady Jane Grey should be included in the list for capital punishment, and to this Mary would by no means consent. She replied that "she could not find in her heart or conscience to put her unfortunate kinswoman to death, who had not been an accomplice of Northumberland, but merely an unresisting instrument in his hands. If there were any crime in being his daughter-in-law, even of that her cousin Jane was not guilty, for she had been legally contracted to another, and, therefore, her marriage with Lord Guilford Dudley was not valid. As to the danger existing from her pretensions, it was but imaginary, and every requisite precaution should be taken before she was set at liberty."

Mary's selection of prisoners was remarkably small considering the number in her hands, and the character of their offence against her. She contented herself with putting only seven of them on their trial—namely, Northumberland, his son the Earl of Warwick, the Marquis of Northampton, Sir John Gates, Sir Henry Gates, Sir Andrew Dudley, and Sir Thomas Palmer—his chief councillors and his associates. Northumberland submitted to the court whether a man could be guilty of treason who acted on the authority of Council, and under warrant of the Great Seal; or could they, who had been his chief advisers and accomplices during the whole time, sit as his judges? The Duke of Norfolk, who presided at the trial as High Steward, replied that the Council and Great Seal which he spoke of were those of a usurper, and, therefore, so far from availing him, only aggravated the offence, and that the lords in question could sit as his judges, because they were under no attainder.

Finding that his appeal had done him no service, Northumberland and his fellow-prisoners pleaded guilty. The duke prayed that his sentence might be commuted into decapitation, as became a peer of the realm, and he prayed the queen that she would be merciful to his children on account of their youth. He desired also that an able divine might be sent to him for the settling of his conscience, thereby intimating that he was at heart a Romanist, in hopes, no doubt, of winning upon the mind of the queen, for he was very anxious to save his life. He professed, too, that he was in possession of certain State secrets of vital importance to her Majesty, and entreated that two members of the Council might be sent to him to receive these matters from him. What his object was became manifest from the result, for Gardiner and another member of the Council being sent to him in consequence, he implored Gardiner passionately to intercede for his life. Gardiner gave him little hope, but promised to do what he could, and on returning to the queen so much moved her, that she was inclined to grant the request; but others of the Council wrote through Renard to the Emperor, who strenuously warned her, if she valued her safety, or the peace of her reign, not to listen to the arch-traitor. On Tuesday, the 22nd of August, Northumberland, Gates, and Palmer were brought from the Tower for execution on Tower Hill. Of the eleven condemned, only these three were executed—an instance of clemency, in so gross a conspiracy to deprive a sovereign of a throne, which is without parallel. When the Duke of Northumberland and Gates met on the scaffold, they each accused the other of being the author of the treason. Northumberland charged the whole design on Gates and the Council; Gates laid it more truly on Northumberland and his high authority. They protested, however, that they entirely forgave each other, and Northumberland, stepping to the rail, made a speech, praying for a long and happy reign to the queen, and calling on the people to bear witness that he died in the true Catholic faith. Though he condemned it, he said, in his heart, ambition had led him to conform to the new faith, the adoption of which had filled both England and Germany with constant dissensions, troubles, and civil wars. After repeating the "Miserere," "De Profundis," and the "Paternoster," with some portion of another psalm, concluding with the words, "Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit," he laid his head on the block, saying that he deserved a thousand deaths, and it was severed at a stroke. Gates and Palmer died professing much penitence.

The accession of Mary was a joyful event to the Papal Court. Julius III. appointed Cardinal Pole his legate to the queen; but Pole was by no means in haste, without obtaining further information, to fill this office in a country where the people, whose sturdy character he well knew, had to so great an extent imbibed the doctrines of the Reformation. Dandino, the Papal legate at Brussels, therefore despatched a gentleman of his suite to proceed to London and cautiously spy out the land. Before making himself known, this emissary, Gianfrancesco Commendone, went about London for some days gathering up all evidences of the public feeling on the question of the Church. He then procured a private interview with Mary, and was delighted to hear from her own lips that she was fully resolved on reconciling her kingdom to the Papal See, and meant to obtain the repeal of all laws restricting the doctrines or discipline of the Roman Church; but that it required caution, and that no trace of any correspondence with Rome must come to light.

Mary was, however, inclined to go faster and farther than some of her advisers, and Gardiner, though so staunch a Papist, was too much of an Englishman to wish to see the supremacy restored to the Pontiff. But others were not so patriotic. Throughout the kingdom the Protestant preachers were silenced. The great bell at Christ Church, Oxford, was just recast, and the first use of it was to call the people to Mass. "That bell then rung," says Fuller, "the knell of Gospel truth in the city of Oxford, afterwards filled with Protestant tears."

Four days after her coronation, on October 1st, Mary opened her first Parliament; and she opened it in a manner which showed plainly what was to come. Both peers and commoners were called upon to attend her majesty at a solemn Mass of the Holy Ghost. This was an immediate test of what degree of compliance was to be expected in the attempt to return to the ancient order of things; and the success of the experiment was most encouraging. With the exception of Taylor Bishop of Lincoln, and Harley Bishop of Hereford, the whole Parliament—peers, prelates, and commoners—fell on their knees at the elevation of the Host, and participated with an air of devotion in that which in the last reign they had declared an abomination. But such was the zeal now for the lately abhorred Mass, that the two noncomplying bishops were thrust out of the queen's presence, and out of the abbey altogether. There were those who insinuated that the Emperor furnished Mary with funds to bribe her Parliament on this occasion; but, besides that Charles was not so lavish of his money, events soon showed that the Parliament, though so exceedingly pliant in the matter of religion, was stubborn enough regarding the estates obtained from the Church, and also concerning Mary's scheme of a Spanish marriage.

The first act of legislation was to restore the securities to life and property which had been granted in the twenty-fifth year of Edward III., and which had been so completely prostrated by the acts of Henry VIII. Such an Act had been passed at the commencement of the last reign, but had been again violated in the cases of the two Seymours. The Parliament, looking back on the sanguinary lawlessness of that monarch, did not think the country sufficiently safe from charges of constructive treason and felony without a fresh enactment. It next passed an Act annulling the divorce of Queen Catherine of Aragon, by Cranmer, and declaring the present queen legitimate. This Act indeed tacitly declared Elizabeth illegitimate, but there was no getting altogether out of the difficulties which the licentious proceedings of Henry VIII. had created, and it was deemed best to pass that point over in silence, leaving the queen to treat her sister as if born in genuine wedlock.

The next Act went to restore the Papal Church in England, stopping short, however, of the supremacy. This received no opposition in the House of Lords, but occasioned a debate of two days in the Commons. It passed, however, eventually without a division, and by it was swept away at once the whole system of Protestantism established by Cranmer during the reign of Edward VI. The Reformed liturgy, which the Parliament of that monarch had declared was framed by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, was now pronounced to be "a new thing, imagined and devised by a few of singular opinions." This abolished the marriages of priests and illegitimatised their children. From the 20th day of November divine worship was to be performed, and the sacraments were to be administered, as in the last year of Henry VIII. Thus were the tyrannic Six Articles restored, and all but the Papal supremacy. Even the discussion of the ritual and doctrines of Edward VI. became so warm, that the queen prorogued Parliament for three days. On calling the House of Commons together again, and proceeding with the Bill, no mention was made of the restoration of the Church property, though the queen was anxious to restore all that was in the hands of the Crown; for the Lords, and gentlemen even of the House of Commons, who were in possession of those lands, would have raised a far different opposition to that which was manifested regarding the State religion. No sooner were these Bills passed than the clergy met in Convocation, and passed decrees for the speedy enforcement of all the new regulations.

The persecution of the Reformed clergy who had stood firm became vehement. The married clergy were called upon to abandon their wives, and there was a rush of the expelled priests again to fill their pulpits. In the cities there was considerable opposition, for there the people had read and reflected, but generally throughout the agricultural districts the change took place with the ease and rapidity of the scene-shifting at a theatre. Many of the married priests, however, would not abandon their wives and children, and were turned adrift into the highways, or were thrust into prison. Many fled abroad, hoping for more Christian treatment from the Reformed churches there, but in vain, for their doctrines did not accord with those of the foreign Reformers, who deemed them heretical.

About half the English bishops conformed; the rest were ejected from their sees, and several of them were imprisoned. Soon after Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley were sent to the Tower, Holgate, Archbishop of York, was sent thither also. Poynet, who was Bishop of Winchester during Gardiner's expulsion, was imprisoned for having married. Taylor of Lincoln and Harley of Hereford, for refusing to kneel on the elevation of the Host at the queen's coronation, and for other heresies, were committed to prison. On the 13th of October Cranmer was brought to trial in the Guildhall, on a charge of treason, with Lady Jane Grey, her husband Lord Guilford Dudley, and Lord Ambrose Dudley, his brother. They were all condemned to death as traitors, and a bill of attainder was passed through Parliament against them. Lady Jane's sentence was to be beheaded or burnt at the queen's pleasure, which was then the law of England in all cases where women committed high treason, or petty treason by the murder of their husbands. The fate of Lady Jane, who pleaded guilty, and exhibited the most mild and amiable demeanour on the occasion, excited deep sympathy, and crowds followed her as she was reconducted to the Tower, weeping and lamenting her hard fate. It was well understood, however, that the queen had no intention of carrying the sentence into effect against any of the prisoners; but she deemed it a means of keeping quiet her partisans to hold them in prison under sentence of death. She gave orders that they should receive every indulgence consistent with their security, and Lady Jane was permitted to walk in the queen's garden at the Tower, and even on Tower Hill.

The subject which created the greatest difficulty to this Parliament was that of the queen's marriage. The wily Renard suggested to Mary as a possible husband Philip the heir of Charles V., and she eagerly seized on the idea though she knew that it would be very unpopular. The first to remonstrate with Mary on the subject was Gardiner, her Chancellor, who boldly pointed out to her the repugnance of the nation to a Spanish marriage; that she would be the paramount authority if she married a subject, but that it would be difficult to maintain that rank with a Spanish king; that the arrogance of the Spanish had made them odious to all nations, and that this quality had shown itself conspicuously in Philip. He was greatly disliked by his own people, and it was not likely that he would be tolerated by the English; moreover, alliance with Spain meant perpetual war with France, which would never suffer the Netherlands to be annexed to the crown of England. The rest of Mary's Council took up the same strain, with the exception of the old Duke of Norfolk, and the Lords Arundel and Paget. The Protestant party out of doors were furious against the match, declaring that it would bring the Inquisition into the country, to rivet Popery upon it, and to make England the slave of taxation to the Spaniards. The Parliament took up the subject with equal hostility, and the Commons sent their Speaker to her, attended by a deputation of twenty members, praying her Majesty not to marry a foreigner.

Noailles, the French ambassador, was delighted with this movement, and took much credit to himself for inciting influential parties to it; but Mary believed it to originate with Gardiner, and the lion spirit of her father coming over her, she vowed that she would prove a match for the cunning of the Chancellor. That very night she sent for the Spanish ambassador, and bidding him follow her into her private oratory, she there knelt down before the altar, and after chanting the hymn, "Veni Creator Spiritus," she made a vow to God that she would marry Philip of Spain, and whilst she lived, no other man but him. Thus she put it out of her power, if she kept her vow, to marry any other person should she outlive Philip, showing the force of the paroxysm of determination which was upon her. The effort would seem to have been very violent, for immediately after she was taken ill, and continued so for some days.

It was on the last day of October that this curious circumstance took place, and on the 17th of November she sent for the House of Commons, when the Speaker read the address giving her their advice regarding her marriage. Instead of the Chancellor returning the answer, as was the custom, Mary replied herself, thanking them for their care that she should have a succession in her own children, but rebuking them for presuming to dictate to her the choice of a husband. She declared that the marriages of her predecessors had always been free, a privilege which, she assured them, she was resolved to maintain. At the same time, she added, she should be careful to make such a selection as should contribute both to her own happiness and to that of her people.

The plain declaration of the queen to her Parliament was not necessary to inform those about her who were interested in the question; they had speedy information of her having favoured the Spanish suit, and Noailles was certainly mixed up in conspiracies to defeat it. It was proposed to place Courtenay, the young Earl of Devon, who had long been a prisoner in the Tower, at the head of the Reformed party, and if Mary would not consent to marry him, to assassinate Arundel and Paget, the advocates of the Spanish match; to marry Elizabeth to Courtenay, and raise the standard of rebellion in Devonshire. It appears from the despatches of Noailles that the Duke of Suffolk, the father of Lady Jane Grey, was in this conspiracy. But the folly and the unstable character of their hero, Courtenay, was fatal to their design, and of that Noailles very soon became sensible. It was suggested by some of the parties that Courtenay should steal away from Court, get across to France, and thence join the conspirators in Devonshire; but Noailles opposed this plan, declaring that the moment Courtenay quitted the coast of England his chance was utterly lost; and he wrote to his own government, saying that the scheme would fall to nothing; for although Courtenay and Elizabeth were fitting persons to cause a rising, such was the want of decision of Courtenay, he would let himself be taken before he would act—the thing which actually came to pass.

On the 2nd of January, 1554, a splendid embassy, sent by the Emperor, headed by the Counts Egmont and Lalain, the Lord of Courrieres, and the Sieur de Nigry, landed in Kent, to arrange the marriage between Mary and Philip. The unpopularity of this measure was immediately manifested, for the men of Kent, taking Egmont for Philip, rose in fury, and would have torn him to pieces if they could have got hold of him. Having, however, reached Westminster in safety, on the 14th of January, a numerous assembly of nobles, prelates, and courtiers was summoned to the queen's presence-chamber, where Gardiner, who had found it necessary to relinquish his opposition, stated to them the proposed conditions of the treaty. The greatest care was evidently taken to disarm the fears of the English, and nothing could appear more moderate than the terms of this alliance. Philip and Mary were to confer on each other the titles of their respective kingdoms, but each kingdom was still to be governed by its own laws and constitution. None but English subjects were to hold office in this country, not even in the king's private service. If the queen had an heir, it was to be her successor in her own dominions, and also in all Philip's dominions of Burgundy, Holland, and Flanders, which were for ever to become part and parcel of England. This certainly, on the face of it, was a most advantageous condition for England, but had it taken effect, it would undoubtedly have proved a most disastrous one, involving us perpetually in the wars and struggles of the Continent, and draining these islands to defend those foreign territories.

Another condition of the treaty was that Mary was not to be carried out of the kingdom except at her own request, nor any of her children, except by the consent of the peers. The Commons were totally ignored in the matter. Philip was not to entangle England in the Continental wars of his father, nor to appropriate any of the naval or military resources of this country, or the property or jewels of the Crown, to any foreign purposes. If there was no issue of the marriage, all the conditions of the treaty at once became void, and Philip ceased to be king even in name. If he died first, which was not very probable, Mary was to enjoy a dower of 60,000 ducats per annum, secured on lands in Spain and Flanders. No mention was made of any payment to Philip if he happened to be the survivor. But there was one little clause which stipulated that Philip should aid Mary in governing her kingdom—an ominous word, which might be made of vast significance.

Within five days came the startling news that three insurrections had broken out in different quarters of the kingdom. One was a-foot in the midland counties, where the Duke of Suffolk and the Grey family had property and influence. There the cry was for the Lady Jane. Mary had been completely deceived by the Duke of Suffolk, whom she had pardoned and liberated from the Tower. In return for her leniency he affected so hearty an approval of her marriage, that she instantly thought of him as the man to put down the other rebellions, and sending for him, found that he and his brothers, Lord Thomas and Lord John Grey, had ridden off with a strong body of horse to Leicestershire, proclaiming Lady Jane in every town through which they passed. They found no response to their cry, a fact which any but the most rash speculators might have been certain of. The Earl of Huntingdon, a relative of the queen's, took the field against the Greys, who by their folly brought certain death to Lady Jane, and defeated them near Coventry, upon which they fled for their lives.

The second insurrection was in the west, under Sir Peter Carew, whose project was to place Elizabeth and Courtenay, Earl of Devon, on the throne, and restore the Protestant religion. These parties, as well as the third under Sir Thomas Wyatt, had consented to act together, and thus paralyse the efforts of Mary, by the simultaneous outbreak in so many quarters. But the miserable folly of their plans became evident at once. They did not even unite in the choice of the same person as their future monarch, and had they put down Mary, must then have come to blows amongst themselves. Carew found Devonshire as indifferent to his call as the Greys had found Leicestershire. Courtenay was to have put himself at their head, but never went; and Carew, Gibbs, and Champernham called on the people of Exeter to sign an address to the queen, stating that they would have no Spanish despot. The people of Devon gave no support to the movement. The Earl of Bedford appeared at the head of the queen's troops. A number of the conspirators were seized, and Carew with others fled to France.

But the most formidable section of this tripartite rebellion was that under Sir Thomas Wyatt. He fixed his headquarters at Rochester, having a fleet of five sail, under his associate Winter, which brought him ordnance and ammunition. Wyatt was only a youth of twenty-three, but he was full of both courage and enthusiasm, and endeavoured to rouse the people of Canterbury to follow him. There, however, he was not successful, and this cast a damp upon his adherents. Sir Robert Southwell defeated a party of the insurgents under Knevet, and the Lord Abergavenny another party under Isley, and the spirits of Wyatt's troops began to sink rapidly. Many of his supporters sent to the Council, offering to surrender on promise of full pardon, and a little delay would probably have witnessed the total dispersion of his force.

But on the 29th of January, the Duke of Norfolk marched from London with a detachment of the guards under Sir Henry Jerningham. On reaching Rochester they found Wyatt encamped in the ruins of the old castle, and the bridge bristling with cannon, and with well-armed Kentishmen. Norfolk endeavoured to dissolve the hostile force by sending a herald to proclaim a pardon to all that would lay down their arms, but Wyatt would not permit him to read the paper. Norfolk then ordered his troops to force the bridge; but this duty falling to a detachment of 500 of the train-bands of the city under Captain Brett, the moment they reached the bridge Brett turned round, and addressed his followers thus:—"Masters, we go about to fight against our native countrymen of England, and our friends, in a quarrel unrightful and wicked; for they, considering the great miseries that are like to fall upon us, if we shall be under the rule of the proud Spaniards, or strangers, are here assembled to make resistance to their coming, for the avoiding the great mischiefs likely to alight not only upon themselves, but upon every of us and the whole realm; wherefore I think no English heart ought to say against them. I and others will spend our blood in their quarrel."

On hearing this, his men shouted, one and all, "A Wyatt! a Wyatt!" and turned their guns not against the bridge, but against Norfolk's forces. At this sight Norfolk and his officers, imagining a universal treason, turned their horses and fled at full speed, leaving behind them their cannon and ammunition. The train-bands crossed the bridge and joined Wyatt's soldiers, followed by three-fourths of the queen's troops, and some companies of the guard. Norfolk and his fugitive officers galloping into London carried with them the direst consternation. In City and Court alike the most terrible panic prevailed. The lawyers in Westminster Hall pleaded in suits of armour hidden under their robes, and Dr. Weston preached before the queen in Whitehall Chapel, on Candlemas Day, in armour under his clerical vestments. Mary alone seemed calm and self-possessed. She mounted her horse, and, attended by her ladies and her Council, rode into the City, where, summoning Sir Thomas White, Lord Mayor and tailor, and the aldermen to meet, who all came clad in armour under their civic livery, she ascended a chair of State, and with her sceptre in hand addressed them, declaring she would never marry except with leave of Parliament.

Her courage gained the day. From some cause the insurgents had not pushed forward with the celerity which the flight of Norfolk appeared to make easy. Instead of marching on the City and taking advantage of its panic, Wyatt was three days in reaching Deptford and Greenwich, and he then lay three more days there, though his success was said to have raised his forces to 15,000 men. Meantime the City had recovered its courage by the valiant bearing of the queen, and the news of the dispersion of the other two divisions of the rebels. The golden opportunity was irrevocably lost. On the 3rd of February Wyatt marched along the river side to Southwark. Coming to the end of London Bridge, he found the drawbridge raised, the gates closed, and the citizens, headed by the Lord Mayor and aldermen in armour, in strong force ready to resist his entrance. He was surprised to find the Londoners determined not to admit him, for he had been led to believe that they were as hostile to the marriage as himself. He planted two pieces of artillery at the foot of the bridge, but this was evidently with the view of defending his own position, and not of forcing the gates, for he cut a deep ditch between the bridge and the fort which he occupied, and then protected his flanks from attack by other guns, one pointing down Bermondsey Street, one by St. George's Church, and the third towards the Bishop of Winchester's house. He must still have hoped for a demonstration in the City in his favour, for he remained stationary two whole days, without making an attack on the bridge. On the third morning this inaction was broken by the garrison in the Tower opening a brisk cannonade against him with all their heavy ordnance, doing immense damage to the houses in the vicinity of the bridge fort, and to the towers of St. Olave's and St. Mary Overy's.

The people of Southwark, seeing the inaction of Wyatt and the mischief done to their property, now cried out amain, and desired him to take himself away, which he did. He told the people that he would not have them hurt on his account, and forthwith commenced a march towards Kingston, hoping to be able to cross the bridge there, which he supposed would be unguarded, and that so he might fall on Westminster and London on the side where they were but indifferently fortified. He reached Kingston about four o'clock in the afternoon of the 6th of February, where he found a part of the bridge broken down, and an armed force ready to oppose his passage. His object being to cross here, and not, as at London Bridge, to await a voluntary admission, he brought up his artillery, swept the enemy from the opposite bank, and by the help of some sailors, who brought up boats and barges, he had the bridge made passable, and his troops crossed over. By this time it was eleven o'clock at night; his troops were extremely fatigued by their march and their labours here, but he now deemed it absolutely necessary to push on, and allow the Government no more time than he could help to collect forces into his path, and strengthen their position. He marched on, therefore, through a miserable winter night, and staying most imprudently to re-mount a heavy gun which had broken down, it was broad daylight when he arrived at what is now Hyde Park, where the Earl of Pembroke was posted with the royal forces to receive him.

Lord Clinton headed the cavalry, and took his station with a battery of cannon on the rising ground opposite to the palace of St. James's, at the top of the present St. James's Street, and his cavalry extended from that spot to the present Jermyn Street. All that quarter of dense building, including Piccadilly, Pall Mall, and St. James's Square, was then open and called St. James's Fields. About nine o'clock appeared the advance guard of Wyatt's army. The morning was dismal, gloomy, and rainy, and his troops, who had been wading through muddy roads all night, were in no condition to face a fresh army. Many had deserted at Kingston, many more had dropped off since, and seeing the strength of the force placed to obstruct him, he divided his own into three parts. One of these, led by Captain Cobham, took the way through St. James's Park at the back of the palace, which was barricaded at all points, guards being stationed at the windows, even those of the queen's bed-chamber and with drawing-rooms. Cobham's division fired on the palace as it passed, whilst another division under Captain Knevet, holding more to the right, assaulted the palaces of Westminster and Whitehall.

But Wyatt, at the head of the main division, charged Clinton's cavalry; the cannon were brought up, and a general engagement took place between the rebel army and the troops under Clinton and the infantry under Pembroke. Wyatt's charge seemed to make the cavalry give way, but it was only a stratagem on the part of Clinton, who opened his ranks to let Wyatt and about four hundred of his followers pass, when he closed and cut off the main body from their commander. In all Wyatt's proceedings he displayed great bravery, but little military experience or caution.

His main forces, now deprived of their leader, wavered and gave way, but instead of breaking took another course to reach the City. Wyatt, as if unconscious that he had left the bulk of his army behind him, and had now the enemy between it and himself, rushed along past Charing Cross and through the Strand to Ludgate, in the fond hope still that the citizens would admit him and join him. In the passages of the Strand were posted bodies of soldiers under the Earl of Worcester and the contemptible Courtenay, who, on the sight of Wyatt, fled.

On reaching Ludgate, Wyatt found the gates closed, and instead of the citizens who had promised to receive him, Lord William Howard appeared over the gate, crying sternly, "Avaunt, traitor! avaunt; you enter not here!" Finding no access there, the unhappy man turned to rejoin and assist his troops, but he was met by those of Pembroke, who had poured after him like a flood. With the energy of despair he fought his way back as far as the Temple, where he found only twenty-four of his followers surviving. At Temple Bar he threw away his sword, which was broken, and surrendered himself to Sir Maurice Berkeley, who immediately mounted him behind him and carried him off to Court.

Mary had displayed the most extraordinary clemency on the termination of the former conspiracy, for which not only the Emperor but her own Ministers had blamed her. Her Council now urged her to make a more salutary example of these offenders, to prevent a repetition of rebellion. On the previous occasion she had permitted only three of the ringleaders to be put to death. On this occasion five of the chief conspirators were condemned, and four of them were executed, Croft being pardoned. Suffolk fell without any commiseration. It was difficult to decide whether his folly or his ingratitude had been the greater. He had twice been a traitor to the queen, the second time after being most mercifully pardoned. He had twice put his amiable and excellent daughter's life in jeopardy; the second time after seeing how hopeless was the attempt to place her on the throne, and therefore, to a certainty, by the second revolt, involving her death; and to add to his infamy, he endeavoured to win escape for himself by betraying others. He was beheaded on the 23rd of February. Wyatt was kept in the Tower till the 11th of April, when he was executed. Unlike Suffolk, he tried to exculpate others, declaring in his last moments that neither the Princess Elizabeth nor Courtenay, who were suspected of being privy to his designs, knew anything of them. Wyatt seems to have been a brave and honest man, who believed himself acting the part of a patriot in endeavouring to preserve the country from the Spanish yoke, and who, in the sincerity of his own heart, had too confidently trusted to the assurances of faithless men. Had he succeeded, and placed the Protestant Princess Elizabeth on the throne, his name, instead of remaining that of a traitor, would have stood side by side with that of Hampden. His body was quartered and exposed in different places. His head was stuck on a pole at Hay Hill, near Hyde Park, whence it was stolen by some of his friends.

Sir Nicholas Throgmorton was the sixth, who was tried at Guildhall on the 17th of April, the very day of Lord Grey's execution. His condemnation and death were regarded as certain; but on being brought to the bar he adroitly pleaded that the recent statute abolishing all treasons since the reign of Edward III., covered anything which he could possibly have done, and that his offence being only words, were by the same statute declared to be no overt act at all. He stated this with so much skill and eloquence, at the same time contending that there was not a particle of evidence of his having been an active accomplice of the rebels, that the jury acquitted him.

The execution which caused and still causes the deepest interest, and which always appears as a shadow on the character of Queen Mary, was that of her cousin, Lady Jane Grey. Till this second unfortunate insurrection, Mary steadily refused to listen to any persuasions to shed the blood of Lady Jane. She had had her tried and condemned to death, but she still permitted her to live, gave her a considerable degree of liberty and unusual indulgences, and it was generally understood that she meant eventually to pardon her. The ambassadors of Charles V. had strenuously urged her to prevent future danger by executing her rival, but she had replied that she could not find it in her conscience to put her unfortunate kinswoman to death, who had not been an accomplice of Northumberland, but merely an instrument in his hands; but now that the very mischief had taken place which the Emperor and her own Council had prognosticated; she was importuned on all sides to take what they described as the only prudent course. Poynet, the Bishop of Winchester, says that those lords of the Council who had been the most instrumental at the death of Edward VI. in thrusting royalty on Lady Jane—namely, Pembroke and Winchester—and who had been amongst the first to denounce Mary as illegitimate, were now the most remorseless advocates for Lady Jane's death.

Accordingly, the day after the fall of Wyatt, Mary signed the warrant for the execution of "Guilford Dudley and his wife," to take place within three days. On the morning of the execution the queen sent Lady Jane permission to have an interview with her husband, but she declined the favour as too trying, saying she should meet him within a few hours in heaven. She saw her husband go to execution from the window of the lodging in Master Partridge's house, and beheld the headless trunk borne back to be buried in the chapel. Lord Guilford Dudley was executed on Tower Hill in sight of a vast concourse, but a scaffold was erected for her on the Tower green. Immediately after his corpse had passed she was led forth by the Lieutenant of the Tower, and appeared to go to her fate without any discomposing fear, but in a serious frame, not a tear dimming her eye, though her gentlewomen, Elizabeth Tilney and Mistress Helen, were weeping greatly. She continued engaged in prayer, which she read from a book, till she came to the scaffold; there she made a short speech to the spectators, declaring that she deserved her punishment for allowing herself to be made the instrument of the ambition of others. "That device, however," she said, "was never of my seeking, but by the counsel of those who appeared to have better understanding of such things than I. As for the procurement or desire of such dignity by me, I wash my hands thereof before God and all you Christian people this day." She caused her gentlewomen to disrobe her, bandaged her own eyes with a handkerchief, and laying her head on the block, at one stroke it was severed from the body (February 12, 1554).

But this conspiracy had approached the queen much more nearly than in the person of Wyatt or the friends of Lady Jane Grey. It was discovered by intercepted letters of Wyatt, of Noailles, the French ambassador, and by one supposed to have been written by Elizabeth herself to the French king; that she was deeply implicated, and that the design of marrying her and Courtenay and placing them on the throne was well known, and apparently quite agreeable to her.

The refusal of Elizabeth to join her sister at the outbreak of the insurrection, and the flight of Courtenay at the moment of Wyatt's entry of London, excited suspicion, and this suspicion was soon converted into something very like fact by the three despatches of Noailles, written in cipher, and dated January 26th, 28th, and 30th. These despatches detailed the steps taken in her favour. Besides these there were two notes sent by Wyatt to Elizabeth, the first advising her to remove to Donington, the next informing her of his successful entry into Southwark. Then came what appeared clearly a letter of Elizabeth to the King of France. The Duke of Suffolk's confession was again corroborative of these details, namely, that the object of the insurrection was to depose Mary and place Elizabeth on the throne. William Thomas supported this, adding that it was intended to put the queen immediately to death. Croft confessed that he had solicited Elizabeth to return to Donington; Lord Russell said he had conveyed letters from Wyatt to Elizabeth, and another witness deposed to his knowledge of a correspondence between Courtenay and Carew respecting Courtenay's marriage with the princess.

With all these startling facts in her possession, Mary wrote to Elizabeth with an air of unsuspicious kindness, requesting her to come to her from Ashridge, informing her that malicious and ill-disposed persons accused her of favouring the late insurrection; but appearing not to believe it, and giving as a reason for her wishing her to be nearer, that the times were so unsettled that she would be in greater security with her. Elizabeth pleaded illness for not complying; but the queen sent Hastings, Southwell, and Cornwallis, members of Council, whom she received in her bed, and complained of being afflicted with a severe and dangerous malady. Mary, well acquainted with the deep dissimulation of her sister's character, then sent three of her own physicians, accompanied by Lord William Howard; and the physicians having given their opinion that she was quite able to travel, she was obliged to accompany them by short stages, borne in a litter. She appeared pale and bloated. It was said that she had been poisoned; but in a week she was quite well, and demanded an audience of the queen; but Mary had so much evidence in her hands of Elizabeth's proceedings, that she sent her word that it was necessary first to prove her innocence.

Courtenay had been arrested on the 12th of February, at the house of the Earl of Essex, and committed to the Tower. Mary was averse from sending her sister there, and asked each of the lords of the Council in rotation to admit Elizabeth to their houses, and take charge of her. All declined the dangerous office; she was, therefore, compelled to sign the warrant for her committal, and Elizabeth was conducted to the Tower by the Earl of Sussex and another nobleman on the 18th of March. Even whilst performing this duty, it appears that Elizabeth had influence enough with these noblemen to make them dilatory in the execution of their office, to the great anger of the queen, who upbraided them with their remissness, telling them they dared not have done such a thing in her father's time, and wishing that "he were alive for a month." Elizabeth on entering the Tower was dreadfully afraid that she was doomed to leave it as so many princes and nobles had done, without a head. She inquired whether Lady Jane's scaffold were removed, and was greatly relieved to hear that it was. But what alarmed Elizabeth still more, was that the Constable of the Tower was discharged from his office, and Sir Henry Bedingfield, a zealous Romanist, appointed in his place. The fact of Sir Robert Brackenbury having been seventy years before, in like manner, removed, and Sir James Tyrell put in, when the princes were murdered, appeared an ominous precedent, but there was no real cause for apprehension; Mary had no wish to shed her sister's blood. Elizabeth, spite of the evidence against her, protested vehemently her innocence, and wished "that God might confound her eternally if she was in any manner implicated with Wyatt."

The Court of Spain, through Renard the ambassador, urged perseveringly the execution of Elizabeth and Courtenay. Renard represented from his sovereign that there could be no security for her throne so long as Elizabeth and Courtenay were suffered to live. But Mary replied that though they had both of them, no doubt, listened willingly to the conspirators, and would have been ready had they succeeded to step into her throne, yet they had been guilty of no overt act, and, therefore, by the constitutional law of England which had been enacted in her first Parliament, they could not be put to death, but could only be imprisoned, or suffer forfeiture of their goods.

In spite of the many warnings and the most universal expression of dislike to the match, Mary persisted in her engagement of marriage with Philip of Spain, though he himself showed no unequivocal reluctance to the completion of it; never writing to her, but submitting to his fate, as it were, in obedience to the parental command. At the end of May the unwilling bridegroom resigned his government of Castile—which he held for his insane grandmother, Juana—into the hands of his sister, the Princess-Dowager of Portugal, and bade adieu to his family. He embarked at Corunna on the 13th of July for England, and landed at Southampton on the 20th, after a week's voyage. He married his wife, who was much older than himself, and whose importunate love soon began to annoy him, at Winchester.

On the 11th of November the third Parliament of Mary's reign was summoned, and she and her Royal husband rode from Hampton Court to Whitehall to open the session. The king and queen rode side by side, a sword of State being borne before each to betoken their independent sovereignties. The queen was extremely anxious to restore the lands reft from the Church by her father and brother to their ancient uses, but she must have known little of the men into whose hands those lands had fallen, if she could seriously hope for such a sacrifice. The Earl of Bedford, than whom no one had more deeply gorged himself with Church plunder, on hearing the proposition, tore his rosary from his girdle and flung it into the fire, saying he valued the abbey of Woborn more than any fatherly counsel that could come from Rome. All the rest of the Council were of the same way of thinking as Bedford, and Mary saw that it was a hopeless case to move them on that point, though she set them a very honourable example by surrendering the lands which still remained in the hands of the Crown, to the value of £60,000 a year.

Though Mary could not recover the property for the Church, she resolved to restore that Church to unity with Rome. She expressed her earnest desire to have the presence of her kinsman, Cardinal Pole, in her kingdom, and he now set out for England, from which he had been banished so many years. He rendered this return the more easy, by bringing with him from the Pope a bull which confirmed the nobles in their possession of the Church property, on condition that the Papal supremacy was restored. The queen despatched Sir Edward Hastings to accompany the cardinal; and Sir William Cecil, who had been Edward's unhesitating minister in stripping the Church, set out of his own accord to pay homage to the Papal representative. Cecil's only real religion was ambition, and Mary knew that so well that, in spite of all his time-serving, she never would place any confidence in him, whence his bitter hostility to her memory.

Pole, on his arrival, ascended the Thames from Greenwich in a splendid State barge, at the prow of which he fixed a large silver cross, thus marking the entrance of the legatine and Papal authority into the country, as it were, in a triumphal manner. On the 24th of November the king and queen met the united Parliament in the presence-chamber of the palace of Whitehall: this was owing to the indisposition of the queen. Gardiner introduced the business, which, he told them, was the weightiest that ever happened in this realm, and begged their utmost attention to Cardinal Pole. Pole then made a long speech, reverting to his own history as well as that of the nation. All listened in solemn seriousness and yet apprehension when he announced to them the fact that the Pope was ready to absolve the English from their crimes of heresy and contumacy. But when he added that this was to be done without any reclamation of the Church lands, there was a unanimous vote of both Houses for reconciliation with Rome.

The next morning, the king, queen, and Parliament met again in the presence-chamber, when, Pole presenting himself, Philip and Mary rose, and, bowing profoundly to him, presented him with the vote of Parliament. The cardinal, on receiving it, offered up thanks to God for this auspicious event, and then ordered his commission to be read. The Peers and Commons then fell on their knees and received absolution and benediction from the hands of the cardinal, and thus for a time again was the great breach between England and the Papacy healed.

Parliament proceeded to pass Acts confirming all that was now done, and repealing all the statutes which had been passed against the Roman Church since the 20th of Henry VIII., while the clergy in Convocation made formal resignation of the possessions which had passed into the hands of laymen. The legate also issued decrees authorising all cathedral churches, hospitals, and schools founded since the schism, to be preserved, and that all persons who had contracted marriage within prescribed degrees should remain married notwithstanding.

The year 1555 opened with dark and threatening features. The queen's health was failing; and, under the idea that she was merely suffering maternal inconvenience, she was rapidly advancing in a dropsy which, in less than four years, was destined to sink her to the tomb. The king, gloomy, despotic, and, consequently, unpopular, though he often endeavoured to act against his nature, and assume a popular character, still hoping for an heir to the English crown, had obtained from Parliament an Act constituting him regent, in case Mary should die after the birth of a child, during the minority of that child. Thus, whether the queen lived or died, he appeared to possess a reasonable prospect of obtaining the supreme power in this country; and how he would have used it, we may judge from his government of Spain and the Netherlands. If the child was a female, he was made governor till her fifteenth year; if a male, till his eighteenth year. Philip protested on his honour that he would give up the government faithfully when the child came of age; but Lord Paget asked "who was to sue the bond if he did not?"—a suggestion never forgiven. With this flattering but illusive prospect before him, the tempest of persecution soon burst forth; and, had Providence permitted, England would soon have exhibited the same scene of tyranny, bloodshed, and insult which Flanders did under his rule. As it was, for a short period, terrible war for conscience' sake burst forth, the prisons were thronged, and the fires of death blazed out in every quarter of the island. Mary, with failing health, and doting absurdly on her husband, was easily drawn to acquiesce in deeds and measures which made her name a byword to all future times.

We are now called upon to pass through a reign of terror, a time of fire and blood, such as has no parallel in the history of England. The statutes against the Lollards enacted in the reigns of Richard II., Henry IV., and Henry V., were revived and were to come into force on the 20th of January. Bonner, accompanied by eight bishops and 160 priests, made a grand procession through the streets of London, and held services of public thanksgiving for the happy restoration of Catholicism. A commission was then held in the Church of St. Mary Overy, in Southwark, for the trial of heretics. The first man brought before this court, over which Gardiner presided, was John Rogers, a prebendary of St. Paul's, who had nobly distinguished himself by defending the first priest sent by Mary to preach Papacy at St. Paul's Cross. The Court condemned him to be burnt, and on the 4th of February this horrible sentence was executed in the most barbarous manner. The day of his death was kept a profound secret from him, and early that morning he was suddenly awakened out of a sound sleep and informed that he was to be burnt that day. The condemned man, so far from sinking under the appalling announcement, only calmly observed, "Then I need not truss my points." He requested to be permitted to take leave of his wife and children, of whom he had eleven—one still at the breast—but this Bonner refused. As he was led by the sheriffs towards Smithfield, where he was to suffer, he sang the "Miserere." His wife and children were placed where he would have a full view of them at the stake, and it was expected that this would induce him to recant and save his life, and thus induce others to follow his example; but outwardly unmoved, he maintained the most sublime fortitude.

Bishop Hooper, Ferrar, Bishop of St. David's, Dr. Rowland Taylor of Hadleigh, in Suffolk, and Lawrence Saunders, Rector of Allhallows, Coventry, were all condemned to the same death, and, like Rogers, were offered their lives on recantation, which one and all refused. The treatment of the pious Bishop Hooper was a most glaring case of ingratitude. Decided Protestant as he was, and of the most primitive simplicity of faith, he had from the first manifested the most staunch loyalty to Mary. In his own account of himself he says, "When Mary's fortunes were at the worst, I rode myself from place to place, as is well known, to win and stay the people to her party. And whereas when another was proclaimed [Lady Jane Grey] I preferred our queen, notwithstanding the proclamations. I sent horses in both shires [Gloucestershire and Worcester] to serve her in great danger, as Sir John Talbot and William Lygon, Esq., can testify." Hooper was sent down to Gloucester, his own diocese, to suffer, where he was burnt on the 9th of February, in a slow fire, to increase and prolong his agonies to the utmost. On the same day Dr. Taylor was burnt at Hadleigh.

This shocking state of things was interrupted for some time by the sudden and extraordinary outbreak of Alphonso di Castro, the confessor of King Philip, a Spanish friar, who preached before the Court a sermon in which he most vehemently and eloquently inveighed against the wickedness and inhumanity of burning people for their opinions. He declared that the practice was not learned in the Scriptures, but the contrary; for it was decidedly opposed to both the letter and the spirit of the New Testament; that it was the duty of the Government and the clergy to win men to the Gospel by mildness, and not to kill but to instruct the ignorant. A mystery has always hung over this singular demonstration. Some thought Philip, some that Mary, had ordered him to preach this sermon, but it is far more probable that it was the spontaneous act of zeal in a man who was enlightened beyond his age and his country. It is not probable that it proceeded from Philip, for he could at once have commanded this change; it is besides contrary to his life-long policy. Had it been the will of the sovereigns it would have produced a permanent effect. As it was, it took the Court and country by surprise. The impression on the Court was so powerful that all further burnings ceased for five weeks, by which time the good friar's sermon had lost its effect; and the religious butcheries went on as fiercely as ever, till more than two hundred persons had been slaughtered on account of their faith in this short reign. Miles Coverdale, the venerable translator of the Bible, was saved from this death by the King of Denmark writing to Mary and claiming him as his subject.

Mary had now, according to the custom of English queens, formally taken to her chamber in expectation of giving birth to an heir to the throne. She chose Hampton Court as the scene of this vainly-hoped-for event, and went there on the 3rd of April, where she continued secluded from her subjects, only being seen on one occasion, till the 21st of July, after she had again returned to St. James's. This occasion was on the 23rd of May, St. George's Day, when she stood at a window of the palace to see the procession of the Knights of the Garter with Philip at their head, attended by Gardiner the Lord Chancellor, and a crowd of priests with crosses, march round the courts and cloisters of Hampton Court. A few days afterwards there was a report that a prince was born, and there was much ringing of bells and singing Te Deum in the City and other places. But it soon became known, that there was no hope of an heir, but that the queen was suffering under a mortal disease, and that such was her condition, "that she sat whole days together on the ground crouched together with her knees higher than her head." On the 21st of July she removed for her health from London to Eltham Palace.

Gardiner took advantage of the pause in persecution caused by the sermon of Di Castro to withdraw from his odious office of chief inquisitor. Might he not have instigated the friar to express his opinion so boldly, for it is obvious that he wanted to be clear of the dreadful work of murdering his fellow-subjects for their faith? He therefore withdrew from the office, and a more sanguinary man took it up. This was Bonner, Bishop of London. He opened his inquisitorial court in the consistory court of St. Paul's, and compelled the Lord Mayor and aldermen to attend and countenance his proceedings. Burnet gives a letter written in the name of Philip and Mary exhorting him to increased activity; but from what we have seen of Mary's condition we may safely attribute the spur to Philip. Cardinal Pole did all in his power to put an end to the persecutions, but in vain.

It was now resolved to proceed to extremities with the three eminent prelates, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer. But the charge of high treason was dropped, undoubtedly because it was hoped that they might, by the prospect of the flames, be brought as heretics to recantation. On the 15th of April, 1554, they were led from their prisons to St. Mary's Church, Oxford, where the doctors of the university sat in judgment upon them. They were promised a free and fair discussion of their tenets, and the still more vain assurance was given that if they could convince their opponents they should be set free. The so-called disputation continued three days, but it more truly represented a bear-baiting than the discussion of men in quest of the truth.

On the 16th of April, the day appointed, Cranmer appeared before this disorderly assembly in the divinity school. He was treated with peculiar indignity, for they had a deep hatred of him from the long and conspicuous part which he had enacted in the work of Reformation. It was in vain that he attempted to state his views, for he was interrupted at every moment by half a dozen persons at once; and whenever he advanced anything particularly difficult of answer, the doctors denounced him as ignorant and unlearned, and the students hissed and clapped their hands outrageously. The next day Ridley experienced the same treatment, but he was a man of a much more bold and determined character, of profound learning, and ready address, and, in spite of the most disreputable clamour and riot, he made himself heard above all the storm, and with telling effect. When his adversaries shouted at him five or six at a time, he calmly observed, "I have but one tongue, I cannot answer all at once."

Latimer was not only oppressed by age but by sickness, and he was scarcely able to stand. He appealed to his base judges to pity his weakness and give him a fair hearing. "Ha! good master," he said to Weston, the moderator, "I pray ye be good to an old man; ye may be once as old as I am: ye may come to this age and this debility." But he appealed in vain; his judges and hearers were lost to all sense of what was due to truth and religion, of what was due to the age and spirit of a veteran servant of God, whatever might have been his errors or failings. The rude students only laughed, hissed, clapped their hands, and mocked the old man the more. Seeing that all hopes of a hearing were vain, he told the rabble of his judges and spectators, for such they truly were, "that he had spoken before attentive kings for two and three hours at a time, but that he could not declare his mind there for a quarter of an hour for mockings, revilings, checks, rebukes, and taunts, such as he had not felt the like in such an audience all his life long." The three insulted and unheard prisoners wrote to the queen that they had been silenced by the noise, not by the arguments of their opponents, and Cranmer in his letter said, "I never knew nor heard of a more confused disputation in all my life; for albeit there was one appointed to dispute against me, yet every man spake his mind, and brought forth what him liked without order; and such haste was made that no answer could be suffered to be given."

On the 28th of April they were all three brought again into St. Mary's Church, and asked by Weston whether they were willing to conform, and on replying in the negative, were condemned as obstinate heretics, and returned to their prison. There they lay till the October of the following year (1555), when Ridley and Latimer were ordered to prepare for the stake. On the 16th of that month a stake was erected in the town ditch opposite to Balliol College. Soto, a Spanish priest, had been sent to them in person to try to convert them, but in vain; Latimer would not even listen to him; and now at the stake a Dr. Smith, who had renounced Popery in King Edward's time, and was again a pervert, preached a sermon on the text, "Though I give my body to be burned and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." The two martyrs cheered each other, and exhorted one another to be courageous. Ridley, on approaching the pile, turned to Latimer who was following him, embraced and kissed him, saying, "Be of good heart, brother, for God will either assuage the fury of the flame, or strengthen us to bear it;" and when Latimer was tied to the stake back to back with his fellow-sufferer, he returned the consolation, exclaiming, "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out." A lighted faggot was placed at the feet of Ridley, and matches were applied to the pile. Bags of gunpowder were hung round their necks to shorten their sufferings, and as the flames ascended Latimer quickly died, probably through suffocation in the smoke; but Ridley suffered long. His brother-in-law had piled the faggots high about him to hasten his death, but the flames did not readily find their way amongst them from their closeness, and a spectator hearing him cry out that he could not burn opened the pile, and an explosion of gunpowder almost instantly terminated his existence.

Cranmer was reserved for a future day. The punctilios of ecclesiastical form were strictly observed, and as he enjoyed the dignity of Primate of England, it required higher authority to decide his fate than that which had pronounced judgment on his companions. Latimer and Ridley had been sentenced by the commissioners of the legate, Cranmer must only be doomed by the Pontiff himself. He was therefore waited on in his cell by Brooks, Bishop of Gloucester, as Papal sub-delegate, and two Royal commissioners, and there cited to appear before him at Rome within eighty days, and answer for his heresies. As this was impossible, the citation was a mockery and an insult. When the archbishop saw his two friends led forth to their horrible death, his resolution, which never was very great, began to fail, and he now presented a woful image of terror and irresolution, very different to the bravery of his departed friends. He expressed a possibility of conversion to Rome, and desired a conference with Cardinal Pole. But soon he became ashamed of his own weakness, and wrote to the queen defending his own doctrines, which she commissioned the cardinal to answer. When the eighty days had expired, and the Pope had pronounced his sentence, and had appointed Bonner, and Thirlby, Bishop of Ely, to degrade him, and see his sentence executed, he once more trembled with apprehension, and gave out that he was ready to submit to the judgment of the queen; that he believed in the creed of the Catholic Church, and deplored and condemned his past apostacy. He forwarded this submission to the Council, which they found too vague, and required a more full and distinct confession, which he supplied. When the Bishops of London and Ely arrived to degrade him, he appealed from the judgment of the Pope to that of a general Council, but that not being listened to, he sent two other papers to the commissioners before they left Oxford, again fully and explicitly submitting to all the statutes of the realm regarding the supremacy, and professing his faith in all the doctrines and rites of the Romish Church.

On the 21st of March, 1556, Cranmer was conducted to St. Mary's Church, Oxford, where Dr. Cole, provost of Eton College, preached a sermon, in which he stated that notwithstanding Cranmer's repentance, he had done the Church so much mischief that he must die. That morning Garcina, a Spanish friar, had waited on him before leaving his cell, and presented him with a paper making a complete statement of his recantation and repentance, which he requested him to copy and sign. It seems that his enemies calculated that, having so fully committed himself, the fallen Primate would not, at the last hour, depart from his confession; but they were mistaken. Cranmer now saw nothing but death before him, and he most bitterly repented of his weakness and the renunciation of what he felt to be the holy truth. He therefore transcribed once more the paper which had been brought to him, but in place of the latter part of it he wrote in a very different conclusion. Accordingly, when he read his paper at the conclusion of the sermon, there was a profound silence till he came to the fifth article of it, which went on to declare that through fear of death, and beguiled by hopes of pardon, he had been led to renounce his genuine faith, but that he now declared that all his recantations were false; that he recalled them every one, rejected the Papal authority, and confirmed the whole doctrine contained in his book. The amazement was intense, the audience became agitated by various passions, there were mingled murmurings and approbation. The Lord Williams of Thame called to him to "remember himself and play the Christian." That was touching a string which woke the response of the hero and the martyr in the Primate. He replied that he did remember; that it was now too late to dissemble, and he must now speak the truth.

When the first astonishment at this unlooked-for declaration had passed, there was a rush to drag down Cranmer, and hurry him to the stake in the same spot where his friends Ridley and Latimer had suffered. There he was speedily stripped to the shirt and tied to the stake; through it all he was firm and calm. He no longer trembled at his fate; he declared that he had never changed his belief; hope of life only had wrung from him his recantation; and the moment that the flames burst out he thrust his right hand into them, saying, "This hath offended." The writers of those times say that he stood by the stake whilst the fire raged round him, as immovable as the stake itself, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, exclaimed, "Lord, receive my spirit," and very soon expired.

The day after the death of Cranmer, Cardinal Pole, who had now taken priest's orders, was consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury; and showed his anxiety to check this fierce and impolitic persecution, but, as we shall find, with no great result.

While these terrible transactions had been taking place King Philip had quitted the kingdom. With all his endeavours to become popular with the English, Philip never could win their regard. He conformed to many national customs, and affected to enjoy the national amusements; threw off much of his hauteur, especially in his intercourse with the nobles, and conferred pensions on them on the plea that they had stood by the queen during the insurrection. But nothing could inspire the English with confidence in him. They had always an idea that the object of the Spaniards was to introduce the Spanish rule and dominance here. They had always the persuasion that it was no longer their own queen, but the future King of Spain and the Netherlands who ruled. It was clearly seen that Philip never had any real affection for Mary; it was the public opinion that he had now less than ever, whilst the poor invalid Mary doated on him, and was ready to yield up everything but the actual sovereignty to him. And now came a very sufficient cause for the departure of Philip from England. His father, Charles V., wearied of governing his vast empire, was anxious to abdicate in favour of his son. Philip embarked at Dover on the 4th of September, 1555. Mary accompanied him from Hampton to Greenwich, riding through London in a litter, in order, as the French ambassador states, "that her people might see that she was not dead." The queen was anxious to proceed as far as Dover, and see him embark, but her health did not permit this; and after parting from him with passionate grief, she endeavoured to console herself by having daily prayers offered for his safety and speedy return.

Charles V., at the age of only fifty-five, had now resigned his vast empire to his son and his brother Ferdinand; and Spain, the Netherlands, Naples, Sicily, Milan, and the new lands of South America, owned Philip as their lord. On the 25th of October, 1555, Charles, in an assembly of the States of the Netherlands, resigned these countries to Philip, and in a few months later he also put him in possession of the government of other parts of his dominions, Ferdinand succeeding to the Imperial crown. Charles then retired to the monastery of St. Just, near Placentia, on the borders of Spain and Portugal, where this great king, who had so long exercised so strong an influence on the destinies of Europe, lived as a simple private gentleman, retaining only a few servants and a single horse for his own use, and employing his now abundant leisure in religious exercises, in gardening, and clock-making.

During Philip's absence, a series of insurrections took place which disturbed the quiet of the queen, and in which the King of France seems to have borne no inconsiderable part. His assiduous minister, Noailles, disseminated reports that Mary, hopeless of issue, had resolved to settle the Crown on her husband. This having produced its effect, a conspiracy was set on foot to put Elizabeth on the throne, and depose Mary. Sir Henry Dudley, a relative of the late Duke of Northumberland, was to head it and the French king, to secure his interest, had settled a pension on him. The worthless Courtenay, who was at this moment on his way to Italy, whence he never returned, was still to play the part of husband to Elizabeth, though the management of the plot was to be consigned to Dudley. Elizabeth had again, it is said, fully consented to this plot, though the health of Mary was such as must have promised her the throne at no distant day. Dudley was already on the coast of Normandy with some of his fellow-conspirators, making preparations, when the King of France unexpectedly concluded a truce for five years with Philip. He therefore advised Dudley and his accomplices to lie quiet for a more favourable opportunity. This was a paralysing blow to the scheme of insurrection, and the coadjutors in England had gone so far that they did not think it safe to stop. Kingston, Uedale, Throgmorton, Staunton, and others of the league determined to seize the treasure in the Tower, and, once in possession of that, to raise forces and drive the queen from the throne. But one of them revealed the design; several of them were seized and executed, and others escaped to France. Mary applied by her ambassador, Lord Clinton, to Henry II. to have them delivered up, and received a polite promise of endeavour to secure them, which there was in reality no intention to fulfil. Amongst the conspirators arrested were two officers of the household of Elizabeth, Peckham and Werne, who made very awkward confessions; but again the princess escaped, it is said at the intercession of Philip, who was apprehensive, if Elizabeth was removed from the succession, of the claims of the French king on behalf of his daughter-in-law, the Queen of Scots. Elizabeth at all events escaped, protesting her innocence as stoutly as ever, but receiving from the Council in place of those two officers executed, two other trusty ones, Sir Thomas Pope and Robert Cage.

But if Elizabeth was uneasy, Mary was still more so. The disquiets which surrounded her, and the wretched state of her health, made her very anxious for the return of her husband. She had lost her able minister, Gardiner, who died in November, 1555, and his successor, Heath, Archbishop of York, by no means supplied his place. Mary, therefore, wrote long and repeated letters to urge the return of Philip, and, finding them unavailing, she despatched Lord Paget to represent the urgent need of his presence in the kingdom. At last his difficulties with France and the Pope brought Philip home to his wife when all conjugal persuasions on her part had failed. He sent over, to announce his approach, Robert Dudley, son of the late Duke of Northumberland, whom Mary had liberated from the Tower, and who already, it seems, had contrived to win so much favour as to be taken into the royal service, in which he continued to mount till, in the next reign, he became the notorious Earl of Leicester and favourite of Queen Elizabeth. On the 20th of March, 1556, Philip himself arrived at Greenwich. As he wanted to win the English to join him in the war against France, he paid particular respect to the City of London. During this visit there appeared at Court the novel sight of a Duke of Muscovy, in the character of ambassador from Russia, who astonished the public by the enormous size of the pearls and jewels that he wore, and the richness of his dress.

Philip used all his influence to induce the queen and her Council to declare war against Henry of France, who had broken that five years' truce into which he had so recently entered. But the finances of the country were not such as to render either the queen or her Council willing to go to war with France, which, connected as France was now with Scotland, was sure to occasion a war also with that country. Cardinal Pole and nearly the whole Council were strongly opposed to it. They assured her that to engage lightly in Philip's wars was to make England a dependency of Spain, and Philip, on the other hand, protested to the queen that if she did not aid him against France he would take his leave of her for ever.

While matters were in this position a circumstance occurred which turned the scale in Philip's favour. Henry II. of France, on deciding to accept the Pope's invitation, and to make war on Philip, called on Dudley and his adherents to renew their attempts on England. Dudley and his coadjutors opened a communication with the families of the Reformers in Calais and the surrounding district, who had suffered from the persecution of the English Government, or who were indignant at the cruelties practised on their fellow professors, and they concurred in a plan to betray Hammes and Guines to the French. This scheme was defeated by the means of an English spy who became cognisant of the secret. The mischief, though stopped there, soon showed itself in another quarter. Thomas Stafford, the second son of Lord Stafford, and grandson of the late Duke of Buckingham, mustered a small army of English, French, and Scots, and, sailing from Dieppe, landed at Scarborough in Yorkshire, and surprised the castle there. But he soon found that, however much the public might dislike the Spanish match, they were not at all inclined to rebel against their queen. Wotton, the English ambassador in France, had duly warned his court of the designs of Stafford, and on the fourth day the Earl of Westmoreland appeared with a strong body of troops before the castle, and compelled Stafford to surrender at discretion. Stafford, Saunders, and three or four others were sent to London, and committed to the Tower, where, under torture, they were made to confess that the King of France had instigated and assisted their enterprise. Stafford was beheaded on Tower Hill on the 28th of May, 1557, and the next day three of his confederates were hanged at Tyburn.

The Council had been averse from the war, and had advised that, instead of appearing as principals, we should merely confine ourselves to the furnishing that aid which we were bound to by our ancient treaties with the House of Burgundy. Now, however, it felt itself justified in proclaiming open war against the King of France, as the violator of the treaty between the nations, in having harboured the traitors against the queen, and in having sent them over in French ships to Scarborough with arms, ammunition, and money. Philip, having obtained what he wanted, hastened over to Flanders, and neither Mary nor England ever saw him again.

The Earl of Pembroke, accompanied by Lord Robert Dudley as his master of ordnance, followed Philip at the end of July with 7,000 men. They joined the army of Philip, consisting of men of many nations—Germans, Italians, Flemings, Dalmatians, Croats, Illyrians, and others—making altogether a force of 40,000 men, the supreme command of which was given to the rejected suitor of the Princess Elizabeth, Philibert Duke of Savoy. The duke successfully threatened an attack upon Marienberg, Rocroi, and Guise, but he finally drew up before St. Quentin, on the right bank of the Somme. There he won a great victory. The English fleet made descents upon France at various points, menaced Bordeaux and Bayonne, and plundered the defenceless inhabitants of the coasts. This was all that was achieved, except what Philip probably most looked for, the drawing of the Duke of Guise out of Italy. But this, while it removed all danger from Philip's Transalpine possessions, led to a loss on the part of his English ally which might be termed the crowning mischief of his union with Mary.

The Duke of Guise, disappointed of his laurels in Italy, was now planning an attack on Calais. The English were never less prepared for the invasion. The fleet which had ravaged the coasts of France, and the troops sent to Flanders, had totally exhausted the exchequer of Mary, which at no time was well supplied. To victual that navy the queen had seized all the corn she could find in Norfolk without paying for it, and to equip the army sent to aid Philip, she had made a forced loan on London, and on people of property in different places; she had levied the second year's subsidy voted by Parliament before its time, and now was helpless at the critical moment. Lord Wentworth, the Governor of Calais, foreseeing the approaching storm, sent repeated entreaties for reinforcements for its defence. They were wholly unattended to.

The Duke of Guise, after entering the English pale, sent a detachment of his army along the downs to Rysbank, and led the other himself, with a very heavy train of artillery, towards Newnham Bridge. He forced the outwork at the village of St. Agatha, at the commencement of the causeway, drove the garrison into Newnham, and took possession of the outwork. The bulwarks of Froyton and Nesle were abandoned, for the lord-deputy could send no forces to defend them. At Newnham Bridge the garrison withdrew so silently that the French continued firing upon the fort when the men were already in Calais; but at Rysbank the garrison surrendered with the fort. Thus, in a couple of days, the Duke of Guise was in possession of two most important forts, one commanding the harbour, the other the causeway across the marshes from Flanders. A battery on the heath of St. Pierre played on the wall to create a false alarm, whilst another in real earnest played on the castle. A breach was made in the wall near the water-gate, and, while the garrison was busy in repairing it, Guise cannonaded the castle (which was in a scandalous state of neglect) with fifteen double cannons. A wide breach was speedily made. Lord Wentworth, well aware that the castle could not be maintained, had ordered mines to be prepared, and calculated on blowing the castle and the Frenchmen into the air together as soon as they were in. Guise, seeing no garrison defending the breach, ordered one detachment to occupy the quay, and another, under Strozzi, to take up a position on the other side of the harbour. Strozzi was repulsed; but at ebb-tide in the evening, Grammont, at the head of 100 arquebusiers, marched up to the ditch opposite to the breach. No one being seen in the castle, Guise ordered plenty of hurdles to be thrown into the ditch, and, putting himself at the head of his men, forded the ditch, finding it not deeper than his girdle. The lord-deputy, seeing the French in the castle, ordered the train to be fired; but there was no explosion. The soldiers crossing from the ditch to the breach, with their clothes deluging the ground with water, had wet the train, and defeated Wentworth's design. The next morning Guise sent his troops to assault the town, calculating on as easy a conquest of it; but Sir Anthony Agar, with a handful of men, not only repulsed the French, but chased them back into the castle. The brave Sir Anthony, with a larger force, would have driven the French from the decayed old castle too, but he had the merest little knot of followers, and in the vain attempt to force the enemy out of the castle, he fell at the gate with his son, and eighty of his chief officers. Lord Wentworth perceiving the impossibility of continuing the defence, destitute of a garrison, and having waited in vain for reinforcements from Dover, that night demanded a parley, and surrendered.

The fall of Calais necessitated, as a matter of course, the loss of the whole Calais district. Having put Calais into a state of defence, Guise marched on the 13th of January, 1558, to Guines, about five miles distant, to reduce the town and fort there. These were defended stoutly by Lord Grey de Wilton, who had received about 400 Spanish and Burgundian soldiers from King Philip, but they were in too miserable a state of repair to be long held. The walls in a few days were knocked to pieces; the Spanish soldiers were nearly all killed, and the remaining force compelled their officers to surrender. The little castle of Hammes now only remained, and situated in the midst of extensive marshes, it might have given the enemy some trouble; but its governor, Lord Edward Dudley, the moment he heard of the surrender of Guines, abandoned it, and fled with his few soldiers into Flanders. The French were as elated at their success as the English were mortified with it, and the poor queen felt the loss so deeply, that she declared that if her body were opened after her death, the name of Calais would be found graven on her heart.

In England, during the spring, preparations were made for the invasion of France. Seven thousand troops were raised and diligently drilled. One hundred and forty ships were hired, which the Lord-Admiral Clinton collected in the harbour of Portsmouth, to be ready to join the fleet of Philip, and, in conjunction, to ravage the coasts of France; whilst Philip, with an army of Spanish, French, and English, should enter the country by land. But this fleet and the English army, instead of aiming to recover Calais, sailed to make an attack on Brest. But their progress had been so dilatory that the French had made ample preparations to receive them, and despairing of effecting any impression on Brest, they fell on the little port of Le Conquêt, which they took and pillaged, with a large church and several hamlets in its immediate neighbourhood. They then marched some miles up the country, burning and plundering, and the Flemings, in the eager quest of booty, going too far ahead, were surrounded, and 400 of them cut off.

It appeared as if the war would be brought to a conclusion by a pitched battle between the sovereigns of France and Spain. Philip had joined his general, the Duke of Savoy, and they lay near Dourlens with an army of 45,000 men. Henry had come into the camp of the Duke of Guise near Amiens, who had an army of nearly equal strength. All the world looked now for a great and decisive conflict. But Philip, though superior in numbers, as well as crowned with the prestige of victory, listened to offers of accommodation from Henry, and dismissing their armies into winter quarters, they betook themselves to negotiation. From the first no agreement appeared probable. Philip demanded the restoration of Calais, Henry that of Navarre, and they were still pursuing the hopeless phantom of accommodation, when the news of Queen Mary's death changed totally the position of Philip, and put an end to the attempt. She died, desolate and broken-hearted, on the 17th of November, 1558.

With all her bigotry, Mary had many excellent and amiable qualities. No English monarch ever maintained a less expensive and less corrupt court. She avoided all unnecessary taxation, and treated the cost of her war with France as largely a private charge of her own. She lived unostentatiously, went about amongst the poor with her maids, inquiring into their wants and relieving them. She was an enlightened patron of learning, and was the first to propose a hospital for old and invalid soldiers, leaving a legacy for this purpose, which was, however, never appropriated. Except in the matter of religious toleration, she showed a scrupulous regard for the maintenance of the Constitution and the law. Under her the administration of justice was pure and without respect of person. Nor were the interests of trade neglected. She was the first to make a commercial treaty with Russia, and she revoked the privileges of the Hanse Town merchants, who had exercised them to the hurt of her own people. By nature she was mild, but the persecution of her own faith in the persons of her mother and herself, and, above everything, the fatal Spanish marriage, produced a reaction which entailed all the calamities of her short and miserable reign.

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THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH.

Accession of Elizabeth—Sir William Cecil—The Coronation—Opening of Parliament—Ecclesiastical Legislation—Consecration of Parker—Elizabeth and Philip—Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis—Affairs in Scotland—The First Covenant—Attitude of Mary of Guise—Riot at Perth—Outbreak of Hostilities—The Lords of the Congregation apply to England—Elizabeth hesitates—Siege of Leith—Treaty of Edinburgh—Return of Mary to Scotland—Murray's Influence over her—Beginning of the Religious Wars in France—Elizabeth sends Help to the Huguenots—Peace of Amboise—English Disaster at Havre—Peace with France—The Earl of Leicester—Project of his Marriage with Mary—Lord Darnley—Murder of Rizzio—Birth of Mary's Son—Murder of Darnley—Mary and Bothwell—Carberry Hill—Mary in Lochleven—Abdicates in favour of Her Infant Son—Mary's Escape from Lochleven—Defeated at Langside—Her Escape into England.

Parliament had met on the morning of the 17th of November, 1558, unaware of the decease of the queen; but before noon, Dr. Heath, the Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England, sent a message to the House of Commons, requesting the Speaker, with the knights and burgesses of the Lower House, to attend in the Lords to give their assent in a matter of the utmost importance. On being there assembled, the Lord Chancellor announced to the united Parliament the demise of Mary, and, though by that event the Commons were dissolved by the law as it remained till the reign of William III., he called upon them to combine with the Lords, before taking their departure, for the safety of the country, by proclaiming the Lady Elizabeth queen of the realm. Whatever might have been the fears of any portion of the community as to the recognition of the title of Elizabeth on the plea of illegitimacy, or from suspicion of her religion, that question had long been settled by the flocking of the courtiers of all creeds and characters to Hatfield, where she resided; and now on this announcement there was a loud acclamation from the members of both Houses of "God save Queen Elizabeth! Long may she reign over us!"

For two days Elizabeth, as if from due respect to her deceased sister and sovereign, remained quiescent at Hatfield; but thousands of people of all ranks were flocking thither; and on the 19th her Privy Council proceeded thither also, and, after announcing to her her joyful and undisputed accession, they proclaimed her with all state before the gates of Hatfield House. They then sat in council with her, and she appointed her own ministers, having, no doubt, made all these arrangements with the man whom she had long marked out for her prime minister, Sir William Cecil. He had for years been her confidential counsellor. By his shrewd and worldly guidance, she had shaped her future course; and in appointing her ministers now, she showed by her address to Cecil that it was for him that she designed the chief post.

Besides Cecil, she named Sir Thomas Parry, her cofferer, Cave, and Rogers of her Privy Council. Cecil immediately entered on his duties as her Secretary of State, and submitted to her a programme of what was immediately necessary to be done, which she accepted; and thus began that union between Elizabeth and her great minister, which only terminated with his life.

On the 23rd the new queen commenced her progress towards the metropolis, attended by a magnificent throng of nobles, ladies, and gentlemen, and a vast concourse of people from London and from the country round. At Highgate she was met by the bishops, who kneeled by the wayside, and offered their allegiance. She received them graciously, and gave them all her hand to kiss, except to Bonner, whom she treated with a marked coldness, on account of his atrocious cruelties: an intimation of her own intentions on the score of religion which must have given satisfaction to the people. At the foot of Highgate Hill, the Lord Mayor and his aldermanic brethren, in their scarlet gowns, were waiting to receive her, and conducted her to the Charter House, then the residence of Lord North, where Heath, the Lord Chancellor, and the Earls of Derby and Shrewsbury received her. There she remained five days to give time for the necessary preparations, when she proceeded to take up her residence in the Tower, prior to her coronation, which took place on the 15th of January, 1559.

On the 25th of January Elizabeth proceeded to open her first Parliament. She had prepared to carry the decisive measures of religious reform which she contemplated, by adding five new peers of the Protestant faith to the Upper House, and by sending to the sheriffs a list of Court candidates out of which they were to choose the members. Like all other public proceedings, this was a strange medley of Romanism and Protestantism. High mass was performed at the altar in Westminster Abbey before the queen and the assembled Houses, and this was followed by a sermon preached by Dr. Cox, the Calvinistic schoolmaster of Edward VI., who had just returned from Geneva. The Lord Keeper, Sir Nicholas Bacon, then opened the session by a speech, the queen being present, in which he held very high prerogative language, assuring both Lords and Commons that they might take measures for a uniform order of religion, and for the safety of the State against both foreign and domestic enemies; not that it was absolutely necessary, for she could do everything of her own authority, but she preferred having the advice and counsel of her loving subjects.

The first thing which the Commons proposed was the very last thing which she would have wished them to meddle with—that is, an address recommending her to marry, so as to secure a legitimate heir to the throne. Elizabeth, as we have seen, had had many suitors, none of whom, if we except the unfortunate Lord Admiral Seymour, or the handsome but imbecile Courtenay, Earl of Devon, had she shown any willingness to marry. There have been many theories regarding the refusal of Elizabeth to enter into wedlock. The only one which will bear a moment's examination is, that her love of power was so strong as to absorb every other feeling and consideration. She made a long speech in reply to the address, glancing towards the close of it at her coronation ring, and then saying that when she received that ring, she became solemnly bound in marriage to the realm, and that she took their address in good part, but more for their good will than for their message.

Without referring to the questionable marriage of her mother, Anne Boleyn, an Act was passed restoring Elizabeth in blood, and rendering her heritable to her mother and all her mother's line. She was declared to be lawful and rightful queen, lineally and lawfully descended of the blood royal, and fully capable of holding, and transmitting to her posterity, the possession of the crown and throne.

Next came the regulations for the government of the Church, which Elizabeth had so prudently avoided making upon her own responsibility, but left to the authority of Parliament. By it the tenths and first-fruits resigned by Mary were again restored to her. The statutes passed in Mary's reign for the maintenance of strict Romanism were repealed, and those of Henry VIII. for the rejection of the Papal authority, and of Edward VI. for the reformation of the Church ritual were revived. The Book of Common Prayer, considerably modified, was to be in uniform and exclusive use. The old penalties against seeking any ecclesiastical authority or ordination from abroad were re-enacted, and the queen was declared absolute head of the Church by a new Act of Supremacy.

Notwithstanding the softening of the parts and expressions in the liturgy most offensive to the Papists, such as the prayer "to deliver us from the Bishop of Rome and all his detestable enormities," and the modification of the terms in administration of the sacrament, to avoid offence to other Protestant churches, the bishops opposed these measures most resolutely. Convocation presented to the House of Lords a declaration of its belief in the Real Presence, transubstantiation, the sacrifice of the Mass, and the supremacy of the Pope. On the other hand, the Protestants were grievously disappointed in other particulars, especially as to restoration of the married clergy, and of the restoration to their sees of Bishops Barlow, Scorey, and Coverdale. Both these petitions failed on the question of marriage, for Elizabeth never could tolerate married priests or bishops, and these expelled bishops were all married men. The Protestants were equally disappointed in the failure of a Bill to nominate a commission to draw a code of canon law for the Anglican Church. Elizabeth, like her father, rather preferred deciding all such matters herself than allowing any other body to be authority.

But to give an air of liberality to what was not meant to involve any concession, permission was given for the Papist and Protestant divines to argue certain great points in public. Five bishops and three doctors on the part of the former, and as many Protestant divines, were appointed to dispute before the Lord Keeper, Sir Nicholas Bacon, and the debates of the two Houses were suspended, that the members might attend the controversy. The Roman Catholics were to have the privilege of opening the conference, and the Protestants were to reply; but it was speedily discovered that this gave immense advantage to the Protestants. The Roman Catholics called for a change of this mode; the Lord Keeper refused to grant it; the bishops, therefore, protested that the conditions were not equal, and refused to attend. For this disobedience the Bishops of Winchester and Lincoln were committed to the Tower, and the other six disputants were bound to make their appearance at the bar of the Lords till judgment was pronounced, and they were compelled to do so till the end of the session, when they were fined in sums from £500 to forty marks. Parliament was dissolved on the 8th of May, and within a week Elizabeth summoned the bishops and other dignitaries before herself and the Privy Council, and admonished them to make themselves conformable to the laws just passed regarding religion. Heath, the archbishop, replied by boldly advising her Majesty to remember her own coronation oath, not to alter the religion which she found by law established; adding that his conscience could not permit him to conform to the new regulations, and all the other prelates and dignitaries declared the same. The Council then charged Heath and Bonner, on the evidence of certain papers, with having, during the reign of Edward VI., carried on secret conspiracies with Rome, with the intent to overthrow the Government. To this they replied by pleading two general pardons, and the Council then proceeded to administer to them the oath of supremacy. This they all refused except Kitchen, the Bishop of Llandaff, who had clung to his see through all changes for the last fourteen years, and clung to it still. They were then deprived of their sees, and a considerable number of other Church dignitaries were also deprived by the same test. The bulk of the clergy, however, conformed, and to those who were ejected pensions for life were allowed—a policy far more considerate than had ever prevailed in such circumstances before. The refugees on account of the Marian persecution, who had now flocked home from Switzerland and Germany, were installed in the vacant livings, and before the end of this year the Church of Rome had lost the State patronage in Great Britain for ever. Two statutes—the Act enforcing the oath of Supremacy, and the other the Act of Uniformity—became law, during this session. The latter Act prohibited under heavy penalties the use by a minister of any but the established liturgy, and confirmed the revised Book of Common Prayer of Edward VI.

To replace the expelled bishops was no very easy matter, not from the paucity of candidates, but from the revolutions which had taken place in the ordinal of the Church. Dr. Matthew Parker, who had been the chaplain of Anne Boleyn, and who had stood so faithfully by her, was appointed by Elizabeth Archbishop of Canterbury, but how was he to be consecrated? His election was to be confirmed by four bishops, and his consecration to be performed by them. Where were they to be found? There was not a bishop left, except Llandaff. Still more, Mary had abolished the ordinal of Edward VI., and Elizabeth had abolished that of Mary. The difficulty was, at first sight, insurmountable, and no way out of it presented itself for four months. It was then recollected that Barlow, Hodgkins, Scorey, and Coverdale, the deprived Bishops of Bath, Bedford, Chichester, and Exeter, had been consecrated by the Reformed ordinal, and that restoration which had been denied them at the petition of their friends, because they were married men, was now accorded as an escape from this dilemma. They were reinstated, and confirmed the election of Parker, consecrated him according to the form of Edward VI., and helped to confirm and consecrate all the newly elected prelates.

While Elizabeth and her ministers had been thus engaged in settling the constitution of the Church, they had also been occupied with effecting a Continental peace. Philip had refused to conclude a treaty with France previous to the death of Mary, without including in it the restoration of Calais to England, and to Philibert the Duke of Savoy his hereditary estates. The death of Mary at once cut the actual connection of Philip with England, but he remained firm in his demand, for he had formed the design of obtaining the hand of Elizabeth. He lost no time in making the offer, observing that though they were within the proscribed degrees of affinity the Pope would readily grant a dispensation, and the union of England and Spain would give them the command of Europe. But, independent of the partnership in power which this marriage would create, Elizabeth entertained schemes of Church arrangement very different to any which would accord with Philip's ideas. She, therefore, courteously excused herself on the plea of scruples of conscience, and this refusal was followed by the non-appearance of Feria, Philip's ambassador, at her coronation. Philip, however, did not give up the suit without employing all the eloquence and the arguments that he could muster; he kept up a brisk correspondence for some time with the new queen, and even when the attempt appeared hopeless, he still offered to assist her in the treaty with France. He settled his own disputes with France by marrying the daughter of the King of France, as soon as he saw the hand of Elizabeth unattainable, and procured the sister of Henry II. for his friend Philibert.

The great demand of Elizabeth was the restoration of Calais, and at Cateau-Cambresis a treaty was concluded on the 2nd of April, 1559, by which the King of France actually engaged to surrender that town to England at the end of eight years, or pay to Elizabeth 500,000 crowns; and he agreed to deliver, as guarantee for this sum, four French noblemen and the bonds of eight foreign merchants. But to this article was appended another which, to any one in the least familiar with diplomacy, betrayed the fact that the whole was illusory, and that the French would have no difficulty, at the end of the prescribed term, in showing that England had in some way broken the contract. The article stipulated that if, within that period, Henry of France, or Mary of Scotland, should make any attempt against the realm or subjects of Elizabeth, they should forfeit all claim to the retention of that town; and if Elizabeth should infringe the peace with either of those monarchs, she should forfeit all claim to its surrender or to the penalty of 500,000 crowns. The public at once saw that the French would never relinquish their hold on Calais from the force of any such condition, and the indignation was proportionate. The Government, to divert the attention of the people from this flimsy pretence of eventual restoration, ordered the impeachment of Lord Wentworth, the late governor of the castle and of the Rysbank, on a charge of cowardice and treason. Wentworth, as he deserved, was acquitted by the jury; the captains were condemned, but the object of the trial being attained, their sentence was never carried into effect.

Elizabeth, at her accession, had assumed the title of Queen of France. Henry II. immediately, by way of retaliation, caused his daughter-in-law Mary (she had married the Dauphin in 1558) to be styled Queen of Scotland and England, and had the arms of England quartered with those of Scotland. Elizabeth, with her extreme sensitiveness to any claims upon her crown, and regarding this act as a declaration of her own illegitimacy and of Henry's assertion of Mary's superior right to the English throne, resented the proceeding deeply, and from that moment never ceased to plot against the peace and power of Mary till she drove her from her throne, made her captive, and finally deprived her of her life.

We have already shown that Henry VII. commenced, and Henry VIII. and Edward VI. continued, the system of bribing the Scottish nobility against their sovereign. Elizabeth, in pursuance of her plans against the Queen of Scots, now adopted the same practice, and kept in pay both the nobles and the Protestant leaders of Scotland. To understand fully her proceedings, we must, however, first take a hasty glance at the progress of the Reformation in Scotland. That kingdom received the Reformation in its simplest, most rigid, and severe form. The doctrines which had sprung up in republican Switzerland, under Calvin and Zwingli, were imbibed there by Knox and others in their most unbending hardness. There was little of the gentle and the pliant in their tenets, but a stern asceticism, which suited well with the grave and earnest character of the Scots. When summoned by Mary of Guise to appear in Edinburgh and answer for their conduct, the preachers, attended by thousands of the respective congregations, presented themselves in such a formidable shape, that the Regent declared that she meant no injury to them. A period of such tranquillity succeeded, that the leaders of the Reform party—the Earl of Glencairn, Lord Lorne, son of the Earl of Argyll, Erskine of Dun, Lord James Stuart, afterwards the Regent Murray—on the 3rd of December, 1557, drew up that League and Covenant which was destined to work such wonders in Scotland, to rouse the suffering Reformers into a church militant, to put arms into the hands of the excited peasants, brace the sword to the side of the preacher, and, through civil war and scenes of strange suffering, bloodshed, and resistance on moor and mountain, to work out the freedom of the faith for ever in Scotland. The Covenant engaged all who subscribed it, in a solemn vow, "in the presence of the Majesty of God and His congregation," to spread the Word by every means in their power, to maintain the Gospel and defend its ministers against all tyranny; and it pronounced the most bitter anathemas against the superstition, the idolatry, and the abominations of Rome. This bond received the signatures of the Earls of Glencairn, Argyll, and Morton, Lord Lorne, Erskine of Dun, and many other nobles and gentlemen, who assumed the name of the Lords of the Congregation: and from this hour it became a scandalous apostacy for any one to flinch or fall away from this "Solemn League and Covenant."

Mary at first temporised, but eventually determined to stand firm. In a convention of the clergy held in Edinburgh, in March, 1559, the Lords of the Congregation demanded that the bishops should be elected by the gentlemen of the diocese, and the clergy by the people of each parish. This was peremptorily refused, and it was decreed that the practice of using English prayers should cease, no language should be permitted in public worship but Latin, and this was followed by a proclamation of the Queen-Regent, ordering all people to conform strictly to the established religion and to attend Mass daily; and, in an interview with the leaders of the Protestants, she showed them the commands which she had received on these heads from France, and summoned the chief ministers of the Reformed body to appear before a Parliament to be held at Stirling to answer for their conduct in introducing heretical practices and doctrines.

At this moment Knox arrived from France. It was determined by the Lords of the Congregation to attend their ministers to Stirling in such numbers as to overawe the Government, and Knox volunteered to take his part with the other preachers. The nobles and the people mustered at Perth. There Knox preached a stirring sermon; a riot was the result, and some religious houses were sacked.

The Queen-Regent, at the news of this destruction, became furious. She vowed she would raze the town of Perth to the ground, and sow it with salt as a sign of eternal desolation. She summoned to her aid Arran, now Duke of Chatelherault, the Earl of Athole, and D'Oyselles, the French commander, and being joined by two of the Lords of the Congregation, Argyll and Lord James Stuart, who were averse from the outrages committed, on the 18th of May she marched to Perth. The Congregation hastened to address letters both to the Queen-Regent and the two Lords of the Congregation, who, to their indignation, had joined her. They told Mary of Guise that hitherto they had served her willingly; but if she persisted in her persecutions, they should abandon her and defend themselves. They would obey the queen and her husband if permitted to worship in their own way, otherwise they would be subject to no mortal man. To the two Lords of the Congregation they wrote first in mild expostulation, but they soon advanced their tone to threats of excommunication, and the doom of traitors, if they did not come from amongst the persecutors. They addressed another letter "To the generation of Anti-Christ, the pestilent prelates and their shavelings in Scotland;" and they warned them that, if they did not desist from their persecutions, they would exterminate them, as the Israelites did the wicked Canaanites.

Matters were proceeding to extremity when Glencairn arrived in the Protestant camp with 2,500 men. This made the Queen-Regent pause, and an agreement was effected by means of Argyll and the Lord James, by which toleration was again granted, and the Queen-Regent engaged that no Frenchman should approach within three miles of Perth, a condition which she characteristically evaded by garrisoning it with Scottish troops in French pay. Knox and Willock had an interview with Argyll and the Lord James, and sharply upbraided them with appearing in arms against their brethren, to which these nobles replied that they had done it only as a means of arbitrating for peace; but the Congregation took means to bind them in future by framing a new covenant, to which every member swore obedience, engaging to defend the Congregation or any of its members when menaced by the enemies of their religion.

They were soon called upon to prove their sincerity. The Queen-Regent—totally regardless of the treaty just entered into—the very same day that the Lords of the Congregation quitted Perth, entered it with Chatelherault, D'Oyselles, and a body of French soldiers. She deprived the chief magistrates of their authority because they favoured the Reformation; made Charteris of Kinfauns, a man of infamous character, provost of the city, and left a garrison of troops in French pay to support him.

The Lords of the Congregation assembled at St. Andrews, and with them Knox, who had come, as he said, to the conclusion that to be rid of the rooks it was necessary to pull down their nests. Their action was prompt; Perth surrendered at the first assault. Argyll and the Lord James had succeeded in checking the march of the Queen-Regent; and on their advance to Linlithgow, she and the French forces evacuated Edinburgh, falling back to Dunbar; whilst the Covenanting army, entering Linlithgow, pulled down the altars and images, destroyed the relics, and then advanced on Edinburgh, which they entered in triumph on the 29th of June, 1559.

It was at this crisis that the progress of the Reformers in Scotland arrested the attention of the Government in England, and a letter was received from Sir Henry Percy by Kirkaldy of Grange, inquiring into the real objects of the Lords of the Congregation. Kirkaldy replied that they meant nothing but the reformation of religion; that they had purged the churches of imagery and other Popish stuff wherever they had come, and that they pulled down such friaries and abbeys as would not receive the Reformed faith; but that they had not meddled with a pennyworth of the Church's property, reserving the appropriation of that to the maintenance of godly ministers hereafter; that if the Queen-Regent would grant them spiritual liberty and send away the Frenchmen, they would obey her; if not, they would hear of no agreement. Knox also wrote to Percy in the name of the whole Congregation, and entreated that England should aid them in their struggle, telling them, in his sturdy way, that if it did it would be better for it; if not, though Scotland might suffer, England could not escape her share of the trouble.

The parsimony of Elizabeth, however, and the caution of her minister Cecil, withheld all efficient aid from the Scottish Reformers at the time that it was most essential. Whilst the Queen-Regent delayed any active proceedings in the hope of the arrival of fresh troops from France, and the knowledge that the irregular army brought into the field by the Scottish barons could not long be kept together, Elizabeth deferred the promised subsidies. In this predicament, the Lords of the Congregation made still more impassioned appeals to Cecil, and Knox wrote to him entreating him to abate the prejudice of Elizabeth towards him. But that prejudice was of the most bitter and unconquerable kind in the heart of Elizabeth. Knox had perpetrated the unpardonable offence to Elizabeth in writing his "First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women." While Elizabeth hesitated, the Regent was fortifying Leith.

At last the English queen determined to help her fellow-religionists, and by the treaty of Berwick agreed to aid them in an attack on the Regent. The Covenanters prepared for an assault on Leith, by constructing scaling-ladders in the High Church of St. Giles, Edinburgh, to the great scandal of the preachers, who prognosticated that proceedings begun in sacrilege would end in defeat. This soon appeared likely to be the result, for the money sent from England being exhausted, the soldiers clamoured for pay, and the army of 12,000 was on the verge of melting away very rapidly. In great alarm, the leaders vehemently entreated Elizabeth for more money, and making a struggle with her natural parsimony, she sent £4,000 to Cockburn of Ormiston, who undertook the perilous office of conveying it to headquarters. But a man who afterwards became notorious for the audacity of his crimes, the Earl of Bothwell, who now professed to be a zealous supporter of the Congregation, and had by this means obtained the knowledge of the transmission of the treasure, waylaid Cockburn, and carried off the money. This was a severe blow to the Congregation, and was speedily followed by another. Haliburton, provost of Dundee, had led a party of Reformers to attack Leith. He had planted his heavy artillery on an eminence near Holyrood; but whilst the majority of the leaders were attending a sermon, the French garrison attacked the battery, and drove the Reformers back into the city with great slaughter.

Even the arrival of an English army did not mend matters. The siege was carried on against Leith in a manner little creditable to the ancient fame of the English; as for the Scots, Sadler said, "they could climb no walls:" that is, they were not famous for conducting sieges and taking towns by assault. The English, who had acquired great fame in that kind of warfare, now seemed to have forgotten their skill, though they had lost none of their courage. Their lines of circumvallation were ill-drawn, their guns were ill-directed, their trenches were opened in ground unfit for the purpose, and they were repeatedly thrown into disorder by sorties of the enemy. To make matters worse, the supplies of the Scots became exhausted, and they began to make their usual cries to the English for more money. But from the English court came, instead of the all-needful money, signs of discouragement. Elizabeth still maintained her equivocal conduct, and the Lords of the Congregation were greatly alarmed to find her actually negotiating with the sick Queen-Regent for an accommodation. At the very time that the Scots and the English were engaged in a smart action at Hawkhill, near Lochend, during the siege, Sir James Croft and Sir George Howard were with the dying Mary of Guise in the castle of Edinburgh. Elizabeth still declared that she was not fighting against Francis and Mary, the king and queen of France and Scotland, but against their Ministers in the latter country, and simply for the defence of her own realm against their attempts. She desired Sir Ralph Sadler to express her willingness to treat, and to make it clear that she was no party to any design to injure or depose the rightful queen. What she aimed at was the expulsion of the French from Scotland as dangerous to her own dominions, and he was instructed, if the old plea was raised—namely, that the French only remained there to maintain the throne of their mistress against disaffected subjects—to state that his sovereign would not admit this plea, as it was a mere pretence, and would not lay down her arms till the Queen of Scots was also secured in her just power and claims.

On the 10th of June, 1560, the Queen-Regent died in the castle of Edinburgh. On her death-bed she entreated Lord James Stuart, and some others of the Lords of the Congregation, as well as her own courtiers, to support the rightful power of her daughter: but, as the events showed, and the treacherous, ambitious character of the bastard brother of Queen Mary rendered probable, to very little purpose. The Queen-Regent's decease, however, opened a way to negotiation. The insurrectionary feeling in France made the French court readily support such a proposition, and it was agreed that the French and English commissioners should meet at Berwick on the 14th of June. The English commissioners were Cecil and Dr. Wotton, Dean of Canterbury; the French, Monluc, Bishop of Valence, and Count de Randon. Perhaps four more acute diplomatists never met. On the 16th of June, they proceeded to Edinburgh, passing through the English camp on the way, where they were saluted by a general discharge of firearms. By the 6th of July all the conditions of peace were settled, and it was announced both to the besiegers and besieged that hostilities were at an end.

The French commissioners stood stoutly for the rights and prerogatives of the Crown, but they were compelled to yield many points to the imperturbable firmness of Cecil. Dunbar and Inchkeith were surrendered as well as Leith. The French troops, excepting a small garrison in Dunbar and another in Inchkeith, were to be sent home and no more to be brought over. An indemnity for all that had passed since March, 1558, in Scotland, was granted; every man was to regain the post or position which he held before the struggle, and no Frenchman was to hold any office in that kingdom. A Convention of the three Estates was to be summoned by the king and queen, and four-and-twenty persons were to be named by this Convention, out of whom should be chosen a Council of twelve for the government of the country, of whom the Queen should name seven, and the Estates five. The king and queen were not to declare war, or conclude peace, without the concurrence of the Estates; neither the Lords nor the members of the Congregation should be molested for what they had done, and Churchmen were to be protected in their persons, rights, and properties, and to receive compensation for their losses according to the award of the Estates in Parliament.

On one point, and that the chief point of the quarrel, the leaders of the Congregation did not obtain their demand, which naturally was for the establishment of their religion. We may suppose that Cecil and his colleague were not very desirous of carrying this; for the Queen of England regarded the Scottish Reformers as fanatical and she especially abominated the character and doctrines of Knox. It was conceded, however, that Parliament should be summoned without delay, and that a deputation should lay this request before the king and queen.

By a second treaty between England and France, it was determined that the right to the crowns of England and Ireland lay in Elizabeth, and that Mary should no longer bear the arms or use the style of these two kingdoms. Another proposition, however, was refused in this treaty, and that was the surrender of Calais to England.

It remained now to obtain the consent of Francis and Mary to these decisions; and Sir James Sandilands, a knight of Malta, was despatched to Paris for this purpose. His reception was such as might be expected. Mary refused to sanction the proceedings of a Parliament which had been summoned without her authority, and which had acted in the very face of the treaty, by seeking to destroy the religion in which she had been educated. Thereupon the Estates established Protestantism on their own authority.

All speculations as to what the Guises would do were cut short by the death of Francis II., the husband of Mary, on the 5th of December, 1560. He had always been a sickly personage, and his reign had lasted only eighteen months. His successor, Charles IX., was only nine years of age, and had a mind and constitution not exhibiting more promise of health and vigour than those of his late brother. His mother, Catherine de Medici, became regent, and his uncles of Lorraine lost the direction of affairs. Catherine and Mary were no friends; the young Queen-Dowager of France, only nineteen, was now treated harshly and contemptuously by the Lady-Regent, and she retired to Rheims, where she spent the winter amongst her relatives of Lorraine.

Mary now prepared to make her way home by sea. Her false half-brother, the Lord James, instead of being to her, at this trying moment, a friend and staunch counsellor, was, and had long been, leagued with her most troublesome and rebellious subjects, and was expecting, by the aid of Elizabeth of England, to engross the chief power in the State, if not eventually to push his unsuspecting sister from the throne. The Roman Catholics of Scotland were quite alive to the dangers which attended their sovereign in such company, and deputed Leslie the Bishop of Ross, a man of high integrity—which, through a long series of troubles, he manifested towards his queen—to go over to France and return with her. Leslie was so much alarmed by the dangers which menaced her amongst her turbulent and zeal-excited subjects, that he advised her in private to extend her voyage to the Highlands, and put herself under the protection of the Earl of Huntly, who, at the head of a large army, would conduct her to her capital and place her in safety on her throne, at the same time that he enabled her to protect the ancient religion. But Mary would not listen to anything like a return by force. She determined to throw herself on the affections of her subjects, and to go amongst them peaceably.

Mary embarked at Calais on the 15th of August, 1561. She eluded the ships sent to prevent her, and on the 19th she landed on her native shore at Leith. She had come a fortnight earlier than she had fixed, to checkmate the schemes of her enemies; but the people flew to welcome her and crowded the beach with hearty acclamations: the lords, however, says a contemporary, had taken small pains to honour her reception and "cover the nakedness of the land." Instead of the gay palfreys of France to which she had been accustomed, in their rich accoutrements, she saw a wretched set of Highland shelties prepared to convey her and her retinue to Holyrood; and when she surveyed their tattered furniture and mounted into the bare wooden saddle, the past and the present came so mournfully over her, that her eyes filled with tears. The honest joy of her people, however, was an ample compensation, had she not known what ill-will lurked in the background against her amongst the nobles and clergy.

Mary was the finest woman of her time. Tall, beautiful, accomplished, in the freshness of her youth, not yet nineteen, distinguished by the most graceful manners and the most fascinating disposition, she was formed to captivate a people sensible to such charms. But she came into her country, in every past age turbulent and independent, at a crisis when the public spirit was divided and embittered by religious controversy, and she was exposed to the deepest suspicion of the Reforming party, by belonging to a family notorious for its bigoted attachment to the old religion. Yet the candour of her disposition and her easy condescension seemed to make a deep impression on the masses. They not only cheered her enthusiastically on the way to her ancestral palace of Holyrood, but about 200 of the citizens of Edinburgh, playing on three-stringed fiddles, kept up a deafening serenade under her windows all night; and such was her good-natured appreciation of the motive, that she thanked them in the morning for having really kept her awake after her fatiguing voyage. Not quite so agreeable, though, was the conduct of her liege subjects on the Sunday in her chapel, where, having ordered her chaplain to perform Mass, such a riot was raised, that had not her natural brother, the Lord James Stuart, interfered, the priest would have been killed at the altar.

This was a plain indication that, although the Reformers demanded liberty of conscience for themselves, they meant to allow none to others; and a month afterwards the same riot was renewed so violently in the royal chapel at Stirling, that Randolph, writing to Cecil, said that the Earl of Argyll and the Lord James himself this time "so disturbed the quire, that some, both priests and clerks, left their places with broken heads and bloody ears."

Mary bore this rude and disloyal conduct with an admirable patience. She had the advantage of the counsels of D'Oyselles, who had spent some years in the country, and had learned the character of the people. She placed the leaders of the Congregation in honour and power around her, making the Lord James her chief minister, and Maitland of Lethington her Secretary of State, both of whom, however, were in the pay and interests of the English queen. It was not in the nature of Knox to delay long appearing in her presence, and opening upon her the battery of his fierce zeal.

It is, perhaps, impossible to imagine a situation more appalling than that of this young and accomplished girl suddenly thrown into the midst of this effervescence of spiritual pride and boorish dogmatism, which was so insensible to the finer influences of social life, so unconscious of the rights of conscience in those of a different opinion. Mary showed a far more Christian spirit. She reminded Knox of his offensive and contemptuous book against women, gently admonished him to be more liberal to those who could not think as he did, and to use more meekness of speech in his sermons.

But the Scottish clergy at that moment received a severe recompense for their contempt of the social amenities, in their aristocratic coadjutors treating them as men who had no need of temporal advantages. The nobles used them to overturn by their preaching the ancient Church; and that done, they quietly but firmly appropriated the substance of it to themselves. The example of the English hierarchy had not been lost upon them. When the clergy put in their claim for a fair share of the booty, the nobles affected great surprise at such a worldly appetite in such holy men. The clergy proposed that the property of the Church should be divided into three portions: one-third for the pastors of the new Church, one-third for the poor, and one-third for the endowment of schools and colleges. Maitland of Lethington asked Knox, "Where, then, was the portion of the nobles? Were they to become hod-bearers in this building of the Kirk?" Knox replied that they might be worse employed. But he and his fellow-ministers had different material to operate upon in the hard-fisted nobles. They might browbeat and insult a young queen, but they could not force the plunder from the grip of their aristocratic patrons. The whole sum which they could obtain for the maintenance of 1,000 parish churches was only about £4,000, or about £6 sterling as the annual income of a parish priest.

As for the unhappy queen, she was equally vexed by clergy and aristocracy. She was soon called upon for extensive favours by her ambitious brother, the Lord James, prior of St. Andrews. She created him Earl of Mar, and she further contemplated conferring on him the ancient earldom of Murray, which had been forfeited to the Crown in the reign of James II. A great part of the property, however, of this earldom had been taken possession of by the Earl of Huntly, the head of the most powerful family in the north. Huntly had offered, if Mary would land in the Highlands, to conduct her to Edinburgh at the head of 20,000 men, and enable her to put down the whole body of Reformers. Mary had declined this offer, as the certain cause of a civil war, if accepted. Huntly, therefore, stood aloof from the present Government, and was especially hostile to the Earl of Mar, who was the leading person in it. Mar determined to break the power of this haughty chief, and thus wrest from him the lands he claimed for his new earldom. Mary was anxious to advance her brother, and did not need much persuasion to sanction this design of Mar; and the son of Huntly, Sir John Gordon, having committed some feudal outrage, was seized and imprisoned for a short term. This punishment was regarded as an indignity by the house of Gordon, and the symptoms of disaffection towards the Government were increased. Mary, therefore, took the field with her brother, the Lord James, and marched into the Highlands at the head of her troops. The Earl of Huntly, dismayed at this spirit in the young queen, who appeared to enjoy the excitement and the inconveniences of a campaign, hastened to make overtures of accommodation; and the matter would probably have been soon amicably arranged, but, unfortunately, a party of Huntly's vassals refused Mary and her staff entrance into the castle of Inverness, and made a show of holding it against her. They were, however, soon compelled to surrender, and the governor was executed as a traitor. At this time, Sir John Gordon, escaping from his prison, flew to arms, roused the vassals of the clan Gordon far and wide; and his father, seeing no longer any chance of agreement, led his forces into the field. He advanced towards Aberdeen, and met Mar, who had now exchanged that title for the title of Earl of Murray, encamped on the hill of Fare near Corrichie. There Murray, as an excellent soldier, defeated Huntly, who was killed on the field, or died soon after. His son, Sir John Gordon, was seized, and executed at Aberdeen, three days after the battle. Murray was thus placed in full possession of his title and new estate, and Mary, with so able and powerful a relative as her chief minister, appeared in a position to command obedience from her refractory subjects. But now a new danger menaced her from the rival queen of England, who was still bent on seeing Mary so married as to give her no additional power.

In the spring of 1562 Elizabeth became engaged in the support of the Huguenots, or Protestants of France, against their Government, as she had supported the Covenanters of Scotland. After the failure of a conspiracy to surprise the court at Amboise, and the accession of Catherine de Medici to the Regency, the heads of the party again flew to arms; but Catherine making concessions, in order to engage the Huguenot chiefs Condé and Coligny to assist her in counteracting the influence of the house of Guise, a treaty was entered into by which the Protestants were to be allowed free exercise of their religion. But the Duke of Guise becoming possessed of the person of the king, soon persuaded Catherine—his mother and Regent—to break the treaty. The Huguenots again rose in defence of their lives and principles, and no less than fourteen armies were soon on foot in one part or another of France. The Duke of Guise headed the Catholics; the Prince of Condé, Admiral Coligny, Andelot, and others, commanded the Huguenots. The Parliament of Paris issued an edict, authorising the Papists to massacre the Protestants wherever they found them; the Protestants retaliated with augmented fury, and carnage and violence prevailed throughout the devoted country. The Duke of Guise found himself so hard driven by the Protestants, in whose ranks the very women and children fought fiercely, that he entreated Philip of Spain to come to his aid. Philip gladly engaged in a work so congenial, his own Protestant subjects having had bloody experience of his bigotry, and sent into France 6,000 men, besides money. On this the Prince of Condé appealed to Elizabeth for support against the common enemies of their religion. To induce her to act promptly in their favour, he offered to put Havre-de-Grâce immediately into her hands. Nowadays, in such a case, the English Government would take the public means of endeavouring by negotiation to lead its ally to concede their rights to its subjects. But Elizabeth took her favourite mode of privately aiding the discontented subjects of a power with whom she was at peace, against their sovereign. She made no overtures to Catherine de Medici, as Queen-Regent. She made no declaration of war, but despatched Sir Henry Sidney, the father of the afterwards celebrated Sir Philip Sidney, ostensibly to mediate between the Roman Catholics and Protestants, but really to enter into a compact with Condé. She was to furnish him with 100,000 crowns, and to send over 6,000 men, under Sir Edward Poynings, to take possession of the forts of Havre and Dieppe.

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On the 3rd of October a fleet carried over the stipulated force, took possession of the ports, and Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, the brother of the favourite Lord Robert Dudley, was made commander-in-chief of the English army in France. The French ambassador, with the treaty of Cateau-Cambresis in his hand, demanded the cause of the infringement of the thirteenth article of this treaty, and reminded the queen that, by proceeding to hostilities, she would at once forfeit all claim to Calais at the expiration of the prescribed period. Elizabeth replied that she was in arms, in fact, on behalf of the King of France, who was a prisoner in the hands of Guise, and when the ambassador required her, in the name of his sovereign, to withdraw her troops, she refused to believe that the demand came from the king, because he was not a free agent, and that it was the duty of Charles IX. to protect his oppressed subjects, and to thank a friendly power for endeavouring to assist him in that object.

But these sophisms deceived nobody. The nobility of France regarded Guise, who had driven the English out of France by the capture of Calais, as the real defender of the country; and Condé, who had brought them in again by the surrender of Havre and Dieppe, was considered a traitor. Numbers flocked to the standard of Guise and the Queen-Regent, who were joined by the King of Navarre. The Royal army, with Charles in person, besieged Rouen, to which Poynings, the English commander at Havre, sent a reinforcement. The governor of the city defended it obstinately against this formidable combination, and the Englishmen, mounting a breach which was made, fought till their last man fell. Two hundred of them thus perished, and the French, rushing in over their dead bodies, pillaged the place for eight days with every circumstance of atrocity.

The fall of Rouen and the massacre of a detachment of her troops was news that no one dared to communicate to Elizabeth. The ministers induced her favourite, Lord Robert Dudley, to undertake the unwelcome task; but even he dared only at first to hint to her that a rumour of defeat was afloat. When at length he disclosed the truth, Elizabeth blamed nobody but herself, confessing that it was her own reluctance to send sufficient force which had caused it all. She determined to send fresh reinforcements; commissioned Count Oldenburg to raise 12,000 men in Germany, and ordered public prayers for three days in succession for a blessing on her arms in favour of the Gospel.

Condé, who had been engaged near Orleans, on the arrival of 6,000 mercenaries from Germany, advanced towards Paris; and at Dreux, on the banks of the Eure, where the Duke of Guise achieved a victory over the Huguenots, Condé and Montmorency, a leader of each party, were taken prisoners; and Coligny, who now became the chief Huguenot general, fell back on Orleans, and sent pressing entreaties to Elizabeth for the supplies which she was bound by the treaty to furnish. The English queen, never fond of parting with her money, had at this crisis none in her exchequer. But money must be forthcoming, or the cause of Protestantism must fail through her bad faith. The German mercenaries were clamorous for their pay, none of which they had received, and the representations of Coligny were so urgent that Elizabeth was compelled to summon a Parliament and ask for supplies.

Meanwhile affairs in France had been anything but satisfactory. The Huguenot chiefs had promised Elizabeth, as the price of her assistance, the restoration of Calais. Elizabeth, on her part, ordered the Earl of Warwick not to advance with his troops beyond the walls of Hammes; and when Coligny reduced the chief towns of Normandy, he gave up their plunder to his German auxiliaries, and, instead of awarding any share to the English, complained loudly of the neutrality of Warwick's troops, and the more so when he saw the Duke of Guise preparing to lay siege to Orleans. But Guise was assassinated (February 24, 1563) by Poltrot, a deserter from the Huguenot army, and this circumstance produced a great change amongst the belligerents on both sides. The Catholics were afraid of the English uniting with Coligny, and gaining still greater advantages in Normandy; and, on the other hand, Condé was anxious to make peace, and secure the position in the French Government which Guise had held. A peace was accordingly concluded at Amboise on the 6th of March, in which freedom for the exercise of their religion was conceded to the Huguenots in every town of France, Paris excepted; and the Huguenots, in return, promised to support the Government.

Elizabeth, in her anger at this treaty, made without any reference to her, appeared to abandon her own shrewd sense. Though the French Government offered to renew the treaty of Cateau, to restore Calais at the stipulated time, Havre being of course surrendered, and to repay her all the sums advanced to the Huguenots, she refused, and declared that she would maintain Havre against the whole realm of France. But when she saw that the two parties were united to drive the English troops out of France, she thought better of it. She despatched Throgmorton to act for her in conjunction with Sir Thomas Smith, her ambassador. But Throgmorton arrived too late. The united parties were now pretty secure of the surrender of Havre, and, as Throgmorton's intrigues in France were notorious, to prevent a repetition of them they seized him on pretence of having no proper credentials, and delayed audience to Sir Thomas Smith from day to day, while they pushed on the siege.

To prevent insurrection, or co-operation with the French outside, Warwick had expelled most of the native inhabitants from Havre. He had about 5,000 men with him, and during the siege Sir Hugh Paulet threw in a reinforcement of about 800 more. Elizabeth had now the mortification of seeing her old allies take the command against her. Montmorency, the constable, had the chief command; and Condé, who had been the principal means of leading her into the war, served under him. It was clear that the place could not hold out long, yet the English manned the walls, defended the breaches and, till the whole garrison was reduced to less than 1,500 men, gave no sign of surrender. The Constable made the first proposals for a capitulation, which Warwick agreed to accept; but such was the fury of the French soldiers, or rather, the rabble collected from all quarters to the siege, that, in spite of the truce, they fired on the besieged repeatedly, and shot the Earl of Warwick through the thigh, as he stood in the breach. The next day the capitulation was signed, the garrison and people of the town being allowed to retire within six days, with all their effects. The chief marshal, Edward Randall, caused the sick to be carried on board, that they might not be left to the mercy of the French, and himself lent a helping hand. But the infected troops and people carried out the plague with them; it spread in various parts of England, and raged excessively in London. The inns of court were closed; those who could fled into the country. To the plague was added scarcity of money and of provisions. There were earthquakes in Lincolnshire, Northamptonshire, and other places; terrific thunders and lightnings—and all these terrors were attributed by the Papists to the heresies which were in the ascendant.

Thus terminated Elizabeth's demonstration in favour of the Huguenots. She contemplated the humiliating result with indignation, which she was unable to conceal even in the presence of Castelnau, the French ambassador. At one moment she declared that she would not consent to peace, at another she vowed that she would make her Commissioners pay with their heads for offering to accept conditions which were gall to her haughty spirit. But there was no alternative. She first attempted to compel the French court to liberate Throgmorton, by seizing the French envoy De Foix, and offering him in exchange; but the French would not admit that Throgmorton was a duly appointed ambassador, and in retaliation for the seizure of De Foix, they arrested Sir Thomas Smith, and consigned him to the castle of Mélun. Elizabeth still held the bonds for 500,000 crowns, or the restoration of Calais, and the hostages; and in the end she submitted to surrender the hostages for the return of Throgmorton, and reduced her claim of 500,000 crowns to one-fourth of that sum. Thus, not only Havre but Calais was virtually resigned, though Elizabeth still claimed to negotiate on that point. The proud English queen was, in fact, most mortifyingly defeated, both in the cabinet and the field. The treaty was signed on April 11th, 1564.

This French campaign terminated, Elizabeth turned her attention again to Scotland, and the subject on which she was most anxious was the marriage of the Scottish queen. To Elizabeth, who abhorred the idea of any one ever succeeding her on the throne, it was of much consequence how Mary, her presumptive heir, should wed. If to a foreign prince, it might render the claim on the English throne doubly hazardous. By this time it was pretty clear that Elizabeth herself was resolved to take no partner of her power, as the hands of numerous other princely suitors had been refused besides that of Philip. Of all the long array of the lovers of this famous queen, foreign or English, none ever acquired such a place in her regard and favour as the Lord Robert Dudley, one of the sons of the Duke of Northumberland, who had been attainted, with his father and family, for his participation in the attempt to place Lady Jane Grey on the throne, to the exclusion of Queen Mary and of this very Elizabeth. The queen restored him in blood, made him Master of the Horse, installed him Knight of the Garter, and, soon after this period, Earl of Leicester. This maiden queen, who had rejected so many kings and princes, soon grew so enamoured of this young nobleman, that their conduct became the scandal of the Court and country, but probably it was nothing more than indiscreet. The reports were believed of their living as man and wife, even whilst Leicester was still the husband of Amy Robsart, whom he is said, though falsely, to have murdered. The Queen of Scots, in one of her letters, tells her that she hears this asserted, and that she had promised to marry him before one of the ladies of the bed-chamber. Throgmorton, her ambassador, sent his secretary, Jones, to inform Elizabeth privately, and at the suggestion of Cecil and the other ministers, of the common remarks on this subject by the Spanish and Venetian ambassadors at Paris. Elizabeth, listening to Jones's recital, including the account of the murder of Amy Robsart, sometimes laughed, sometimes hid her face in her hands, but replied that she had heard it all before, and did not believe in the murder. From the evidence on this subject, it appears that Elizabeth had promised Dudley to marry him, and was this time very near being involved in the trammels of matrimony; but she escaped to have another long string of princely suitors.

Careful to avoid the bonds of matrimony herself, Elizabeth was, however, bent on securing in them the Queen of Scots. Since Mary of Scotland had become a widow, the suitors of Elizabeth had transferred their attentions to her. She was younger and much handsomer; her kingdom was much less important, but then she was by no means so haughty and immovable. She was of a warm, a generous, a poetic nature, and would soon have found a congenial husband, but either her own subjects or her rival Elizabeth had something in each case to object. Her French relatives successively proposed Don Carlos, the son of Philip, and heir of Spain; the Duke of Anjou, one of the brothers of her late husband; the Cardinal de Bourbon, who had not yet taken priest's orders; the Duke of Ferrara, and some others. But none of these would suit her Scottish subjects, for they were all Papists; and they suited Elizabeth as little, for they would create too strong a foreign coalition. Mary, with an extraordinary amiability, listened to all the objections of Elizabeth, and expressed herself quite disposed to accept such a husband as should be agreeable to her. Be it understood, however, that Mary was not without policy in this condescension. She hoped to induce Elizabeth, by thus being willing to oblige her in this particular, to acknowledge her right to succeed her, but in this she was grievously disappointed.

Mary at last sent Sir James Melville to London to consult with Elizabeth, in personal interview, fully and candidly as to the person that she would really recommend as her consort. Elizabeth received him at her palace at Westminster, at eight o'clock, in her garden. She asked Melville if his queen had made up her mind regarding the man who should be her husband. He replied that she was just now thinking more of some disputes upon the Borders, and that she was desirous that her Majesty should send my Lord of Bedford and my Lord Dudley to meet her and her Commissioners there. Elizabeth affected to be hurt at Melville naming the Earl of Bedford first. She said that "it appeared to her as if I made but small account of Lord Robert, seeing that I named Bedford before him; but ere it were long she would make him a greater earl, and I should see it done before me, for she esteemed him as one whom she should have married herself, if she had ever been minded to take a husband. But being determined to end her life in virginity, she wished that the queen her sister should marry him, for with him she might find it in her heart to declare Queen Mary second person, rather than any other; for, being matched with him, it would best remove out of her mind all fear and suspicion of usurpation before her death."

Elizabeth immediately carried into effect her word that she would make Dudley an earl, by creating him, whilst Melville was present, Earl of Leicester and Baron Denbigh. "This was done," he says, "with great state at Westminster, herself helping to put on his robes, he sitting on his knees before her, and keeping a great gravity and discreet behaviour; as for the queen, she could not refrain from putting her hand in his neck to tickle him, smilingly, the French ambassador and I standing beside her. Then she asked me 'how I liked him.' I said, 'as he was a worthy subject, so he was happy in a great prince, who could discern and reward good service.' 'Yet,' she replied, 'ye like better of yon long lad,' pointing towards my Lord Darnley, who, as nearest prince of the blood, that day bare the sword before her. My answer was, 'that no woman of spirit would make choice of sic a man, that was liker a woman than a man, for he was lusty, beardless, and lady-faced.' I had no will that she should think I liked him, though I had a secret charge to deal with his mother, Lady Lennox, to purchase leave for him to pass to Scotland."

Lord Darnley, "the long lad," as Elizabeth called him, was the son of that Earl of Lennox who in the time of Henry VIII. joined with Glencairn, Cassillis, and others in attempting to betray Scotland to Henry. For these services, and especially for attempting to betray Dumbarton Castle to the English, he was banished and suffered forfeiture of his estates, but received from Henry VIII., as the promised reward for his treason, the hand of the Lady Margaret Douglas, daughter of Margaret, Queen of Scotland, and sister of Henry VIII., one of the lewdest and most turbulent women of the age. Thus Darnley was the son of Mary's aunt, the Lady Margaret Douglas, and grandson of Elizabeth's aunt, Margaret Tudor. He was thus near enough to have laid claim to the crown of England, and of Scotland too, in case of the failure of issue by the present queens. His nearness to the thrones of both kingdoms seems to have suggested the idea of marrying him to the Queen of Scots, whereby her claim on the English throne would receive added force. Mary was induced to favour the family, her near relatives. She corresponded with the Countess of Lennox, and invited Lennox to return to Scotland, and reversed his attainder. He did not recover the patrimony of Angus, his father, for that was in possession of the powerful Earl of Morton, Chancellor of the kingdom, but Mary promised to make that up to him by other means. Once restored to favour and rank in Scotland, Lennox pushed on the scheme of marrying his son Darnley to the queen. Melville was commissioned to intercede for his return to Scotland, but Elizabeth, who could not be blind to the danger of Darnley's wedding the Queen of Scots, for a time would not listen to it. We may believe too that Cecil did his best to prevent this, for of all his desires, the most earnest was that of the removal of Leicester from the Court, and therefore he used all his eloquence to get Leicester chosen for that honour.

On returning from Hampton Court, Leicester conducted Melville to London by water, and on the way he asked him what the Queen of Scots thought of him as a husband. The answer of Melville, who did not care so nicely to flatter the favourite, was not very complimentary, and thereupon Leicester made haste to assure the Scottish envoy that he had never presumed so much as to think of marrying so great a queen; that he knew he was not worthy to wipe her shoes, but that it was the plot of Cecil to ruin him with both the queens.

Melville, on his return to Edinburgh, assured the Queen of Scots that she could never expect any real friendship from the Queen of England, for that she was overflowing with jealousy, and was made up of falsehood and deceit. These royal courtships and rivalries went on still for some time: Queen Mary finally determined to refuse the Archduke Charles of Austria, probably to avoid giving umbrage to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth received one more suitor in no less a personage than the young King of France. This was a scheme of the busy and intriguing Catherine de Medici, who thought it would be a fine thing to link England and France together by marriage, but Elizabeth was not likely to perpetrate anything so shallow. The king was only fourteen, and Elizabeth replied that "her good brother was too great and too small; too great as a king, and too small, being but young, and she already thirty." Catherine, however, again pressed it, by De Foix the ambassador; but Elizabeth, laughing, said, she thought her neighbour Mary Stuart would suit him better; this, however, was only thrown out because Elizabeth had heard of some such project, which, if real, she would oppose resolutely. But a circumstance now took place which it seems difficult to account for. Having refused to permit Lord Darnley to go to Scotland, lest he should marry the Queen of Scots, and add to her claims on the English throne, all at once her objection seemed to vanish, and in February, 1565, she permitted him to travel to Edinburgh. Darnley was at this time in his twenty-fourth year, tall and handsome, possessing the courtly accomplishments of the age, and free in the distribution of his money. He waited on the young queen at Wemyss Castle, in Fife, and was well received by Mary, who was now about the same age. There appears no doubt but that the marriage had been planned and promoted by the Lennox party, and it is said that Murray encouraged it, thinking that with a young man of Darnley's weak and pleasure-loving character, he could easily retain the power of the State in his hands. Be that as it may, Darnley soon proposed, and was rejected; but Elizabeth, contrary to her own intentions, contributed to alter Mary's resolution. Elizabeth, probably apprehensive that Darnley being present might obtain the queen's goodwill, again sent Randolph to press the marriage with Leicester; on which Mary, bursting into tears, declared that the Queen of England treated her as a child, and immediately favoured the pretensions of Darnley. The marriage took place on the 29th of July, 1565.

As Darnley was a Catholic, the Protestant party was much alarmed. The lords, headed by Murray, assembled at Stirling, and entered into a bond to stand by each other. They sent off a messenger to urge speedy aid from Elizabeth, and actively diffused reports that Lennox had plotted to take away the life of Murray. This, both Lennox and Darnley stoutly denied, and the queen, to leave no obscurity in the case, gave Murray a safe conduct for himself and eighty others, and ordered him to attend in her presence and produce his proofs. She declared that such a thing as enforcement of the religion or consciences of her subjects had never entered her mind, and she called on her loyal subjects to hasten to her defence. This call was promptly and widely responded to, and Mary, finding herself now in security, declared the choice of Darnley as her husband, created him Duke of Albany, and married him openly, in the chapel of Holyrood. He was by proclamation declared king during the time of their marriage, and all writs were ordered to run in the joint names of Henry and Mary, King and Queen of Scotland.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, had complied with the demands of the Scottish lords; sent off money, appointed Bedford and Shrewsbury her lieutenants in the north, and reinforced the garrison of Berwick with 2,000 men. Finding, however, that the call of Mary on her subjects had brought out such a force around her as would require still more money and men to cope with it, she despatched Tamworth, a creature of Leicester's, to Scotland, to deter Mary by menaces and reproaches. It was too late; and Mary, assuming the attitude of a justly incensed monarch, compelled the ambassador to deliver his charge in writing, and answered it in the same manner, requesting Elizabeth to content herself with the government of her own kingdom, and not to interfere in the concerns of monarchs as independent as herself. When Tamworth took leave, he refused the passport given him bearing the joint names of the king and queen, out of fear of his imperious mistress, for which Mary ordered him to be apprehended on the road by Lord Home as a vagrant, and detained a couple of days; and on Randolph remonstrating, she informed him that unless he ceased to intrigue with her subjects, she would treat him the same. This bold rebuff to the meddling Queen of England, and the demonstration of affection on the part of the people, confounded the disaffected lords, and their resistance collapsed.

The Queen of Scots, victorious by arms over her enemies, determined to call together a Parliament, and there to procure the forfeiture of Murray and his adherents. This threw the rebel lords into the utmost consternation; for, in the then temper of the nation at large, the measure would have been passed, and they would have been stripped of their estates and entirely crushed. To prevent this catastrophe no time was lost. It was actively spread amongst the people that Mary, having signed the league, it was the intention, through the Kings of France and Spain, to put down the Reformation in Scotland. It was represented that David Rizzio, a Milanese, who had become Mary's secretary for the French language, was the agent of the league and a pensioner of Rome, and that it was necessary to have him removed. Unfortunately for Rizzio, he had incurred the hatred not only of these Protestant lords, but of Darnley, the queen's husband. That young man had soon displayed a character which could bring nothing but misery to the queen. He was a man of shallow intellect, but of violent passions, and, as is usually the case with such persons, of a will as strong as his judgment was weak. He was ambitious of the chief power, and sullenly resentful because it was denied. Mary, who was of a warm and impulsive temperament, in the ardour of her first affection, had promised Darnley the crown matrimonial, which would have invested him with an equal share of the royal authority; but soon unhappily perceiving that she had lavished her regard on a weak, headstrong, and dissipated person, she refused to comply, fully assured of the mischiefs which such power in his hands would produce. Darnley resented this denial violently. He reproached the queen with her insincerity in most intemperate language; treated her in public with scandalous disrespect; abandoned her society for the lowest and worst company, and threw himself into the hands of his enemies, who soon made him their tool. They persuaded him that Rizzio, who, in his quarrels with the queen, always took her part, and who, as the keeper of the privy purse, was obliged to resist his extravagant demands upon it, was not only the enemy of the nation, the spy and paid agent of foreign princes, but was the queen's paramour, and the author of the resolve to keep him out of all real power. The scheme took the effect that was desired. Darnley became jealous and furious for revenge. His father, the Earl of Lennox, joined him in his suspicions, and it was resolved to put Rizzio out of the way.

Darnley, in his blind fury, sent for Lord Ruthven, imploring him to come to him on a matter of life and death. Ruthven was confined to his bed by a severe illness, yet he consented to engage in the conspiracy for the murder of Rizzio, on condition that Darnley should engage to prevent the meeting of Parliament, and to procure the return of Murray and the rebel chiefs. Darnley was in a mood ready to grant anything for the gratification of his resentment against Rizzio; he agreed to everything; a league was entered into, a new covenant sworn, the objects of which were the murder of Rizzio, the prevention of the assembling of Parliament, and the return of Murray and his adherents. Randolph, the English ambassador, now banished from Scotland for his traitorous collusion with the insurgents, yet had gone no farther than Berwick, where he was made fully acquainted with the plot, and communicated it immediately to Leicester in a letter, dated February 13th, 1566, which yet remains. He assured him that the murder of Rizzio would be accomplished within ten days; that the crown would be torn from Mary's dishonoured head, and that matters of a still darker nature were meditated against her person which he dared not yet allude to.

Mary was not without some warnings of what was being prepared, but she could not be made sensible of her danger, neither could Rizzio; though Damiot, an astrologer, whom he was in the habit of consulting, bade him beware of the bastard. The obscurity attending all such oracles led Rizzio to believe that Damiot alluded to Murray, and Rizzio laughed at any danger from him, a banished man; but we shall see that he received his first wound from another bastard, George Douglas, the natural son of the Earl of Angus.

On the 3rd of March Parliament was opened, and a statute of treason and of forfeiture against Murray and his accomplices was immediately introduced on the Thursday, which was to be passed on the following Tuesday. But on the Saturday evening, the queen, sitting at supper in a small closet adjoining her chamber, attended by her natural sister the Countess of Argyll, the Commendator of Holyrood, Beaton Master of the Household, Arthur Erskine captain of the guard, and her secretary Rizzio, was surprised by the apparition of Darnley suddenly putting aside the arras which concealed the door, and standing for a moment gloomily surveying the group. Behind him came a still more startling figure; it was that of Ruthven, in complete armour, just come from his sick bed, and with a face pale and ghastly as that of a ghost. Mary, who was seven months gone with child, started up at this terrible sight, and commanded Ruthven to be gone; but at this moment Darnley put his arm round her waist as if to detain her, and other conspirators entered, one after another, with naked weapons, into the room. Ruthven drew his dagger, and crying that their business was with Rizzio, endeavoured to seize him. But Rizzio, rushing to his mistress, caught the skirt of her robe, and shouted, "Giustizia! giustizia! sauve ma vie—Madame, sauve ma vie!"

Darnley forced himself between the queen and Rizzio, to separate them from one another, and probably the intention was to drag him out of her presence, and dispatch him. But George Douglas, the bastard, in his impetuosity, drove his dagger into the back of Rizzio over the queen's shoulder, and the rest of the conspirators—Morton, Car of Faudonside, and others—dragged him out to the entrance of the presence-chamber, where, in their murderous fury, they stabbed him with fifty-six wounds, with such blind rage that they wounded one another, and left Darnley's dagger sticking in the body as an evidence of his participation in the deed. This done, the hideous Ruthven, exhausted with the excitement, staggered into the presence of the shrieking queen, and, sinking upon a seat, demanded a cup of wine. Mary upbraided him with his brutality; but he coolly assured her that it was all done at the command of her husband and king. At that moment one of her ladies rushed in crying that they had killed Rizzio. "And is it so?" said Mary; "then farewell tears, we must now study revenge."

It was about seven in the evening when this savage murder was perpetrated. The palace was beset by troops under the command of Morton. There was no means of rousing the city, the queen was kept close prisoner in her chamber, whilst the king, assuming the sole authority, issued letters commanding the three Estates to quit the capital within three hours, on pain of treason, whilst Morton with his guards was ordered to allow no one to leave the palace. Notwithstanding this, Huntly, Bothwell, Sir James Balfour, and James Melville, made their escape in the darkness and confusion; and as Melville passed under the queen's window, she suddenly threw up the sash, and entreated him to give the alarm to the city. Her ruffianly guards immediately seized her, and dragged her back, swearing they would cut her to pieces; and Darnley was pushed forward to harangue the people, and assure them that both the queen and himself were safe, and commanding them to retire in peace, which they did.

But Mary was not long left alone with Darnley, before she convinced him of the dupe he had made of himself. She asked him whether he was so mad as to expect that after they had secured her, after they had imperilled the life of his child, they would spare him? And she bade him look at their conduct now, where they usurped all authority and did not even allow him to send his own servants to her. Darnley became thoroughly alarmed; he vowed he had had no hand in the conspiracy, and offered to call the conspirators into her presence, and declare that the queen was ready to pardon them, on condition that they withdrew their guards, replaced her own servants, and treated her as their true queen. The noble traitors were this time over-reached in their turn; probably trembling for the consequences of their daring conduct, on seeing Darnley and the queen reconciled, they consented, and in the night the queen and Darnley mounted fleet horses and fled to Dunbar. The consternation of the murderers in the morning may be imagined. The outraged and insulted queen had escaped their hands, and the news came flying that already the nobles and the people were hurrying from all sides to her standard. Huntly, Athole, Bothwell, and whole crowds of barons and gentlemen flew to her, and at Dunbar a numerous army stood as if by magic ready to march on the traitors and execute the vengeance due. They fled. Morton, Ruthven—the grisly, pale-faced assassin—Brunston, and Car of Faudonside, escaped to England. Maitland of Lethington betook himself to the hills of Athole, and Craig, the colleague of Knox, dived into the darksome recesses of the city wynds.

The spirit of Mary was not of a character long to brood over revenge; that belonged rather to such men as Ruthven, Murray, and Morton. They vowed deadly vengeance on Darnley, and from that hour his destruction was settled, and never lost sight of. As for Elizabeth of England, she was loud in denunciation of the outrage on the queen, and wrote expressing deep sympathy; and the virtuous Murray was indignant at the villainy in which he had been engaged, but now only seemed to perceive the full extent of. The assurances of the friendship of England and France seemed, however, to tranquillise the queen's mind, and the hour of her confinement drawing nigh, she called her councillors around her, became reconciled to the king, and prepared everything for her own life or death. On the 19th of June she was, however, safely delivered, in the castle of Edinburgh, of a son, who was named James, and Sir James Melville was dispatched to carry the tidings to Elizabeth. The messenger arrived as the English queen was dancing after supper at Greenwich. Cecil, who had seen Sir James, took the opportunity to whisper the news to her in preparation. No sooner did she hear the news than she seemed struck motionless. She ceased, sat down, leaning her cheek on her hand, and when her ladies hastened to ascertain what ailed her, burst out, "The Queen of Scots is mother of a fair son, and I am a barren stock!" Her agitation was so visible that the music stopped, and there was general wonder and confusion. There were not wanting spies to carry this to Melville, and, aware of the truth, he was curious to mark the official look which the great dissembler wore the next morning. She was then all smiling and serene, and even received the message, he says, with a "merry volt," that is, we suppose, a caper of affected joy. She declared that she was so delighted with the news, that it had quite cured her of a heavy sickness which she had had for fifteen days. Melville was too much of a courtier to congratulate her on being able to dance merrily in sickness; but he wanted her to become godmother, which office she accepted cheerfully, by proxy. She expressed quite an ardent desire to go and see her fair sister, but as she could not she sent the Earl of Bedford, with a font of gold for its christening and £1,000. With Bedford and Mr. Carey, son of her kinsman, Lord Hunsdon, she sent a splendid train of knights and gentlemen to attend the christening. The ceremony was performed at Stirling by the Archbishop of St. Andrews, according to the rites of the Romish Church, the Kings of France and the Duke of Savoy being godfathers by their ambassadors. The English embassy remained outside the chapel during the service, for they dared not take part in the idolatries of the mass. They reported that Mary looked very melancholy, and Darnley was not present, it was supposed for fear the officers of Elizabeth should not give him the homage of royalty; for Elizabeth had still refused to acknowledge his title as King of Scotland.

The attention of Elizabeth and her ministers was soon attracted to Scotland by the startling events in progress there. The birth of the young prince had only for the moment had the effect of softening the wayward temper of Darnley. It became absolutely necessary for Mary to construct a strong Government if she was to enjoy the slightest power or tranquillity. Had she known the villainous materials out of which, at best, she must erect such a Government, she would have despaired. All the men of talent and influence were more or less tainted by treason, and in the enjoyment of bribery to work her evil. She leaned on Murray as on a brother, and he was at heart a very Judas. He advised her to recall Morton and reinstate Maitland. By his efforts Bothwell and Maitland were reconciled; the Lairds of Brunston, Ormiston, Hatton, and Calder, the heads of the Church party, were admitted to favour. But the prospect of so many of the traitors, cognisant of his own treason, assembling about the throne, rendered Darnley desperate. He resolved on throwing himself into the arms of the Roman Catholic party, and actually wrote to the Pope, blaming the queen for not taking measures for the restoration of the Mass. His letters were intercepted and, in his indignation, he gave out that he would quit the kingdom.

Nothing availed to show Darnley the folly of his proceedings, everything tended rather to aggravate his waywardness. He persisted in his declarations that he would leave the kingdom, yet he never went. He denounced Maitland, Bellenden the justice-clerk, and Macgill the clerk register, as principal conspirators against Rizzio, and insisted that they should be deprived of office. He opposed the return of Morton, and thus embittered his associates, Murray, Bothwell, Argyll, and Maitland. There was no party, except the Roman Catholics, which did not regard him with suspicion or aversion. The Reformers hated him for his intriguing with their enemies; Cecil suspected him of plotting with the Papists of England; the Hamiltons had detested him from the first for coming in between them and the succession. The queen now became grievously impatient of his intractable stupidity, and deeply deplored her union with the man who had already endangered the life of herself and her child, and now kept the Government in a constant state of struggle and uncertainty.

Matters were in this state when, in the commencement of October, 1566, disturbances on the Borders rendered it necessary for the queen to go thither in person. Her lieutenant, the Earl of Bothwell, in attempting to reduce the Borderers to subordination, was severely wounded, and left for dead on the field. He was not dead, however, and was conveyed to Hermitage Castle. Mary arrived at Jedburgh on the 7th of October, and the next day opened her Court. The trials of the marauders lasted till the 15th, when she rode over to Hermitage, a distance of twenty miles, to visit her wounded lieutenant. This visit excited much observation and remark amongst her subjects, and the events which succeeded have given deep significance to it. Bothwell was a bold and impetuous man, who had from the first maintained a sturdy attachment to the service of the queen, even when all others had deserted and betrayed her. This had won him a high place in Mary's estimation, and she was not of a character to conceal such preference. He was a man of loose principles, which he had indulged freely on the Continent. Ambition and gallantry, united to unabashed audacity, made up a forcible but dangerous character. The manifest favour of his young, beautiful, and unhappy sovereign seems very soon to have inspired him with the most daring designs, which still lay locked in his own heart. There is little doubt that he had entered into the conspiracy to kill Darnley, for he was mixed up with that clique; and the miserable and irritating conduct of Darnley towards the queen was now rousing the indignation of far better men than Bothwell. The favour in which Bothwell was with the queen was early observed and encouraged by Murray, Maitland, and their associates, because it tended to punish and might eventually lead to the dismissal of Darnley. Sir James Melville, indeed, attributes Bothwell's scheme for murdering Darnley and gaining possession of the queen to this time.

There is, however, no reason to believe that Mary consciously encouraged the unhallowed passion of Bothwell at this period. As an officer high in her Court, and in her esteem for his fidelity, it was not out of the generous course of Mary's usual proceedings to pay him a visit, which, moreover, was only of two hours, for she rode back to Jedburgh the same day, ordering a mass of official papers to be immediately sent after her. Immediately on reaching Jedburgh she was seized with a fever so severe and rapid, that for ten days her physicians despaired of her life. This was ascribed to the fatigue of her long ride to Hermitage and back; but it probably arose from that fatigue operating on a mind and body already shaken by deep anxiety. She recovered, but her peace of mind and cheerfulness were gone. Darnley never went to see her during the extremity of her illness; and though he made her two visits during her convalescence, they were not visits of peace or regard. They left her in a state of great melancholy, and she often wished that she was dead. The recollection of what Darnley had shown himself capable of in the plot against Rizzio, and his duplicity on that occasion, seemed now to inspire her with a dread that he would conspire against her life, and she never saw him speaking to any of the lords but she was in alarm.

Bothwell, Murray, and Maitland, now invited Huntley and Argyll to meet them at Craigmillar Castle, and there proposed that a divorce should be recommended to the queen, on condition that she pardoned Morton and his accomplices in the death of Rizzio. Mary listened to the scheme with apparent willingness, on the understanding that the measure was not to prejudice the rights of her son; but when it was proposed that Darnley should live in some remote part of the country, or retire to France, the idea appeared to realise their separation too vividly. She evidently cherished a lingering affection for him, and expressed a hope that he might return to better mind. She even offered to pass over to France herself, and remain there till he became sensible of his faults. On this Maitland exclaimed that, sooner than that she should banish herself, they would substitute death for divorce. This effectually startled Mary, and she commanded them to let the matter be, for that she should wait and see what God in His goodness would do to remedy the matter.

The conspirators expressed their obedience to the queen's demands, but they still proceeded with the plot. At Craigmillar they met again, and drew up a bond or covenant for the murder of Darnley, which was signed by Huntly, Maitland, Argyll, and Sir James Balfour, of which Bothwell, kept possession. It declared Darnley a young fool and tyrant, and bound them to cut him off as an enemy to the nobility, and for his unbearable conduct to the queen.

Soon after the Earl of Bedford arrived to attend the baptism of the child. As we have stated, Darnley, though in the palace, did not attend the ceremony, and the queen was observed to be oppressed with melancholy and to shed tears. The ministers now prevailed on the queen to pardon all the murderers of Rizzio, except Car of Faudonside, who had held a pistol to her breast, and George Douglas, who was the first to stab Rizzio. This gave such offence to Darnley that he quitted Edinburgh, and went to his father's, at Glasgow. There he was seized with a severe attack of illness, and an eruption which came out all over his body. It was believed to be poison, but proved to be the small-pox.

Whilst he was lying ill, Morton returned to Edinburgh. Bothwell and Maitland met him at Whittingham, the seat of Archibald Douglas, where they pressed him to join the conspiracy for the murder of Darnley, professing that it was all done at the queen's desire. Morton insisted that they should bring him the queen's warrant, under her own hand, but this they failed to do. At the time that these plottings were going on, in the month of January, 1567, the queen set out to visit Darnley, who had received some hints of the plots against him, and was greatly alarmed by the tidings that the queen, whose severe censure of him he was well acquainted with, was on the way to see him. He sent a messenger to meet her, apologising for not waiting on her in person. The queen replied there was no medicine against fear, and rode on. She went direct to his father's, entered his room, and greeted him kindly. Darnley professed deep repentance of his faults, pleading his youth and the few friends and advisers that he had. He complained of a plot got up at Craigmillar, and that it was said that the queen knew of it but would not sign it. He entreated that all should be made up, and that she should not withdraw herself from him, as he complained she had done. Mary conducted him by short journeys to Edinburgh, herself travelling on horseback, and Darnley being carried in a litter. They rested two days at Linlithgow, and reached Edinburgh on the last day of January. It was intended to take Darnley to Craigmillar, on account of Holyrood being thought to lie too low for a convalescent; but probably Darnley, after what he had heard, objected to go thither, and he was therefore taken to a suburb called Kirk-of-Field, an airy situation, where the Duke of Chatelherault had a palace. The attendants proceeded to the duke's house, but the queen told them the lodging prepared for the king was not there, but in a house just by, and also by the city wall, near the ruinous monastery of the Black Friars.

The place appeared a singular one for a king, for it was confined in size and not over well furnished. What was more suspicious was, that it was the property of Robert Balfour, the brother of that Sir James Balfour who was of the league sworn to destroy Darnley, and the same who drew up the document. He was a dependent of Bothwell's, who held the bond, and who met the king and queen a little way before they reached the capital, and accompanied them to this place. These circumstances taken along with those which followed, show that the whole had reference to the catastrophe, and the great question which has divided historians to this hour is, how far the queen was a party to the proceedings. For the present, so far as Mary was concerned, all appeared fair and sincere. She seemed to have resumed all her interest in her husband. She was constantly with him, and attended to everything necessary for his comfort and restoration. She passed the greater part of the day in his chamber, and slept in the room under his. Though Darnley was apprehensive of danger from the circumstance that his mortal enemies were now in power and about the Court, the constant presence and affection of the queen were a guarantee for his safety, and appeared to give him confidence.

But the conspirators were watching assiduously for an opportunity to destroy him. Morton, Maitland, and Balfour, had now gathered into the plot the Earls of Huntly, Argyll, and Caithness, Archibald Douglas, the Archbishop of St. Andrews, and many other lords and leading men of the bench and bar. Murray alone seemed to stand aloof; though, from the evidence existing, there can be no question that he was privy to the whole affair.

Darnley during this time received a warning of his danger from the Earl of Orkney, who, finding opportunity, told him that if he did not get quickly out of that place it would cost him his life. Darnley told this to the queen, who questioned the earl, and he then denied having said so. This was precisely what Morton stated would take place, when on his death-bed, confessing a knowledge of the plot, he was asked why he had not revealed it. He replied, that there was nobody to tell it to; that it was no use telling it to the queen, for he was assured that she was in the plot; and that if he had told Darnley, he was such a fool that he would immediately tell it to the queen. The circumstance, however, startled the conspirators, and determined them to expedite the terrible business. The desired opportunity arrived. The queen agreed to be present on the evening of the 9th of February at the marriage of Sebastiani and Margaret Carwood, two of her servants, which was to be celebrated with a masque. The queen remained with the king the greater part of the day, which was passed in the most apparent cordiality, and Mary declared her intention of remaining all night at Kirk-of-Field. However, she suddenly recollected her promise to attend the marriage, and taking leave of Darnley, kissed him, and taking a ring from her finger placed it on his own. It was now that the hired assassins executed their appointed task. How Darnley and his page were murdered is yet a disputed point. The house was blown up with gunpowder, but the bodies of the king and his page were found in the orchard adjoining the garden wall, the king only in his night-dress, his pelisse lying by his side, and no marks of fire upon the body.

However doubtful may be other matters, there is no question of the presence of Bothwell at the tragedy. He attended the queen from Kirk-of-Field to Holyrood, but about midnight quitted the palace, changed his rich dress, and in disguise joined the murderers, who were waiting for him. About two o'clock two of them entered the house and lit a slow-burning match, the other end of which was placed amongst the powder. They remained some time expecting the catastrophe, till Bothwell grew so impatient that he was with difficulty withheld from entering the house to ascertain whether the match still burnt. This was done by one of the fellows, who looked through a window and perceived the match alight. The explosion soon after took place, and with a concussion which seemed to shake the whole city. Bothwell hurried away and got to bed before a servant rushed in with the news. He then started up with well-acted astonishment, and rushed forth shouting, "Treason! treason!" Huntly, and some others of the conspirators then proceeded to the queen's chamber, and informed her of what had taken place. She seemed petrified with horror, gave herself up to the most violent expression of grief, and, shutting herself up in her chamber, continued as if paralysed by so diabolical a tragedy.

The demands of the outraged people for inquiry were loud. The city was placarded with the names of Bothwell, James Balfour, David Chambers, black John Spens, Signors Francisco, Joseph Rizzio—the brother of David—Bartiani, and John de Bourdeaux, as the leading murderers. The Earl of Lennox, the father of Darnley, called on the queen to bring them to trial; but he demanded in vain. Bothwell, the man whom the whole public denounced, continued the first in favour with the queen. Everything demonstrated the necessity of the queen exerting herself to discover the murderers of her husband. Sir Harry Killigrew arrived from Elizabeth, bearing a message of condolence, but at the same time urging the absolute necessity of the trial of Bothwell. Killigrew found the capital in a most excited state, clamorous for inquiry, and loud in its censures of the queen. At the same time a letter arrived from Bishop Beaton, her ambassador in France, stating in plainest terms that she was publicly accused there of being herself the chief mover in the whole dark business, and telling her that if she did not exert herself to take a rigorous vengeance she had better have lost life and all. Mary promised Killigrew that Bothwell should be brought to strict trial; but as soon as he was gone means were taken to secure Bothwell more completely from any effectual inquiry. The Earl of Mar was induced to give up the possession of the castle of Edinburgh to Bothwell, Morton had his lands and his castle of Tantallon restored to him, and in return supported Bothwell with all his influence. The castle of Blackness, the Inch, and the superiority of Leith, were conferred on Bothwell; and Murray—who neither liked to play the second to the aspiring favourite, nor to run any risk of exposure in those inquiries which must sooner or later ensue—requested permission to visit France.

Mary could not possibly be happy in such circumstances. Whatever might be the state of her conscience, her character was fearfully implicated, and on all sides came calls for inquiry, which she did not seem to have the power or the will to make. The climax to her trouble was put by the queen-mother of France and her uncle, the cardinal, sending her the most cutting message of reproach; calling on her without delay to avenge the death of the king, and to clear her own reputation, or regard them as no longer her friends, but the proclaimers of her utter disgrace. There was no possibility of delaying inquiry any longer, but every means was adopted to make it a mockery. Lennox was forbidden to appear with more than six followers, and his efforts to obtain a postponement were fruitless. In his absence Bothwell was unanimously acquitted.

Rumours now arose that Bothwell was about to divorce his wife, the sister of Huntly—to whom he had been married only six months—and to marry the queen; and in the face of these reports Mary conferred on him the castle and lordship of Dunbar, with extension of his powers as Lord High Admiral. As tidings of the queen's intended marriage grew, Murray, her brother, stole away out of contact with danger or responsibility and retired to France. But, nevertheless, she did not lack warning. Her ambassador at the French Court entreated her, in the most serious manner, to punish her husband's murderers, and not allow the world to use such freedom with her character as it did. She had equally strong letters from her friends in England, which Melville showed to her, and was advised by Maitland of Lethington to get away from Court for fear of Bothwell. Bothwell, however, soon put the matter beyond doubt. He invited the principal nobility to a tavern, kept by one Ainslie, and there he drew out of his pocket a bond expressing his innocence of the murder of Darnley, as established by the bench and the legislature, and his intention to marry the queen, and containing, it is said, her written warrant empowering him to propose the matter to the nobility. The company was composed partly of his friends and accomplices. The rest were taken with confusion, but they had all been deeply drinking, and they found the house surrounded by 200 of Bothwell's hackbutters. Under constraint, eight bishops, nine earls, and seven lords, subscribed the paper.

But the daring ambition of the man now roused even his old accomplices to conspire against him, for the safety of the young prince and Government. Morton, Argyll, Athole, and Kirkaldy of Grange, were at the head of this plot; and they wrote to Bedford the day after the supper at Ainslie's, saying it was high time that his dangerous career was checked, and engaging by Elizabeth's aid to avenge the murder of the king. Kirkaldy, who was the scribe, added that the queen had been heard to say that "she cared not to lose France, England, and her own country for him, and would go with him to the world's end in a white petticoat, before she would leave him."

An anonymous letter, but undoubtedly from some of this party, soon followed, declaring that the queen had concerted with Bothwell the seizure of her person. The correctness of this information was immediately proved. On Monday, the 21st of April, the very day foretold, Mary rode to Stirling to visit her son, where the Earl of Mar, entertaining strong suspicions of her intentions, refused to allow her access to him with more than two attendants, to her great indignation. On her return, as had been foreseen in the letter quoted, Bothwell met her at the head of 1,000 horse, at Almond Bridge, six miles from Edinburgh; and, according to Melville, who was in the queen's train, taking the queen's bridle, he boasted that "he would marry the queen, who could or who would not; yea, whether she would herself or not." He says that Captain Blackadder, one of Bothwell's men, told him that it was with the queen's own consent. Whether this were so or not, has been argued eagerly on both sides, but it is probable from what we have seen, that Mary really was a consenting party. The royal retinue was suffered to continue its journey, with the exception of Melville, Maitland, and Huntly, who were conducted along with the queen to the castle of Dunbar, the recent gift of Mary to Bothwell. The queen seems to have made no loud outcries against her apparently forcible abduction, and the country was so convinced of the sham nature of the affair, that there was no attempt to rescue her.

The divorce of Bothwell from his wife was now hastened, and after detaining the queen five days at the castle of Dunbar, he conducted her to Edinburgh, and led her to the castle, where she was received with a salute of artillery, Bothwell holding her train as she dismounted. The ministers of the Church were ordered to proclaim the banns of marriage between the queen and Bothwell, but they declined; and Craig, the colleague of Knox, who was absent, declared that he had no command from her Majesty, who was held in disgraceful constraint by Bothwell. This brought to him the Justice Clerk with a letter under the queen's own hand, stating that the assertions he had made were false and commanding him to obey. Craig still refused till he had seen the queen herself; and, before the Privy Council, charged Bothwell with murder, rape, and adultery. No punishment followed so daring a charge, and the preacher having done his duty, obeyed the Royal mandate and published the banns, at the same time exclaiming, "I take heaven and earth to witness that I abhor and detest this marriage, as odious and slanderous to the world; and I would exhort the faithful to pray earnestly that a union against all reason and good conscience may yet be overruled by God to the conform of this unhappy realm."

Nothing moved by these public expressions of censure and disgust, the queen appeared, on the 12th of May, at the high court of Edinburgh, and informed the Chancellor, the judges, and the nobility that, though she was at first incensed against the Earl of Bothwell for the forcible detention of her person, she had now quite forgiven him for his subsequent good conduct. That day she created Bothwell Duke of Orkney and Shetland, and with her own hand placed the coronet on his head. On the 15th they were married, at four o'clock in the morning, in the Presence Chamber of Holyrood. The ceremony was performed by the Bishop of Orkney, according to the Protestant form, Craig being present; and afterwards privately, according to the Romish rite.

Very soon circumstances hastened the inevitable insurrection in Scotland. Mary had summoned her nobles to accompany her on an expedition to Liddesdale, but many disobeyed the order. Murray had now arrived in England, and was using all his influence with Elizabeth to make a movement for the expulsion of Bothwell from his usurpation; and even Maitland, who to the last had remained at Court, wearing the air of a staunch supporter of the queen, slipped away and joined the opposition. These were ominous circumstances, and suddenly, while the queen and Bothwell were at Borthwick Castle, about ten miles from Edinburgh, the conspirators made a rapid night march, and morning saw the castle surrounded by nearly 1,000 Borderers, under the command of Hume and other Border chiefs, with whom were Morton, Mar, Lindsay, Kirkaldy, and others of the nobles.

The confederates deemed the queen and Bothwell now safe in their hands, but they were deceived. Bothwell escaped through a postern to Haddington, whence he reached Dunbar; and the queen also eluding them disguised as a man, rode booted and spurred after him. The confederates, disappointed of their grand prize, marched on the capital, forced the gates, and entered, proclaiming that they came to revenge the death of the king, and to rescue the queen from the murderer. There the Earl of Athole and Maitland joined them, and a banner was displayed on which was painted the body of the murdered king lying under a tree, and the young prince kneeling beside it, exclaiming, "Judge and avenge my cause, O Lord!" The people flocked to this exciting standard, and the leaders speedily commanded a strong force.

Mary and Bothwell, meanwhile, summoned the nobles and people around Dunbar, and the Lords Seton, Yester, and Borthwick, appeared in arms, with a body of 2,000 men. Impatient to quell the confederates at once, they marched to Seton, where Mary issued a proclamation, declaring that all the pretences of the confederates were false; that her husband, the duke, was no murderer but had, as they knew, been fully acquitted; she was under no restraint but freely married to Bothwell, by consent and approbation of these very nobles; nor was her son in any danger, unless it were from them, for he was in their hands. Mary advanced and entrenched herself on Carberry Hill, in the old works which the English had thrown up before the battle of Pinkie.

The confederates marched out of Edinburgh and confronted the Royal army, eager for the battle. De Croc, the French ambassador, now attempted to mediate between the two parties, and carried a message to Morton and Glencairn, offering the queen's pardon, on condition that they all returned to their allegiance; but Glencairn replied that they were not come there to seek pardon, but rather to give it those who had sinned; and Morton added, "We are not in arms against our queen, but the Duke of Orkney, the murderer of her husband, and are prepared to yield her our obedience, on condition that she dismisses him from her presence and delivers him up to us."

It was clear that these terms must be complied with or they must fight; and it was soon perceived that the soldiers of the queen's army began to show symptoms of disaffection. Bothwell, therefore, rode forward, and defied any one who dared to accuse him of the king's murder. His challenge was accepted by James Murray of Tullibardine, the baron who was said to have charged Bothwell with the murder, in a placard affixed to the Tolbooth gate. Bothwell declined to enter the lists with Murray, on the plea that he was not his peer, whereupon Lord Lindsay of the Byres offered himself and was accepted, but at the moment of action the queen forbade the fight. By this time the defection in the queen's army became so conspicuous that Mary rode among her men to encourage them, assuring them of victory; but her voice had lost its charm, and the soldiers refused to fight in defence of the alleged murderer of the king. Whilst this was passing, it was observed that Kirkaldy of Grange was wheeling his forces round the hill to turn their flank, and the panic becoming general, the queen and Bothwell found themselves abandoned by all but about sixty gentlemen and the band of hackbutters.

To prevent Kirkaldy from advancing his troops so as to cut off their retreat towards Dunbar, the queen demanded a parley, which was granted. Kirkaldy went forward and assured the queen that they were all prepared to obey her authority, provided she put away the man who stood by her side stained with the blood of the king. The queen promised to acquiesce, and she held a moment's conversation with Bothwell, gave him her hand, and followed Kirkaldy; Bothwell turning his horse's head and riding off to Dunbar. This brutal and unheroic man afterwards became a rover in the North Sea, and died in prison in Denmark in 1578. Mary did not follow Kirkaldy of Grange far till she saw Bothwell out of danger, when she reminded him that she relied on the assurances of the lords, on which Grange, kissing her Majesty's hand, took her horse by the rein, and led her towards the camp. On reaching the lines, the confederate lords received the queen on their knees, and vowed to obey and defend her as loyally as ever the nobility of the realm did her ancestors; but they very soon showed the hollowness of these professions, and the common soldiers assailed her ears with the most opprobrious language.

The unfortunate but guilty queen at every step learned more plainly her real situation, and the faith which she was to put in these nobles. She was conducted like a captive into Edinburgh, the soldiers constantly waving before her eyes the banner on which was painted the murdered king. The mob was crowding round in thousands, shouting and yelling in execration, and the women heaped on her all the coarsest epithets of adulteress and murderess. On arriving in the city, instead of conducting her to her own palace, the patriot nobles shut her up as a solitary prisoner in the house of the Provost, not even allowing her to have her women to attend her; and in the morning she was greeted by a repetition of the scenes of the previous day—the same hideous banner was hung out opposite her window, and the yells of the mob were furious. Driven to actual delirium by this treatment, she rent the clothes from her person, and almost naked attempted to speak to the raving populace. This shocking spectacle roused the sympathy of the better class of citizens, and they determined on a rescue of the insulted queen, when the watchful nobles removed her to Holyrood. There they held a Council, and concluded to send her prisoner to Lochleven Castle, at Kinross, under the stern guardianship of Lindsay and the savage Ruthven. While there she was persuaded (July 23, 1567), to resign in favour of her baby, and Murray, who was summoned home, became Regent.

The queen, seeing herself destined by Murray to perpetual captivity, resolved to exert every faculty to effect her escape. After several unsuccessful efforts, she succeeded in May, 1568, through the ingenuity of a page called Little Douglas. The news of Mary's escape flew like lightning in every direction; the people, forgetting her crimes in her beauty and her sufferings, gathered to her standard; and she who a few days before was a deserted captive, now beheld herself at the head of 6,000 men. Many of the nobility, and some of those who had sinned deeply against her, now flocked around her. Murray, on the first news of their movement, marched out of Glasgow, and took possession of a small hamlet called Langside, surrounded by gardens and orchards, which occupied each side of a steep narrow lane directly in the way of the queen's army. Instead of avoiding this position, and making their way to Dumbarton by another course, Lord Claud Hamilton charged the troops there posted with his cavalry, 2,000 strong, in perfect confidence of driving them thence; but the hackbutters, who had screened themselves behind walls and trees, poured in on the cavalry a deadly fire which threw them into confusion. Lord Claud cheered them on to renew the charge, and with great valour they pushed forward and drove the enemy before them. But, pursuing them up the steep hill, they suddenly found themselves face to face with Murray's advance, composed of the finest body of Border pikemen, and commanded by Morton, Home, Ker of Cessford, and the barons of the Merse, all fighting on foot at the heads of their divisions.

The battle was unequal, for the troops of Murray were fresh, while those of the queen were out of breath with their up-hill fight. Notwithstanding, the main body of the queen's forces coming up, there was a severe struggle, and the right of the Regent's army began to give way. Grange, who was watching the field from above, quickly brought up reinforcements from the main body, and made so furious a charge on the queen's left as to scatter it into fragments; and Murray, who had waited with the reserve for the decisive moment, rushed forward with so much impetuosity, that the main battle of the queen was broken, and the flight became general (May 13, 1568). Mary, who had surveyed the conflict from the castle of Crookston, on a neighbouring height, about four miles from Paisley, beholding the rout of her army, turned her horse and fled, and never drew bit till she reached the abbey of Dundrennan, in Galloway. She then set sail in a boat, and landed at Workington, in Cumberland. Here she wrote to Elizabeth, expressing her strong confidence that Elizabeth would receive her and protect her against her rebellious subjects. She concluded her letter with these words:—"It is my earnest request that your majesty will send for me as soon as possible, for my condition is pitiable, not to say for a queen, but even for a simple gentlewoman. I have no other dress than that in which I escaped from the field. My first day's ride was sixty miles across the country, and I have not since dared to travel except by night."

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REIGN OF ELIZABETH (continued).

Elizabeth Determines to Imprison Mary—The Conference at York—It is Moved to London—The Casket Letters—Mary is sent Southwards—Remonstrances of the European Sovereigns—Affairs in the Netherlands—Alva is sent Thither—Elizabeth Aids the Insurgents—Proposed Marriage between Mary and Norfolk—The Plot is Discovered—Rising in the North—Its Suppression—Death of the Regent Murray—Its Consequences in Scotland—Religious Persecutions—Execution of Norfolk—Massacre of St. Bartholomew—Siege of Edinburgh Castle—War in France—Splendid Defence of La Rochelle—Death of Charles IX.—Religious War in the Netherlands—Rule of Don John—The Anjou Marriage—Deaths of Anjou and of William the Silent.

Elizabeth, on reading Mary's letter, felt that she was now entirely in her power; and all her art was exerted to draw her over into the heart of the kingdom, so that she could neither retreat nor escape to France. She took every measure to avoid alarming her. She dispatched letters to the sheriff of Cumberland, commanding him to treat the Scottish queen with all honour, but to keep the strictest watch over her, and to prevent any possibility of escape. Nothing was farther from Elizabeth's intentions than to enter on friendly terms with the Queen of Scots. She had never forgiven her the offence of insisting on her claims of succession to the crown of England. She had a personal jealousy of the fame of her superior beauty; and, with such a counsellor as Cecil, it was certain that a selfish and suspicious policy would prevail. In those days, honour and high principle were of little account: expediency was the only statesmanship. It was, therefore, easy for Elizabeth and her ministers to plead the accusations against Mary—the imprudence of her conduct, and her still unabated infatuation for the murderer Bothwell. Mary was a firm Papist, Murray was a high professing Protestant, and to favour him and his party was to be the champion of Protestantism. To let Mary escape to France was not to be thought of, for of all things it was essential to keep asunder the union of French and Scottish interests. It was clear, therefore, that Mary must be detained in England, at least for the present; after she had been sufficiently discredited she might be allowed to return to Scotland.

Elizabeth, after some consideration, determined that Mary's conduct should be submitted to a formal inquiry. When Mary learned that a message was actually on its way to call Murray and his accomplices to England, to prefer their charges against her, she protested vehemently against such a proceeding and declared that she would rather die than submit to such indignity. Murray received his summons with his usual artfulness. He was required by Elizabeth to prefer his charges against the Queen of Scots, but in the meantime to refrain from hostilities. He obeyed the requisition; placed his soldiers in quarters; but demanded to know what was to be the result of the inquiry. If the queen was declared innocent, what guarantee was he to receive for his own security? If guilty, what then? He said he had already sent copies of his proofs by his servant Wood; and if they were found to be faithful to the originals, would they be deemed conclusive?

Thus the cunning Regent was seeking to ascertain whether he had already evidence deemed by the selected judge sufficiently damnatory, or whether he should fabricate more. Nothing could be cleverer than Elizabeth's dealings in reply. She assured Murray, and also Mary, that she did not set herself up as a judge of the Scottish queen, far less as an accuser; that her sole object was to settle the disputes between Mary and her subjects, and to reinstate her at once in their good opinion and in her full power; but in secret she assured Murray, as we learn from Goodall and Anderson, that, whatever were her assurances to Mary, she really meant to try her and, if she could find her guilty, to retain her in perpetual imprisonment.

After considerable delay Murray appointed his commissioners—the Earl of Morton, the Bishop of Orkney, Lord Lindsay, and the commendator of Dunfermline, who were to be assisted by Maitland, Buchanan, and Macgill. Elizabeth appointed, as hers, the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Sussex, and Sir Ralph Sadler. Maitland, at this juncture, while engaged on the part of Murray, sent Mary copies of the letters which Murray intended to present against her, and begged her to say what he could do to assist her. She replied, that he should use his influence to abate the rigour of Murray, influence the Duke of Norfolk as much as possible in her favour, and rely on the Bishop of Ross as her sincere friend. She then named, on her part, the said Bishop of Ross, the Lords Herries, Boyd, Livingston, the abbot of Kilwinning, Sir John Gordon of Lochinvar, and Sir John Cockburn of Stirling.

The Commissioners, Murray attending in person with his own, met at York, on the 4th of October. Some obstruction of business was occasioned by the Duke of Norfolk insisting that, as the Regent had consented to plead before Elizabeth, he must first do homage to the English crown. This was refused, and was therefore waived; but the step discovered the desire of Elizabeth to seize on this occasion to achieve what none of her ancestors could accomplish—the acknowledgment of the feudal vassalage of Scotland. The next betrayed the duplicity of her promises to the two parties. Mary's commissioners claimed that the engagement of Elizabeth to place Mary on the throne of Scotland in any case, should appear in their powers; and Murray's, on the contrary, pleaded the queen's promise that if Mary were pronounced guilty she should remain a prisoner. These contradictory powers were granted, and Mary's commissioners opened the conference with their charges that Murray and his associates had rebelliously risen in arms against their lawful sovereign, had deposed and imprisoned her, and compelled her to seek justice from her royal kinswoman.

Murray was now called upon to reply, but, instead of openly and boldly stating his reasons for the course he had pursued, and producing and substantiating, as Elizabeth hoped and expected, the charges of her participating in her husband's murder, which he had so long and loudly vaunted, he solicited a private interview with the English commissioners, before whom he stated his defence. In this defence, to the unmitigated astonishment and disappointment of Elizabeth and her ministers, he made no charge against Mary of participation in the murder of Darnley; but reiterated the charges against her of marrying Bothwell, and the danger thereby incurred by the prince. Nor was this all. Mary's commissioners did not so far excuse him; they accused him boldly of complicity with Bothwell and the murderers, and of being on the most friendly terms with Bothwell whilst the marriage with the queen was in progress. Murray, with all his art, was confounded and silenced.

It is said that the arguments and disclosures of the Duke of Norfolk had, at this moment, greatly staggered him. Norfolk had conceived the design of marrying the Queen of Scots; and, in order to deter Murray from pressing the worst charges, intimated to him privately that he was pursuing a dangerous course, for that Elizabeth, it was well known, never meant to decide against Mary. Murray was rendered sufficiently cautious to abstain from the public accusation of the queen; but he laid privately before Norfolk, Suffolk, and Sadler, the alleged contents of the celebrated silver casket, consisting of love-letters and sonnets, addressed by Mary to Bothwell, and a contract of marriage in the handwriting of Huntley. Copies of these were transmitted to Elizabeth.

Being now in possession of Murray's charges, Elizabeth determined to compel him to make them openly, her grand object being to establish an accusation of Mary sufficiently atrocious to warrant her in keeping her a perpetual prisoner. For this reason she summoned the Commission to Westminster, alleging that York was too distant for a quick transaction of business. When Murray appeared before Elizabeth, he found, to his dismay, that she was perfectly informed of his private interviews with Norfolk, and she insisted that he should make a public accusation of Mary, threatening in case of refusal, to transfer her interests to the Duke of Chatelherault, and to favour the latter's claim to the Regency. But Murray was not inclined to make this accusation, unless assured that Elizabeth would pronounce sentence on Mary, which Norfolk had led him to doubt. Mary, on the other hand, received information from Hepburn of Riccarton, a confederate of Bothwell's, that Elizabeth was of all things really anxious to compel Murray to this accusation. To prevent this, she ordered her commissioners, if any such attempt was made at accusing her, to demand her immediate admission to the presence of Elizabeth, and, if that were refused, to break up the conference.

These conferences were opened in the Painted Chamber at Westminster, the commissioners of Mary refusing to meet in any judicial court; and, acting on the instruction of their queen, they at once demanded the admission of Mary to Elizabeth's presence, on the reasonable plea that that privilege had been granted to Murray. This was again declined, on the old ground that Mary must first clear herself; and on the retirement of the commissioners it was demanded of Murray to put in his accusation in writing, Bacon, the Lord Keeper, assuring him that, if Mary were found guilty, she should be either delivered to him, or kept safe in England. To this Murray replied, that he had prepared his written accusation, but that before he would give it in he must have an assurance, under the hand of Elizabeth, that she would pronounce judgment. On this Cecil said, "Where is your accusation?" and Murray's secretary, Wood, taking it imprudently from his bosom, replied, "Here it is, and here it must remain till we have the queen's written assurance." But while he spoke the paper was snatched from his hand by Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, who rushed over the table, pursued by Wood, and handed it to the English commissioners. It was received amid roars of laughter, and Cecil, who had now gained his great object, became radiant with exultation. The confusion of the scene was extraordinary; Lord William Howard, a blunt sea-officer, shouting aloud in his glee, and Maitland whispering to Murray that he had ruined his cause for ever.

But as there was now no going back, the paper was read, and found to contain the broadest and most direct charge against Mary, not only of being an accomplice in the murder of her husband, but even of inciting Bothwell to it, and then marrying the murderer. This was totally different from Murray's former declaration to the English ministers; but it was now backed by a similar one from Lord Lennox, demanding vengeance for the death of his son. No sooner did the commissioners of the Queen of Scots hear this than they most indignantly condemned the conduct of the English commissioners, declared themselves prepared to prove that Murray and his friends themselves were the actual authors, and some of them the perpetrators of the murder. They demanded instant admittance to the presence of Elizabeth; complained loudly of the breach of the contract that nothing should be received in prejudice of their queen's honour, in her absence; demanded the instant arrest of the authors of the foul charge, and, on that being refused, broke off the conference.

Here, indeed, the conference really ceased. Elizabeth, despite the withdrawal of Mary's commissioners, summoned Murray to produce his proofs; and the pretended love-letters and sonnets, of which Elizabeth had already had copies, were spread before her commissioners. The originals of these celebrated documents have long disappeared, but the copies which remained have evidently been tampered with, and have been pronounced most suspicious by all who have examined them. Mary, on hearing this, demanded by her commissioners the right to see these papers, declaring that she would prove the exhibitors of them the real murderers, and expose them as liars and traitors. This most reasonable request was refused, and Elizabeth, having now all she wanted, delivered by her Council this extraordinary decision on the 10th of January, 1569:—That neither against the Queen of Scotland, nor against Murray, had any convincing charge of crime, on the one hand, or treason on the other, been shown; and that the Queen of England saw no cause to conceive an ill opinion of her good sister of Scotland. It was conceded that Mary should have copies of the papers in the casket, on condition that she should reply to them, which she consented to do, provided that Murray and her accusers were detained to abide the consequence. This, however, did not suit the object of Elizabeth. Murray and his associates were permitted to retire to Scotland, but it was declared that, on many grounds, the Queen of Scots must remain in England.

Meanwhile Elizabeth had removed Mary farther from the Scottish border. She evidently doubted the security of the Queen of Scots so near her Scottish subjects, and in a part of the country so extremely Popish. Mary, on her part, was quite sensible of the views of Elizabeth, and protested against going farther into the interior of England. She did not hesitate to express her opinion that it was the intention of Cecil to make away with her. But resistance on her part was now hopeless. She was in the hands of a powerful and unscrupulous woman, who every day felt more and more the difficult position in which she had placed herself by thus making herself the gaoler, against all right and honour, of an independent queen. She sent express orders to Scrope and Knollys to permit no person to approach the Queen of Scots who was likely to dissuade her from her removal, and furnished them with a list of such well-affected gentlemen as should attend her on her way through the different counties. On the 26th of January, 1569, in wintry weather, Mary and her attendants were obliged to quit Bolton Castle and, mounted on miserable horses, to take their way southward. On the 2nd of February they reached Ripon, and thence proceeded to Tutbury Castle, a ruinous house belonging to the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was now her keeper. The castle lay high above the valley of the Dove, and was a wretched abode for a crowned head; and Mary was watched and guarded with the utmost anxiety lest some of her partisans should find means of communicating with her.

Not only were the Roman Catholic subjects of Elizabeth greatly discontented with the detention of the Scottish queen—whom Elizabeth had again removed to Wingfield Manor, in Derbyshire, in April—but the sovereigns of the Continent also remonstrated with Elizabeth on the injustice of treating a queen—as much a sovereign as herself—as a captive and a criminal. Elizabeth, however, feeling that she had now little to fear from them, replied that they were labouring under a mistake; and that so far from treating the Queen of Scots as a captive, she was giving her refuge and protection against her rebellious subjects, who sought her life, and laid the most grievous crimes to her charge.

The Duke of Norfolk, and the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, as friends of Mary, were extremely hostile to Cecil, regarding him as the real mover and influencer of the queen against her. They succeeded in securing the favour of Leicester to their design against him, who ventured to lay their complaints, as the complaints of the country, before Elizabeth, representing the clamour against the measures of Cecil, and the belief that his policy was prejudicial to her reputation and injurious to the interests of the realm, as universal. Elizabeth defended her favourite minister with zeal; but the politic Cecil was struck with a degree of alarm at their combination, which might have eventually proved formidable, had they not stumbled on the scheme of marrying Norfolk to Mary. The results of that scheme, however, we must postpone till we have noticed some anterior affairs.

We have seen how Elizabeth assisted the Huguenots in France. In the Netherlands she was not less active. The commercial natives of these countries had not only grown rich under the mild sway of the Dukes of Burgundy, but they had exercised privileges which did not accord with the bigoted and despotic notions of Philip II. Both Protestants and Romanists murmured at his harsh and arbitrary government. The latter complained that opulent abbeys in the possession of natives were dissolved to form bishoprics for Spaniards. The Protestants groaned under a stern persecution, and every class of subjects beheld with horror and disgust the Spanish Inquisition introduced. Protestants and Papists alike united to put down this odious institution. The league, from including both religious parties, was named the Compromise, and the Prince of Orange and the Counts Egmont and Horn took the lead in it. The Duchess of Parma, who governed the country, gave way before the storm, and abolished the Inquisition, which had the effect of separating the Roman Catholics from the Protestants. The latter deemed it necessary, when thus deserted, to conduct their worship with arms in their hands; and the duchess, alarmed at this hostile attitude, issued a proclamation forbidding all such assemblies. In Antwerp and other cities where the English and German Protestants greatly abounded, no notice was taken of her proclamation; but it was resolved no longer to remain on the defensive, but to carry the war into the enemy's quarters.

The people, assembling in April, 1567, in vast crowds, proceeded to demolish the images and altars in the churches, and even to pull the churches down. On the feast of the Assumption, as the priests were carrying an image of the Virgin through the streets, the crowd made terrible menaces against it, and the procession was glad to hasten back to the church from which it had set out. But a few days afterwards the people rushed to the cathedral, which was filled with rich shrines, treasures, and works of art, and set systematically to work to smash and destroy every image that it contained. Amongst these was a crucifix, placed aloft, the work of a famous artist, which they dragged down with ropes, and knocked in pieces. The pictures, many of them very valuable, they cut to shreds, and the altars and shrines they tore down and utterly destroyed. From the desecrated cathedral they proceeded to the other churches, where they perpetrated the same ruin, and thence to the convents and monasteries, driving the monks and nuns destitute into the streets. The example of Antwerp was zealously followed in every other province in the Netherlands, except in the Walloons. The iconoclasts were at length interrupted in their work by the Duchess of Parma, who fell upon them near Antwerp, and defeated them with great slaughter. Philip dispatched the notorious Duke of Alva to take vengeance on the turbulent heretics, and overran the Netherlands with his butcheries. The Prince of Orange retired to his province of Nassau, but Horn and Egmont were seized and beheaded on the 5th of June, 1568.

The Huguenots in France, alarmed at this success of Alva, and believing that he was appointed to carry into execution the secret league of Bayonne, for compelling the Protestants of France, Spain, and Flanders, to give up their religion or their lives, rose under Condé, and attempted to seize the king, Charles IX., at Monceaux. Charles, however, was rescued by his Swiss guards, who, surrounding him in a body, beat off the Huguenots, and conducted him in safety to Paris. There, he was, nevertheless, a prisoner, till he was released by the defeat of the Huguenots at the battle of St. Denis, where his principal general, the constable Montmorency, was killed. Condé had fallen in the battle of Jarnac (March 15, 1569). Norris, the English ambassador, was accused of giving encouragement and aid to the insurgents, and the king was compelled to make a treaty with his armed subjects. In the spring of 1568, 3,000 of these French Huguenots marched into Flanders, to join the Prince of Orange, who had taken the field against Alva. After various successes, the prince, at the close of the campaign, was obliged to retreat across the Rhine.

Throughout these struggles, both in France and Belgium, Elizabeth lent much aid and encouragement in the shape of money; but, with her usual caution, she would take no public part in the contest, and all the while professed herself the friend of Philip, and most hostile to rebellion.

The summer of 1569 was distinguished by a remarkable scheme for the marriage of the Duke of Norfolk to the Queen of Scots, which ended fatally for that nobleman, and increased the rigour of Mary's incarceration. The scheme was said to have originated in the ever-busy brain of Maitland. Murray fell into it, probably under the idea that Mary would then content herself with living in England, and leave the government of Scotland in his hands; or it might have entered into his calculations that it would, on discovery, so exasperate Elizabeth, as to lead to what it did, the closer imprisonment of the Queen of Scots, which would be equally acceptable to him. Elizabeth was not long in catching the rumours of this plot, and she burst out on the duke in her fiercest style; but Norfolk had the art to satisfy her of the folly of such an idea, by replying that such a thing had, indeed, been suggested to him, but that it was not a thing likely to captivate him, who loved to sleep on a safe pillow. The plan, however, went on, and from one motive or another, it eventually included amongst its promoters the Earls of Pembroke, Arundel, Bedford, Shrewsbury, Northumberland, and Westmoreland. Leicester and Throgmorton were induced to embrace it, and even Cecil was made aware of it and favoured it. In Scotland, Murray, Maitland, the Bishop of Ross, and Lord Boyd, were favourable to the measure. Mary was sounded on the subject, and professed her readiness to be divorced from Bothwell; but as to marriage, from her past sorrowful experience, she would rather retain her solitary life; yet, if the sanction of Elizabeth was obtained, she would consent to take Norfolk—but not, since all her miseries had flowed from her marriage with Darnley, contrary to the Queen of England's pleasure. The duke, on his part, when it was proposed to him, had recommended Leicester rather, and on his declining, his own brother Lord Henry Howard. How far either party was sincere in these statements matters little; the promoters were urgent and they acquiesced.

The Bishop of Ross, with the apparent approbation of Murray, undertook to negotiate with Elizabeth for the restoration of the Scottish queen, on condition that neither she nor her issue should lay claim to the English throne during the life of Elizabeth; and that Mary should enter into a perpetual league, offensive and defensive, with England, and establish the Reformed religion in Scotland. Elizabeth affected to listen to these proposals, and the matter went so far that, on the assembling of the Scottish Parliament in July, 1569, Murray professed to be quite agreeable to the liberation of Mary, but took care to reject the proposals approved of by Elizabeth, and opposed the appointment to examine the queen's marriage with Bothwell. Maitland at once fathomed the long-concealed deceit of the Regent, and dreading his vengeance on those who had committed themselves in the matter, took a hasty flight into the fastnesses of Athole.

And now befell what, no doubt, Murray had calculated upon. He despatched an envoy to the English queen, bearing full details of the propositions laid before the Scottish Parliament, and the consent received from Bothwell in Denmark to the divorce. The marriage with Norfolk, which was the end and object of all these plottings, had never been communicated to Elizabeth; for though Leicester had promised to impart it to her, he had not ventured to do it. Elizabeth immediately invited Norfolk to dine with her at Farnham, and, on rising from table, reminded him, in a very significant tone, of his speech when charged with such a design some time before, saying, "My lord duke, beware on what pillow you lay your head." Alarmed at this expression, Norfolk urged Leicester to redeem his promise, and speak to the queen on the subject; and this he did, under pretence of being seriously ill, while the queen was sitting by his bedside. The rage of Elizabeth was unbounded, but on Leicester expressing the deepest regret for his meddling in the matter, she forgave him, but sent for Norfolk and poured out on him her wrath and scorn. Norfolk expressed himself perfectly indifferent to the alliance, though so strongly recommended by his friends; but his words and manner did not deceive the deep-sighted queen. She continued to regard him with stern looks, and the courtiers immediately avoided him as a dangerous person. Leicester, who had promised him so much, lowered upon him as a public disturber. Norfolk felt it most agreeable to withdraw from Court, and his example was followed by his staunch friends Pembroke and Arundel. From Norfolk he wrote to Elizabeth excusing his absence, and expressing fears of the acts and slanders of his enemies. Elizabeth immediately commanded him to return to London. Her first information from Murray had been increased by the treachery of that nobleman and of Leicester, who had hastened to reveal to her the secret correspondence of Norfolk with them. His friends advised him to fly, but he did not venture on this, but wrote to Cecil to intercede with the queen. Cecil assured him there was no danger; the duke, therefore, proceeded to London, and was instantly arrested and committed to the Tower in October, 1569.

At the same time Elizabeth joined the Earl of Huntingdon, an avowed enemy of the Queen of Scots, in commission with her keeper, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and Viscount Hertford, to secure more completely the person of Mary, who was again removed to Tutbury, and to examine her papers for further proofs of the correspondence with Norfolk. Her confidential servants had been dismissed; her person surrounded by an armed force; and her cabinets and apartments were strictly searched for this correspondence, but without effect. It is also asserted that it was determined to put her to death, if, as had been expected, the Duke of Norfolk should attempt her rescue by force. The friends of Mary blamed the duke for not having taken arms for her rescue, declaring that a short time would have brought whole hosts to his standard, but Norfolk must have too well known the hopelessness of such an enterprise.

The disclosure of the plot produced consternation and distrust on all sides. Murray, in revealing the correspondence with Norfolk, had not been able to escape suspicion himself. Elizabeth saw enough to believe that he had been an active promoter of the scheme; she saw still clearer that Maitland had been the originator of it; she was, moreover, incensed at the double-faced part which Murray's secretary, Wood, had been playing in the matter in London; and she ordered Lord Hunsdon, and her other agents in the North, to keep a sharp eye on Murray, and the movements of the leading Scots. To propitiate Elizabeth Murray determined to sacrifice Maitland; he, therefore, lured him from his retreat by some plausible artifice, when, on the demand of Lennox, he was arrested in the Council as one of the murderers of his son Darnley. Sir James Balfour, whom Lennox also accused, was seized with his brother George, in spite of the pardon which had been granted him on this head. In the midst of Murray's exultation over his success, Kirkaldy of Grange, dreading fresh disclosures, attacked the house where Maitland was kept, and carried him off.

As the autumn approached, there were repeated rumours of rebellion in the North, which alarmed the Court of Elizabeth. On inquiry, however, no trace of such a thing could be discovered, and the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, when questioned, gave such apparently honest and satisfactory answers, that the Government was perplexed. Suddenly, however, at the beginning of October, the two earls received a summons to York on the queen's business, and the Earl of Sussex was instructed, when he had secured them, to forward them to London. The fate of Norfolk, and consciousness of their actual secret proceedings, determined them to disobey the summons. But, unfortunately for them, their plans of action were yet so immature that they were not prepared to take up arms. While consulting what course to follow, the summons of Sussex arrived, and at the same time a rumour that a force was on the march to arrest Northumberland at Topcliffe. He and his countess hastened to Branspeth Castle, where the Earl of Westmoreland had already assembled around him his guests and retainers. Northumberland was still of opinion that they should avoid hostilities, for which they were unprepared; but others, and amongst them the Countess of Westmoreland, the sister of Norfolk, the Markenfields and Nortons, demanded war. Northumberland still dissented, and resolved to set out for Alnwick; but was detained by force, and the banner of revolt was unfurled.

The first step of the insurgents was to occupy the city of Durham. So insignificant was their number at this moment, that only sixty horsemen followed the banner of the two earls. But their appeals to rise and defend the ancient faith found a strong response. Mass was celebrated in the cathedral before some thousands of people, who tore up the English Bible and destroyed the Communion table. They then, continually increasing in numbers, marched through Staindrop, Darlington, Richmond, and Ripon, everywhere turning out the appliances of the Reformed worship from the churches, and reinstating the ancient ritual.

They proceeded as far as Bramham Moor, or, according to other authorities, Clifford Moor, near Wetherby, where their forces were found to amount to 1,700 horse, and something less than 4,000 foot, but many of them badly armed. The earls, who were famous for their hospitality, had but little ready money; Northumberland bringing only 8,000 crowns, and Westmoreland nothing at all. The Roman Catholics did not rise in their favour, as they had calculated. The insurgents had sent to the Spanish ambassador soliciting his help, but he referred them to the Duke of Alva, and the duke waited for orders from Philip. This aid not arriving cast a damp on the Romanists, who now, doubting of the expedition, lay still, or went over to the Royal army under the Earl of Sussex. To add to their confusion, 800 horse, whom they had despatched to Secure the Queen of Scots at Tutbury, returned with the news that she was removed thence to Coventry. They were confounded by this intelligence, and still more by the rumours of the numerous forces which were being raised under Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, and the Lord Admiral, whilst Lord Hunsdon from Berwick was hastening down upon them with his garrison and Royalists from the Borders.

Dissension now began to appear in their ranks and amongst the leaders. The Earl of Westmoreland, who at first was the most daring, now began to hesitate; and Northumberland, who was, in a manner, dragged into the rising, on the contrary, counselled bold measures, as they had committed themselves. The result, however, was that they retreated to the Earl of Westmoreland's castle of Branspeth. They there issued a new manifesto; and as the Papists had not come forward as they expected, they now dropped the argument of religion, and took up the plea that there was a determination at Court to exercise arbitrary power over the lives and liberties of the subject, and that it was necessary to drive from her Majesty's counsels the persons who gave her pernicious advice.

But this retreat had shaken the confidence of the people; and the different noblemen to whom they sent messengers followed the example of the Earl of Derby, and arrested them and sent them to the queen. The measures on the part of Elizabeth's Government were active and effectual. Orders were issued to muster a large army in the south. The Earl of Bedford was despatched to maintain quiet in Wales. A regiment of well-disciplined troops was marched from the Isle of Wight to defend the person of the sovereign, and suspected persons were arrested. To prevent any communication with the foreign princes, the mail-bags of the Spanish and French ambassadors were stopped and examined. Leicester entreated to be sent against the rebels, but Elizabeth would not risk his precious life, and kept him near her as her chief adviser, Cecil being indisposed.

The patience of Elizabeth was greatly tried by the cautious delay of the Earl of Sussex, who was her commander in the north, and especially as his procrastination allowed the two earls to besiege Sir George Bowes in Barnard Castle for eleven days, which then opened its gates. There were even insinuations that Sussex was in secret league with the rebel earls. On the approach of the army of the Earl of Warwick, 12,000 in number, the insurgents held a council at Durham, on the 16th of December, 1569; but dissension again broke out between Westmoreland and Northumberland to such a degree that the forces scattered, and the enterprise was at an end. The foot got away to their homes, and the earls fled across the Border with 500 horse.

In England no severity was spared in punishing the fallen insurgents. Those who possessed property were reserved for trial in the courts, to secure the forfeiture of their estates. These, and the fugitives together, amounted to fifty-seven noblemen, gentlemen, and freeholders, so that their wealth would form a good fund for the payment of the expenses of the campaign, and the reward of the officers and soldiers. On the poorer class Sussex let loose his vengeance with a fury which was intended to convince Elizabeth of his before-questioned loyalty. In the county of Durham he put to death more than 300 individuals, hanging at Durham at one time sixty-three constables; and Sir George Bowes made his boast that, for sixty miles in length, and fifty miles in breadth, between Newcastle and Wetherby, there was hardly a town or village in which he did not gibbet some of the inhabitants as a warning to the rest; a cruelty, says Bishop Percy, "which exceeds that practised in the West after Monmouth's rebellion; but this was not the age of tenderness or humanity." Sussex, in writing to Cecil, says, "I gesse it will not be under six or seven hundred at leaste of the common sort that shall be executed, besides the prisoners taken in the field."

Meanwhile the Regent Murray, finding that there would never be any rest for either England or Scotland while the Queen of Scots was detained in her unjust captivity, entered into serious negotiations with Elizabeth, to have her surrendered to his own custody, when it would have been in his power to get rid of her on some pretence. Knox, in no equivocal language, in a letter to Cecil which still remains, had recommended her being put out of the way, telling him, "If ye strike not at the root, the branches that appear to be broken will bud again, and this more quickly than man can believe, with greater force than we could wish." On the day on which this letter was dated, Murray despatched Elphinstone to Elizabeth, to impress upon her the absolute necessity of some immediate and decisive dealing with Mary. He assured her that the faction in her favour both at home and abroad was daily acquiring fresh force; that the Spaniards and the Pope were intriguing with the Romanists of England and Scotland, and that daily succours were expected from France. He demanded that she should, therefore, at once exchange the Queen of Scots for Northumberland, and enable him, by a proper supply of money and arms, to resist their common foes. He entreated her to remember that the heads of all these troubles—no doubt meaning Mary and Norfolk—were at her command, and that if she declined this arrangement, he must forbear to adventure his life as he had done.

These negotiations, however private, did not escape the knowledge of Mary's friends. The Bishop of Ross immediately entered a protest before Elizabeth against the scheme, which he declared would be tantamount to signing the death-warrant of the Queen of Scots. He induced the ambassadors of France and Spain to enter like protests; but whether they would have been effective remains a mystery, for Elizabeth had despatched Sir Henry Gates to the Regent on the subject, when the news of Murray's end altered the whole position of affairs.

Private revenge and public had combined to accomplish this tragedy. James Hamilton, of Bothwellhaugh, an estate adjoining the celebrated Bothwell-brig, was one of the Hamilton clan who fought at Langside, and was there taken and condemned to death, but let off with the forfeit of his estate. The loss of his property might have been cause enough of discontent to a proud and high-spirited gentleman, but this was rendered tenfold more intolerable by the seizure of that of his wife, and her ejectment from it in the most brutal manner. He determined to have revenge.

Murray was about to proceed from Stirling to Edinburgh, and had arranged to pass through Linlithgow. The Archbishop of St. Andrews, the uncle of Bothwellhaugh, had an old palace in the High Street of that town, through which Murray must pass. Bothwellhaugh took possession of this, and made all his preparations for the murder with the coolest exactness. He barricaded the front door, so that no one could, without considerable delay, force their way in to seize him. In the back yard he placed a powerful and swift horse, ready bridled and saddled for flight; and even removed the head of the doorway, so as to admit him to spring upon his steed, and ride through it without the moment's delay of leading the horse there. He then cut a hole for the barrel of his gun through a panel below a window, in a sort of wooden gallery, from which he could survey the procession. To prevent his booted steps from being heard, he laid a feather bed on the floor, and to prevent the possible casting of a shadow, hung up behind him a black cloth. These preparations being made, he stood ready, with his piece loaded with four bullets.

The Regent had been duly warned of his danger by a faithful servant named John Herne, who seems to have had full knowledge of Bothwellhaugh's plan and place of ambush, and offered to take the Regent where he could seize the assassin on the spot. With that fatal neglect which so often attends such victims, Murray agreed to avoid the public street, but took no means to secure the murderer. The crowd on entering the town became so great that he allowed himself to be densely surrounded—as it were, borne irresistibly along the fatal street. The throng, moreover, compelled him to move slowly, giving his enemy ample time to take aim. As he passed the archbishop's house, Bothwellhaugh fired so accurately that he shot him through the body, and killed the horse of the person riding next to him (January 23, 1570). The confusion which followed allowed the assassin to escape before his barricade could be forced, and he was just seen galloping away towards Hamilton. There the archbishop, the Lord Arbroath, and the whole clan of the Hamiltons, received him in triumph, as the liberator of his country from an unnatural tyrant who was plotting the murder of his sister and sovereign. They immediately flew to arms, and resolved to march to Edinburgh, liberate the Duke of Chatelherault, and assume the government.

The assassination of Murray greatly disconcerted the policy of Elizabeth. The wily diplomatist who had such strong reasons for securing her co-operation in detaining the Queen of Scots from the throne, being gone, there was a serious danger of the two parties combining, and, by the aid of France, placing Mary, if not on the throne, at least at their head during the minority of her son. The Hamiltons, Maitland, Herries, Huntly, and Argyll, were all on the side of the Queen of Scots, and Morton and his associates were in no condition of themselves to resist them. They were on the march to secure the castles of Dumbarton and Edinburgh; the French were already on the Clyde; the Kers and Scots, friends of Mary, had burst across the Border, accompanied by the refugee Earl of Westmoreland; and an emissary from the Duke of Alva had arrived, bringing money, and promise of substantial help from Philip. It was necessary to sow instant dissension in Scotland, and for this purpose Elizabeth dispatched that subtle intriguer, Sir Thomas Randolph, to that country only three days after Murray's death, and resolved to recommend Lennox, whom the Hamiltons hated, as Regent. The young king, indeed, was his grandson, and therefore he had a natural claim to that position, if his abilities had been adequate to its responsibilities.

Fortune seemed to favour Elizabeth. At the very moment that Cecil was recommending these measures, Lord Hunsdon, the Governor of Berwick, wrote to inform her that Morton was anxious to secure her support, and that nobleman lost no time in waiting on Sir Henry Gates and Sir William Drury, who had arrived on a mission to Murray, just before he was killed. He represented that his party trusted to the Queen of England not to liberate the Queen of Scotland, or the foreigners would soon possess the chief power in Scotland, but to send them Lennox as Regent, and assist them as she had assisted Murray, and they would pledge themselves to pursue the same policy. Randolph, on his arrival, promised them the queen's aid, and encouraged them to refuse any connection with the Hamiltons, who had warned them to acknowledge no authority but that of the queen. Morton and his friends replied by a proclamation, maintaining the rights of the king, and forbidding any one, on pain of treason, to hold communication with the Hamiltons. As they wanted a clever head, they liberated Maitland from the castle; and on his declaration of innocence of the murder of Darnley—a notorious untruth—they reinstated him in his old post of Secretary, and made Morton Chancellor. Randolph assured them of Elizabeth's determination to increase the rigour of the imprisonment of the Queen of Scots, and promised them both money and soldiers on condition that they should take care that the young king should not be carried off to France, that they should maintain the Protestant religion, and deliver up Westmoreland and Northumberland. These conditions were readily accepted, and letters were dispatched to hasten the arrival of Lennox.

On the queen's side were now ranged the whole power of the Hamiltons, the Earls of Argyll, Huntly, Athole, Errol, Crawford, and Marshall; Caithness, Cassillis, Sutherland, and Eglinton; the Lords Home, Seton, Ogilvy, Ross, Borthwick, Oliphant, Yester, and Fleming; Herries, Boyd, Somerville, Innermeith, Forbes, and Gray. But more than all, their strength lay in the military abilities of Kirkaldy of Grange, and the diplomatic abilities of Maitland, who was no sooner at liberty than he went over to them. On the side of the king were Lennox, Mar, the governor of his youthful majesty, Glencairn, Buchanan, and the Lords Glammis, Ruthven, Lindsay, Cathcart, Methven, Ochiltree, and Saltoun.

The friends of Mary, encouraged by promise of support from Spain and France, liberated Chatelherault from the castle of Edinburgh, and compelled Randolph to fly to Berwick. They then addressed a memorial to Elizabeth, calling upon her to put an end to the miseries of Scotland by liberating the queen. But Elizabeth was in no humour to listen to such requests. She had excited all Mary's friends at home and abroad, and a perpetual succession of intrigues, plots, and menaces of invasion kept her in no enviable condition. The intrigues of Norfolk for obtaining Mary, the successive rebellions in the northern shires, the invasions of the Borderers under Buccleuch and Ferniehurst—who had announced the death of Murray before it took place—and the constant rumours of expeditions from France or Spain, wrought her to such a pitch, that on pretence of seizing her rebels Northumberland and Westmoreland, she sent the Earl of Sussex into Scotland at the head of 7,000 men, the real object being to take vengeance on the allies of Mary, and to devastate the country with fire and sword.

This excessive fury so roused the indignation of all parties in Scotland, and such loud remonstrances were made by Maitland, the Bishop of Ross, and the French ambassador, that Elizabeth began to fear that she had gone too far and, instead of ruining Mary's party, had created her one out of her old enemies. She wrote to Sussex, commanding him to stop the siege of Dumbarton, and to Randolph, ordering him to proceed again from Berwick to Edinburgh, and to inform the two parties that, having reasonably chastised her rebels, she had listened to the request of Mary's ambassador the Bishop of Ross, and was about to arrange at Chatsworth for the liberation and restoration of the Queen of Scots. On this Sussex retired with his forces, and the commissioners for the adjustment of the terms with Mary proceeded to the Peak. Cecil and Mildmay were then the agents of Elizabeth; the Bishop of Ross that of Mary. The Scottish queen, who had been removed about four months to this palace of the Peak, then one of the houses of the Earl of Shrewsbury, her keeper, during these negotiations showed herself a complete match for the deep and practical diplomatists of Elizabeth; but of course she was under the necessity of complying with many things which she would never have listened to at liberty. Elizabeth expressed herself quite satisfied; still the assent of the two parties in Scotland had to be obtained, and that was not at all likely, so that Elizabeth's offer could appear fair, and even liberal, with perfect safety. Morton, the head of the opponents to Mary, advocated the right of subjects to depose their sovereigns where they infringed the rights of the community—a doctrine which was abominable to the ears of Elizabeth, and called forth her unqualified censure. On the other hand, the guarantees to be given by and on account of the Queen of Scots were such as never could be settled, from Elizabeth's fears of the resentment of Mary if once she became free. Thus the discussion was prolonged till Cecil found a way out of it without the liberation of the Scottish Queen. He represented that if Elizabeth were to marry a French prince, she would almost entirely annihilate any hopes of the English crown in Mary: for if she had issue her claims would be superseded; if she had not, then the French would be directly interested in keeping Elizabeth firm on her throne. The Duke of Anjou was the prince this time proposed, and Elizabeth appeared, as she generally did at first, to listen with pleasure to the proposal. No sooner was this scheme entertained than she caused the commissioners on the part of the King of Scotland to be dismissed for the present, on pretence that they were not furnished with sufficient credentials, by which she left herself at liberty to renew the treaty if necessary, or to take no further notice of it if she came to an arrangement with the French prince. Prolonged negotiations with the French Court were set on foot, but neither party was sincere, and eventually the marriage project was abandoned, though it was subsequently revived in favour of Anjou's brother Alençon.

No sooner had the Scottish commissioners withdrawn than Elizabeth summoned a Parliament, in which she proceeded to the enactment of severities against both Romanists and Protestants. Pope Pius V. had had the folly to cause a bull of excommunication against Elizabeth to be published. This now effete instrument of Papal vengeance could only serve to enrage the heretic Queen, and to cause her wrath to fall heavily on some zealous unfortunate. The lawyers being amongst those who clung the longest to the old faith, a search was made in the inns of court for copies of the offensive paper. One was found in the chambers of a poor student, who, being stretched on the rack to force a confession from him of the party from whom he had received it, to save himself from torture, confessed that it was given to him by John Felton, a gentleman living near Southwark. Felton was seized, and confessed to the fact of delivering the bull to the student: and to force a revelation of his accomplices from him he was tortured, but to no purpose—he would confess nothing more. He was committed to the Tower on the 25th of May, and kept till the 4th of August, when he was tried at Guildhall on a charge of high treason, condemned, and executed with the disgusting cruelties of being cut down alive, and then embowelled and quartered in St. Paul's Churchyard, before the gates of the palace of the Bishop of London.

On the 2nd of April, 1571, Parliament met at Westminster. A subsidy of two shillings and eightpence in the pound was granted by the Commons, and of five shillings in the pound by the clergy, towards defraying the charges of suppressing the rebellion in the North, and of pursuing the rebels and their abettors into Scotland. This obtained, a bill was introduced to make it high treason for any one to claim a right to the succession of the Crown during the lifetime of the queen, or to say that it belonged to any other person than the queen. A second bill was passed this session enacting that any one was guilty of high treason who not merely obtained any bull from, or entered any suit in, the Court of Rome, but who was merely absolved by the Pope, or by means of any Papal instrument; and that all persons should suffer the pains of Præmunire who received any Agnus Dei, cross, bead, or picture, which had been blessed by the Pope, or any one deriving authority from him; and their aiders and abettors the same. All persons whatsoever, of a certain age, were bound to attend the Protestant worship, and receive the Sacrament as by law established; and all such as had fled abroad in order to escape this most despotic state of things were ordered to return within six months and submit themselves, under penalty of suffering the forfeiture of all property or rents from land. This Parliament was distinctly Puritan in its temper, and introduced several bills for the reform of religious worship, which were dropped in the House of Lords, or failed to receive the royal assent.

The result of the friendship between England and France was that many of the English Catholics turned to Spain, and the dangerous conspiracy was hatched which is known as the Ridolfi plot. In the month of April, 1571, Charles Bailly, a servant of the Queen of Scots, who was coming from Brussels to Dover, was arrested at the latter place, and upon him was discovered a packet of letters, which being written in cipher created suspicion. The Bishop of Ross, Mary's staunch and vigilant friend, who knew very well whence they came, on the first rumour of their seizure, contrived to obtain them from Lord Cobham, in whose hands they were, from a pretended curiosity to read them before they were sent to the Council. Having obtained his desire, he dexterously substituted others, and very innocent ones, in their place in a like cipher: but Bailly being sent to the Tower and placed on the rack, at length confessed that he had written the letters from the dictation of Ridolfi, of Brussels, formerly an Italian banker in London, and then had been commissioned by him to convey them to England. He further confessed that they contained assurances from the Duke of Alva of his warm sympathy with the cause of the captive queen, and approved of the plan of a foreign invasion of England; that if his master the King of Spain authorised him, he should be ready to co-operate with "30" and "40." Who these "30" and "40" were Bailly said he did not know, but that all that was explained by a letter enclosed to the Bishop of Ross, who was requested to deliver them to the right persons.

One of these persons was immediately believed to be the Duke of Norfolk. When he had been ten months a prisoner without any matter having been brought against him of more consequence than that of his having desired to marry the Queen of Scots, provided the Queen of England was willing—which was no treason—and had been brought to no trial, he petitioned to be liberated, contending that though he was wrong in not communicating everything fully to the queen, yet that he had neither committed nor intended any crime, and that his health and circumstances were suffering greatly from his close imprisonment. In consequence, he was removed from the Tower on the 4th of August, 1570, to one of his own houses, under the custody of Sir Henry Neville. He certainly then obtained sufficient variety of prisons, but no more liberty, for he was repeatedly removed from one house to another. He petitioned to be restored to his seat in the Council, but was refused; and in August of 1571 circumstances transpired which occasioned his return to the Tower.

A man of the name of Brown, of Shrewsbury, on the 29th of August carried to the Privy Council a bag of money which he said he had received from Hickford, the Duke of Norfolk's secretary, to carry to Bannister, the duke's steward. The money on being counted in presence of the Council was found to amount to £600. But besides the money there were two papers in cipher; and on this suspicious appearance Hickford, the secretary, was at once arrested, and ordered to decipher the notes, which then showed that the money was intended to be sent to Lord Herries in Scotland, to assist in making fresh efforts on behalf of Mary. Here was treason, and the duke was immediately sent back to the Tower in the custody of Sir Ralph Sadler, Sir Thomas Smith, Sir Henry Neville his old keeper, and Dr. Wilson. The duke denied all knowledge of it; but Bannister, and Barker, another secretary of Norfolk's, being now apprehended, as well as the Bishop of Ross, the rack forced a confession from them. The result was the destruction of the entire conspiracy. The Bishop of Ross, who was immediately arrested, made such revelations, that when the Duke of Norfolk, who had hitherto stoutly denied everything laid to his charge, saw the depositions of the bishop, of Hickford, and Barker, he exclaimed that he had been betrayed and ruined by those in whom he put confidence. On comparing the various answers of these men and of the duke, it would appear that several plans had been in agitation for the liberation of the Queen of Scots; that Norfolk, though he would confess to nothing of the kind, had taken active part in them; that the money lately taken from Hickford had been sent from France for the Scottish friends of Mary. But the most fatal to the duke was the revelation of the mission of Ridolfi, who had it appeared been sent by him to Alva, to the King of Spain, and to the Pope—or rather by Mary, with the cognisance and approbation of the duke.

From further disclosures it appeared that the Pope placed a sum of money at the disposal of Mary, and accompanied it by a letter to Norfolk, regretting that he could send him no further aid this year. Thence Ridolfi hastened to Spain, and reaching Madrid on the 3rd of July, 1571, he delivered his letters to Philip. Meanwhile Philip had received letters from both the Pope and Alva. The Pope urged him to accept the enterprise and rescue England from heresy. The more astute Alva advised him to have nothing to do with it, for he had no faith in the men engaged in it, nor in the soundness of their plans. Philip, however, listened to the scheme, and was so much impressed by it as to determine to undertake the expedition, and to appoint Vitelli its commander. Ridolfi assured the king that he would find plenty ready to co-operate with his forces in England; that he might calculate on an army of 20,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry meeting his troops on landing, led on by the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of Worcester and Southampton, the Lords Montague, Windsor, and Lumley, with many others; that it was intended to dispatch Elizabeth while on a visit to some country house, and also to destroy with her Cecil, Bacon, Leicester, and Northampton. All this Ridolfi wrote to communicate; but the scheme was suddenly scattered to the winds by the discovery of his money and letters.

At length the queen determined to bring Norfolk to the bar. She named the Earl of Shrewsbury High Steward, and he summoned six-and-twenty peers, who were in the first place chosen by the ministers, to attend on the 16th of January, 1572, in Westminster Hall. Thither Norfolk was brought by the Lieutenant of the Tower and Sir Peter Carew, and was charged with having compassed and imagined the death of the queen, and with levying war upon her within the realm—1st, By endeavouring to marry the Queen of Scots, and supplying her with money, well knowing that she claimed the Crown of England; 2nd, By sending sums of money to the Earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland and other persons concerned in the rebellion in the North, enemies to the queen, and attainted of high treason; 3rd, By despatching Ridolfi to the Pope, Alva, and the King of Spain, recommending them to send forces to depose the queen, and set up the Queen of Scots in her place; he himself marrying the said Queen of Scots. Norfolk was found guilty on the fullest evidence, and the complicity of Mary was also brought to light.

On Saturday, the 8th of February, Elizabeth signed the warrant for Norfolk's execution on the Monday; but late on Sunday night she sent for Cecil—now more commonly called Burleigh—and commanded the execution to be stayed, revoking the warrant, to the great disappointment of the good citizens of London, who had seen all the preparations made for the spectacle. Elizabeth soon after signed a fresh warrant which, as the time of execution approached, she also revoked. As she herself hung back, the preachers and the Commons took it up, and demanded the duke's death, for the security of both the sovereign and the State. When the public excitement had reached its height, then the queen slowly and reluctantly yielded, and issued a third warrant, which she did not revoke, for now it was become the act of the nation rather than her own. On the 2nd of June, 1572, at eight o'clock in the morning, the duke was brought out of the Tower to a scaffold on Tower Hill, the drawing to Tyburn and all its revolting accompaniments being dispensed with on account of his high rank. He addressed the people, confessing the justice of his sentence, though he still denied all treason. On being offered a handkerchief to bind his eyes, he refused, saying he was not afraid of death; and after a prayer he stretched his head across the block, and it was severed at a stroke.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had been making a gay procession amongst her subjects, and had been royally feasted at the castle of her favourite, Leicester, at Kenilworth, and was at Woodstock, on her return towards town, when she was met by one of the most horrible pieces of news which ever flew across affrighted Europe. This was the massacre of St. Bartholomew.

The pacification which had been patched up between the Romanists and the Huguenots in France had no sincerity in it. All the old hatred and resentment were fomenting beneath the surface. The Huguenots had no faith in the Papists, and the Papists longed to annihilate the Huguenots as heretics. None thirsted so much for their blood as the queen-mother, Catherine de Medicis. She entered into the most subtle and daring schemes for their destruction, and the imbecile Charles IX. was mere wax in her hands. Her plans ripened, the massacre broke out on St. Bartholomew's day, August 24th, 1572, and it continued until many Protestants of all ages had been cruelly murdered.

A sensation of horror was diffused all over Europe by the news of this unexampled atrocity of bigotry, which was greatly augmented in England by the crowds of Protestants who fled thither for refuge. The body of the nation called for instant war, to avenge on the sanguinary French Government this infamous treatment of the Reformed church. The French ambassador hastened to apologise to the Queen of England for what he termed this unfortunate accident. Burleigh carefully impressed upon Elizabeth the necessity of the death of Mary as "the only means of preventing her own deposition and murder;" and Sandys, the Bishop of London, sent in a paper of necessary precautions to be adopted, the first and foremost of which was to "forthwith cut off the Scottish queen's head." The nation also clamoured for her execution. Elizabeth listened to the advice, but was too politic to imbrue her hands in the blood of the Queen of Scotland, without exerting herself first to transfer the odium to some other person. Killigrew was therefore sent down to Scotland to see if the execution of the queen could not be effected there. His ostensible mission was to arrange, if possible, the terms of an armistice between the adherents of Mary and those of the young king in Scotland, at the head of which parties were Huntly and Morton. But the private and real object was to lead the Protestant lords to the point of removing Mary from the hands of Elizabeth, "to receive that she had deserved by order of justice." But before an answer could be received the Regent Mar died suddenly. This occurred on the 28th of October, 1572, and on the 9th of November Morton, by the influence of Elizabeth, was elected Regent in his place. Thus Elizabeth had obtained the appointment to be guardian of the young king of the very man who had for many years been in her pay, and was ready to execute any designs demanded by her policy. Both Mary and her son might now be said to be in her hands. No sooner was Morton in power than he managed, with the help of Elizabeth, who had always weighty persuasions at hand, to bring over Mary's chief friends the Hamiltons, and Huntley's people the Gordons, and he demanded the immediate and unconditional surrender of the castle of Edinburgh. Kirkaldy, Maitland, and Hume, who held it, however, refused to give it up, and thus put them at the mercy of their enemies. On this, Elizabeth ordered Drury, the marshal of Berwick, to advance to Edinburgh with a strong force furnished with a powerful battering train, and, if necessary, lay the castle in ashes. In this extremity the besieged lords, and Mary from her prison in England, implored the King of France to hasten to their assistance, and not to allow Elizabeth to extinguish the last spark of opposition in Scotland. But Charles replied that it was quite out of his power, for Elizabeth, on the very first movement, would send a fleet to La Rochelle, where he was besieging the Huguenots. The castle was consequently compelled to surrender on the 9th of June, 1573, after a siege of thirty-four days, and the King's party was for the time being triumphant.

Though the French king had refused to assist Mary's party in Scotland in their last extremity, for fear of Elizabeth's affording aid to the Huguenots besieged in La Rochelle by the Duke of Anjou, that did not prevent Elizabeth assisting the Rochellais. She allowed a strong fleet of Englishmen, under the nominal command of the Count de Montgomery, to assemble in Plymouth for their relief, and she promised them further help. To avert this, Charles IX. endeavoured to flatter Elizabeth into neutrality. He requested her to stand godmother to his infant daughter. The French Protestants, however, were so incensed at Elizabeth's compliance, which they regarded as an act of apostacy, that they attacked the squadron which conveyed the English ambassador, Elizabeth's proxy, seized one of his ships, slew some of his attendants, and put his own life in peril. Charles IX. saw in this a favourable opportunity for inducing Elizabeth to cause the Plymouth fleet to disperse. He therefore despatched an ambassador before the queen's anger could cool, requesting her to refuse a promised loan to these audacious Rochellais, and to disperse the hostile fleet at Plymouth. But Elizabeth referred the envoy to her ministers on that point, who assured him that they had no power whatever to impede the sailing of the fleet, for that Englishmen sailed on the plea of traffic wherever they pleased; and if they committed any acts of hostility on friendly powers, they were at the mercy of those powers to seize them and treat them as pirates.

Elizabeth was soon, however, punished for this flagrant equivocation. Montgomery sailed in April; but on discovering the strength of the French fleet moored under the forts and batteries of La Rochelle he was seized with terror, and returned to Plymouth without striking a blow. Elizabeth, indignant at his failure, then sent him word that she was highly displeased at his presuming to unfurl the English flag, and forbade his access to any of the English ports. In June, 1574, he was taken prisoner in Normandy, and on the 26th of that month he was executed as a traitor in Paris. The bravery of the people of La Rochelle, however, and the election of the Duke of Anjou to the throne of Poland, saved that city. A new pacification was entered into, but the peace of France was again disturbed by a coalition between the heads of the Huguenots and the Marshals Montmorency, De Cossé, and Damfont, the Papal leaders called the Politiques. This league was formed to get possession of the king, whose health was now fast failing, remove Catherine and the Duke of Guise from power, and proclaim Alençon as the successor to the crown in the absence of Anjou in Poland. Elizabeth was actively engaged in all these movements, especially in advising Alençon to place himself at the head of affairs. But the watchful genius of Catherine discovered and defeated the plot: Montmorency and Cossé were committed to the Bastille, Alençon and the King of Navarre were so closely watched that they were stopped in five attempts to escape, and numbers of the inferior actors were put to death.

In May, 1574, Charles IX. of France died a miserable death, full of remorse and horror, worn out with consumption, in the twenty-sixth year of his age. By the management of Catherine, the throne was secured by her next son, Anjou, notwithstanding his being absent in Poland. Anjou as ended the French throne under the title of Henry III., detested by all the Protestants for his share in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. In the following year a new plot was formed between the Protestant council at Millaud in Rovergne and the Romanists under Damville, to place Alençon on the throne—a scheme cordially supported by Elizabeth, in favour of her present lover, Alençon. Alençon effected his escape from Court in September, 1575; and Elizabeth, notwithstanding her recent renewal of the treaty of Blois, advanced him money to raise him an army of German Protestants. In February, 1575, the King of Navarre also escaped, and the two princes called on Elizabeth to declare war in their favour; but the demand was overruled in the Council, and Elizabeth offered herself as mediatrix between the king and his brother, Alençon, who was grown jealous of the ascendency of Navarre.

On the 21st of April a treaty was concluded by which the exercise of the Protestant religion was permitted to a certain extent; the king promised to call an assembly of the States to regulate the affairs of the kingdom, and Alençon succeeded to the appanage of his elder brother, and hence-forward was styled Anjou.

This settlement of the differences of creeds was of very short duration. The Protestant league of Millaud stimulated the Roman Catholics to counter-leagues, which entered into obligation under oath to maintain the ascendency of the ancient faith, and to resist all the encroachments of the Protestants. Henry III., who beheld his own authority usurped by these leagues, determined to place himself at the head of a great combined league of the Catholics, which he did in February, 1577, the deputies of the assemblies of the States, for the most part, following his example, and annulling the bulk of the privileges lately conceded to the Protestants. The consequence was another religious war, followed by as short-lived a peace, by which the privileges revoked were again restored.

But our narrative of the French contests between the two parties has passed ahead of the disturbances in the Netherlands. A furious war had been raging there between the Protestant and Papist interests, which also represented the interests of the native Netherlanders and Spain. The Duke of Alva had waded through oceans of blood to maintain the bigoted and cruel power of his master, Philip; but the natives had found a resolute and skilful champion in the Protestant Prince of Orange. He succeeded in establishing the independence of Holland and Zealand; and Philip, angry with Alva for his want of success, recalled him, and treated him with a stern neglect, which, however ungrateful in the king, was perhaps the best reward for the commission of such crimes as Alva had given himself up to work for him. In the place of Alva, Philip despatched Requescens, who adopted a more conciliatory policy towards the people, and thus weakened the influence of the Prince of Orange.

In these circumstances William applied to Elizabeth for help; but, since he had assumed the government of Holland and Zealand, Elizabeth had begun to regard him with jealousy. She felt sure that, from his connection with the Protestants of France, he would seek for their assistance, and this once gained would afford a pretext for Henry III. invading Holland; and the extension of the sway of France into the Netherlands by no means offered a pleasing prospect to the commerce and tranquillity of England. Instead of granting aid to the struggling Protestants of Flanders, she withdrew her forces from Flushing, and entered into negotiations with the Spaniards. Requescens, rejoiced at this change, conceded what he could, agreed to expel the English refugees from the Netherlands, and obtained, in return, an order to arrest all the vessels of the insurgents in her ports, and for their exclusion from England.

This change of policy greatly mortified the Prince of Orange and the Protestant interests in the Netherlands, but Elizabeth represented it as her object to mediate between them and France. The Prince of Orange, however, would listen to no such mediation, till the civil war breaking out again in France put an end to all hope of assistance thence. To effectually secure the aid of Elizabeth, the prince sent over deputies to make her an offer of the sovereignty of Holland and Zealand, as the representative of the ancient princes of those countries by descent from Philippa of Hainault. This proposal flattered her; but, after much discussion and diversity of opinion in her Council, it was deemed best to decline it, but she intimated that she would do all in her power to reconcile them to their sovereign, Philip.

About a month after this decision, Requescens died, and was succeeded towards the end of the year by Don John of Austria, the bastard brother of Philip, attended by all the reputation of his victory over the Turks at the great battle of Lepanto. He was compelled to ratify an accommodation which had just taken place between Holland and Zealand and the Popish states of the Netherlands, which was styled the Pacification of Ghent, and provided that no foreign soldiers should be permitted in the States, and that they should help each other against all opponents. This treaty was known as the "perpetual edict," but it appeared very likely to be broken immediately. Don John, without a foreign army, found himself impotent to contend with the independent Belgians. He therefore sent for the Spanish army from Italy, and the Prince of Orange also appealed to Elizabeth for men and money to resist this direct violation of the edict. Elizabeth recommended both parties to abide by that contract, but the Prince of Orange, hopeless of any justice or toleration with a Spanish army in the country, threatened to transfer the sovereignty of his estates to Alençon, Elizabeth's suitor, now Anjou. He moreover despatched an envoy to communicate a grand design of Don John of Austria against England. He represented that Don John was of a restless and ambitious character, that he had been disappointed of becoming King of Tunis by the commands of Philip, and that he now found that he had conceived a plan for making himself monarch of England and Scotland. This plan had already received the sanction of the Pope, who had engaged to aid him with 6,000 mercenaries on pretence of assisting the knights of Malta. The prince assured her that the recall of the Spanish army was for the invasion of her realm; that the Pope's reinforcement was to meet them at sea, and together they were to land in England and, aided by the friends of the Queen of Scotland, liberate that princess, who was to marry Don John, and they were to reign as John and Mary, King and Queen of England and Scotland.

Elizabeth must have credited the reality of this design, for she agreed to guarantee a loan of £100,000 to the States, and to furnish 1,000 horse and 5,000 foot, on condition that they should not make peace without her approbation, nor allow her rebels to find an asylum amongst them. This was not a defence of her own country, but an invasion of her ally Philip's; and she was obliged to assure him that she had no hostile intention, but to compel the observance of the Pacification of Ghent, and to defend her own territory against the designs of his brother, Don John. Philip affected to hope that her mediation might be successful, but probably trusted to the talents of Don John and the army from Italy to subdue the insurgent people, in spite of the English aid. The Netherlanders, notwithstanding the money which they had raised on Elizabeth's guarantee, wanted yet more; and they put into her hands the jewels and plate which Matthias of Austria, the brother of the Emperor Rudolph and nominal governor of the States, had pledged to them. On this pledge Elizabeth advanced them £50,000. Animated by this supply, the Dutch proceeded to attack the army of Don John, but were defeated in the great battle of Gembloux, an overthrow which spread consternation throughout the Netherlands. Once more they appealed to Elizabeth, to the Protestant princes of Germany, and to the Duke of Anjou.

Casimir, brother of the Elector Palatine, marched across the Rhine with 12,000 men, paid with English gold, and Anjou also advanced at the head of 10,000. The Protestant followers of Casimir, however, seemed to act rather as invading an enemy's country than as come to succour friends and the people, wherever they came, declared that they had better remain under Philip than under such allies. The Prince of Orange, despairing of being able to resist such commanders as Don John and Farnese, Duke of Parma, formed a confederation of the Northern States alone, afterwards known as the United Provinces; and Don John dying (not, it has been said, without a suspicion of having been poisoned) on the 1st of October, 1578, the Duke of Parma won over the Walloon States to Philip by promising to observe the Perpetual Edict, and replacing the foreign army by native troops.

However, the contest in the Netherlands went on. On March 15th, 1580, Philip published a ban, offering 25,000 crowns for the head of the Prince of Orange; and Anjou, on the other hand, prosecuted his claim to the Netherlands. Elizabeth, who probably was now looking for a plausible excuse for dismissing Anjou, professed to doubt how far, if he succeeded in making himself master of those provinces, she could keep her engagement to marry him, as it would, probably, be dangerous to the trade and independence of England; and moreover, if she did marry Anjou, would not such a marriage be as hateful to her subjects as that of Mary with Philip? Yet, immediately afterwards, she consented to his acceptance of the government of the Netherlands, and made him a present of 100,000 crowns, by means of which he put his army in motion.

In April, 1581, in consequence of this return of regard for Anjou, a distinguished embassy was sent over from France, and was received by the nobles and the authorities of the city of London with great éclat. The ambassadors persuaded themselves that this time success would attend them; but they were much astonished to find that the queen had now discovered a new objection to the match: that it would involve her in a war with Philip, who had lately become additionally formidable by the acquisition of Portugal, and proposed to enter, instead of marriage, into a league, offensive and defensive, with France. By the perseverance of the ambassadors, however, these scruples were also overcome, and the marriage was definitively settled to take place in six weeks, provided that the league of perpetual amity were signed within that time. The six weeks having expired, and Elizabeth still continuing undetermined, Anjou, who had crossed the frontier with 16,000 men, and expelled the Prince of Parma from Cambray, hastened over to settle matters with his wavering mistress.

Elizabeth received him with every demonstration of affection, and probably would have married him had it not been for the public indignation. She let her vengeance fall on the author of a pamphlet called "The Gaping Gulf," showing the dangers of this marriage. The author was one John Stubbs, a student of Lincoln's Inn. Elizabeth laid hold on him, his printer and publisher, and had them condemned in the Court of Queen's Bench to have their right hands cut off. The printer was suffered to depart, but the sentence was executed on Stubbs and his publisher in the market-place of Westminster, by driving a cleaver through the wrist with a mallet. The foolish Stubbs, the moment his hand was off, waving his cap with the left, cried—"Long live the queen!" At the end of three months Anjou grew weary of this silly farce, and announced his determination to depart. Even then Elizabeth would not permit him to go without exacting a promise that he would soon return. She stormed, she raved, she called the States of the Netherlands, which summoned him to his duties there, des coquins, and accompanied the duke to Canterbury, where she parted from him weeping like a girl.

On his arrival in the Netherlands, Anjou found plenty of employment in contending with the genius and the forces of the Prince of Parma. He found, also, that the real authority in the country was centred in the Prince of Orange, and resolving to make himself the actual master of it, he laid a plan of seizing all the chief towns in the states on the same day. But this extraordinary scheme failed. The Dutch, resenting the attempt, attacked his troops on all sides, and soon compelled him to fly back to France, where he terminated his existence at Château-Thierry, on the 10th of June, 1584, not without suggestion of foul play. So great was Elizabeth's fondness for this prince, whom she might have married, and would not, that even at this period no one dare for some time inform her of his death, which she appeared to bewail with all the symptoms of deep grief.

Within one month of the death of Anjou there fell a far more noble and important man. William the Silent, Prince of Orange, the great champion and founder of the independence of Holland, perished by the hand of an assassin. The ban of Philip had not failed to operate, though at a distance of four years. Balthazar Gerard, impelled by fanaticism and the 25,000 crowns offered by the unscrupulous Spanish King, shot him on the 10th of July, 1584.

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REIGN OF ELIZABETH (continued).

Affairs of Ireland: Shane O'Neil's Rebellion—Plantation of Ulster—Spanish Descent on Ireland—Desmond's Rebellion—Religious Conformity—Campian and Parsons—The Anabaptists—Affairs of Scotland—Death of Morton—Success of the Catholics in Scotland—The Raid of Ruthven—Elizabeth's Position—Throgmorton's Plot—Association to Protect Elizabeth—Mary removed to Tutbury—Support of the Protestant Cause on the Continent—Leicester in the Netherlands—Babington's Plot—Trial of Mary—Her Condemnation—Hesitation of Elizabeth—Execution of Mary.

It is now necessary to trace the course of events in Ireland during the years we have just passed over. A great work had been going on in that country, the object of which was to reduce the turbulent native chiefs to obedience, and to establish English settlers in the lands of those who were driven out or exterminated.

The most distinguished of those chiefs was Shane O'Neil, the Earl of Tyrone. Henry VIII. had granted the succession to Matthew, an illegitimate son of the old earl's; but Shane, the eldest legitimate son, would not submit to this arrangement. He was supported in his claims by the people, and vindicated his rights. By the persuasion of the Earl of Sussex, at that time governor, he was induced to appear at the Court of Elizabeth in 1562. He laid his claims before her, and excited a great sensation by appearing in his native costume, attended by a guard armed with battle-axes, and clad in saffron-coloured vests. Elizabeth did not grant all his requests, but expressed herself highly pleased with his presence, and made him great promises. But Shane was too sensitive and independent in his feelings and ideas to be a very orderly subject. Frequently he did essential service as the ally of the English Government, but more frequently was compelled to seek vengeance for injuries and encroachments. In 1565, three years after his appearance at the English Court, he was driven into open rebellion; and after a severe struggle, was compelled to seek refuge in the wilds of Ulster amongst the Scots. There, at the instigation of Piers, an English officer, he was assassinated (1567), his estates were confiscated, with those of all his followers, comprising one-half of Ulster, and the name and dignity of O'Neil were abolished for ever.

That which was done in Ulster had to be done in every other province of Ireland. Whenever insurrection broke out and was suppressed, the lands were forfeited to the Crown. But so long as the Crown held nominally these lands, the natives continued to hold them really. To remedy this, and to ensure a certain forfeiture by the rebels, and a reward to the English conquerors, Sir Thomas Smith proposed that these lands should be granted in various portions to English settlers, who, in prosecution of their own claims, would drive out the rebel natives and cultivate the soil. It needs no reflection to perceive that this system must be fruitful beyond conception in crimes, murders, and miseries. Lands were granted to a bastard son of the projector's, and to numerous other adventurers. They drove out the Irish, and these came back in infuriated numbers, with fire and desolation. Under this frightful system the country soon became a desert. To put an end to these sanguinary scenes, Walter Devereux, Earl of Essex, represented that it needed only a sufficient force on the part of the English. He offered to bring under subjection, and to colonise, the district of Clandeboy in Ulster. His proposals were that the queen and himself should furnish equal shares of the charge, and the colony, being organised, should be divided equally between them. The courtiers who had envied him his favour with Elizabeth pretended to promote his design till he had embarked all his fortune in it, when they threw all possible obstacles in his way. Through these hindrances, it was late in the summer of 1573 before he arrived in Ireland, and then only to find that the Lord-deputy Fitzwilliam questioned his powers; and on proceeding to the lands of Clandeboy, Phelim O'Neil and his adherents contended with him for its possession fort by fort. He maintained his ground, however, through the winter, though grievously suffering from the bad quality of the provisions furnished by the queen's contractors, and from the ill-armed condition of his troops—for the evils which mowed down our army in the Crimea were among the most ancient evils of the English Government. Essex is said to have invited Phelim O'Neil to a banquet, and there assassinated him and his attendants; but this did not mend his position. The Lords Dacre and Rich, and many gentlemen, abandoned the enterprise and returned home. Though deserted and unable to conquer his own allotted territory, he assisted the Lord-Deputy to suppress the rebels in other parts of the island. He returned to England in 1575, and was appointed Earl Marshal of Ireland, but with no adequate force; and ultimately died, September 22nd, 1576, at Dublin.

After the death of Essex, the system of planting Ireland, as it was called, still went on. The destruction of the O'Neils all the other clans regarded as only preliminary to their own. They therefore appealed to the Kings of Spain and France for assistance; and on their declaring themselves unable, from their own dangers and insurrections at home, to assist them, they implored the protection of the Pope, Gregory XIII. His holiness launched a bull at the heretic queen, declaring Ireland forfeited, as previous bulls had declared England and Wales forfeited. Under his encouragement two adventurers, Thomas Stukely and James Fitzmaurice, set out to proclaim the bull, and to carry the arms of his holiness all over Ireland. Stukely, however, having obtained a ship of war, 600 soldiers, and 3,000 stand of arms, carried them to the service of the King of Portugal, and died fighting in his wars against the Moors. Fitzmaurice, a brother of the Earl of Desmond, and a deadly enemy of the English invaders, was more faithful; and after suffering shipwreck on the coast of Galicia, landed at Smerwick, in Kerry, in June, 1579. He had with him, however, only eighty Spanish soldiers, and a few Irish and English refugees; and his expedition proved an utter failure, for the inhabitants had no faith in so insignificant a knot of adventurers. Fitzmaurice being killed in a private quarrel, his followers fled into the territories of his brother, the Earl of Desmond.

The Earl of Desmond professed himself a loyal subject; but he was suspected of favouring the insurgents, and the English marched into his demesnes, and plundered them. Another detachment from the Pope, however, landed at Smerwick, the port which Fitzmaurice had made. It consisted of several hundred men, having a large sum of money, and 5,000 stand of arms, under the command of San Giuseppe, an Italian. Lord Grey de Wilton, the new Lord-Deputy, had recently suffered a defeat in the vale of Glandaclough; but he managed to besiege this foreign force in their newly-erected fort, while Admiral Winter blockaded them on the sea side. After three days' resistance, the handful of Italians and Spaniards put out a flag of truce, and offered to surrender on condition that their lives were spared. Foreign writers all assert that this was granted them; but Sir Richard Bingham, who was present, says that they surrendered one night at the pleasure of the Lord-Deputy, to have mercy or not, as he willed. Sir Walter Raleigh and Spenser, the poet, were in Grey's army, and their conduct reflects no honour upon them. Sir Walter entered the fort to receive their arms, and then ordered them all to be massacred (1580); and this proceeding Spenser endeavours to vindicate. He was Lord Grey's secretary; and while he styles him "a most gentle, affable, loving, and temperate lord," he gives this account of his act:—"The enemy begged that they might be allowed to depart with their lives and arms according to the law of nations. He asked to see their commission from the Pope or the King of Spain. They had none: they were the allies of the Irish. 'But the Irish,' replied Grey, 'are traitors, and you must suffer as traitors. I will make no terms with you; you may submit or not.' They yielded, craving only mercy, which it not being thought good to show them, for danger of them, if being saved, they should afterwards join the Irish, who were much emboldened by those foreign successes, and also put in hope of more ere long. There was no other way but to make that short end of them as was made."

This was a fatal precedent to the French and Spaniards, against whom our own countrymen were fighting in the very same manner by the orders of Elizabeth, in France, in the Netherlands, and in South America; and whilst we denounce the savage slaughter of English adventurers in the trans-Atlantic lands of Spain wherever they were found without mercy or quarter, we are bound to remember that we thus set the Spaniards the example, and furnished them with warrant.

After this butchery Grey and his myrmidons combined to chase Desmond from spot to spot in his mountain fastnesses. Three years later (1583) a party of the English, attracted by a light, entered a hut, where they found a venerable old man lying on the hearth before the fire, quite alone. On their demanding who he was, he replied, "The Earl of Desmond," when Kelly of Moriarty instantly struck off his head, which he sent as a grateful present to Elizabeth, by whom it was fixed on London Bridge. With Desmond fell for some time the resistance of the hunted natives in Ireland. From the forfeited lands of these immolated Irish, Sir Walter Raleigh received 42,000 acres, other gentlemen from 5,000 to 18,000, and Spenser the poet 3,000 and a castle of the unfortunate Desmond's—Kilcolman—which the exasperated natives burnt over his head, and with it one of his children. Spenser's concern in this bloody affair proved, in fact, his ruin.

Returning to England, we find that Elizabeth during this period had been persecuting every form of Christianity which did not agree with her own. There were three parties against whom she felt herself aggrieved—the Puritans, the Papists, and the Anabaptists; and she set to work resolutely to squeeze them into the mould of her orthodoxy, or to crush them. Many of the Puritans who had imbibed the sternest spirit of Geneva had got into the pulpits of the State Church and refused to wear the robes, to perform the rites, or to preach the exact doctrines as prescribed by law. If they did not accord with that Church, they certainly had no business there, and had no right to complain that Elizabeth turned them out. The time to complain was when she had expelled them, and they set up a Church of their own, which she would not allow. Their freedom was their birthright; but the queen would not suffer them to exercise it. She had but one word in her religious vocabulary—conform; and this rigid conformity was carried out ruthlessly by the very ministers and clergy who had so manfully complained of compulsion in the last reign. They purged one diocese after another by expelling Puritan clergy. These acts of arbitrary power were loudly denounced in the House of Commons, where there was a strong Puritan party, and numerous bills were brought in to advance the Reformation. Out of doors, Parker, the old Archbishop of Canterbury, faithfully executed the will of the sovereign; and opinion, suppressed in the Church and in Parliament, where the queen even sent personal and most dictatorial messages stopping all religious discussion, now burst forth through the press. Pamphlets of a most inflammatory nature and abusive style issued in shoals; and one Burchell, a student of the Middle Temple, became so inflamed by zeal that he murdered Hawkins, an officer, mistaking him for Hatton, the queen's new favourite. In prison he also killed his keeper under the delusion that he was Hatton; and though palpably insane, he was hanged for murder.

Parker died in 1575 and was succeeded by Grindal, who, Elizabeth soon discovered, was too much of a Puritan himself to persecute them severely, and she suspended him, and harassed him to such a degree that he died in 1583. To him succeeded Whitgift, a man after Elizabeth's own heart, who framed a test of orthodoxy, which he put to all clergymen or others whom he suspected, which consisted of these three notable dogmas—the queen's supremacy, the perfection of the Ordinal and Book of Common Prayer, and the complete accordance of the Thirty-nine Articles with the Scriptures. All those clergymen who refused to subscribe to this he expelled; and in defiance of clamour and intrigue in Council or Convocation, he held on his way immovably. Nor did the queen long satisfy herself with mere expulsion. Thacker and Copping, two Brownists, were indicted for objecting to the Book of Common Prayer, which was treated as an attack on the royal supremacy, and were put to death. The persecution of the Catholics was still more severe than that of the Puritans.

The fury of persecution in England stimulated the Roman Catholics abroad to a corresponding enthusiasm of martyrdom. Gregory XIII. followed the example of William Allen—who had founded an English seminary at Douay—and established a second English seminary in the hospital of Santo Spirito, in Rome, from which emissaries were despatched into the heretical kingdom. First and foremost the general of the Jesuits selected in 1580 two Englishmen of distinguished abilities, and sent them from this college. Robert Parsons and Edmund Campian arrived with a reputation, and with rumours of the dark conspiracy in which they were engaged, which roused all the alarm and the vigilance of the Government. Rewards were offered for their discovery, and menaces of punishment issued for remissness in tracing them out. The queen sent forth a proclamation, calling on every person who had children, wards, or relatives gone abroad for education to make a return of their names to the ordinary, and to recall them within three months; and all persons whatsoever who knew of any Jesuit or seminarist in the kingdom, and failed to give information, were to be punished as abettors of treason.

As soon as Parliament met in January of 1581, still more stringent laws were passed for the punishment of Roman Catholics. It was made high treason merely to possess the power of absolution, or to receive any person into the church of Rome. The fines for hearing or saying Mass were re-enacted. Absence from church was made punishable at the rate of twenty pounds per month, and, if prolonged to a whole year, besides the penalty, the offender must produce two securities for his good behaviour of £200 each. The concealment of Roman Catholic tutors, schoolmasters, or priests entailed a year's imprisonment, a priest or tutor being also amenable to the same punishment, and the employer of them to a fine of ten pounds per month. There was but one step possible beyond this outrageous despotism, and that was to the stake, as in Mary's time; but the very fury of legal punishment defeated its own object.

Parsons and Campian put into the hands of their friends written statements of their objects in coming into the country, which they declared to be solely to exercise their spiritual functions as priests, not to interfere with any worldly concerns or affairs of State; but they declared that all the Jesuits in the world had entered into a league to maintain the Catholic religion at the risk of imprisonment, torture, or death. This announcement excited the greatest alarm, and the most fiery persecution burst forth on the whole body of the Romanists, whilst every means was exerted to discover and secure these missionaries. The names of all the recusants in the kingdom, amounting to 50,000, were returned to Government, and no man included in that number had any longer the least security or privacy in his own house. The doors were broken open without notice given, and the pursuivants, rushing in, spread themselves all over the dwelling. Cabinets, cupboards, drawers, closets were forced and ransacked, beds torn open, tapestry or wainscot was dragged down, and every imaginable place explored, for the purpose of obtaining evidence by vessels, vestments, books, or crosses, of heretical worship. The inmates were put under strict watch, till they had been searched and interrogated; and many were driven nearly or wholly out of their senses by the rudeness and the insults which they received from brutal officers. Lady Neville was frightened to death in Holborn, and Mrs. Vavasour was deprived of her reason at York.

In July, Campian was taken at Lyfford, in Berkshire, and was committed to the Tower; and Parsons, seeing no prospect of long escaping pursuit, contrived to get over again to the Continent. Campian was repeatedly racked, and under the force of torture and the promises that no injury should be done to his entertainers, he related the whole course of his peregrinations in Yorkshire, Lancashire, Denbigh, Northampton, Warwick, Bedford, Buckingham, and elsewhere, and the names of those who had given him hospitality. No sooner, however, had the Council the names than they summoned all those who had harboured him, and fined some and imprisoned others.

In November, Campian and twelve other priests and a layman were put upon their trial, and were charged with a horrible conspiracy to murder the queen and to overturn Church and State. Rome and Rheims were declared to be the places where this direful plot had been hatched. The astonishment of the prisoners, several of whom had never been out of England, was extreme. Not an atom of evidence was produced to authenticate these charges, yet the whole were pronounced guilty. One of them was saved by an alibi established by Lancaster, a Protestant barrister; the rest were executed as traitors, except those who were still kept prisoners. On the scaffold (December 1, 1581), Campian lamented that the weakness of the flesh on the rack had forced him to disclose the names of some of his entertainers, by which they had been brought into trouble.

The Anabaptists, who had created great scandals and disturbance in Germany, made repeated visits to London under pretence of belonging to the Dutch Church. They denied the propriety of infant baptism; they also denied that Christ assumed the flesh of the Virgin; they believed it wrong to take an oath, or to accept the office of a magistrate. In some of these tenets they resembled the Society of Friends which afterwards rose, and their creed did not interfere with the quiet of the State; yet numbers of them were imprisoned, ten of them were sent out of the kingdom, and two, Peters and Turwert, were burnt in Smithfield in July, 1575. Again, in 1579, Matthew Hammond, a ploughman, was burnt at Norwich.

In no quarter had Elizabeth for a long time any security except in Scotland. There Morton was her faithful ally, inasmuch as she held fast the King of Scots, and so guaranteed the chief means of his own tranquil enjoyment of power. But Morton's rule was not such as any country would long tolerate. He was essentially a base and selfish man, and his severity and rapacity alienated the public from him more and more. He debased the coin, multiplied forfeitures to enrich himself, appropriated the estates of the Church, and at the same time was so subservient to Elizabeth, that the national pride resented it. In 1578, Athole and Argyll made their way to the presence of the young king, who was now approaching thirteen years of age, and assured him that it was now quite time that he freed himself from the tutelage of Morton and ruled the country himself. James readily listened to them, and sent Morton an order to resign, and to attend a council at Stirling, where the friends of Athole and Argyll were summoned.

Morton, though taken by surprise, appeared to obey with perfect acquiescence; but he lost no time in intriguing with the Erskines, and in three months had again possessed himself of the person of the king, and resumed his authority in the State. Athole and Argyll mustered their friends to force the reins from the hands of Morton, who boldly met them in the field, when the ambassador of England appeared as a mediator, and persuaded them to a reconciliation. But it was not in the nature of Morton to forget the opponents of his power, although they now appeared as nominal friends. He invited Athole, the chief actor in his late fall, to a banquet, from which he retired, as Mar had done, to die. Like Mar, he was poisoned. Secure as he now seemed, Morton let loose his vengeance on his enemies; and the Hamiltons, the friends of Mary, were compelled, in spite of the treaty of Perth, to fly to England for security; and being freed from their restraint he indulged freely his insatiable avarice at the expense of the country.

But justice reached this minister of evil when it was least expected. Esmé Stuart, the Lord of Aubigny, a son of the younger brother of the Earl of Lennox, who had become naturalised in France, returned to Scotland. With a handsome person and French accomplishments, he soon captivated the young monarch, who could not live at any period of his life without a favourite. He created Aubigny captain of the guard, first lord of the bed-chamber, and finally Duke of Lennox, being the nephew of the late earl, and cousin of Darnley. Associated with Lennox was another and far more deep and designing Stuart—James, commonly called Captain Stuart, the second son of Lord Ochiltree. He was also related to the king, and lent essential aid to Lennox, not only from his genius for intrigue, but because Lennox was suspected of being an emissary of the Duke of Guise. Lennox and his friend Stuart, who was now created by James Earl of Arran, instilled every possible suspicion into the king's mind against Morton, who, they averred, intended to convey him to England and give him up to Elizabeth. To seize Morton, and arraign him for the multitude of illegal acts which he had perpetrated in his position of Regent, might not succeed, for the wily offender had taken care to procure bills of indemnity for whatever he had done. They determined, therefore, to accuse him of Darnley's murder, of which he was notoriously guilty in common with others.

One morning, therefore, Captain Stuart, now Earl of Arran, fell on his knees in the Council, and charged Morton to the king with the murder of his (the king's) father. Morton, thunderstruck at this bold and sudden act, stoutly denied the charge, but he was ordered to be guarded in his own house, and soon after sent off to the Castle of Dumbarton. Morton despatched a messenger to his trusty friend the Queen of England, who forthwith despatched Randolph to intercede with the king, the Council, and the Parliament for the precious life of this vile murderer. Elizabeth, as she had not been ashamed to countenance and support him, so neither was she now ashamed to plead for him, and to beg that he might be set at liberty as a special favour to her, in recompence of the many services she had rendered Scotland. She accused Lennox of being in league with the French Government for the invasion of England, and Randolph produced documents to prove it. On examining these papers, the Council pronounced them forgeries, and the trial was ordered to proceed. On perceiving his failure with the king and Council, Randolph had recourse to his old arts of endeavouring to stir up sedition, and did his utmost to rouse Mar and the Earl of Angus to rise in arms for Morton's rescue. This becoming known, Randolph, who had been twice sent out of the country for his traitorous meddling, was now glad to flee for his life.

To save this execrable villain, but very useful tool, Elizabeth induced the Prince of Orange and the King of Navarre to support the exertions of her ambassador on his behalf, but all in vain. James was firm in following out the advice given him. Elizabeth ordered a body of troops to march to the Border, as if she were resolved to invade Scotland for the rescue of Morton; but James, far from being intimidated, called all his subjects to arms, ordered Angus to retire beyond the Spey, Mar to surrender the charge of Stirling Castle, and demanded of Elizabeth whether she meant peace or war.

This bold attitude put an end to her efforts. Randolph suddenly found out that Morton was accused of murder with a fair show of proof, and Elizabeth then pretended to think that if it were so it did not become her any longer to defend him. Deserted by his great patron Elizabeth, the hoary criminal was brought to trial, and charged not only with the murder of Darnley, but that of Athole. Besides verbal and personal evidence of his guilt, his bond of manrent, or guarantee of indemnity for the murder, given to Bothwell, was exhibited, together with a paper purporting to be a confession of Bothwell made on his death-bed in Denmark, in which he accused Morton as a principal contriver of the murder, and exonerated the Queen of Scots. Whether this paper were genuine or not, there was abundant proof without it; he was condemned by the unanimous verdict of the peers, and executed (June 3, 1581).

The fall of Morton and the display of independence in the young King James opened up the most extravagant hopes in the minds of the friends of Queen Mary, and of the Papists in general. They were ready to believe that James would soon show his regard for his mother, and a deep sense of her wrongs. Morton had been the stern adherent of Protestantism, scandalous as he was; but who should say that Aubigny, educated in France, and with many friends and relatives there, would not incline to favour the Papists, and that James, under his guidance, though educated by the disciples of Knox, might not, young as he was, return to the religion of his ancestors? Parsons, the Jesuit, was enthusiastic in this behalf, and he despatched Waytes, an English Popish clergyman, to Holyrood, and soon afterwards Creighton, a Scottish Jesuit. These emissaries returned with the most flattering accounts of their reception by James and his ministers. Probably, in prospect of no very friendly relations with Elizabeth, the advisers of James might adopt the policy of conciliating the Romanists, and thus securing the ancient support of France, and also of Spain. Be that as it may, James professed to feel deeply the wrongs of his mother, and to cherish great filial affection for her. He assured them that he would always receive with favour such persons as came with an introduction from her, and he consented to receive an Italian Catholic into his Court as his tutor in that language.

Elated by these tidings, Parsons and Creighton hastened to Paris in May of 1582. There happened to be present an extraordinary number of persons interested in the cause of Popery—the Duke of Guise; Castelli, the Papal nuncio; Tassis, the Spanish ambassador; Beaton, Archbishop of Glasgow; Matthieu, the Provincial of the French Jesuits; and Dr. Allen, the provost of the seminary of Douay. They all agreed that Mary ought to be restored without deposing James; that they should reign jointly; and Parsons was sent to Spain to solicit assistance, and Creighton to the Pope for the same object. Both missions were successful: Philip gave 12,000 crowns to relieve the necessities of James, and the Pope engaged to pay the expenses of his body-guard for twelve months. Both Mary and James assented to this proposal, Mary offering to leave all the exercise of power in James's hands.

Successful as this scheme appeared, every movement in it had been watched by the Court of England, and a counterplot of a most startling kind was set on foot. In August, 1581, the Earl of Gowrie, the son of the murderer Ruthven, was induced to invite the king to his castle of Ruthven, when he made him prisoner. The government was then seized by the Earl of Mar, the Master of Glamis, the Lord Oliphant, and others. Lennox, the king's chief minister, escaped to France, but died soon after, as was suspected, from poison. Arran, the successful destroyer of Morton, was thrown into prison. The pulpit was set to work to proclaim that there had been a plot to restore "the limb of Satan," the lewd Queen Mary, with all the ceremonial of the Mass; and that Lennox was at the bottom of it, though he died professing himself a staunch Protestant.

But the position of affairs in Scotland was calculated to excite the utmost vigilance of both France and England. Henry III. saw with terror the young King of Scotland in the hands of the English faction, and sent thither La Motte Fenelon and Maigneville to encourage James to call together the Estates, to insist by their means on his liberty, and on the liberation of his mother to govern with him. The English Court, on the other hand, instructed its agents, Bowes and Davidson, to demand the dismissal of the French envoys, and to show him the danger of the measures which they proposed. James appeared to listen to both parties; and ostensibly in order to consult on their advice, he summoned a council of the nobility to meet at the castle of St. Andrews. Once in their midst, James felt his freedom; and to prevent any contest on the question, published a pardon to all who had been concerned in the Raid of Ruthven, as it was called, or the conspiracy of Gowrie. This bold stroke of the young king so took the English Court by surprise that Walsingham was sent, notwithstanding his age and important duties at home, to the Scottish Court. Walsingham must have been amazed at the small success which attended his mission, for James received him with little consideration, appeared to regard his communications with indifference, and dismissed him with a paltry present on his departure. Elizabeth could not help complaining of the palpable slight to her ambassador, and the friends of Queen Mary drew fresh hope from the circumstance.

But little solid hope could be entertained of Mary's enfranchisement by any one who considered the real situation of affairs. The King of France was far from sincere in his wish for her release. So long as she was in the hands of Elizabeth, he was secure from any further meddling of Elizabeth in the internal affairs of France. At any moment he could alarm her by rumours of designs to set the Scottish queen free, at the same time that James, as a young man, was open to influence from France against England. For these reasons a fresh conference in Paris on Mary's behalf came to nothing. The Duke of Guise, Castelli, the Archbishop of Glasgow, and Matthieu met again, this time with the addition of Morgan, a Welsh gentleman, one of the commissioners of her dower in France. They proposed that Guise should land in the south of England with an army, while James should simultaneously enter it at the north. James at once assented to the project; but Mary, who knew very well that her life would be sacrificed at once if there were a formidable attempt at her rescue, resorted to the hopeless course of endeavouring to persuade Elizabeth to treat with France for her release on safe terms. Elizabeth appeared to listen; but the rumours of the invasion speedily caused her to abandon any such negotiation, on the plea that, once at liberty, Mary could not be trusted. Revenge might induce her to ally herself with France and Spain, to the great peril of England.

No situation in the world could be conceived more miserable than that of Elizabeth. The captive queen had become to her a source of perpetual alarms—alarm of invasion from France and from Scotland—alarm at insurrections among the Papists, whom persecutions kept in a state of the deepest disaffection. For two years the prisons had been crowded with Catholics, and the scaffolds drenched with their blood. They had been persecuted and insulted till they must have been more than mortal to have felt no desire for revenge. Therefore the country swarmed with spies and informers; and Walsingham, as a skilful unraveller of plots, was kept hard at work to trace, by his secret emissaries, every concealed movement of sedition. Both at home and abroad he had a host of agents under a multitude of disguises. The Jesuits never had a more expert and fearless general, nor a more varied army of informers. They presented themselves in the shape of travelling noblemen, of physicians, of students in Popish seminaries. They swarmed in sea-ports lying between England and the different Continental routes. There was scarcely a Roman Catholic gentleman or nobleman into whose house they had not found their way. To those whom they suspected of a leaning towards the Queen of Scots they professed to be confidential agents of her or of her adherents, and presented forged letters by which they might entrap the unwary into compromising answers.

At length the chief of the conspirators was brought to justice in the person of Thomas Throgmorton, the son of Sir John Throgmorton, Chief Justice of Chester. Walsingham intercepted letters, and by his spies made his way into every abode and company. He received from his trusty emissaries the information that Charles Paget, one of the commissioners of the Queen of Scots' dower—Morgan, just mentioned, being the other—had landed on the coast of Sussex under the name of Mope. A letter of Morgan's was also intercepted, and from something in its contents the two sons of Sir John Throgmorton, Thomas and George, were immediately arrested and committed to the Tower. The Earl of Northumberland, with his son the Earl of Arundel, his countess, uncle, and brothers, were summoned before the Privy Council and repeatedly questioned. The Lord Paget, brother of Charles Paget, and Charles Arundel, escaped to the Continent, but sent a declaration that they had fled, not from any sense of guilt, but from the utter hopelessness of acquittal where Leicester had any influence. Northumberland and Lord Arundel, with their wives and relatives, stoutly denied all concern with plots or any species of disloyalty, and no proof could be brought against them. Meanwhile it was asserted that the Duke of Guise was proceeding with his scheme of invasion, and that many English noblemen and gentlemen were co-operating in it; that a letter had been intercepted from the Scottish Court to Mary, informing her that James was quite ready to perform his part of the scheme by invading the kingdom from the north, having had the promise of 20,000 crowns; but that he was desirous to know who were the influential persons in England that might be calculated upon for support. All this was soon wonderfully corroborated by the confession of Thomas Throgmorton, in whose trunks were found two catalogues, one of the chief ports, and the other of the principal Romanists in the kingdom. He admitted that these were for the use of Mendoza, the Spanish minister, and that he had devised a plan with that ambassador to raise troops in the name of the queen through the Catholics, who were then to call on her to tolerate Catholicism, or to depose her. This was a strong case indeed against the prisoners and the fugitives; and Burleigh, with Throgmorton's confession in his hand, charged the Spanish ambassador with his breach of all the laws of nations and of his office. Mendoza had the impudence to deny the charges; but he was ordered to withdraw from England, and Throgmorton was hanged (1583). From that hour war with Spain was inevitable.

The patriotism of England was now awake. An association was formed, under the influence of the Government, by which all the members bound themselves to pursue and kill every person who should attempt the life of the queen, and every person for whose advantage it should be attempted. This palpably pointed at the Scottish Queen. The bond of association was shown to Mary as a means of intimidating her. At the first glance she perceived that it was aimed at her life; but, after a moment of astonishment, she proposed to sign the bond herself so far as she was concerned, which, of course, was not permitted, as it would have neutralised the whole intention, but it was industriously circulated for signature amongst those who dared not well do otherwise.

The same object was pursued in the Parliament, which met on the 23rd of November. After the clergy had granted an aid of six shillings in the pound to be paid in three years, and the Commons a subsidy and two-fifteenths, an Act was passed condemning as traitors any one who had been declared by a court of twenty-four commissioners cognisant of any treasonable designs against the queen; and Mary and her issue were excluded from the succession in case of the queen coming to a violent death. The Roman Catholics were also treated with increased severity, in consequence of the alleged plots. No Popish clergyman was to be allowed to remain in the kingdom; if found there after forty days he was pronounced guilty of high treason; any one knowing of his being in the country, and not giving information within twelve days, was to be fined and imprisoned during the queen's pleasure; and any one receiving or relieving him was guilty of felony. All students in Popish seminaries were called on to return to their native country within six months after proclamation; parents sending their children to such seminaries without licence were to forfeit for every such offence a hundred pounds; and the students themselves forfeited all right to the property of their parents.

To avoid, if possible, the fate which the bill of this Session prepared for them, the Roman Catholics drew up an earnest and loyal memorial to the queen, declaring it as their settled and solemn conviction that she was their sovereign de jure and de facto; that neither Pope nor priest had power to license any one to lift their hand against her, nor to absolve them were such a crime committed, and that they renounced and abominated any one who held a contrary doctrine.

All these transactions only tended to aggravate the situation of the Queen of Scots. She was now taken out of the hands of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and consigned to the custody of Sir Amyas Paulet, a dependent of Leicester's, a man of a rigid, gaoler-like disposition, but not destitute of honour. She was removed from Sheffield Park to the ruinous stronghold of Tutbury. Finding that all appeals to Elizabeth and all protestations of her innocence of any participation in, and even ignorance of, the plots charged on different persons were alike disregarded, she turned to her son, but only to receive from that quarter a disregard still harder to bear. James coldly announced to her that he had nothing to do with her concerns, nor she with his: he was now, in fact, in the pay of Elizabeth. He bade her remember that she was only the queen-mother, and enjoyed no authority in Scotland, though she bore the empty title of queen. Abandoning all hope of assistance from him, Mary now demanded of Elizabeth to liberate her on any conditions she pleased—she asked only liberty and life. But her requests were unheeded.

Meanwhile Elizabeth was supporting Protestantism abroad. Henry of Navarre had become the next in succession to the crown of France, by the death of the Duke of Anjou in 1584. Being well known as a Protestant, the Roman Catholics in France, with the Duke of Guise at their head, reorganised their league, and compelled the French King to subscribe to it. The King of Spain, a member of the league, promised it all his support. On the other hand, Elizabeth, anxious to see a Protestant prince on the throne of France, sent Henry large remittances, and invited him to make England his home in case his enemies should compel him to retreat for a time, when he could wait the turn of events. In all this there was nothing to complain of. Henry had a clear right to the throne of France, and justice as well as the Reformed faith called upon her to support it; but not so honourable were her proceedings in the Netherlands. There she secretly urged to insurrection the subjects of a power with whom she was at peace, and maintained them by repeated supplies of money.

Sympathising as she did with the oppressed Protestants of the Netherlands, her course was quite obvious. She could call on Philip to give to them free exercise of their religion, and if he refused, she had a fair plea to break with him and to support the cause of the common religion. But Elizabeth had too much politic regard for the rights of kings openly to support against them the rights of the people; and, what was still more embarrassing, she was practising the very intolerance and persecution against her Roman Catholic subjects that Philip was against his Protestant ones.

The Primate, when appealed to, stated broadly this fact, and declared that Philip had as much right to send forces to aid the English Roman Catholics as Elizabeth had to support the Belgian Protestants. When, therefore, in June of 1585 the deputies of the revolted provinces of the Netherlands besought Elizabeth to annex them to her own dominions, she declined; but in September she signed a treaty with them, engaging to send them 6,000 men, and received in pledge of their payment the towns of Brielle and Flushing, and the strong fortress of Rammekens. This was making war on Philip without any declaration of it; but she still persisted that she was not assisting the Flemings to throw off their allegiance to their lawful prince, but was only helping them to recover undoubted privileges of which they had been deprived.

But the fact was, that Elizabeth had long been warring on Spain, and it was the fault of Spain that it had not declared open war in return. In 1570 she had sent out the celebrated Admiral Drake, to scour the coasts of the West Indies and South America, on the plea that Spain had no right to shut up the ports of those countries, and to exclude all other flags from those seas. Under her commission, Drake and other captains had ravaged the settlements of Spain in the New World, had plundered Carthagena, St. Iago, and St. Domingo, and almost every town on the coasts of Chili and Peru. They had intercepted the Spanish galleons, or treasure vessels, and carried off immense booty of silver and other precious articles. But as Drake had received special marks of royal favour—the queen had dined on board his vessel, the Golden Hind, when it lay at Deptford, and had knighted him (1581) for his services,—and as there was no declaration of war, all these were clear cases of piracy; but Philip was too much engaged at home to defend these trans-Atlantic possessions from the daring sea captains of Elizabeth, and if he did declare war he at once sanctioned her interference both in the Spanish seas and in the Netherlands.

To conduct her campaign in the Netherlands, Elizabeth had appointed the Earl of Leicester. The way in which he conducted himself there was not calculated to increase his reputation for honesty or military talent. No sooner did he arrive, than, without consulting the queen, he induced the States to nominate him governor-general of the United Provinces, with the title of Excellency, and with supreme power over the army, the State, and the executive. In fact, his ambition rested with nothing short of being a king: with nothing but possessing all the title and authority enjoyed by the Duke of Anjou. When this news reached Elizabeth she flew into a terrible rage, charged him with presumption and vanity, with contempt of her authority, and "swore great oaths that she would have no more Courts under her abeyance than one;" desired him to remember the dust from which she had raised him, and let him know if he were not obedient to her every word, she would beat him to the ground as quickly as she had raised him.

The unfortunate States, who thought they were gratifying the Queen of England when they were honouring her favourite, were confounded at this discovery; but Leicester, as if he really thought that he could render himself independent of his royal patroness, remained lofty, insolent, and silent. Trusting to the position into which he had thus stepped, he left it to the ministers at home to pacify the queen. He had so long ruled her that he appeared to think he could still do as he pleased. The great Burleigh and the cunning Walsingham were at their wits' end to satisfy Elizabeth: the only letter which they got from Leicester being one to Hatton, so insolent and arrogant that they dared not present it till they had remodelled it. Meanwhile, Elizabeth continued to write to the new captain-general the most bitter reproaches and menaces, and to heap upon his friends fierce epithets which could not reach him and produced no effect on him. With all the airs of a great monarch, Leicester progressed from one city to another, receiving solemn deputations, and giving grand entertainments in return.

In the field his conduct was as contemptible as in the government. He had an accomplished general, Alexander Farnese, the Prince of Parma, to contend with, and never did an English general present so pitiable a spectacle in a campaign as did Leicester. His great object appeared to be to avoid a battle, and the only conflict which he engaged in, which has left a name, is the attack upon Zutphen, on September 22, 1586, because there fell the gallant and gifted Sir Philip Sidney, in the thirty-second year of his age.

As autumn approached Leicester marched back his forces to the Hague, and was greatly disgusted and astonished to be called to account by what he pleased to name an assembly of shopkeepers and artisans. Not the less loudly, however, did the merchants and shopkeepers of the Netherlands upbraid him with the utter failure of the campaign, with the waste of their money, the violation of their privileges, the ruin of their trade, and the extorting of the people's money in a manner equally arbitrary and irritating. In a fit of ineffable disgust he broke up the assembly: the assembly continued to sit. He next resorted to entreaties and promises; it regarded these as little. He announced his intention of returning to England, and in his absence nominated one of his staff to exercise the supreme government. The assembly insisted on his resigning that charge to them; he complied, yet, by a private deed, reserved it to himself; and thus did this proud, empty, inefficient upstart dishonour the queen who had raised him, the country which had tolerated him, and which had long impatiently witnessed his arrogance, and his abuse of the queen's favour. At length, on the approach of winter, he obeyed the call of his sovereign and returned home. Scarcely had he quitted the Netherlands when the officers whom he had left in command surrendered the places of strength to the Prince of Parma, and went over to the Spaniards. The campaign was, from first to last, a scandal and a disgrace to the English name and government.

Mary had now been removed, in the early part of this year, to Chartley Castle, in Staffordshire, under the care of Sir Amyas Paulet; and the gentlemen in England whom the foreign adherents of the Queen of Scots had pitched upon to carry out their plan, were a young enthusiastic Papist—Anthony Babington, of Dethick, near Matlock, in Derbyshire—and his friends and companions, all men of fortune, family, and education. Babington had long been an ardent admirer of the Queen of Scots, had corresponded with her whilst she was at Sheffield Park, and was ready to devote himself to the death in her cause. At the same time he had such an idea of the peril of meddling with the government of Elizabeth, that he despaired of accomplishing Mary's enfranchisement during Elizabeth's life. Ballard, a Jesuit, assured him that Elizabeth would be taken off, by command of the Pope; that Savage, an officer who had served in Flanders, and was exasperated at the death of Throgmorton, had determined to do it; and that the Prince of Parma would land simultaneously with that event, and set Mary at liberty. The plan was made known to Mary, and received her sanction. "When all is ready," she wrote, "the six gentlemen must be set to work."

Walsingham, who had long been on the watch, was now in possession of all the evidence that he was likely to get, for Babington soon discovered that he had been betrayed by somebody, whom he could not tell; and though he remained in London as though there were no danger, he made preparations for the escape of Ballard to the Continent, by procuring him a passport under a feigned name. Every moment might throw fresh light on the deception, and allow the escape of the victims. On the 4th of August, therefore, Babington found his house entered by the pursuivants of Walsingham, and Ballard, who had not got off, was there seized. Babington escaped for the moment, but was arrested on the 7th, and was taken to the country house of Walsingham, but escaped from the servants into whose charge he was given. With his friends and accomplices, Gage, Charnock, Barnewell, and Donne, he concealed himself in St. John's Wood, till they were compelled by hunger to make their way to the house of their common friend Bellamy, at Harrow, who concealed them in his outhouses and gardens. But the cunning Walsingham had his agents on their trail the whole time, and on the 15th they walked into the premises of Bellamy, secured the concealed conspirators, together with their host, his wife and brother, and conveyed them, amid the shouts and execrations of the populace, and the universal ringing of bells, to the Tower, whither also were soon brought Abingdon, Tichbourne, Tilney, Travers; the only one of the friends of Babington that escaped being Edward Windsor, the brother of Lord Windsor.

On the 13th of September, Babington, Ballard, Savage, Donne, Barnewell, and Tichbourne were put upon their trial, charged with a conspiracy to murder Elizabeth, and raise a rebellion in favour of the Queen of Scots. They pleaded guilty to one or other of the charges, and seven others pleaded not guilty; but all were alike convicted, and condemned to the death of traitors. The greater part of them appear to have taken no part in the blacker part of the conspiracy, the design to murder Elizabeth; and some of them, as Tichbourne and Jones, declared that they had taken no part whatever, but merely kept the secret for the sake of their friends. Bellamy was condemned for affording them an asylum; his wife escaped through a flaw in the indictment. Pooley, the decoy, was imprisoned as a blind, and then liberated; and Gifford was already in prison in Paris, where, three years later, he died. On the 20th and 21st of September, 1586, they were executed in Lincoln's Inn Fields, because they used there to hold their meetings.

Though no mention was made on the trial of any participation of the Queen of Scots in this conspiracy, nothing was farther from the intention of Elizabeth and her ministers than her escape. They had already prepared for her death by the bill passed empowering twenty-four or more of the Lords of the Council and other peers to sit in judgment on any one concerned in attempts to raise rebellion, or to injure the queen's person. To procure every possible evidence for this end the following stratagem was used:—The Queen of Scots was kept in total ignorance of the seizure of the conspirators, and on the copy of her letter to Babington being laid before the Council, an order was sent down to Sir Amyas Paulet to seize all her papers and keep her in more rigorous confinement. Accordingly, one morning, Mary took a drive in her carriage, accompanied, as was her custom, by Paulet, but with a larger attendance. When Mary desired to return, Paulet told her that he had orders to convey her to Tixall, a house belonging to Sir Walter Aston, about three miles distant. Astonished and alarmed, Mary refused to go, and declared that if they took her there it should be by force. She must have suspected the design of searching her cabinets during her absence; but, in spite of her protestations and her tears, she was compelled to proceed. There she was confined to two rooms only, was guarded in the strictest manner, and debarred the use of pen, ink, and paper. Meanwhile Sir William Wade arrived at Chartley, and proceeded to break open the cabinets and take possession of all her letters and papers, as well as those of her secretaries. A large chest was filled with these papers, amongst which were Mary's own minute of the answer to Babington, and other damning proofs. It was determined to bring her to a public trial.

Mary was now removed to Fotheringay Castle in Northamptonshire, in preparation for her trial. It was first proposed to convey her to the Tower, but they feared her friends in the City; then the castle of Hertford was suggested, but that also was thought too near the capital; and Grafton, Woodstock, Coventry, Northampton, and Huntingdon were all proposed and rejected, showing that her enemies were well aware of the seriousness of the business they contemplated.

On the 5th of October a commission was issued to forty-six persons, peers, privy councillors, and judges, constituting a court competent to inquire into and determine all offences committed against the statute of the 27th of the Queen, either by Mary, daughter and heiress of James V., late of Scotland, or by any other person whomsoever. The moment this was known, Chasteauneuf, the French ambassador, demanded in the name of his sovereign that Mary should be allowed counsel, according to the universal practice of civilised nations. But Elizabeth sent him a message by Hatton, that "she did not require the advice or schooling of foreign powers to instruct her how she ought to act."

On the 12th the commissioners arrived at the castle. They were the Lord Chancellor Bromley, the Lord Treasurer Burleigh, and many other magnates.

On the 14th the Court assembled in the great hall of Fotheringay, at the upper end of which was placed a chair of State with a canopy, as for the queen of England; and below it, at some distance, a chair without a canopy, for the Queen of Scots. The Chancellor, Bromley, opened the Court by informing Mary that the Queen of England, having heard that she had conspired against her state and person, had deputed them to inquire into the fact. Upon this Mary, who had at first refused to plead at all, entered her solemn protest against their authority, declaring that she had come as a friendly sovereign to seek aid from her cousin, the Queen of England, and had been unjustly detained by her as a prisoner; on that ground she denied their authority to try her. It was permitted to record her protest, together with the Chancellor's reply.

The charges against her were two: first, that she had conspired with traitors and foreigners to invade the realm, and secondly, to compass the death of the queen. As to the first charge Mary pleaded guilty to it, and justified it. They grounded this charge on a host of letters intercepted or found in her cabinets, to and from Mendoza, Paget, Morgan, and others. From these it appeared that she had sanctioned an invasion on her behalf, had offered to raise her friends to support it, and had requested that those in Scotland should make themselves master of the person of her son, and prevent any aid from being sent to the Government of England. When they came to the second charge, the conspiracy to murder Elizabeth, she denied any participation in it totally, indignantly, and with tears. She called God to witness the truth of her assertion, and prayed Him, if she were guilty of such a crime, to grant her no mercy. The proofs produced to establish her approval of this design were—first, the copy of the letter of Babington, in which was this passage:—"For the dispatch of the usurper, from the obedience of whom, by the excommunication of her, we are made free, there be six noble gentlemen, all my private friends, who, for the zeal they bear to the Catholic cause and your majesty's service, will undertake the tragical execution." Next there was a copy of seven points, which were professedly derived from her answer to Babington, the sixth of which was, "By what means do the six gentlemen deliberate to proceed?" After these came the confessions of Mary's secretaries, and, finally, reported admissions in her letters to her foreign correspondents of having received these intimations of their intention to assassinate the queen, and of having given them cautions and instructions on this point.

Mary at first denied any correspondence with Babington, but she soon saw enough to convince her that they had the correspondence in their possession, and admitted having written the note of the 18th, but not any such answer to Babington on the 17th of July, as they asserted. She demanded the production of the original letters, and the production of her secretaries Nau and Curle face to face with her, for that Nau was timid and simple, and Curle so accustomed to obey Nau, that he would not do otherwise; but she was sure that in her presence they would not venture to speak falsely. But neither of these things, no doubt for the strongest of reasons, was consented to. As to her letters, she said it was not the first time that they had been garbled and interpolated. It was easy for one man to imitate the writing and ciphers of another; and she greatly feared that Walsingham had done it in this instance, to practise against the lives of both herself and her son. In fact, her defence was most ingenious but quite unconvincing.

On this the commissioners adjourned their sitting to the 15th of October, and from Fotheringay to the Star Chamber at Westminster. There the secretaries were re-examined, and finally the commissioners unanimously signed Mary's condemnation, the sentence running as follows:—"For that since the conclusion of the session of Parliament, namely, since the first day of June, in the twenty-seventh year of her Majesty's reign and before the date of the commission, divers matters have been compassed and imagined within this realm of England by Anthony Babington and others, with the privity of the said Mary, pretending a title to the Crown of this realm of England, tending to the hurt, death, and destruction of the royal person of our lady the queen; and also for that the aforesaid Mary, pretending a title to the Crown, hath herself compassed and imagined within this realm divers matters tending to the hurt, death, and destruction to the royal person of our sovereign lady the queen, contrary to the form of the statute in the commission aforesaid specified." Nau and Curle were declared abettors, so that it was a sentence of death to all the three. To this a provision was added that the sentence should in no way derogate from the right or dignity of her son, James King of Scotland.

On the 29th of October—that is, four days after the passing of this sentence—Elizabeth assembled her Parliament. She had summoned it for the 15th, anticipating quicker work at Fotheringay, but prorogued it to this date. The proceedings of the trial were laid before each house, and both Lords and Commons petitioned Elizabeth to enforce the execution of the Queen of Scots without delay. Serjeant Puckering, the Speaker of the Commons, in communicating the prayer of the House, reminded Elizabeth of the wrath of God against persons who neglected to execute His judgments, as in the case of Saul, who had spared Agag, and Ahab, who had spared Benhadad. Elizabeth replied with perfect serenity that she was unwilling to shed the blood of that wicked woman, the Queen of Scots, though she had so often sought her life, for the preservation of which she expressed her deep gratitude to Almighty God. She wished that she and Mary were two milkmaids, with pails upon their arms, and then she would forgive her all her wrongs. As for her own life, she had no desire on her own account to preserve it; she had nothing left worth living for; but for her people she could endure much. Still, the call of her Council, her Parliament, and her people to execute justice on her own kinswoman, had brought her into a great strait and struggle of mind. But then, she said, she would confide to them a secret: that certain persons had sworn an oath within these few days to take her life or be hanged themselves. She had written proof of this, and she must, therefore, remind them of their own oath of association for the defence of her person. "She thought it requisite," she said, "with earnest prayer to beseech the Divine Majesty so to illuminate her understanding, and to inspire her with His grace, that she might see clearly to do and determine that which would serve to the establishment of His Church, the preservation of their estates, and the prosperity of the commonwealth."

She sent a message to the two Houses, expressing the great conflict which she had had in her own mind, and begging to know whether they could not devise some means of sparing the life of her relative. Both Houses, on the 25th, returned answer that this was impossible. To this declaration of Parliament she returned to them one of her enigmatical answers, "If I should say that I meant not to grant your petition, by my faith, I should say unto you more perhaps than I mean. And if I should say that I mean to grant it, I should tell you more than it is fit for you to know. Thus I must deliver to you an answer answerless."

On the 6th of December proclamation of the judgment of the commissioners against the Queen of Scots was made through London by sound of trumpet, whereupon the populace made great rejoicings, kindled large bonfires, and rang the bells all day as if some joyful event had occurred. They were so fully persuaded that the Queen of Scots was at the bottom of all the alleged and real plots for the overturn of the Government, the bringing in of the King of Spain, and the Roman Catholic religion, that their exultation was boundless.

Meanwhile, in spite of the eagerness of the nation, Elizabeth hesitated to put Mary to death. Her conduct was tortuous, for she was devising to escape the opprobrium. At length Lord Howard of Effingham persuaded her that she could delay no longer. She went about continually muttering to herself, "Aut fer aut feri: ne feriare feri" ("Either endure or strike: strike lest thou be stricken"). Instead of proceeding to sign the death-warrant and let the execution take its course, she had it again debated in the Council whether it were not better to take her off by poison. Walsingham, who saw that the responsibility would be certainly thrown on somebody near the queen, got away from Court; and the warrant, drawn up by Burleigh, was handed by him to Davison, the queen's secretary, to get it engrossed and presented to the queen for signature. When he did this, she bade him keep it awhile, and it lay in his hands for five or six weeks. But both Leicester and Burleigh were impatient for its execution; and directly after the departure of James's ambassadors in February, he was ordered to present it; and then Elizabeth signed it, bidding him take it to the Great Seal, "and trouble her no more with it." Then, as if suddenly recollecting herself, she said, "Surely Paulet and Drury might ease me of this burden. Do you and Walsingham sound their dispositions." Burleigh and Leicester, to whom Davison showed the warrant, urged him to send it to Fotheringay without a moment's delay; but Davison had a feeling that he certainly should get into trouble if he did so. He therefore went on to Walsingham, and after showing him the warrant, they then and there made a rough draft of a letter to Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drew Drury, Mary's additional keeper, proposing that they should act on their own authority, as the queen requested. While Walsingham made a fair copy, Davison went to the Lord Chancellor and got the great seal affixed to the warrant. Davison the next day had confirmation doubly strong that Elizabeth was watching to entrap him in the matter. She asked him if the warrant had passed the Great Seal. He said it had; on which she immediately said, "Why such haste?" He inquired whether, then, she did not wish the affair to proceed. She replied, certainly; but that she thought it might be better managed, as the execution of the warrant threw the whole burden upon her. Davison said he did not know who else could bear it, as her laws made it murder to destroy the meanest subject without her warrant. At this her patience appeared exhausted, and she uttered a wish that she had but two such subjects as Morton and Archibald Douglas.

Davison was terrified at the gulf on the edge of which he saw himself standing, with the queen ready and longing to drag him in. He went to Hatton, and told him that though he had her orders to send off the warrant to Fotheringay at once, he would not do it of himself. They therefore went together to Burleigh, who coincided with them in the demand for caution. He therefore summoned the Council the next morning, and it was there unanimously agreed, as the queen had discharged her duty, to do theirs, and to proceed on joint responsibility. The warrant was therefore issued.

On the 7th of February the order for Mary's death reached Fotheringay. The Earl of Shrewsbury, who had guarded her so many years, as Earl Marshal, had now the painful office of carrying into effect her execution. There had been for some time a growing feeling at Fotheringay that the last day of Mary was at hand, for there had been a remarkable coming and going of strangers. When Shrewsbury was announced, his office proclaimed the fatal secret. The Scottish queen rose from her bed, and was dressed to receive him, having seated herself at a small table with her servants disposed around her. The Earl of Shrewsbury entered, followed by the Earls of Kent, Cumberland, and Derby, as well as by the sheriff and several gentlemen of the county. Beale, the clerk of the Council, read the order for the execution, to which Mary listened with the utmost apparent equanimity. When it was finished she crossed herself, bade them welcome, and assured them that she had long waited for the day which had now arrived; that twenty years of miserable imprisonment had made her a burden to herself and useless to others; and that she could conceive no close of life so happy or so honourable as that of shedding her blood for her religion. She recited her injuries and the frauds and perjuries of her enemies, and then laying her hand on the Testament upon her table, called God to witness that she had never imagined, much less attempted, anything against the life of the Queen of England. A long conversation followed, and Mary asked whether the foreign powers had made no efforts in her behalf, and whether her only son had forgotten her; and finally, when she was to suffer. The Earl of Shrewsbury replied with much emotion, "To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock." Mary received this announcement with a calm dignity which awed and even affected the beholders. And on the scaffold, which was erected in the hall of Fotheringay, she played her part with the same perfection of acting, posing as a religious martyr and wholly ignoring the political crimes of which she had been guilty (February 8, 1587).

The Earl of Shrewsbury sent his son with the intelligence of the execution of Mary, which reached Court the next day. Burleigh, who received the letter, immediately sent for Davison and several of the Privy Council, and it was resolved to keep the fact from the queen for a short time. But such a fact, though it might be officially, could not be otherwise concealed. The news flew abroad, and the Protestant population gave the reins to their joy by the ringing of bells and kindling of bonfires. Elizabeth neither could nor did remain ignorant of the cause of this noisy exultation. She inquired why the bells rang so merrily, and was told, says Davison, "for the execution of the Queen of Scots;" but she took no notice of it, having not been officially informed. Far from displaying any emotion of any kind, she took her usual airing, and on her return appeared to be enjoying herself in the company of Don Antonio, the pretender to the Crown of Portugal. But in the morning, being then officially informed, she flew into very well-acted paroxysms of rage and grief. She declared that she had never contemplated or sanctioned such a thing; that Davison had betrayed her, whom she had charged not to let the warrant go out of his hands; and that the whole Privy Council had acted most unjustifiably.

Davison, who fondly hoped that he had secured himself under the shield of the Privy Council, made his appearance at Court; but the councillors, who saw there must be a victim, advised him to keep out of sight for a few days; and the consequence was, that his amiable friends of the Council most likely made him their scapegoat, for he was immediately arrested and committed to the Tower. But the ministers themselves did not escape their share of the storm. For four days the matter was before the Council, and they received the severest and most unmeasured upbraidings from their royal mistress, the burden being naturally thrown on poor Davison, who was actually dismissed from the public service and condemned to pay a large fine.

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REIGN OF ELIZABETH (concluded).

State of Europe on the Death of Mary—Preparations of Philip of Spain—Exploits of English Sailors—Drake Singes the King of Spain's Beard—Preparations against the Armada—Loyalty of the Roman Catholics—Arrival of the Armada in the Channel—Its Disastrous Course and Complete Destruction—Elizabeth at Tilbury—Death of Leicester—Persecution of the Puritans and Catholics—Renewed Expeditions against Spain—Accession of Henry of Navarre to the French Throne—He is helped by Elizabeth—Essex takes Cadiz—His Quarrels with the Cecils—His Second Expedition and Rupture with the Queen—Troubles in Ireland—Essex appointed Lord-Deputy—His Failure—The Essex Rising—Execution of Essex—Mountjoy in Ireland—The Debate on Monopolies—Victory of Mountjoy—Weakness of Elizabeth—Her last illness and Death.

Among all these equivocations Elizabeth displayed her usual ability, and prevented the only thing which she feared—a coalition between Scotland, France, and Spain, to avenge the death of the Scottish queen. James of Scotland was readily checked, being of a pusillanimous character, and fonder of money than of the life and honour of his mother. Henry III. of France, as Elizabeth well knew, was too much beset by difficulties to be formidable. His course was now fast running to a close. Civil war was raging in his kingdom; and we may here anticipate a little to take a view of his end. His feud with the Guises grew to such a pitch, that, to rid himself of them, he determined to assassinate their leaders, the duke and cardinal, the cousins of the late Queen of Scots. For this purpose, near the close of 1588, he assembled a body of assassins in the Castle of Blois, where he privately distributed daggers to forty-five of them. The Duke of Guise was invited to the fatal feast, and murdered at the very door of the king's chamber (December 23). The next day his brother, the cardinal, was also slain. But this infamous action only procured the destruction of Henry himself. The Papists, exasperated by the murder of their chiefs, were infuriated. The Pope excommunicated the king, and the clergy absolved the people from their oath of allegiance; and on August 2, 1589, Henry was assassinated by a fanatic monk of the name of Jacques Clement, whilst besieging his own capital.

But not so readily was Philip of Spain disposed of. He was crafty and powerful, and remembered the conduct of Elizabeth, who, from the very commencement of her reign, while professing friendship and high regard for him, had done all in her power to strip him of the Netherlands. She had supported his insurgent subjects with both money and troops; and at this time her favourite, Leicester, at the head of an army, was enjoying the rule of the revolted territory called the United Provinces, as governor-general. Not only in Europe, but in the new regions of South America, she carried on the same system of invasion and plunder by some of the greatest naval captains of the age—all still without any declaration of war. Besides, Mary had left to him her claim on the English throne, and Philip had accepted it, thereby alienating the King of Scotland. Philip did not hesitate to denounce Elizabeth as a murderer, and excited amongst his subjects a most intense hatred of her, both as a heretic and a woman oppressive and unjust, and stained with kindred and regal blood. In vain did she attempt to mollify his resentment by recalling Leicester from the Netherlands, and alluring a native prince, the Prince of Orange, to take his place. She opened, through Burleigh, negotiations with Spain, and sent a private mission to the Prince of Parma, in the Netherlands. There was a great suspicion in the minds of the Dutch and Flemings that she meant to give up the cause of Protestantism there, and to sell the cautionary towns which she held to Spain. But fortunately for them, Philip was too much incensed to listen to her overtures, and had now made up his mind to the daring project of invading England. News of actual preparations for this purpose on a vast scale convinced Elizabeth that pacification was hopeless, and she resumed her predatory measures against Spain and its colonies.

To obtain a clear idea of the causes which, independent of the continual attempts of Elizabeth to break the yoke of Spain in the Low Countries, had so exasperated Philip, we must refer to the marauding expeditions of Hawkins, Cavendish, and Drake—men whose names have descended to our day as types of all that is enterprising, daring, and successful in the naval heroes of England. They were men who, like most of the prominent persons of that time, had no very nice ideas of international justice or honesty, but had courage which shrank from no attempt, however arduous, and ability to achieve what even now are regarded as little short of miracles. Whilst in Europe they were Royal commanders, in the distant seas of America they were, to all intents and purposes, pirates and buccaneers.

Sir John Hawkins has the gloomy fame of being the originator of the African slave trade (1562). He made three voyages to the African coast, where he bartered his goods for cargoes of negroes, which he carried to the Spanish settlements in America, and sold them for hides, sugar, ginger, and pearls. This traffic, which afterwards increased to such terrific and detestable dimensions, was so extremely profitable that Elizabeth fitted out two ships and sent them under his command. On this his third voyage, however, Hawkins was surprised by the Spanish admiral in the Bay of St. Juan de Ulloa. A desperate engagement took place, and Hawkins's fleet, with all his treasure, was captured or destroyed except two, one of which afterwards went down at sea, the only one returning home being a little bark of fifty tons, called Judith, and commanded by one Francis Drake. Elizabeth, of course, lost her whole venture in the slave trade.

But this Francis Drake, destined to win a great name, could not rest under the defeat in the bay of Ulloa and the loss of his booty. He obtained interest enough to fit out a little fleet, and also made three voyages, like Hawkins, to the Spanish American settlements. In the logic of that age, it was quite right to plunder any people of a particular nation in return for a loss by aggrieved persons of another nation; and Drake felt himself authorised to seize Spanish property wherever he could find it. In his first two voyages he was not eminently successful; but the third, in 1572, made him ample amends. He took and plundered the town of Nombre de Dios, captured about 100 little vessels in the Gulf of Mexico, and made an expedition inland, where, ascending a mountain in Darien, he caught sight of the Pacific, and became inflamed with a desire to sail into that sea and plunder the Spanish settlements there. He captured in March of 1573 a convoy of mules laden with gold and silver, and in October reached England with his plunder.

This success awoke the cupidity of his countrymen. Elizabeth embarked 1,000 crowns in a fresh expedition, which was supported by Walsingham, Hatton, and others of her ministers. In 1577 Drake set out for the Spanish Main with five ships and 160 men. In this voyage he pursued steadily his great idea of adventures in the Pacific, coasted the Brazils, passed the straits of Magellan, and reached Santiago, from which place to Lima he found the coast unprotected, and took the vessels and plundered the towns at will. Among his prizes was a Spanish merchantman of great value, which he captured in the spring of 1579. By this time, however, the Spaniards had sent out a squadron to meet and intercept him at the straits; and Drake, becoming aware of it, took the daring resolution of sailing to the Moluccas, and so home by the Cape of Good Hope. The hardihood of this determination we can scarcely at this day realise, for it implied the circumnavigation of the globe, which had never yet been accomplished, Magellan himself having perished on his voyage at the Philippines. Drake, however, reached Plymouth safely, on the 3rd of November, 1580, after a voyage of three years. The dangers and hardships which he had endured in this unprecedented exploit may be conceived from the fact that only one of his five vessels reached home with him; but that vessel contained a treasure of £800,000.

Elizabeth was in a great strait. The wealth which Drake had brought, and of which she expected an ample share, was too agreeable a thing to allow her to quarrel with the acquirer; but the ravages which he had committed on a Power not openly at war with her, were too flagrant to be acknowledged. For four months, therefore, Drake remained without any public acknowledgment of his services, further than his ship being placed in the dock at Plymouth, as a trophy of his bold circumnavigation of the globe. At length the queen consented to be present at a banquet which Drake gave on board, and she there broke from her duplicity by knighting him on the spot (1581). A tithe of the enormous amount of money was distributed as prize among the officers and men; the Spanish ambassador, who had laid claim to the whole as stolen property, was appeased by a considerable sum; and the huge remainder was shared by the queen, her favourites, and the fortunate commander.

It was not long before Sir Francis Drake was placed in commission and sent out as the queen's own admiral against Spain. In 1585 he sailed for the West Indies with a fleet of twenty-one ships, where he burnt down the town of St. Iago, ravaged Carthagena and St. Domingo, and committed other mischief. The following year Thomas Cavendish followed in Drake's track, with three ships which he had built out of the wreck of his fortune, and reaching the Spanish Main, committed many depredations. In 1587 he secured the freight of gold and silver of a large Manila merchantman, and returned home by the new route which Drake had pointed out.

These terrible chastisements of the Spanish colonies had embittered the mind of Philip and his subjects even beyond the warfare of the Netherlands; and he was now steadily preparing that mighty force and that host of vessels by which he vowed to prostrate the power of the heretic queen, and reduce the British Islands to the Spanish yoke and to the yoke of the Papal Church. Elizabeth, having endeavoured in vain to arrange a peace, buckled on the armour of her spirit, and determined to meet the danger with a fearless front. She despatched Drake with a fleet of thirty vessels to examine the Spanish harbours where these means of invasion were preparing, and to destroy all that he could come at. No task could have delighted him more. On the 18th of April, 1587, he entered the roads of Cadiz, and discovering upwards of eighty vessels, attacked, sank, and destroyed them all. He then sailed out again, and running along the coast as far as Cape St. Vincent, demolished above a hundred vessels, and, besides other injuries, battered down four forts. This Drake called "singeing the King of Spain's beard." In the Tagus he encountered the Grand Admiral of Spain, Santa Cruz, but could not bring him to an engagement, owing to the orders which the admiral had received; but he captured, in his very teeth, the St. Philip, one of the finest ships of Spain, and laden with the richest merchandise. Santa Cruz took it so much to heart that he was not permitted to engage Drake, that he is said to have died shortly afterwards of sheer mortification.

When Drake returned from this expedition he was received by the public with acclamation; but Elizabeth was perfectly frightened by the extent of the calamities inflicted, believing that they would only rouse Philip to more inveterate hostility—and in that she was right. She actually made an apology to the Prince of Parma, Philip's general in the Netherlands, for the deeds of Drake, assuring him that she had sent him out only to guard against any attacks on herself. Farnese replied that he could well believe anything of a man bred as Drake had been in piracy, and professed still to be ready to make peace. But Philip was in no pacific mood. He was now eagerly employed in forwarding his huge preparations; and the name of the Spanish Armada began to sound familiarly in England. He prevailed on the Pope to issue a new bull of excommunication against Elizabeth, and to advance him large sums of money for this holy enterprise, which was to restore these rich but recreant islands to the Holy See. He collected his best vessels into the Spanish ports, and went on industriously building others in all the ports of Spain, Portugal, and those portions of the Netherlands now belonging to him. He collected all the vessels that his Sicilian and Neapolitan subjects could furnish, and hired others from Genoa and Venice. In Flanders he prepared an immense shoal of flat-bottomed boats to carry over an army of 30,000 men to the coasts of England, under the command of the Prince of Parma.

The time appeared to have arrived which was to avenge all the injuries and insults which, during twenty years, the English queen had heaped upon him. She had, in the first place, refused his hand; she had year after year incited and encouraged his subjects in the Netherlands to rebel against his rule; she had supplied them first secretly, then openly, with money; she had hired mercenary troops against him; and, finally, sent the Earl of Leicester to assume the position of a viceroy for herself. While this state of intolerable interference on land had been growing, she had sent out men to attack and plunder his colonies, intercept his treasure ships, and chase from the high seas the merchant vessels of his nation. All this time she had been with an iron hand crushing the Church which he believed the only true one, and had ended by putting to death a queen who was regarded as the champion of that Church in Britain. We are apt, in thinking of the Spanish Armada and the attempt of Philip to invade this kingdom, to overlook these provocations, which were certainly sufficient to rouse any monarch to such an enterprise.

While carrying matters with so high a hand, Elizabeth's parsimony had prevented her from making those preparations for defence which such an enemy dictated. In November, 1587, the danger had grown so palpable that a great council of war was summoned to take into consideration the grand plan of defence, and the mode of mustering an adequate force both at land and at sea. It was well known that the dockyards of Antwerp, Newport, Gravelines, and Dunkirk had long been alive with the building of boats, and that the forest of Waes had been felled to supply material. Farnese, reputed one of the ablest generals in Europe, had at his command, besides the forces necessary to garrison the Spanish Netherlands, 30,000 infantry and 1,800 cavalry; whilst the Spanish fleet consisted of 135 men-of-war, prepared to carry over 8,000 seamen, and 19,000 soldiers. Both in Spain and in the Netherlands the enthusiasm of volunteers for the service had been wonderful; not only the members of the noblest families had enrolled themselves, but the fame of this expedition, which was to be a second conquest of England, yielding far more riches and glory than that of William of Normandy, had drawn adventurers from every corner of Europe.

What had England to oppose to all this force and animating spirit of anticipation? It was discovered that the whole navy of England amounted to only thirty-six sail. As to the army, it did not amount to 20,000 men, and those chiefly raw recruits, the order for the muster of the main body of the forces even having been issued only in June. Courage Elizabeth undoubtedly possessed in an eminent degree; but such was her parsimony, that though the army which was to serve under Leicester was ordered to assemble in June, that which, under Lord Hunsdon, was to follow particularly the movements of the queen, did not receive orders for enrolment till August. What was to be done with such raw recruits against the disciplined and tried troops of Parma, and his military experience? It was the same as regarded the sailors to man the fleet. In the autumn of 1586 she ordered a levy of 5,000 seamen; but in January she thought more of the expense than the danger, and insisted on 2,000 of them being disbanded. The rumours of growing danger, however, enabled the Council to dissuade her from this impolitic measure, and even obtain an increase to 7,000.

In the war council held in November, 1587, Sir Walter Raleigh earnestly advocated what his quick genius had seen at a glance—that the defence of the country must depend on the navy. The enemy must not be suffered to land. At sea, even then, England was a match for almost any amount of force; and never did she possess admirals who had more of that daring and indomitable character which has for ages distinguished the seamen of Great Britain. Sir Walter Raleigh prevailed: and at once was seen that burst of enthusiasm which, on all occasions when Britain has been menaced with invasion, has flamed from end to end of the country. Merchantmen offered their vessels, the people fitted them out at their own expense, and very soon, instead of thirty-six ships of war, there were 191, of various sizes and characters, with not 7,000, but 17,400 sailors on board of them. To the thirty-six Government ships of war were added 18 volunteer vessels of heavy burden, forty-three hired vessels, and fifty-three coasters. The Triumph was a ship of 1,100 tons; there was another of 1,000, one of 900, two of 800 each, three of 600, five of 500, five of 400, six of 300, six of 250, twenty of 200, besides numbers of smaller size, the total amount of tonnage being 31,985.

But the main strength, after all, was in the character of the men who commanded and animated this fleet. Supreme in command was the Lord Admiral, Howard of Effingham, a man of undaunted courage, of firm and independent resolution, and very popular with the sailors. Under him served the Earl of Cumberland and the Lords Henry Seymour, Thomas Howard, and Edmund Sheffield, as volunteers; and the want of experience in these aristocrats was amply overbalanced by the staunch men whose fame was world-wide—Drake, who was lieutenant of the fleet, Hawkins, Frobisher, and others of those marine heroes who had made themselves a terror to the remotest shores of the earth.

The neighbouring Protestant States, who were naturally called on to aid in this struggle, which was not so much for the conquest of England as for the annihilation of the Reformed Church, were Scotland and the Netherlands. But James of Scotland was the worst possible subject to depend on in such an emergency, and no assistance could be secured from him. Very different was the conduct of the Dutch. Though Leicester had wasted their wealth in useless campaigns, abused their confidence, abridged their privileges, encumbered their trade, and insulted their honour; though Elizabeth had appeared quite ready to sell them to Spain, and in their distress had called upon them to raise £100,000 to pay for fresh soldiers, or declared she would abandon them;—yet knowing that it was not Elizabeth or the worthless Leicester they had to support, but the very existence of that faith for which they had fought so long and so bravely, and for their country, which, if England fell, must fall inevitably too, they at once "came roundly in," says Stowe, "with threescore sail, brave ships of war, firm and full of spleen, not so much in England's aid as in just occasion for their own defence, foreseeing the greatness of the danger that must ensue if the Spaniards should chance to win the day and get the mastery over them." They engaged to block up the mouth of the Scheldt with ten ships of war, and sent the others to unite with the English fleet. That fleet was dispersed to watch as much as possible all points of approach, for rumours confounded the people by naming a variety of places on which the descent was to be made. Lord Howard put the division of the fleet immediately under his command in three squadrons on the western coast; Drake was stationed in the direction of Ushant; Hawkins, a regular adventurer, who had not long ago offered his services to Philip and had been rejected, now thirsting for revenge on him, cruised between the Land's End and the Scilly Isles; Lord Henry Seymour scoured the coast of Flanders, blockading the Spanish ports to prevent the passage of the Prince of Parma's army; and other commanders sailed to and fro in the Channel.

On land there was at first a haunting fear of the Roman Catholics. Their oppression had been of a character which was not thought likely to nourish patriotism; and the very invasion was professedly for their relief and revenge. But the moment that the common country was menaced with danger, they forgot all but the common interest. There was no class which displayed more zeal for the national defence. Yet to the very last moment their loyalty was tried to the utmost. Few could believe that they would not seize this opportunity to retaliate those severities which had been practised upon them; and there were those who even advised an English St. Bartholomew, or at least the putting to death of the leading Roman Catholics. This bloody project Elizabeth rejected; but they were, nevertheless, subjected to the most cruel treatment out of fear. A return was ordered of those suspected of this religion in London, who were found to amount to 17,000. All such as were convicted of recusancy were put in prison. Throughout the land the old domiciliary searches were made, and thousands of every rank and class, men and women, were dragged off to gaol to keep them safe, while the Protestant clergy inveighed in awful terms against the designs of the Pope and the terrible intentions of the Papists. All commands, with few exceptions, amongst which were those entrusted to the Lord Admiral Howard and his family, were placed in the hands of Protestants; yet this did not prevent the Papists from offering their services, and gentlemen of family and fortune from serving in the ranks, or as sailors at sea. The peers armed their tenants and servants, and placed them at the disposal of the queen; and gentlemen fitted out vessels and put Protestants into command of them. The ministers themselves, in the famous "Letter to Mendoza," which they published in almost every language of Europe, confessed that they could see no difference between the Romanists and the Protestants in their enthusiasm for the defence of the country. They mention the Viscount Montague, his son, and grandson, appearing before the queen with 200 horse which they had raised to defend her person, and add that the very prisoners for their religion in Ely signed a memorial to her, declaring that they were ready to fight to the death for her against all her enemies, whether they were Pope, priests, kings, or any power whatever.

Meanwhile the muster throughout the kingdom had brought together 130,000 men. True, the greater part of them were raw recruits without discipline and experience, and could not have stood for a moment before the veterans of Parma, had he landed; but they were instructed to lay waste the country before him, to harass his march day and night by hanging on his skirts, and obstructing his way; and as not a town would have surrendered without a violent struggle, the event, with the dogged courage and perseverance of an English population, could only have been one of destruction to the invaders. This great but irregular force was dispersed in a number of camps on the east, west, and southern coasts. At Milford Haven were stationed 2,200 horse; 5,000 men of Cornwall and Devon defended Plymouth; the men of Dorset and Wiltshire garrisoned Portland; the Isle of Wight swarmed with soldiers, and was fortified at all points. The banks of the Thames were fortified under the direction of a celebrated Italian engineer, Federico Giambelli, who had deserted from the Spaniards. Gravesend was not only fortified, but was defended by a vast assemblage of boats, and had a bridge of them, which at once cut off the passage of the river, and opened a constant passage for troops between Essex and Kent. At Tilbury, opposite to Gravesend, there was a camp for 22,000 foot and 2,000 horse, under the command of the Earl of Leicester, and Lord Hunsdon defended the capital with an army of 28,000 men, supported by 10,000 Londoners.

Such were the preparations for the vaunted Invincible Armada. With all the courage of Elizabeth, however, she continued to negotiate anxiously for peace to the very last minute, and to the great chagrin of Leicester and Walsingham, who assured her that such a proceeding was calculated to encourage her enemies and depress her own subjects. Burleigh, with his more cautious nature, supported her, and even so late as February, 1588, she sent commissioners to Bourbourg, near Calais, to meet the commissioners of Philip, and they vainly continued their negotiations for peace till the Armada appeared in the Channel.

And now the time for the sailing of this dread fleet had arrived. The King of Spain, tired of delays, ordered its advance. It was in vain that the wisdom of further postponement seemed to be suggested by the sudden death of his experienced Admiral Santa Cruz, and his excellent Vice-Admiral the Duke of Paliano; he immediately gave the command to the Duke of Medina Sidonia, a man wholly without such experience, and the second command to Martinez de Ricaldez, a good seaman. In vain the Prince of Parma entreated that he might reduce Flushing before he carried such a force out of the country, and Sir William Stanley, who had deserted to Spain from the Netherlands army, recommended the occupation of Ireland before the descent on England. The Pope had delivered his bull for the deposition of Elizabeth, had collected the money which he promised to advance, had made Dr. Allen a cardinal, and appointed his legate in England to confer on Philip the investiture of the kingdom; the fleet was at anchor in the Tagus, and he commanded it to put forth.

This famous Armada consisted of 130 vessels of different sizes. There were forty-five galleons and larger vessels of from 500 to 1,000 tons each; twenty-five were pink-built ships, and thirteen were frigates. It carried 2,680 pieces of artillery, and 19,295 troops, exclusive of the crews which worked the vessels, of whom 2,000 were volunteers of the highest families in Spain. The English fleet outnumbered the Armada by about sixty vessels, but its entire tonnage did not amount to half that of the Armada.

On May the 30th, 1588, this formidable and long-prepared fleet issued from the Tagus. The spectacle was of such grandeur, that no one could behold it without the strongest emotions and the most flattering expectations of success. But these were of very brief duration: one of those tempests which in every age, since the Norman Conquest, as if indicating the steady purpose of Providence, have assailed and scattered the fleets of England's enemies, burst on the Armada off Cape Finisterre, scattered its vessels along the coast of Galicia, ran three large ships aground, dismasted and shattered eight others, and compelled the proud fleet to seek shelter in Corunna, and other ports along the coast. The damage to the ships was so considerable, that it occasioned the admiral a delay of three weeks at Corunna.

No sooner was this news announced in London, than Elizabeth, amid her most warlike movements never forgetting the expense, immediately ordered the Lord Admiral to dismantle four of his largest ships, as if the danger were over. Lord Howard had the wise boldness to refuse, declaring that he would rather take the risk of his sovereign's displeasure, and keep the vessels afloat at his own cost, than endanger the country. To show that all his vessels were needed, he called a council of war, and proposed that they should sail for the Spanish coast, and fall on the fleet whilst it was thus disordered. At sea they saw and gave chase to fourteen Spanish ships. The wind veered and became at once favourable to his return, and also to the sailing of the Armada. He turned back to Plymouth, lest some of the Spanish vessels should have reached his unprotected station before him.

The event proved that his caution was not vain. He had scarcely regained Plymouth and moored his fleet, when a Scottish privateer, named Fleming sailed in after him and informed him he had discovered the Armada off the Lizard. Most of the officers were at the moment playing at bowls on the Hoe, and Drake, who was one of them, bade them not hurry themselves, but play out the game and then go and beat the Spaniards. The wind, too, was blowing right into harbour, but having with great labour warped out their ships they stood off, and the next day, being the 20th of July, they saw the Spanish fleet bearing down full upon them. It was drawn up in the form of a crescent, the horns of which were seven miles apart, and a nobler or more imposing sight was never seen on the ocean. Lord Howard deemed it hazardous to measure strength with ships of such superior size and weight of metal, and he was soon relieved from the necessity, for the Duke of Medina, on perceiving the English fleet, called a council of his officers—who were impatient to attack and destroy the enemy at once—and showed them his instructions, which bound them strictly to avoid all chance of damage to his vessels by a conflict before he had effected the main object of seeing the Flemish army landed on the English coast. The Grand Armada, therefore, swept on in stately magnificence up the Channel, the great galeasses, with their huge hulks, their lofty prows, and their slow imposing motion, making a brave show. To the experienced eyes of the English sailors, however, this immediately communicated encouragement, for they saw at once that they were not calculated, like their own nimbler vessels, to tack and obey the helm promptly.

And now began, as it were, a strange chase of the mighty Armada by the lesser fleet. The Duke of Medina pressed on with all sail to reach Dunkirk, and make a junction with the fleet of flat-bottomed boats of the Prince of Parma, which were to carry over the army; but some of his vessels soon fell behind, and in spite of his signalling for them to come up, they could not do so before the nimbler English vessels were upon them, and fired into them with right good will. The Disdain, a pinnace commanded by Jonas Bradbury, was the first to engage, and was speedily seconded by the Lord Admiral himself, who attacked a great galleon, and Drake in the Revenge, Hawkins in the Victory, and Frobisher in the Triumph, closed in with the others. Ricaldez, the Rear Admiral, was in this affray, and encouraged his men bravely, but it was soon found that the Spaniards, though so much more gigantic in size, had no chance with the more manageable English ships. Their heavy artillery, from their uncommon height, fired over the enemies' heads, and did little mischief, whilst the undaunted English tacked about and hit them first in one place and then in another. Drake justified his fame by boarding a great galleon, the mast of which was shot away, and taking her with 55,000 ducats on board. The Duke of Medina was compelled to heave-to till the jeopardised squadron could come up; but night set in, and there was seen another of the galleons blazing on the water, having, it was said, been purposely set on fire by a Flemish gunner, whom the captain had accused of cowardice or treachery. In the confusion the neighbouring vessels ran foul of each other, there being a heavy sea, and a third vessel was separated from the fleet, and captured near the French coast.

Lord Howard on the 23rd again came up with the Armada off Portland. He was now reinforced by forty fresh sail, and had on board this accession Sir Walter Raleigh. The weather was still adverse to the advance of the Spaniards, and the English kept them well engaged by pouring in ever and anon a broadside, and then dropping out of range. Sometimes, the wind lulling, they were compelled to stand the full fire of the great ships, and in one of these encounters Frobisher was surrounded in the Triumph, and had to sustain an unequal combat for two hours. By direction of the Admiral, however, a number of vessels moved to his rescue, and reserving their fire till they were close in with the enemy, they poured such a broadside into the Spaniards as turned the scale. Many of the Spanish ships were completely disabled in this day's fight, and a Venetian argosy and several transports remained in possession of the English.

The next day the English fleet could not renew the action, for they had burnt all their powder, and the time to prevent the junction of Medina with Parma was totally lost. The next, the 25th, having in the meantime procured a fresh supply of ammunition from shore, the Admiral renewed the fight off the Isle of Wight, where Hawkins took a large Portuguese galleon, and the Duke of Medina's ship had its mainmast shot away, and was much shattered; but in the midst of the engagement the powder of the English again failed, and they were obliged to draw off. Fortunately the Spanish admiral also found that he had expended his heavy shot, and sent to the Prince of Parma to hold himself in readiness and send him back some shot. On the 26th the Armada held on its way with a fair breeze up the Channel, and Howard, who had received fresh ammunition, besides continual reinforcements of small vessels and men from the ports as they passed, directly pursued. In the Straits of Dover he expected to be joined by a strong squadron under Lord Henry Seymour and Sir Thomas Winter, and, therefore, he reserved his fire. On the following day, the Duke of Medina, instead of making at once for Dunkirk, as he wished, was prevailed on to cast anchor before Calais. It was represented that there was a Dutch and English fleet blockading Newport and Dunkirk, the only outlets for Parma's flat-bottoms, and that the Armada would then be enclosed between the two hostile fleets. It was necessary first to beat off the fleet which hung on his rear, and he had already found it impracticable with his huge unwieldy vessels. He therefore despatched a messenger to the Prince of Parma over land, urging him to send him a squadron of fly-boats to beat off the English ships, and to be ready embarked, that he might land in England under his fire as soon as he could come up.

But Parma sent the discouraging news that it was impossible for him to move or even to transport his troops till the grand fleet came up to his assistance. Fourteen thousand troops, he informed him, had been embarked at Newport, and the other division at Dunkirk had been held in readiness for the word of command, in expectation of the arrival of the fleet; but having been so long delayed, their provisions were exhausted, the boats, which had been built in a hurry with green wood, had warped and become unseaworthy, and with the hot weather fever had broken out among his troops. Were he, however, otherwise able to stir, there lay a force of Dutch and English vessels at anchor large enough to send every boat to the bottom.

Under these circumstances there was nothing for it but to make for Dunkirk, force the blockades at the mouth of the Scheldt, and effect the junction with Parma. But now the expected junction of Winter and Lord Henry Seymour had taken place with the Lord Admiral's squadron, and the Spaniards found themselves closely hemmed in by 140 English sail, crowded with sailors and soldiers eager for the fray, and there was clearly no avoiding a general engagement. This being inevitable, the Spaniards placed their great ships in front, anchored the lesser between them and the shore, and awaited the next morning for the decisive battle. But such captains as Drake and Hawkins saw too well the strong position of the Armada to trust to their fighting, and they determined to throw the enemy into confusion by stratagem. They therefore prepared eight fire-ships, and the wind being in shore, they sent them, under the management of Captain Young and Prouse, at midnight, down towards the Spanish lines. The brave officers effected their hazardous duty, and took to their boats. Presently, there was a wild cry as the eight vessels in full blaze, and sending forth explosion after explosion, bore right down upon the Spaniards. Remembering the terrible fire-ships which the Dutch had formerly sent amongst them, the sailors shouted—"The fire of Antwerp! the fire of Antwerp!" and every vessel was put in motion to escape in the darkness as best it might. The confusion became terrible, and the ships were continually running foul of each other. One of the largest galeasses had her rudder carried away by coming in contact with her neighbour, and, floating at the mercy of the waves, was stranded. When the fire-ships had exhausted themselves, the Duke of Medina fired again to recall his scattered vessels; but few heard it, flying madly as they were in fear and confusion, and the dawn found them scattered along the coast from Ostend to Calais. A more horrible night no unfortunate creatures ever passed, for a tempest had set in, a furious gale blowing from the south-west, the rain falling in torrents, and the pitchy gloom being lit up only by the glare of lightning.

A loud cannonade in the direction of Gravelines announced that the hostile fleets were engaged there, and it became the signal for the fugitives to draw together, but all along the coast the active English commanders were ready to receive them, and Drake, Hawkins, Raleigh, Frobisher, Seymour, and Cumberland vied in their endeavours to win the highest distinction. Terrible scenes were presented at the different stranded galeasses. One was boarded off Calais after a desperate engagement, its crew and troops were cut to pieces or pushed overboard, and 50,000 ducats were taken out of her. Another galleon sank under the English fire; a third, the San Matteo, was compelled to surrender; and another, dismantled and in miserable plight, drifted on shore at Flushing and was seized by the sailors. Some of the battered vessels foundered at sea, and the duke, calling a council, proposed to return home. This was vehemently opposed by many officers and the seamen, who had fought furiously and now cried for revenge; but the admiral said that it was impossible long to hold out against such an enemy, and gave the order to make for Spain. But how? The English now swarmed in the narrow seas, and the issue of the desperate conflict which must attend the attempt the whole way was too clear. The only means of escape he believed was to sail northward, round Scotland and Ireland. Such a voyage, through tempestuous seas and along dangerous coasts, to men little, if at all, acquainted with them, was so charged with peril and hardships, that nothing but absolute necessity could have forced them to attempt it. The fragments of the Armada, no longer invincible, and already reduced to eighty vessels, were now, therefore, seen with a favourable wind in full sail northward. With such men as Drake and the rest it might have been safely calculated that not a ship would ever return to Spain. A strong squadron sent to meet the Spanish fleet on the west coast of Ireland, and another following in pursuit, would have utterly destroyed this great naval armament. But here again the parsimony of Elizabeth, and the strange want of providence in her Government, became apparent. Instead of pursuing, the English fleet returned to port on the 8th of August, for want of powder and shot, and, as if satisfied with getting rid of the enemy, no measures whatever were taken to intercept the fugitive fleet! "If," says Sir William Monson, "we had been so happy as to have followed their course, as it was both thought and discoursed of, we had been absolutely victorious over this great and formidable navy, for they were brought to that necessity that they would willingly have yielded, as divers of them confessed that were shipwrecked on the coast of Ireland."

This gross piece of misgovernment occasioned much disappointment amongst the brave seamen, both officers and men, a few ships only being able to follow the Spaniards as far as the Frith of Forth. Walsingham, in a letter to the Lord Chancellor at the time, said, "I am sorry the Lord Admiral was forced to leave the prosecution of the enemy through the want he sustains. Our half doings doth breed dishonour, and leaveth the disease uncured." But the winds and waves did for the English what they themselves had left undone. A terrible tempest assailed the flying Armada to the north of Scotland, and scattered its unhappy ships amongst the iron-bound islands of the Orkneys and Hebrides. To save themselves the Spaniards threw overboard their horses, mules, artillery, and baggage, and in many instances to no purpose. On many a wild spot of the shores of the Western Isles, and those of Scotland and Ireland, you are still told, "Here was stranded one of the great ships of the Invincible Armada." Innumerable summer tourists hear this at Tobermory, in the Isle of Mull; and the hosts of visitors to the Giant's Causeway are shown the terrible cliffs of Port-na-Spagna, whose very name commemorates the awful catastrophe which occurred there. More than thirty of these vessels were stranded on the Irish coast; others went down at sea, every soul on board perishing; and others were driven to Norway and stranded there.

Never was there so fearful a destruction; and well might the triumphant Protestants exult in the idea that the wrath of an avenging Deity was let loose against this devoted navy. No mercy was shown to the wretched sufferers in general who escaped to land. In Ireland the fear of their joining the natives made the Government scandalously cruel. Instead of taking those prisoners who came on shore they cut them down in cold blood, and upwards of 200 are said to have been thus mercilessly butchered. Some of the scattered vessels were compelled to fight their way back down the English Channel, and were the prey of the English, the Dutch, and of French Huguenots, who had equipped a number of privateers to have a share in the destruction and plunder of their hated enemies. The Duke of Medina eventually reached the port of St. Andero in September, with the loss of more than half his fleet, and of 10,000 men, those who survived looking more like ghosts than human beings.

Philip, though he must have been deeply mortified by this signal failure of his costly and ambitious enterprise, was too proud to show it. He received the news without a change of countenance, and thanked God that his kingdom was so strong and flourishing that it could well bear such a loss. He gave 50,000 crowns to relieve the sufferers; forbade any public mourning, assigning the mishap, not to the English, but the weather; and wrote to the Prince of Parma—whom the English Government had tempted at this crisis to throw off his allegiance, and make himself master of the Catholic provinces of the Netherlands, as the Prince of Orange had done of the Protestant ones—to thank him for his readiness to have carried out his design, and to assure him of his unshaken favour.

In following the fate of the Spanish fleet, and the bravery and address of England's naval commanders, we have left unnoticed the less striking proceedings of the army on shore. The chief camp at Tilbury, which would have come first into conflict with the Spanish army had it effected a landing, was put under the command of Leicester—a man who had been tried in the Netherlands, and found wanting in every qualification of a general. There, a few days after the defeat of the Armada, Elizabeth held a grand review. Leicester and the new stripling favourite, Essex, led her bridle rein, whilst she is said to have delivered this fine speech: "My loving people! we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear! I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects; and, therefore, I am come amongst you at this time not as for my recreation and sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all—to lay down for my God, for my kingdom, and for my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know that I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart of a king, and a King of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma, or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm: to which, rather than any dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms—I myself will be your general—the judge and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I already know by your forwardness that you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid to you. In the meantime my lieutenant-general shall be in my stead—than whom never prince commanded a more noble or more worthy subject; nor will I suffer myself to doubt that, by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and my people."

On Lord Howard, as admiral of the fleet, rewards and favours were conferred; but neither he, nor the other heroes of his immortal contest at sea, received a tithe of the honour of Leicester, who had done nothing but write a love-letter to the queen from Tilbury camp. Nothing that she had done or could do appeared adequate to his incomprehensible merits. She determined to create a new and most invidious office in his favour; and the warrant for his creation of Lord Lieutenant of England and Ireland lay ready for the royal signature, when the remonstrances of Burleigh and Hatton delayed, and the sudden death of the favourite put an end to it. In ten days after the queen's visit to the camp he had disbanded the army, and was on his way to his castle of Kenilworth, when he was seized with sickness at Cornbury Park, in Oxfordshire, and died on the 4th of September, of a fever. His enemies declared he had been poisoned, and invented the following story:—He had discovered or suspected a criminal connection between his wife, the Countess of Essex, and Sir Christopher Blount. He had attempted to assassinate Blount, but failed; and his countess, profiting by his own instructions in getting rid of her former husband, administered the fatal dose. This and other stories against Leicester are now discredited.

The first use which Elizabeth made of her victory was to take vengeance on the Papists—not because they had done anything disloyal, but because they were of the same religion as the detested Spaniards. All their demonstrations of devotion to the cause of their country and their queen during the attempted invasion went for nothing. A commission was appointed to try those already in prison; and six priests, four laymen, and a lady of the name of Ward, for having harboured priests, other four laymen, for having been reconciled to the Roman Catholic Church, and fifteen persons, charged with being connected with them, in all thirty individuals, were, within a period of three months, condemned as traitors, and executed with all the disembowelling and other atrocities attending that sentence. Their only crime was the practice of their religion, or the succouring their clergymen. Elizabeth, however, treated their proceedings as political offences, and her efforts to dragoon the nation into conformity continued the greater part of her life; old age alone appearing to abate her virulence, as it dimmed her faculties and subdued her spirits. Sixty-one Roman Catholic clergymen, forty-seven laymen, and two ladies suffered death for their religion. The fines for recusancy were levied with the utmost rigour, £20 per lunar month being the legal sum, so that many gentlemen were fleeced of their entire income. Besides this, they were liable to a year's imprisonment and a fine of 100 marks every time they heard Mass. The search for concealed priests was carried on with great avidity, because it gave occasion for plunder, and on conviction of such concealment, forfeiture of the whole of their property followed, with ample gleaning to the informers. The poorer recusants were for some time imprisoned; but the prisons becoming full, officers were sent through the country, visiting all villages and remote places, and extorting what they could.

As Elizabeth grew in years she more and more resembled her father, and persecuted the Puritans as zealously as the Papists, and for similar reasons. In these Reformers, however, she found a sturdy class of men, who would not endure so quietly her oppressions. Hume blames the Nonconformists for not setting up separate congregations of their own; but he forgot the £20 a month, which would have been levied on every individual that could pay, and the imprisonments and harassing of others. Where, however, the Nonconformists could not preach, they printed. Books and pamphlets flew in all directions; and there was set up a sort of ambulatory press, which was conveyed from place to place, till at length it was hunted down and destroyed near Manchester. In 1590, Sir Richard Knightley, Hooles, of Coventry, and Wigmore and his wife, of Warwick, were fined, in the Star Chamber, as promulgators of a book called "Martin Marprelate," the first £2,000, the second 1,000 marks, the third 500, the fourth 100, and to be imprisoned during the queen's pleasure.

In 1591 Udal, a Nonconformist minister, was condemned to death for publishing a book called "A Demonstration of Discipline," but died in prison. Mr. Cartwright, fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, for pointing out defects in the system of the Church, was deprived of his fellowship, expelled the university, and in 1591 was summoned before the ecclesiastical commission with some of his friends, and committed to prison because they would not answer interrogatories on oath—a practice clearly contrary to law. In 1593 Barrow, Greenwood, and Penry, Independent ministers, or Brownists, were put to death for writings said to reflect on the queen. But no suppression produced the desired effect.

In the spring of 1589 Parliament and Convocation assembled, and Elizabeth laid before them a statement of the heavy expenses incurred in beating off the Spaniards. She had already levied a forced loan, to which the recusants had been made to contribute heavily, and she now received most liberal grants from both Parliament and Convocation. Having given this freely, the House of Commons prayed the queen to send out a strong force and take vengeance on the Spaniards for their attack on this country. Elizabeth was perfectly agreeable that they should punish Philip to their hearts' content, but not out of the supplies they had granted. She said there were great demands on her exchequer; that she could only furnish ships and soldiers, and they must pay the cost. The proposal of retaliation was so much to the taste of the public that an association was formed under the auspices of Drake and Norris, and very soon they had a fleet of 100 sail at Plymouth, carrying 21,000 men. Elizabeth had long been patronising Don Antonio, prior of Crato, an illegitimate branch of the Royal family of Portugal. This pretender was now sent out in this fleet in royal state, and the expedition was directed to land in Portugal, and call on the people to throw off the Spanish yoke, and restore their government under a native, and, as Elizabeth boldly asserted, legitimate prince. If the Portuguese would not receive Don Antonio, the fleet was then to scour the roads of Spain, and inflict on the territory of Philip all the damage possible.

The fascination of this expedition under so renowned a commander as Drake, seized on the fancy of a young noble, who had now become Elizabeth's prime favourite—the Earl of Essex. This was the son of the Countess of Essex whom Leicester had secretly married, much to Elizabeth's indignation, in 1578. Leicester introduced the young earl to Elizabeth, who, for a time, hated him on account of his mother, for the queen, in spite of her numerous quarrels with Leicester, was never able to free herself wholly from her early attachment to him. However, some time before Leicester's death, the graces and lively disposition of the young earl had made a strong impression on her heart or head, and she lavished blandishments on the handsome boy in public, even in the face of the camp at Tilbury, which must have been eminently ludicrous. After Leicester's death he was installed as the chief favourite, and she could scarcely bear him out of her sight. Her consternation was great when she found that he had slyly eloped, and had set off after the fleet bound for Spain.

Drake made first for Corunna, where he seized a number of merchantmen and ships of war, made himself master of the suburbs or marine part of the town, with large stores of oil and wine, but failed to take the town itself, though he succeeded in making a breach in the wall, at the cost of many lives. Norris, meantime, attacked the forces of the Condé d'Andrada, posted at the Puente de Burgos, and drove them before him for some miles; but sickness and shortness of powder compelled them to embark again. Drake and Norris, as famous for their bulletins as Napoleon in our day, wrote home that they had killed 1,000 of the enemy, with the loss of only three men! but Lord Talbot, writing at the same time to his father, said that they had lost a great number of men, quite as many as the Spaniards. From Corunna they coasted to Peniche, about thirty miles north of Lisbon. At Peniche the young Earl of Essex, who kept out at sea till the commanders could say in their dispatches that they had heard nothing of him, was the first to spring on shore, and showed great gallantry. They quickly took the castle, and the fleet then proceeded along the shore to the Tagus, while the army marched by land to Lisbon through Torres Vedras and St. Sebastian.

The garrison in Lisbon was but weak, and Essex knocked at the gates, and summoned the commander to surrender; but the Spaniards had taken the precaution to lay waste the neighbourhood and destroy all the provisions, or carry them into the city, so that famine, fever, and want of powder soon compelled the English to retire. They found that their pretender, Don Antonio, was everywhere treated as a pretender—not a man would own him; and they marched to Cascaes, which they found already plundered by Drake and his squadron. They there embarked for England, but were soon dispersed by a storm, and reached Plymouth in straggling disorder, one of the sections of the fleet having, before leaving Spain, plundered the town of Vigo. It was found that out of their 21,000 men, they had lost one-half. Out of the 1,100 gentlemen who accompanied the expedition one-third had perished. Elizabeth secretly grumbled at the expense and loss, but publicly boasted of the chastisement she had given to Philip.

On the death of Henry III. of France by assassination, as we have previously related, Henry of Navarre, a lineal descendant of St. Louis, by his youngest son Robert, Count of Clermont, assumed the crown as Henry IV. But Henry's known Protestantism placed him in extreme difficulty, even with those who had hitherto supported himself or the late king. The Papist followers of that monarch insisted that he should sign an engagement to maintain their worship, and that to the exclusion of every other, except in the places in which the Protestant form was already established. They bound Henry to hunt out and punish the murderers of the late king; to give no offices in the State, in cities or corporations, except to Papists, and to permit the nobles of the Roman Catholic league to defend to the Pope their proceedings. But by conceding these conditions, he mortally offended the Protestants, who had hitherto faithfully adhered to him, and who refused any longer to fight under the banners of a prince who had thus, as they deemed it, abandoned their cause. Nine regiments deserted his standard, whilst a regiment of Papists on the other side, not sufficiently satisfied with the concessions thus dearly purchased, also marched out of his camp.

Such was the extent of the disaffection, that instead of being able to take Paris, he was compelled to raise the siege and retreat into Normandy. Thither the Duke of Mayenne, the leader of the Guise party, and his fanatic rabble pursued him, but Henry, advantageously encamping his little army, which did not amount to a fourth of the enemy, on a slope opposite to the castle and village of Arques, a few miles from Dieppe, defeated his assailants with great slaughter. The battle was fought on the 21st of September, 1589, and the spot is now marked by a lofty column.

On the heels of this victory came a most timely aid from Elizabeth of England, of £20,000 in gold and 4,000 troops under Lord Willoughby. Henry now retraced his steps to Paris, where he made himself master of the suburbs on the left bank of the Seine, and continued to act on the offensive during the remainder of the year. At the commencement of 1591 the English army was dismissed, having suffered heavy losses, and displayed marked bravery.

But they only returned home for Henry to solicit fresh assistance; the Spaniards and the Duke of Mercœur put in claims for the province of Brittany, and united their forces to obtain it. Elizabeth, who professed to desire the Protestant ascendency in France, sorely rued the expense of supporting that interest, and her old and cunning minister Burleigh, threw his weight into the scale of parsimony, because he delighted to see France depressed. But now that the hated Spaniards had actually landed in that country over against her very coasts, she was roused to do something. She advanced a fresh loan and sent over a small reinforcement of 3,000 men. Essex was impatient to have the command of this force, but the queen, listening to Burleigh, gave it to Sir John Norris, and Essex quitted the Court in a pet. Fresh forces were, however, solicited, and Essex, to his great delight, received the appointment. In August he landed at Dieppe, and finding Henry engaged in the distant Champagne, he pitched his tent at Arques, near the scene of Henry's triumph, and remained there for two months doing nothing but knighting his officers to keep them contented. His whole force consisted only of 300 horse, 300 gentlemen volunteers, and 3,000 infantry. On the king's arrival the siege of Rouen was begun, where the English army suffered terrible hardships, and in the spring of 1592, the siege having been raised on the approach of the Prince of Parma, Essex left his troops with Sir Roger Williams, having lost his brother, Walter Devereux, in the campaign.

This unsatisfactory state of things in France continued till the midsummer of 1593. Henry was continually demanding fresh aid, fresh advances of money, fresh troops, which he did not employ, as was stipulated with Elizabeth, solely against the Spaniards, but against his rebellious subjects. Elizabeth was greatly enraged at his breach of faith, but still found it impossible to refuse him, lest the Spaniards should get the upper hand, and Henry, calculating on this, went on doing with her troops just what he pleased. Elizabeth was further incensed, and went into the worst of tempers on this account, and for this cause not only dealt sharp words, but heavy blows about her on her attendants. But worst of all came the news that Henry IV. was about to embrace the Roman Catholic faith. The fact was he saw that it was impossible otherwise to maintain himself on the throne. She sent off a strong remonstrance composed by Burleigh, but before its arrival the deed was done, nor is it to be supposed that its arrival would have prevented it. Elizabeth's limited aid could not enable him to overcome the tremendous opposition arrayed against him. On the 15th of July, 1593, Henry publicly abjured the Protestant and embraced, if not the Roman Catholic faith, the profession of it. On hearing that this was done, Elizabeth burst into one of her violent passions, and heaped on him her choicest terms of abuse. She wrote to him after four months had somewhat abated her fury, but still in a strain of high remonstrance.

Elizabeth, after getting over her resentment against Henry IV. on account of his lapse of faith, found it convenient to make a league offensive and defensive with him against Philip. The consequence was that the Spaniards speedily poured into France from the Netherlands. Velasco, the constable of Castile, penetrated into Champagne, and directed his attack against Franche-Comté. Fuentes marched into Picardy, defeated Henry's army, took Dourlens and Cambray, and threw the King of France into the greatest alarm. In vain he sent to demand aid of Elizabeth: she had heard of preparations in the Spanish ports for a second invasion of her kingdom; and so far from aiding Henry, she withdrew her troops from Brittany, complaining dreadfully of all the money and men which she had foolishly wasted on the apostate monarch of France. In March, 1596, the Archduke Albert, who had become Governor of the Netherlands, suddenly marched on Calais, pretending that his object was to raise the siege of La Fere. By this ruse he was already under the walls of Calais with 15,000 men. The outstanding forts were soon won, and as Elizabeth was one Sunday at church at Greenwich, the distant report of the Archduke's cannonade on the walls of Calais was plainly heard. Elizabeth sprang up in the midst of the service, and vowed that she would rescue that ancient town. She sent off post-haste to order the Lord Mayor of London to immediately impress 1,000 men, and send them on to Calais; but the fit of enthusiasm was soon over, and the next morning she countermanded the order. When Henry's ambassadors urged her for assistance, she coolly proffered it on condition that she should garrison Calais with an English army. When the proposal was made to Henry, he was so incensed that he actually turned his back on her ambassador, Sir Robert Sidney, saying he would rather receive a box on the ear from a man than a fillip from a woman. In a few days—namely, on the 14th of April—the town was carried by storm, and Elizabeth had the mortification of seeing the Spaniards in possession of a port so calculated to enable them to invade England. Henry, on his part, was excessively enraged at her duplicity and selfishness, and spoke in no sparing terms of her. Nevertheless, his necessities soon compelled him to lower his tone, and even to condescend to flatter her in the most extravagant manner of the age, with the result that 2,000 troops were sent to garrison Boulogne.

The hostile preparations in the ports of Spain at this time occupied all the attention of Elizabeth and her Government, and the more so as during the past years she had lost her two famous commanders, Drake and Hawkins. They had been sent out on one of their predatory expeditions against the Spanish settlements in South America and the West Indies. But circumstances in these quarters had become greatly changed. The colonies had acquired population and strength: the former ravages of these commanders had put the people and the Government on their guard. Wherever the English fleet appeared, it found the ports and coasts well guarded and defended. Their attacks were repulsed, and such was the deplorable failure of the expedition, and the contrast of their former profitable and splendid exploits, that both commanders sank under their mortification. Hawkins died in 1595, and Drake in the following year. The survivors only returned to experience the anger of the queen, who felt with equal sensibility the loss of reputation and of the accustomed booty.

The Lord Howard of Effingham, the brave High Admiral who had so successfully commanded the fleet against the Armada, recommended at this crisis that the English Government should adopt the advice which he had given on the former occasion, to anticipate the intentions of Spain, and attack and destroy the menacing fleet ere it left the port. In this counsel he was ardently seconded by Essex, who loved above all things an expedition of a bold and romantic character, and the more so, because it was directly opposed to the cold and cautious policy of his enemies, the Cecils. He prevailed, and a fleet of 130 sail was fitted out to carry over an army of 14,000 land forces. The fleet was confided to the command of Lord Howard, the army to Essex; but to put some check on his fiery enthusiasm he was required to take, on all great occasions, the advice of a council of war consisting of the Lord Admiral, Lord Thomas Howard, Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Francis Vere, Sir George Carew, and Sir Coniers Clifford.

On the 1st of June, 1596, the fleet issued from Plymouth, and being joined by twenty-two ships from Holland, it amounted to 150 sail, carrying 14,000 men. On the 20th the fleet cast anchor at the mouth of the harbour of Cadiz, and there discovered fifteen men-of-war, and about forty merchantmen. The next morning a fierce battle took place, which lasted from seven in the morning till one o'clock at noon. The English sailed right into the harbour, despite the fire from the ships and forts, and the Spaniards, finding the contest going against them, attempted to run their vessels ashore and burn them. The galleons got out to sea, while the merchantmen having reached Puerto Real, discharged their cargo and were burnt by order of the Duke of Medina. Two large ships with an argosy were taken, and much booty fell to the captors. The Earl of Essex displayed the utmost gallantry. Instead of remaining with the army, he went on board and fought in the thick of the danger. The sea-fight over, he landed 3,000 men and marched into Cadiz. A body of horse and foot was posted to oppose his progress, but fled at his approach; and, finding that the inhabitants in their terror had closed the gates, they made their way over a ruinous wall, and the English without delay followed them. In spite of the fire kept up from the tops of the houses, Essex led his men to the market-place, where they were speedily joined by the Lord Admiral, who had found his way through a portal. The city capitulated, paying 120,000 crowns for the lives of the people, the town and all its wealth being abandoned to the plunder of the troops.

Essex proposed to strike a great blow while the panic of their victory paralysed the country. He recommended that they should march into the heart of Andalusia; and such was the destitution of disciplined troops from the drain which the wars of France and the Netherlands had occasioned, such were the discontent of the nobles and the disaffection of the Moriscoes, that much mischief might have been done before they could have been successfully opposed. The plan, however, was resisted by the other commanders, and Essex then offered to remain in the Isla de Leon with 4,000 men, and defend it against the whole force of the enemy. But the other leaders would hear of nothing but hastening home. They had laid the town in ruins, with the exception of two or three churches; they had nearly annihilated the fleet, had collected a vast booty, and inflicted on the Spaniards a loss of 20,000,000 ducats.

The conquerors returned home, having dealt the severest blow at Spain that it had received for generations. They had raised the prestige of the English arms, amply avenged the attempt at the invasion of their country, and sunk the reputation of Spain in no ordinary degree. Foreigners regarded the exploit with wonder, and the people raised thunders of acclamations as the victorious vessels sailed into port. But the gallant and magnanimous deeds of Essex had been gall and wormwood to the Cecils, and they had neglected no means of injuring him in his absence. Essex had succeeded ever since the death of Walsingham—that is, for six years—in preventing the dearest wish of Burleigh's heart, to see his son, Sir Robert, established in his post. While Essex was away he carried this point with the queen; and the courtiers, now auguring the ascendency of the Cecils, united in defaming Essex to win favour with them. They talked freely of his vainglory, rashness, extravagance, and dissipation.

Day after day the queen subjected Essex to the scrutiny and cross-questioning of his enemies in the Council, till, luckily for him, there came the news that the Spanish treasures from the New World had just arrived safely in port with 20,000,000 of dollars. This put the climax to Elizabeth's exasperation; and Essex, who, since his return from the expedition, as if to take away every ground for the censure of the courtiers, had assumed a totally new character, and was no longer the gay and pleasure-seeking young nobleman, but the grave and religious man; who lived at home with his countess, attended her to church, and exhibited the most pious demeanour; who, instead of his haughty and irritable temper, had displayed the utmost patience and forbearance under the galling examination of the Council, now broke out at once with the declaration that he had done everything in his power to persuade his colleagues to permit him to sail to Terceira to intercept this very fleet; that the creatures of the Cecils had opposed him resolutely, defeated the enterprise, and robbed the queen of this princely treasure.

Instantly the whole current of Elizabeth's feelings underwent a change. It was deemed necessary to send out an expedition to Spain to hunt up the hostile fleet and destroy it as before. Essex stood undoubted in the queen's confidence, and she gave him the command of the fleet for this purpose, with Lord Thomas Howard and Sir Walter Raleigh under him. This time there was no subjection to a council of war. On the 11th of July, 1597, the fleet set sail; but had not sailed more than forty leagues when it was driven back by a tempest, which raged for four days. Essex himself disdained to turn back, but, with his utter contempt of danger and dogged obstinacy, he, to use his own words, beat up his ship in the teeth of the storm, till it was actually falling asunder, having a leak which obliged them to pump eight tons of water per day out of her; her main and foremast being cracked, and most of her beams broken and reft. The gentlemen volunteers were so completely satisfied with sailing with such a man, that on reaching land at Falmouth they all stole away home. But Essex himself was as resolved as ever to prosecute the voyage, though the queen would advance nothing more for refitting the fleet. He got as many of his ships into order as he could, and on the 17th of August was enabled to sail again, though the men by this time had consumed most of their provisions. He made now, not for the coast of Spain, but the Azores, where they took Fayal, Graciosa, and Flores—useless conquests, as they could not keep them, and which led to immediate quarrels, for Raleigh, with his indomitable ambition, took Fayal himself without orders, which Essex deeming an honour stolen from him, resented greatly. He ordered several of the officers concerned to be arrested; but when he was advised to try Raleigh by a court-martial, he replied, "So I would had he been one of my friends." What was worse than this dispute, however, was that the Spanish treasure vessels returning from America, which Elizabeth had expressly ordered them to lay wait for, had escaped into Terceira, and they were obliged to return with the capture of three Spanish ships and other plunder, valued at £100,000.

Essex, on landing, hastened to Court, but the queen was in the worst of humours at the missing of the treasure ships, and complained that he had done nothing to discharge the expenses of the expedition. She laid all the blame of failure on him, and gave all the credit to Sir Walter Raleigh, whom she accused him of oppressing and insulting. With his usual choleric petulance, he hastily left the Court and retired to his own house at Wanstead. He was so far from admitting that he was in the wrong, that he demanded satisfaction for the injuries which he considered had been done him in his absence. The Chancellorship of the Duchy of Lancaster, which he had asked for a dependent, had been conferred on Cecil, and the Lord Admiral Howard had been created Earl of Nottingham, and thus had obtained an official precedency over him. Worse still, and more unjust, the honour of the capture of Cadiz was allowed to be usurped by Lord Howard in his new patent, though it really belonged to Essex. The passionate favourite was so enraged that he offered to fight Nottingham in vindication of his claim, or one of his sons, or any gentleman of the name of Howard. However, he bridled his resentment, and on the 18th of December all was made smooth, and Essex again appeared at Court, being created Earl Marshal, by which he regained precedency over the new Earl of Nottingham.

The King of France, in the commencement of the year 1598, announced to the Queen of England his intention to seek peace with Spain. This was news by no means agreeable to Elizabeth, as such a peace would leave Philip at liberty to pursue his designs against her; and she endeavoured by her ambassador to dissuade Henry from such a measure. But Henry had now for thirteen years been harassed by the cares of a kingdom involved on two sides in war with Philip, and rent in every quarter by religious dissension. The death of the Guises had broken up, in a great measure, the Roman Catholic League, but the spirit of opposition was still as much alive as ever, and was fanned into flame by a Protestant League, formed on the same principles. He longed intensely for peace, that he might more fully exert himself to abate this religious discord. His anxiety for it had been doubled by the capture of Amiens by the Spaniards in February, 1597; and his recovery of it in the following September only rendered him the more willing to treat, because he could do it on better terms. It was necessary to send over Sir Robert Cecil as ambassador extraordinary, to attend the negotiations: and fearing the influence of Essex in his absence, the cunning minister had been induced to favour his advancement to the post of Earl Marshal, and he sought to win the Earl over more completely by moving the queen to present Essex with a cargo of cochineal worth £7,000, and a contract for the sale of a much larger amount out of the royal stores. Greatly pleased by these instances of Cecil's friendship, as he deemed it, Essex transacted the business of the Secretaryship for Sir Robert in his absence, and that politic gentleman took his departure for France on the 10th of February, 1598.

At the conference both Cecil and the Dutch deputies did everything in their power to prevent the peace, but in vain. Henry was resolved on giving tranquillity to his kingdom; and when reproached by Cecil for deserting Elizabeth, he replied that in aiding him she had served her own interests. On the 20th of April he published the edict of Nantes, giving security and toleration to the Protestants; and on May the 2nd he signed, at Vervins, the treaty with Spain, which was so advantageous that he recovered Calais and all places which had been taken during the war. Elizabeth was in reality a gainer, for she thus became free from a charge of £126,000 per annum in holding the cautionary towns; and the States gave an acknowledgment of a debt of £800,000, which they engaged to pay by instalments.

On the return of Cecil he submitted to the queen the proposals which Philip had made for the extension of the peace to England, and Burleigh and Sir Robert contended that Spain having made peace with France, it was wise for this kingdom to do the same. Essex, on the contrary, contended for war, and for still punishing the Spaniards for their attempt at invasion. In the midst of one of the debates in the Council, Burleigh put his pocket Bible gently before him, open at these words in the Psalms:—"Blood-thirsty men shall not live out half their days." Essex took no apparent notice of it, but after his death the circumstance came to be looked on as prophetic. The Council was in favour of peace. The nation sympathised with Essex, and especially the army and navy, who hated the Spaniards, and thought Essex stood up for the honour of the country. But if Essex's favour rose with the people, it was in utmost peril at Court.

A scene soon occurred in the Council chamber which hastened the rupture. There was a warm debate on the appointment of a new Lord Deputy for Ireland. That country was in such a cruelly distracted state, and the population, both English and Irish, so hostile to the English Government, that no one would willingly accept the office. At this moment the Cecils were warmly recommending Sir William Knollys to that unenviable post, Essex still more vehemently urging the appointment on Sir George Carew. But each party was not striving to confer the post as a favour, but as an annoyance. Sir William Knollys was the uncle of Essex, and, therefore, when the queen named him, the Cecils supported the nomination; and Essex, on the contrary, named Sir George Carew as a partisan of the Cecils. The debate grew vehement, and Essex, without regard to the wishes of the queen, spoke violently against the appointment of Sir William. The queen made a sarcastic observation on Essex's advocacy, and the petted favourite turned his back upon her with an expression neither respectful nor prudent. The soul of the great queen rose in all its Tudor fury, and she fetched the rash and forgetful youth a sound buffet on the ear. Instead of being called to his senses by this action, the fiery Earl started to his feet and clapped his hand on his sword; but the Lord Admiral threw himself between the ungallant Earl and the queen; and Essex exclaiming that "it was an insult which he would not have taken from her father, much less from a king in petticoats," rushed out of the room.

The rupture took place in June, and not till the 6th of November did the haughty favourite and the offended queen become reconciled; and it is not probable that the reconciliation was ever sincere on the part of Elizabeth. Meanwhile, death had removed two persons of great consequence in the history of Elizabeth—her aged minister Burleigh, and Philip of Spain (1598). Sir Robert Cecil, Burleigh's son, succeeded him in the councils of the queen, much to the disgust of Essex, and perpetuated his father's cautious principles.

Ireland was now at such a pitch of confusion that the English Government was at its wit's end about it, and no one liked to undertake its vice-royalty. It was come to such a pass that it was even worse than when Walsingham wished it four-and-twenty hours under water. The Lord Grey, though eulogised by Spenser, had left it with the character of a cruel and rapacious tyrant. Sir John Perrot, reputed to be an illegitimate brother of Elizabeth, succeeded him, and dispensed justice with a stern hand. He was as ready to punish the English for their excesses as to do justice to the Irish under their wrongs; and the enmity of his own domineering and avaricious countrymen became much more effective than the respect of the natives. In 1592 the clamours and intrigues of his enemies occasioned his recall. At home, however, he suffered himself to speak incautiously of the queen and of Chancellor Hatton, and a secret inquiry was instituted into his late administration of Ireland. All sorts of charges of a treasonable nature were advanced against him by those whose rapacity he had punished during his deputyship—such as favouring the Roman Catholic clergy, plotting with Parma and the Spaniards, and encouraging the insurrections of the O'Rourkes and the Burkes. They could establish none of these, but they managed to touch him in a still more dangerous quarter. They proved that in his irritation at the obstructions thrown in his way by the Court, he had spoken sometimes freely of the queen and her ministers. Essex, whose sister Perrot's son had married, exerted all his influence in his favour; but where Elizabeth's vanity was wounded she was unforgiving. Sir John was condemned to death, and soon after died in the Tower from chagrin at his unjust treatment, or, as was suspected, from poison.

The most formidable Irish chieftain with whom the English had to contend was Hugh, the son of the late Baron of Dungannon. This active and ambitious chief, who had been rewarded for his services in the war against the Earl of Desmond with the earldom of Tyrone, soon proclaimed himself not merely the successor to the earldom of O'Neil, but the genuine O'Neil himself. The natives of Ulster, in need of such a champion, admitted his claims, and were ready to support him in all his pretensions. As these were not admitted by the English, he became their enemy, and by his military talents proved a terrible thorn in their side. He demanded for the natives liberty of conscience and all their old lands, rights, and privileges; and the successive deputies found themselves engaged in a most harassing and destructive war with this subtle chief and his followers, in which he wore them out by constant skirmishes and surprises amongst the woods, bogs, and mountains of his wild territories. Sir John Norris, who had served with so much honour in the Netherlands and France, sank under it; and in August of 1598 Sir Henry Bagenal was defeated and slain in a pitched battle at Blackwater, in Tyrone, his baggage and artillery being lost, and 1,500 men killed. The consequence of this victory was that nearly all Ireland rushed into a state of open rebellion, and the great question in the English cabinet was, who was the man capable of reducing the insurgents. It required no common man; for the Irish everywhere proclaimed the Earl of Tyrone the saviour of his country, and looked to him to drive the English wholly out of Ireland. The Earl of Essex dwelt so much in the Council on the necessary bravery and address of the man who should be appointed, that the Cecils, anxious to remove him to a distance from the Court, declared that he himself was by far the most fitting for the office. His friends warned him of the dangers and difficulties of a Government which had been the ruin of so many; but the queen, seconding the recommendations of the Cecils, to induce him to accept the post, remitted him a debt of £8,000, and made him a present of nearly three times that sum. He was furnished with an army of 18,000 men, many of them veteran troops who had fought in the Netherlands, and with the fullest powers that had ever been conferred on any Irish Deputy. He had full authority to continue the war or to make peace; to pardon all crimes and treasons at his pleasure, and to determine all his own appointments.

Such were the terms of his commission; but in one particular the queen had laid a strict injunction upon him, in conversation, which was, that he should not give the command of the cavalry, as he wished, to his friend and the friend of Shakespeare, the Earl of Southampton, with whom Elizabeth had the old cause of quarrel, that of presuming to marry without her consent. In March, 1599, Essex marched out of London, surrounded by the flower of the young nobility, and followed by the acclamations and good wishes of the populace, of whom he was the idol for his military reputation and his frank and generous disposition.

No sooner did he arrive in Ireland than he set at defiance the orders of the queen, and placed Southampton at the head of the horse. Elizabeth sent an angry command for his removal, and Essex reminded her of the terms of his commission, and wished to know whether she meant to revoke it. Worse was to follow. Sickness, from the wretched and unwholesome supplies of provisions—the worst enemy of the British soldier in all ages being frequently the commissariat officers—soon decimated them; and by the month of August his 18,000 men showed no more than 3,500 foot, and 300 horse. He was compelled to demand a reinforcement of 2,000 men before he could march into Ulster, the chief seat of the rebellion. The queen sent the soldiers, but accompanied the order by very bitter letters, complaining of his waste of her troops, her money, and of her time, which was so precious. Essex defended himself by representing the difficulties of the task which he had to encounter, and which had mastered so many before him. He assured her that he acted entirely by the advice of the Lords of the Irish Council; but "these rebels," he said, "are far more numerous than your Majesty's army, and have—though I do unwillingly confess it—better bodies, and more perfect use of their arms, than those men your Majesty sends over." He added, that for his part he received nothing from home but "discomfort and soul-wounds."

When he came up with Tyrone on the 5th of September, encamped with his whole army in the county of Louth, that chief demanded a parley, and instead of a battle, as was expected, an armistice was agreed upon for six weeks, which was to be renewed from six weeks to six weeks till the following May, to give time for full inquiry. His enemies thereupon insinuated that Essex was at heart a traitor, and was in collusion with the Irish to betray his trust and make himself independent. Still worse, they declared that he was waiting for a descent of the Spaniards on the island to assist in the design. Certain that his destruction was determined upon by his foes, and that no justice was to be expected whilst he was at such a distance, he formed the sudden resolve to hasten to London and defend his policy in person. His first idea was to take with him such a body of troops as should overawe the adverse party, and secure his own person; but Sir Christopher Blount, who had now married the mother of Essex, convinced him of the fatality of such a proceeding. He departed, therefore, with a small attendance; and arriving in London on the 28th of September, 1599, and finding the queen was at Nonsuch, he lost no time in hastening thither, to prevent any one from prejudicing her against him. But he found that, quick as he had been, his enemies had been quicker, and that one of the most hostile of them, Lord Grey of Wilton, was on the way at full speed. Essex knew what the effect would be if Cecil got the news before his arrival, that he had left his government contrary to the positive order of the queen; and if time were allowed to excite the queen's resentment, he would undoubtedly be arrested the moment of his arrival. For this reason he rode like a madman, through mud and mire, but hate travelled faster, and Grey had been closeted a good quarter of a hour with Cecil when he reached the palace.

Without pausing to alter his dress, Essex rushed into the queen's privy chamber, and not finding her there, did not hesitate to rush into her bed-chamber, though it was only ten o'clock in the morning. The queen was just up, and sat with her hair all about her face in the hands of her tire-woman. She was naturally excessively astonished at this unexpected apparition; but Essex threw himself on his knees before her, covered her hands with kisses, and did not rise till she had given him evidence of her good-will. He retired to make his toilet in such good humour at his reception that he thanked God that after so many troublous storms abroad, "he found a sweet calm at home." Within an hour he returned, and had a long interview with her Majesty, who was so kind and gracious, that the courtiers, who had carefully watched how this rude entrance would be taken, persuaded themselves that love would carry the day against duty with the queen; and they all, except the Cecil party, were very courteous towards him. But by the evening the poison of the venomous minister had been instilled and done its work. Essex was received by the queen with a stern and distant air, and she began to demand of him why he had thus left Ireland without her permission, affairs being in so disordered and dangerous a state. He received an order at night to consider himself a prisoner in his room; and the next day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, he was summoned to give an account of himself to the Council. On entering the Council the lords arose and saluted him, but reseated themselves, leaving him standing at the end of the board. It was demanded why he had left his charge in Ireland without leave; why he had made so many knights there, contrary to the express desire of the queen; why he had written such presumptuous letters to her Majesty; and how he had dared to enter her Majesty's bedroom. After awhile he was allowed a certain amount of freedom, but the queen never saw him again.

In June of 1600 she put Essex on his trial before a court of eighteen commissioners, whom she empowered to pass "censure," but not judgment. The result of this trial was that Essex was condemned to forfeit every office which he held by patent from the Crown, and to remain a prisoner at the royal pleasure. Elizabeth trusted that now she had broken the proud spirit of the Lord Deputy, and that the sentence of the court would bring him humbly to sue for forgiveness. But the great failing of Essex was his high spirit, his indignant sense of wrong, and his obstinate refusal to surrender his own will when he felt himself right, though there was no other way of appeasing his equally self-willed sovereign. He only begged to be dismissed, and that she "would let her servant depart in peace." He declared that all the pleasures and ambitions of this world had palled upon his mind; that he saw their vanity, and desired only to live in retirement with his wife, his friends, and his books in the country. Had that wish been real, few men were better qualified, by their refined and elevated taste and their love of literature, to have adorned such a life; but Essex, if he truly longed for private and domestic life, did not know himself, for he was one of those restless and quick spirits of whom the poet said "quiet is a hell." However, on the 26th of August he was released from custody, but informed that he must not appear at Court.

Essex, once at large, cast off his pretences of retirement and contempt of the world, and petitioned the queen for a continuation of his patent for a monopoly of sweet wines. Elizabeth replied that she would first inquire into the value of this privilege, which she understood was worth £50,000 per annum. She accompanied this message with an ominous remark that when horses became unmanageable it was necessary to stint them in their corn. Accordingly, she refused his request, and appointed commissioners to manage the tax for herself.

Essex now became beside himself. Hitherto he had lived in privacy, but now he came to Essex House, in the Strand, where he gave free entertainment to all sorts of people. His secretary Cuffe and other dangerous persons encouraged him in the belief that by his popularity with the people it would be no difficult matter to force Cecil, Raleigh, and his other enemies from office; and that once removed from the queen, all would be right. He therefore kept open house, and was soon surrounded by crowds of military men and adventurers, by Roman Catholics and Puritans. His military friends formed themselves into a sort of guard; and it was remarked that many of the nobility also visited him, as the Earls of Worcester, Southampton, Sussex, Rutland, and Bedford. There were daily preachings in his house, and he proposed to some of the theologians the question whether it were not lawful, in case of mal-administration, to compel a sovereign to govern according to law. He moreover sent to the king of Scotland, assuring him that there was a design at Court to exclude him in favour of the Infanta of Spain, and urged James to send an ambassador to demand a distinct declaration of his right to the succession. James, who was in great anxiety on this head already, appears to have listened to the advice of Essex, and to have taken measures to act upon it.

Essex was now stimulated by his passions into a most perilous position. He was actively engaged in dangerous courses; and though some pains were taken to conceal his real designs, by the chief coadjutors in the conspiracy meeting at the Earl of Southampton's, and communicating privately by letter with Essex, the proceedings could not escape the ever-open ears of Cecil and his party. The conspirators had concluded that the safest thing to do in the first instance was for Sir Christopher Blount, Sir John Davis, and Sir Charles Davers to head three parties, and to take possession of the gate of Westminster palace, the guard, and the presence chamber, whilst Essex threw himself on his knees before the queen, and refused to rise till she had complied with his petition, and dismissed the obnoxious ministers. But while they were planning, Cecil and his friends acted. The secretary Herbert arrived with a summons for Essex to appear before the Council. He replied that he was too unwell to attend; and while he was thus evading the summons, he received an anonymous note warning him to escape as he valued his life; and this was immediately followed by the intelligence that the guard had been doubled at the palace. It was high time now to act, as his arrest was certain. In the night he despatched messages to collect his friends; and it was resolved that the next morning, which was Sunday, the 8th of February, 1601, the Earls of Southampton and Rutland, the Lords Sandys and Mounteagle, and about 600 gentlemen, should enter the City with Essex during sermon time, and assembling at St. Paul's Cross, where the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Companies were wont to attend, to call upon them to accompany them to the palace to assist in obtaining the removal of the pernicious advisers of the Crown.

When they were on the point of executing this plan they were interrupted by a visit from the Lord Keeper Egerton, the Earl of Worcester, Knollys, the comptroller of the household, and the Lord Chief Justice. Essex ordered them to be admitted through the wicket, but without any of their attendants, except the purse-bearer. When the officers of the Crown found themselves in the midst of an armed company, Egerton demanded what was the meaning of it; on which Essex replied in a loud and excited tone, "There is a plot laid for my life. Letters have been counterfeited in my name; men have been hired to murder me in my bed. We are met to defend our lives, since my enemies cannot be satisfied without sucking my blood."

"If such be the case," said the Lord Chief Justice Popham, "let it be proved. We will relate it fairly, and the queen will do impartial justice." "Impartial justice!" said the Earl of Southampton; "then why is it not done on Lord Grey?" Grey had attacked Southampton in the Strand with a number of followers on account of an old grudge, Southampton having only a foot-boy with him, whose hand was struck off, and Southampton himself was in great danger, till a number of people with clubs came to his help. Popham replied that Grey was imprisoned for the offence; and Egerton desired Essex to explain his grievances in private, when there was a cry of "They abuse you, my lord; they are undoing you; you lose your time!" Egerton put on his cap, and commanded every man, in the queen's name, to lay down his arms and depart. The crowd outside continued to shout, "Kill them, kill them! Keep them for hostages! Throw the great seal out of the window!" The queen's officers, being shown into a back room guarded by musketeers, Essex begged them to have patience for half an hour and locking the door upon them, left them. Sir John Davis, Sir Gilly Merrick, Francis Tresham, and Owen Salisbury were left in charge of them.

Then Essex, rushing into the street, drew his sword, and followed by Southampton, Rutland, Sandys, Mounteagle, and most of the knights and gentlemen, he made for the City. They were joined on the way by the Earl of Bedford and Lord Cromwell, with 200 others. At Ludgate the guard suffered them to pass, Essex declaring that he was endeavouring to save his life from Raleigh, Cobham, and their accomplices. To their great disappointment they found nobody at St. Paul's Cross, the queen having warned the Corporation to keep away, and to see that the people remained within their houses. Essex rode along shouting, "For the queen, my mistress! a plot is laid for my life!" and called upon the citizens to come and follow him. He had relied on his popularity with the masses; but he now found himself miserably deceived. The common people shouted "God bless your honour!" but no man joined him. He returned crestfallen to his house; but it was presently surrounded by a military force with a battering train, and not a soul rose in his defence. The case was hopeless, and about ten o'clock at night Essex and Southampton held a parley from the top of the house with Sir Robert Sidney, and surrendered on promise of a fair trial. They were conveyed for the night to Lambeth Palace. The next day Essex and Southampton were committed to the Tower, and the other prisoners to different gaols in London and Westminster. Essex was tried, and on the whole fairly, for his technical guilt was obvious; and, after the usual hesitation on the part of Elizabeth, suffered the penalty of the law on the 25th of February, 1601. Southampton was imprisoned for life.

Lord Mountjoy, the friend of Essex, though advanced to the deputyship of Ireland in his room, knew that Elizabeth had become aware of his offer to attempt a release of Essex from his confinement before his last rash outbreak, and he was prepared to escape to the Continent on the first symptom of an attempt to arrest him; but to his agreeable surprise he received a very gracious letter from Elizabeth, in which she stated that the defection and death of Essex had caused her deep grief, but his, Mountjoy's, loyalty and success in Ireland had been a comfort to her. This had been done at the suggestion of Cecil, who represented to her that Mountjoy's loyalty might be secured by not seeming to doubt it, and it was a great consequence to have so able a general in Ireland, as the Spaniards were now meditating a descent on the coast of that island. Indeed, in September, 4,000 Spaniards landed at Kinsale, under Don Juan D'Aguilar, fortified the town, and called on the people to join them against the heretic and excommunicated Queen of England, their oppressor. Whilst Mountjoy marched his forces to Kinsale and shut up the Spaniards in their own lines, Elizabeth summoned her last Parliament. She opened it in person on the 27th of October, 1601, but she was now so enfeebled that she was actually sinking under the weight of the robes of State, when the nobleman who stood nearest to her caught her in his arms and supported her. Notwithstanding this exhibition of her weakness, her determined will enabled her to rally and to go through the ceremony. The Session was a very stormy one. The great object of calling it together was to obtain money. Money the House of Commons expressed its willingness to grant, but at the same time called for the abolition of a number of monopolies which were sapping the very vitals of the nation. These monopolies were patents granted to her courtiers, for the exclusive sale of some article of commerce. It was a custom which had commenced in the seventeenth year of her reign, and by the greediness of her favourites had grown into a monstrous abuse. Scarcely a man about her but had one or more of these monopolies in his hand, by which the price of all sorts of the necessities of life was doubled, or more than doubled. Sometimes the patentee exercised the monopoly himself, sometimes he farmed it out to others, whose only object was to screw as much as possible out of it. The members for counties and boroughs had been repeatedly called on by their constituents to demand the abolition of these detestable abuses; but they had always been silenced by Ministers, on the ground that the queen would highly resent any interference with her prerogatives.

On the 18th of November a motion to put an end to these monopolies was made, which received the regular Ministerial answer, with the addition that it was useless to endeavour to tie the Royal hands, because, even if it were done by both Houses, the queen could loose them at her pleasure. Cecil said that the Speaker was very much to blame to admit of such a motion at the commencement of a Session, knowing that it was contrary to the Royal command. But, nothing daunted, the members of the Commons replied that they had found, however useless it was to petition for the removal of these grievances, that the remedy lay in their own hands, and the patentees were such blood-suckers of the commonwealth, that the people would no longer bear the burden of them. When the list of the monopolies was read over, a member asked if bread were not amongst them. The House appeared amazed at the question. "Nay," said he, "if no remedy be found for these, bread will be there before next Parliament." Bacon and Cecil still talked loudly of prerogative, but the House went on with so much resolution that the favourites began to tremble, and Raleigh, who had monopolies of tar and various other commodities, saw such a storm brewing that he offered to give them all up. For four days the debate continued with such an agitation as had not been witnessed through the whole reign; and Cecil found it necessary to give way, and the monopolies were withdrawn. On the 25th the queen sent for the Speaker, and in the presence of the Council, addressed him in a truly noble speech, saying that she had rather her heart and hand should perish than that either heart or hand should allow such privileges to monopolists as might injure her people.

While these events had been taking place in Parliament, Mountjoy had defeated the queen's enemies in Ireland. He had united his forces with those of the President of Munster, and kept the Spaniards shut up in Kinsale. On Christmas Eve the Earl of Tyrone advanced to the assistance of the besieged, with 6,000 Irish and 200 fresh Spaniards, who had landed at Castlehaven under the command of Ocampo. His plan was to surprise the English before daylight, and to have a second division of his army ready with a supply oprovisions to throw into the town. But Mountjoy was already aware of his approach, which was delayed by the fears of Ocampo—only too well founded—of the fatal want of discipline amongst the natives, and by his endeavours to bring them into some regularity. Mountjoy surprised these wild hordes as they were crossing a stream, and thoroughly routed them. The Spaniards, left on the field alone, surrendered, and Tyrone retreated northwards with the remnant of his army. About 500 Irish were killed.

The Spaniards in Kinsale yielded the place on this defeat of their allies, on condition of being allowed to return home with their arms and ammunition. Tyrone was then pursued by Mountjoy with great vigour, and after a number of defeats retired still more northward. Munster was reduced, and Tyrone offered to submit on favourable terms; but Mountjoy could obtain no such terms from the queen; she insisted on unconditional surrender. Her ministers strongly advised her to concede and settle the state of Ireland, which was now costing her £300,000 a year to defend it against the natives. Sometimes she appeared disposed to comply, and then again was as obstinate as ever; and matters remained in this position till 1603, when Mountjoy, hearing that the queen was not likely to live long, agreed to receive Tyrone's submission, to grant him and his followers a full pardon, and restore the whole of his territories, with some few exceptions. Tyrone then accompanied Mountjoy to Dublin, where they heard of the death of Elizabeth; and Tyrone burst into tears and regretted his too hasty surrender. The deed, however, was done, and tranquillity ensured to Ireland for a short time.

The last warlike demonstration of the reign of Elizabeth was an expedition to the coast of Spain to prevent the passage of fresh fleets to Ireland. Admirals Levison and Monson proceeded thither with a fleet; but, tempted by a carrack of immense value in the harbour of Sesimbria, they seized it and returned home. This desertion of their duty to satisfy their greed of prize-money, would, in Elizabeth's days of vigour, have cost the commanders dearly. While they were guarding their treasure homewards the Spanish fleet might have made sail. Therefore no time was lost in sending back the fleet under Monson, who found six Spanish galleys out, and stealing along the French coast. Before he could pursue them they were met by a squadron of Dutch and English ships, and after some hard fighting three of them were sunk, and three escaped into Sluys.

The reign of Queen Elizabeth was now drawing to a close. She was approaching her seventieth year, and till lately had still listened to the voice of flattery as if she were yet in the glory of her youth. But nature had begun to give her stern warnings, and the failing of her strength brought deep melancholy. At one time she affected an unnatural gaiety; at another she withdrew into solitude, and was often found in tears. One of her household says in a letter—"She sleepeth not so much by day as she used, neither taketh rest by night. Her delight is to sit in the dark, and sometimes with shedding tears to bewail Essex."

Yet she still strove against the advancing infirmities of age. She would insist to the last on making her annual progress and on hunting. Only five months before her death Lord Henry Howard wrote to the Earl of Mar—"The queen our sovereign was never so gallant many years, nor so set upon jollity." A letter of April 7th, 1602, says—"The queen walks often on Richmond Green with greater show of ability than can well stand with her years. Mr. Secretary sways all of importance, albeit of late much absent from the Court and about London, but not omitting in his absence daily to present Her Majesty with some jewel or toy that may be acceptable. The other of the Council or nobility estrange themselves from Court by all occasions, so as, besides the master of the horse, vice-chamberlain, and comptroller, few of account appear there."

When Cecil was present it required all his art to conceal his correspondence with the King of Scotland. One day a packet was delivered to him from James in the queen's presence. She ordered him instantly to open it, and show its contents to her. It was a critical moment, and none but a long-practised diplomatist could have escaped the exposure which it would probably occasion; but recollecting her excessive dislike of bad smells and terror of contagion, he observed as he was cutting the string that "it had a strange and evil smell," and hinted that it might have been in contact with infected persons or goods. Elizabeth immediately ordered the cunning Minister to take it away and have it purified, and no doubt he did purify it of any dangerous contents before displaying them to Her Majesty.

Meanwhile, not only Cecil and Howard, but another clique, was busy paying court to James. These were Raleigh, Cobham, and the Earl of Northumberland. They met at Durham House, and kept up a warm correspondence with James; but they were as zealously counteracted by Cecil and Howard, who warned James of all things not to trust to them, Howard declaring that as for Raleigh and Cobham, "hell did never spew up such a couple when it cast up Cerberus and Phlegethon."

While these self-seeking courtiers were thus anxiously labouring to stand first with the heir, Elizabeth was sinking fast into a most pitiable condition. She was weighed down by a complication of complaints, and her mind was affrighted by strange spectres. When the Lord Admiral urged her to go to bed, she said, "No, no; there were spirits there that troubled her;" and added that, "if he were in the habit of seeing such things in his bed as she did in hers, he would not try to persuade her to go there." Cecil hearing this, asked if Her Majesty had seen any spirits. At this she cast one of her old lightning flashes at him, and said, "I shall not answer you such a question." Cecil then said she must go to bed to content the people. "Must," she said, smiling scornfully; "must is a word not to be used to princes;" adding, "Little man! little man! if your father had lived you durst not have said so much, but you know I must die, and that makes you so presumptuous." She now saw Cecil's real character, and ordering him and all the rest except the Lord Admiral out of her chamber, she said, "My lord, I am tied with a chain of iron round my neck." He endeavoured to dissipate the idea, but she only said, "I am tied! I am tied! and the case is altered with me."

"The queen," says Lady Southwell, "kept her bed fifteen days, besides the three days she sat upon a stool, and one day, when, being pulled up by force, she obstinately stood upon her feet for fifteen hours." What a most miserable scene was the death-bed of this glorious woman! Surely nothing was ever more melancholy and terrible in its mixture of mental decay, dark remorse, and indomitable hardiness and self-will. At one and the same time around her bed were men urging her to take broth, to name her successor, and to hear prayers. The kings of France and Scotland were mentioned to her, but without eliciting the slightest notice; but when they named Beauchamp, the son of the Earl of Hertford and Catherine Grey, one of Elizabeth's victims, she fired up and exclaimed, "I will have no rascal's son in my nest, but one worthy to be a king!"

At length they persuaded her to listen to a prayer by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and when he had once begun she appeared unwilling to let him leave off; half-hour after half-hour she kept the primate on his knees. She then sank into a state of insensibility, and died at three o'clock in the morning of the 24th of March, 1603, in the seventieth year of her age, and the forty-fifth of her reign. Robert Carey, afterwards Earl of Monmouth, was anxiously waiting under the window of Elizabeth's room at Richmond Palace for the first news of her death, which Lady Scrope, his sister, communicated to him by silently letting fall, as a signal, a sapphire ring, afterwards celebrated as "the blue ring," which he caught, and the moment after was galloping off towards Scotland to be the first herald of the mighty event to the expecting James. Three hours later Cecil, the Lord Keeper, and the Lord Admiral were with the Council in London, and it was resolved to proclaim James VI. of Scotland James I. of England.

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THE PROGRESS OF THE NATION IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

The Tudors and the Nation—The Church—Population and Wealth—Royal Prerogative—Legislation of Henry VIII.—The Star Chamber—Beneficial Legislation—Treason Laws—Legislation of Edward and Mary—Elizabeth's Policy—Religion and the Church—Sketch of Ecclesiastical History under the Tudors—Literature, Science, and Art—Greatness of the Period—Foundation of Colleges and Schools—Revival of Learning—Its Temporary Decay—Prose Writers of the Period—The Poets—Scottish Bards—Music—Architecture—Painting and Sculpture—Furniture and Decorations—Arms and Armour—Costumes, Coins, and Coinage—Ships, Commerce, Colonies, and Manufactures—Manners and Customs—Condition of the People.

The century of which we have just traced the events was a period marked by vast progress and by changes which were the springs of still more wonderful progress in after ages. Though the character of the Tudors was absolutely despotic, no dynasty since the days of Alfred and Magna Charta wrought out such revolutions in the constitution of England. These revolutions were partly effected by the very efforts of the Tudor monarchs to establish their own power and gratify their own self-will, but were due also to the fact that the Tudor despotism was essentially popular, and encouraged manifestations of the national will. These revolutions extended not only into the political constitution of the nation, but into its religious one; into its literature, its philosophy, and its morals; and that simply because the spirit of the age was of that tone and strength that, though outward powers could agitate it, nothing but its own momentum could direct its tendency. Henry VII., with an indifferent title, succeeded to the crown, because the nation was weary of the conflicts of the York and Lancaster monarchs, and longed for peace, which his disposition promised. Cold, cautious, and penurious, he took care not to raise a fresh race of powerful barons in place of that which the Wars of the Roses had destroyed, but hoarded up money; and beyond the injustice practised in its collection, left his people to pursue their trades and their agriculture, and thus renew their strength. Henry VIII.—violent, passionate, sensual, and intensely arbitrary, but fond of parade, and in his youth boastful of his prowess—gratified the pride of the nation, whilst he ruled it with a rod of iron. In the gratification of his lusts he did not hesitate to renounce allegiance to that great spiritual power which for above a thousand years had ruled haughtily over Europe and all its kings and warriors. By this act he set free for ever the mind and conscience of England. In vain did he endeavour to bind the nation in a knot of his own making. Though he hurled his fiercest terms against those who claimed a universal liberty which he intended only for himself, he had broken the mighty spell of ages—a power and a mystery before which the world had bowed in impotent awe; and no chains which he could forge, no creed which he could set up, no hierarchy which he could frame, could possess more than the strength of the fire-scorched flax against the will of the enfranchised people. The moment that Henry perished, the soul of the nation showed itself alive. The very Reformers around his throne, who had cowered beneath the fell and deadly ire of the tyrant, rose, with Cranmer at their head and, under the mild auspices of the religious Edward, gave free vent to the spirit and the doctrines of the Reformation. The return of theologic despotism under Mary only added force to the spirit of reform, by showing how terrible and bloody was the animus of ancient superstition. The fires of Smithfield lit up the dark places of spiritual tyranny to the remotest corners of the nation, and gave the blow to the tottering Bastille of restringent faith in Great Britain. Elizabeth, with all the self-will of her father, lived to see both in people and Parliament, a spirit that made her lion-heart shrink with awe, and own, however reluctantly, a power looking already gigantically down upon her own. She felt more than once, in the pride of her might, the terror of that national will which, in less than half a century from her death, shattered the throne of her successor, and gave to the world the unheard-of spectacle of a king decapitated for treason to his people.

The grand underlying impulse of the forward movement of this age was that of the general progress of the world in knowledge—knowledge of its rights and of the force inherent in popular association. The restoration of classical literature, and especially of the Greek, had rekindled the lofty and independent sentiments of antiquity; but still more, the knowledge of the doctrines, principles, and promises of the Bible, which had been disseminated among the people by the Reformers, had spread like a flame amongst them, and had given them totally new ideas of human prerogative and dignity. Henry VIII., after being induced to make public the Scriptures, saw so clearly their effect that he withdrew the boon as far as was possible, and pronounced the severest penalties on any of the common people who should consult that Divine fountain of truth and freedom. Throughout the civilised world, far even beyond the countries in which the Reformation had established itself, the stimulating boon of this knowledge was diffused, and gave a perilous and uneasy feeling to the most slavish nations and the most despotic sovereigns.

But in England many other causes had co-operated to raise the power and condition of the people. The long civil wars had, by the time of the accession of Henry VII., reduced the old nobility to a mere fragment. Such extraordinary specimens of baronial wealth and dominion as the Warwicks, Beauchamps, and Shrewsburys, no longer existed. In the first Parliament of Henry VII., the peers amounted to only twenty-eight; in that of Henry VIII. they had risen only to thirty-six. With their extinction had lapsed their vast estates to the Crown, and this property had in part been sold to defray the costs by which the throne had maintained its straggles against various claimants and their factions. Henry VII., as we have said, carefully kept down this haughty class to the limits into which it had fallen. His son, Henry VIII., like him, pursued the policy of Edward IV., who had established a system of fine and recovery to cut off entails; and by liberal use of attainders, with their consequent forfeitures of title and estate, made the nobility entirely subservient to the Crown, which augmented its wealth and power on their ruin. By conferring their estates in part on new aspirants to the peerage from the families of the lesser gentry, and in many cases—as in those of Wolsey and Cromwell—from the ranks of the common people, he divided the aristocracy against itself, and thus added fresh influence to the throne.

This predominance of the Crown once established, Henry VIII. proceeded to a still more startling blow at a power hitherto equal and often paramount to that of the Crown—the Church. To the terror and astonishment of the whole of Papal Christendom, he stretched his hand not only against the supreme rule, but the vast property of that august and time-honoured institution. In 1532 he abolished the annates, or first-fruits, before that time paid to the court of Rome—an act in itself proclaiming his independence of that court. In the following year he declared by Act of Parliament that his subjects might discuss the claims and condemn the acts and opinions of the Pope without incurring any charge of heresy. Another year, and he caused himself to be proclaimed "Supreme head of the Church" in his own realms, and prohibited not only all payments to the Pope, but all appeals to or recognition of his authority. In 1535, the very next year, he confiscated the property of the lesser monasteries; and this course, once begun, never stopped, till he had made himself master of all the vast demesnes of the monasteries, the collegiate churches, hospitals, and houses of the order of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem; the bulk of which he appropriated to his own use, turning adrift 150,000 monks, priests, and nuns into the world. So daring a sweep of ecclesiastical property, power, and privilege never was made by any other man or in any other era of the world; and nothing could have emboldened even this impious and lawless monarch to so astounding a deed but the clear consciousness that the spirit of the age was with him.

By this unexampled stroke Henry made himself master of 644 convents, 90 colleges, 2,374 chantries and free chapels, and 110 hospitals; the whole of which property, with trifling exception, was speedily conveyed to the vast swarm of hungry upstarts—the Russells, the Brownes, the Seymours, and the like—who rapidly bloomed into aristocratic greatness, and constituted an impregnable barrier against any restoration of this affluent but corrupt ecclesiastical princedom.

These new men, in their turn, were compelled to subdivide a portion, more or less, among their followers, to establish their own position; and other large areas of lands were sold in minor amounts to the successful merchants and traders, so that by this means there grew up again a new power in the country—that of small but sturdy freeholders, who, at once independent of the Crown and the aristocracy, soon made their might felt in the community, and added to the House of Commons that popular infusion of authoritative life which speedily electrified the Government by its tone, and prostrated it by its measures.

That a large number of such men of substance, whose wealth was the produce of industry, existed at the period, is an indication that the nation had grown rich by trade, and had also advanced in population. When we talk of the England and other countries of Europe of former ages, we are scarcely aware of what extremely different countries they were, both in regard to the cultivation of their lands, the arts, aspects, and habits of their cities, their general knowledge, their polish of speech, and their amount of population. It will scarcely be credited that at the close of the Wars of the Roses, the whole population of England and Wales did not exceed two millions and a half—far less than the present population of London. But in 1575, that is, in the seventeenth year of Elizabeth, the men fit to bear arms alone amounted to 1,172,674, and the entire population to not less than 5,000,000. Harrison, in his "Description of England" at this time, says that "Some do grudge at the great increase of people in these days, thinking a necessary herd of cattle far better than a superfluous augmentation of mankind. They laid," he says, "the cause upon God, as though He were in fault for sending such increase of people, or want of wars that should consume them; affirming that the land was never so full." So little did they comprehend that the multitude of people, properly employed, were the strength and wealth of the nation.

But we shall have occasion to notice that with this wealth and strength there also existed much poverty, owing to the derangements of society in the days of Henry VIII., and to the great tendency to leave the land in pasture to supply the growth of wool necessary for the large demand for the Netherlands and the rapidly increasing one at home, where the manufacture of both coarse and fine cloths had been growing from the time that Edward III., at the instigation of his queen Philippa of Hainault, invited the weavers of fine woollens over from that country. Still the rise in the value of all kinds of articles of life, including wages, during the whole of this period, is a proof of the enlarged demand for skilled workmen, and the capacity to pay much more than formerly, which could only be the case with augmented means in the bulk of the population. At various times, as in 1496 and 1514, Acts were passed with the vain object of keeping down wages—attempts which, though they show little progress in political economy, prove with equal clearness that employers were more numerous than they had been in proportion to labour. In 1500 the wages of a master mason were 6d. a day; in 1575 they were doubled; and in 1590 they had reached 1s. 2d. The wages of common labourers had risen from 6d. a day to 10d. In 1511 the salary of a domestic priest was £3 6s. 8d. a year; in 1545 it had risen to £4 14s. 6d. In 1544 the wages of sailors were advanced from 5s. per month, in the Royal navy, to 6s. 8d., and all other trades and professions exhibited the similar advance of payment.

This, of course, was the result of the like advance in the prices of provisions, rents, and clothing—another proof that the people had become not only more numerous, but more luxurious, and, therefore, demanded better diet and accommodation. Wheat, the staple of the people's food, had advanced from 3s. 4d. a quarter in 1485 to 17s. in 1589; £2 2s. in 1596; and £1 7s. in 1599. It is true the price of wheat varied a great deal in this period, but except in a very few seasons it never approached the low price of the previous century; and in 1587, a year of scarcity, it rose to £5 4s. In 1500 a dozen pigeons were 4d., in 1541 they were 10d., in 1590 they were 1s., and in 1597, a year of scarcity, 4s. 3d. In 1500 a hundred eggs could be had for 6d., in 1541 they were 1s. 2d., and in 1597 they were 3s. A good fat goose in 1500 was only 4d., but in 1541 it was 8d., in 1589 it was 1s. 2d. A fat sheep in 1500 was 1s. 8d., in 1549 from 2s. 4d. to 4s., and in 1597, the dear year, it could not be had under 14s. 6d. In 1500 an ox could be purchased for 11s. or 12s., in 1541 its price had advanced from £1 to £2; in 1597 a single stone of beef was 2s., and a whole fat ox upwards of £5.

In "Stafford's Dialogue," published in 1581, all the speakers agree in respect to this advance of prices in their time. "I am fain," says the capper, "to give my journeymen twopence in a day more than I was wont to do, and yet they say they cannot sufficiently live thereon." "Such of us," says the knight, "as do abide in the country, still cannot, with £200 a year, keep that house that we might have done with 200 marks but sixteen years past. Cannot you, neighbour," he adds, addressing the farmer, "remember that within these thirty years I could in this town buy the best pig or goose that I could lay my hand on for 4d., which now costeth 12d., a good capon for 3d. or 4d., a chicken for 1d., a hen for 2d., which now costeth me double and triple the money? It is likewise in greater ware, as in beef and mutton. I have seen a cap for 13d. as good as I can get now for 2s. 6d.; of cloth ye have heard how the price is risen. Now a pair of shoes costs 12d., yet in my time I have bought a better for 6d. Now I can get never a horse shoed under 10d. or 12d., when I have also seen the common price was 6d."

This steady advance of prices of all articles is a sufficient test of the progress of the nation in general wealth, and in notions of comfort and style of living; for though undoubtedly a vast mass of pauperism existed during this period, no people could go on paying higher and higher rates for everything, who had not the means of doing so. A poor nation might have suffered distress or scarcity, but could not have raised the means of living to such a degree as is here shown, if they had not had the money to purchase on such a scale.

But we have abundant other evidence, with some degree of detail, of the progress of wealth in the splendour maintained by the Court, in the cost of dress, jewellery, horses, and household establishments, in the amount of taxation and revenue, in the extent of shipping and foreign commerce, and in the rank and influence which the nation had assumed in Europe. We now proceed to notice these tokens of advance.

The Tudors were a race who had the highest possible idea of their power and prerogative. Under Henry VIII. especially the sentiment of Louis XIV. of France was thoroughly realised though the phrase was not yet coined, "L'état? c'est moi!"—"I am the State." If he did not actually annihilate the Constitution, he reduced it to a mockery and a mere machine, which moved only at his will. Yet in truth, paralysed as the nation appeared then under the terror of the axe and the gallows, its spirit only waited: it was never extinguished, and under his successors it showed itself again unmistakably. It has been asserted that the people in the time of Henry VIII. were most cowardly, for that he had no means of maintaining his arbitrary course against them, as he had no standing army. But this is not altogether true, for though he had no actual standing army, he had such authority over the minds of both aristocracy and people, that—as we have seen on all occasions in which the people revolted, chiefly on account of religion, and when they were instigated and supported by the Roman Catholic nobles—he speedily mustered sufficient forces to put them down. In contemplating the strange mystery of the base submission of the Parliament and people to the reckless caprices and bloodthirsty despotism of Henry VIII., we must ever bear in mind that the whole nation was rent into two most antagonistic parts by the schism in religion. The Roman Catholics feared the loss of their estates, the Protestants were eager to secure them. Of the few noblemen remaining in the country from the sanguinary decimation of the civil wars, some of the wealthiest were still staunch Roman Catholics, and were watched with greedy eyes by the host of poor but ambitious adventurers who were ready to second every scheme of spoliation meditated by the monarch. When the ancient Church was going to the ground, with all its proud establishments and enormous estates, the nobles who belonged to it felt the very earth shaking under their feet, and saw no means of safety but in the most implicit obedience. On the other hand, the numerous swarm of courtiers—whose only law was the word of the prince, and their only real creed the belief in plunder and in the acquisition of the lands of nobles, prelates, abbots, and chantries, as the reward of subservience—were ever ready to rush to arms or to the execution of the most fierce and unconstitutional orders of the king. No mercy was shown by the members of families to one another, where the terror of the monarch and the hope of his favour intervened. And at that day, when the country swarmed with vagabonds, who had no home and no ties, who had been increasing ever since the abolition of villenage, there was no difficulty in mustering numbers of soldiers, where there was the chance of liberal pay and more liberal plunder.

This state of things, this facility of drawing forces to the field on the shortest notice, and on the most certain basis, was particularly provided for by Henry VII. He took care to save money by all means, and to hoard it, so that though no man was more reluctant to spend, and none ever incurred so much odium by his parsimony where the military fame of the nation was concerned; yet he gained at least the reputation of ample means, and the credit for a disposition to punish promptly and severely any disloyalty or adverse claims on his Crown. He moreover passed two statutes for the purpose of bringing his nobles and dependents rapidly to his standard on any emergency. By the Acts 2 Henry VII. c. 18, and 19 Henry VII. c. 1, every one who possessed an office, fee, or annuity, by grant from the Crown, was required to attend the king whenever he went to war, under penalty, in case of failure, of forfeiture of all such grants. There were, of course, certain exemptions. Some obtained the king's licence, for an equivalent consideration, to remain at home, and such as could prove any disqualifying infirmity were excused. The clergy, as a matter of course, were exempt, also the judges and principal officers of the law; and by the latter Act this privilege was extended to the members of the king's Council, to such persons as had bought their patents for a certain sum, and to all persons under twenty and above sixty years of age. The exemptions extended to comparatively a small number of persons, the fear of forfeiture applied to the majority. To render this more effectual, Henry VII. was rigorous in prohibiting a large array of retainers by the nobles, whilst he was strenuous to enforce the attendance of the feoffees of the Crown. This process was carried farther by Henry VIII. by the free use of attainders, by which, at will, he struck down the most wealthy and exalted nobles, and appropriated their demesnes; so that eventually there was not a foot of land in the kingdom nor an individual life which was not held at the king's mercy.

But still more than by the passing of attainders were the lives, liberties, and property of the nobles submitted to the will of the king, by the institution of the Court of the Star Chamber. This court set aside all other courts at will, and by abandoning the use of juries in it, laid Magna Charta and the life and fortune of every man, at the foot of the throne. From the moment, in fact, that this court was formally erected by the 3 Henry VII., c. 1, there was an end of the Constitution, the privilege of Habeas Corpus was suspended, and Parliament legislated in vain. The king was the State, and ruled in this arbitrary court by the officers of his Privy Council. This court was so called from the stars which ornamented the ceiling of the room in which it met.

Henry VII., in his original enactment, plainly avowed his reason for establishing this court to be, that he might reach and punish such persons as by one means or another escaped sentence in the ordinary courts, through the bribery or "remissness" of juries, and check the evils of "maintenance," or the overriding of justice through the assistance of a powerful neighbour, and the granting of "liveries" for the same purpose. The court was, therefore, directed against the licence of the nobility, and though arbitrary was at first popular. It consisted in its original form of the Chancellor, Treasurer, and Keeper of the Privy Seal, or any two of them, with a bishop and a temporal lord of the council and the chief justices of the King's Bench and Common Pleas, or two other justices in their absence. Ultimately it developed into a mere gathering of privy councillors, and its jurisdiction at first accurately defined, and for the most part beneficial, became extremely vague and was exercised at haphazard.

In the reign of Henry VII. the privilege of benefit of clergy was greatly modified. This privilege, which originally exempted all clergymen from the authority of lay tribunals, had become extended to all such laymen as could read, and were therefore capable of becoming "clerks." To restrict this abuse, Henry VII., in 1488, enacted that such privilege should be allowed to laymen only once; and afterwards—when a man had murdered his master—a statute was passed to deprive all murderers of their lords and masters of benefit of clergy. Where it was admitted, the culprit, if a layman, did not entirely escape punishment, for he was burnt with a hot iron in the brawn of the left thumb.

The statutes in this reign were drawn up in English, and printed as they came out, by De Worde, Pynson, and Faques, a signal step in progress towards a public knowledge of the laws.

Under Henry VIII. the principle of arbitrary government arrived at its culmination. The freedom from restraint which his father had prepared for him, the passionate and imperious nature of this prince led him to exercise to the utmost. By the means which we have described—terror of death to those who offended, and participation in the spoils of nobles and the Church, and hope of new honours to those who served him regardless of law or conscience—he put himself above all control of Parliament or statute, and ruled as royally, according to his own fancy, as any Eastern despot. Out of this monstrous evil came, nevertheless, much good to the nation. By his own daring act he broke up the ancient system of the Church, with its accumulated wealth, superstitions, and abuses, and cleared the ground for a new and more liberal state of things. By the distribution of this property he founded a new and influential class of freeholders, and enabled the affluence of trade to flow into land, and to give to the mercantile class a new status and influence. His motive was his own selfishness, but the result was the public good.

Among the useful Statutes which he passed may be mentioned the Statute of Uses and the Statute of Bankruptcy. By the former he put an end to a most mischievous practice of conveying property for the use of certain parties or corporate bodies, which had been introduced to evade the Statute of Mortmain. So many secret modes of conveyance, so many legal fictions had been introduced into the transfer of this property, that it was difficult to ascertain the real owner; and creditors thus became defrauded, widows were deprived of their dowers, and husbands of their estates, by the courtesy. But the great feudal lords also were defrauded of their dues on wardships, marriages, and reliefs. By an Act of the twenty-seventh year of his reign (1536), it was decreed that whoever was found in the possession of such property should be deemed its bonâ-fide owner, and liable to the charges leviable upon it. By this means the dubious and fraudulent practice of uses was abolished, and the lawyers were compelled to resort to the more tangible theory of trusts. The nature of the tenure still remained the same, for the use was but a trust; but it was simplified, and brought more into the region of common sense and common observation.

By the preamble to the Statute of Bankruptcy, we find that the progress of commerce had led to frauds. Men by means of credit got the property of others into their hands and absconded with it. In the 34 and 35 of Henry VIII., therefore, it was enacted that the Chancellor or Keeper of the great seal, with the Lord Treasurer, Lord President, Privy Seal, and others of the privy council, and chief justices, or any three of them—the Chancellor, Keeper, President, or Privy Seal being one—should have power to constitute a court, before which, on complaints from a party aggrieved, they should summon the defaulter, should take possession of all his property, should hear all necessary evidence on oath, and should make a distribution of his effects amongst the creditors according to their claims. Persons concealing effects of the offender were to forfeit double their value; and claimants making fraudulent claims were to forfeit double the amount demanded.

This was the first outline and foundation of our court and law of bankruptcy, the main principles of which are still in force, but considerably modified by the greater development of the action of trade, and a spirit of increased enlightenment and humanity. The bankrupt is no longer treated necessarily as a criminal, but as one who has suffered from misfortune; and where he is innocent of dishonest conduct, is discharged from such obligations as he has no means of fulfilling, and the way opened for future enterprise.

But the laws of Henry were rarely so rational or innocent as these. We have seen, in tracing the events of his reign, that, to stop the mouths of his subjects regarding his many criminal deeds, the cruel calumnies on and divorces of his wives, followed by their execution, and the perpetration of fresh marriages equally revolting, he was continually creating new species of treasons, and loading the Statute book with the most atrocious specimens of legislation which ever disgraced the annals of any nation, Christian or pagan.

The first of these extraordinary enactments was the Statute 25 Henry VIII., c. 22, passed on the occasion of his divorce of Catherine of Aragon, and his marriage of Anne Boleyn. In this he declared that any one who dared to write, print, or circulate anything to the prejudice of this marriage, or the queen herself, or the issue of such marriage, should be guilty of high treason. The same was to be the fate of any one who endeavoured to dispute this alliance by advocating the validity of the former marriage with Catherine, and every one was to take an oath to obey this Act fully; and if any refused to take such oath, they were to be also guilty of misprision of treason. As, however, the tyrant could not prevent people from thinking and speaking their minds in private, next Session he got from his pliant Parliament a fresh Act, forbidding all persons to speak or even think a slander against the king; for if they thought, they could have the oath put to them, and must either deny their very thought, or be found guilty of treason.

But by the twenty-eighth year of his reign the fickle despot had cut off the head of this very queen, against whom nobody had on any account been allowed to whisper the slightest fault, on peril of their lives (1536). The marriage with her, as well as that with Catherine, was declared void, and never to have been otherwise; the issue of both was pronounced illegitimate, and the same penalties were enacted against every one who called in question the tyrant's marriage with Jane Seymour. Thus, on every occasion that this Royal sensualist thought fit to destroy or divorce a wife and marry another, did he compel the whole of his subjects to swear and forswear at his pleasure. In a Statute of the thirty-first of his reign, c. 8, he clearly enunciated that doctrine of Divine right which the Stuarts, his successors, upheld to their perdition. It is worthy of note, too, that by abolishing the authority of the Pope, to serve his own selfish ends, he let loose the human mind from its long thraldom, and prepared the way—a necessary sequence—for that political rebellion which was certain to be assumed by a people who had once triumphed in a religious one. Thus was political freedom the consequence of this lawless monarch's attempt to crush it, as much as the Reformation was that of his rejection of the Papacy for the gratification of his passions.

It is needless to follow Henry VIII. through the still repeated progress of those contradictory oaths as he slew or wedded fresh wives. It was the same in the divorce of Anne of Cleves, on the decapitation of Catherine Howard; but growing perfectly frantic with wrath and shame on finding himself married to an unchaste woman whom he had proclaimed an angel, he went a step farther, and denounced the terrors of high treason against any woman who should dare to marry him if she had been incontinent before marriage, and against all such persons as should know of this and should not warn the king in time. When to these hideous Statutes we add that of 31 Henry VIII., c. 14, which abolished all "Diversity of opinions," and that of 34 and 35 Henry VIII., c. 1, for the "Advancement of true religion and abolishment of the contrary," we have exhibited the most perfect example of what a man may become by the intoxication of unlimited power.

Besides particular laws, Henry VIII. erected two new courts of justice—the Court of the Steward of the Marshalsea, for the trial of all treasons, murders, manslaughters, and blows by which blood was shed in any of the palaces or houses of the king during his residence there; and the Court of the President and Council of the North. This latter court was established in the thirty-first year of his reign to try the rioters who had risen against his suppression of the lesser monasteries; but it included all the powers vested in the king's own Council, and not only decided such civil cases as were brought before it, but was armed with authority, by secret instructions from the Crown, to inquire into presumed illegalities, and to bring before it alleged offenders against the prerogatives of the king. Such oppressive use was made of it by Strafford in the time of Charles I., that it was abolished in the sixteenth year of that monarch's reign.

To the honour of Edward VI. and his counsellors, all these arbitrary Acts of his father were repealed by him: the law of treason was restored to its state under the Statute of 25 Edward III.; religion was again set free, and proclamations by the king in council were declared to have no longer the force of Acts of Parliament. A few years, however, introduced Queen Mary, and a reversal of the State religion and all its laws. That dreadful persecution which we have narrated, and which is one of the darkest spots in the history of the world, was carried on to force the human mind into its former thraldom; and an attempt was made by the Spanish power which was then introduced to restore arbitrary rule by a singular suggestion. Charles V. presented, through his ambassador, a book to the queen, in which the principle was laid down that as she was the first queen regnant, none of the limitations which had been set to the prerogative of her ancestors the kings of England, applied to her, but to kings only; and that by consequence she was free and absolute. This book Mary showed to Gardiner, and asked his opinion of it, which was that it was a pernicious book, and could work her no good. Thereupon Mary threw the book into the fire; and Gardiner, on the plea of defining and establishing her authority, brought in an Act which, giving her the same powers as the kings before her possessed, consequently restrained her within the same limits.

Mary confirmed the Act of her late brother, confining the law of treason to the Statute of the 25th of Edward III.; nor does she seem to have created fresh treasons, except in one instance—making it treasonable to counterfeit not merely the coin of the realm, but also such coins as circulated there by Royal consent.

On the accession of Elizabeth the Reformed religion was once more restored; and, like her father, she was not only declared supreme head of the Church, but she assumed all his claims of supreme authority in the State. She frequently told her Parliament that it existed entirely by her will and pleasure; and when the members entered on matters disagreeable to her, she snubbed them in language which sounds oddly enough in these days of high Parliamentary privilege. By the very first Statute passed in her reign, she proceeded to set up a new Court, ignored everything like Magna Charta and the right of jury, making her own will the entire law, and placing every subject, with his life and property, at her mercy. This was the Court of High Commission, which assumed all the pretensions of the Star Chamber, but was directed more especially to ecclesiastical affairs. The queen was empowered to appoint by letters patent, whenever she thought proper, such persons, being natural-born subjects, as she pleased, to execute all jurisdiction concerning spiritual matters, and to visit, reform, and redress all errors, heresies, schisms, abuses, offences, &c., which by any ecclesiastical authority might be lawfully ordered or corrected. The Reformers were only too eager to put this formidable engine into her hands, because it was to crush the Romish hierarchy; but they did not reflect that it could on occasion be employed against themselves, as Laud and Strafford afterwards demonstrated to their children. This inquisitorial court was armed with authority to employ torture to effect the necessary confessions, and its jurisdiction was extended to the punishment of breaches of the marriage vow, and all misdemeanours and disorders in that state. It was, therefore, sanctioned in forcing its operations into the very bosom of social and domestic life.

Elizabeth, indeed, was fully as arrogant and despotic as her father; and nothing but her lion-like resolution, her choice of able and unscrupulous ministers, and the cunning of her Government, could have enabled her to maintain her sway so successfully as she did. The homage due to her sex no doubt also contributed essentially to this result. Yet not all these circumstances could prevent her from perceiving that her power was silently and even rapidly waning before that of the people. She frequently had to tell persons that they dared not have done or said certain things in her father's time. She had repeatedly to concede the point to the pertinacity of her Parliament; especially so when, towards the end of her reign, the House of Commons called so boldly upon her to abolish the monstrous list of monopolies which had been granted to her favourites, commencing from the seventeenth year of her reign. Amongst these monopolies were those for the exclusive sale of salt, currants, iron, powder, cards, calf-skins, felts, poledavy (a kind of canvas), ox shin-bones, train-oil, lifts of cloth, potash, anise-seed, vinegar, sea-coal, steel, aqua-vitæ, brushes, pots, bottles, saltpetre, lead, accidences (or books of the rudiments of Latin grammar), oil, calamine stone, oil of blubber, glasses, paper, starch, tin, sulphur, new drapery, dried pilchards; the exportation of iron, ham, beer, and leather; the importation of Spanish wool and Irish linen; such an astonishing list, in fact, that when it was read over in the Commons in 1601, but two years before her death, a member in amazement asked, as already stated, whether bread was not of the number.

These grants had been obtained from her by her courtiers through the weak side of the woman; but in the expenses of her government, considering the aid she had to render to her Protestant allies in Scotland, France, and the Netherlands, and the enemies she had to contend with, necessitating costly armaments and navies, her administration shows most favourably. She would never incur debt, but paid off that incurred by her predecessors, Edward and Mary. Instead of debasing the coin, like her father, she increased its purity; and the annual outlay of her government averaged only about £65,000 per annum.

In fact, the more we recede from the personal history of Elizabeth, and approach her great political measures, the more we perceive the true evidences of her glory. She was courageous, beyond the power of a world in arms to terrify her; she was moderate in her demands on her subjects, though vain in her person and showy in her court; shrewd in her choice of ministers, though weak in her indulgence of favourites; she was ambitious of the reputation of her country; and she rendered to the labouring people their birthright in the land, which her father had stripped them of in levelling the monastic institutions by enacting the Poor Law, the celebrated Statute of the forty-third of her reign (1601), on which yet rests the whole fabric of parochial right to support in age and destitution. In nothing did she display her sagacity so much as in her repeated declaration that money in her subjects' purse was as good as in her own exchequer. It was better, for there it would be growing tenfold in the ordinary augmentation of traffic, ready to yield the State proportionate interest on any real emergency.

The great struggle between the Papacy and the growing Protestant forces was nearly ended, but complete and terrible as was the overthrow of the ancient hierarchy in England and Scotland, it came at last with a rapidity which astonished even the friends of the change. From the time of Richard II. hatred of the Papacy had been afloat among the people, and even in his day had availed to shake the throne, and fill the public mind with prognostics of Papal decay. Yet reign after reign had passed, and the Church had not only maintained its position, but had seemed to crush with a successful hand the Protestant schismatics. The fires which consumed the more daring advocates of the new opinions seemed to scare the rest into obscurity. The triumphant Church of Rome still presented a front of determined strength, and lorded it over the land with a magnificence which seemed destined to endure for ever.

Henry VII. was a firm upholder of the Roman Catholic hierarchy. "He advanced churchism," says Bacon; "he was tender of the privileges of sanctuaries, though they did him much mischief; he built and endowed many religious foundations, besides his memorable hospital of the Savoy; and yet he was a great alms-giver in secret, which showed that his works in public were rather dedicated to God's glory than his own." The fact was that Henry VII. was too cautious a man to become a reformer. He was too fond of money to risk its loss by the most distant chance of an unsuccessful enterprise, and he was too recently placed on the throne of a vanquished dynasty to venture on so bold a measure of ecclesiastical revolution had he been thus inclined, which he was far enough from being. On the contrary, his ministers were almost all great and able churchmen. Cardinals Bourchier and Morton, Archbishops Deane and Warham, were the accomplished churchmen who conducted the governmental affairs of Henry; and when the public outcry against the worldly and dissolute lives of the clergy, both secular and regular, became too loud to be disregarded, these clerical ministers of the king endeavoured with one hand to reduce the corruption by advice and remonstrance, and to check the progress of heresy by the stake and fagot. Henry VII. permitted this mode of extinguishing opinion by destroying the entertainers of it. In the ninth year of his reign Joan Boughton was burnt in Smithfield, and this auto-da-fé was followed by that of William Tylsworth, at Amersham, whose daughter was compelled to set fire to the pile which destroyed her father, and that of Laurence Guest at Salisbury. In addition to the victims of these odious crimes, many persons were burnt in the cheek, imprisoned, and otherwise cruelly treated. These atrocities so far from diminishing the heresy, only excited the abhorrence of the people and weakened their attachment to the Church.

Henry VIII. continued the persecuting practices of his father with unabated rigour. In his earlier days he appeared determined to do honour to the Church beyond most of his predecessors. He raised up and created in Cardinal Wolsey such a colossus of ecclesiastical pomp and greatness as the world had rarely seen. In 1513 Wolsey was made Bishop of Tournay, in France; in 1514, Bishop of Lincoln and Archbishop of York; in 1515, the king's almoner, Cardinal, and Lord High Chancellor of the kingdom; in 1518 he became the Pope's legate à latere and Bishop of Bath and Wells; in 1521, he was made Abbot of St. Albans; in 1523, Bishop of Durham, in exchange for the bishopric of Bath and Wells; and in 1529, Bishop of Winchester, in exchange for that of Durham. Besides these dignities, he had pensions from the King of France, the Emperor of Germany, the Pope, and other princes. The whole power of the kingdom was in his hands; for Henry, so far from being jealous of his greatness, only felt himself the greater for having a servant who in pride and splendour rivalled the greatest monarchs. The state which Wolsey kept would lead us to infer that the Church had reached a higher pitch of power and grandeur than ever in this country. His palaces were more gorgeous, and filled with more evidences of enormous wealth, than those of kings. His retinue of servants and attendants, many of the latter being nobles or the sons of nobles, was inconceivable. It was only at Hampton Court that the whole train of his servants and the crowd of his visitors, including the nobility and ambassadors of foreign courts, could be suitably lodged and entertained. For a long course of years the whole government of England was in his hands. The king did nothing without him; and as prime minister and Lord Chancellor of England, Archbishop of York, and chief judge in the court of Star Chamber, there was no man or his estate that was not in his power. His revenues from a hundred sources were immense, and such was the magnificence of his position and influence, that he might well forget himself and utter the famous words of unparalleled egotism—"Ego et rex meus."

Who could have deemed that the Papal Church was near its end as the State religion of England, whilst the king thus honoured its dignitaries? The very greatness of Wolsey hastened the fall of the Church as well as of himself. The arrogance, the rapacity, and the frequent injustice of the proud minister made for him and his Church deadly enemies. "For," says Strype, "he disobliged not only the inferior sort by his pride and haughty behaviour, but by laying his hands upon the rights, privileges, and profits of the gentry and clergy, he made them his implacable enemies too. He took upon him to bestow benefices, though the real right of patronage lay in others. He called all offending persons before him, whether of the laity or clergy, and compelled them to compound as his officers thought fit."

But in spite of all his grandeur, Wolsey was but the creature of the most violent and capricious of men. A single word and he fell headlong, assuredly shaking in his fall the great hierarchy of which he had seemed the most gorgeous pillar and ornament; for the whole system was corrupt and rotten to the core. The wealth of the monastic orders had especially demoralised them. Both the regular and secular clergy were accused of not only spending their time in taverns and gambling-houses, but of abandoning in such resorts the very costume which distinguished them from the laity, of wearing daggers, gowns, and hoods of silk and embroidery, and of letting their hair grow long and fall on their shoulders. The interiors of the monastic houses were described as dens of licentiousness, both in monks and nuns. We have it, on the evidence of one of the letters of reproof addressed by Archbishop Morton to the Abbot of St. Albans, that that famous abbey was filled with every species of vice and sensuality. He further charges them with cutting down the woods, wasting and embezzling the property of the Church, stealing the plate, and even picking out the jewels from the shrine of the patron saint.

Whilst such was the corruption of the clergy, these infatuated men fell to quarrelling amongst themselves. The most remarkable circumstance, moreover, in this schism, is the very question which in these latter days has furnished such a fiery theme of discussion in both Romanist and Protestant Churches—the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin.

With the blind tenacity which often induces falling bodies to assert their prerogatives with arrogant obstinacy, the Church, in the fourth year of Henry VIII., commenced a daring opposition to the Government, in defence of the benefit of clergy. Henry VII., as we have stated, had limited this much abused privilege, by his Statute ordering such laymen as claimed it under charge of murder, to be burnt in the brawn of the thumb with the letter M. Henry VIII. had a Bill introduced into Parliament for the purpose of still further limiting this mischievous right, and denying benefit of clergy to all murderers and robbers whatever. This the clergy opposed in Parliament and preached against in the pulpit. The Lords and Commons were unanimously in favour of the Bill as well as the people, but the clergy determined not to yield. Whilst the public mind was in a ferment on this subject, a tailor of London, of the name of Hunne, was brought into conflict with the incumbent of his parish, on account of mortuary dues. Being sued in the spiritual court, with a boldness which marked the rising spirit of the times and which the clergy ought to have noted seriously, he took out a writ of Præmunire against his prosecutor, for appealing to a foreign jurisdiction, the spiritual court, still under the authority of the Pope. Enraged at this audacity they put the tailor into prison on a charge of heresy, and there he was discovered hanging dead. A coroner's inquest found the officers of the prison guilty of murder, and it appeared that the Bishop of London's chancellor, the sumner, and bell-ringer had perpetrated the crime. This threw the deepest odium on the clergy, and alienated the people from them; yet they did not cease to prosecute their claim of privilege, and after much contest, Wolsey prayed the king to refer the matter to the Pope. But even then Henry showed that he was tenacious of his power, and gave a striking foretaste of what he would one day do. He replied, "By permission and ordinance of God, we are King of England; and the king of England in times past hath never had any superior but God only. Therefore know you well that we will maintain the right of our crown, and of our temporal jurisdiction, as well in this as in all other points, in as ample a manner as any of our progenitors have done before our time."

Whilst Edward VI. thoroughly established Protestantism, Mary as completely reinstated Popery, and with a series of horrors which for ever stamped terror and aversion of Roman Catholic ascendency deep on the spirit of the nation. The number of persons who died in the flames in that awful reign, for their faith and the freedom of conscience, is stated to have been 288; but Lord Burleigh estimated those who perished by fire, torture, famine, and imprisonment at not less than 400. Besides these, vast numbers suffered cruelly in a variety of ways. "Some of the professors," says Coverdale, "were thrown into dungeons, noisome holes, dark, loathsome and stinking corners; others lying in fetters and chains, and loaded with so many irons that they could scarcely stir. Some tied in the stocks with their heels upwards; some having their legs in the stocks, with their necks chained to the wall with gorgets of iron; some with hands and legs in the stocks at once; sometimes both hands in and both legs out; sometimes the right hand with the left leg, or the left hand with the right leg, fastened in the stocks with manacles and fetters, having neither stool nor stone to sit on to ease their woful bodies; some standing in Skevington's gyves [commonly called "Skevington's daughter"]—which were most painful engines of iron—with their bodies doubled; some whipped and scourged, beaten with rods, and buffeted with fists; and some having their hands burned with a candle to try their patience, and force them to relent; some hunger-pined, and some miserably famished and starved." The leading Reformers fled out of the kingdom, chiefly to Frankfort and to Switzerland; and 800 or more lived to become the heads of the restored Church under Elizabeth; amongst these were Poynet, Bishop of Winchester; Grindal, afterwards Bishop of London, and finally Primate of England; Sandys, afterwards Archbishop of York; Ball, Bishop of Ossory; Pilkington, afterwards Bishop of Durham; Bentham, afterwards Bishop of Lichfield; Scorey, Bishop of Chichester, and afterwards of Hereford; Young, afterwards Archbishop of York; Cox, afterwards of Ely; Jewel, afterwards of Salisbury; Coverdale, the translator of the Bible, Bishop of Exeter; Horn, Dean of Durham; Knox, the apostle of Scotland; and Foxe, the martyrologist. Besides these eminent men, there were Sir John Cheke, the famous Greek scholar, Sir Anthony Cooke, and Sir Francis Knollys, afterwards Elizabeth's vice-chamberlain.

On Elizabeth's accession to the throne she was by no means disposed to go so far as her brother Edward had gone, much less as far as the refugees—who now flocked back again from Geneva—would have carried her. They had imbibed the rigid independent notions of Calvin and Zwinglius, and that probably before their departure from England—a circumstance which there is little doubt directed their course to Switzerland, for the Reformers who resorted to Frankfort were much nearer to her standard—a standard very much the same as that of her father. She renounced all allegiance to the Pope and the Church of Rome, though she hesitated to declare herself the supreme head of the Church till it was conferred on her by Parliament. She issued orders to restrain the zeal of the Protestants, who began to pull down the images, and to restore the service to its state in King Edward's time. She gave directions that a part of the service should be read in English, and forbade the elevation of the Host; but at the same time she suspended all preaching.

Parliament, on meeting, passed an Act asserting the supremacy of the Crown over the Church, revived the Acts of Henry VIII. which abolished the power and jurisdiction of the Pope in England, and authorised the use of King Edward's Book of Common Prayer, with some alterations, chiefly in the Communion Service. Thus they cast off the Roman Catholics who would not conform, but did not go far enough for the more zealous Reformers. The oath of Supremacy was presented to the bishops, and it had the effect of clearing the Church of all but Kitchen of St. Asaph. The inferior clergy, however, were not so firm, and only six abbots, twelve deans, twelve archdeacons, fifteen heads of colleges, fifty prebendaries, and eighty rectors refused compliance. The monks returned to secular life, but the nuns mostly went abroad. The clergy were ordered to wear the habits in use in the latter part of King Edward's time; and their marriages, against which the queen showed a strong repugnance, were put under stringent regulations. The press also was laid under the most rigorous restrictions, and no book was to be printed or published without the licence of the queen, or of six of her privy council, or of her ecclesiastical commissioners, or the two archbishops, the Bishop of London, the chancellors of the universities, and the bishop and archdeacons of the place where it was produced. All persons were commanded to attend their parish churches under severe penalties. In 1562 the articles of religion of King Edward were reduced from forty-two to thirty-nine. In 1571 they underwent a further revision, and were made binding on the clergy before they could be admitted to orders.

Like her father, the longer she lived the more resolute she became to enforce her own dogmas on the whole body of her subjects. In the twenty-third year of her reign the penalty for non-attendance of the Established Church was raised to £20 per month. In the same year another Act was passed, declaring it high treason to attempt to draw any one to the Church of Rome; and the persons thus drawn were equally guilty of treason, and all their aiders, abettors, and concealers were made guilty of misprision of treason. These arbitrary laws against the freedom of opinion went on increasing in severity. In 1585 an Act was passed which made traitors of all Jesuits and other Popish priests who had been ordained abroad, and of all subjects whatever educated in Papal seminaries who did not immediately return home and take the oath of supremacy. The receivers of any such persons were declared felons without benefit of clergy. Whoever sent money to any foreign Jesuits or priests was liable to Præmunire; and parents sending their children to school abroad without licence from her Majesty were liable to a penalty of £100. Fresh Acts were added in 1581 and 1593, the former to make void all conveyances of property by Popish recusants, with the object of escaping the penalties imposed upon them, and to decree that the penalty of £20 a month for non-attendance at church should be levied by distress to the extent of all the offenders' goods and two-thirds of their lands; the latter ordered all Popish recusants above sixteen to repair to their proper places of abode, and never more to go more than five miles from them without special licence from the bishop of the diocese or lieutenant of the county, under penalty of forfeiture of their goods and of the profits of their lands for life; those having no goods or lands to be deemed felons.

But if the atrocities committed by the Roman Catholics in the reign of Mary, and the fears of their recurrence should the Papists regain the power, afforded some plea for these persecutions, what is to be said of the same rigours applied to the Reformers, who simply desired to form their religious opinions on the Bible—the Divine charter of Humanity? Thousands of these, from the earliest days of the Reformation, had claimed this privilege as their birthright; and many of those who came back from the Continent on the termination of the Marian persecution, were surprised and discouraged to find themselves equally excluded with the Catholics from the exercise of their own judgments by a Protestant queen. They were required to attend the preaching of those against whose doctrines they protested, and suffered the same monstrous fines if they absented themselves. Instead of that "glorious liberty of the gospel" which they had promised themselves, they had to accept with all homage the cut out and prescribed pattern of opinion dictated by an autocratic woman, who made a desperate stand against the removal of images from the churches, and practised many Popish ceremonies in her own private chapel. Instead of the form of service which the English refugees had established at Geneva, in which there were no Litany, no responses, and scarcely any rites or ceremonies, they were commanded to adopt a form which appeared to them little removed from Popery. The Genevan refugees—who, from their demand for the utmost purity and primitive simplicity in worship, were styled Puritans—would, had they been permitted, have planted a church far more like the church as it came to exist in Scotland than that which was established for England. They opposed the claims of the bishops to a superior rank or authority to the presbyters; they denied that they possessed the sole right of ordination, and exercise of church discipline; they objected to the titles and dignities which had been copied by the Anglican Church from the Roman, of archdeacons, deans, canons, prebendaries; to the jurisdiction of Spiritual Courts; to an indiscriminate admission of all persons to the Communion; to many parts of the liturgy, and of the offices of marriage and burial, including the use of the ring in marriage; they repudiated set forms of prayers, and the use of godfathers and godmothers, the rite of confirmation, the observance of Lent and holidays, the cathedral worship, the use of the organ, the retention of the reading of apocryphal books in church, pluralities, non-residence, the presentation to livings by the Crown, or any other patron, or by any mode but the free election of the people.

But in that age no conception of religious liberty was entertained. The Puritans were as resolute in their ideas of conformity to their notions as Elizabeth was to hers; and had they had the power, would have used the same compulsion. Knox exhibited that spirit of exclusiveness to the extreme in Scotland, even calling for the deposition of the queen as a "Jezebel" and "an idolatress," because she would not adopt his peculiar tenets and view of things. The Puritans exhibited the same spirit long after in America for the exercise of their faith. In fact, the great and divine principle of the entire liberty of the gospel was too elevated to be arrived at suddenly after so many ages of spiritual despotism, and required long and earnest study of the spirit and example of Christ. Severe struggles, bloody deaths, and incredible sufferings in those who came to see the truth, had to be undergone before the battle of religious freedom was fought out, and all parties could admit the plain fact which had revealed itself to Charles V. after his abdication of the throne, when he amused himself with clock making—that as no two clocks can be made to go precisely alike, it is folly to expect all men to think precisely alike. "Both parties," says Neal, in his "History of the Puritans," "agreed too well in asserting the necessity of a uniformity of public worship, and in using the sword of the magistrate for the support and defence of their respective principles, which they made an ill use of in their turns whenever they could grasp the power in their hands. The standard of uniformity, according to the bishops, was the queen's supremacy, and the laws of the land; according to the Puritans, the decrees of provincial and national synods, allowed and enforced by the civil magistrate: but neither party were for admitting that liberty of conscience and freedom of profession which is every man's right as far as is consistent with the peace of the civil Government he lives under." Heresy was, in fact, punished by the Government as a purely political offence.

Elizabeth, having the power, compelled all those clergymen who conformed sufficiently to accept livings and bishoprics, not only to conform but more or less to persecute their brethren. Even men like Parker and Grindal, naturally averse from compulsion, were obliged to do her bidding, till Grindal rebelled and was set aside; but their places were supplied by Sandys, who had himself fled from Popish compulsion, and by Whitgift, who rigorously enforced the laws. Sandys actually sentenced the anabaptists who, in 1575, were burnt at the stake by order of the queen—for to this pass it came: Hammond, a ploughman, being burnt at Norwich in 1579, and Kett, a member of one of the universities, in the same place, ten years afterwards, under Elizabeth.

Such was the state of the Protestant Church at the termination of the period we are now reviewing. The queen discouraged preaching and instruction of the people, allowing many bishoprics, prebends, and livings to be vacant, and receiving their incomes. She declared that one or two preachers in a county was enough, probably fearing the prevalence of the more advanced opinions. Parker in his time had been ordered to enforce strict compliance with the rubric, and numbers of the most eminent and eloquent clergymen resigned their livings and travelled over the country, and preached where they could, "as if," says Bishop Jewell, "they were apostles; and so they were with regard to their poverty, for silver and gold they had none." Being, however, continually brought before the authorities and fined and otherwise punished, they determined to break off all connection with the public churches, and form themselves into an avowed separate communion, worshipping God in their own way and being ready to suffer for His sake. Here, then, commenced the great cause of Nonconformity, and the formation of all those sects which from time to time have since appeared, each claiming—and justly—the right to worship God and to regulate their particular church as seems conformable to their understanding of the Scriptures. These separate assemblies, however, were stigmatised as conventicles, and from this time many were the laws passed to put them down, as we shall hereafter find. Among the Nonconformists a most zealous and resolute sect arose called Brownists, from Robert Brown, a preacher in the diocese of Norwich, a man of good family, and said to be a relative of Lord Burleigh. His followers soon acquired the name of Independents, which they afterwards changed for that of Congregationalists, from their denial of all ecclesiastical dignities and authority whatever, asserting that each congregation constitutes a complete church, with the right to nominate their own minister and conduct their own affairs. This body of Christians, at this day so extensive and respectable, of course felt the especial weight of the persecution of the Established Church, with which it refused to hold the slightest communion; yet to such a degree did it flourish—a proof of the onward spirit of the time, that Sir Walter Raleigh declared in Parliament that there were before the death of Elizabeth not less than 20,000 members of that body in Norfolk, Essex, and the neighbourhood of London.

In the narration of the struggles of this period in Scotland we have sufficiently traced the persecution of the Protestants by the Romish Church—the martyrdom of Patrick Hamilton, George Wishart, Walter Mill, and others; the murder of Cardinal Beaton, and the final triumph of Knox and his compeers, from which period the organisation of the Protestant Church of Scotland went on rapidly. In 1560 the Lords of the Congregation entered Edinburgh in arms; and Parliament assembling, abolished for ever the Pope's jurisdiction, abolished the celebration of Mass, and authorised "The Confession of the Faith and Doctrine believed and professed by the Protestants of Scotland." An Act also was passed to pull down all cloisters and abbey-churches still left standing: and the Church, not waiting for any further enactment of the Parliament or Crown, went on exercising its own proper functions as an independent church, governed, not by the State, but by presbyteries, synods, and general assemblies. In 1580 the General Assembly, after having at various times diminished the power and rank of bishops, declared that episcopacy was unscriptural and unlawful—a dictum which the Parliament fully ratified in 1592, establishing the Presbyterian Church as the national one, with general assembly, provincial synods, presbyteries, and kirk sessions. In 1597 the Parliament admitted certain representatives of the clergy to seats in it, to which the General Assembly assented at its next meeting; and thus was completed the system of Church government in Scotland at that time.

The sixteenth century produced as great a revolution in Literature and Science as in religion. We still look back to this era for some of the greatest names and greatest works which have adorned and enlightened not only our own country, but the whole civilised world. When we enumerate Sir Thomas More, Lord Surrey, Roger Ascham, Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Bacon, Buchanan, Gawin Douglas, Dunbar, and Sir David Lyndsay, we remind our readers that we are moving amid a constellation of genius, than which Time has scarcely any brighter. But in the two words Shakespeare and Bacon, we pronounce the names and glorious births of dramatic and philosophic genius, which have placed England on the summit of intellectual fame, by works never surpassed before or since in any nation, and by discoveries in science and art which have flowed from the "Novum Organum" of Bacon as from an eternal and ever-strengthening fountain. True it is both men belong, by their works, rather to the succeeding period than to the present; but Bacon had, long before the death of Elizabeth, sketched out the plan of his immortal work, though he had not dared to publish it; and Shakespeare had not only written his poems, but had also written and acted in many of his most brilliant and original plays. By these great writers the English language was established as a classical language; and though it has since extended and connected itself with the progress of knowledge and most astonishing and varied discoveries, we can produce no purer, no stronger, nor more eloquent specimens of it than from the pages of Shakespeare, which continue to be read and listened to on our stage, the genuine speech of Englishmen—somewhat quaint occasionally, but always musical to the ear, familiar to the sense, and animating to the spirit.

The violent changes and spoliations of the Reformation did not check the foundation of new colleges and seminaries of learning—the fountains, under a more liberal order of things, certain to produce noble results. Even Henry VIII., in his wholesale destruction of endowed property, and though college property was included in the Acts which he procured from his obsequious Parliament, for the most part spared the resources of education. His reign was distinguished by the foundation, in Oxford, of Brazenose College, in 1509, by Sir William Smith, Bishop of Lincoln, and Sir Richard Sutton, of Prestbury, in Cheshire. Old Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester, who had been prime minister of Henry VII., and still was of the council of his son, in 1516 founded Corpus Christi. The only exception to Henry VIII.'s patronage of the colleges occurred in those founded by Wolsey—his Cardinal College at Oxford, and his college at Ipswich, which both fell with him. In 1545 Henry himself founded Christ Church instead of that of Wolsey, which he then dissolved. In 1554 Trinity College was founded on the basis of Durham College by Sir Thomas Pope. In 1555 Sir Thomas White, alderman and merchant tailor of London, founded St. John's College, on the site of Bernard College. These were in the reign of Queen Mary. In Elizabeth's time rose Jesus College, in 1571, from funds furnished by Dr. Hugh Price, and augmented by the queen herself.

In Cambridge three colleges arose during the reign of Henry VII.—the only educational endowments of any note during that period. In 1496 John Alcock, Bishop of Ely, founded Jesus College. In 1505 Margaret Countess of Richmond, mother of Henry VII., founded Christ's College, and also in 1511, very shortly before her son's death, St. John's College. In 1519 Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, commenced the College of Magdalene; but as he was executed for high treason in 1521, Lord Audley, the Lord Chancellor, completed it. Henry VIII. founded Trinity College in 1546, and at the same time four new professorships in the university; namely, for theology, law, Greek, and Hebrew. Henry was proud of his learning, and had the good sense to support, with all the imperative force of his character, the new study of Greek, when it was violently assailed by the Church and professors. Dr. Caius founded the college named after him, and popularly pronounced "Keys," on the basis of the old hall of Gonville, in 1558—the only extension of Cambridge University under Queen Mary. Sir Walter Mildmay founded Emmanuel College in 1584, and in 1598 Sidney-Sussex College was founded by Lady Frances Sidney, widow of Ratcliffe, Earl of Sussex.

The universities of Scotland were greatly extended during this period. That of Aberdeen was founded in 1494 under the name of King's College, James IV. having procured a bull for that purpose from Pope Alexander VI., though the bishop was the main benefactor. In 1593 Marischal College, in the same university, was erected by George, Earl Marischal. At St. Andrews the college of St. Leonard's was established in 1512 by Archbishop Stuart and John Hepburn, prior of the metropolitan church. This was afterwards united with that of St. Salvator (founded in 1456), and together bore the name of the United College. St. Mary's, in the same university, was founded, in 1537, by Beaton. In 1582 James VI. founded the University of Edinburgh. In 1591 Elizabeth founded in Dublin the University of Trinity College.

Contemporaneous with these colleges and universities rose a great number of grammar-schools, designed to extend the knowledge of Latin to the mass of the people. Among the magnificent endowments, since too much withdrawn, by the influence of wealth, from the poor and the orphan, for whom they were designed, and devoted to the use of the affluent, for whom they were not designed, we may name St. Paul's School, London, founded by Dean Colet in 1509; Christ's Hospital, London, founded by Edward VI. in 1553, the year of his death; Westminster School, established by Elizabeth, 1560; and Merchant Taylors School, founded by that guild in 1561. In Scotland the High School of Edinburgh was founded by the magistrates of that city in 1577.

It is a curious fact that the revival of the Greek language and literature was coincident with the Reformation. Widely opposed as the spirit of Christianity and of the Greek mythology are, yet in one particular they are identical, in breathing a spirit of liberty and popular dominance which were not long in showing their effects in Great Britain. The Scriptures were now translated and made familiar to the people, at least by means of Puritan preachers, who were thus proclaiming that God had made of one blood all the nations of the earth, and that He was no respecter of persons; thereby laying the foundations of eternal justice in the public mind, and teaching, as a necessary consequence, that the end and object of all human government was not the good of kings or nobles, but of the collective people. The poets, the historians, the dramatists, and the philosophers of republican Greece were made to bring all the force of their fiery eloquence, their glowing narratives, and their subtle reasoning to bear upon the same theme; presenting not only arguments for general liberty and a popular polity, but examples of the most sublime struggles of a small but glorious people against domestic tyrants and the vast hordes of barbarism without, of noblest orators thundering against the oppression of the mighty, of awful tragedians steeping their stage in the imaged blood of tyrants and of traitors, of patriots perishing in joy for the salvation of their country.

It was not to be wondered at that on the bursting of these novel elements like a sudden and strong torrent into the arena of human life, there should arise a fearful struggle and combat between the old intellectual ideas and the new. The two-fold inundation pouring from the hills of Palestine and of Greece, and in united vastness deluging Europe, threatened to destroy all the old land-marks of the schoolmen, and to drown Duns Scotus and Aquinas along with the owls and bats of the monkish cells and dream chambers. It was soon seen that this new language was the language of the very book from which the Reformers drew their words winged with the fire of destruction to the ancient slavery of popular ignorance and popular dependence on priests and Popes, and no time was lost in denouncing it as a gross and new-fangled heresy. It was a heresy from which not only freedom in Church but in State was to spring; the seed from which grew, in the next age, our Hampdens, Marvels, Pyms, Prynnes, Cromwells, and Miltons.

Yet it is only due to Henry VIII., to his ministers Wolsey, Fox, and More, and to other eminent dignitaries—amongst them Cardinal Pole in Queen Mary's reign—to state that they were zealous advocates and promoters of the Greek learning. The very first public school in which Greek is said to have been taught in England was the new foundation of Dean Colet, St. Paul's school, where the celebrated scholar William Lilly, who had studied in Rhodes, was the master. Wolsey introduced it into his new colleges, and Henry VIII. being at Woodstock, and hearing of a furious harangue made at Oxford against the study of the Greek Testament in the University, immediately ordered the teaching of it, and established a professorship of it also in Cambridge.

Notwithstanding, a violent opposition arose against the study of Greek in consequence of the authority it gave to the doctrines of the Reformers, rendering an appeal to the original text invincible. Erasmus informs us that the preachers and declaimers against his edition of the Greek Testament really appeared to believe that he was by its means attempting to introduce some new kind of religion. The book was prohibited in the University of Cambridge, and a heavy penalty decreed for any one found with it in his possession. Erasmus attempted to teach the Greek grammar of Chrysoloras there, but a terrible outcry was raised against him, and his scholars soon deserted his benches. As the contest went on, however, the Universities, both here and abroad, became divided into the factions of the Greeks and Trojans, the Trojans being those who were advocates for Latin, but not for Greek. The Greeks, however, victorious, as of old, expelled the works of the famous Duns Scotus from the schools; they were torn up and trodden under foot; and the King sent down a Commission which altogether abolished the study of this old scholastic philosophy which had had so long and absolute a reign.

Yet the new knowledge appears for some time after the first excitement to have made less progress in the schools than at Court and amongst the aristocracy. On the surface, therefore, the age appeared a very learned one. All the chief churchmen on both sides of the question in the reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI.—Wolsey, Fox, Gardiner, Cranmer, Ridley, Tunstall, Cardinal Pole—were men of great acquirements. Henry was a fine scholar, and, despite his harsh treatment of his wives and children, gave to the latter educations perhaps superior to those of any princes or princesses of the time. Edward was steeped in learning, to the injury of his overtaxed constitution. Mary and Elizabeth were both accomplished linguists, speaking Latin, French, and Spanish fluently; and Elizabeth adding to these Greek and Italian, with a smattering of Dutch and German. Mary was studiously instructed in the originals of the Scriptures, and made a translation of the Latin paraphrase of St. John, by Erasmus, which was printed and read as part of the Church service, till it was ordered to be burnt by herself in her own reign with other heretical books. She was deeply read in the fathers, and in the works of Plato, Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, and selected portions of Horace, Lucan, and Livy. Elizabeth was a poetess of no mean pretensions and, besides her knowledge of the classical and modern languages, read by preference immense quantities of history. Roger Ascham, the teacher of Lady Jane Grey, said that "numberless honourable ladies" of the time surpassed the daughters of Sir Thomas More, but that none could compete with the Princess Elizabeth; that she spoke and wrote Greek and Latin beautifully; that he had read with her the whole of Cicero, and great part of Livy; that she devoted her mornings to the New Testament in Greek, select orations of Isocrates, and the tragedies of Sophocles, whilst she drew religious knowledge from St. Cyprian and the "Common-places" of Melanchthon; that she was skilful in music, but did not greatly delight in it.

With such examples, no wonder that there were such learned ladies at Court as Lady Jane Grey, Lady Tyrwhit, Mary Countess of Arundel, Joanna Lady Lumley, and her sister Mary the Duchess of Norfolk—all learned in Greek and Latin, and authoresses of translations from them; the two daughters of Sir Thomas More, and the three daughters of the learned Sir Anthony Cooke—one of them the wife of the all-powerful statesman Burleigh, another the mother of the illustrious Francis Bacon, and the third, Lady Killigrew, a famous Hebrew scholar, as well as profound in Latin and Greek. It is extraordinary that learning, which had been so ardently taken up by these accomplished women, should have languished in the schools and amongst the people. Yet such was the fact, and is explained by the violent and continual changes which were taking place in Church and State. A great part of the reign of Henry VIII. was engrossed by the conflict with the Court of Rome regarding his divorce from Catherine, and then by his stupendous onslaught on the monastic and cathedral property. As no man at the Universities could tell where promotion was to come from in the Church under a king who equally took vengeance on Romanist and Protestant who dared to differ from him, and as it was equally uncertain whether, in some new fit of anger or caprice, he might not suppress the colleges as he had suppressed monasteries, ministers, and chantries, it is not surprising to hear Latimer exclaim, "It would pity a man's heart to hear what I hear of the state of Cambridge. There be few that study divinity, but so many as of necessity must furnish the college."

Under Edward VI. things became far worse. Then it was a scramble amongst his courtiers who should get the most of the property devoted to religion or learning. Bishoprics, good livings, the rest of the monastic lands which yet remained with the Crown did not suffice. These cormorants clutched at the University resources. They appropriated exhibitions and pensions, and, says Warton, in his "History of English Poetry," "Ascham, in a letter to the Marquis of Northampton, dated 1550, laments the ruin of grammar-schools throughout England, and predicts the speedy extinction of the universities from this growing calamity. At Oxford the schools were neglected by the professors and pupils, and allotted to the lowest purposes. Academical degrees were abrogated as anti-Christian. Reformation was soon turned into fanaticism. Absurd refinements, concerning the inutility of human learning, were superadded to the just and rational purgation of Christianity from the Papal corruption." He adds that the Government visitors of the University totally stripped the public library, established by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, of all its books and manuscripts; and Latimer, in one of his sermons about that time, declared his belief that there were then 10,000 fewer students than there had been twenty years before.

Classical literature did not fare better during the persecuting reign of Mary, though Cardinal Pole was a warm friend of the introduction of Greek, notwithstanding the use made of it by the Protestants. When he urged Sir Thomas Pope to establish a professorship of that language in his new college of Trinity, Sir Thomas replied, "I fear the times will not bear it now. I remember, when I was a young scholar at Eton, the Greek tongue was growing apace, the study of which is now a-late much decayed." Nor was it likely when Elizabeth discouraged preaching even, saying that "one or two preachers in a county was enough," that Classical studies would be much encouraged. In fact, nothing could be lower than the condition into which both learning and preaching had fallen in Elizabeth's Church. The Bishop of Bangor stated that he had but two preachers in all his diocese. Numbers of churches stood vacant, according to Neal, where there was no preaching, nor even reading of the homilies for months together, and in many parishes there could be found no one to baptise the living or bury the dead; in others, unlearned mechanics, and even the gardeners of those who had secured the clerical glebes and income, performed the only service that there was. But no doubt this afforded good scope to the Puritans, who had now the Bible in English, Cranmer's, Coverdale's, and Parker's, or the Bishops' Bible; and these zealous men, despite the crushing penalties, would find constant opportunities of diffusing their knowledge. In Oxford there were only three divines in 1563 who were considered able to preach a sermon, and these three were Puritans. The knowledge of the Classics was fallen so low that all that Archbishop Parker required of the holders of his three new scholarships in Cambridge, in 1567, was that they should be well instructed in grammar and be able to make a verse. The classical qualifications in the two Universities were below contempt.

It is a satisfaction to turn from this humiliating state of things to the great lights of genius and learning which were burning brightly amid this thick darkness. Here there meets us the illustrious constellation of names of More, Ascham, Puttenham, Sidney, Hooker, Bacon, Barclay, Skelton, Sackville, Heywood, Surrey, Wyatt, Spenser, Shakespeare, Marlowe, and others—names which cast a lustre over this period, and in whose blaze all its faults and failings are forgotten.

Of the prose writers Sir Thomas More (b. 1480, d. 1535) is one of the earliest and most famous. He was equally remarkable for the suavity of his manners, his wit, his independence of character, and the eloquence and originality of his writings. We have seen how he served and was served by Henry VIII. Erasmus, who stayed some time at his house, says, "With him you might imagine yourself in the academy of Plato. But I should do injustice to his house by comparing it to the academy of Plato, where numbers and geometrical figures, and sometimes moral virtues, were the subjects of discussion. It would be more just to call it a school, and an exercise of Christian religion. All its inhabitants, male and female, applied their leisure to liberal studies and profitable reading, although piety was their first care. No wrangling, no angry word was heard in it, no one was idle; every one did his duty with alacrity, and not without a temperate cheerfulness."

More's chief work is his "Utopia," and it may be pronounced the first enunciation of a system of Socialism since the Apostolic age. It may surprise many, but More, in fact, was the forerunner of Proudhon and Fourrier. His "Utopia" describes an island in which a commonwealth is established completely on Socialistic principles. No one is allowed to possess separate property; because such possession produces an unequal division of the necessaries of life, demoralising those who become inordinately rich and, in a different direction, depraving and degrading those who are obliged to labour incessantly. What is remarkable, More in his imaginary commonwealth admits the fullest toleration of religious belief, though he fell so far in practice as to join in the persecutions of his time. His principles were too noble for his practice; yet with this one flaw he was one of the most admirable men who ever lived. His "Utopia" was written by him in Latin, but was translated into English in 1551, afterwards by Bishop Burnet, and in 1808 by Arthur Cayley. In addition to this, he wrote a life of Richard III., and various compositions in Latin and English, besides a number of letters which have been published in his collected works. As a specimen of the prose style and state of the language in the early part of the reign of Henry VIII., we may quote a short passage from a letter to his second wife, Alice Middleton, in 1528, on hearing that his house at Chelsea was burnt down:—

"Maistress Alyce, in my most harty wise I recommend me to you; and whereas I am enfourmed by my son Heron of the losse of our barnes and of our neighbours also, with all the corne that was therein, albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is grit pitie of so much good corne loste; yet sith it hath liked Hym to sende us such a chaunce, we must and are bounden, not only to be content, but also to be glad of His visitacion. He sente us all that we have loste; and sith He hath by such a chaunce taken it away againe, His pleasure be fulfilled. Let us never grudge thereat, but take in good worth, and hartily thank Him, as well for adversitie as for prosperite; and peradventure we have more cause to thank Him for our losse than for our winning; for His wisdome better seeth what is good for us than we do our selves. Therefore I pray you be of good chere, and take all the howshold with you to church, and there thanke God, both for what He hath given us, and for that He hath taken from us, and for that He hath left us, which, if it please Hym He can encrease when He will. And if it please Hym to leave us yet lesse, at His pleasure be it. I pray you to make some good insearche what my poore neighbours have loste, and bid them take no thought therefore; for an I shold not leave myself a spone, there shal no poore neighboure of mine bere no losse by any chaunce happened in my house. I pray you be with my children, and your howshold mery in God."

Latimer (b. 1470, d. 1555) was the son of a Leicestershire farmer, and rose to be Bishop of Worcester, and to the far higher rank of a martyr for his faith. He has been pronounced by writers of this age as a good but not a great man. To our mind he was a very great man. Not in worldly wisdom, for he was simple as a child; but he was a genius, true, racy, and original. He was made, as his sermons show, for a preacher to the people rather than to princes, though to them he bore a bold and unblenching testimony. But to the people he was a prophet and an awakener. He had been amongst them; he knew their deepest feelings, their most secret thoughts their language and their desires; and he addressed them from the pulpit with the loving and picturesque familiarity which he used at their firesides. There is occasionally much rudeness in his discourses, his images are often bizarre, his allusions grotesque; but there is a life that kindles, there is a poetry that warms, a spirit that arouses, a bold aggressive truth which must have made his hearers look into their souls and think. We take a short passage from a sermon preached before Edward VI. in 1549—twenty-one years after the composition of More just given, and yet how much more old-fashioned is the language. After telling the king that so plain was his preaching that it had been called seditious, and that his friends, with tears in their eyes, assured him he would get into the Tower, he says:—"There be more of myne opinion than I. I thought I was not alone. I have now gotten one felowe more, a companyon of sedytyon, and wot ye who is my felowe? Esaye the prophete. I spake but of a lytle preaty shyllynge; but he speaketh to Hierusalem after another sorte, and was so bold to meddle with theyr coine (Isaiah i. 22). Thou proude, thou covetous, thou hautye cytye of Hierusalem, argentum tuum versum est in scoriam; thy sylver is turned into what? into testyiers. Scoriam—into drosse. Ah, sediciouse wretch, what had he to do wyth the mynte? Why should not he have lefte that matter to some master of policy to reprove? Thy sylver is drosse, it is not fine, it is counterfeit, thy sylver is turned, thou haddest good sylver. What pertayned that to Esaye? Mary, he espyeth a piece of divinity in that policie; he threatened them God's vengeance for it. He went to the rote of the matter, which was covetousness. He espyed two poyntes in it: that eythere it came of covetousnesse, whych became hym to reprove; er els that it tended to the hurte of the pore people, for the naughtyness of the sylver was the occasion of dearth to all thynges in the realme. He imputeth it to them as a great cryme. He may be called a mayster of sedicion in dede. Was this not a sidicyouse varlet to tell them thys to theyr beardes, to theyr face?"

Amongst writers of this age who tended to purify and perfect the language were Sir Thomas Wilson, and Puttenham, who wrote the "Art of English Poesy," which was published in 1582. Wilson (b. 1520, d. 1581) wrote his "Art of Rhetorique" thirty years before, only three years later than the sermon of Latimer's just quoted; yet what an advance in both style and orthography:—"What maketh the lawyer to have such utterance? Practice. What maketh the preacher to speake so soundly? Practice. Yea, what maketh women go so fast awai with their wordes? Marie, practice, I warrant you. Therefore in all faculties, diligent practice and earnest exercise are the only thynges that make men prove excellent."

Contemporary with More was Sir Thomas Elyot (b. 1495, d. 1546), whose treatise called "The Governor" is a fine example of vigorous English. Cranmer and Ridley were not less distinguished for their fine style than for their liberal principles; and Roger Ascham (b. 1515, d. 1568), the instructor of Lady Jane Grey and Queen Elizabeth, was equally famed for his caligraphy, his musical talents, his proficiency in the new learning—Greek—for his classical Latin, and his English composition. To relieve the severities of study he practised archery, and wrote his "Toxophilus, the Schole of Shootinge," to recommend that old English art. In it he strongly advocated the old English language, and the abstinence from foreign terms, a recommendation which succeeding generations wisely declined, to the vast enrichment of the language. But Ascham was a genuine Englishman, and advised his countrymen to follow the counsel of Aristotle, and "speak as the common people do, but think as wise men do." His next principal work was the "Scholemaster: a plaine and perfite way of teaching children to understand, write, and speak the Latin tong"—a work which has become more known than any other of his, because in it he mentions his visit to Lady Jane Grey at Bradgate Park, near Leicester, where he found her deep in Plato's "Phædo" while the rest of the family were hunting. But besides these works he wrote on the affairs of Germany; and Latin poems, Latin letters, and his celebrated Apology for the Lord's Supper, in opposition to the Mass.

As a prose writer Edmund Spenser (b. 1553, d. 1599), the author of the "Faerie Queene," must be mentioned for his "View of the State of Ireland," which contained many judicious recommendations for the improvement of that country, and presents in its serious statesmanlike views a curious contrast to the allegorical fancy of his great poem. But far greater as prose writers of the latter portion of this period stand forth Sir Philip Sidney and the "judicious Hooker." Sir Philip Sidney (b. 1554, d. 1586), who was celebrated as the most perfect gentleman of his time, or as, in the phrase of the age, "the Mirror of Courtesy," was killed at the age of thirty-three at Zutphen. Yet he left behind him the "Arcadia," a romance; the "Defence of Poesie," and various minor poems and prose articles, which were published after his death. The person and writings of Sidney have been the theme of unbounded panegyric. He was a gentleman finished and complete, in whom mildness was associated with courage, erudition mollified by refinement, and courtliness dignified by truth. He is a specimen of what the English character was capable of producing when foreign admixtures had not destroyed its simplicity, or politeness debased its honour. In his own day he was the object of the most enthusiastic praises, and has been lauded in the most vivid terms by writers of every period since. Near his own times Nash, Lord Brooke, Camden, Ben Jonson, Naunton, Aubrey, Milton, and Cowley, were his eulogists; Wordsworth and the writers of our own day are equally complimentary. Perhaps, after so continuous and high-toned a hymning, a modern reader, taking up his "Arcadia" for the first time, would find it stiff, formal, and pedantic. He might miss that fervid spirit which animates the fictions of the great masters of our own age, and wonder at the warmth of so many great authorities upon what failed to warm him. In fact, it must be confessed, that it is a noble specimen of what pleased the taste of the time in which it was written. It displays imagination, though often on stilts instead of on wings, and breathes the spirit which animated its author, of a refined nature, a chivalrous temperament, a generous heart, and the instincts of the perfect scholar. Of that period it is a noble monument; in this it is a unique work of art, which, however, strikes us as fair, mild, and antiquated. "The Defence of Poesie," with much of the same mannerism, is worthy of a poet, and of a man whose life was the finest poem, from its generous patronage of talent, its high literary taste, and the hero's death, in the very agonies of which he gave from his own scorched lips the draught of cold water to the dying soldier at his side.

The list of the prose writers of this period presents no more honourable name than that of the great champion of the Church of England, Richard Hooker (b. 1553, d. 1600), whose composition is as remarkable for its cogent reasoning and elevated style, as Sidney's is for fancy and grace of sentiment. His "Ecclesiastical Polity," in eight books, is regarded as the most able defence of church establishments that ever appeared. From the breadth of its principles it drew the applause of Pope Clement VIII. as well as of the royal pedant, James I. To those who study it as an example of the intellect, learning, and language of the time, it presents itself, even to such as dissent from its conclusions, as a labour most honourable to the country and age which produced it.

A still greater man was yet behind. Bacon (b. 1561, d. 1626) was figuring as the great lawyer, the eloquent advocate and senator; but under the duties of these offices lay hid the master who was to revolutionise philosophy and science; the father of the new world of discovery, and the most marvellous career of social and intellectual advance. To this period he is the sun sending its rays above the horizon, but not yet risen. His speeches, his "Essays Civil and Moral," and "Maxims of Law," already foretold his fame.

A very different writer was John Lyly, the Euphuist (b. 1553, d. 1601). Lyly was a poet and dramatist of repute; but in 1579 he published "Euphues; or, Anatomy of Wit," which was followed, in 1581, by a second part, called "Euphues and his England." In this he invented a style and phraseology of his own, which seized the fancy of the public like a mania, and set the Court, the ladies, the dandies, and dilettanti of the day speaking and writing in a most affected, piebald, and fantastic style. Sir Philip Sidney, in his "Arcadia," ridiculed it, not without being in a considerable degree affected by it himself. Shakespeare, in "Love's Labour's Lost," and Sir Walter Scott, in his Sir Piercie Shafton, in "The Monastery," have made the modern public familiar with it. Yet, after all, probably Lyly was only laughing in his sleeve at the follies of others, and was, as has been asserted, aiming at the purification of the language; for in his dramas his diction is simple enough, considering the taste of the age.

Among the rising writers was also Sir Walter Raleigh; but his literary reputation belongs rather to the age that was coming. On the whole, the period from the reign of Henry VII. to the end of that of Elizabeth was a period more kindred to our own than any which had gone before it. It produced prose writers whose minds still hold communion with and influence those of to-day. Its philosophy had assumed a more practical stamp, and was full of the elements of change and progress. Its poetry, which we have now to consider, reached the very highest pitch of human genius.

The earliest poet who has left any name of note is Stephen Hawes, whose principal work was "The Pastime of Pleasure," which was printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1517. Hawes was a native of Suffolk, had travelled much, and by his proficiency in French and French literature acquired the favour of Henry VII. Another poem, "The Temple of Glass," has been ascribed to Hawes, but is most probably Lydgate's, who, Hawes tells us, composed such a poem.

Next to Hawes comes Alexander Barclay, the author of numerous works in prose and poetry, as "The Castell of Labour," wherein is "Rychesse, Vertue, and Honour," an allegorical poem, translated from the French; "The Shyp of Foles of the Worlde," translated from Sebastian Brandt's German poem, "Das Narren Schiff;" "Egloges; or, the Miseries of Courts and Courtiers;" a treatise against Skelton the poet; a translation of Livy's "Wars of Jugurtha;" "Life of St. George," &c. &c. The work, however, which has handed down his name to posterity is the "Ship of Fools," which, by interspersing it with original touches on the follies of his countrymen, he made in some degree his own. But the chief merit of the poem in our time is the evidence of the polish which the English language had acquired, and to which Barclay probably contributed, for he had travelled through Germany, Holland, France, and Italy, studying diligently the best authors of those countries. He was successively a prebendary of the college of Ottery St. Mary, a Benedictine monk, Vicar of Great Barlow, in Essex, of Wokey, in Somersetshire, and Rector of All Hallows, London, terminating his life at Croydon. A stanza or two will suffice to show the state of the language at the close of the reign of Henry VII. A man in orders is speaking:—

The reign of Henry VIII. was distinguished chiefly by satirists: and it says much for the courage of poets that they were almost the only men in that terrible period who dared open their mouths on the crying sins of Government. Skelton, Heywood, and Roy were men who amused themselves with the follies and vices of their contemporaries. When the sun of poetry rose in a more glowing form in Surrey, the ferocious king, so ready with the headsman's axe, quenched it in blood. John Skelton (b. 1460, d. 1529) was a clergyman, educated at Oxford. Erasmus declared him to be "Britannicarum Literarum Lumen et Decus"—"the light and ornament of Britain." He became Rector of Diss, in Norfolk; but, like Sterne at a later day, Skelton was overflowing with humour and satire rather than sermons, and so fell under the resentment of Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. He lashed with all the wonderful power of his merry muse the licentious ignorance of the monks and friars; and, soaring at higher game, attacked the swollen greatness of Cardinal Wolsey in a strain of the most daring invective. The incensed cardinal endeavoured to lay hold on him, and he would not have escaped scatheless out of his hands, had not the venerable John Islip, Abbot of Westminster, opened the sanctuary to him; and there Skelton lived secure for the remainder of his days, neither stinting his stinging lashes at the cardinal, nor suppressing his overflowing humour, which welled forth in a torrent of the most wild, sparkling, random, and rodomontade character. His amazing command of language, his never-failing and extraordinary rhymes, remind us of one man only, and that of last century—Hood. The airiness and irregularity of his lyrical measures equally suggest a comparison with that most untranslatable Swedish poet, Bellmann.

His friend Thomas Churchyard, in a eulogium on him, enumerates a number of poets of that and preceding times, some of them now little known:—

The "Pithy, Pleasant, and Profitable Works of Maister Skelton, Poet Laureate to Henry VIII.," contain "The Crowne of Laurell," by way of introduction; "The Bouge of the Courte," in which this unique poet laureate attacks the vices of the Court without mercy; "The Duke of Albany," a poem equally severe on the Scots; "Ware the Hawk," a castigation of the clergy; "The Tunning of Eleanor Rumming," a wild rattling string of rhymes on an old ale-wife and her costume; and "Why come ye not to Court?" an unsparing satire on Wolsey. There is no part of the cardinal's history or character that he lets escape. His mean origin, his puffed-up pride, his sensuality, his lordly insolence, his covetousness and cruelties, run on in a strain of loose yet vivid jingle that was calculated to catch the ear of the people. The gentlest word that Skelton has for him is that—

He tells us that the king,

We cannot afford space for the wild riot of Skelton's description of old Eleanor Rumming—

But Skelton has shown that he could praise in strains not unworthy the fair and noble, and buoyant with music of their own. Such is his canzonet to

MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY.

A far more grave and not less vengeful satirist of Wolsey and the clergy was William Roy, the coadjutor of Tyndale in the translation of the Bible. He was originally a friar, but joining the Reformers, he wrote a poem against Wolsey, who had ordered the burning of Tyndale's New Testament. It is called—

In this work he placed on the title a coat of arms for Wolsey in black and crimson, with a description in verse at the back of the title, of which the following stanza, alluding to the deaths of the Duke of Buckingham (the swan) and the Duke of Norfolk (the white lion), may serve as a specimen:—

The burning of Tyndale's New Testament is denounced by Roy in many verses of the bitterest feeling, every stanza repeating his indignation at the unhallowed deed:—

Besides these satirists there was John Heywood, in the time of Henry VIII., Edward, and Mary, who wrote "Six Centuries of Epigrams," of a pious nature, a considerable number of plays, and an allegory called "The Spider and the Fly." Of course, he was a favourite with Henry and Mary, and is said to have been more amusing in his conversation than in his books. Heywood has the honour commonly assigned him of being the first author of interludes; the stepping-stones from the old mysteries and moralities to the regular drama. With the Church passed away these grotesque performances called religious; and the drama quickly expanded in all its fair proportions before the eyes of the public. Shakespeare arose, and the dates of the appearance of his plays show us that they were many of them produced before 1603, the close of the reign of Elizabeth. In fact, Shakespeare seems to have retired from the stage in the very year of Elizabeth's death. Before him, however, a number of dramatic writers had appeared; but the greater part of them overlived the termination of Elizabeth's reign, or their works began after that period to take their due rank. Of these dramatic writers some may be noted in passing. Heywood had been preceded by Skelton in the line of interlude, whose strange "Nigromansia" was printed by Wynkyn de Worde as early as 1505. Heywood wrote various interludes, but his chief one was the "4 P's," namely, a Palmer, a Pardoner, a Poticary, and a Pedlar. On the heels of this appeared the first regular comedy, "Gammer Gurton's Needle," written by John Hill, and printed in 1551. Ten years after was acted the first English tragedy, "Gorboduc," written by Thomas Norton and the celebrated poet Thomas Sackville, afterwards Lord Buckhurst and Earl of Dorset. Passing over the "Damon and Pythias" of Richard Edwards, the "Promos and Cassandra" of George Whetstone, which, borrowed from an Italian novel, contains the rude outline of Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure," we come to Robert Greene, who with Kyd, Lyly, Peele, Nash author of "Queen Dido," and Marlowe, constituted a remarkable constellation of genius. Greene's chief plays are "Friar Bacon and the Friar of Bungay," and "A Looking Glasse for London," written in conjunction with his friend Thomas Lodge. He also wrote much poetry. The principal dramas of George Peele are "David and Bethsabe, with the Tragedy of Absolon," written in 1579, which is a real mystery play, and "The Famous Chronicle of Edward I.," "The Old Wives' Tales, a Comedy," &c. Lyly, the Euphuist, wrote nine plays, amongst them "Alexander and Campaspe," "Sappho and Phaon," "Midos," "Gallathea," etc. Lyly was fond of Greek subjects, but he could also enjoy English comedy, as in "Mother Bombie," and others, which are regular comedies, divided into acts and scenes, and interspersed with agreeable songs.

Contemporary with the preceding, as well as with Shakespeare, Marlowe (b. 1564, d. 1593) is the greatest name which precedes that of the supreme dramatist. We can do no more here than name some of his chief tragedies, for Marlowe was essentially a tragedian. These were "Tamburlaine the Great," in two parts, "The Massacre of Paris," "Edward II.," including the fall of Mortimer and Gaveston, "Doctor Faustus," "The Rich Jew of Malta," and "Lust's Dominion; or, the Lascivious Queen." Marlowe was, moreover, a beautiful lyrical poet, as is evident by his charming madrigal "Come live with me and be my love," given in Walton's "Angler." Greene, Peele, Marlowe, Nash, and that whole company were dissipated in their lives, and lived and died in deep poverty. To these we must add, as dramatic poets of this era whom it is essential to a continuous view of the progress of the drama to mention with the rest, Decker; Kyd, author of "Jeronimo" and the "Spanish Tragedy;" Lodge, author of "The Wounds of Civil War," &c.; Gascoine; Chapman, also the celebrated author of the translation of Homer; Jasper Heywood, son of John Heywood; Weston, Marston, &c. So much was the drama now advanced in estimation, that even Elizabeth's Lord Chancellor, Hatton, was in part author of the tragedy of "Tancred and Sigismunda," founded on the story of Boccaccio.

Amongst the lyrical poets, the reign of Henry VIII. presents us with a remarkable trio, who were associated as well by their genius as their position and fate. These were Sir Thomas Wyatt, the early lover of Anne Boleyn, her brother, George Boleyn, afterwards the unfortunate Earl of Rochford, and the equally unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, the last victim of the sanguinary Henry VIII. Surrey was the cousin-german of the Boleyns, Wyatt was their early neighbour and playfellow; together they all figured amongst the most accomplished courtiers: two of them lost their heads, the third only narrowly escaping; and their poetry was printed together in one volume.

Sir Thomas Wyatt (b. 1503, d. 1542, and called the Elder, to distinguish him from his son, who was executed for rebellion in the reign of Queen Mary) was one of the most illustrious men of the Court of Henry VIII. His country-house was Allington Castle, in Kent, and its vicinity to the residence of the Boleyns made him a youthful companion of Anne and her brother and sister. He became attached to Anne, but was obliged to give way to the king, of whose wrath he was in some danger. After that he was long employed abroad in embassies to France, Spain, Italy, and the Netherlands. Incurring the king's displeasure for aiding Cromwell in the promotion of the marriage with Anne of Cleves, he prudently withdrew from Court to his castle in Kent. He had never ceased writing poetry even when engaged in his diplomatic missions, and he now more than ever cultivated the muses. His amatory verses are polished and elegant, but his satires display more vigour, and are remarkable as containing the earliest English version of "The Town and Country Mouse." Besides his poems he has left letters, in which he not only gives us many insights into the state of the Courts where he resided, but various particulars regarding the fate of Anne Boleyn, and some addressed to his son, which place him in a most favourable light as a man and a father. His prose has been greatly admired. A short lyric, which we may give, addressed to Anne Boleyn, when her creation of Marchioness of Pembroke warned him that he saw in her the future queen, clearly informs us that he had been her accepted lover:—

His friend George Boleyn was, perhaps, a more spirited poet than himself, and is said to have sung the night before his execution (May 17, 1536) a lyric which had been printed some time, along with the poems of Wyatt, called, "Farewell, my lute," the refrain of which was too strikingly applicable to his situation:—

But the most famous of these was the Earl of Surrey (b. 1516, d. 1547). Like Wyatt, he had travelled in Italy, and formed a high admiration of the great Italian poets, Dante, Ariosto, and Petrarch, on whose model he formed his taste. Like his ancestor, the conqueror of Flodden, he was brave and high-spirited but seems to have had a facility for getting into scrapes, both with his own family and the Government. As a gay courtier, however, he was much admired by the ladies, and still more by people of taste for his poems, which went through four editions in two months, and through seven more in the thirty years after their appearance. They are supposed to have strongly influenced the taste of Spenser and Milton. The theme of his lyrics was the fair Geraldine, but who she was precisely neither critics nor historians have quite determined, though believed to be a lady of the Irish family of Fitzgerald. A single stanza will indicate the spirit with which he proclaimed her beauty:—

But the most important fact in Surrey's poetical history is his introduction of blank verse into the English language, a simple but, in its consequences, most eventful innovation, liberating both the heroic and the dramatic muse from the shackles of rhyme, and leading the way to the magnificent works of Shakespeare and Milton in that free form. There has been much dispute among critics as to whether Surrey invented blank verse, or merely copied it from some other language; but the only wonder seems that some one of our poets had not attempted it before. What so likely as that Surrey, in translating the first and fourth books of the "Æneid," should adopt the blank verse in which the original was written, not exactly the hexameter but a measure more suitable to the English language? All the verse of the ancient Greeks and Romans is of this blank species; and it is extraordinary that men well read in these tongues had so long omitted the experiment; especially as the Italians, the French, and the Spaniards had tried it. Gonsalvo Perez, secretary to Charles V., had translated Homer's "Odyssey" into blank verse; and in 1528 Trissino, in order to root out the terza rima of Dante, had published his "Italia Liberata di Goti"—"Italy delivered from the Goths"—in blank verse. In the reign of Francis I. two of the most popular poets of France, Jodelle and De Baif, wrote poems in this style. Gawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, had already translated the "Æneid' into Scots metre, and it would seem as if Surrey, in trying his hand on two books of the same poem, had been induced to make the essay of blank verse at the same time. Whatever was the immediate cause, nothing could exceed the success of Surrey's experiment. His verse flows with a stately dignity full of music and strength. We take a specimen from the fourth book of the "Æneid," where Dido, who has vowed never to marry again, perceives her new passion for Æneas, and discloses her pain to her sister:—

If we turn to Sackville's "Gorboduc," acted before Queen Elizabeth in 1561, we shall see how thoroughly blank verse had asserted its freedom of the language. Even Greene, in his "Friar Bacon," in 1594, has passages that in their rich and harmonious diction display the wonderful power of blank verse. The true vehicle for the deathless dramas of Shakespeare was established, and already he had taken possession of it with some of his noblest imaginings, for Nash, as early as 1589, alludes to "Hamlet."

But before coming to Shakespeare, we must add another word regarding Sackville (b. 1527, d. 1608). In 1559 he published "The Mirrour for Magistrates." The poetical preface to this work, which he called "The Induction," and the "Complaint of Henry, Duke of Buckingham," displayed the most remarkable powers of poetry, and at once arrested the public attention. The work itself was a mere series of the lives of personages prominent in English history; it is supposed to be an imitation of Lydgate's "Fall of Princes," but is expanded by the loftier genius of the author, while the induction is so illustrated by allegory, as to give rise to the belief that Spenser was indebted to him.

Edmund Spenser, the greatest of our allegoric poets, was born (1553) in East Smithfield, in London, and was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. He had the good fortune to secure the friendship of the all-powerful Earl of Leicester, of Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh. By their introduction to Queen Elizabeth, he obtained an annuity of £50 a year; and besides being employed by Leicester on a mission to France, went to Ireland in 1580 with Lord Grey de Wilton. We have already mentioned his "View of the State of Ireland," and for that able work, as well as for other services, he received a grant of the abbey and manor of Enniscorthy in Wexford, which the same year, probably under pressure of necessity, he transferred to a Mr. Lynot. The estate, at the time of Gilbert's survey of Ireland, was worth £8,000 a year. Afterwards Spenser obtained the grant of the castle of Kilcolman, in the county of Cork, part of the estate of the unfortunate Earl of Desmond, with 3,000 acres of land. On this property the poet went to live, and his dear friend Sir Philip Sidney being just then killed at the battle of Zutphen, he wrote his pastoral elegy of "Astrophel" in his honour. He also wrote his great work the "Faerie Queene" there; but in 1597 he was chased by the exasperated Irish from his castle, which was burned over his head, his youngest child perishing in the cradle. He reached London, with his wife and two boys and a girl, and thus broken down by his misfortunes, he sank and died in 1599 at an inn or lodging-house in King Street, Westminster. Ben Jonson says "he died for lake of bread, yet refused twenty pieces sent to him by my Lord of Essex, adding he was sorry he had not time to spend them."

It has been asked how he could die of "lack of bread" with an annuity of £50 a year. The thing is very possible. Burleigh was his life-long enemy. He hated him as the commonplace soul instinctively hates the man of genius, and this hatred was aggravated by his being patronised by Leicester, Essex, and Raleigh, all men whom Burleigh detested. Nothing was, therefore, easier than for Burleigh to withhold the dying poet's pension, or his son Robert Cecil, who now possessed his power, for Burleigh was in his last days, and Cecil inherited all his meanness. Spenser has recorded the malice of Burleigh in various places. In his "Ruins of Time" he says:—

And at the close of the sixth book of "The Faerie Queene," he declares there is no hope of escaping "his venomous despite." Spenser's verses in "Mother Hubbard's Tales," describing the miseries of Court dependence, have often been quoted:—

The minor poems of Spenser beside the "Astrophel," are the "Epithalamium" on his own marriage; four "Hymns to Love and Beauty;" "Sonnets;" "Colin Clout come Home again;" "The Tears of the Muses;" "Mother Hubbard's Tales," which refer to Court characters of the time; "The Ruins of Time;" "Petrarch's Visions," "Bellaye's Visions," &c. In all these there is much beauty and fancy, mingled with much that is far-fetched and fantastic—the inevitable fault of that age. The "Faerie Queene" rises above them all as the cathedral over the lesser churches of a great city. It was written in a stanza which from him has ever since been called the Spenserian, a stanza so capable of every grace, strength, and harmony, that there are few poets who have not essayed it: Thomson's "Castle of Indolence," Beattie's "Minstrel," Mrs. Tighe's "Psyche," Campbell's "Gertrude of Wyoming," and Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," have made it the vehicle of many immortal thoughts.

To the modern reader, nevertheless, the "Faerie Queene" would prove a tedious task in a continuous perusal. It is of a fashion and taste so entirely belonging to the age in which it was written—that of courtly tourneys, of parade of knighthood, at least in books, and of fondness of high-flown allegory—that it unavoidably strikes a reader of this more realistic age as visionary, formal in manner, and descriptive not of actual human life, but of an impossible style of existence. It is dedicated to Queen Elizabeth as "The Most High, Mightie, and Magnificent Empresse," and in a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh he explains its plan. Following the example of Ariosto in his "Orlando," he endeavours to exalt worthy knighthood by portraying Prince Arthur before he was king, under the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private moral virtues, as Aristotle hath devised, in which is the purpose of these first twelve books. From the arguments of "Despair" to the "Red-Crosse Knight," we may take a specimen of the "Faerie Queene:"

The language of Spenser must not be held to be the language of the time; he purposely used an antiquated diction to give a quaint and piquant tone to his romance. A modern critic has denied that the language is thus treated by the poet; but it must be allowed that Sir Philip Sidney, living at the moment, was a competent judge of this fact, and in his "Defence of Poesie" he complains of this very circumstance in the "Faerie Queene."

We arrive now at the last name which we intend to introduce in our review of the literature of England at this period, and it is the greatest; perhaps the greatest which has yet diffused its glory over this or any other country. The genius of Shakespeare appears to penetrate into all departments of human knowledge, and his instincts possess a universal accuracy. Whether he describes the beauties of Nature at large, or enters the haunts of busy life, high or low, royal, noble, or plebeian, or sends his all-searching glance into the depths of the human mind, or the strange intricacies of human nature, we are equally astonished at the clearness of his perceptive faculties, and the justness of his conclusions. We shall not here discuss the various guesses, for such to a great degree they are, which have been indulged in by his host of critics and biographers, regarding his little known life. It is sufficient that we know that he was born at Stratford-on-Avon in 1564; that his father was in the Town Council, and a man of property; that William was said to have been apprenticed to a butcher, or that one of his father's trades was that of a butcher; that at the age of nineteen he married Anne Hathaway, who was eight years his senior; that at the age of twenty-two he was driven by increasing poverty, and it is said through a disturbance about poaching in Sir Thomas Lucy's park, to London, where he became connected with the theatre, and so early as 1589 we find that he had written "Hamlet," if no other of his dramas, though none of them seem to have been published till 1597, eight years afterwards. The first of his poems, "Venus and Adonis," was printed in 1593, four years earlier, and the "Rape of Lucrece" in the following year. From that time to 1603, the year of the death of Elizabeth, a great number of his dramas was published, but "King Lear," "Macbeth," "Cymbeline," "The Winter's Tale," the "Tempest," "Troilus and Cressida," "Henry VIII.," "Coriolanus," "Julius Cæsar," and "Antony and Cleopatra," would appear to have been the glorious products of his ten or thirteen years of leisure in his native town. One of the first labours of his retirement seems to have been the collection of his Sonnets, for they were published in 1609.

We mention these facts here merely as historical data; because it will be necessary to notice his plays in the next centennial period of our history, in connection with the drama at large; but we shall confine our notice of Shakespeare on this occasion solely to his poetical character.

The poems of Shakespeare are "Venus and Adonis," "The Rape of Lucrece," "Sonnets," "A Lover's Complaint," and "The Passionate Pilgrim." The poems for the most part, if not altogether—"The Passionate Pilgrim" and some of the sonnets excepted—would appear to have been his earliest productions. He dedicates "Venus and Adonis" to Lord Southampton, and styles it "the first heir of my invention." This poem, "The Rape of Lucrece," and the "Lover's Complaint," bear marks of youthful passion. They burn with a voluptuous fire, yet they are at the same time equally prodigal of a masterly vigour, imagination, and the faculty of entering into and depicting the souls of others. They as clearly herald the great poet of the age, as a morning sun in July announces what will be its intensity at noon. The language, in its purity and eloquence, is so perfect that it might have been written, not in the days of Elizabeth, but in those of Victoria, and presents a singular contrast to that of Spenser. "The Passionate Pilgrim" is an extraordinary production; it has no thread, not even the slightest, of story or connection, and seems to be merely a stringing together of various passages of poetry, which he had struck off at different moments of inspiration, and intended to use in his dramas. Some of them indeed we find there. It opens with a commencement of the legend of "Venus and Adonis," apparently his first rude sketch of the poem he afterwards wrote more to his mind. It then breaks suddenly off with those well-known lines, beginning—

soon after as suddenly changes into—

as abruptly gives us those charming stanzas opening with—

and presents us with a number of disjointed passages which are found in "Love's Labour's Lost."

But the Sonnets are the most interesting, because they give us glimpses into his own life and personal feelings. Many of them are plainly written in the characters of others; some express the sentiments of women towards their lovers, but others are unmistakably the deepest sentiments and feelings of his own life. From these we learn that Shakespeare was not exempt from the dissipations and aberrations incident on a town life at that time, but his true and noble nature led him to abandon the immoral city as early as possible, and retire to his own domestic roof in his own native place. We may select one specimen of these sonnets, which probably was addressed to his wife, and which at once betrays his dislike of his profession of an actor, and his regret over the influence which it had had on his mind, and the stigma which it had cast on his name; for the profession of a player was then so low as to stamp actors as "vagabonds."

But if the great dramatist and inimitable poet shrank with disgust from the profession of acting, because of the estimation in which the actor then was held and the pollutions which surrounded the stage, he held a very different opinion of the vocation of a dramatist. In the peaceful and virtuous retirement of his country residence he still occupied himself with the composition of the noblest dramas of all time; and whilst he was so free from the petty egotism of a small mind that he left scarcely any record of himself, he boldly avowed his assurance of the immortality of his fame:—

We shall have occasion to show that Shakespeare had much to do in shaping and raising the drama out of that chaotic state in which he found it, and the wonder has always been that, with his apparently imperfect education, he could accomplish so much. But there is no education like self-education; this was William Shakespeare's, and his genius was of that brilliant and healthy kind that gave him all the advantages of such a tuition. In history and in society he found the materials of the drama, but the wealth and power of the poet he found in the great school of Nature.

In Scotland the language had remained much more stationary than in England. In this period we find the chief Scottish poets writing in a diction far more unintelligible to the English reader than Chaucer's or Gower's was in the middle of the fourteenth century. Two of the Scots poets of that period—Barbour and King James I.—wrote in English, and, therefore, in a language far in advance of Gawin Douglas, Dunbar, and Sir David Lyndsay in the sixteenth century. One great reason of this probably was the constant strife and enmity between the nations, which made the Scots cling in confirmed nationality to their own language and customs, for the works and merits of the English poets were known and acknowledged. James I. called Chaucer and Gower "his maisters dear." Henryson, a succeeding poet, even wrote a continuation of Chaucer's "Troilus and Cresseide," under the names of the "Testament," and the "Complaint of Cresseide;" and Gawin, or Gavin, Douglas, the famous Bishop of Dunkeld, pronouncing his vernacular tongue barbarous, declared that rather than remain silent through the scarcity of Scottish terms, he would use bastard Latin, French, or English. A still greater and later poet, Dunbar, expresses repeatedly his admiration of "Chawcer of Makars flowir," of "the Monck of Berry," "Lydgate," and "Gowyr." Yet if we use the very language which he did to utter his admiration in, we find no advance towards the polish of these poets:

It is curious that Dunbar calls this English and not Scots. He also enumerates a long list of Scottish poets who were deceased, as Sir Hew of Eglintoun, Etrick, Heriot, Wyntoun, Maister John Clerk, James Afflek, Holland, Barbour, Sir Mungo Dockhart of the Lie, Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventures of Sir Gawayn, Sir Gilbert Gray, Blind Harry, and Sandy Traill, Patrick Johnstone, Mersar, Rowll of Aberdeen, and Rowll of Corstorphine, Brown of Dunfermline, Robert Henryson, Sir John the Ross, Stobo, Quinten Schaw, and Walter Kennedy. Of these little is now known, except of Henryson, and that chiefly for his ballad of "Robert and Makyn," given by Bishop Percy in his "Reliques of English Poetry."

Gawin Douglas, third son of the celebrated fifth Earl of Angus, called Bell-the-Cat, was born in 1474. He lived a troubled life in those stormy times, and died a refugee in London, of the Plague, in 1522. He was patronised by Queen Margaret, sister of Henry VIII., and richly deserved it, for his learning, his virtues, and his genius. He was most celebrated in his own time for his translation of Virgil's "Æneid," the first metrical version of any ancient classic in either English or Scots. He also translated Ovid's "De Remedio Amoris." But his original poems, "The Palace of Honour," "King Hart," and his "Comœdiæ Sacræ," or dramatic poems from the Scriptures, are now justly esteemed the real trophies of his genius. "The Palace of Honour" and "King Hart" are allegoric poems, abounding with beautiful descriptions and noble sentiments.

The principal poems of William Dunbar (b. 1465, d. 1530,) are "The Golden Terge," or target; "The Thistle and the Rose," in honour of the marriage of Margaret of England with James IV. of Scotland; "The Fained Friar;" the "Lament of the Death of the Makars," or poets, and a number of other poems, chiefly lyrical, which display versatile genius—comic, satirical, grave, descriptive, and religious—and place him in the first rank of Scotland's poets, notwithstanding the obsolete character of his language; and not the least of his distinctions is the absence of that grossness which disfigured the writings of the poets of those times. A few lines may denote the music of his versification:

The last poet of this period that we must notice is Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, Lyon King-at-Arms, whom Sir Walter Scott, in "Marmion," has made so familiar to modern readers, predating, however, Sir David's office of Lyon King by seventeen years. Sir David was born about 1490, and is supposed to have died about 1567; so that he lived in the reigns of Henry VII. of England and of Elizabeth, through the whole period of Henry VIII., Edward VI., and Mary. His life was cast in times most eventful, and Sir David, as Lyon-Herald of Scotland, occupied a prominent position in the shaping of those events. At the time of the battle of Flodden in 1513, both Pitscottie and Buchanan assure us that he was with James IV. when the ghost appeared to him in the church at Linlithgow, warning him against the battle. Lyndsay was then only three-and-twenty. He was appointed page to the young king, and continued about him and in his service during the king's life. In his "Complaynt," addressing the king, he says:—

Lyndsay went to France on embassies of royal marriage; and after the king's early death, under the Regency, he was again sent to the Low Countries on a mission to the Emperor Charles V. In 1548 he went as Lion-King to Denmark, to King Christian, to seek aid against the English, and afterwards lived to see the great struggle between the old Church and the Reformation, the murder of Cardinal Beaton, the return of Knox, and must have died about the time of the murder of Darnley.

Sir David, though bred a courtier, was a thorough Reformer; and his poems abound with the most unrestrained exposure of the corruptions of Courts and of the Church. On the flagitious lives of monks, nuns, and clergy, he pours forth the most trenchant satire and denunciation; and in this respect he may be styled the Chaucer of Scotland. His poems are "The Dreme," "The Complaynt," "The Complaynt of Papingo," "The Complaynt of Bagsche," "Ane Pleasant Satyre of the Three Estatis," "The Answer to the King's Flyting," "Kittie's Confession," "The Tragedie of the Cardinal," "The Historie and Testament of Squire Meldrum," "Monarchie," and "The Epistill Nuncupatorie."

"The Dreme" reminds one of the dreams of former poets, of Chaucer, William Langland's, "The Vision of Piers Plowman," and of those of Douglas and Dunbar. Probably "The Golden Terge" of Dunbar suggested this poem, for just as Dunbar goes out, as "the stern of day began to schyne," and lying under a roseir, or arbour of roses, lulled by the songs of birds and the sound of a river, dreams, so does Lyndsay dream, passing, with Dame Remembrance as his guide, through earth, hell, purgatory, heaven, paradise, and "the planets seven," hearing and seeing all the works of God, and the rewards and punishments of the good and the evil. "The Complaynt" describes the degenerate manners of the Court whilst Lyndsay was banished from it, and the grapes were sour. "The Complaynt of the Papingo," or the king's parrot, deals out the same measure to the hierarchy as Lyndsay had given to the State, and in it Cardinal Beaton, the Pope and the clergy in general, are soundly rated. Next comes "The Three Estatis," a morality play in which all kinds of emblematical personages—Rex Humanitas, Sensualitie, Chastitie, &c.—act their parts. Its scope may be inferred from its being declared to be "in commendation of vertew and vituperation of vyce." This is the great work of Lyndsay, and was acted before the king and queen, who sat out nine mortal hours in its performance, in which they successively heard every order in the State—Court, nobility, Church, and people—severely criticised. Lyndsay's play has the merit of preceding both "Gorboduc" and "Gammer Gurton's Needle;" and it certainly possesses the moral of the former and the wit of the latter. "The Answer to the King's Flyting" is a very curious example of what the indulgence of a professional fool at Court led to: it produced not only the jester but the poet laureate. The king condescended to flyte, or jibe, with his jester; the jester in return became the satirist, and the poet laureate healed all wounds by his eulogies. James V. flyted with Lyndsay, and Lyndsay answered with interest. In "Kittie's Confession" Lyndsay ridicules auricular confession. In "The Cardinal" he sings a song of triumph over the fall of Beaton. In the "Legend of Squire Meldrum" the poet dresses up the adventures of a domestic of Lord Lyndsay's of that name in the manner of an ancient romance, and it was extremely popular. It has been declared by critics of note to be the best of Lyndsay's poems, and equal to the most polished pieces of Drayton, who lived a century after him.

We have taken thus much notice of the Lyon King-at-Arms, because nowadays he does not enjoy, perhaps, his due fame in comparison with that of our Chaucer and our early dramatists; yet a perusal of his works is necessary to a real knowledge of the times in which he lived. The reader, however, must be warned that in the search after this knowledge he will have to wade through much filth, and language now astonishing for its naked coarseness. On the other hand, he will occasionally find scientific theories of modern pretension quite familiar to our Lyon-King. For instance, Kirwan in his "Elements of Mineralogy"—a work published in 1794 and marking a considerable advance in knowledge—claimed the geologic discovery that the currents which broke up the hills in Europe came from the south-west, leaving the diluvial slopes declining to the north-east. But hear Lyndsay three hundred years ago:—

The sixteenth century was nearly as distinguished for its Music as its poetry. The reproach which has been cast on England in our own time for not being a musical or music-producing nation did not apply then. On the contrary, we stood at the head of Europe in original musical composition. The monarchs of that age, like their most illustrious predecessors from Alfred downwards, were highly educated in music. Henry VIII. was himself a composer of Church music. It must be recollected that Henry, being but the second son of Henry VII., was originally educated for the Church, whose dignities were then princely; and, as a matter of course, he was made familiar with its music, which occupied so prominent a part in its worship. Erasmus bears testimony to the fact of Henry having composed Offices for the Church—a fact confirmed by Lord Herbert of Cherbury and Bishop Burnet; and Sir John Hawkins in his "History of Music," and Boyce, in his "Cathedral Music of English Masters," have preserved specimens of the Royal composition. Boyce gives a fine anthem of Henry's, "O Lord, the Maker of all things." The king's musical establishment for his chapel consisting of 114 persons cost annually upwards of £2,000, and was continued by Edward. Mary and Elizabeth were equally learned in music, though they do not appear to have patronised it as royally.

Under these circumstances great composers, both of sacred and social music flourished in the sixteenth century. The names of Tye, Marbeck, Tallis, Bird, Farrant, Dowland, Bennet, Wilbye, Ford, &c., stand in superb array as composers of some of our finest Church music, or of madrigals and part songs.

Tye was so much esteemed by Henry VIII., that he was made music preceptor to Edward VI., and was afterwards organist to Elizabeth. He composed both anthems and madrigals; and his motett, "Laudate nomen Domini," is still famous. Marbeck composed the notes to the Preces and Responses, which, with some alterations, are still in use in our cathedrals. He was organist at Windsor, and was very nearly losing his life under the ferocious Henry, being found to be a member of a society for religious reformation. He and his three accomplices were condemned to the stake; but Marbeck was saved by his musical genius, Henry observing, on Marbeck's "Latin Concordance," on which he had been employed, being shown to him, "Poor Marbeck! it would be well for thine accusers if they employed their time no worse." His fellows were burnt without mercy, though no more guilty than himself.

Tallis was indebted to Marbeck for the notes just mentioned in his compositions for the Church. His entire service, including prayers, responses, Litany, and nearly all of a musical kind, are preserved in Boyce's collections. They became the most celebrated of any of that remarkable age. In conjunction, also, with his pupil William Bird, he published, in 1575, "Cantiones Sacræ"—perfect of their kind; one of them, "O sacrum convivium," since adapted by Dean Aldrich to the words "I call and cry," still continues to be frequently performed in our cathedrals. The "Cantiones" are also remarkable as having been the first things of the sort protected by a patent for twenty-one years, granted by Elizabeth.

Bird was the author of the splendid canon, "Non nobis, Domine," which has been claimed by composers of Italy, France, and the Netherlands, but, as sufficiently proved, without any ground. The names of Tallis and Bird are of themselves an ample guarantee to the claim of musical genius by this country. Richard Farrant and Dr. Bull—the first a chorister in Edward VI.'s chapel, and the latter organist to Queen Elizabeth—added greatly to the sacred music of the period. Farrant's compositions especially are remarkable for their deep pathos and devotion. His anthem, preserved by Boyce, "Lord, for Thy tender mercy's sake." is unrivalled.

In social music the poetical Surrey stands conspicuous, having set his own sonnets to music. Madrigals and other part songs—since better known as glees—were carried to a brilliant height in this country. The madrigal was originally invented by the Flemings, but glee singing seems to be English, though no doubt derived from the madrigal. Morley's first book of madrigals was published in 1594, Weelkes's in 1597, Wilbye's in 1598, Bennet's in 1599, and soon after Ward's and Orlando Gibbons'. Dowland's and Ford's are more properly glees than madrigals; the former appeared in 1597, and the latter in 1607. Morley, one of the gentlemen of Queen Elizabeth's chapel, appears, like Dowland, to have studied the works of the great composers abroad; and the harmony and science which he evinces are eminent. His canzonets for two voices are especially lively and pleasing. Dowland not only travelled in France, Italy, and Germany, but, at the request of King Christian IV., who saw him in England, he went to reside in Denmark. Fuller declares that he was the rarest musician of the age. In 1598 Wilbye published thirty madrigals, and a second book, applicable to instrumental as well as vocal music, in 1609, amongst which are, "Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting," "As fair as morn," "Down in a valley," &c.; and in 1599 John Bennet published a set of madrigals, including the admirable ones of "O sleep, fond Fancy!" "Flow, O my tears!" Lastly, John Milton, the father of the poet, who also composed several psalm tunes, was a contributor to "The Triumphs of Oriana," a set of madrigals in praise of Queen Elizabeth. Altogether this century was brilliant in both Church and convivial music; and if we are to judge from some specimens to be found in "The Dancing Master" and "Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book," the popular airs were in many instances of a superior character, among which we may mention Bird's "Carman's Whistle" and the "Newe Northern Ditty of Ladye Green Sleeves."

The change which marked religion and literature in this country extended itself as strikingly into Architecture. We have no longer to record the rise of new Orders of ecclesiastical building, nor to direct the attention of the reader to splendid churches as examples of them. The unity of the Church, which had enabled it to erect such a host of admirable cathedrals and abbeys, was broken up; the wealth which had supplied the material and engaged the skill was dispersed into other hands, and destined not only to produce new orders of society, but new forms of architecture. Churches must give way to palaces and country halls, as full of innovations as the very faith of the country. From this period to our own time the taste for ecclesiastical architecture continued to decline, till the very principles of what is called Gothic architecture were forgotten. The architects, as Wren and Jones, went back to classic models, so little adapted to the spirit of Christian worship that, in spite of the genius expended upon them, they have remained few in number and, from the revival of the knowledge of Anglo-Gothic amongst us, are not likely to increase.

But it is even a question whether the Gothic style had not reached its full development at the period of the Reformation; for we find in most European countries that the noblest buildings of this kind are for the most part anterior to this epoch. It is at the same time true that the same causes which brought our ecclesiastical architecture to a sudden stand in the sixteenth century strongly affected all Europe, even where Roman Catholicism managed to maintain its ground. Everywhere the conflict was raging—everywhere the rending influence was felt; and the ancient power and wealth of the Church were broken and diminished. In England a few churches might be pointed to of this period, but they exhibit the influence of the age in marks of decline, and to none can we turn as examples to be named with our Westminsters, Yorks, and Winchesters. Bath Abbey was in progress of erection when the Reformation burst forth and arrested its progress. It was not completed till 1616—more than ten years after the death of Elizabeth—and cannot be named as one of our finest erections.

The wealth which was diverted from the Church into the hands of the Crown and the aristocracy, reappeared in palaces and country halls; and a totally new genius displayed itself in these. The old Tudor, so called, which marked the baronial residences even before the Tudors reached the throne, the mixture of castle and manor-house, with its small windows, battlemented roofs, and flanking turrets, began to enlarge and exaggerate most of these features, and to mix with them new elements clearly brought into the country by foreign architects, and in a great measure from Italy. The windows rapidly augmented themselves, till they soon occupied a predominant portion of the towers and fronts; the turrets became surmounted by domes, and by those bulbous domes which were often piled one above another. There was soon seen one tier of pillared or pilastered storey above another, in the Palladian or Paduan fashion. Turrets often gave way to scroll-work parapets; and instead of the house standing as heretofore on a level plain, it was elevated on a terrace, with broad and balustraded flights of steps, and all the adjuncts of fountains, statues, and balustraded esplanades essential to the Italian garden.

The houses were still built round a court or quadrangle, and adorned with outer and inner gateways, while groined roofs and rich oriels still demonstrated the connecting link of descent from the Gothic. In fact, the architecture of the Tudor period is a singular yet often superb mixture of the Gothic and the Italian, with profusion of ornaments and ingraftment of parts which tell strongly of a more Eastern origin. Nor does it appear that these foreign elements were introduced at the latter portion of this period only—they stand forth conspicuously in the very commencement of it. In the later years of the reign of Elizabeth we can point to noble houses which are more allied to the ancient Tudor, with its small windows and simple towers and roofs, than those of the Henrys VII. and VIII., who in their earlier days had a gorgeous and even fantastic taste for palatial architecture. For example, Hampton Court is far more simple and chaste than Richmond Palace (see p. 341), built by Henry VII., or Nonsuch, built by Henry VIII. In family mansions, Wimbledon House, built in 1588, with its open court, its two terraces, clearly Italian in character, is yet so chaste and simple, with its flat roof, its square slated towers, and mixture of small and large windows, that, compared to Nonsuch, as it has been, you at once see the violent contrast of the fanciful and the grave. Again, in Charlton House, in Kent, with its central entrance of Italian character, with two tiers of engaged columns, its ornamented parapets just verging into scroll-work, its turret windows of medium size, and its turret domes simple, and still plainer chimneys; or in Holland House (see p. 380), built in 1607, without domes, but with ogee-gables; or in Campden House, as it was built in 1612, with roof of plainest character, and pilastered entrance, we mark a far less ornate style than in the days of the Henrys. The whole of this period was one of a mixed style, in which different architects indulged themselves in employing more or less of one or other of the prevailing elements, according to their tastes. What is more strictly called Elizabethan may be seen in such houses as Wollaton or Hardwicke, in which the ample square windows, the square towers superseding the octagon ones of Nonsuch, the absence of the Eastern-looking domes, and the presence of superb scroll-work, give a fine distinctive style.

The Palace of Richmond, as built by Henry VII., with its projecting towers occupied almost entirely with windows, and its roof presenting an immense number of double domes, a smaller one surmounting a lantern placed on the larger domes, had an air more Saracenic than English; but the Palace of Nonsuch, built by Henry VIII., outdid that in the singularity of its style, and was the wonder of its age. It was built round a quadrangle; the front was flanked by octagonal towers which, at the height of the ordinary roof, rose, by a demi-arch expanding over the lower one, into three more storeys, and upon these were lesser towers of two storeys, surmounted by domes and fanes. All the lower storeys were divided into compartments by pilasters and bands, these compartments embellished by figures and groups in bas-relief. The lower part of this palace was of stone, the upper of wood. Hentzner, the German traveller, became quite enthusiastic in describing it as a palace in which everything that architecture could perform seemed to have been accomplished; and says that it was "so encompassed with parks full of deer, delicious gardens, groves ornamented with trellis-work, cabinets of verdure, and walks so embowered by trees, that it seemed to be a place pitched upon by Pleasure herself to dwell in along with Health."

But there were two men in the reign of Henry VIII. who drew him off from this more florid and fanciful style to others of a very different, but equally imposing character, and full of rich detail. These were Wolsey and John of Padua. Wolsey appeared to have an especial fondness for brick-work, and Hampton and the gatehouse of his mansion at Esher remain as proofs of the admirable masonry which he used. In Hampton Court (see p. 121) we go back from the barbaric pomp of Nonsuch to the castellated style; to small windows, pointed archways, castellated turrets and battlements, mingled with rich oriel windows over the entrances, rich groined roofs in the archways, but a very sparing use of the ordinary aid of the bulbous dome. In this and the other buildings of this class, as Hengrave in Suffolk, the richly cross-banded chimneys are a conspicuous ornament. John Thorpe, or John of Padua, who became chief architect to Henry VIII., and afterwards built Somerset House for the Protector, seems to have been unknown in his own country, but originated a modified Italian style here which bears his name, possessing great grace and dignity, and of which Stoneyhurst College in Lancashire, Longleat in Wiltshire, and Kirby Hall in Northamptonshire (built for Sir Christopher Hatton), are fine examples.

In the smaller houses of town and country there continued to be little change. They were chiefly of timber, and displayed much more picturesqueness than they afforded comfort. In towns the different storeys, one over-hanging another till the inhabitants could almost shake hands out of the attic windows across the narrow streets, and their want of internal cleanliness and ventilation, caused the plague periodically to visit them. The Spaniards who accompanied Philip, in Mary's reign, were equally amazed at the good living of the English people and the dirt about their houses. One great improvement about this time was the introduction of chimneys; and in good country-houses the ample space of their staircases, often finely ornamented with balustrade work, diffused a pure atmosphere through them.

In other arts, however, the sixteenth century in England was almost destitute of native talent. In Statuary and Carving the preceding century had made great progress, but the destruction of the churches, and the outcry raised against images and carving on tombs as idolatry and vain-glory, gave a decided check to their development. As for Painting, it had never, except in illumination, flourished much among the English, and now that the Italian and Flemish schools had taken so high a position, it became the fashion of the princes and nobility, not to call forth the skill of natives, but to import foreign art and artists. In the reign of Henry VII. a Holbein, supposed to be the uncle of the great Hans Holbein, visited England, but we know little of his performance here. There is a picture at Hampton Court, called a Mabuse, of the Children of Henry VII.—Prince Arthur, Prince Henry, and the Princess Margaret. As Prince Henry appears to be about seven years old, that would fix the painting of the picture about 1499. But its authenticity is doubtful, as, according to some, Mabuse was born that year. In Castle Howard there is a painting by him of undoubted authority, "The Offering of the Magi," containing thirty principal figures. It is in the highest state of preservation, and Dr. Waagen, who was well acquainted with the productions of this artist in the great galleries of the Continent, pronounced it of the highest excellence. He is said to have painted the children of Henry VIII., but if he did so, the picture has perished. The date of his visit is quite uncertain, and the attribution to him of portraits is at the best no more than conjectural. Mabuse was a very dissipated man, and had fled from Flanders on account of his debts or delinquencies, yet the character of his performances is that of the most patient industry and painstaking. His works done in England could not have been many, as his abode here is supposed to have been only a year. He died in 1532.

Besides Mabuse, the names of several other foreign artists are known as having visited England; but little or nothing is known of the works of Toto del Nunziata, an Italian, or of Corvus, Fleccius, Horrebout or Horneband, or of Cornelius, Flemish artists; but another Fleming was employed, in the early part of the reign of Henry VIII., by Bishop Sherbourne, in painting a series of English kings and bishops in Chichester Cathedral.

Of the celebrated Hans Holbein, the case is better authenticated. He resided in England nearly thirty years, and died in London of the plague in 1543. There is an obscurity about both the time and place of his birth, but the latter appears now to be settled to be Grünstadt, formerly the residence of the Counts of Leiningen-Westerburg. He accompanied his father to Basle, receiving from him instructions in his art. There he became acquainted with Erasmus, who gave him letters to Sir Thomas More. He arrived in England in 1526, and lived and worked in the house of his noble patron, Sir Thomas, for three years. The learned chancellor invited Henry VIII. to see his pictures, who was so much delighted with them, that he took him instantly into his service. It is related of him that while busily engaged with his works for the king, he was so much annoyed and interrupted by a nobleman of the court, that he ordered him to quit his studio, and on his refusing, pushed him downstairs. When the nobleman complained to Henry of this rudeness, Henry bluntly told him that the painter had served him right, and warned him to beware of seeking any revenge. "For," added he, "remember you now have not Holbein to deal with, but me: and I tell you, that of seven peasants I can make as many lords, but I cannot make one Holbein."

The demand of portraits from Holbein by the Court and nobility was so constant and extensive, that he completed comparatively few historical compositions. He has left us various portraits of Henry, and adorned the walls of a saloon at Whitehall with two large paintings representing the triumphs of riches and poverty. He also painted Henry as delivering the charter of the barber-surgeons, and Edward VI. delivering that for the foundation of Bridewell Hospital. The former piece is still at the hall of that guild. Amongst the finest of Holbein's paintings on the Continent is that of "The Burgomaster and his Family" in the gallery at Dresden. There is less of the stiffness of his manner in that than in most of his pieces; but in spirited design, clearness and brilliancy of tone, and perfection of finish, few painters excel Holbein; he wanted only a course of study in the Italian school to have placed him among the greatest masters of any age.

In the reign of Mary, Sir Antonio More, a Flemish artist, was the great portrait-painter. In that of Elizabeth, though she was not more liberal to the arts than to literature, yet her personal vanity led her to have her own portrait repeatedly painted, and the artists, chiefly Flemings, were much employed by the nobility in the same department. Some of the foreign artists also executed historical and other pieces. Among these artists may be named Frederic Zuccaro, an Italian portrait-painter; Luke van Heere, who executed a considerable number of orders here, including a series of representations of national costume for the Earl of Lincoln; and Cornelius Vroom, who designed the defeat of the Spanish Armada, for the tapestry which adorned the walls of the House of Lords, and which was destroyed by the fire in 1834. In Elizabeth's reign also two native artists distinguished themselves: Nicolas Hilliard, a miniature-painter; and Isaac Oliver (b. 1556, d. 1617), his pupil, who surpassed his master in portraits, and also produced historical works of merit.

Among the sculptors were Pietro Torregiano, from Florence, who, assisted by a number of Englishmen, executed the bronze monument of Henry VII., and is supposed also to be the author of the tomb of Henry's mother in his chapel. John Hales, who executed the tomb of the Earl of Derby at Ormskirk, was one of Torregiano's English assistants. Benedetto Rovezzano designed the splendid bronze tomb of Henry VIII., which was to have exhibited himself and Jane Seymour, as large as life, in effigy, an equestrian statue, figures of the saints and prophets, the history of St. George, amounting to 133 statues and forty bas-reliefs. This monument of Henry's egotism none of his children or successors respected him enough to complete; and Parliament, in 1646, ordered the portion already executed to be melted down.

In Scotland during this period the arts were still less cultivated. The only monarch who had evinced a taste for their patronage was James V., who improved and adorned the royal palaces, by the aid of French architects, painters, and sculptors whom he procured from France, with which he was connected by marriage and alliance. His chief interest and expenditure were, however, devoted to the palace at Linlithgow, which he left by far the noblest palace of Scotland, and worthy of any country in Europe.

The furniture of noble houses in the sixteenth century was still quaint; but in many instances rich and picturesque. The walls retained their hangings of tapestry, on which glowed hunting-scenes, with their woodlands, dogs, horsemen, and flying stags, or resisting boars, or lions; scenes mythological or historical. In one of the finest preserved houses of that age, Hardwicke, in Derbyshire, the state-room is hung with tapestry representing the story of Ulysses; and above this are figures, rudely executed in plaster, of Diana and her nymphs. The hall is hung with very curious tapestry, of the fifteenth century, representing a boar-hunt and an otter-hunt. The chapel in this house gives a very vivid idea of the furniture of domestic chapels of that age; with its brocaded seats and cushions, and its curious altar-cloth, thirty feet long, hung round the rails of the altar, with figures of saints, under canopies, wrought in needlework. You are greatly struck as you pass along this noble old hall, which has had its internal decorations and furniture carefully retained, with the air of rude abundance, and what looks now to us nakedness and incompleteness, mingled with old baronial state, and rich and precious articles of use and show. There are vast and long passages, simply matted; with huge chests filled with coals, which formerly were filled with wood, and having ample crypts in the walls for chips and firewood. There are none of the modern contrivances to conceal these things; yet the rooms, which were then probably uncarpeted, or only embellished in the centre with a small Turkey carpet bearing the family arms, or perhaps merely with rushes, are still abounding with antique cabinets, massy tables, and high chairs covered with crimson velvet, or ornamental satin. You behold the very furniture used by the Queen of Scots; the very bed, the brocade of which she and her maidens worked with their own fingers. In the entrance hall the old feudal mansion still seems to survive with its huge antlers, its huge escutcheons, and carved arms thrust out of the wall, intended to hold lights. But still more does its picture gallery, extending along the whole front of the house, give you a feeling of the rude and stately grandeur of those times. This gallery is nearly 200 feet long, of remarkable loftiness, and its windows are stupendous, comprising nearly the whole front, rattling and wailing as the wind sweeps along them, whilst the walls are covered with the portraits of the most remarkable personages of that and prior times. You have Henry VIII., Elizabeth, the Queen of Scots, with many of the statesmen and ladies of the age.

In such old houses we find abundance of furniture of the period. The chairs are generally high-backed, richly carved, and stuffed and covered with superb velvet or satin. At Charlcote House, near Stratford-on-Avon, the seat of the Lucys, there are eight fine ebony chairs, inlaid with ivory, two cabinets, and a couch of the same, which were given by Queen Elizabeth to Leicester, and made part of the furniture of Kenilworth. At Penshurst, Kent, the seat of the Sidneys, in the room called Elizabeth's room, remain the chairs which it is said she herself presented, with the rest of the furniture. They are fine, tall, and capacious; the frames are gilt, the drapery is yellow and crimson satin, richly embroidered, and the walls of each end of the room are covered with the same embroidered satin. In the Elizabethan room at Greenwich Court are chairs as well as other articles of that age. In Winchester Cathedral is yet preserved the chair, a present from the Pope, in which Queen Mary was crowned and married.

At Penshurst we have, in the old banqueting-hall, the furniture and style which still prevailed in many houses in Sir Philip Sidney's time: the dogs for the fire in the centre of the room, from which the smoke ascended through a hole in the roof, the rude tables, the raised daïs, and the music gallery, such as Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, Shakespeare, and Bacon, as well as the Royal Elizabeth, witnessed them. In this house is also preserved a manuscript catalogue of all the furniture of Kenilworth in Leicester's time, a document which throws much light on the whole paraphernalia of a great house and household of that day.

Looking-glasses were now superseding mirrors of polished steel. Sir Samuel Meyrick had a fine specimen of the looking-glass of this age at Goodrich, as well as a German clock, fire-dogs, a napkin-press, and an "arriere-dos" or "rere-dosse," and a small brass fender of that age. He also possessed the box containing the original portraits of Henry VIII. and Anne of Cleves. The clock, like the large one over the entrance at Hampton Court, had the Italian face, with two sets of figures, twelve each, thus running the round of the twenty-four hours, such as Shakespeare alludes to in "Othello:"—

Richly carved wardrobes and buffets adorned the Tudor rooms: some of these buffets were of silver and of silver gilt. Engravings of these, as well as of tables with folding tops, round tables with pillar and claw, and many beds of that period may still be seen in old houses, and are represented in engravings in Montfaucon, Shaw, and Willemin. The beds at Hardwicke, the great bed at Ware, a bedstead of the time of Henry VIII. at Lovely Hall, near Blackburn, are good specimens. Forks, though known, were not generally used yet at table, and spoons of silver and gold were made to fold up, and were carried by great people in their pockets for their own use. Spoons of silver—apostle-spoons, having the heads of the twelve apostles on the handles—were not unfrequent, but spoons of horn or wood were more common.

The armour of every period bears a coincident resemblance to the civil costume of the time, and is in this period rather noticeable by its fashion than by any material change of another kind. The breastplate was still globose, as in the reign of Edward IV., but was beautifully fluted in that of Henry VII. In the reign of Henry VIII., the breastplate being still globose, the old fashion revived of an edge down the centre, called a tapul; and in this reign puffed and ribbed armour, in imitation of the slashed dresses of the day, was introduced. In the reign of Elizabeth the breastplate was thickened to resist musket-balls. The helmet in all these reigns assumed the shape of the head, having movable plates at the back to guard the neck, and yet allow free motion to the head. In the reign of Elizabeth the morions were much ornamented by engraving. In the time of Henry VII. the panache which had appeared on the apex of the bassinets of Henry V. was changed for plumes, descending from the back of the helmet almost to the rider's saddle. A new feature in armour also came in with Henry VII., called "lamboys" from the French "lambeaux," being a sort of skirt or petticoat of steel, in imitation of the puckered skirts of cloth or velvet worn at that time, and this fashion, with variations in form, continued through the whole period. In the reign of Henry VIII. the armour altogether became very showy and rich, in keeping with the ostentation of that monarch. A magnificent suit of the armour of Henry is preserved in the Tower, which was presented to him by the Emperor Maximilian, on his marriage with Catherine of Aragon, and is the fellow to a suit of Maximilian's preserved in the Little Belvedere Palace in Vienna. It covers both horse and man, and is richly engraved with legendary subjects, badges, mottoes, and the like. The seal of Henry presents a fine figure of him on horseback, in armour, with his tabard and crowned helmet, and its depending plumes.

The tilting helmet disappeared altogether in the time of Henry VIII., and a coursing-hat was worn instead, with a "mentonnière," or defence for the lower part of the face. In the reign of Mary we learn that the military force of the kingdom consisted of demi-lancers, who supplied the place of the men-at-arms; pikemen, who wore back and breast-plates, with tassets, gauntlets, and steel hats; archers, with steel skull-caps and brigandines; black-billmen or halberdiers, who wore armour called almain rivet and morions; and harquebussiers, similarly appointed. In Elizabeth's reign the armour was seldom worn on the legs and thighs, except in jousting, and not always then.

There were various changes in the shapes of swords and glaives; the battle-axe changed into the halberd in the time of Edward IV., which became general in that of Henry VII. In the reign of Henry VIII. was added the partisan, a kind of pike or spontoon; but the great change was in firearms, the hand-gun making several steps towards its modern termination in the musket and rifle, with detonating caps. The first improvement was to place a cock to the gun-barrel, to hold and apply the match instead of the soldier holding it in his hand. This was called an arc-a-bousa, thence corrupted into the arquebuse, much used by Henry VII. In his son's reign the wheel-lock was invented by the Italians, in which a wheel revolving against a piece of sulphuret of iron ignited the powder in the pan by its sparks. Pistols were also introduced now, and called pistols or dags, according to the shape of the butt-ends; the pistol finishing with a knob, the dag—or tacke—having its butt-end slanting. Pistols at first more resembled carabines in length, and the pocket pistol was of a considerable bulk. Cartridges were first used in pistols, and were carried in a steel case called a patron. In the reign of Elizabeth we hear of carabines, petronels, and dragons. Carabines were a sort of light, Spanish troops, who, probably, used this kind of arm; petronels were so called because their square butt-end was placed against the chest, or "poitrine;" and the dragon received its name from its muzzle being terminated with the head of that fabulous monster, and gave the name of "dragoon" to the soldiers who fought with them. Bandoliers, or leathern cases, each containing a complete charge of powder for a musket, were used till the end of the seventeenth century, when they gave way to the cartridge-box.

With the progress of firearms, it is almost needless to say that the famous art of archery, by which the English had won such fame in the world, was gradually superseded. During the reigns of Henry VII. and Henry VIII., bows were much used in their armies as well as firearms, but it was impossible long to maintain the bow and arrow in the presence of the hand-gun and powder. In vain did Henry VIII. pass severe laws against the disuse of the bow; by the end of his reign it had fallen, for the most part, from the hands of the warrior into that of the sportsman. In vain did Henry forbid the use even of the cross-bow to encourage the practice of archery, and Roger Ascham in his "Toxophilus" endeavour to prolong the date of the bow. By the end of the reign of Elizabeth, the endeavour to protract the existence of archery by statute was abandoned, and its long reign, except as a graceful amusement, was over.

The costumes of this age come down to us depicted by great masters, and are displayed to us in their full effect, at least this much can be said for those of the aristocracy. Looking at these ladies and gentlemen, they appear as little like plain matter-of-fact English people as possible. There is a length and looseness of robes about the men which has more the air of a holiday, gala garb, than the attire of people who had serious affairs to carry through, and you would scarcely credit them to be the ancestors of the present prosaic, buttoned-up, and busy generation. In a MS. called the "Boke of Custome," the chamberlain is commanded to provide against his master's uprising, "a clene sherte and breche, a pettycotte, a doublette, a long cotte, a stomacher, hys hosen, hys socks, and his shoen." And the "Boke of Kervynge," quoted by Strutt, says to the chamberlain, "Warme your soverayne his pettycotte, his doublette, and his stomacher, and then put on his hosen, and then his schone or slyppers, then stryten up his hosen mannerly, and tye them up, then lace his doublette hole by hole." Barclay, in the "Ship of Fools," printed by Pynson in 1508, mentions some who had their necks

Their coats were generally loose and with broad collars, and turned back fronts, with loose hanging sleeves, often slashed, and sometimes without sleeves at all, but the sleeves of their doublets appearing through them, laced tight to the elbow and puffed out above. Hats and caps were of various fashions in the time of Henry VII. There was the square turned-up cap, a round hat something like the present wide-awake, but the more gay and assuming wore large felt hats, or bonnets of velvet, fur, or other materials, with great spreading plumes of party-coloured feathers. They wore the showy hats so much on one side, as to display under them close-fitting caps, often of gold network. Others, again, wore only the small cap, and let the large plumed hat hang on their shoulders.

The hose, when the dress was short enough to show them, were close-fitting, and of gay, often of two different colours; the long-toed shoes had given way to others, with toes called duck-bills, from their shape, being wider in front than they were long. Top-boots were worn for riding. The face was close shaven, except in the case of soldiers or old men, and the hair was suffered to hang long and flowing. The first mention of a collar of the garter occurs in this reign, and a collar is seen on the effigy of Sir George Daubeny, of this date.

In the costume of the ladies the sleeves were as wide as they were in that of the men, and have been imitated in modern times, being called "bishop's sleeves" in London. The gown was cut square in the neck, and they wore stomachers, belts, and buckles, girdles with long pendents in front, and hats and feathers. Others wore caps and cauls of gold net, or embroidery, from beneath which the hair hung down the shoulders half way to the ground. The morning dress was a full, loose, flowing robe, with cape and hood, and the extent and material of it was regulated by Royal ordinance.

Every one is familiar with the costume of the reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. The ordinary costume of bluff Harry was a full-skirted jacket, or doublet, with large sleeves to the wrists; over which was worn a short but equally full cloak or coat, with loose, hanging sleeves, and a broad, rolling collar of fur. Many, however, still wore the doublet sleeves, as in the last reign: tight to the elbow, puffed out about the shoulders, and the coat sleeveless, allowing this to appear. The cap was square or round, and still worn somewhat side-ways, jewelled, and plumed with ostrich feathers. The hose were now often divided into hose and stockings, and the shoes, though sometimes square-toed, yet often resembling the modern shape. The Norman "chausses" were revived under the older name of "trousses," being close hose, fitting exactly to the limbs.

Henry VIII. was most extravagant in dress, and was followed with so much avidity by his subjects in his ostentation, that in the twenty-fourth year of his reign he was obliged to pass a sumptuary law to restrain them, and the style and quality of dress for every different rank was prescribed—as we may suppose with indifferent success. No person of less degree than a knight was to wear crimson or blue velvet or embroidered apparel, broched or guarded with goldsmith's work, except sons and heirs of knights and barons, who might use crimson velvet, and tinsel in their doublets. Velvet gowns, jackets and coats, furs of martens, &c., chains, bracelets, and collars of gold, were proscribed to all but persons possessing two hundred marks per annum; except the sons and heirs of such persons, who might wear black velvet doublets, coats of black damask, etc.

Henry's own dress was of the most gorgeous kind. He is described at a banquet at Westminster as arrayed in a suit of short garments of blue velvet and crymosine, with long sleeves all cut and lined with cloth of gold, and the outer garments powdered with castles and sheaves of arrows—the badges of Queen Catherine—of fine ducat gold; the upper part of the hose of like fashion, the lower parts of scarlet, powdered with timbrels of fine gold. His bonnet was of damask silver, flat, "woven in the stall," and therefore wrought with gold, and rich feathers on it. When he met Anne of Cleves he had tricked himself out in a frock of velvet embroidered all over with flatted gold of damask, mixed with a profusion of lace; the sleeves and breast being cut and lined with cloth of gold, and tied together with great buttons of diamonds, rubies, and orient pearls. The king was deemed to be the best dressed sovereign in the world, for he put on new clothes every holy day.

Henry ordered his subjects to cut off their long hair; beards and moustaches were now worn at pleasure.

The reigns of Edward and Mary did not vary much in the costume of the men. The dress worn now by the boys of Christ's Hospital (familiarly known as the Bluecoat School), founded by Edward, is very much that which was worn by the London apprentices of that period—blue coats and yellow stockings being also common to the citizens generally. The square-toed shoes were banished by proclamation in the reign of Queen Mary.

The costume of the ladies of the reign of Henry VIII. is extremely familiar, from the numerous portraits of his six wives, engravings of which are in Lodge's "Portraits." With the exception of the bonnet or coif—which, though worn by Catherine of Aragon, came to be called the Anne Boleyn cap—the dress of the ladies of this reign bears a striking resemblance to one of the later Victorian fashions, though differing of course in material. You find the gown fitting close to the bust of the natural length of waist, and cut square at the chest, where it is edged with narrow lace. The sleeves, tight at the shoulder, widened to the elbow, where they hung deep, showing an under-sleeve of fine lawn or lace extending to the wrist, and terminated by lace ruffles. On the neck was generally worn a pearl necklace, with a jewelled cross. The skirts were full, the train long, according to rank. Seven yards of purple cloth of damask gold were allowed for a kirtle for Queen Catherine, in a wardrobe account of the eighth year of Henry's reign. The sleeves of ladies' garments, like those of gentlemen's dresses, could be changed at pleasure, being separate and attached at will. They were extremely rich; and we find in one lady's inventory three pair of purple satin sleeves, one of linen paned with gold over the arms, quilted with black silk, and wrought with flounces between the panes and at the hands; one pair of purple gold tissue damask wire, each sleeve tied with aglets of gold; one pair of crimson satin, four buttons of gold on each sleeve, and in every button nine pearls.

The coif was of various materials, from simple linen to rich velvet and cloth of gold; either with the round front, as in Mary and Elizabeth as princesses, in Catherine Parr and Catherine Howard, or dipping in front, which came to be called the "Queen of Scots" bonnet; but the commonest shape was the five-cornered one. This last was indeed the hood of the time of Henry VII., in which we have a portrait of his queen, Elizabeth of York; the lappets of the hood depending on the bosom, embroidered and edged with pearls; the scarf behind hanging on the shoulders. In the portrait of Catherine of Aragon, the front, embroidered and jewelled, had become shorter, touching the neck only; but the scarf behind still spread on the shoulder. In Anne Boleyn's portrait the coif had reached its extreme of elegance; the frontlet, consisting of the five-pointed frame, is still shorter, only covering the ears, and is faced with a double row of pearls (see p. 165). Her hair is scarcely seen, being concealed by an under-coif, which shows as a band in a slanting direction over the forehead. The back consists of a green velvet hood, with broad scarf lappets, of which one is turned up over the back of the head, and the other hangs on the left shoulder. Of the dress of the ladies of the citizen class we have a curious account in the bride of John of Winchcomb, the famous clothier, called "Jack of Newbury." "She was habited in a gown of sheep's russet, and a kirtle of fine worsted, her head attired with a billiment of gold, and her hair, as yellow as gold, hanging down behind her, which was curiously combed and plaited. She was led to church by two boys with bride laces and rosemary tied about their silken sleeves. When she in after years came out of her widow's weeds, she appeared in a fair train gown stuck full of silver pins, having a white cap on her head, with cuts of curious needlework under the same, and an apron before her as white as driven snow."

With Elizabeth came in a totally new fashion, not only of women's but of men's costumes. The large trunk hose made their appearance; the long-waisted doublet, the short cloak or mantle, with its standing collar, the ruff, the hat, the band and feather, the roses in the shoes, are all of this period. To such a degree did the fashion of puffed and stuffed breeches obtain, which had begun to swell in the prior reigns, that about the thirty-third of Elizabeth, over the seats in the Parliament House, were certain holes, some two inches square, in the walls, in which were placed posts to uphold scaffolds round about the house for those to sit upon who wore great breeches stuffed with hair, like woolsacks.

As to ruffs, Stubbs, in his "Anatomie of Abuses," tells us that sooner than go without them, men would mortgage their lands, or risk their lives at Tyburn; and he adds, "They have now newly (1595) found out a more monstrous kind of ruff of twelve, yea, sixteen lengths apiece, set three or four times double, thence called three steps and a half to the gallows." The French or Venetian hose, he tells us, cost often £100 a pair, probably from being cloth of gold and set with jewels. To these were added boot hose of the finest cloth, also splendidly embroidered with birds, beasts, and antiques. The doublets, he says, grew longer and longer in the waist, stuffed and quilted with four, five, or six pounds of bombast, the exterior being of silk, satin, taffeta, gold, or silver stuff, slashed, jagged, covered, pinched, and laced with all kinds of costly devices. Over these were their coats and jerkins, some with collars, some without, some close to the body, some loose, called mandilions; some buttoned down the breast, some under the arm, some down the back. They had cloaks also—white, red, tawny, yellow, green, violet—of cloth, silk, or taffeta, and of French, Spanish, or Dutch fashion, ornamented with costly lace of gold, silver, or silk. These cloaks were as costly inside as out. Their slippers or "pantoufles" were of all colours, and yet, says Stubbs, they were difficult to keep on, and went flap-flap up and down in the dirt, casting the mire up to their knees. Their hats, he states, were sharp at the crown, peaking up like the shaft of a steeple a quarter of a yard above the crown of their heads, some more, some less; others were flat and broad on the crown; some had round crowns and bands of all colours; and these hats or caps were of velvet, taffeta, or sarcenet, ornamented with big bunches of feathers; and finally we hear of beaver hats, costing from twenty to forty shillings apiece, brought from beyond seas.

But if such was the dress of gentlemen to please the strange taste of the maiden queen, that of this famous queen herself, as evinced by her numerous portraits, has nothing like it in all the annals of fashion. In an early portrait of Elizabeth we have her dressed in a costume very little different to that of a man. Over her gown or doublet she wore a coat with the enormous shoulder-points standing up six inches, and with a close upright collar completely enveloping her neck, and surmounted by a ruff; her coat cut and slashed all over, and on her head a round hat, pulled down to a peak in front, and thickly jewelled. Stubbs, alluding to this particular fashion, says, "The women have doublets and jerkins as the men have, buttoned up to the breast, and made with wings, welts, and pinions on the shoulder-points, as men's apparel in all respects.... Yet they blush not to wear it."

But it was about the middle of her reign that Elizabeth introduced that astounding style of dress in which she figures in most of her portraits, and in which the body was imprisoned in whalebone to the hips; the partlet or habit-shirt, which had for some time been in use, and covered the whole bosom to the chin, was removed, and an enormous ruff, rising gradually from the front of the shoulders to nearly the height of the head behind, encircled the wearer like the enormous wings of some nondescript butterfly. In fact, there was ruff beyond ruff; first, a crimped one round the neck like a collar; and then a round one standing up from the shoulders behind the head; and, finally, the enormous circular fans towering high and wide. The head of the queen is seen covered with one of her eighty sets of false hair, and hoisted above that a jaunty hat, jewelled and plumed.

In order to enable this monstrous expanse of ruff to support itself, it was necessary to resort to starch, and, as Stubbs tells us, also to a machinery of wires, "erected for the purpose, and whipped all over with gold thread, silver, or silk." This was called a "supportasse, or underpropper." The queen sent to Holland for women skilled in the art of starching; and one Mistress Dingham Vander Plasse came over and became famous in the mystery of tormenting pride with starch. "The devil," says Stubbs, "hath learned them to wash and dress their ruffs, which, being dry, will then stand inflexible about their necks."

From the bosom, now partly left bare, descended an interminable stomacher, and then the farthingale spread out its enormous breadth, like the Victorian crinoline. Stockings of worsted yarn and silk had now become common; and Mistress Montague presented Her Majesty, in the third year of her reign, with a pair of silk stockings knit in England; thereupon she would never wear any else. A fashion of both ladies and gentlemen of this time was to wear small looking-glasses hanging at their sides or inserted in the fan of ostrich feathers.

The history of the coinage from Henry VII. to the reign of Elizabeth is one of depreciation and adulteration, as it had been in the preceding century. Not till Elizabeth did it begin to return to a sound and honest standard.

Henry VII. made several variations in the money of the realm. He preserved the standard of Edward IV. and Richard III., coining 450 pennies from the pound of silver, or thirty-seven nominal shillings and sixpences. He introduced shillings as actual money, being before only nominal, and used in accounts. These shillings, struck in 1504—called at first large groats, and then testons, from the French "teste," or "tête," a head—bore the profile of the king instead of the full face; a thing unknown since the reign of Stephen, but ever after followed, except by Henry VIII. and Edward VI., who, however, used the profile in their groats. Henry coined also a novel coin—the sovereign, or "double rose noble," worth twenty shillings, and the "rose rial," or half-sovereign. These gold coins are now very rare. On the reverse of his coins he for the first time placed the Royal arms.

The gold coins of Henry VIII. were sovereigns, half-sovereigns, or rials, half and quarter rials, angels, angelets, or half angels, and quarter-angels, George nobles—so called from bearing on the reverse St. George and the dragon—crowns, and half-crowns. His silver coins were shillings, groats, half-groats, and pennies. Amongst these appeared groats and half-groats coined by Wolsey at York, in accordance with a privilege, exercised by the Church long before. In his impeachment it was made a capital charge that he had placed the cardinal's hat on the groats under the king's arms. The groats also bore on each side of the arms his initials, "T. W.," and the half-groats "W. A."—Wolsey Archiepiscopus.

Not only did Henry adulterate the coin in the most scandalous manner, but he also depreciated the value of the silver coins, by coining a much larger number of pennies out of a pound of the base alloy. Before his time the mixed mint pound had consisted of eleven ounces two pennyweights of silver, and eighteen pennyweights of alloy; but Henry, in 1543, altered it to ten ounces of silver and two ounces of alloy. Two years later he added as much alloy as there was silver; and not content with that, in 1546, or one year after, he left only four ounces of silver in the pound, or eight ounces of alloy to the four ounces of silver! But this even did not satisfy him: he next proceeded to coin his base metal into a larger amount than the good metal had ever produced before. Instead of 37s. 6d., or 450 pennies, into which it had been coined ever since the reign of Edward IV., he made it yield 540 pennies, or 45s., in 1527, and in 1543 he extended it to 48s., or 576 pennies. He thus, instead of 450 pennies out of a pound containing eleven ounces two pennyweights of silver, coined 576 pennies out of only four ounces of silver! Such were the lawless robberies which "Bluff Harry" committed on his subjects. Any one of the smallest debasements by a subject would have sent him to the gallows. He certainly was one of the most wholesale issuers of bad money that ever lived.

The counsellors of his son Edward—a most rapacious set of adventurers—however, even out-Harryed Harry; for though Edward restored at first the value of the mint mixture in some degree, in 1551 the amount of silver in a pound of that alloy was only three ounces, or an ounce less than the worst coin of his father. And still worse, instead of 48s., the largest number coined by his father out of a pound, he coined 72s., or instead of 450 pennies out of four ounces of silver, 864 pennies were coined out of three ounces. The ruin, the confusion of prices, and the public outcry, however, consequent upon this violent public fraud, at length compelled Government to restore the amount of silver in the pound to nearly what it was at the beginning of the reign of Henry VIII., and the number of shillings was reduced from seventy-two to sixty. The gold, which was equally debased, was also restored to the same extent.

Queen Mary, while she issued a proclamation at the commencement of her reign denouncing the dishonest proceedings of her predecessors, again increased the alloy in a pound of mint silver to an ounce instead of nineteen pennyweights; and she added two pennyweights more of alloy to the ounce of gold. The coins issued by Philip and Mary bear both their profiles.

Elizabeth honourably restored the coinage to its ancient value. She fixed the alloy in a pound of silver at only eighteen pennyweights; but she coined sixty-two shillings out of the pound instead of sixty, at which it remained till 1816, when it became sixty-six, as it still remains. The standard mixture of Elizabeth has continued the same to our own day. She called in and melted down the base money of her father and brother to the nominal value of £638,000, but of real value only £244,000. The gold coins of Elizabeth are rials, angels, half-angels, and quarter-angels, crowns and half-crowns, nobles and double nobles. Some of her coins were the first which had milled edges, both of gold and silver. Besides shillings, sixpences, groats, and pence, Elizabeth coined a crown, for the use of the East India Company, called portcullis crowns, in imitation of the Spanish dollar. These were valued at four shillings and sixpence, and are now rare.

In Scotland the alloy of the silver at the mint was not so great as in England during this period; but the number of shillings coined out of one pound of silver was astonishingly increased. This kind of depreciation had been going on for two centuries before this period; but from 1475, when only 144 shillings were coined out of the pound of silver, the number was rapidly augmented every few years, till in 1601 no less than 720 shillings were coined out of it, or, in other words, the original value of one pound was made to pass for thirty-six pounds.

In tracing the historical events of these reigns, we have had occasion to show the increasing strength of the Royal navy of England. Both in the reigns of Henry VIII. and of Elizabeth the sea fights were of a character and attended by results which marked out England as a maritime power growing ever more formidable. In the fourth year of his reign Henry drove the French fleet from the Channel with forty-two ships, Royal and others. He chastised the Scots, who, under James V., had become daring at sea; and on various occasions during his reign he showed his superiority to the French and Spaniards.

But it was the victory over the Armada under Elizabeth, and the exploits of Drake, Essex, Raleigh, and others in the Spanish ports, and of Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher in the Spanish settlements of America, that raised the fame of the British fleet to a pitch which it had never reached before. For, after all, the amount of Henry's fleet never was large. We are told, indeed, that at first he had only one ship of war, the Great Harry, till he took the Lion, a large Scottish ship, with its commander, the celebrated Andrew Barton; but probably this is meant of such size as to merit the name of man-of-war. Parsimonious as was Henry VII., and careful to avoid any collisions with foreign powers, we cannot suppose he left the kingdom totally destitute of a navy. But Henry VIII. was not contented with owning merely a mediocre fleet; he had an ambition of building large vessels, and in 1512 he built one of 1,000 tons, called the Regent. This was blown up in a battle with the French fleet off Brest, and instead of it he built another called Grâce de Dieu. The rivalry of Henry was excited by the King of Scotland building a much larger ship than his Regent, which was said to carry 300 seamen, 120 gunners, and 1,000 soldiers. This ship, like Henry's Regent, was unfortunately lost at sea. By the end of Henry's reign, his fleet altogether amounted to 12,500 tons.

Besides building of ships, Henry seems to have planned all the necessary offices for a naval system. He established the Navy Office, with a sort of Board of Admiralty for its management, and he also founded, in the fourth year of his reign, the Corporation of the Trinity House at Deptford, for managing everything relating to the education, selection, and appointment of pilots, the putting down of buoys, and erecting beacons and lighthouses. Similar establishments were created by him at Hull and Newcastle. He built at great cost the first pier at Dover, and passed an Act of Parliament for improving the harbours of Plymouth, Dartmouth, Teignmouth, Falmouth, and Fowey, which had been choked up by the refuse of certain tin-works, which he prohibited. But perhaps his greatest works of the kind were his establishment of the navy-yards and storehouses at Woolwich and Deptford. No monarch, in fact, had hitherto planned so efficiently and exerted himself so earnestly to found an English navy. Great merit is due to him for his advancement of the maritime interests of the nation.

The manner in which the different monarchs of the Tudor dynasty advanced or neglected the navy is well shown by the returns of the Navy Office to Parliament in 1791. At the end of the reign of Henry VIII. it amounted to 12,500 tons, at the end of that of Edward VI. to only 11,065 tons, and at the end of Mary's to 7,110 tons, but at the end of Elizabeth's it rose to 17,110. At the time of the Armada, Elizabeth had at sea 150 sail, of which, however, only forty were the property of the Crown; the rest belonged to the merchants who were liable to be called upon on such emergencies to furnish their largest craft for the public service. Thirty-four of these ships were from 500 to 1,100 tons each, and these larger vessels are said to have carried 300 men and forty cannon each. Besides the vessels thus called out for war, the mercantile navy at this time amounted to another 150 sail of various capacity, averaging each 150 tons, and carrying forty seamen.

This extent of Royal and mercantile navy had not been reached without much fostering care on the part of the queen. With all her parsimony and dread of expense, it was one of the finest parts of her very mixed character, that she saw the necessity of a strong power at sea and had all the pride of her father to maintain it. Whilst on land she introduced the manufacture of gunpowder, and raised the pay of the soldiers, she extended her care to the fleet, and made it in the end the best equipped navy in Europe. She raised the pay of the sailors as she had done that of the soldiers, and the merchants entered so readily into her service that she had no longer occasion to hire vessels, as her predecessors had done, from the Hanse Towns, or from Venice and Genoa. She built a fort on the Medway, somewhere near the present Sheerness, to protect her fleet, and justly acquired the name of the Queen of the North Seas. Many circumstances combined to give a new and wonderful development in her time to commerce—the discovery and partial settlement of the New World; the way opened by the Cape to India; the extension of commercial inquiry and enterprise into the north of Europe and to the banks of Newfoundland. But ere this stirring period arrived, commerce had had to struggle with many severe restrictions, the fruit of the ignorance of political economy.

Henry VII. is praised by Hall, the chronicler, as a prince who "by his high policy marvellously enriched his realm and himself, and left his subjects in high wealth and prosperity; as is apparent by the great abundance of gold and silver yearly brought into the kingdom, in plate, money, and bullion, by merchants passing and repassing." But the true reason of the rapid advance of commerce under Henry VII. was, undoubtedly, the quietness and stability of affairs which he introduced; for Henry was too fond of hoarding to be a very munificent patron of trade. Amongst the very first measures which he passed was one against usury, totally forbidding the loan of money on interest, which, if it could have been really carried out, would have nearly extinguished commerce altogether. In this, however, Henry was but continuing the practice of his predecessors, who, though great warriors, were no merchants. So severe was Henry's enactment against usury, that, by the Act of the third year of his reign, every offender was, on discovery, to be fined £100, and the bargain to be made void. Henry VIII. abrogated this law, and allowed usury under ten per cent.; it was again put in force by Edward VI. in terms of the utmost severity, declaring it to be "a vice most odious and detestable, and utterly prohibited by the Word of God." Elizabeth, however, again restored the law of her father in 1571, permitting interest under ten per cent.

Whilst Henry VII. endeavoured to extinguish usury, he was equally jealous of foreign merchants—of their bringing their foreign manufactures and carrying out English goods—lest our wealth should be drained away by them. The careful old king could not see that it mattered little by whom the exchanges of commerce were made, so that merchants were left to make their own bargains; whence the result would be that they would only purchase such things as they wanted, and sell such as they did not want, with benefit to everybody. It accorded, however, with Henry's ideas, and was so far beneficial as to induce the settling of English merchants in foreign countries, with the object of endeavouring to drain them of their wealth. Therefore, he was careful to heal the breach with the Netherlands which the patronage of Perkin Warbeck by the Duchess of Burgundy had made, and the company of Merchant Adventurers was again established in Antwerp. The treaty on this occasion was termed by the rejoicing Flemings the "Intercursus Magnus," or Great Treaty of Intercourse; but Henry, in 1506, on intercepting the Archduke Philip at Weymouth, forced from him a less liberal treaty, which the Flemings branded as the "Intercursus Malus," or Evil Treaty.

In the same one-sided spirit of trade, Henry, in 1489, concluded a treaty with Denmark, by which English companies were authorised to purchase lands in Bergen in Norway, Lund and Landskrona in Sweden, and Lowisa in Finland, on which to erect factories and warehouses, to remain theirs in perpetuity for the purposes of trade. He also renewed a similar treaty at the same time with the great trading republic of Venice, by which the English companies were to enjoy all the privileges of the citizens of Florence and Pisa, where they were established, and were privileged to export English wool, and re-ship the spices and valuable articles which were brought by the Venetians overland from India.

It was not long, however, before Henry was called on to check the effects of monopoly in his English companies. The Merchant Adventurers of London soon showed so strongly these effects, that they compelled the king to interfere with a view to counteract them.

The markets of Europe were now fast growing in importance and demand. The wealth of South America was flowing into Spain, in the shape of gold, to the amount of a million sterling annually, and the spices and riches of the East Indies into Portugal, since the discovery of the way round the Cape. Amsterdam became the great mercantile depôt of these commodities in Europe, and the benefit of it was felt nowhere more sensibly than in England. Henry VII., who had let slip the opportunity of securing South America and the West Indies by neglecting the offers of Columbus, now endeavoured to repair the mischief by granting patents to the Cabots and others for the discovery of new lands. He could not open his heart or his coffers sufficiently to assist the adventurers with funds, but he was ready to reap his share of the benefit, which was to consist of all the countries discovered and a fifth of the immediate proceeds. Under such patents the Cabots, father and son, in the course of several voyages, discovered Labrador in 1497, and afterwards ran along the whole coast of North America, to the Gulf of Mexico.

From this moment the spirit of mercantile enterprise rapidly developed itself. In 1562 we find Captain Hawkins trading to Guinea for elephants' teeth, and to Brazil, to which coasts voyages soon became common. Trading to all parts of the Mediterranean was frequent during the reign of Henry VIII.; taking out wool, cloth, and skins, and importing silks, drugs, wines, cotton-wool, spices, and Turkey carpets. The voyages of Cabot had opened up a new trade—that of cod-fishing—on the coasts of Newfoundland, which was eagerly engaged in; and the voyages of Willoughby and Richard Chancellor, by exploring the White Sea, at the suggestion of Cabot, opened a new trade with Russia. A Russian company was formed by Edward VI., and fully incorporated by Mary, who vigorously prosecuted that trade; and in 1556 an ambassador arrived at London from the Czar. Jenkinson, an agent of this company afterwards descended the Volga to Astrakhan, and crossing the Caspian Sea, reached Bokhara, the great resort of the merchants of Russia, Persia, India, and China. He is said to have made six other voyages to Bokhara by that route—a striking proof of the growing enterprise of the English merchant. The loss of Calais by Mary was a circumstance which, as was to be expected, exerted an injurious influence on commerce in her unfortunate reign.

The earliest European trade with India was Venetian, and was conducted by way of the Black Sea. On the discovery by Vasco da Gama of the passage by the Cape of Good Hope, in 1497, the Dutch claimed the exclusive right of navigating those seas. The Spaniards again were equally exclusive with regard to their own subsequent discovery of a passage by the Straits of Magellan. These monopolies, so strange in their contrast to our modern conceptions and practice, left the English the sole alternative of a north-west or north-east passage. About 1500, a Portuguese named Corte Real attempted to discover a north-west passage, and was followed by a similar effort on the part of the English in 1553. The idea received the greatest encouragement from Queen Elizabeth, and a company was formed in 1585, called the "Fellowship for the discovery of the North-West Passage." Sir Hugh Willoughby's last voyage, which was entered on with a view to discover a north-east passage to China, was fatal to him and his brave comrades, who perished in the ice. The instructions given to Sir Hugh by Sebastian Cabot, Grand Pilot of England by appointment of Henry VII., are extant, and furnish a curious and interesting specimen of naval regulation. No dicing, carding, tabling, nor other such practices were to be allowed on ship-board; morning and evening prayers were to be diligently observed. On the other hand, the natives of strange countries were to be "enticed on board and made drunk with your beer and wine, for then you shall know the secrets of their hearts:" and they were to be cautious with regard to "certain creatures with men's heads and the tails of fishes, who swim with bows and arrows about the fords and bays, and live on human flesh."

During the long reign of Elizabeth foreign trade made gigantic strides. Among the very first acts of this queen was one to abolish the restriction of English merchants to English ships in the transport of goods. The Act states that this restriction had provoked the natural adoption of like restrictions by foreign princes. This was the first acknowledgment of the mischief of meddling with the freedom of trade; and our foreign trade had now acquired an importance which demanded respect. With the Netherlands alone our trade was extraordinary, its value amounting to nearly two millions and a half sterling annually; and we find at this time the first mention of insurance of goods on their voyage. In 1562 we hear also of that detestable commerce the slave trade, which was introduced by John Hawkins, so well known afterwards as the daring compeer of Drake and Frobisher, and one of the heroic conquerors of the Armada. Hawkins carried out English goods, called at the Guinea Coast, and took in slaves, sailed to Hispaniola, and brought thence sugar, ginger, hides, and pearls.

During the reign of Elizabeth the many voyages which were made in order to discover a north-west passage to India led to a more intimate knowledge of the North American coasts. In these Frobisher, Cavendish, and Davis distinguished themselves. From 1576 to the end of Elizabeth's reign, Raleigh and his step-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, made repeated attempts to colonise North America, and particularly Virginia—so called in honour of Elizabeth—but in vain. Equally strenuous and unsuccessful efforts were made to open a direct sea communication with India by the English; and it was not till the close of Elizabeth's reign that the incorporation of an East India Company, destined to establish that trade, was effected. The charter was granted by Elizabeth in 1600. Elizabeth also chartered a company in 1579 for the exclusive right of trading to all the countries of the Baltic.

As regarded the domestic manufactures of this period, the woollen manufactures were the most important, and extended themselves greatly on account of the foreign demand. This manufacture had to contend with many old charters and restrictions which were introduced to monopolise the practice of it to certain towns and persons; but these were gradually broken through after much contest, and people in both town and country were allowed to make cloths and other woollen goods. Originally London, Norwich, Bristol, Gloucester, and Coventry were the privileged places. Essex became a clothing county; but by degrees the trade spread into those quarters where it still prevails. Berks, Oxford, Surrey, and Yorkshire made coarse kerseys for exportation; Wales manufactured fringes and coarse cloths; but Tiverton, Bridgewater, Chard, and other towns of Wilts, Gloucester, and Somerset were famous for their broad-cloths; those of Kidderminster, Bromwich, Coventry, Worcester, Evesham, Droitwich, as also of Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex, were in esteem. Manchester and Halifax were already noted for rugs and fringes, Norfolk for coverlets, and Lincolnshire and Chester for what were called "cottons," but which were a species of woollen. There was much complaint at that day of the adulteration of these fabrics by intermixture of inferior yarns, and by not taking the proper means to prevent them from shrinking on being exposed to wet. Norwich had manufactures of woollen different to ordinary cloth, in which it excelled all other places; and in Elizabeth's reign the Norwich manufacturers introduced new kinds under the name of Norwich satins and fustians.

The art of dyeing received a new impulse and new colours from the discovery of Brazil and other distant countries. Soap-making was also introduced, soap having before 1524 been chiefly imported. Many manufacturing processes in weaving, dyeing, and cleaning cloths were brought over by the refugees from the Netherlands, driven to England by the Spanish persecutions. During Elizabeth's reign the smelting of iron, which had been chiefly carried on in Kent, Sussex, and Surrey, became restricted there on account of the consumption of wood. Copper mines and alum pits were discovered in the time of Elizabeth, in Cumberland and Yorkshire, which contributed to the extension of the manufacturing arts.

Sir Thomas Gresham, the chief financial leader of the day, although a protégé of the Duke of Northumberland's, was received with much favour by Elizabeth on her accession. The great merchant then gave her advice—the following of which may well be called an epoch in the history of this country. He told her that all the debased coin should be converted into fine coin of a certain weight; that their monopoly should not be restored to the Steelyard merchants; that licences should be granted as seldom as possible; that she should incur no debt, or as little debt as possible, beyond the seas; and that she should keep her credit with her own merchants, as they would be her best and most powerful friends. These wise measures of reform were gradually carried out. Elizabeth probably perceived their value, but she could not find it in her heart to act altogether with the necessary self-denial and liberality. Thus she would not give up her power to reward favourites by means of special grants and licences. The monopoly of sweet wines which Essex enjoyed is an instance of her influence in this respect.

Gresham himself superintended the restoration of the coinage, and his advice with regard to the Steelyard merchants was also carried into practice. It was to him that the merchants of that day owed their first place of meeting for the transaction of business. Before that they had been "constrained either to endure all extremities of weather, namely, heat and cold, snow and rain, or else to shelter themselves in shops." Gresham therefore built a house for them, which the queen visited in 1570 and called the Royal Exchange. This building, like many others belonging to the City companies, was destroyed in the Great Fire. It was designed after the model of the Bourse of Antwerp, and was Flemish also in its architect, its workmen, and its materials. The commerce of Scotland during this century was affected by precisely the same circumstances as that of England.

During this century much progress was made in the improvement of London. Henry VIII. passed various Acts for the paving of the thoroughfares, which before were horrible sloughs, "very foul and full of pits."

The public amusements of the nation underwent as great a revolution during this century as its religion or its literature. The fall of the Church and the introduction of firearms were fatal to the spirit of chivalry, and the whole host of religious pageants and plays. Henry VIII. and Elizabeth exerted themselves to prolong the exercises of chivalry, but they had lost their spirit, and fell lifeless to the ground. In vain was the tournament of the Cloth of Gold, or the jousts at which Elizabeth presided at Greenwich. They were become mere mockeries of what once had been the all-engrossing contests of knightly honour. In vain did they endeavour to keep alive the long bow and the feats of archery. The musket and the sportsman's gun had made the bow and quiver mere playthings. The tournament made way for the joust, in which the contest was conducted with headless lances, and fighting at the barriers with blunted axes; and that gave way to "riding at the ring," in which the gentlemen did not run their lances through their antagonists, but through a ring suspended for the purpose. The last of the ancient exercises was the contest with the sword and buckler; but the sword was deprived of both edge and point, and as the combatants were not allowed to lunge, but only to strike, the practice was perfectly harmless. In the time of Henry VIII., however, the art of fencing was introduced; and in the time of Elizabeth the use of the rapier and the deadly thrust rendered the acquirement of the art of fence a matter of the first importance.

But though the chivalric exercises went out in this age, never was the love of pageant and display more alive. The revival of the Greek literature brought forward a crowd of gods and goddesses, who figured in public processions and galas; and the strangest allegoric absurdities were gazed upon by grave princes and their counsellors, as well as by the ladies, with all the enthusiasm of country lads and lasses gaping at a strolling theatre or a puppet-show.

Strange masquerades and allegoric pageants were got up in London for Mary and Elizabeth; and readers of worthy Laneham's description of the nineteen days in which Queen Bess was entertained at Kenilworth by Leicester, will find plenty of giants, distressed Ladies of the Lake, "salvage men," presents from Bacchus, Pomona, Ceres, floating islands, and sham Arions riding on sham dolphins. More healthy but little less romantic were the holiday sports which had survived the Church, and were mingled in by both princes, nobles, and people. The old Mystery did not for some time disappear before the secular drama, and the Coventry Play was played before Elizabeth at Kenilworth. May-day had its grand may-pole still; and Henry VIII. did not disdain, on May-day, 1515, to go a-maying to Shooter's Hill, with his queen and his sister, the Queen-Dowager of France. May-day was also the great day of the milkmaids, who danced from door to door with a pyramid of plates on their heads.

Stubbs—who, Puritan as he was, seems to have enjoyed what he describes so well—gives us the following description of the amusements of the merry gentlemen of the Temple in those days:—

"First, all the wild heads of the parish covening together, choose them a grand captain of mischief, whom they ennoble with the title of My Lord of Misrule, and him they crown with great solemnity and adopt for their king. This king anointed chooseth for him twenty, forty, threescore, or a hundred lusty guts like to himself to wait upon his lordly majesty and to guard his noble person. Then every one of these his men he investeth with his liveries of green, yellow, or some other wanton colour. And, as though they were not gaudy enough, they bedeck themselves with scarfs, ribbons, and laces, hanged all over with gold rings, precious stones, and other jewels; this done, they tie about either leg twenty or forty bells, with rich handkerchiefs in their hands, and sometimes laid across over their shoulders and necks, borrowed for the most part of their pretty Mopsies and loving Bessies.... Thus all things set in order, then have they their hobby-horses, dragons, and other antics, together with their pipers and thundering drummers to strike up the devil's dance withal; then march these heathen company towards the church and churchyard, their pipers piping, their drummers thundering, their stumps dancing, their bells jingling, their handkerchiefs swinging about their heads like madmen, their hobby-horses and other monsters skirmishing amongst the throng; and in this sort they go to the church (though the minister be at prayer or preaching), dancing and swinging their handkerchiefs over their heads in the church like devils incarnate, with such a confused noise that no man can hear his own voice. Then the foolish people they look, they stare, they laugh, they fleer, and mount upon forms and pews to see these goodly pageants solemnised in this sort. Then, after this, about the church they go again and again, and so forth into the churchyard, where they have commonly their summer halls, their bowers, arbours, and banqueting-houses set up, wherein they feast, banquet, and dance all that day, and peradventure all that night, too. And thus these terrestrial furies spend the Sabbath-day in the country."

To relate all the jollity with which Christmas was celebrated is beyond our space. The Christmas carols with which the waits awoke all the sleeping people for a fortnight before; the yule-log dragged into the hall and piled on the fire; the boar's-head feast, with plum-pudding and mince-pies, and all the dances and games, were as much in fashion as in the days of the ancient Church. Plough Monday, Valentine Day, Easter and Whitsuntide, St. John's Eve, and all the charities of Maundy Thursday, were still maintained. Even Palm Sunday, when the figure of Christ went on its procession mounted on a wooden ass, resisted the Reformation till the year 1548.

The drama, which was now shaping itself into freedom and splendour under such men as Shakespeare and Marlowe, was yet conducted in a very rough style. The theatres were mostly of wood; the actors were rarely arrayed in proper costume; women's parts were represented by boys; any scenery which the play had, remained, like a picture on a country fair booth, through the whole piece. The aristocratic frequenters sate on the stage, for there were no boxes or dress-circle, and the commonalty sate on stools and enjoyed their pipes and beer during the performance. What was worse, the theatre had to contend, in the affections of the public, with the bear-garden, bull-baiting, and cock-fighting. This was true—and to us the fact must seem deplorable—of the very highest classes among the people.

As Sunday had been the great day of the Church plays or Mysteries, so Sunday was the chief day of the theatre, which brought it into disrepute with the serious portion of the community; and when there was bull-baiting, the theatre was closed that it might not interfere. Queen Elizabeth was especially fond of the bear-garden, and that sport was consequently included by Leicester in the recreations which he provided for her at Kenilworth. In truth, bear-gardens, cock-pits, bowling-greens, tennis-courts, dicing-houses, taverns, smoking ordinaries, and the like abounded, giving us a fair idea of the grade of taste of that age. Hunting and hawking were still pastimes of the gentry, and horse-racing became a great rage. The first notice we have of this latter pastime is on the occasion before mentioned, when Henry went a-maying in 1515; after which it is said that he and his brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, diverted themselves by "racing on great coursers."

But amid the pleasures of this century there must have existed a large intermixture of a more moral class, for the Bible had become extensively read, and the Reformers must have been numerous to enable the Government to effect the ecclesiastical changes which they did; and the advance of physical improvement must not be judged of by the popular condition of to-day, but of previous times. In the course of the century the condition of the people considerably advanced. At the beginning the houses of farmers were generally of timber, and those of labourers of mud, or wattle and mud. In many of them were no chimneys, except one for cooking. Wooden trenchers and wooden spoons were used instead of pewter or earthenware; and a yeoman who had half a dozen pewter dishes in his house was looked on as wealthy. Their lodging was equally mean. Straw beds and pillows of chaff were most common; flock beds were a rural luxury; and the farm servants lay on straw, and often had not even a coverlet to throw over them. The bread of the common people was made of rye, barley, or oats, and in many districts of peas or beans. The gentry only ate wheaten bread. The men by the fire in the evening, after their day's work, made their own shoes, or prepared the yokes for oxen, and their plough-gear. The women made the wool and the hemp or flax ready for the weaver at the spinning-wheel. As they do now on the Continent, the countrywomen worked much in the fields. Fitzherbert, the first of our writers on husbandry, says that it was the business of the farmer's wife "to winnow all manner of corn, to make malt, to wash, to make hay, to shear corn, and, in time of need, to help her husband to fill the muck-wain, or dung-cart, drive the plough, to load hay or corn, to go to market and sell butter or pigs or fowls."

Latimer, who was a farmer's son, describes the advance in the value of land in his time. When he was young, he says, his father's farm was rented by him at £4 a year; that he employed half-a-dozen men upon it, and had 100 sheep and thirty cows; that his father managed to send him to school and college, and to give to each of his daughters £5 on her marriage. But, continues Latimer, at the time he wrote this, the same farm was charged £16 a year, or fourfold, and then the farmer of it could do nothing for his prince, himself, or his children, nor give a cup of drink to the poor. The cause of this was the increased demand for wool, which had occasioned great enclosures, and a decrease of tillage in favour of pasturage. This pressed greatly on the labouring class who were not employed; for the gentlemen had flocks of from 10,000 to 20,000, and a few shepherds were all they needed in their great enclosures. The gentry, who thus occupied the land, we are told, did not reside on it, but crowded up to London and hung about the Court. "Hence," says Roger Ascham, "so many families dispersed, so many houses ruined. Hence the honour and strength of England, the noble yeomanry, are broken up and destroyed."

The evils of this state of things compelled the Legislature to put restrictions on the extent of pasturage, to insist on the tillage of sufficient land for the wants of the community; and penalties were enacted for such as did not build proper cottages for their labourers, with four acres of land each, or who allowed more than one family in one cottage. The evil produced its own remedy. The scarcity of tillage land raised the price of produce, and that stimulated to the manuring and better culture of the land. We learn from Harrison and Norden, writers of the period, that towards the end of the century things were greatly improved. The farmers and small builders were become more painstaking and skilful. They collected manure and even the sweepings of streets, burnt lime, and carted sea sand, as in Cornwall and Devon. The consequence was that they had better cattle and better crops, they had milk from their cows, ewes, and goats; and they used much more meat. In the autumn they cured bacon and beef for the winter; and in summer they had abundance of veal, beef, and mutton, which, says Harrison, they ceased to baste with lard, but basted with butter, or suffered the fattest to baste itself.

With their living, their houses improved. Wood or wattle gave way to stone or brick, the wooden trenchers were superseded at substantial tables by pewter, and with the pewter were sometimes seen articles of silver. Feather beds replaced the straw and chaff mattresses; there was more abundant linen, bed-covers, and better clothing. Coal was beginning to make the scarcity of wood less felt.

The vast increase of foreign trade and of manufactures which has been described must have proved the most effectual means, far more than enactments, for encouraging tillage, from the augmented demand of provisions and luxuries; and the same causes would provide employment and good wages for increased numbers. The land as well as every other thing in the kingdom was in a transition state, and as the large estates of nobles and the Church, now divided amongst a multitude, came to be settled and cultivated, the diffusion of life and prosperity through the rural districts was no doubt proportional. At this time there must have been a great flow of population from the agricultural to the manufacturing districts, as the latter were making increased demands on the strength of the nation; yet it appears that the produce both of the tilled ground and of pasturage grew steadily. The small cottagers, who had probably been but poor farmers, being now gradually absorbed into the growing artisan population, gave place to greater and wealthier men, who laid out the ground in large grazing farms. This gave rise to the false impression that the population was decreasing, and the statistics of the period give frequent evidence of the alarm thus occasioned. The evidence, however, for the increase of the population is incontestable; and the wage for ordinary labour seems to have been quite double its old amount in this century. It may be interesting to record some of the salaries of the period. In the household of the Earl of Northumberland, in 1511, the principal priest of the chapel received £5 a year; a chaplain graduate, £3 6s. 8d.; a chaplain, not a graduate, £2; a minstrel, £4; a serving-boy, 13s. 4d.; all these being lodged and fed in addition. In 1500 a mason received 4d. a day, and 2d. for diet. In 1575 a master mason received 1s. a day, and a common labourer 8d. In 1601 a master mason had 1s. 2d. a day, and a labourer 10d. The long continuance of internal peace had increased the population from two millions and a half in the commencement of the fifteenth century, to six millions and a half at the end of the sixteenth; but the increase of trade, of commerce, and of tillage, had not been able to absorb a tithe of the homeless and destitute people who had been increasing since the abolition of villenage and the destruction of the monasteries, which had fed swarms of them. We have had occasion to show that these wandering tribes overran the country like a flood—"vagabonds, rogues, and sturdy beggars"—carrying terror and crime everywhere. Henry VIII., Harrison tells us, in the course of his reign, hanged of robbers, thieves, and vagabonds, no fewer than 72,000, and Elizabeth, toward the latter part of her reign, sent 300 or 400 of them annually to the gallows.

We find a statute of the first year of Edward VI. containing the following:—"Idleness and vagabondry is the mother and root of all thefts, robberies, and all evil acts and other mischiefs, and the multitude of people given thereto hath always been here within this realm very great and more in number, as it may appear, than in other regions; the which idleness and vagabondry all the king's highness' noble progenitors, kings of this realm, and this high court of Parliament hath often and with great travail gone about and assayed with godly acts and statutes to repress; yet until this our time it hath not had that success which hath been wished; but—partly by foolish pity and mercy of them which should have seen the said godly laws executed, partly by perverse natures and long-accustomed idleness of the persons given to loitering—the said godly statutes hitherto hath had small effect, and idle and vagabond persons hath been suffered to remain and increase, and yet so do." "If," continues the Act, "they should be punished by death, whipping, imprisonment, or with other corporal pain, it were not without their desert, for the example of others and to the benefit of the commonwealth; yet if they could be brought to be made profitable and do service, it were much to be wished and desired." Such words would lead us to conclude that they were about to adopt conciliatory measures with regard to this troublesome class, but we find on the contrary the harshest enactments put in execution. Thus, every person found idle and wandering without any effort to obtain work was to be considered a vagabond, and was liable to be seized by any one and forced to labour, for which he was to receive only his daily food. If he attempted to run away, he was to be branded on the breast with the letter "V" and made the slave of his owner for two years. If he made a second attempt for liberty, he was to be branded on the forehead or cheek with the letter "S" and made his master's slave for ever; while a third effort at escape was punishable by death. The severity of this law prevented it from being properly executed, and caused its repeal in two years. After various futile enactments, Henry VIII., in 1530, gave the sick and impotent permission to beg; and in 1536 the magistrates and the clergy were ordered to make collections for their relief. These were the first approaches to a poor-law, and in the year 1562 Queen Elizabeth passed an Act making parochial assessments for the poor compulsory. The poor-law, therefore, in reality dates from that period; but in the year 1601, the celebrated Act of the 43rd of Elizabeth organised and completed that system of employing and maintaining the destitute poor, which—with its subsequent modifications—has remained ever since the law of England.

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THE REIGN OF JAMES I.

The Stuart Dynasty—Hopes and Fears caused by the Accession of James—The King enters England—His Progress to London—Lavish Creation of Peers and Knights—The Royal Entrance into the Metropolis—The Coronation—Popularity of Queen Anne—Ravages of the Plague—The King Receives Foreign Embassies—Rivalry of the Diplomatists of France and Spain—Discontent of Raleigh, Northumberland, and Cobham—Conspiracies against James—"The Main" and "The Bye"—Trials of the Conspirators—The Sentences—Conference with Puritans—Parliament of 1604—Persecution of Catholics and Puritans—Gunpowder Plot—Admission of fresh Members—Delays and Devices—The Letter to Lord Mounteagle—Discovery of the Plot—Flight of the Conspirators—Their Capture and Execution—New Penal Code—James's Correspondence with Bellarmine—Cecil's attempts to get Money—Project of Union between England and Scotland—The King's Collisions with Parliament—Insurrection of the Levellers—Royal Extravagance and Impecuniosity—Fresh Disputes with Parliament and Assertions of the Prerogative—Death of Cecil—Story of Arabella Stuart—Death of Prince Henry.

With the Stuart dynasty begins a new order of things. The direct line of the Tudors ceased in Elizabeth, and the collateral one of the Stuarts introduced the kings of Scotland to the English throne. After all the ages of conflict to unite the two kingdoms under one crown, it was effected, but in the reverse direction to that in which the monarchs of England had striven. They had not mounted the throne of Scotland, but Scotland sent her king to rule over England. With Elizabeth and the Tudors terminated the reign of almost unresisted absolutism; with James commenced that mighty struggle for constitutional liberty which did not cease till it had expelled his dynasty from the throne, and placed on a firm basis the independence of the people.

With great haste various messengers flew to Scotland to announce the demise of Elizabeth; the winner in the race of loyalty, or, in other words, of self-interest, being, as we have seen, Sir Robert Carey, to whom the artifice of his sister, Lady Scrope, had communicated the earliest news of the queen's decease. He reached Edinburgh four days before Sir Charles Percy and Thomas Somerset, who were despatched officially by the Council. Meanwhile, on March 24th, 1603, Cecil assembled thirty-five individuals—members of Council, peers, prelates, and officers of State—at Whitehall, and accompanied by the lord mayor and aldermen, proclaimed James VI. of Scotland James I. of England, first in front of Westminster Palace, and then at the High Cross, in Cheapside.

There were some who were apprehensive that the accession of James might be opposed by the noblemen who had been so active in the death of his mother. But these had taken care to make their peace with the facile James, whose filial affection was not of an intensity to weigh much in the scales with the crown of England. On the contrary, his accession was hailed with apparent enthusiasm by all parties, for all parties believed that they should reap decided advantages from his government. The persecuted Catholics felt certain that the son of the queen of Scots would at least tolerate their religion, as he had many a time privately assured their agents. The Puritans were equally confident that a king who had been educated in the strictest faith of Calvinism, would place them in the ascendant. The Episcopal church—as it deemed, on equally good grounds—rejoiced in the advent of a prince who had protested to its friends that he was heartily sick of a religion which had domineered over both his mother and himself with an iron rigidity. The populace, in the hope of a milder yoke than that of the truculent Tudors, gave vent to their joy in loud acclamations, by bonfires and ringing of bells, while Elizabeth was lying a corpse, scarcely cold, on her bier.

James, who was in his thirty-seventh year, was transported at the prospect of his escape from the poverty and religious restraint of Scotland, to the affluence of so much more extensive an empire, and one impediment alone checked his flight southward—the want of money for the journey. He sent a speedy message to Cecil for the necessary funds, and also added a request for the transmission of the Crown jewels for the adornment of his wife. The money was forwarded, but the jewels were prudently withheld till he reached his future capital. Once in possession of the means of locomotion, James did not conceal his pleasure at escaping from the control of his Presbyterian clergy and the haughty rudeness of his nobles, to an accession of wealth and power which he imagined would make him as absolute as Henry VIII., a condition for which he had an intense yearning.

On the 5th of April James commenced his journey towards London, but however much he rejoiced in the prospect of his new kingdom, he was in no haste to reach the capital. The moment that he set foot in England he seemed to have realised the full luxury of his new sovereignty, and announced to those about him that they had indeed at last arrived at the Land of Promise. At Berwick he fired a piece of ordnance himself in his joy, which seemed for the moment to have raised him above his constitutional timidity; and he then sate down and wrote to Cecil, informing him of his progress, and of his intention to take York and other places on his way. As he intended to enter York and pass through other towns in state, he pressed on the obsequious minister the necessity of forwarding to him coaches, litters, horses, jewels, and all that was requisite for regal dignity, as well as a lord chamberlain; and he forthwith appointed to that office the lord Thomas Howard. He stayed three days at York, and did not reach Newark till the 21st of the month. Cecil had met him at York, and accompanied his progress; and as he rode forward the people crowded around to welcome their new sovereign with the most hearty acclamations. To express his satisfaction to the gentry, he made almost every man of any standing who approached him a knight; so that by the time he reached London he is said to have created two hundred and fifty, and before he had been in England three months, seven hundred knights, a profusion which much diminished the value of the gift.

The truth was that James, who made himself very free and easy in his immediate circle, disliked exposure to the mob, and dealt about his smiles and knighthoods to get rid of his throngers as soon as possible. By the time he had reached Berwick he had knighted three persons; at Widdrington he knighted eleven, at York thirty-one, at Worksop in Nottinghamshire eighteen, at Newark eight, on the road thence to Belvoir Castle four, at Belvoir forty-five. Yet gracious as he was and agreeable as he wanted to make himself, his new subjects did not behold his person and manner without considerable astonishment. His ungainly figure and his equally uncouth dialect no little amazed the stately courtiers of Elizabeth, but nevertheless they paid him the most devoted homage, as the dispenser of all honours and of every good.

At Theobalds Cecil had the opportunity of studying James's character and of ingratiating himself with him. A new Council was formed, and whilst James introduced six of his own countrymen, Cecil recommended six of his partisans to balance them. During his correspondence with James Cecil had managed to fix in the king's mind a deep and ineradicable aversion to the men whom he himself regarded with jealous and hostile feelings—Raleigh, Cobham, and Grey. It was in vain that they paid their court; they were treated with coldness, and Raleigh, instead of receiving the promotion to which he aspired, was even deprived of the valuable office of warden of the Stannaries. Northumberland was equally the object of Cecil's dislike, but Bacon was warmly in his favour, and the king received him graciously.

On the 7th of July James set out for his capital, and at Stamford Hill was met by the lord mayor and aldermen in their scarlet robes, followed by a great crowd, and with these he entered the City, and proceeded to the Charterhouse. He immediately caused a proclamation to be made that all licences and monopolies granted by Elizabeth, and which had excited so much discontent, should be suspended till they had been examined by the Council; that all protections from the Crown to delay the progress of justice in the courts of law should cease, as well as the abuses of purveyance, and the oppressions of saltpetre-makers and officers of the household. From the Charterhouse he proceeded, according to routine, to the Tower, and thence to Greenwich and back to Whitehall, at every step making more knights and creating peers. He had sent for the Earl of Southampton to meet him at York, and he now restored both him and the son of his friend the Earl of Essex to their honours and estates. Mountjoy and three of the Howards were raised to the rank of earls; nine new barons were created, amongst them Cecil, who was made Lord Cecil, and afterwards Viscount Cranbourne, and finally Earl of Salisbury. Buckhurst and Egerton were promoted; and eventually, besides his seven hundred spick-and-span new knights, he added sixty-two fresh members to the peerage. So extravagant was his distribution of honours that a pasquinade was affixed to the door of St. Paul's, offering to teach weak memories the art of recollecting the titles of the nobility.

The coronation took place on the 25th of July. James's wife, Anne of Denmark, was crowned with him. The weather had been intensely hot, but it now set in very rainy. To spoil the pleasure of the people, the plague was raging in the City, and the inhabitants were by proclamation forbidden to enter Westminster. No queen-consort had been crowned since Anne Boleyn, nor had any king and queen been crowned together since Henry VIII. and Catherine of Aragon, and therefore the restriction was the more mortifying. Queen Anne went to the coronation "with her seemly hair down hanging on her princely shoulders, and on her head a coronet of gold. She so mildly saluted her new subjects, that the women, weeping, cried out with one voice, 'God bless the royal queen! Welcome to England, long to live and continue!'"

That week there died in London and the suburbs eight hundred and fifty-seven persons of the plague. On the 5th of August James ordered morning and evening prayers and sermons, with bonfires all night to drive away the pestilence, not forgetting to order that all men should praise God for his Majesty's escape that day three years before, from the Gowrie conspiracy; and on the 10th of August he commanded that a fast, with sermons of repentance, should be held, and repeated every week on Wednesday so long as the plague continued.

James's pride was soon gratified by the flocking in of ambassadors from all the great nations of Europe, soliciting his alliance; and on the first intimation of their approach he appointed Sir Lewis Lewknor master of the ceremonies, to receive and entertain these distinguished persons. This was the first establishment of such an office in England. First arrived, from Holland and the United Provinces, Prince Frederick of Nassau son of the Prince of Orange, attended by the three able diplomatists Valck, Barneveldt, and Brederode. James, with equally high notions of the royal prerogative, had not the sympathy of Elizabeth with the struggles of Protestantism abroad, and therefore regarded the revolted Netherlanders as rebels and traitors, and did not fail amongst his courtiers to pronounce them so; the more particularly as they owed the English crown large sums for past assistance, which they were in no hurry to pay. He, therefore, framed various excuses to defer their audiences till the arrival of the envoy of the King of Spain, Count Aremberg, who was not long in appearing, bringing the agreeable news that the Archduke had liberated all English prisoners, as the subjects of a friendly power. Two days after Aremberg's arrival, Henry IV.'s great minister, the Duke of Sully, reached London. Aremberg was in no condition to negotiate on any positive terms till he received instructions from Spain; and Sully seized time by the forelock, by distributing amongst the courtiers sixty thousand crowns, a considerable part of which found its way into the queen's purse. He prevailed on James to make a treaty with Henry IV., in which he engaged to send money to the States in aid against the Spaniards, and join France in open hostilities should Philip attempt to invade that country. Sully, delighted with his success—for Henry feared nothing more than James's making peace with Spain, and leaving him to assist Holland alone—returned to France. But a little time convinced the French court that nothing in reality had been secured by it, for James had no money to send to Holland had he been really so disposed, which is doubtful, and that he merely temporised with them as he had done with different States before.

Meantime the Court of Spain, notwithstanding the activity of France, was slow in deciding the course of policy to be adopted towards England under the new king. After the decided hostility towards it under Elizabeth, and the signal defeats experienced, pride forbade Philip to solicit a peace, lest it should look like weakness. And, indeed, Spain had never recovered from the severe blow received in the loss of its Armada, and the other ravages of its ports and colonies by the English, added to the loss of a great portion of the Low Countries; and this consciousness made it more tardy in its proceedings. But while engaged in prolonged discussions on this head, two Englishmen arrived at the court of Spain, whose mission was of a nature to bring it to a decision. These were Wright and Fawkes, who were soon to assume a conspicuous position in the strife between the Catholics and Protestants of England. Previous to the death of Elizabeth, Thomas Winter had negotiated with the Spanish Court a plan for the invasion of England, which had been abandoned on her decease. Now, however, the scheme was revived, and these two emissaries were despatched to sound the present disposition of the Court of Madrid. This direct appeal from the conspirators seems to have startled the Spanish Government from its wavering policy. It was not prepared for anything so desperate, and replied that it had no cause of complaint against James, but, on the contrary, regarded him as a friend and ally, and had appointed the Condé de Villa Mediana as ambassador to his Court.

This was decisive, and the way now seemed open towards a more friendly tone between Spain and England; but at the same moment a secret and mysterious correspondence seems to have been going on between Aremberg, the agent of the King of Spain, and a discontented party in England. Northumberland, Cobham, and Raleigh were ill at ease under the disappointment which they had met with in their hopes of favour at James's Court. Northumberland had been to a certain degree graciously received, and even entertained with promises by James; but he felt that while Cecil was so completely in the ascendant there was little hope of a cordial feeling towards him in the monarch's heart. Cobham and Raleigh were undisguisedly in disgrace, and were shunned by the courtiers as fallen men. The three friends, therefore, entered into intrigues with the Court of France through the resident minister Beaumont, and Sully the envoy extraordinary. For a time their suggestions were listened to, but the apparent success of Sully with James put an end to further overtures, and there Northumberland was prudent enough to desist. But Cobham and Raleigh, disappointed of Court favour and burning with resentment against Cecil—whom they felt to be the cause of their disgrace—plotted for the overthrow of the crafty minister.

Sully, the French envoy, had, while in London, done his best to inspire James with distrust of Cecil; and there is little doubt that this was at the suggestion, or with the co-operation of Cobham, Northumberland, and Raleigh. When Northumberland drew back, these two held communication with Aremberg, to whom they offered their services in promoting the objects he sought on behalf of Spain and the Netherlands. Aremberg, who did not know what was going on at the Spanish Court, communicated the proposal to his master, who instructed him to give a favourable answer. What the scheme proposed by Cobham and Raleigh precisely was seems never to have been known, but we may suppose that in return for aid from the Continent, these ambitious men were to attempt the removal of Cecil by some means, and on their succeeding to power, their influence was to be exerted with the king on behalf of Spain.

This was designated by those in the secret as "The Main" conspiracy; but there was also another going on simultaneously, of which these gentlemen are supposed to have been cognisant, but not mixed up with. This was called "The Bye" conspiracy, and was composed of an extraordinary medley of the discontented, the most determined of whom aimed at nothing less than the seizure of the king, and the government of the country in his name, for their own party purposes.

The grand cause of discontent was the disappointment of both Catholics and Puritans in James. Before his coming to the English crown he had held out the most flattering expectations to the Catholics that he would grant them toleration, whilst the Puritans calculated on his Presbyterian education for a decided adhesion to their views. But no sooner did he reach England than he threw himself into the arms of the High Church party, declaring that it was the only religion fit for a king. To the Catholics he declared he would grant no toleration—rather would he fight to the death against it; and he took no pains to conceal his disgust at the Presbyterian clergy amongst whom he had spent his youth. The antagonism of Catholic and Puritan was forgotten in the resentment against this disclosure of the king's disposition. Instantly plans were cogitated to avenge themselves of the royal perfidy, as it was termed, and to secure themselves against the threatened storm. Sir Griffin Markham, a Catholic gentlemen of no great property or influence, concerted with two priests, Watson and Clarke, the means of raising the Catholics against the Government. Watson had been sent into Scotland, to James, on behalf of the Catholics, before the death of Elizabeth, and he indignantly represented that James had given them, through him, the most solemn promises of toleration, which he had now broken. He, therefore, threw himself with the greatest heat into the conspiracy: he drew up an awful oath of secrecy, and he and Clarke travelled far and wide amongst the Catholic families, calling upon them to come forward in the name of their religion and their property.

But their success was trivial; few or none of the Catholics of weight and station would engage in the enterprise. Failing there, Watson turned his attention to the Puritans; and with them he was more successful, by artfully concealing from them the paucity of the Catholics who had joined the conspiracy, and the full extent of his own intentions. Lord Grey de Wilton, who was a leading Puritan, and had his discontent from the same causes as Cobham and Raleigh, was induced by Watson to join the conspiracy, under the impression that a strong Catholic body was engaged in it. He agreed to furnish a troop of a hundred horse, but he was not long in discovering that he had been imposed upon, and advised the conspirators to defer the execution of their design to a more favourable opportunity.

The conspirators proposed to meet during the darkness of night at Greenwich; but the reflection that there were three hundred armed gentlemen within the Palace, made that appear too hazardous; they, therefore, altered their plan, and concluded to seize James as he was hunting at Hanworth, and where he was accustomed to call for refreshment at a gentleman's house. The plan, as communicated by Watson to the conspirators, was to assemble in a numerous body under pretence of presenting a petition to James as he went out hunting, seize the king, and convey him to a place of safety, where they were to extort from him a declaration of liberty of conscience. With the king in their hands, they would then wreak their vengeance on Cecil and Sir George Howe; and it was afterwards charged against them in the indictment, that they meant to make Watson lord chancellor, Brooke, the brother of Cobham—who was a most unprincipled man, and has been suspected of being Cecil's spy and tool on the occasion—lord treasurer, Markham secretary, and Grey earl marshal. Probably this was the scheme devised for them by the accusers, for it appears too wild for belief; but be that as it may, the 24th of June was the day named for the attempt, when the refusal of Lord Grey caused it to be abandoned, and the party separated with much mutual recrimination.

But Watson had already proceeded to a length which led to the revelation of the plot to Cecil. He had endeavoured to engage in it the Society of the Jesuits, and had communicated his plans to a Jesuit of the name of Gerard. The Society not only refused to sanction the conspiracy, but the archpriest went at once and revealed it to Cecil. The crafty minister kept his information close, and resolved to let the conspirators go on till the very day for the execution of their design, so that he might the more summarily convict them; but the failure of their plan left him no further reason for delay, and Anthony Copley, one of the "Bye," was arrested, as a man well known to be of a timid character and likely in his terror to betray his associates. Cecil had probably plenty of intelligence of both the plan and its agitators from others as well as from Gerard, and most probably from Brooke. But with great judgment he neglected no means of making the conspirators furnish evidence against each other, and thus he kept his own sources of knowledge secret. On the heels of Copley's arrest, followed, as a natural consequence, the arrest of Griffin, Markham, the priests Watson and Clarke, and the rest of Copley's associates. Cecil said that the mere fact of Brooke being in the conspiracy made him feel certain that Cobham, Raleigh, and Northumberland were in it. They were therefore apprehended separately; and, by playing on the fears of the fallen Cobham, Cecil speedily made him incriminate Raleigh.

The coronation of the king, which took place on the 25th of July, being his saint's day, the festival of St. James, and the violence of the plague, which caused the king to flee into the country, postponed the trials of the conspirators. The Court, followed by the judges and their suitors, fled from place to place for several months, pursued by the plague; and it was not till November that the trials took place in the castle at Winchester. Another cause had, perhaps still more than the plague, deferred them. Aremberg was deeply implicated, but his intrigues could not be opened up whilst he was in the country, nor could an order be issued directing him to leave, without embarrassing the public relations with Spain. But in October he left, and on the 15th of November the trials of the conspirators commenced. The accomplices of the "Bye"—Brooke, Brookesby, Markham, Copley, Watson, and Clarke, with others—were all condemned on their own confessions, for they had been so managed that they not only accused each other, but made the most ample confessions of their own guilt, as if each thought he should obtain pardon by discovering most. These confessions, which had been carefully compiled, were put in as evidence against them. Sir Edward Parham only was acquitted, for he pleaded that he joined solely to rescue the king from the hands of those who held him in captivity; Cecil threw in his word in his favour, suggesting that the king's dignity consisted as much in freeing the innocent as condemning the guilty. This conduct gave an air of impartiality—of which no one could estimate the effect more fully than the astute Cecil—to the proceedings.

Sir Walter Raleigh was next put upon his trial. His extraordinary ability, and his knowledge of Court secrets, made it too dangerous an attempt to connect him with the "Bye," and arraign him along with the unhappy and weak members of that part of the conspiracy. He was not placed at the bar even along with Cobham, for the only evidence against him which the Court dared to bring forward, was that of Cobham; and they knew too well that in Raleigh's presence, the wavering Cobham would be worse than useless. Already repenting of his accusation of Raleigh in the surprise of his resentment, Cobham had retracted his accusations; and when pressed and cross-questioned by the Council, had so contradicted himself, that to bring him into public would be to render his evidence worthless. True, the Council had the intercepted letters, which had passed between Aremberg and the Spanish authorities, which were sufficiently criminatory of Raleigh and Cobham; but these could not be produced without an exposure of the fact that the correspondence of ambassadors and their principals was not safe in England. Indeed, Coke, who was of course duly instructed in the particulars of this correspondence, having made some too intelligible reference to Aremberg, Cecil compelled him to apologise to the ambassador, and hastened to assure the other ambassadors of foreign courts that Aremberg had no notion of the purpose for which Cobham and Raleigh had solicited money from Spain.

Coke's device was to mix the two plots. He went into the case at length, and what he lacked in proof he endeavoured to supply by abuse. He described in inflated language the intentions of the agitators of the "Bye," and declared that amongst other things, they meant to make proclamation against monopolies, as if that were absolute treason. Raleigh calmly reminded him that he was not charged with the "Bye." "You are not," replied Coke; "but it will be seen that all these treasons, though they consisted of several parts, closed in together like Samson's foxes, which were joined in their tails, though their heads were separated." Raleigh still insisted that the "Bye" was the treason of the priests, and said, "What is the treason of the priest to me?" "I will then come close to you," said Coke. "I will prove you to be the most notorious traitor that ever came to the bar; you are, indeed, upon the 'Main,' but you have followed them upon the 'Bye' in imitation."

Raleigh in reply demanded that his accuser should be brought face to face with him. He demanded it on the authority of the statute law and the law of God, both of which required that this should be done to prove an offence. But Lord Chief Justice Popham told him that the Statutes of Edward VI. to which he appealed, were cancelled by Philip and Mary; that he must take his trial by the common law, as settled by Edward III., under which a trial by jury and written evidence was as valid as a trial by jury and witnesses; and that at most one witness was sufficient. But Raleigh replied that his case was peculiar, and that there was not a single witness against him; for even the man who had borne testimony against him had retracted his assertions. He, therefore, reiterated his demand for the production of Cobham; declaring that if Cobham dared in his presence to reaffirm a single charge, he would submit to his doom, and would not add another word. When this challenge was passed over without any notice, he produced a letter which Cobham had written to him about a fortnight before, in which he said:—"To free myself from the cry of blood, I protest, upon my soul and before God and His angels, I never had conference with you in any treason, nor was ever moved by you to the things I heretofore accused you of; and, for anything I know, you are as innocent and as clear from any treasons against the king as is subject living. And God so deal with me and have mercy on my soul, as this is true."

This appeared a strong avowal, but Cecil was prepared for this, having, no doubt, already seen this letter on its passage; and Coke produced in defeat of it another letter written by Cobham to the Council but the day before. In this letter Cobham stated that Raleigh had twice sent letters to him in the Tower, which had been thrown into his window-sash in an apple, and that in these letters he entreated him to do him right by denying what he had said as to his wishing him to come from the Continent by Jersey, and in other particulars. Cobham replied that he retracted the assertion about Jersey, but went on to state that Raleigh had been the original cause of his ruin, for that he had no dealings with Aremberg but at Sir Walter's instigation. He added that at Aremberg's coming Raleigh was to receive a pension of fifteen hundred pounds a year, for which he was to keep the king of Spain informed of all designs against the Indies, the Netherlands, or Spain; that he (Cobham) also counselled him (Raleigh) not to be overtaken by preachers as Essex was, and that the king would better allow of a constant denial than of the accusation of any one.

During the reading of this letter Raleigh could not conceal his astonishment and confusion. When it was finished, he admitted that there had been some talk of a pension, but mere talk and nothing more. But the fact made a deep impression on the minds of the jury, and the prisoner probably being conscious of it, repeated his demand for the production of Cobham himself. "My lords," he exclaimed, "let Cobham be sent for; I know he is in this very house! I beseech you let him be confronted with me! Let him be here openly charged—upon his soul—upon his allegiance to the king—and if he will then maintain his accusations to my face, I will confess myself guilty!" But no notice was taken of this appeal: Coke still strove to bear him down by the coarsest brow-beating, shouting fiercely, "I will have the last word for the king!" "Nay," retorted Raleigh, "I will have the last word for my life!" "Go to," said the insolent lawyer; "I will lay thee upon thy back for the confidentest traitor that ever came to the bar." Cecil here interposed, telling Coke that he was too impatient and severe; but Coke cried, "I am the king's sworn servant, and must speak. You discourage the king's counsel, my lord, and encourage traitors."

The jury, but with evident reluctance, returned a verdict of guilty. On being asked, in the usual form, whether he had anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against him, he replied that he was perfectly innocent of the charges of Cobham, but that he submitted himself to the king's mercy, and recommended to the compassion of his majesty his wife and his son of tender years. After the sentence of high treason, with all its disgusting details, had been pronounced, Raleigh asked to speak privately with Cecil, Lord Henry Howard, and the Earls of Suffolk and Devonshire, entreating them that, in consideration of the position which he had held under the crown, his death might not be so ignominious as the strict sentence required. They promised to use their influence, and he was taken back to his quarters.

The charges of complicity which were made against Arabella Stuart, in the indictment against Raleigh, were of a nature which called for denial on her part. She was present at the trial in a gallery; and Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, who was sitting by her, arose, and in her name protested, on her salvation, that she had never meddled in any such matters. There appeared, indeed, no disposition at this moment to implicate the Lady Arabella, though her relation to the Crown made her an object of anxiety to James, as we shall soon have occasion to see. Cecil himself acquitted her of any concern in this treason, admitting that though she had received a letter from Cobham, entreating her to countenance it, she only laughed at it and at once sent it to the king. Of the actual extent of Raleigh's participation, and what was his real object, we have no means of judging, for though James was in possession of the letters between the accused parties and Aremberg, they could not, as already stated, be produced.

Cobham and Grey were arraigned before a tribunal of their peers, consisting of eleven earls and nineteen barons. Nothing could be more striking than the cowardice and meanness of Cobham, and the noble dignity of Grey. They were both condemned.

The two priests were first conducted to execution. They suffered all the bloody horrors of the law at Winchester, on the 29th of November. It was surmised that James was glad to be rid of Watson as one of the individuals to whom, before coming to the English throne, he had promised toleration to the Catholics. There was an attempt to prove the non-existence of such a promise, but it was crude and convinced nobody. At the gallows both Watson and Clarke declared that they were convinced they owed their death to their priesthood. They were cut down alive and their bowels torn out—a revolting practice which but too well illustrates the vindictive spirit of the age.

The next execution was that of Brooke. He was simply beheaded, also at Winchester, on the 5th of December. The people expressed great sympathy for him, under a belief that he had first been employed by Cecil in the troubled waters of these conspiracies, and then victimised by him. Markham, Grey, and Cobham were brought to the scaffold, induced to confess, and, after an interval of suspense, reprieved. Raleigh was imprisoned in the Tower of London for many years.

The effect of this conspiracy was to deepen James's suspicion of the Catholics and his dislike of the Puritans. The Catholics, since his coming to the English throne, had conducted themselves with more policy than their robustious rivals, the Puritans. They had claimed, indeed, the fulfilment of his promises whilst merely King of Scotland, to favour them as the staunch friends of his mother and serious sufferers on her account; but they had preferred their claims with a degree of courtesy and moderation to which the brusque Reformers were strangers. The pope, Clement VIII., probably led by the same expectations, had by two breves addressed to the archpriest and provincial of the Jesuits, strictly enjoined the missionaries to confine themselves to their spiritual duties, and on no account to mix themselves up with the agitators for political change. He condemned unequivocally the conduct of Watson and Clarke, and sent a secret envoy to the English Court, expressing his abhorrence of all acts of disloyalty, and offering to withdraw any missionary from the kingdom who was in any way obnoxious to the king and Council. James appeared so far influenced by this moderation, that though he stoutly refused all application for a free exercise of the Catholic worship, and even committed individuals to the Tower who offended in this respect, yet he invited the Catholics to frequent his Court, he conferred knighthood on some of them, and assured them generally that they should not suffer for recusancy so long as they abstained from a breach of the laws as regarded religion, and from all acts of political insubordination.

But towards the Puritans he was by no means so courteous. He could never forget that they had kept him in restraint in his infancy and youth; that they had been the defamers and persecutors of his mother; and that to the very hour in which he escaped into the larger field of English power, they had goaded him with their demands and defied his authority. As he drew nearer to the English throne, the charms of the English church increased in his imagination. A church which set up the king as its head was a church as much after James's own heart as after that of Henry VIII. Like that monarch, he dearly loved to shine in polemics, and long before he arrived in England, it required no great shrewdness to perceive where his affections lay.

No sooner was he in England than he spoke his mind roundly as to his real feelings towards the Puritans. He said to the bishops and courtiers: "I will tell you, I have lived amongst this sect of men ever since I was ten years old; but I may say of myself as Christ said of Himself, though I lived amongst them, yet, since I had ability to judge, I was never of them." And this was at least sincere. He had grown more undisguisedly Episcopalian as he saw Elizabeth sinking, and felt his hold on the throne through her own ministers. He had given seats in parliament to a certain number of clergymen, thus making them bishops without the name; but it was in his "Basilicon Doron"—a manual for the instruction of his son, published in 1779—that he had let loose his deep dislike of the Presbyterians. He tells his son to "take heed to such Puritans, very pests in the church and commonwealth, whom no deserts can oblige, neither oaths nor promises bind, breathing nothing but sedition and calumnies, aspiring without measure, ruling without reason, making their own imaginations, without any warrant of the Word, the square of their conscience. I protest," he added, "before the great God, and since I am here upon my testament, it is no place for me to lie in, that you shall never find with any Highland or Border thieves greater ingratitude, and more lies and perjuries than with these fanatic spirits; and suffer not the principal of them to brook your land, if ye list to sit at rest; except you would keep them for trying your patience, as Socrates did an evil wife."

But whilst the royal Solomon thus plainly enunciated his hatred of Puritanism, he was cautious not to let the English bishops too early into his fixed intention to patronise them. He liked to feel himself the undoubted head of that Church, and to see those dignitaries in fear and trembling prostrate at his feet; and it was not till they had sufficiently humbled themselves before him, that he revived their spirits with the declaration of his real sentiments. The Puritans precipitated this avowal, by urging on James a further reform of the Church, and its purgation from ceremonies. In their millenary petition (so called because it was expected it would have a thousand signatures, but in reality it had only about eight hundred) they demanded a conference, in which to settle the form and doctrines of the Church. This, of all things, delighted James. It was the very arena in which to display his theological knowledge; he gladly consented to it, and appointed it to take place at Hampton Court early in January, 1604. On the 14th of that month the first assembly took place; and the bishops, who were first admitted to the royal presence alone, were so alarmed at the prospect of a conference which had been demanded by Dissenters, that they threw themselves on their knees, and earnestly entreated the king not to alter the constitution of the Church, nor to give the Puritans the triumph in the coming debate, lest the Popish recusants should rejoice over and declare them justly punished for their repulsion and persecution of them. Then James condescended to lift the weight of fear from their hearts. He avowed to them that he was a sincere convert to the Church of England, and thanked God "who had brought him to the promised land, to a country where religion was purely professed, and where he sate among grave, reverend, and learned men; not as before, elsewhere, a king without state, without honour, and without order, and braved to his face by beardless boys under the garb of ministers."

The delight of the bishops and dignitaries at this gracious confession may be imagined. They were nearly twenty in number, whilst the Reformers summoned numbered only four—namely, Doctors Reynolds and Sparkes, divinity professors of Oxford, and Doctors Knewstub and Chatterton, of Cambridge. James somewhat cooled the raptures of the Churchmen, by adding that he knew all things were not perfect, and that, as some modifications of the ritual and the ecclesiastical courts were, in his opinion, needed, he had called them together in the first instance, in order that they might settle what concessions should be made to the Puritans. It was necessary to show some compliance; and after the day's discussion it was agreed that some explanatory words should be added in the Book of Common Prayer to the forms of general absolution and of confirmation; that the Chancellor and the Chief Justice should reform the practice of the commissary court; that excommunication should only be inflicted for particularly serious offences; that the bishops should neither confer ordinations nor pronounce censures, without the assistance and concurrence of other eminent divines; that baptism should not be administered by women or by laymen.

These points being determined, on the 16th the four Puritan divines were admitted, and instructed to state their demands. These embraced a general revision of the Book of Common Prayer, the withdrawal of excommunication, of baptism by women, of the use of the ring in marriage, of bowing at the name of Jesus, of confirmation, of the wearing of the cap and surplice, of the reading of the Apocrypha. They further required that pluralities and non-residence should cease, that obligation to subscribe the Thirty-nine Articles be abrogated, as well as the commendatories held by bishops. The bishops defended such parts of the church service and practices as the king had agreed should remain, and the prelates of London and Winchester argued in their behalf long and vehemently. As the Puritan doctors were not thus to be satisfied, and had by much the best of the argument, James himself took up the debate, and conducted it in that royal style which admits of no contradiction. He was now in his true element: theological discussion was his pride and glory, and he believed himself capable of silencing all Christendom. Dr. Reynolds, however, who was the chief speaker, undaunted by his crowned opponent, insisted boldly on various points; but when he came to the demand for the disuse of the Apocrypha in the Church service, James could bear it no longer. He called for a Bible, read a chapter out of Ecclesiasticus, and expounded it according to his own views; then turning to the lords of his Council, he said, "What trow ye makes these men so angry with Ecclesiasticus? By my soul, I think Ecclesiasticus was a bishop, or they would never use him so." The bishops and courtiers applauded the royal wit. James continued to hold forth on all sorts of topics—baptism, confirmation, absolution, which he declared to be apostolical, and a very good ordinance—and assured the anti-episcopal divines that in his opinion, if there were no bishops, there would soon be no king.

When he had tired himself out with talking, Dr. Reynolds again ventured to open his mouth, and inquired how ordinances of the Church agreed with Christian liberty. This was touching James closely: it brought back to his memory the harangues on the same liberty which he had heard from his clergy in Scotland. He declared that he would not argue that point, but answer as kings were wont to do in parliament, "Le roy s'avisera." Without pretending to treat the matter as one of conviction, he treated it as one of authority. He exclaimed, "I will have none of that: I will have one doctrine and one discipline, one religion in substance and in ceremony." He was resolved to be as absolute over every man's conscience and understanding as Henry VIII. had been. "If that is what you be at, then I tell you that a Scottish presbytery agreeth with monarchy as well as God with the Devil. Then shall Jack and Tom and Dick meet, and at their pleasure censure me and my council and all our proceedings. Then Will shall stand up and say, 'It must be thus;' then Dick shall reply and say, 'Nay, marry, but we will have it thus;' and therefore, here I must once more reiterate my former speech, and say, Le roy s'avisera."

It was in vain that Dr. Reynolds, who was reputed one of the most able divines and logicians of the age, attempted to state his views and opinions. The king constantly interrupted him and scoffed at him, treating him in the most insolently overbearing manner, and when he paused, asked him, "Well, doctor, have you anything more to say?" Reynolds, perceiving it useless, replied, "No, please your majesty;" on which James told these brow-beaten divines, that had they disputed no better in college, and he had been moderator, he would have had them all fetched up and flogged for dunces; that if that was all they had to say for themselves, he would make them conform, or hurry them out of the kingdom, or worse. With this scandalous treatment they were dismissed till the 18th, when the Conference met again. The greater part of the day was consumed by the king, the Council, and prelates in inquiring into the abuses of the high commission court, and devising means for checking them. At a late hour the Dissenting delegates were again admitted, not to continue the discussion, but to hear the fixed decision of the king. On hearing it they prayed that a certain time might be allowed before the new regulations were enforced. This was granted, but not strictly kept, for the new Book of Common Prayer was immediately prepared and published by authority.

Thus ended this curious Conference, in a complete triumph for the High Church party. The Reformers complained bitterly of this, but James himself was incapable of feeling the force of public opinion. He was inflated with the idea of his own unrivalled eloquence and ability. He boasted that he had "peppered the Dissenters soundly. They fled me," he said, "from argument to argument like schoolboys." The bishops and ministers of his Council added to his absurd egotism, by actually pouring deluges of the most fulsome adulation upon him. Bancroft, Bishop of London, flung himself on his knees before him, and exclaimed "that his heart melted with joy, and made haste to acknowledge unto Almighty God His singular mercy in giving them such a king, as since Christ's time the like had not been"; and Whitgift, the primate, protested "that his majesty spake by the special assistance of God's spirit." The Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, emulating the sycophants of the Church, said that "the king and the priest had never been so wonderfully united in the same person;" and the peers echoed the plaudits, declaring that his majesty's speeches proceeded from the spirit of God operating on an understanding heart. "I wist not what they mean," wrote Harrington, in "Nugæ Antiquæ"; "but the spirit was rather foul-mouthed."

All parties connected with the Church having thus admitted that the king was acting under the most luminous effusion of the Divine spirit, ought not, therefore, to have murmured when soon afterwards, without waiting for ecclesiastical sanction, he made his own alterations in the Book of Common Prayer, and then issued a proclamation, warning all men neither to attempt nor expect any further alterations in the Church, and commanding all ecclesiastical and civil authorities to enforce the strictest conformity. Whitgift soon after died (1604), and many attributed the acceleration of his death to his mortification at the king's ordering the affairs of the Church by his own will and wisdom, which Whitgift had been one of the first to extol as infallible. Bancroft succeeded him in the primacy, and showed himself a capable instrument of James's bigotry, and ready to enforce whatever cruelty he would attempt.

James spent fully half of his year in hunting, and if any person or party had an urgent matter to prefer, the only opportunity of doing so was by waylaying him in his rides to the forest. The Dissenters, as the time approached for the enforcement of the new canons of the Church, presented a petition to him near Newmarket, praying a prolongation of the time allowed them for conforming. James received them with savage fierceness; told them that it was from such petitions that the rebellion in the Netherlands originated; that his mother and he had been haunted by Puritan devils from their cradles; that he would sooner lose his crown than encourage such malicious spirits; and if he thought his son would tolerate them in his time, he would wish to see him that moment lying in his grave. The Nonconformists complained that he persecuted the disciples whilst he favoured the enemies of the Gospel. This was referring to his reception of Catholics at court, and his promises not to molest them if they abstained from the open prosecution of their worship. But James left them under no mistake on that head. He expressed an equally vehement hatred of Papists; and on the 22nd of February he issued a proclamation enjoining the banishment of all Catholic missionaries. He went to the Star Chamber, framed regulations for the discovery and prosecution of recusants, and issued orders to magistrates to see the penal laws put in force against all persons, of whatever faith, who did not fully conform to the rites and ordinances of the Church. Thus the miseries and oppressions of religious persecution were renewed with all their virulence; and the only consolation for those who refused to conform was that they might persecute one another.

In the midst of this state of things James was compelled to call a Parliament. This assembled on the 19th of March, 1604. It was one of the most remarkable Parliaments in our history, for it came together, on the part of both King and Commons, prepared to contest the great principles of absolutism and constitutional liberty; a contest which never again ceased till the people had triumphed over the Crown, and prescribed for it those limits within which it continues still to exist. The Tudors had made themselves absolute, but rather by acting than talking. They had willed, but had only occasionally boasted of the supremacy of their will. Whenever they had done so, especially in the person of Elizabeth, they received a protest so spirited from Parliament, that they wisely again veiled their pretensions. But James, possessing all their personal vanity and love of unlimited power, had not the policy to keep his pretensions in the background. He obtruded them on the public notice; he vaunted his towering belief of his earthly divinity, declaring that as God killed or made alive, so had He ordained kings to do the same at pleasure. Years before he came to England, he published these imperious and imprudent doctrines in a discourse "On the True Law of Free Monarchies; or, the Reciprogue and Mutual Duty betwixt a Free King and his Natural Subjects." He was, in short, a firm believer in the doctrine of the Divine Right of Kings, which had taken such a firm root in Europe.

In the proclamation calling this Parliament, James took care to set forth the supremacy of his prerogative, and commanded the sheriffs and other officers to make no returns of members but such as were wholly agreeable to his views; there were to be no "persons noted for their superstitious blindness in religion one way, or for their turbulent humour the other." That is, neither Puritans nor Catholics were to be elected. Instructions were sent down to the various counties and boroughs, naming such persons for candidates as were agreeable to the Court. But the Puritans were in no humour to comply with such unconstitutional orders. They were justly filled with resentment at the treatment of their representatives at Hampton Court, and put forward their own men and returned them in great numbers in defiance of the Government. One case led to a direct and vehement collision between the Crown and the House of Commons. Sir John Fortescue, a member of the Privy Council, had been named by the Court as a member for the county of Buckingham. The people of Buckinghamshire, afterwards so conspicuous in the struggles between the Stuarts and Parliament, elected Sir Francis Goodwin. The clerk of the Crown refused to receive the return, and sent it back to the sheriff as contrary to the proclamation; for Goodwin had formerly been outlawed, and James had forbidden the return of outlaws. A second writ was issued, and under it Sir John Fortescue was elected. But the Commons refused to admit him, declaring that as Goodwin's outlawry had been reversed, the proclamation did not apply to him, and that his return was good and should stand.

The Government, in the name of the Lords, proposed to the Commons that there should be a conference between the two Houses on the subject before any other business was proceeded with; but the Commons, with a clear insight into their privileges, where the constitution and functions of their own body were concerned, replied that it did not consist with the honour of their House to give an account of their proceedings and doings. On this they received a second message, in which they were informed, through Coke, that his majesty being apprised of their objection, conceived that his honour was touched, and desired that there should be some conference between the Houses. On this the Commons sent a deputation of their members, headed by the Speaker, to represent to the king why they could not confer with the Lords on any subject. The king was exceedingly high, and let them know that they held all their privileges by the royal favour; but the members stoutly denied that doctrine, as the House at large had already this session denied it, saying "that new laws could not be instituted, nor imperfect laws reformed, nor inconvenient laws abrogated, by any other power than that of the High Court of Parliament, that is, by the agreement of the Commons, the accord of the Lords, and the assent of the Sovereign; that to him belonged the right either negatively to frustrate, or affirmatively to ratify, but that he could not institute; every bill must pass through the two Houses before it could be submitted to his pleasure."

This was a doctrine that clashed disagreeably with James's absolute notions, and he upbraided the Commons with their presumption. But they stood firmly to their position and, what was extremely humiliating to the new monarch, excused his unconstitutional ideas through ignorance or misinformation of the custom and laws of England; the privileges of their house, they said, were the birthright of Englishmen and could not be surrendered. James claimed that all disputed matters should be referred to his court of chancery; but they claimed to settle all such themselves, as the essential to the government of their estate.

When James found that nothing would induce the Commons to confer with the Lords, he ordered them to confer with the judges, and this command the deputation carried back to the House. But the House, after a warm debate, unanimously refused to refer the question to the judges; they drew up an answer to all the king's arguments, and sent it to the Lords, requesting them to present it to his majesty, and be mediators between them. James, now finding that he could make no impression by express command, sent for the Speaker and endeavoured to coax him over to his views; but that being unsuccessful, he ordered him to deliver to the House his command, "as an absolute king," to confer with the judges. This was a direct challenge to the popular element to try its strength with the royal one—language which was sure to put a high-spirited people on its mettle: the first utterance of that language, which no warning, no experience could teach a Stuart to abandon, till the utterance was quenched in blood.

When the Speaker delivered this command, there fell a profound silence on the House—an augury and foreboding, as it were, of the gigantic struggle which was commencing. At length the ominous silence was broken by a member starting up and exclaiming that "the prince's command was like a thunderbolt; his command over our allegiance," he said, "is like the roaring of a lion! To his command there is no contradiction; but how, or in what manner we should proceed to perform obedience, that will be the question." It was finally agreed to send a deputation to confer with the judges in the presence of the king and Council. At the conference there appeared no better prospect of success, when the king happily proposed that both Goodwin and Fortescue should be set aside, and a new writ issued. The Commons gladly acceded to this proposal. The House was rejoiced at this solution of the difficulty, but out of doors those they represented were far from satisfied, and reproached the House with having yielded the right which they had boldly claimed. But in reality, the Commons had done no such thing, for they proceeded, by their Speaker's warrant, to issue the new writ themselves, and they have ever since exercised the right which they then assumed, of deciding all cases of contested elections.

The king, on his part, was as little satisfied as the people. He laboured under no mistake as to where the victory lay: he felt keenly that he was defeated in his soaring claims of prerogative, and the Commons went on to let him know that they were resolved on an exercise of power still greater. They attacked the monopolies which James had declared by proclamation that he would abolish, but towards which not a step was taken. They complained of the continuance of the feudal grievances of assarts, wardships, aids for royal marriages, and purveyance. The right of guardianship of minors of estate continued a source of vast emolument to the Crown, which received the proceeds of these estates and rendered no account. This was, moreover, a source of equal peculation to the minister for the time being, and Cecil was thought to draw enormous wealth from this abuse; and as for purveyance, it seems to have been as recklessly and insolently pursued as under any of the kings of York or Lancaster. The royal purveyors seized the property of the subject just as they pleased; took horses, carts, carriages, and provisions at will; called out men to labour for the royal pleasure, paying or not as suited them, felling trees, and committing sundry other depredations.

After much debate these grievances were referred to a committee; but as the Lords would have nothing to do with it, the matter was obliged to be dropped. Bacon, who was assiduously climbing into royal favour, played a contemptible part on this occasion in the House. He affected the character of a patriot, and discoursed feelingly of abuses and the sufferings of the people, while in the Council, before the king, he declared that his majesty was the voice of God in man, the good spirit of God in the mouth of man.

The struggle continued between the Crown and the Commons through the whole session. As the Crown would not agree to reform the abuses complained of, the Commons declined to grant the king any money beyond the usual rate of tonnage and poundage. So apprehensive, in fact, was the king of another defeat in the present temper of the House, that he sent a message requesting them not to enter on the business of subsidy, notwithstanding his urgent need of money.

The struggle regarding religious liberty was carried on by the Puritans in the House with equal obstinacy. Convocation sitting at the same time with Parliament occupied itself in framing a new code of ecclesiastical canons. In spite of the resolution of the Conference at Hampton Court, which declared that no excommunication should issue except for very grave offences, these canons—one hundred and forty-one in number—equalled in ecclesiastical despotism anything which had been decreed under Henry VIII. Excommunication was pronounced against all who denied the supremacy of the king or the orthodoxy of the Church; who affirmed the Book of Common Prayer to be superstitious or unlawful, that any one of the Thirty-nine Articles was erroneous, or that the ordinal was opposed to the Word of God. All who should separate from the Established Church, or established conventicles, were equally denounced, and this bigoted code James ratified by letters patent under the Great Seal. But it did not pass without severe comment from the Puritan members of the House, in the midst of which the king prorogued Parliament; and so remained the question of the canon law of England, which in reality was and is a law binding only on the clergy, having received their own sanction and that of their head the king, but not that of the Legislature; for which reason the judges have always held that it binds the clergy who framed, but not the people whose representatives refused it.

No sooner was the canon law promulgated and Parliament prorogued, than Bancroft, the new archbishop, let loose the fury of the Church against nonconformists, whether Catholic or Protestant. All were called on to conform to the new regulations, and no less than three hundred clergymen were forced from their livings. The Catholics, on their part, were equally harassed, fined, and insulted. The legal penalty of twenty pounds a month for recusancy was again enforced, notwithstanding James had promised to overlook this; and it was executed with a new rigour of barbarity, the fines for the whole period during which James had been professing leniency being levied. Thus the sufferers were called on to make thirteen payments at one time, which at once reduced a vast number of families to absolute beggary.

The Puritans did not submit to the outrages perpetrated on them without sturdy resistance and remonstrance. The Catholics, or at least a section of them, proceeded to something more dangerous. Smarting under their renewed persecution, they felt it useless to remonstrate like the Puritans, for both the Church party and Nonconformists were against them. They, therefore, as a body, brooded in silence over their sufferings; but there were amongst the oppressed spirits those who could not thus endure in patience, but planned a desperate revenge. Amongst these was Robert Catesby, the descendant of an ancient Catholic family, seated for centuries at Ashby St. Legers, in Northamptonshire, and also possessing considerable property in Warwickshire. Catesby's father had been a great sufferer for recusancy, having several times been imprisoned, in addition to the plundering of his substance. In his youth, the younger Catesby, who was wild and extravagant, was not disposed to sacrifice his jollity for the maintenance of a persecuted faith. He embraced Protestantism, but in 1598 he returned to his original belief, and, feeling the bitter force of persecution, he became stimulated to an active hatred of the Government. He aided the insurrection of Essex on condition that he should enjoy full religious freedom; and escaping the fate of his leader by the forfeiture of three thousand pounds, he then secretly joined himself to the Spanish party amongst the Catholics, in order to prevent the succession of the Scottish prince. This hope being defeated, and the Catholics not only seeing James prepared to falsify his promises of Catholic indulgence, but all the heads of the Catholic world abroad—the kings of France and Spain, and the Pope himself—seeking the friendship of the king, Catesby conceived the gloomy idea that deliverance could only proceed from the English Catholics themselves. In following out this desperate idea, he gradually evolved a scheme of vengeance and annihilation of all the persecutors of his faith. This was no other than to blow up the king and Parliament with gunpowder.

Catesby first made a confidant in his terrible project of Thomas Winter, the younger brother of Robert Winter, of Huddington, in Worcestershire. Winter was the intimate friend of Catesby, and had been long associated with him in the plans for the relief of the Catholics. He had been a volunteer in the wars of the Netherlands, and then was sent to Madrid as the secret agent of the Spanish party in England, amongst whom his friend Catesby was an active partisan. But familiar as Winter was with the sufferings and projects of the Catholics, this bloody revelation struck him with horror, and he denounced it vehemently as most criminal and inhuman. But Catesby spared no labour to reconcile his mind to the idea; he painted in vivid colours the long, the pitiless, and the unmerited cruelties inflicted on the Catholics. He enumerated the numbers who had been exterminated by the axe and the rope of the executioner; who had perished in their prisons, or who had been reduced from affluence and honour to beggary by the relentless bigotry of the Government. He demanded whence relief was to come, what hope there was left of effectual intercession from abroad, or of resolute resistance from the dispirited Catholics at home. He appealed to him whether God had not given to every man the right to repel force by force, and whether the whole world besides afforded them any other chance.

Winter was staggered but not convinced, and declared that he would not consent to any such frightful measure until fresh attempts had been made to procure a mitigation of their sufferings by milder means. He, therefore, hastened over to the Netherlands, where the Spanish ambassador, Velasco, had arrived, in order to conclude a peace between England and Spain. At Bergen, near Dunkirk, he had an interview with the ambassador, and urged upon him to demand a clause in the treaty for the protection of the Catholics. He was soon convinced that Velasco, though promising to use his influence for that end, would not risk the completion of the peace by the advocacy of such a stipulation.

Indignant at this apathy, he hastened to Ostend on his return, where he accidentally encountered an old comrade in the Netherland wars, of the name of Guido or Guy Fawkes, a native of Yorkshire, and a man of determined courage, as well as of great experience and address. He had been Winter's companion in his mission to Madrid, and he now solicited him to accompany him to England, and unite his endeavours with other friends for Catholic relief. Winter, it would seem, had now made up his mind to enter into Catesby's plot, but did not let Fawkes into the full secret for some time.

Meanwhile, Catesby had been ardently at work in the prosecution of his idea. He had communicated his plan to Percy and Wright. Thomas Percy was of the Northumberland family, and steward to the earl, and John Wright was brother-in-law to Percy, and reputed to be the best swordsman in England. Percy had joined the Catholics about the same time as Catesby returned to them, and like a zealous proselyte had, during the latter days of Elizabeth, gone to James at Edinburgh and endeavoured to draw from him a promise of favour to the Catholics on his accession. James is reported to have assured Percy that he would at least tolerate the mass in a corner. This James afterwards denied, but his denial can go for very little, for it was perfectly in keeping with his king-craft to promise what served to secure his ends for the time; and almost every monarch in Europe had to make that complaint against him. Percy, on the breaking out of the persecution under James, felt that he had been made the dupe of James's duplicity. He presented a remonstrance to the king, to which no answer was deigned, and Catesby found him in a mood of great resentment against the king, and in a favourable temper for his views. He not only agreed to co-operate but brought in his brother-in-law Wright, who was also a recent proselyte to Catholicism.

Percy appears to have been of a very excitable nature: the embryo conspirators assembled at Catesby's lodging, and Percy demanded whether they were merely to talk and never to act. Catesby said that before he would open his plan to them, he must demand from every one an oath of secrecy. This was assented to, and a few days afterwards, as appears by the confession of Winter, the five—that is, Catesby, Winter, Percy, Wright, and Fawkes—"met at a house in the fields beyond St. Clement's Inn, where they did confer and agree upon the plot, and there they took a solemn oath and vows by all their force and power to execute the same, and of secrecy not to reveal it to any of their fellows but of such as should be thought fit persons to enter into that action." When they had all sworn and perfectly understood what was proposed, Catesby led them into an upper chamber of the house, where they received the sacrament from Gerard, the Jesuit missionary, but who, according to Winter's confession, was not let into the secret.

This dreadful oath was taken on the 1st of May, 1604, but the conspirators resolved to wait for the remotest chance of any good arising out of the negotiations between England and Spain. But the treaty was concluded on the 18th of August, without any clause protective of the Catholics. Peace and commercial relations were restored between the two countries, and James was left at liberty to do as he pleased with the cautionary towns if the States did not redeem them. After the ratification of the treaty, the Spanish ambassador solicited in the name of his sovereign the goodwill of James towards his Catholic subjects; but James assured Velasco that however much he might be disposed to such indulgence, he dared not grant it, such was the terror of his Protestant subjects of any return to power of the Catholics. Velasco took his leave, and fresh orders were issued to judges and magistrates to enforce the laws against the Catholics with all rigour. This put an end to the patience of the conspirators, and they protested that it was but a fitting retribution to bury the authors of their oppressions under the ruins of the edifice in which they enacted such diabolical laws.

They now sought for a proper place to commence their operations, and they soon found a house adjoining the Parliament House in the possession of one Ferris, the tenant of Whinyard, the keeper of the king's wardrobe. This Percy hired, in his own name, of Ferris, on pretence that his office of gentleman pensioner compelled him to reside part of the year in the vicinity of the Court. But the conspirators were debarred from immediate operations, by the commissioners appointed by James to consider a scheme for the union of the two kingdoms, taking possession of this house where they sate for several months. Not wholly, however, to lose time, the conspirators hired another house in Lambeth, on the banks of the river, where they stored up wood, gunpowder, and other combustibles, which they could easily remove by night in boats, as occasion served, to their house in Westminster, as soon as it was in their hands. They confided the charge of this house in Lambeth to Thomas Kay, a Catholic gentleman of reduced means, who took the oath and entered into the plot.

On the 11th of December the conspirators obtained possession of their house, when they again swore to be faithful to each other, and they began their preparations by night. Behind the house, in a garden and adjoining the Parliament House, stood an old building. Within this they began to perforate the wall, one keeping watch while the others laboured. The watching was allotted to Fawkes, whose person was unknown, and who assumed the name of Johnson and appeared as the servant of Percy. Three of the others worked whilst the fourth rested. During the day they toiled at undermining the wall, and during the night they buried the rubbish under the earth in the garden. They had laid in a store of eggs, dried meats, and the like, so that no suspicion should be excited in the neighbourhood by their going in and out, or by there being brought in provisions for so many persons. They thus laboured indefatigably for a fortnight, when Fawkes brought them the intelligence that Parliament was prorogued from the 7th of February to the 3rd of October. On this they resolved to suspend their work till after the Christmas holidays, and to retire to their respective residences, agreeing neither to meet in the interim, nor to correspond or send messages to each other regarding the plot.

During their late labours, as they discussed various matters, Catesby, to his dread and mortification, discovered a strong tendency amongst his associates to doubt the lawfulness of their attempt, because innocent people must perish with the guilty, Catholics amid the persecuting Protestants. In vain he employed all his ingenuity in reasoning; he saw the feeling remain, and he endeavoured to secure a plausible argument before their coming together again. He therefore consulted Garnet, the provincial of the Jesuits, on this point. Catesby had accepted a commission as captain in a regiment of cavalry, to be commanded by Sir Charles Percy, in the service of Spain. He now observed to Garnet in a large company that he had no doubt about the justice of the war on the side of Spain, but as he might be called on to make attacks in which the innocent might fall with the guilty, women and children with armed soldiers, could he do that lawfully in the sight of the Almighty? Garnet replied certainly, otherwise an aggressor could always defeat the object of the party invaded by placing innocent persons amongst guilty ones in his ranks. This was enough for Catesby, the principle was admitted; and on the meeting of the conspirators after the recess, he was prepared to banish their scruple by assuring them that it was decided to be groundless by competent ecclesiastical authority.

On the 30th of January, 1605, they resumed their operations. They found the wall through which they had to dig was no less than three yards thick, and composed of huge stones, so that the labour was intense, and the danger of their blows being heard began to alarm them. They had an accession of force to their numbers, the brothers of Wright and Winter, and one John Grant, of Norbrook in Warwickshire, who had married a sister of the Winters. He had suffered much from persecution under Elizabeth, and his house was large and strongly fortified, offering a good depot for horses and ammunition. Besides these, Catesby had admitted Bates, his confidential servant, into the secret, believing he had more than half guessed it, and sent him with arms and ammunition to Grant's house in Worcestershire.

But at this point the operations of the conspirators received a severe check. There arose a difficulty which seemed to be insurmountable; which so disheartened some of the band that they were in favour of abandoning their project altogether—or at least for a time. This formidable obstacle appeared in the shape of ordinary water, which now began to ooze in from the river, and put a stop to all hope of making the passage. Fortune came to their aid, however. Whilst they were in this state of dejection, they were extremely alarmed by a loud noise, which appeared to come from a room just over their heads. Fawkes went to endeavour to learn the cause of it, and returned with the intelligence that it proceeded from the selling of the stock in trade of Bright, a coal merchant, who was evacuating the cellar, which would be in a few days unoccupied. At this joyful news, the mining of the foundation was abandoned; the cellar, which lay directly under the House of Lords, was immediately taken by Fawkes in the name of his pretended master, Percy. In a short time they had removed thirty-six barrels of gunpowder from the house in Lambeth in the darkness of night, and had covered them over in the cellar with faggots and billets of wood. All being prepared, they once more separated till September, a few days before the assembling of Parliament. They dispersed themselves to avoid all suspicion, and Fawkes went over to Flanders to endeavour to procure a supply of military stores, and to win over Sir William Stanley, Captain Owen, and other officers of the regiment in the pay of the archduke. Catesby was an officer of this regiment; most of these officers were Catholics and his personal friends, and he informed them through Fawkes, that things were come to that pass that it was reported that the Catholics were to be utterly exterminated throughout England, and that if they could not defend themselves by peaceable means, they must do it by the sword; and he enjoined them to engage as many of their brethren as possible to aid them in their deliverance. Sir William Stanley was absent in Spain and Owen promised that he would communicate with him; but little effect appears to have been produced by Fawkes's mission, except that of exciting the attention of Cecil, who received repeated intimations from Flanders that the English exiles had some secret enterprise in agitation, though what it was the informants could not discover.

Catesby at home was in constant activity. He had obtained a fresh accomplice in Keyes, an intimate friend of his, who had been stripped of his property and was prepared for the worst, being a man of determined disposition; and he had his eye on others who appeared in a mood for it. At the same time the growing excitement of Catesby endangered the secret. There was a tone and a restlessness about him which attracted the notice of his friends. He still delayed joining his regiment in Flanders, and Garnet, the Jesuit, came to suspect that he was engaged in some plot and warned him against such attempts. This only excited the anger of Catesby, and Garnet wrote to Rome and obtained letters from the Pope and the generals of his Order, strongly enjoining on the Catholics submission to the Government. Catesby, uneasy in his conscience, at length confessed to Garnet the existence of some plot. The Jesuit refused to hear anything of it, but endeavoured to impress on the conspirator the necessity of obedience to the breves from Rome. At length he prevailed on him to promise that nothing should be done till they had sent a messenger to the Pope fully detailing the condition of the Catholics in England, and had received an answer. But Catesby had no intention of deferring his enterprise on such grounds. Fawkes returned to England in September, and they resolved to proceed. A second prorogation of Parliament, however, from October to the 5th of November, disconcerted the conspirators, and induced them to fear that their designs had become known to Government. To ascertain this, if possible, Thomas Winter was deputed to attend in the House of Lords and watch the countenances and behaviour of the commissioners during the ceremony of prorogation. He returned, assuring them that their secret was still safe, for the commissioners walked about and conversed in the utmost unconsciousness of danger on the very surface of the prepared volcano—the six-and-thirty barrels of gunpowder.

These repeated delays, however, ensured the defeat of the plot. All the conspirators except Catesby were now ruined by fines, exactions, and persecutions on account of their faith. They had depended for support for the last twelve months on the assistance of relations and friends. Catesby had purchased the military stores and other requisites: his means were now exhausted, and yet more money must be in hand against the day of explosion if they meant to take full advantage of it. This induced them to extend the number of their accomplices, a perilous proceeding in anything demanding secrecy; and yet Catesby ventured on divulging the scheme to no less than three fresh associates, men of family and fortune. The first was Sir Everard Digby, of Drystoke in Rutlandshire, Gotehurst in Buckinghamshire, and of other large estates. Digby had been left as a boy a ward of Queen Elizabeth's and had been educated at her court as a Protestant. But a little before the death of the queen he embraced the Catholic faith, and thus abandoning the brilliant prospects before him, retired to his estates in the country. At the time of the conspiracy he had a young wife and two children, was only twenty-five himself, and thus had every imaginable earthly good within his reach. Subtle must have been the persuasion which could have induced such a man to risk all this in a desperate enterprise, and bold the spirit of Catesby who could venture to tempt him to do it. It was not effected without difficulty. Digby could not avoid seeing the hazard and doubting the innocence of such a proceeding, but eventually he gave way, and promised to assemble his Catholic friends on the opening of Parliament to hunt with him on Dunsmoor in Warwickshire, and to advance one thousand five hundred pounds.

The next was Ambrose Rookwood of Coldham Hall, Suffolk, the head of an ancient and wealthy family, who had suffered like his neighbours, but was still affluent. He had a fine stud of horses, which made him a very desirable coadjutor, independent of other considerations. He seems to have had as little ambition as he had motive for conspiracy, being, despite his share of persecutions, able to enjoy a quiet life; but his attachment to Catesby was his snare. Like the rest, he at first recoiled from the prospect of so much bloodshed; but Catesby managed to reconcile him to the idea, and he removed his family to Clopton Hall, near Stratford-on-Avon, in order to be near the Catholic rendezvous at Dunsmoor.

The third new accomplice was Sir Francis Tresham. His father, Sir Thomas Tresham, had long been severely handled on account of his religion, in Elizabeth's reign, and his son Francis, who succeeded him, had been engaged in several plots. He was in that of Essex in conjunction with Catesby and Percy, and escaped by a prompt distribution of three thousand pounds amongst the queen's favourites. His chief seat was at Rushton, in Northamptonshire. The selection of Tresham was especially imprudent, for he had the character of being selfish, reserved, and fickle; but he had money, which induced Catesby to trust him. From the moment, however, that he did so, he had no more peace of mind. Terrible fears and suspicions seized him, dreams as terrible haunted him at night. His comrades had no confidence in Tresham, whose character was well known; but the thing was done, and there was no retracing the step which was to bring destruction upon them. Tresham promised a contribution of two thousand pounds, and Percy also engaging to advance four thousand pounds from the rents of the Earl of Northumberland, whose steward he was, the pecuniary provision appeared ample, and they proceeded to organise their plan of operations.

A list of all the peers and commons who were Catholics, or who had opposed the penal statutes and other harsh measures against the Catholics, was made out, and these were at the last moment on the fatal morning to be called away from the House by some urgent message. Guy Fawkes was appointed to fire the train with a slow burning match, which should allow of his escape before the explosion; and a ship was to lie ready in the river to carry him over to Flanders, where he was to publish a manifesto justifying the deed and calling on the Catholic powers for aid. Percy, as a gentleman pensioner, was to enter the palace and secure the person of the young Prince Charles—it seems they were willing to let Prince Henry perish—and on pretence of placing him in security, convey him away to the appointed rendezvous at Dunchurch. Digby, Tresham, Grant, and others, were to hasten to Combe Abbey, and secure the Princess Elizabeth, whom, if the two young princes should not be saved, they were at once to proclaim queen. Catesby was to proclaim the heir-apparent, whoever it was, at Charing Cross; and on reaching Warwickshire a declaration was to be issued abolishing monopolies, purveyance, and wardships. A protector was to be appointed to conduct the Government during the minority of the sovereign.

There were circumstances enough in these regulations to have alarmed all but fanatics in the cause. Messages at the last moment to so many members of the two Houses must have created suspicion, and the endeavour to secure the royal children was full of hazard. But there were greater dangers than these. As the time drew nigh, almost every one had friends amongst the members of Parliament, and they were not contented with the general plan of drawing them away at the critical moment. Each wished to convey a particular warning to his own friends or relatives, which should make their safety certain. Every such warning, however, menaced the discovery of the whole scheme. Tresham was excessively anxious to rescue the Lords Mordaunt and Monteagle, who had married two of his sisters. Percy was equally desirous to save his relative, the Earl of Northumberland; Keyes, the old gentleman who had the custody of the house at Lambeth, was importunate to save Lord Mordaunt, who sheltered and maintained his wife and children after his own ruin; and all were eager to warn the young Earl of Arundel.

Catesby, extremely alarmed by these proposals, declared that means enough were in operation to keep those that they wished to save away; but that rather than endanger the result, he would have all blown up, though they were as dear to him as his own son. He and Fawkes, as the day drew near, retired to a solitary house in Enfield Chase, called White Webbs, where, as they were in consultation with Thomas Winter, Tresham suddenly made his appearance. He appeared excited and embarrassed, and demanded that he should be allowed to put Lord Monteagle, on his guard. When Catesby and his associates protested against it, he advanced reasons for delay, declaring that he should not be prepared with the promised advance of money till he had sold some property. He pleaded that the explosion would be as effectual at the end of the session as at the beginning; that in the meantime the conspirators might live in Flanders, whither his ship should convey them, and where he would supply them with the necessary funds for maintenance. Catesby was confirmed in his fears of Tresham by these proposals, but thought it best to dissemble and appear to acquiesce. Tresham returned to town, and would seem to have warned not only Monteagle but others, most likely including Lord Mordaunt. Digby and others of the conspirators are supposed to have warned their own friends, so that the danger of discovery was hourly increasing. Tresham, in his examination, alleged that his real object at this moment was not to delay but to put an end to the plot, as the only means he could devise to save the lives of all concerned, and to preserve his own life, fortune, and reputation.

The movements of Lord Monteagle warranted the belief that he had received a warning of some kind that there was danger in town, for he removed from his house in London to one which he had at Hoxton, and on the 26th of October, six days before the proposed opening of Parliament, he, much to the surprise of his own family, ordered a good supper to be prepared there. Monteagle had formerly been engaged in the Spanish treason, and had written to Baynham, who was the emissary at Rome, and therefore was probably aware of some plot in agitation, but he had latterly obtained the confidence of the king and was one of the commissioners for the late prorogation.

As he sat at table about seven o'clock in the evening, a page handed to him a letter, which he said he had received from a tall man whose features he could not recognise in the dark. Monteagle opened the letter and seeing that it had neither date nor signature, he handed it to Thomas Ward, a gentleman of his establishment, to read aloud. It was as follows:—"My lord out of the love i beare to some of youer frends i have a caer of your preservacion therefor i would advyse yowe as yowe tender youer lyfe to devyse some exscuse to shift of youer attendance at this parleament for god and man hath concurred to punishe the wickednes of this tyme and think not slightlye of this advertisement but retyere to youre self into youre contri wheare you may expect the event in safeti for thowghe theare be no apparance of anni stir yet i saye they shall receyve a terrible blowe this parleament and yet they shall not seie who hurts them this cowncel is not to be contemned because it may do yowe good and can do yowe no harme for the danger is passed as soon as yowe have burnt the letter and i hope God will give yowe the grace to mak good use of it to whose holy protecion i comend yowe."

The astonishment of the guests at the hearing of this letter may be imagined. Lord Monteagle immediately hastened to town, and laid the letter before Cecil and some of the other ministers, the king being away still at Royston, hunting. Cecil determined that nothing should be done till the king's return. The next morning Ward, who had read the letter publicly at the supper-table, communicated the circumstance to Thomas Winter, and said the letter was in the possession of Cecil. Winter was thunderstruck, but put the best face upon the matter that he could, and pretended to laugh at the whole affair as a hoax on the credulity of Lord Monteagle; but no sooner was Ward gone than he flew to White Webbs and imparted the news to Catesby. Catesby at once attributed the letter to Tresham, and the more so as he had absented himself for several days on the pretence of having business in Northamptonshire. The question was whether he had revealed the particulars of the plot and the names of the conspirators. To ascertain the extent of the mischief and of the guilt of Tresham, he sent him an imperative message to come to White Webbs. Tresham obeyed the summons on the 30th of October, and met Catesby and Winter at this lonely house in Enfield Chase. They had made up their minds if they found him guilty, to shoot him on the spot. They charged him point blank with the discovery of the plot, and kept a searching gaze upon his countenance as he received their declaration. Had he faltered or shown any confusion, his doom would have been instant. But he exhibited the utmost calmness and firmness of expression, protesting most solemnly that he was innocent of the charge.

That Tresham was the writer of the letter, and that he had entered into a confidential understanding with Monteagle for the defeat of the plot, there appears every reason to conclude. His own avowal on the examination that such was his intention is borne out by all the examinations. The delivery of the letter whilst Monteagle was at supper with his friends, if it was done by Tresham, shows an intention that it should thus be made irrevocably public. The instant communication of Lord Monteagle's servant with Winter the conspirator, in order to warn them, confirms the idea that all this was planned between Tresham and Monteagle; but there is no reason to believe that Tresham had betrayed the names of his accomplices.

Catesby and Winter returned with Tresham to town, and Guy Fawkes was despatched to the cellar under the Parliament House to discover whether all was right there. Not a thing or a secret mark was disturbed. They then first told him why they had sent him, on which Fawkes complained of their distrust of his courage, and said he would visit the cellar every day till the 5th of November. Had Cecil not been still more cunning than the conspirators, had he made a stir and an inquisition, the aim of Tresham would have been effected, the conspirators would have escaped, and the plot have been put an end to without any catastrophe. But the artifice of Cecil lulled their suspicions and lured them on to their doom.

On the 31st of October James returned to town, and the letter was laid before him, with the particulars of its delivery. The king was struck by the account, read the letter several times over, and discussed the matter for two hours with his ministers. He boasted to Parliament on its opening, that it was his own bright suggestion that the receiving of the letter sent to Lord Monteagle implied that they were all to be blown up, and that he in consequence ordered the search of the cellars under the Parliament House. But this was a piece of consummate flattery on the part of his ministers, to make it appear the result of his superior sagacity; for we have direct evidence in the circular of the Earl of Salisbury, that the ministers were in possession of the secret, but he observes, "we all thought fit to forbear to impart it to the king until some three or four days before the sessions." In fact, the intelligence that the letter was in the hands of the king, and that the Council was consulting on it, was immediately conveyed to Winter by Monteagle's servant. Upon this Winter waited on Tresham at his house in Lincoln's Inn Walks, where Tresham, in great agitation, assured him that the existence of the mine was known to the ministers; that he knew certainly, but denied any knowledge of the person by whom the discovery had been made. He declared that they were all lost if they did not escape at once. From the moment the affair was known, Tresham had avoided further intercourse with the conspirators, meaning to appear ignorant of their concerns, for which reason he went about openly, and even offered his services to the Council.

The conspirators met to decide on their plan of action. Some of them advised instant flight to the Continent; Catesby, Winter, and others were perfectly convinced that Tresham was in communication with Monteagle, and perhaps with Cecil; but some of them would not believe such treason, and the arguments of Percy finally nailed them to their fate. This discussion took place on the 3rd of November. Percy conjured them to wait and see what the next day would bring forth, the very last day before the grand crisis. He represented all the labour, the anxieties, the plannings they had gone through, the costs they had incurred, the difficulties they had overcome, and he demanded whether, on the very point of complete success, they were to abandon their enterprise through the fears of a recreant colleague, who probably described what only his affrighted fancy pictured to him. He reminded them that his vessel still lay in the Thames at their service, and on the first positive proof of danger, they had only to hasten on board and drop down the river out of reach of their enemies.

These arguments prevailed, but they changed their plan of operations. Fawkes was still to keep guard in the cellar, Percy and Winter to superintend the necessary operations in London; but Catesby and John Wright were to hasten to Dunchurch and put Sir Everard Digby and the party on their guard.

On the evening of Monday the 4th of November, the Earl of Suffolk, in prosecution of his duty as Lord Chamberlain, to see all necessary preparations made for the opening of Parliament, went down to the House accompanied by Lord Monteagle.

After they had been some time in the Parliament chamber, on pretence that some necessary articles were missing, they went down to the cellars to make a search. They entered the vault where the mine was prepared and where Fawkes was at his post. The Lord Chamberlain, casually casting his eyes round the place, inquired by whom it was occupied, and who Fawkes was. The staunch traitor replied that it was occupied by Mr. Percy, whose servant he was; on which Suffolk observed in a careless manner, "Your master has laid in a good stock of fuel;" and he and Monteagle left the cellar. No sooner were they off the ground, than Fawkes hastened to inform Percy of what had occurred, but the warning was lost upon him. He persuaded himself that all was yet undiscovered, and Fawkes returned to the cellar to await the fatal hour.

A little after midnight, being now actually the 5th of November, Guy Fawkes had occasion to open the door of the vault, and he was immediately seized by Sir Thomas Knevett a magistrate of Westminster, who, with a party of soldiers, had silently invested the place. Fawkes was found to be booted and spurred, ready for a precipitate flight after lighting the train; three matches were found in his pocket, and a dark lantern containing a light was placed behind the door. The least delay in seizing the desperado, and he would have blown himself and the guard all into the air together. But he was instantly pinioned, bound hand and foot, and conveyed to Whitehall, where the Council had assembled in the king's bed-chamber by four o'clock to interrogate him. Fast fettered as he was, the determined look of the undaunted traitor struck terror into the spectators. He appeared quite self-possessed, calm in aspect, and bold, though respectful in speech. Nothing could be drawn from him regarding the conspiracy. He said his name was Johnson, and that Percy was his master. He avowed that his object was to annihilate King and Parliament, as the only possible means of ridding the Catholics of their persecutions. When asked who were his accomplices, he replied that should never be known from him. Finding that nothing could be extracted from the conspirator, on the morning of the 6th of November he was sent to the Tower, accompanied by orders that the secret was to be extorted from him by torture. The instructions of James directed that the gentle tortures were to be tried first, with gradual resort to the severer forms if necessary. For three or four days this man of iron nerve and will endured the utmost agony they could put him to, without divulging a syllable, nor did he relax till he learned for certain that the conspirators had proclaimed themselves by appearing in arms.

Catesby and John Wright had left on the evening of the 4th for Dunchurch as agreed; Percy and Christopher Wright maintained their watch in London till they heard of the arrest of Fawkes, when they mounted and rode after Catesby and John Wright. Keyes and Rookwood still waited till morning, when finding the whole known and all London in a state of terror, Keyes got away after the rest. Rookwood lingered in town till near noon, as he had a relay of vigorous horses ready, and when mounted, he rode furiously, overtook Keyes on Finchley Common, whence they rode to Turvey in Bedfordshire. Rookwood still pursued his gallop till he overtook first Percy and Christopher Wright, and then Catesby and John Wright, and the whole troop rode on together till they came to Lady Catesby's, at Ashby St. Legers, in Northamptonshire. They arrived there at six o'clock in the evening, Rookwood having ridden the whole eighty miles from London in little more than six hours. A party of conspirators, with whom was Winter, were just sitting down to supper when the fugitives came in, covered with mud and sinking with fatigue. Yet no time was to be lost. After a hasty refreshment, the whole company got to horse, and rode with all speed to Dunchurch.

The strange, haggard, and dejected appearance of the conspirators, and their eager closeting with Sir Everard Digby, awoke the suspicions of the hunting party. Before midnight, a whisper of treason and its failure flew amongst them, and they quickly got to horse and rode off each his own way. In the morning there remained only Catesby, Digby, Percy, the Wrights, Winter, and a few servants.

Catesby now advised that they should strike across Worcestershire for Wales, where he flattered himself they might assemble the Catholic gentry and make a formidable stand. In pursuance of this romantic plan, they mounted and rode to Warwick, whence, after obtaining fresh horses for their jaded ones, they made for Grant's house at Norbrook, and thence rode on through Warwickshire and Worcestershire to Holbeach House, on the borders of Staffordshire. All the way they had called on the Catholics to arm and join them for the rescue of their faith, but not a man would listen to the appeal. On this decided failure, instead of pushing for the mountains of Wales, they resolved to make a stand at Holbeach.

Meanwhile Sir Richard Walsh the sheriff of Worcestershire, with the whole posse comitatus and a number of volunteer gentlemen, was in chase of them. They had diverged from their original route in the hope of being joined by the gentry, who only drove them from their doors; and now, no sooner did Stephen Littleton, the owner of Holbeach, learn the real facts, than, horrified at the certain destruction impending over these desperate men, he escaped at the earliest opportunity from the house. He was soon followed by Sir Everard Digby, on the plea of endeavouring to muster assistance. The remaining conspirators—who, with servants, did not amount to more than forty men—put the house in a state of defence; but as they were drying some powder before the fire, it exploded, scorching Catesby and some others of the bystanders.

This accident so appalled them, impressing them with the idea that their enterprise was displeasing to God, that Robert Winter, Bates the servant of Catesby, and others got away. About noon Sir Richard Walsh came up with his troop, surrounded the house, and summoned them to surrender. But preferring death in arms to the gallows, they defied their assailants, and resolved to fight to the last. On this the sheriff ordered one part of his followers to set fire to the house, and the other to batter in the gates. Catesby, blackened and nearly blinded by the powder, called on the rest to make a rush and die hand to hand with their assailants. In the courtyard, Catesby, the two Wrights, and Percy were mortally wounded. Catesby crawled on hands and knees into the house to a crucifix, which he seized in his hands and expired. Rookwood, dreadfully burnt and wounded, was seized as well as Winter, whose arm was broken. Percy died the next day. The rest of them were soon taken. Robert Winter had overtaken Stephen Littleton in a wood, and together they made their way to the house of a Mrs. Littleton, near Hagley, where they were secreted, without her knowledge, by her cousin Humphrey Littleton, but were betrayed by a servant of Mrs. Littleton. Sir Everard Digby was pursued and taken in a wood near Dudley. They were all captured, with Keyes and Bates Catesby's servant, who was taken in Staffordshire. Four days after the seizure of the captives at Holbeach, Tresham was arrested in London, notwithstanding his affected innocence and his offers of assistance to the Council; and thus were the authors of this conspiracy destroyed, or safe in the hands of Government. Soon afterwards Garnet was discovered hiding at Hendip in a secret chamber.

The trials, of course, excited intense interest, and the king, queen, and prince were said to be present, where they could see and hear without attracting public notice. The prisoners were eight, Sir Everard Digby, Robert and Thomas Winter, Rookwood, Grant, Guido Fawkes, Keyes, and Bates. Sir Everard Digby pleaded guilty, all the rest not guilty, on the ground that many things were included in the indictments which were not true. There were no witnesses called, but the written depositions of the prisoners and of a servant of Sir Everard's were taken as sufficient proof. The accused, for the most part, denied that the three Jesuits (Garnet and two others who had been implicated) had any part in the plot, though they might more or less be aware of it; nor was there any proof brought forward or admission made which affected the Catholic body generally. On the contrary, it was too notorious that the Catholics had everywhere shrunk from the conspirators with horror; and Sir Everard Digby, in his letters to his wife, written from the Tower, pathetically laments that the Catholics so far from supporting the conspiracy, shunned and condemned them, and adds that he would never have engaged in it if he had not thought it lawful. The prisoners who pleaded not guilty, excused their conduct by the cruelty of the persecutions which they were enduring, the ruin and sufferings of their families, the violated promises of the king, and their consequent despair of any other termination of their oppressions, as well as their natural desire to effect the restoration of what they deemed the only true church. The Earls of Salisbury and Northampton denied, on the part of the king, the breach of any promises; and the prisoners were condemned to the death of traitors, which they endured, in all its revolting severity, at the west end of St. Paul's Churchyard. Digby, Robert Winter, Grant, and Bates, on the 31st of January, and Thomas Winter, Fawkes, Rookwood, and Keyes, next day.

The Jesuits Garnet and Oldcorne and their two servants, Owen and Chambers, who had been captured in Worcestershire, were lodged in the Tower, and there underwent the strictest examination, and Oldcorne, Owen, and Chambers were placed upon the rack. Garnet was not racked, but was threatened with it, to which he replied, "Minate ista pueris"—"Threats are only for boys." As it was probably thought that nothing was to be hoped from Garnet through torture, a stratagem worthy of the Inquisition was resolved on. The warder in whose custody the Jesuits lay, received an order from the lieutenant of the Tower to assume a friendly demeanour towards them; to express his sympathy for their sufferings, and his respect for their undaunted maintenance of their faith. Having made a favourable impression, he proceeded to offer them all the indulgence in his power, consistent with their safe custody. The Jesuits fell into the snare. The warder offered to take charge of any letters that they wished to convey to their friends. His sincerity seemed so genuine that the offer was accepted; a correspondence with several Catholics was commenced, and the letters each way were regularly carried to the commissioners, opened, and copied before delivery. Many of the letters being found to have secret notes appended in lemon juice, which only became visible when heated, were retained, and exact copies sent. Some of these letters still remain in the Public Record Office. But this correspondence, notwithstanding the sympathetic ink, was so guarded, that it furnished no new facts and another plan was adopted. The warder, as if growing more willing to serve them by longer acquaintance, showed them that by leaving an intermediate door unlocked between their cells, the two Jesuits could meet and converse at freedom. Still confiding entirely in their apparent friend the warder, who recommended extreme caution, Garnet and Oldcorne gladly embraced this opportunity of intercourse. But in secret recesses in the passage were placed Lockerson the private secretary of Cecil, and Forsett a magistrate of the Tower, who heard and noted down the conversations of the prisoners. Five times were these treacherous interviews permitted, and the reported conversations of four of them are still preserved.

As might be expected, the conversations chiefly turned on the best mode of conducting their defence. In these conversations Garnet admitted that though he had denied it, he had still been at White Webbs, in Enfield Chase, with the conspirators, and would still maintain that he had not been there since Bartholomew-tide. On another occasion he let fall things which still further betrayed his knowledge of the plot. It is possible that he might even yet have escaped had he not, at his trial, avowed that he considered equivocation and mental reservation on any point that might incriminate him, perfectly justifiable. After that declaration popular sympathy was no longer in his favour. A verdict of guilty was pronounced against him, and he was hanged, drawn and quartered on the 3rd of May, 1606.

A Parliament was summoned for the double purpose of raising money and of extending additional punishment over the Catholics generally. The whole country was in that state of alarm and hostility to them, that James found it necessary to restrain rather than encourage the mania. Such was the public excitement, that even he was not exempt from blame on account of this lenity. He had chosen this inauspicious moment to make overtures to Spain for the Infanta as a wife for Prince Henry, and the Puritans at once ascribed his moderation to this cause, and declared that he was little better than a secret Papist himself. James was alarmed and obliged to give way. It was in vain that Henry IV. of France remonstrated against a bigotry which had already driven some of the Catholics to such desperate lengths. His ambassador represented that the king his master had learnt from experience that persecution only stimulated zealots to a temper in which they gloried in suffering, and that far more could be effected by kindness than by severity; that James should, if he loved peace, make himself their protector instead of their persecutor. But Parliament soon showed how useless at the moment was such advice. Both Houses appeared to be carried beyond all reason by their fears and their resentment. On the 3rd of February every member of the Commons was ordered to stand up in his place and propound such measures as appeared to him most desirable. The most extravagant propositions seemed the most acceptable, and after impetuous debates upon them, they were communicated by conferences to the other House, and in both Lords and Commons motions of the severest description were made and carried by triumphant majorities. Catholic recusants were now forbidden to appear at Court, to dwell within its boundaries, or within ten miles of the boundaries of London; or to remove on any occasion more than five miles from their homes, under particular penalties, unless in the latter case they had a licence from four neighbouring magistrates. They were rendered incapable of practising in surgery, physic, or common or civil law; of acting as judges, clerks, officers, in any court or corporation; of presenting to church livings, schools, or hospitals in their gift; or of exercising the functions of executors or guardians; where persons were married by Catholic priests, the husband, if a Catholic, could not claim the property of the wife, nor the wife, if a Catholic, that of the husband; and if a child born was not baptised by a Protestant minister within a month, the penalty was one hundred and fifty pounds; and for every corpse not buried in a Protestant cemetery, the penalty was twenty pounds. All existing penalties for absence from church were retained, with the addition that whoever received Catholic visitors, or kept Catholic servants, must pay for each such individual ten pounds per lunar month. Every recusant was declared to be excommunicated; his house might be broken open and searched at any time, his books and any articles belonging to "his idolatrous worship" might be burnt, and his arms and horses seized by the order of a single magistrate.

A new oath of allegiance was framed recognising absolute renunciation of the right of the Pope to interfere in the temporal affairs of the kingdom. The Catholics who submitted to take this oath were to be liable only to the penalties now enumerated; but they who refused were to be imprisoned for life, and to suffer forfeiture of their personal property and the rents of their lands.

The publication of these terrible enactments carried astonishment and dismay through the nation; many Protestants as well as Catholics condemned them. The French minister Villeroy declared that they were characteristic of barbarians rather than of Christians. Many Catholics made haste to quit their native country, and the rest prepared to sacrifice both property and personal liberty. The Pope Paul V. despatched a secret emissary to James, imploring him to relax the rigour of the new laws, but without success. And the Pontiff, resenting the repulse, then published a breve, denouncing the oath of allegiance as unlawful, "because contrary to faith and salvation." The publication of this imprudent breve only made matters worse. The Catholic clergy were before its arrival divided in their opinions as to the lawfulness of taking it; the archpriest Blackwall himself, with many of his brethren, were prepared to take it. The authority of the Pope extinguished theirs and decided the majority; yet Blackwall took the oath himself, and advised the Catholics, by a circular letter, to take it.

But no submission on the part of a portion of the Catholics could mitigate the wrath of James at the conduct of the Pope. He ordered the bishops in their several dioceses to tender the oath, and to enforce the penalties on all recusants. Three missionaries lying under sentence of death for the exercise of their priestly functions, were called upon to take it; they refused. Two of them were saved by the earnest intercession of the Prince de Joinville and the French ambassador. The third, named Drury, was hanged, drawn, and quartered. Blackwall the archpriest himself was thrown into prison, though he had both taken the oath and advised the rest of the Catholics to take it; and though James pitied him, he could do nothing more in his behalf than prevent him from being brought to trial and capitally condemned. The case of Blackwall was extremely hard, for, on the other hand, he had excited the resentment of the Pope by his concession. He was called on by letters from Cardinals Bellarmine and Arrigoni, and the Jesuits Parsons and Holtby to retract; but as he would not, he was superseded by Birket. He was then in his seventieth year, and remained in prison till his death, in 1613.

A second breve from the Pope roused the spirit of James; he determined to try whether he could not silence the clamour of the papal party by his pen. He abandoned even the pleasures of the chase, refused to listen to his ministers, and calling his favourite divines around him, he shut himself up with them, and produced a tract called "An Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance," which was immediately translated into French and Latin. But as the royal brochure did not convince the Catholics, six priests were condemned for refusing the oath, and three of them were executed, one at York and two at Tyburn. Moreau, Bellarmine, and Parsons, published replies to the royal treatise; and again James closeted himself with his divines, revised his publication, and prefaced it with a "Premonition to all Christian Princes." It was in vain that the kings of Denmark and France counselled him to desist from a contest so unworthy of a great monarch, in vain that the queen urged the same advice. He condescended to declare that the fittest answer to Parsons would be a rope; and as for Bellarmine, who had written under a feigned name, he dubbed him "a most obscure author, a very desperate fellow in beginning his apprentisage, not only to refute, but to rail at a king." The flatterers of the king applauded his "immortal labours," as they were pleased to call them; and James continued to toil at them, revise, and remodel his arguments till 1609. The Catholic peers, with the exception of Lord Teynham, all took the oath on different occasions in the Upper House.

To dismiss for the present the religious controversies which kept the kingdom in a ferment of bitterness, we have a little overstepped the progress of general events. In the spring of 1606 James called together Parliament, for he was in much distress for money. As usual, the Commons had their list of complaints to set off against his demands and as James showed no eagerness to redress no less than sixteen subjects of grievance, the Commons made no haste with the supplies. At length, in the month of May, whilst the question of the subsidy was dragging its slow length along, and Cecil was endeavouring in vain to quicken the motion of the House, by making promises which meant nothing beyond inducing the members to vote, a sudden rumour ran through the court that the king was assassinated at Oaking in Berkshire, where he was hunting along with his favourites, the Earl of Montgomery, Sir John Ramsay, and Sir James Hay. The mode of his death was variously reported. One version was that he had been stabbed with a poisoned knife, and another that he had been shot with a pistol, and a third that he was smothered in his bed. The murderers were differently represented to be the Jesuits, Scotsmen in women's clothes, Frenchmen, and Spaniards. There was great consternation both in the City and the Parliament. The Lords displayed the utmost loyalty; and the Commons suddenly closed their money debate by voting three subsidies and six fifteenths. In the midst of the panic James arrived safe and sound in London, and was received with proportionate enthusiasm. As the sensation went off, many began to suspect that Cecil, and perhaps the king himself, could have explained the origin of the ruse—that it was but a spur to the tardy liberality of the Commons. At all events, James, having obtained his supplies, prorogued Parliament to the 18th of November.

The great business of Parliament now for several sessions—that is, from 1604 to 1607—was that of discussing James's suggestion for the union of the two kingdoms. This very suggestion, so immediately brought forward, was a glaring proof of James's want of solid judgment. The least reflection might have satisfied the least reflecting mind, that two nations which had for so many ages been inflamed against each other by wars, injustice, mutual cruelties, political jealousies, and the taunts which embittered passions had caused them to fling at each other, would require a long time to reconcile them to the idea of entire amalgamation. The centuries of attempted usurpation on the part of the English, and the determined resistance, even to death, of the Scots, made the latter sensitively apprehensive of the union. They saw in it only the accomplishment of the same end by different means. They were the less disposed to it in consequence of the foolish boastings of James of his absolute power. His high notions of prerogative appeared to have grown wonderfully since his accession to the English throne. He compared himself to a god upon earth, and had already given out his style and title as king of Great Britain. The Scots were, therefore, naturally suspicious of a union which would very largely augment his powers. Still more, his new and excessive leaning towards Episcopacy alarmed the Scots. They saw nothing but its attempted imposition on them in the union of the kingdoms, and they were not inclined thus easily to give up their freedom of conscience which they had fought out at so much cost. On the other hand, James's imprudent bestowal of posts and honours on Scotsmen in England, offended and disgusted the English. They asked whether they were to be overrun by a regular inundation of proud and hungry adventurers from the North. In the Commons the expressions of contempt and aversion to the Scottish race grew to the height of insolence and insult, and were sure to excite the most indignant feeling in that people. Sir Christopher Pigot, the member for Buckinghamshire, especially distinguished himself by the vituperation of Scotsmen. He professed the utmost horror at the idea of union between a rich and fertile country like England, and a sterile and poor one like Scotland; between a people wealthy, frank, and generous, and one at once haughty, beggarly, and penurious. This put the climax to the patience of Scotland, and James declared he could no longer tolerate language which insulted himself as a Scot.

Cecil at the command of the king took up the matter warmly, and the House of Commons, persuaded by him, expelled Pigot, and he was committed to the Tower. Defeated in the Commons, James betook himself to the courts of law. He had proposed to the Commons to pass an Act naturalising all Scots, even those born before his accession to the English throne; but when they rejected this, he obtained a decision from the judges sanctioning the admission of the inhabitants of each kingdom to all the rights of subjects in both. This would in a few years have made the Scots as much subjects of the English Crown as the English themselves, but James was not content with this. He used very angry and impudent language, threatening to leave London and fix his court at York or Berwick; telling his English subjects to remember that he was a king, who had to govern them and to answer for their errors; who was made of flesh and blood like themselves, and might be tempted to do what they would not like.

The Commons resented this language: they sent their Speaker to desire that the king would receive no reports of their proceedings except from themselves, and that they might be permitted to feel that they were at liberty to deliver their opinions in their own House without restraint or fear. James, who was easily alarmed, professed to have no desire to encroach on their liberty of speech, but no sooner did they put him to the test than he renewed his interference. A petition being presented to the House complaining of the oppressions upon the Puritans, and the abuses of the Church, James sent an order to the Speaker to inform the House that they were meddling with what belonged alone to him. The members declared this to be a violation of their privileges, but the Speaker informed them that there were plenty of precedents for such restraint on the House by the Crown. The House on this proposed to appoint a committee to inquire into these precedents, and how far they were founded in constitutional right; but here again, James, fearing he had gone too far, sent them word that although the matter in question properly belonged to him, he should not object to their reading the petition.

But the Crown and the House very soon came into collision on the subject of the powers of the Commons. A petition was presented from the merchants, representing the injuries their ships and commerce received from Spain, particularly on the coasts of South America, the ports of which the Spanish were endeavouring to close against all other nations. The Commons thought it a subject of that national character that they should have the co-operation of the Peers with them, and therefore sent to the Upper House proposing a conference. But the Lords demurred, thinking it a subject which the Commons were scarcely authorised to enter upon. The difficulty, however, was mutually obviated; the Lords agreed to the conference. But it proved only an occasion for the Crown to deliver a lecture to the Commons on their aspiring to deal with subjects too high for them. James was, in fact, contemplating an alliance with Spain, and was by no means disposed to offend its rulers. Cecil, therefore, and Lord Henry Howard, now Earl of Northampton, read the Commons a very plain lecture, instructing them that all matters appertaining to peace or war, and all such topics as led to these results, belonged especially to the Crown; which indeed occasionally consulted the Commons, not out of right or necessity but as a matter of favour and also of policy, when it was advisable to have the sympathy and active support of the representatives of the people. But the declaration of war or concession of peace was the absolute prerogative of the Crown; the business of the Commons was more private and local, such as the furnishing of funds—and when money was wanted, they never failed to hear of it.

The Commons allowed the petition of the merchants to stand over for the time, but out of doors the spirit of dissatisfaction rose high, and the leaning of James towards Spain was narrowly watched and commented upon.

While the Government and the Commons were engaged in this discussion, a serious insurrection called the attention of the Council another way. The lucky courtiers who had obtained amongst them the estates of the gentlemen who had forfeited them for their share in the Gunpowder Plot, whilst dividing and enclosing, like their predecessors who had obtained the estates of the Church, cast greedy eyes on the adjacent common lands, and enclosed as much as they could of them with the rest. The people, deprived of their right of pasturage, rose in resistance, as they had done in the reign of Edward VI. They had the statutes regarding enclosures in their favour, and assembling in numbers from one to five thousand, they broke down the new fences, filled up the ditches, and restored the usurped fields to their ancient state as common. Like the agrarian reformer, Ket of Norfolk, they confined themselves strictly to their legitimate object. They conducted themselves with perfect order, committed no depredations on really private property, nor perpetrated any excesses, to which their numbers might have tempted them. They appeared in great force at Hill Morton, in Warwickshire, an estate of Tresham's, and in their largest force of five thousand at Coleshill. Their leaders, whoever they were, appeared in masks, except one man of the name of Reynolds, who was an enthusiast and set all danger at defiance; declaring that he was sent of God to satisfy men of all degrees, and had, moreover, authority from the king to level all the new fences. He acquired the name of Captain Pouch, from a large pocket which he wore at his side, and in which he boasted that he carried a charm which not only made him invulnerable to sword or bullet, but which would protect them from all harm.

The insurgents broke out about the middle of May, having in vain previously presented their memorials to the Council, the members of which were too much interested in the lands in question to pay any attention to them. At first James and the Court were greatly alarmed, supposing it to be a demonstration of Catholics or Puritans. The guards at Westminster palace were doubled, and orders were issued to the Lord Mayor to watch the movements of the apprentices in the City. A little time, however, revealed the real nature of the rising, and the insurgents were ordered to disperse; but they stood their ground, assuring the magistrates that they were only executing the statutes against enclosures, and were under orders not to violate the law in any manner, nor even to indulge in swearing. The lieutenants then endeavoured to raise the counties, but the yeomanry displayed no desire to interfere in such a cause; and many gentlemen even contended that it was best to concede the matter to the poor, advice which, if followed, would no doubt have ensured speedy quietness without bloodshed. But this did not suit the views of the interested Council, and the Earls of Huntingdon and Exeter and Lord Zouch were sent with a considerable force to quell them. Sir Edward Montague and Sir Anthony Mildmay came upon a number of them busy levelling the enclosures at Newton, another estate forfeited by Tresham. They found them well armed with bills and bows, pikes and stones. The officers commanded them to disperse, but they refused, and after twice reading the Riot Act in vain, a charge was ordered. The trained bands showed no relish for the business; but the regular cavalry, and the servants of Mildmay and Montague, attacked them briskly. The insurgents returned the attack with much bravery, but at the second onset broke and fled. Forty or fifty of them were killed, and a great number wounded. Sir Henry Fookes, who led on the infantry against them, was severely wounded. After this defeat "the levellers," as they were called, were pursued in all directions and everywhere put down and dispersed. Many prisoners were made and a commission, with Sir Edward Coke at its head, was appointed to try them.

James, with a feeling that did him honour, instructed the Commission to use moderation in punishing the prisoners, declaring that the Council had been more to blame than they, for neglecting their petitions. Had they not intercepted them, he pretended to say that they would have received redress from him. He maintained that they had been oppressed and driven to resistance by the rapacity of the gentry and the neglect of ministers. Pouch and some of his associates were condemned and executed as traitors on the 28th of June; and some of the others were hanged as felons because they had not dispersed on the reading of the Riot Act.

The king on the 4th of July prorogued Parliament till November, but having got a considerable amount of money from it, and little other satisfaction, he did not summon it again till February, 1610. Could he have found sufficient funds any other way, it is quite certain that he would never have called it any more. In his suit of Lincoln green, with a little feather in his hat, and a horn by his side instead of a sword, he followed his hounds through the forest, happy as Nimrod himself, so long as the means lasted. But James's Court was altogether on an extravagant scale. Like a youthful heir whose guardians have kept him close, and who makes up for a long abstinence by tenfold profuseness on coming to his estate, James, escaped from the poverty of his Scottish establishment where he had mainly lived on his pension from Elizabeth, now gave rein to extravagance as if nothing could exhaust the affluence of England. He had a most expensive household, and he gave money to his favourites as though he had the wishing-cap of Fortunatus.

Not only was his own household lavishly managed, but even those of Henry and Elizabeth, two of his children, consisted of one hundred and forty personages. In 1610, but three years after this period, that of Prince Henry was increased to four hundred and twenty-six individuals, of whom two hundred and ninety-seven were in receipt of salaries, besides a number of workmen employed under Inigo Jones, the architect.

But above all the presents to his favourites would have given the idea that his resources were interminable. At the marriage of Sir Philip Herbert with Lady Susan Vere, he gave him an estate valued at £500 a year. At the marriage of Ramsay, Viscount Haddington, with Lady Elizabeth Ratcliffe, he paid his debts, amounting to £10,000, having already endowed him with an estate of £1,000 per annum; and he presented to the bride a gold cup containing the patent of a grant of lands worth £600 a year. His gifts at different times to Lord Dunbar amounted to £15,262; to the Earl of Mar, to £15,500; and to Viscount Haddington, to £31,000.

This Viscount Haddington was the Sir John Ramsay who stabbed the Earl of Gowrie, at the time of the singular Gowrie conspiracy; and James went on promoting him till he became Earl of Holderness, with many grants of lands, gifts, and pensions. The second in James's regard, in the early part of his reign, was another Scotsman, James Hay, whom he successively created Lord Hay, Viscount Doncaster, and Earl of Carlisle. Clarendon says that this man, in the course of a very licentious career, spent above four hundred thousand pounds and left neither house nor child to be remembered by. James, in England, also chose several English favourites. The first of those was Sir Philip Herbert, brother of the Earl of Pembroke and son of the sister of Sir Philip Sidney. He was created Earl of Montgomery, and was especially agreeable to James because he despised learned men—for James was jealous of all such—and took pleasure only, like his royal master, in dogs and horses. Montgomery was in the ascendant till the king's eye fell on one Robert Carr, destined to a strange history; and the English and Scottish favourites, by their mutual hatred of each other, their quarrels and duels, gave James sufficient trouble. Haddington and Montgomery had an affray in which Montgomery showed the white feather, and James sent Haddington for a short time to the Tower. Douglas, the Master of the Horse, was killed in one of these squabbles; and some years later Lord Sanquhar had an eye thrust out by a fencing master, for which his lordship killed him, and was executed for the deed. Such was the disgraceful condition of the court of the British Solomon.

During the years 1608 and 1609, negotiations were pending between the United Provinces of the Netherlands and Spain. James, who had a claim on these Provinces for above eight hundred thousand pounds on account of advances and services by Elizabeth, for which he held the towns of Flushing, Brell, and Rammekens, would have been glad to obtain possession of the money. So well was this known, that there were rumours that, as he could not obtain the sum due, he was intending to sell the towns to Philip III. of Spain. The Archduke Albert was still in Flanders, not having abandoned the hope of recovering the revolted States; and Catholics from England were in the habit of volunteering to assist him in undoing what Queen Elizabeth had done there. But much as James was pressed for money, he was scarcely daring enough to aid Spain in its views. The spirit of Protestantism was too strong in England tamely to witness such an anti-Protestant policy; and, in fact, James himself was rather afraid of an attack from Spain, than hoping for a coalition with it. The Earl of Tyrone had fallen under suspicion of fresh rebellion, and had fled to the Spaniards in the Netherlands for security. Cecil apprehensive that Philip might be disposed to attempt his restoration, instructed Sir Charles Cornwallis, at Madrid, to use bold language on the occasion. This appears to have had effect, for Tyrone retired to Italy. But a new danger presented itself in the rumour of negotiations for peace between Holland and Spain. Cecil dreaded a pacification between these Powers, as it would allow Philip more opportunity to turn his attention to Ireland, if so disposed.

The English Government was surprised and mortified to learn that such negotiations were actually proceeding, and that the King of France had been invited to join in them. At length James, who had so deep a stake in the Netherlands, received a formal notice to the same effect, soliciting his co-operation. These negotiations were conducted at the Hague, but it was not till March, 1609, that they were brought to a conclusion. The result was a truce for twelve years, which was, in fact, equivalent to a peace, acknowledging the independence of the Dutch States, after a brave conflict for liberty of forty years. The debt of James, amounting to eight hundred and eighteen thousand pounds, was acknowledged, and engagements entered into for its payment by annual instalments of sixty thousand pounds. But the first payment was not to be made till the end of two years, and James was still to retain the cautionary towns till the whole was discharged.

The postponement of the payment of the debt of Holland was extremely embarrassing to Cecil. On the death of the Earl of Dorset, in 1608, he succeeded to the office of Treasurer, and to the clamorous demands which had been made upon Dorset. His carriage had been stopped in the streets by the servants of the king's household, who were loud in their demands for their long arrears of wages, and the purveyors refused to bring in any more supplies till they were paid their advances. Cecil, on examining the accounts, found James one million three hundred thousand pounds in debt, and exceeding his income at the rate of upwards of eighty thousand pounds per annum. He set to work resolutely to curtail this expenditure and to devise means of raising money. James always claimed an authority paramount to all laws; and Cecil ventured to put in practice the idea of prerogative in raising the necessary funds. He called in rigorously the unpaid remains of the last voted subsidies, and then proceeded to lay on duties and impose monopolies of the most odious nature, without any sanction of Parliament. His predecessor Dorset had set him the example by levying an import duty on currants by letters patent. This illegal demand had been resisted, and Bates, a Turkey merchant, was proceeded against for refusal to pay, in the Court of Exchequer. This court was base enough to decide in favour of this unconstitutional stretch of power, and James was delighted at so auspicious a concession of the justice of his doctrine of prerogative. Cecil pressed on in the path thus opened, and laid on import and export duties on various articles by orders under the Great Seal. He imposed a feudal aid towards the knighting of the Prince Henry, of twenty shillings on each knight's fee; but this produced only twenty-eight thousand pounds. He then extended his duties to almost every species of imported and exported goods, at the rate of five pounds per cent. on the value of the goods, which he calculated would produce three hundred thousand pounds per annum; and he sold to the Dutch a right of fishing on the coasts of England and Scotland. Cecil himself was the farmer of these duties. They were, however, of a character to excite the utmost dissatisfaction; trade fell off under their influence, fewer ships came into the English ports, and there was at length no alternative but to summon a Parliament, which met on the 24th of February, 1610.

The great topics which occupied this Parliament were, of course, the king's want of money and his continual violations of Magna Charta. Cecil, seeing the desperate state of the royal finances, made a bold demand that six hundred thousand pounds should be at once voted to liquidate his debts, and that an annual addition of two hundred thousand pounds should be consented to as a permanent pension, to prevent him from getting into debt again. But Cecil committed a great blunder both in routine and in sound policy, by proposing this money measure to the Lords instead of to the Commons, whose proper business it was. The Commons resented this course, and were more determined than ever in demanding an abandonment of the unconstitutional practice of imposing duties without their consent. They declared that the imprisonment of Bates for opposing this practice, though sanctioned by the Exchequer, was nevertheless illegal. Francis Bacon and Sir John Davis endeavouring to justify the despotic proceeding, only increased the exasperation of the House. It was declared that if the taxing of merchandise by prerogative was permitted, the taxing of their lands would soon follow. James sent them word to desist from such discussions; but the Commons were not to be thus silenced, whereupon James sent for both Houses to Whitehall, and delivered a most blasphemous speech in vindication of his inflated notions of kingly authority. "Kings," said he, "are justly called gods, for they exercise a manner or resemblance of divine power upon earth. For if you will consider the attributes of God, you shall see how they agree in the person of a king. God hath power to create or destroy, to make or unmake, at His pleasure; to give life or send death, to judge all, and to be judged of nor accountable to none; to raise low things, and to make high things low at His pleasure; and to God both body and soul are due. And the like power have kings. They make and unmake their subjects; they have power of raising and casting down, of life and of death; judges over all their subjects, and in all cases, and yet accountable to none but God only. They have power to exalt low things and abase high things, and make of their subjects like men of chess—a pawn to take a bishop or a knight; and to cry up or down any of their subjects as they do their money. And to the king is due both the affection of the soul, and the service of the body of his subjects." To resist the king in any of his acts or impositions, he declared was sedition; for the king was above all law, and laws were, in fact, but granted by kings to the people as a matter of favour.

The Commons would not listen to such insane language. They told the king that in extolling the power of kings, he forgot the existence of Magna Charta, which set eternal and impassable bounds to that power; and they appointed a committee to search for the legality or illegality of all the practices complained of. The Crown lawyers in committee argued that "the reverence of past ages, and the possession of present times," sanctioned the king's doctrine; and that the right of imposing duties had been exercised by the three first Edwards by their own will, and independent of Parliament; and that if it had been interrupted from Richard II. to Mary, yet that princess had reassumed the royal privilege, and that it was continued by Elizabeth. But the Commons replied that in all these cases the monarchs had violated Magna Charta, the Statute de tallagio non concedendo, and twelve other Parliamentary enactments; that no time or practice could establish a right against those great bulwarks of popular liberty. And the Commons therefore demanded that a law should be made during this Session, declaring that all such impositions of duties or taxes, without consent of Parliament, should be pronounced for ever void. And they accordingly passed such a Bill, which, however, was rejected by the more subservient Lords.

James writhed under this plain and direct denial of his assumed authority, and refused to surrender the question. He found in the bishops a body, on the whole, ready to co-operate with him in his attempt to destroy the Constitution; and Bancroft, the Primate, led the way with unblushing baseness. Under his leadership the whole High Church party echoed the king's most absolute dogmas, and claimed for him all the divinity which he professed to possess. The king, according to their creed, being divine, so were the bishops who were appointed by him, and therefore this divine Crown and Church were above all law. The ecclesiastical courts carried this theory into daily practice, and encroached on the temporal courts as pertinaciously as the king did on Parliament. There was a grand struggle between the common and the civil law. The judges, who saw this arrogance of the clergy with jealousy and disgust, began to relax their enmity against the Puritans and to regard them as the natural allies of law against absolutism.

On the other hand, the king and bishops sought out fresh means in support of their doctrine, and one of these was to bring forward Dr. Cowell who, in his "Interpreter, or Law Dictionary," broached unmitigated maxims of despotism. He declared that the king inherited all the powers which had been exercised by the Emperors of Rome; as if the empire of the Romans had never ceased in England, or as if the civil law being still used by the Church, it became in all its forms imperative on the nation. This work was dedicated to Bancroft, and he and the king eulogised it as maintaining all the rampant maxims of absolutism which James had ever uttered. The king, Cowell declared, was "solutus à legibus," "freed from all restraint of laws;" and though he took an oath at his coronation to maintain all the laws unchanged, yet he was at full liberty to quash any laws that he pleased; and, in a word, he contended "that the King of England is an absolute king."

The Commons called upon the Lords to unite with them in punishing this apologist, who, not content with selling his own birthright for a mess of pottage, was endeavouring to sell that of the nation too. The case was so flagrant that the Lords could not decline the challenge. And Bacon, who had shortly before been the advocate of the royal prerogative, now conducted the case for the Commons in the conference against Cowell, who was sent to prison for a time; his book was suppressed by the king's proclamation, poor James himself being obliged to condemn his own champion.

Having triumphed in this particular, the Commons proceeded to much older grievances. They demanded the abolition of that den of injustice and extortion, the Court of High Commission, in which the king exercised that unrestrained despotism which he claimed over the whole kingdom; where men were sentenced and fined at the arbitrary will of the king and its council, without jury or evidence admitted in their defence: but this was an institution so dear to James's heart, that he would not listen to any abatement of its power. They next complained of the growing abuse of substituting royal proclamations for established law, "by reason of which," said the Commons, "there is a general fear conceived and spread amongst your majesty's people, that proclamations will, by degrees, grow up and increase to the strength and nature of laws." To this James simply replied that his proclamations should not exceed the warranty of law. They further complained of the delay of the courts in granting writs of habeas corpus and prohibition, and of the encroachment of the Council of Wales, which extended its jurisdiction over neighbouring counties where it had no real authority; as well as of various monopolies, taxes on public-houses and on sea-coal.

The licenses to public-houses he agreed to revoke, but he demanded a perpetual revenue in lieu of the income thence derived. This the Commons refused, alleging that he had no right to impose that tax in the first instance; and they further demanded that the feudal burthens of tenure by knights' service, wardships, and purveyance, should cease. As to the first, James absolutely refused compliance, on the plea that he would not reduce all his subjects, "rich and poor, noble and base, to hold their lands in the same ignoble manner;" but as to wardships, the marriages of infants and widows, and other odious services, including purveyance, he was willing to barter them for a sum of money. The sum which he demanded was three hundred thousand pounds per annum. The Commons only offered one hundred thousand pounds, but after a long course of haggling, like chapmen in a fair, the king descended to two hundred and twenty thousand pounds, and the Commons rose to one hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Here the matter paused till James moved a dissolution, when the Commons advanced to two hundred thousand pounds, and the king accepted the sum. But here again the king and his advocates had boasted so much of his being above the law, and of his power to quash, of his own will, any statute to which he had consented, that the Commons were cautious in their proceedings, and they had moreover to determine out of what funds this revenue should be raised. These discussions had now driven on the Session to the middle of July, and it was agreed that they should vote one subsidy, and one tenth and fifteenth for the present Session, and defer the final settlement of the other grant till the next.

The interval was utilised by James and his ministers in attempts to corrupt some of the members of the Opposition, and thus to enable him to concede less and obtain more; but the Commons had employed the time in weighing the slippery nature of the man with whom they had to deal. His continual boasts of his superiority to all laws, and of an actually divine power of dispensing with his most solemn obligations, made them doubtful of the possibility of binding him to any terms; and the growing extravagance and rapacity of both king and courtiers deepened their fears.

When they met they were in a far less compliant humour than when they separated. They insisted on seeing the promised reforms before they voted the two hundred thousand pounds. James was growing desperate for money; his coffers were empty, and the officers of the Crown were clamorous for their arrears of salary. He therefore sent for them to Whitehall, and a deputation of about thirty members attended. The king demanded of them whether they thought that he was really in want of money, as his Treasurer and the Chancellor of the Exchequer had informed them? "Whereto," says Winwood, "when Sir Francis Bacon had begun to answer in a more extravagant style than his majesty did delight to hear, he picked out Sir Henry Neville, commanding him to answer according to his conscience. Thereupon Sir Henry Neville did directly answer that he thought his majesty was in want. 'Then,' said the king, 'tell me whether it belongeth to you, that are my subjects, to relieve me or not?' 'To this,' quoth Sir Henry, 'I must answer with a distinction: where your majesty's expense groweth by the commonwealth, we are bound to maintain it, otherwise not.'" Sir Henry reminded the king that in this one Parliament they had already given four subsidies and seven fifteenths, which was more than any Parliament at any time had given, and yet they had no relief of their grievances. James demanded what these grievances were—as though he had not heard them enumerated often enough before—and desired Sir Henry to give him a catalogue of them. Sir Henry adverted to the difficulties of obtaining justice in courts of law, to the usurped jurisdiction in the marches of Wales, and would have gone through the whole list had not Sir Herbert Croft interrupted him.

Finding that nothing was to be drawn from the resolute House, James again prorogued them for nine weeks, in order to try every means of drawing over to him individual members. But these efforts were as abortive as the former: the Commons were determined not to part with their money till they had a guarantee for the redress of their grievances, and James about this time lost his two right-hand men, Bancroft and Cecil. Bancroft, had died in November, 1610, staunch to the last in his exhortations to James not to give up the High Court of Commission; assuring him that though the Lords had thrown out the Bill, the Commons would bring it in again, and that nothing but unflinching firmness would defeat them. Cecil died on the 24th of May, 1612. He was grievously chagrined at the failure of his favourite scheme for setting the king above all his difficulties. In default of that, the old expedient of the sale of Crown lands was resorted to for the raising of money, and privy seals for loans of money were despatched into different counties. Meanwhile James was subsisting on a subsidy of six shillings in the pound granted by the clergy, and both king and ministers were in terror lest the privy seals should be "refused by the desperate hardness of the people." They raised, however, one hundred and eleven thousand pounds.

The end of Cecil has been supposed to have been hastened by these anxieties; but probably he was worn out by the incessant cares which have pulled down other ministers besides him; for in his last moments he said to Sir Walter Cope, "Ease and pleasures quake to hear of death; but my life, full of cares and miseries, desireth to be dissolved." He had sought benefit at Bath, but without effect, and died at Marlborough on his return. Like his father, he had great talents, applied in a cold and ungenerous manner; but with all his faults he was a great minister.

We must now introduce the story of a lady whose fate was very hard—Arabella Stuart. Lady Arabella (born in 1577) was descended from Henry VII.'s eldest daughter Margaret, like James himself, and therefore was to him an object of suspicion. Her proximity to the Crown had drawn upon her the attention of both princes and conspirators at various times. When she was only about ten years of age, Elizabeth used to show her at Court as the person she meant to make her heir. This she did to provoke James, whose pretensions were nearly as odious to her as those of his mother. But in after years Elizabeth treated her with extreme severity. James, indeed, contributed to this, by asking her in marriage for his favourite, Esmé Stuart, Duke of Lennox, who was Arabella's cousin, also of the same royal descent. Elizabeth was extremely chagrined at such a proposal, reprimanded James sharply, forbade the marriage, and imprisoned the unoffending maiden. Again, Raleigh and Cobham were accused on their trial of having designed to depose James and place her on the throne in his stead. Lady Arabella did not wait to be questioned on the subject, but on receiving a letter of such purport from Cobham, immediately sent it to the king, and only laughed at the proposal. Again her name was mentioned in the Gunpowder Plot. James does not seem to have had any fear of her on these occasions. But he was more afraid of aspirants to her hand than of conspirators; and had, no doubt, settled in his mind that she should never marry. Like Elizabeth, he repulsed all offers of the kind, both from subjects and foreign princes, lest from the marriage should issue claimants to his throne. Cecil took care, on the death of Elizabeth, to secure the person of Arabella till James had been proclaimed and had taken possession of the throne. The king himself appeared disposed to act liberally towards her, except in not permitting her to marry. He settled a pension upon her, allowed her apartments in the palace, and she was recognised while the Princess Elizabeth was in her tutelage as first lady of the Court. The year after James's accession, the King of Poland sent an ambassador to demand her in marriage; but even Poland was not distant enough for royal fears. Next came a proposal from Count Maurice, titular Duke of Guelders, but James would not listen to it; and Lady Arabella, who was a clever woman, made it her policy—both under Elizabeth and James—to appear averse from any marriage whatever. She devoted herself to literature, poetry, and even theology, which became fashionable at Court from the predilections of James.

Queen Anne appears to have had a great regard for the Lady Arabella, who was handsome, of a lively and affectionate disposition, and ready to enter into all the taste for masques and pageants which distinguished her royal mistress. She was, in fact, the great ornament of the Court of James; but her attractions were only the more dangerous to her safety, considering her descent. The feeling that she excited increased James's alarm, and she was kept under the close surveillance of Elizabeth Cavendish the Countess of Shrewsbury, who was her aunt. The countess appears to have treated her with much harshness, and James to have paid her salary very badly. On the whole, no situation, with all its splendour, could be more miserable than that of Lady Arabella. No wonder, then, that she sought to escape from it. In her childhood she had been acquainted with Sir William Seymour, the son of Lord Beauchamp. They met again at Court, and their early attachment was renewed and rapidly grew into love. The Lady Arabella was now watched and harassed more than ever by her shrewish guardian Lady Shrewsbury, and matters came to such a pass between them that James was obliged to interfere. He paid up the arrears of her pension to enable her to discharge her debts, and to soothe her made her a present of a cupboard of plate, worth two hundred pounds. The chief cause of Lady Arabella's discontent was supposed to arise from her pressing necessities; but there was a deeper cause—the restraint upon her affections; and it was not long before some officious Court spy conveyed to James the alarming intelligence that there was an engagement of marriage plighted between Seymour and Lady Arabella. Seymour was also descended from Henry VII., and such a marriage in prospect was enough to terrify James beyond conception. He instantly summoned the offenders before his Council, where they were severely snubbed and forbidden to marry without the king's permission. They both promised to abandon the idea, but this was only to disarm suspicion till they could effect their marriage. In July, 1610, it was discovered that they were already wedded, and James issued an immediate order for their arrest. Seymour was committed to the Tower, and Arabella to the keeping of Sir Thomas Parry at Lambeth.

The youthful couple were so much pitied that they did not find it difficult to meet. Seymour bribed his keeper so effectually that he suffered him frequently to go out of the Tower, and he met Lady Arabella in the garden at Lambeth, and even in the house, unknown to Sir Thomas Parry. Meanwhile the friends of the young people were not inactive. They used all the means they could imagine to soften the mind of the king towards them; and the queen, who loved Arabella and received the most eloquent letters from her, praying her to exert her influence in her behalf, did her utmost to procure the liberation of her and her husband. Unfortunately, whispers of their stolen interviews reached James, and he sent instant orders to guard Seymour better, and to remove Lady Arabella to Durham, where she was to be in the keeping of the bishop. When the order reached Lady Arabella, she positively refused to go; but the officers carried her forcibly out in her bed, placed her in a boat, and rowed her up the river. In spite of her resistance, her keepers set forward on their journey; but by the time that they reached Barnet, her agitation of mind had thrown her into a fever, and the doctor declared that nothing but the discontinuance of the journey could save her life. He waited on the king himself and assured him of this. But though James confessed that carrying her away in her bed was enough to make her ill if she had been well, he was peremptory in his commands that she should proceed. To Durham she should go, he said, if he were king. To this the physician replied that the lady would obey if the king required it. "Obedience!" repeated James; "is that required?" But when his first anger was over he relented, and allowed her to remain for a month at Highgate in the house of the Earl of Essex. There she was closely watched; but on the 3rd of June, 1611, the very day that the Bishop of Durham set out northward to prepare for her reception, she effected her escape.

The plan of flight to the Continent had been carefully concerted between herself and her husband in the Tower, through the medium of two of Seymour's friends. It was arranged that Arabella should get away in male attire, and Seymour in the garb of a physician. A French vessel was engaged to lie off Gravesend to receive the fugitives, and carry them to the Continent. All was in readiness, and Arabella, says Winwood, "disguising herselfe by drawing a great pair of French-fashioned hose over her petticoats, putting on a man's doublet, a man-lyke peruque, with long locks over her hair, a black hat, black cloake, russet bootes with red tops, and a rapier by her syde, walked forth between three and four o'clock with Mr. Markham. After they had gone on foot a mile and a halfe to a sorry inne, where Crompton attended with their horses, she grew very sicke and fainte; so as the ostler that held the styrrup said that gentleman would hardly hold out to London. Yet being set on a good gelding a-stryde in an unwonted fashion, the stirring of the horse brought blood enough into her face, and so she rode on towards Blackwall."

Lady Arabella found boats and attendants ready to row her down to Gravesend, where she expected to find her husband. But Seymour had not been quite so expeditious in making his way out of the Tower. He had indeed effected it, and was on his way, but Lady Arabella, on getting on board, found that he had not arrived; and the French captain, aware of the serious nature of his commission, grew afraid, and in spite of Arabella's entreaties dropped down the river towards its mouth. Seymour, on finding that the vessel had sailed without him, engaged the captain of a collier for forty pounds to land him in Flanders.

No sooner was the news of Arabella's flight from Highgate conveyed to Court, than the utmost consternation prevailed. A messenger was despatched to the Tower to order the strictest surveillance of Seymour, but the man brought back the appalling tidings that he also had escaped. The terrors of a new conspiracy seized James and the courtiers. It was soon asserted that it was a design of the King of Spain and the Papists; that the fugitives were to be received in the Netherlands by the Spanish commander, and were to be brought to London at the head of a Catholic host.

Couriers were hurried off in all likely directions to intercept the culprits, and the Thames was astir with ships and boats to discover them on board any vessel there. In spite of this sharp pursuit, the collier put Seymour safe on shore in Flanders; but Lady Arabella was not so fortunate. The French vessel was chased and brought to in mid-channel. After some resistance it was boarded, and the unhappy princess seized, brought back, and secured in the Tower. Meanwhile James had written very angry letters to the archduke of Austria and the authorities of the Netherlands, as well as to the king and queen-regent of France, accusing them roundly of being accessory to the plot, and demanding them to send the fugitives back.

For a time Lady Arabella bore imprisonment better than could have been expected. She declared that she did not mind captivity for herself, so that her husband had escaped. Yet not the less did she appeal to the generosity of James for her liberty, nor relax her efforts to that end through the kind offices of the queen. But all such endeavours were useless: James had had too great a fright to risk anything more. He sent the lady word that as she had eaten of the forbidden fruit, she must now pay the penalty of it. All hope of moving the relentless soul of the royal pedant gradually forsook her, and then her splendidly sensitive mind gave way. She became a pitiable lunatic, and died in her prison on the 27th of September, 1615. James had thrown the Countess of Shrewsbury into the Tower at the same time with the Lady Arabella, on suspicion of being a party to the scheme; but that high-spirited lady refused to give an answer to any interrogatories put to her, notwithstanding menaces of the Star Chamber and heavy fines. On the death of Lady Arabella she was set at liberty.

In pursuing the fate of this ill-used lady to its close, we have passed over another tragedy, that of the popular but dissipated King Henry IV. of France. Notwithstanding his adoption of Catholicism, from motives of policy, it was believed that his heart was still with the Protestant cause, and the death of John, Duke of Cleves, Juliers, and Berg, which occurred in 1609, gave him an opportunity of serving that interest under the plea of political necessity. The Duke of Cleves had died without issue, and the Emperor of Germany seized it as a fief of the imperial crown. The Electors of Brandenburg and Saxony, and the Duke of Neuburg, also laid claim to it. Jealousy of the already too powerful and ambitious house of Austria combined against it the Protestant princes of Germany and Holland, and they were joined by Henry of France on the same political ground, whilst the King of Spain, the archduke, and other Catholic and kindred princes, supported the claims of Austria. James of England engaged to furnish four thousand infantry, and the King of France the same. The Protestant princes of Germany and Holland were to supply nine thousand foot and two thousand horse, and it was agreed that the Elector of Brandenburg should be acknowledged as the real heir.

Meanwhile Henry IV. did not confine himself to his quota of four thousand infantry. The moment appeared to him favourable for extending his own territory and power, and he appeared at the head of a splendid army of thirty thousand men, with a great train of artillery and camp supplies. Rumour was very busy on the appearance of this great force, that Henry was for apostatising a second time, or rather now going back to his original faith; and the priests diligently propagated the belief that he meant to make war on the Pope and restore Protestantism. These representations seem to have excited the brain of a mad young friar, of the name of Francis Ravaillac, who stabbed him in the streets of Paris, three days before his intended departure for the campaign (May 14, 1610). The murderer was put to the torture to force from him the names of his accomplices or instigators; but he persisted to the last in denying that he had any. Three times before had the life of Henry IV. been attacked by assassins: in 1593 by Pierre Barrière, in 1597 by Pierre Ouen, and in 1605 by Jean de l'Isle. Ravaillac succeeded, and suffered the reward of his deed in a terrible death. This horrible tragedy renewed the terror of the Catholics in England, and both the Parliament of England and the Council of Scotland called on James to secure himself by fresh persecution of them. The Scottish Council saw in the French assassins the frogs foretold in the Revelation, to be sent out by the devil against the head of the Church, and prayed the king to protect his precious life by fresh guards while he indulged himself in hunting.

Whilst James was earnestly engaged in suppressing any rival claims to the Crown by persecuting to death the Lady Arabella, he was equally busy in endeavouring to secure a succession in his own family. Though he persecuted the Catholics as a dangerous, sinful, and abominable body, he had no objection whatever to marry his children to Catholic princes, because they were by far the most considerable in Europe. Accordingly he made overtures for the marriage of his son Henry, and his daughter Elizabeth, both to France and Spain. Queen Anne was most bent on the Spanish matches for both son and daughter, and was therefore vehemently suspected of Popery, though her motives were the same as those of her husband—the rank and prestige of the alliance.

Prince Henry was the darling of his mother and of the nation. In appearance, temper, and aspirations the very opposite of his father. All persons, and especially all princes, who die young, are remembered with a peculiar affection; their virtues are exaggerated and live in memory as the roots of brilliant hopes cut off by fate. Time has not allowed the adverse influences of life and of royal power to corrupt them. Had Henry VIII. died young, he would have left a regretted name as a model of chivalric spirit and generous enthusiasm; yet we have no right to infer that Henry Prince of Wales, the eldest son of James, would have developed into such a character as the eighth Henry. He was a handsome, brave, and right-minded youth of eighteen, possessed of none of the timidity or the bookishness of his father, and very fond of all sorts of martial exercises—pitching the bar, handling the pike, riding, and shooting with the bow. Though extremely fond of horses, he was not, like his father, addicted to the chase, revolting from its cruelty. He seemed to have set before him as models Henry V. and the Black Prince; models which might have led him to inflict serious evils on his country had he lived, by the spirit of conquest. Young as he was, he displayed all the tastes of such a hero. He fired off cannon with his own hands, and had new pieces cast on improved models. He conversed with unceasing pleasure with engineers and men who had seen distinguished service, and he imported the finest horses from the Continent that could be procured. In his private character he was serious, modest, and devout. He attended the best preachers, and listened with a quiet sobriety in striking contrast to his father, who was always excited when listening to a preacher and wanting to preach himself. Henry abhorred profanity and swearing, and had a box in each of his houses at Richmond, Nonsuch, and St. James's to receive the fines for swearing from his household, which were rigorously levied, the money being given to the poor.

As these traits became known, the people flocked after the prince in a manner which much piqued his father, who could not help exclaiming—"Will he bury me alive!" The Reformers conceived great hopes of him, and there was a prophecy regarding him in every one's mouth:—

Had James succeeded in obtaining the Spanish Infanta for Henry, he would have effectually neutralised this popularity. But though Henry did not stubbornly oppose his father's plans, he is said to have declared amongst his own friends that he had made up his mind never to marry a Popish princess, and the Puritans had the firmest faith that he never would.

It was regarded as a good sign that the young prince was extremely averse from his father's favourites, and especially from Carr, who was rapidly rising, and had now been created Viscount Rochester. The queen, who shared this aversion, strengthened him in it with all her influence. But he was not destined to wear the crown of England: he was now attacked with symptoms of premature decay. It was supposed that he had grown too fast for his strength, having reached the stature of six feet at seventeen, and his chivalrous exercises had been too violent and imprudent for such rapid growth. He was accustomed to take his exercises in the greatest heat of summer, to expose himself to all sorts of weather, and to bathe for a long time together after supper. While James was planning marriages for him, the prince was fast hastening out of the world. The Spanish match still lingering, after years of negotiation, James listened to a proposal of Mary de Medici, the widow of Henry IV., and now Queen-Regent of France, for a wedding between Prince Henry and the Princess Christine, the second daughter of France, on the understanding that she should be educated as a Protestant. About the same time James agreed to a marriage between his daughter Elizabeth and the Protestant Elector Palatine. These marriages had been in accordance with the policy of Cecil, who wished to make them the basis of a Protestant alliance against the Catholic Powers. But the first of them was never to take place. In the spring of 1612 the health of Prince Henry began to fail. In the October of that year the Elector Palatine arrived in England to complete his marriage with Elizabeth, who was still only sixteen. Henry roused himself to receive his proposed brother-in-law; he rode to town from Richmond, and most imprudently, in his infirm state of health, engaged in the sports and pastimes of the occasion. On the 24th of October he played a great match at tennis with the Count Henry of Nassau in his shirt. He had been suffering from typhus already, and this brought it to a crisis. He was seized in the night with a violent pain in his head, and an oppressive languor; yet the next day, being Sunday, he would rise and attend two services, one in his own chapel at St. James's, and another at the king's in Whitehall. The text of the preacher at St. James's was remarkable:—"Man, that is born of a woman, is of short continuance and full of trouble." In the afternoon, after dinner, he was compelled to yield to the complaint, and hastened home to bed. By the 29th he was so ill that there was great dismay amongst the people, and this was immensely aggravated by a lunar rainbow, which appeared to span that part of the Palace of St. James's where the sick prince lay. The most fatal auguries were drawn from this phenomenon.

The fever now assumed a putrid form, and was declared by the medical men highly infectious; and his parents and sister were debarred from entering his room. He grew daily worse, was highly delirious, calling for his clothes and his arms, and saying he must be gone. On the 5th of November, the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, James was informed that all hope was extinct. Unable to bear his feelings so near the scene of sorrow, the king hastened away to Theobalds; but the queen would only retire to Somerset House, whence she sent continual messengers to inquire after her son's symptoms. The prince had entertained a romantic admiration of Sir Walter Raleigh, declaring that no prince but his father would keep such a bird in a cage, and he had joined with his mother in entreating for his liberty. To Sir Walter the life or death of the prince was life or death to himself. The agonised mother was now seized with a desperate desire to obtain from Raleigh a nostrum which he possessed, and which she had herself formerly taken in a fit of ague. Sir Walter sent it, with the assurance that it would cure any mortal malady except poison. After taking Raleigh's nostrum he seemed to revive for a time, but again became worse, and expired at eight o'clock on Friday night, the 6th of November.

Perhaps a more extraordinary 5th of November was never passed than the one preceding Henry's death. The people were assembled in dense crowds around the palace, eagerly listening for news of the prince's condition, while all around them were the noises—the firing, and the bonfires—of the celebration of the Gunpowder Plot. They were still remaining there the following day, and when the cry of the prince's servants was heard in the palace on beholding him dead, the people groaned and wept in agony. The Catholics, on their part, regarded the death of the first-born of the royal house as a manifest judgment for the persecution of their Church.

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JAMES I. (concluded).

Reign of Favourites—Robert Carr—His Marriage—Death of Overbury—Venality at Court—The Addled Parliament—George Villiers—Fall of Somerset—Disgrace of Coke—Bacon becomes Lord Chancellor—Position of England Abroad—The Scottish Church—Introduction of Episcopacy—Andrew Melville—Visit of James to Scotland—The Book of Sports—Persecution of the Irish Catholics—Examination into Titles—Rebellion of the Chiefs—Plantation of Ulster—Fresh Confiscations—Quarrel between Bacon and Coke—Prosperity of Buckingham—Raleigh's Last Voyage—His Execution—Beginnings of the Thirty Years' War—Indecision of James—Despatch of Troops to the Palatinate—Parliament of 1621—Impeachment of Bacon—His Fall—Floyd's Case—James's Proceedings during the Recess—Dissolution of Parliament—Reasons for the Spanish Match—Charles and Buckingham go to Spain—The Match is Broken Off—Punishment of Bristol—Popularity of Buckingham—Change of Foreign Policy—Marriage of Charles and Henrietta Maria—Death of James.

From the death of Cecil we may date the reign of favourites, which continued as long as the king lived. That cautious and able minister was too fond of power himself to allow it to pass into the hands of much weaker men. James, while Cecil lived, had indeed no lack of favourites on whom he lavished affluence and honours; but his cunning minister had the address to prevent him from giving them places of real power and responsibility. James therefore, so long as Cecil remained, was content to make his favourites his companions and left Cecil to conduct public affairs; but no sooner was Salisbury in his grave, than James became the slave of his favourites, who ruled both him and the kingdom.

The first of these was Robert Carr, or Ker, a young border Scot of the Kers of Fernihurst. He had been some years in France, and being a handsome youth—"straight-limbed, well-formed, strong-shouldered, and smooth-faced"—he had been led to believe that if he cultivated his personal appearance and a gaiety and courtliness of address, he was sure of making his fortune at the Court of James. Accordingly he managed to appear as page to Lord Dingwall at a grand tilting match at Westminster, in 1606. According to chivalric usage, it became his duty to present his lord's shield to his Majesty; but in manœuvring his horse on the occasion, it fell and broke his leg. That fall was his rise. James was immediately struck with the beauty of the youth who lay disabled at his feet, and had him straightway carried into a house near Charing Cross, and sent his own surgeon to him. As soon as he could get away from the tilt-yard, he hastened to him himself. He renewed his visits daily, waiting upon him himself, and displaying to the whole Court the intensity of his sudden regard for him. "Lord!" says Weldon, "how the great men flocked then to see him, and to offer to his shrine in such abundance, that the king was forced to lay a restraint, lest it might retard his recovery."

The lad's fortune was made; and though James, in conversing with him, found that he was very ignorant—the whole of his education having been directed to his outside—this did not abate his regard, for he condescended to be at once his nurse and schoolmaster. "The prince," says Harrington, "leaneth on his arm, pinches his cheek, smooths his ruffled garments. The young man doth study much art and device; he hath changed his tailors and tiremen many times, and all to please the prince. The king teaches him Latin every morning, and I think some one should teach him English too, for he is a Scotch lad, and hath much need of better language."

James found that Carr had been his page in Scotland, and that his father had suffered much in the cause of the unhappy Mary Stuart; these were additional causes of favour. On Christmas-day, 1607, James knighted him and made him a gentleman of the bed-chamber, so as to have him constantly about his person. Such was his favour that every one pressed around him to obtain their suits with the king. He received rich presents; the ladies courted his attention; the greatest lords did him the most obsequious and disgusting homage. Carr, however, had an eye to pleasing the public and therefore, Scotsman as he was, he turned the cold shoulder to his countrymen, and associated with and favoured the English; probably, too, finding this the most profitable. Those about him were almost wholly English; and his affairs were in the hands of one Sir Thomas Overbury, a man of an evil look, and with a countenance said to be shaped like that of a horse. The dark ability of this man supplied the lack of talent in his patron, and became a mine of wealth to Overbury himself. Even Cecil and the Earl of Suffolk strove to avail themselves of his services; and when Cecil quitted the scene, Carr, through Overbury's management, carried all before him. In March, 1611, he had been created Viscount Rochester; in April, 1612, he became a member of the Privy Council, and was invested with the order of the Garter. The Earl of Suffolk succeeding to Cecil's post of Lord Treasurer, Carr stepped into Suffolk's office of Lord Chamberlain, at the same time discharging the duties of the post of Secretary by the aid of Sir Thomas Overbury. The favourite's favourite, however, was no favourite of the king, who was jealous of having so much of the time and confidence of Carr occupied by Overbury, and this feeling was probably much heightened by the queen, who had an instinctive aversion to the man. On one occasion the queen succeeded in obtaining his expulsion from Court, for alleged discourtesy to her, but he soon returned; and though the king appointed Sir Ralph Winwood and Sir Thomas Lake to occupy jointly the office of Secretary of State, yet Carr, by the king's favour and Overbury's ability, remained lord paramount in the Court; Overbury himself being the avenue to every favour. On April 21, 1613, Overbury boasted to Sir Henry Wotton of his good fortune, and his flattering prospects, yet that very day saw him committed close prisoner to the Tower. Adept as he was in all Court intrigues, he had yet committed an irremediable blunder, and aroused a spirit of vengeance which nothing but his blood could quench. This spirit lived in the bosom of a beautiful girl not yet twenty years of age.

Lady Frances Howard, the daughter of the Earl of Suffolk, had been married at the age of thirteen to the Earl of Essex, the son of Elizabeth's unfortunate favourite, who was only a year older. It was a match promoted by the king out of regard, as he said, for the memory of the young earl's father. The ceremony being performed, the bride returned to the care of her mother, and the boy bridegroom proceeded, under care of a tutor, on his travels. At the end of four years he returned, and claimed his wife, whom he found the beauty and pride of the Court. But whilst he was enraptured with her loveliness, he was mortified to find that she treated him with every mark of aversion. It was only by the stern command of her father that she consented to live with him at all, and he soon discovered that in his absence her affections had been stolen away by the profligate favourite Rochester, who had won her even from another and a royal suitor, Prince Henry.

This discovery, and the constant bickerings which took place between the earl and countess, made Essex willing that a divorce should be obtained. There were others who were glad of this expedient: Lady Howard's father, Lord Suffolk, and the Earl of Northampton, Lord Privy Seal, saw in her marriage with Rochester a mode of putting an end to the rivalry which existed between them, and the king was equally eager for this result. But to Overbury the scheme boded the destruction of his power, which would be at an end if his patron coalesced with his enemies. He therefore commenced a determined opposition to the match. He it was who had written the glowing and eloquent love-letters of Rochester, and had promoted the liaison to the utmost of his power; but he had never dreamt of its leading to a marriage which must work his own ruin. He therefore represented to Rochester the odium of such a marriage; the base and abandoned character of the woman, who might do for his mistress, but was not to be thought of as a wife. When he found that his arguments did not produce the effect which he wished, he took the dangerous step of menaces, and declared that he could and would throw an insuperable bar in the way of the divorce from Essex, without which there could be no marriage. This bar was undoubtedly Overbury's knowledge of the adulterous connection which had existed between the parties, and which would certainly ruin the countess's demand of a separation.

The master of deep policy could not see the rock upon which he was running, and which would have been very clear to him in another person's case. Rochester repeated to the countess all that he said, and the rage of a sinful woman, proverbially fierce as hell, seized upon her. She vowed that she would have his life. In her first fury she offered £1,000 to Sir John Wood to kill him in a duel, but her friends interposed, and suggested a less hazardous and less criminal method of getting Overbury out of the way, which was to send him on an embassy to France or Russia. If he accepted the office, he would be detained abroad till the divorce was effected; if he refused, it would be easy to construe his conduct into a contempt of the king's service.

Overbury was sounded on the subject of a mission to Russia, and listened to it with apparent pleasure; but the young beauty could not thus satisfy her revenge, and at her instigation Rochester affected to feel his projected absence intolerable. He declared his presence and counsel were indispensable to him, and he promised to satisfy the king, if he agreed to decline the offer. No sooner did Overbury consent than Rochester, so far from excusing him to the king, represented his conduct as not only disobedient to his Majesty, but as insolent and intolerable to himself. James was only too glad to clear the Court of the hated man; a warrant was immediately issued, and Overbury was committed to the Tower. By the arrangement of Rochester and the Earl of Northampton, the lieutenant of the Tower, Sir William Wade, was removed, and a creature of theirs, Sir Jervis Elwes, was installed in his place. Under the care of Elwes, Sir Thomas Overbury was at once cut off from all communication with the outer world. Neither servant nor relative was permitted to see him; he was already dead to the world, and the world was soon to be dead to him.

The dangerous man secured, the measures for the divorce commenced. The countess petitioned for it, alleging serious grounds, and her father signed the petition. But no one was more forward and determined in carrying this disgraceful transaction through than the king. He appointed without delay a commission to try the cause. The commissioners were Abbot the Archbishop of Canterbury, the bishops of London, Winchester, Rochester, Ely, Lichfield, and Coventry; Sir Julius Cæsar, Sir John Barry, Sir Daniel Dunne, Sir John Bennet, Francis James and Thomas Edwards, doctors of civil law.

The Earl of Essex was only too glad to be rid of his virago, and consented to anything, even to the most humiliating imputations on his manhood. The real causes of the vile business were sufficiently notorious; and the Primate, though at the head of the commission, revolting at being made a tool for the accommodation of aristocratic licentiousness, strongly opposed the divorce. But James took him sharply to task, telling him in so many words that it was his duty to resign his own judgment and follow that of his sovereign. "If," he wrote, in a most imperative letter, "a judge should have a prejudice in respect of persons, it should become you rather to have a kind of implicit faith in my judgment, as well in respect of some skill I have in divinity, as also that I hope no honest man doubts the uprightness of my conscience; and the best thankfulness that you, that are so far my creature, can use towards me, is to reverence and follow my judgment and not to contradict it, except where you may demonstrate unto me that I am mistaken or wrong informed."

But James did not content himself with recommending implicit obedience; he influenced and controlled the proceedings, and intimidated the judges by all means in his power. His zeal was quickened by the receipt of twenty-five thousand pounds from Rochester, at a moment when his officers were at their wits' end for money. But do what he would, he could not bend the integrity of the Primate, who to the last resisted the divorce, and three of the doctors of law supported him. The Bishop of London also voted with him, but the rest of the bishops and civil lawyers voted for the divorce, which was carried by seven voices against five. The Bishop of Winchester showed himself so servile on the occasion, that the king knighted his son, who was ever afterwards dubbed by the people Sir Nullity Bilson. The other judges and bishops who voted according to his wish were also rewarded by James, and the sentence of divorce was pronounced on the 25th of September.

The public at large, to whom the facts of the case were no secret, condemned the whole proceeding in no measured terms, and this reprobation rose into actual horror when the news oozed out that, the very day before the verdict for the divorce, Sir Thomas Overbury was found dead in his cell in the Tower. He was buried in all haste, and with profound secrecy, the officials diligently propagating a report that he died of a loathsome and contagious disease: but the public entertained no doubt of his perishing of poison.

In the face of all this, James proceeded immediately to raise Rochester to the dignity of Earl of Somerset, that he might equal in rank, if not in iniquity, the murder-breathing countess. The marriage, moreover, was celebrated on the 26th of December, at the royal chapel in Whitehall, the king making it his own affair, being himself present, with Prince Charles, and a great crowd of bishops and noblemen. The queen kept herself commendably apart from the whole infamous business. The blood-stained bride, with a shamelessness unparalleled, appeared with her hair hanging loose on her shoulders, in the character of a virgin! Montague, Bishop of Bath and Wells, married the guilty couple, and Mountain, Dean of Westminster, pronounced a blessing upon them. Then the king gave a series of banquets and masques at Whitehall in honour of them, which continued till the 4th of January, 1614; and, as if all classes of public men were eager to disgrace themselves by sanctioning this Court wickedness, the Lord Mayor and aldermen invited the adulterous couple to a splendid banquet, given at the Merchant Taylors' Hall, on the same 4th of January, whither they were accompanied by the Duke of Lennox, the Earl of Northampton, Lord Privy Seal, the Lord Chamberlain, and the Earls of Worcester, Pembroke, and Montgomery.

From his gaieties James was called, by his eternal want of money, to face his Parliament. Since 1611, when he dissolved his last House of Commons, he had endeavoured to carry on by any illegal and unconstitutional means that the people would submit to. But the Dutch did not keep their engagement to pay off their debt of upwards of eight hundred thousand pounds by annual instalments of sixty thousand pounds, and James was too pusillanimous to adopt the means which a Cromwell would have done. He threatened war, and threatened only; and therefore became despised by his debtors, who thenceforth made no movement towards paying. Disappointed here, the only alternative was to fleece his own subjects. He resorted to the scandalous measure of selling all the places of honour and trust, and all kinds of dignities, for money. He sold several peerages for high prices. Every place under Government was to be had only for cash; nor did the proceeds of this infamous traffic always reach the king's hands, but fell into those of his minion Somerset, and the Howards, the relatives of Somerset's wife. The wicked Countess of Somerset, and Lady Suffolk, her mother, got four thousand pounds as a bribe from Sir Fulke Greville, for the Chancellorship of the Exchequer. The example thus set at Court ran through all departments, and the whole management of the country was given up to corruption and venality. So little of these proceeds of iniquity came to the king, and that little was so foolishly and recklessly given away amongst his hangers-on, that the salaries of all who were not in a situation to be bribed, and thus pay themselves, remained unpaid. In this difficulty, James hit upon a notable scheme, and originated a new order of aristocracy—namely baronets, or little barons, a link between the barons, or lowest peers, and knights. These new titles he sold at one thousand pounds apiece. Sir Nicholas Bacon was the first created for England, and Sir Francis Blundell for Ireland, in 1620. Baronets for Nova Scotia, of whom Sir Robert Gordon was first, were added by Charles I., to extend this source of income, in 1625.

James was now compelled to summon a Parliament, and Sir Francis Bacon concocted a scheme for managing the House of Commons. Bacon's plan was this, and he had regularly weighed it and drawn it up for the king's consideration: that, according to a principle afterwards made a maxim by Sir Robert Walpole, every one had his price; that the leaders of the late opposition, Neville, Yelverton, Hyde, Crew, and Sir Dudley Digges, were chiefly lawyers, and there were plenty of means, by prospects of promotion skilfully applied, to bring them zealously to the king's side; that they being once brought over, he had the talking, persuasive power of the House; and that much might be done beforehand also with the city men and country gentlemen, and where any obstinate man appeared, means might be used to keep him out. At the same time Bacon assured James that it was necessary to make a show of some concession. It was suggested that as he had promised to abolish abuses, he should at least give up some of the lesser ones; and on his accepting this plan, he and his friends were ready to "undertake" to manage Parliament, and to guarantee his Majesty plenty of money and little trouble, provided James would only avoid irritating speeches.

James's Parliament met on the 5th of April 1614, and he endeavoured to put in practice the Machiavellian instructions of Bacon by delivering a very popular speech—popular because it promised plentiful persecution for religion, which was the spirit of the day, and a liberal removal of grievances; but, as usual, first of all he placed the supply of his necessities. But the Undertakers had not succeeded in their first out-of-door efforts; there was a sturdy assemblage of popular members, and such faces appeared amongst them, according to a writer of the time, as made the Court to droop. The House of Commons at once reversed the topics of the king's speech, placing the grievances in the front and making the supplies conditional on their abolition. The royal party which the Undertakers had got together, found their pleas for slavish obedience drowned in a storm of angry demand for justice; and the House demanded a conference with the Lords on the subject. The Lords asked the opinion of the judges on the question, and especially that of Coke the Lord Chief Justice. Coke, who remembered the endeavours of Bacon to supplant him in the good graces of the king, and who hoped for no higher preferment, took the opportunity to throw cold water on the conference, asserting that the judges, after consultation among themselves, felt that they were bound by their office to decide between the king and his subjects, and were therefore equally bound not to appear as disputants or partisans on either side. The Lords on hearing this declined the conference, and Neale, who had recently been transferred from the see of Lichfield to the wealthier one of Lincoln, for his services in procuring the Countess of Essex's divorce, rose and uttered a most unbecoming tirade against the Commons, charging them with striking at the root of the royal prerogative, and anticipating that if admitted to a conference, they might use very disloyal and seditious language.

This roused the indignation of the Commons: they did not understand the etiquette of our time, which supposes what passes in one House unknown in the other; but they immediately demanded of the Lords the punishment of the man who had thus dared to slander their loyalty. On this the bishop, who was as cowardly as he was insolent, and who was hated by the Puritans as a merciless persecutor, instantly recanted in his place; and with many tears, and fervent declarations of his high respect for the Commons, denied many of the offensive expressions attributed to him. But the House was not thus to be appeased. The members were greatly exasperated at the plan of managing them, which had become public, and fell on Bacon as the author of the scheme. The versatile Sir Francis pretended to ridicule the very idea of any such scheme being in existence, as the king had done in his opening speech, but the House gave him no credit; they proceeded to question even his right to sit in their House, on his accepting the office of Attorney-General, and only permitted it as a special indulgence, which was not to be drawn into a precedent.

The king, who saw no chance of supplies in the present temper of the House, sent them a sharp message, desiring them to proceed to the business of the supplies, attended with a threat of immediate dissolution in case of non-compliance. This produced no effect, and the House was dissolved on the 7th of June. Having thus broken the immediate power of retaliation in the House, he, the next morning, arrested the most refractory members and committed five of them to the Tower, amongst whom was Wentworth, a lawyer, destined to act a very prominent part in the next reign. These members were not discharged till they had, by their admissions, occasioned the king to arrest others, who were committed in their turn. This Parliament obtained the name of the Addled Parliament, because it had not passed a single bill, but it had displayed a spirit which was pregnant with the most momentous consequences. It had laid the foundation of the rights of the Commons, and at the same time had displayed its rigid temperament, by issuing an order which excluded all Catholics, and by making it necessary for every member, before taking his seat, to receive the Sacrament according to the form of the Church of England.

James had indeed got from the determined tone of the House a fright which lasted him nearly seven years. He returned to his usual unconstitutional modes of extorting revenue. Besides the sale of monopolies and privileges, he compelled the payment of benevolences, an odious tax, not only because raised without sanction of Parliament, but because its name implied a free gift. Those who resisted these modes of royal robbery were dragged into the Star Chamber, and there sentenced to enormous fines. Mr. Oliver St. John, a gentleman who had not only refused such payment, but had vindicated his conduct in an able letter, in which he commented freely on the king's violation of Magna Charta, was fined by the tyrannic Star Chamber five thousand pounds, and ordered to be imprisoned during the king's pleasure.

A new era now arrived in the history of the king's favourites. Though the Countess of Somerset was hardened enough to stalk through adultery and poison to the gratification of her desires, and show no remorse, it appears that her new husband was not altogether of so callous a nature. From the moment of the death of Overbury, he was a totally changed man. All pleasure in life had deserted him; he had lost all his gaiety and went about moody and morose. His person became neglected, his dress disorderly, and even in the king's company he was absent of mind and took no pains to please him. This was not lost on those courtiers who envied the favour of the Howards, who now enjoyed complete ascendency through their wicked kinswoman. The Earls of Bedford, Pembroke, and Hertford maintained a sharp watch for a new favourite to bring before James, confident that a suitable man once found, the day of Somerset was over. This man soon appeared in a youth of the name of George Villiers, the younger son of Sir George Villiers of Brooksby, in Leicestershire. Sir George was dead, and young Villiers had been brought up under the care of his mother, who was at once one of the most beautiful and infamous women of her time. She saw in the beauty and grace of this boy the means of advancing the fortunes of the whole family. She therefore carefully educated him to win the favour of the favourite-loving king, confident that if he once attracted his attention, the result was sure. This far-seeing and ambitious woman therefore sent the lad to France, to acquire the gay and easy manner of that Court.

His courtly education being considered perfect, at the age of one-and-twenty, the post of cup-bearer to his Majesty was purchased amongst the lavish sale of offices of the time, as one that must unavoidably place him under the eye of the king. Accordingly, he appeared in that employment with a fine suit of French clothes on his back, and as many French graces as any silly modern Solomon could desire. He was a fine, tall young fellow, and pre-eminently handsome, at the same time that he was one of the emptiest, haughtiest, and most profligate men that ever lived. Time, however, was yet to display these qualities; they were at present concealed under a garb of finished courtesy and agreeable manners. The Herberts, the Russells, and the Seymours were delighted; and it was planned that young Villiers should discharge his office of cup-bearer at a supper entertainment at Baynard's Castle, in such a manner as must strike the imagination of the king. James was, according to expectation, smitten with the looks of the youth, and pointed out his imagined likeness to a beautiful head of St. Stephen at Whitehall, whence he gave him the pet name of "Steenie," which he always after used.

Villiers once installed in James's good graces, the fall of Somerset was easy, and no time was lost in effecting it. Somerset was not so lost to observance of what passed around him as to be unaware of some danger; probably his vigilant spouse brought the fact to his attention. He therefore solicited a pardon of the king, in full and formal style, of all and everything which he might have done, or should hereafter do, which might subject him to a charge of treason, misprision of treason, felony, or other accusation. James, who had not yet been incited to his destruction, with his usual facility in such matters, especially when under certain genial influences, freely granted it; but the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere refused to put the Great Seal to such a document, declaring that it would subject him to a Præmunire. After all, it might be a ruse of James to grant this pardon, thus still preserving an appearance of favour to Somerset, as he did to the last moment, knowing that a hint to Ellesmere, who was a very compliant creature of his, would prevent the deed taking effect. James went further; he sent Villiers to Somerset, to assure him that he desired not in any way to interfere between him and the king's favour, but would seek preferment only through his means and be "his servant and creature;" to which Somerset, with the moroseness which had become his manner, replied, "I will have none of your service, and you shall have none of my favour. I will, if I can, break your neck."

Matters now being ripe, Mr. Secretary Winwood was induced by Archbishop Abbot, under promise of protection from the queen, to communicate to James the popular rumour that Overbury had been poisoned in the Tower, and that this had been confirmed by some admissions of Elwes, the lieutenant of that fortress, in conversation with the Earl of Shrewsbury. That the old favourite had lost his place in James's heart was immediately evident. He took up the matter with his usual avidity where a mystery was to be probed. He put a number of questions to Elwes in writing, and demanded, on pain of his life, a faithful answer. The answer satisfied James that Somerset and his wife were guilty of this foul murder. He immediately sent for the Lord Chief Justice Coke, and ordered him to arrest them. Coke demurred till the king had named several others in commission with him. This being settled, this extraordinary royal dissembler set out to Royston to hunt, and took Somerset with him, showing him all his old marks of fondness. In the days of his real favour he had refused him not the most iniquitous request. Even when the wife of Sir Walter Raleigh, on his first condemnation for treason, had gone down on her knees to him, to implore him to spare his castle and estate at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, for his children, James had ruthlessly replied, "Na, na; I maun hae the land; I maun hae it for Carr." And at this moment, when he was dooming the same Carr to destruction, he was pretending the same infatuated regard. When the Chief Justice's messenger arrived at Royston with the warrant, he found the king hanging about Somerset's neck, kissing him in the true Judas style, and saying, "When shall I see thee again? When shall I see thee again?"

When the warrant was delivered to Somerset, in the midst of these disgusting affectations of endearment, he exclaimed that never had such an affront been offered to a peer of England in presence of his sovereign. "Nay, man," replied the royal hypocrite, coaxingly, "if Coke sends for me, I maun go;" and as soon as Somerset's back was turned, he added, "Now the deil go with thee, for I will never see thy face mair." Soon after Coke himself arrived, to whom James indignantly complained that Somerset and his wife had made him a go-between in their adultery and murder. Even his enormous self-conceit was so far overcome, as to compel him to admit that he had been grossly duped. He commanded Coke to search the affair to the bottom, and to spare no man or woman that he found guilty, however great or powerful. "And," added he, "may God's curse be upon you and your house if you spare any of them; and God's curse be upon me and mine, if I pardon any of them."

Coke seemed quite willing to act as vigorously and unsparingly as the king could desire. The commissioners, of whom he was the chief, subjected the adulterous pair to no less than three hundred examinations, and then announced that they found ample proofs of their guilt; that Frances Howard, formerly Countess of Essex, had resorted to sorcery to incapacitate her then husband, the Earl of Essex, and to procure the love of Lord Rochester; that, finding Sir Thomas Overbury an obstacle to their criminal designs, they had, by the assistance of the countess's late uncle, the Earl of Northampton, procured the commitment of Sir Thomas to the Tower, and the removal of the lieutenant, and the appointment in his place of their creature Elwes, and of one Weston to be the warder of the prisoner; that this Weston had formerly been the servant of Mrs. Turner, a woman famous for the introduction of yellow starch for ruffs, and an early companion of the said Lady Frances Howard; that, through Weston and Mrs. Turner, the countess had procured three kinds of poison from one Franklin, an apothecary; and that Weston had administered these poisons to his prisoner Overbury, and thus procured his death. Coke added that, from private memorandum books and letters which he had found amongst the papers of the prisoners, he had discovered that Somerset had undoubtedly poisoned Prince Henry. The queen is said to have been greatly excited by this intelligence, and had all her former belief of this poisoning revived. She declared her full conviction that Somerset and his clique had planned the removal of herself, and her son Charles also, in order to marry the Princess Elizabeth to the son of the Earl of Suffolk, brother to the countess. But James was too well satisfied by the post mortem examination of the body of Prince Henry, and by the insufficiency of Coke's proof, to be led into this absurd belief, though he admitted a persuasion that Somerset had received money from Spain on condition of delivering up the Prince Charles to that monarch.

Though the minor confederates were promptly hanged, the trial of Somerset and his wife was deferred till April, 1616. The real cause of delay was probably the fear of bringing a man like Somerset, who had been so long in all James's secrets, to trial, lest he should avow something in his despair to the damage of the royal reputation. Certain it is that, when the time of trial approached, James betrayed the most extreme terror and uneasiness, and omitted no means to induce Somerset to make a full confession in private, offering him both life and restoration to his estates. He sent messenger after messenger to Somerset in prison, the Attorney-General Bacon being the principal, James Hay, afterwards Earl of Carlisle, another, with whom was employed Somerset's late private secretary. They did all in their power to induce Somerset to accept the king's terms, but he remained obstinate, replying, when offered life and fortune, "Of what use is life when honour is gone?" He demanded earnestly to be permitted to see the king himself, declaring that in half an hour's interview he could place all in so clear a light as should perfectly satisfy his majesty. This interview James declined, as well as a proposal to send a private letter to the king. These requests being refused, he assumed an attitude of menace, declaring that whenever he was brought into court, he would make such avowals as should astonish the country, and cause the king to rue his rejection of his offers. James displayed much alarm on hearing of this.

On the 24th of May the countess was brought before the Peers, where, as she had already confessed, she had only to plead guilty. She was extremely agitated, pale, spiritless. She trembled greatly all the time that the clerk was reading the indictment, and put her fan before her face at the mention of Weston. Her words were nearly inaudible, through weeping, as she pleaded guilty, and threw herself on the royal mercy. This done, she was removed from the bar before the sentence was pronounced, during which interval Bacon delivered a perfectly unnecessary speech, as she had pleaded guilty, detailing the damning facts which he was prepared to produce, had he been compelled by her denying her guilt. This manœuvre was intended to criminate Somerset, without the hazard of his wife's declaring his innocence on hearing him implicated. Bacon's purpose being served, she was recalled, and the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, who acted as High Steward on the trials, pronounced sentence of death upon her.

That day Somerset was informed that he would go to trial on the morrow: they had not deemed it safe to try him and his wife together. On hearing this he went into a great rage, declaring that the king had assured him that he should never go to trial, and protesting that if they took him there, it should be by force and in his bed. He repeated his former threats, adding the king dared not bring him into open court. More, the lieutenant of the Tower, was so alarmed at this temper and language, that he hastened away to James at Greenwich, though it was getting late, and was midnight when he reached the palace. He was hastily admitted to the king's chamber, and James, on hearing his statement, burst into an agony of tears, and exclaimed: "On my soul, More, I wot not what to do. Thou art a wise man: help me in this great strait, and thou shalt find thou dost it for a thankful master." More promised to do his best, and was afterwards actually rewarded for his services on this occasion with a suit worth to him fifteen hundred pounds, though the Earl of Annandale, his great friend, managed to get half of it.

The lieutenant hastened back to the Tower, and told Somerset that he had communicated his wishes to the king, who was in the most gracious disposition towards him, and sent him assurance that though for form's sake he must appear in court, he should not be detained there by any proceedings; but whilst he had there an opportunity of seeing his enemies and their malice towards him, the royal power should protect him from any harm.

This appeased the rage of Somerset, and he prepared calmly to make his appearance in the morning. But even then the officers of the court were by no means secure of the result when he should find himself compelled to plead, notwithstanding the royal promise. Bacon had planned all necessary cautions for this emergency, as we find from his "Particular Remembrances for his Majesty," preserved in the State Trials. "It were good," he says, "that after he is come into the hall, so that he may perceive that he must go to trial, and shall be retired to the place appointed till the court call for him, then the lieutenant shall tell him roundly that, if in his speeches he shall tax the king, the justice of England is that he shall be taken away, and the evidence go on without him; and then all the people will cry away with him, and then it shall not be in the king's power to save his life, the people will be so set on fire."

The lieutenant had carefully acted on this plan, and had provided two servants, each with a cloak on his arm, to stand behind Somerset, so that if More's representations did not after all prevent Somerset from speaking out to the discredit of the king, they should throw the cloaks instantly over his head, and drag him from the bar, from all consequence of which proceeding he promised to protect them.

These singular precautions, which betrayed an awful terror on the part of the king of some withering exposure from the exasperated favourite, so far prevailed, that Somerset stood upon his trial with apparent calmness, but refused steadfastly to plead guilty. Bacon, on his part, was careful in stating the charges against him, to do it so mildly that the prisoner should not be excited to any dangerous pitch. Somerset never mentioned the king, but he defended himself resolutely and with consummate ability. He analysed the whole string of charges brought against him, explained away whatever appeared to tell most forcibly to his disadvantage, and for eleven hours prolonged the trial and the intolerable agony and suspense of the king, who, during the whole time, was in the most pitiable condition of terror. "But who had seen," says Sir Anthony Weldon, in a passage which is fully borne out by the letters of More, the lieutenant, "the king's restless motion all that day, sending to every boat landing at the bridge, cursing all that came without tidings, would have easily judged that all was not right, and that there had been some grounds for his fears of Somerset's boldness; but at last, one bringing him word that he was condemned, all was quiet."

In the course of a few weeks James actually granted a pardon to the murder-stained countess, on the plea that she was not tried as a principal, but as an accessory before the fact; though all the facts of the case go to show that she was the chief instrumental instigator of the death of Overbury. He also offered the same grace to Somerset; but the proud, though fallen, favourite haughtily refused it, saying that he was an innocent man, who therefore needed no pardon, but expected a reversal of his sentence.

Time, however, showed him that the favour of the prince had passed on to others, and that his enemies were working for further injury to him; he therefore condescended in the autumn of 1624 to petition for the pardon formerly rejected. It was granted on the 24th of October, with a promise of the restoration of his property. James meanwhile allowed him an income of four thousand pounds a year, and protected him from the infamy attaching to his condemnation. He would not allow him to be expelled from the Order of St. George, nor his arms to be reversed in the chapel of that saint at Windsor.

The guilty earl and countess are said to have retired together into the country, not to the felicity of innocent affection but, as it was said, to mutual hatred and recrimination. The countess died in 1632; the earl, who never recovered his estates, lived on thirteen years longer. Their only child, Lady Ann Carr, who was born in the Tower, was married to William, the fifth Earl, and afterwards Duke, of Bedford, and became the mother of the celebrated Lord William Russell, who perished on the scaffold under Charles II. Out of such a soil can rise such plants; nay, even the daughter of this infamous couple is declared to have been a woman of the purest and noblest character; and so carefully was the horrible history of her parents kept from her, that it never reached her ears till a few years before her own death. The Earl of Essex, so cruelly treated in this revolting affair, lived to lead with high distinction the army of the Commonwealth.

Fast on the fall of Somerset followed that of the Chief Justice Coke. He had rendered distinguished service to James in hunting out the evidence and bringing to punishment the favourite and his wife; but he had neutralised this benefit by his haughtiness and opposition to the royal authority in other respects. Coke and Bacon had pursued two opposite systems of policy in their courses towards the highest honours of the State. Bacon had affected liberalism and a championship of popular rights, which the higher he rose the more he sacrificed to the pleasure of the monarch. There was a profound flattery in this, for it seemed to give an additional value to his growing attachment to the Crown, that it was won from his original bias towards the people. On the other hand, Coke commenced as a thorough-going supporter of the prerogative, and as his abilities were pre-eminent, and his prosecution of State offenders unrestrained by any scruples of conscience, he did the work of that despotic prince with a gusto and a ruthlessness which highly delighted his employer. No lawyer, except Jeffreys, in a later age, ever indulged in the same unsparing abuse of those against whom he was retained. His disposition was not merely unfeeling, it was truculent, and the insolence of his language was beyond all former experience. When let loose on a victim, he certainly was no respecter of persons; an Arabella Stuart or a Raleigh were abused in a style which would not now be tolerated towards the most abject criminal. But when Coke had reached the summit of his ambition, and thought the height to which he had climbed secure, he began to display the inherent pride of his nature, by assuming an independence of manner and a haughtiness of opinion, exhibited even towards the Throne, which astonished and irritated James. In the Commons he openly opposed the claims of prerogative, came out in defence of popular rights, and ended where Bacon had begun. From abject servility he rapidly passed to daring opposition. On the subject of the late benevolences, he stood forward as a patriot in the Commons; in the case of Peacham, that which was prosecuted as treason, Coke declared was only defamation; and in that of Owen, he agreed with the prisoner that he had committed no treason in saying that the king, if excommunicated, might lawfully be killed, because the king not having been excommunicated, the opinion could not apply to him. These declarations, both in Parliament and on the Bench, roused James to a keen resentment, and this was continually augmented. He set his own court of the King's Bench above every other, and threatened with the penalties of a Præmunire the judges of the Court of Chancery, and all other judges who should grant relief in Equity after judgment had been pronounced in the King's Bench; and he extended the same menace to all suitors who sought for such relief. The judges of the Courts of Admiralty, of High Commission, of Requests, of the Duchy of Lancaster, and even the presidents of the Councils of the North and of Wales, felt their jurisdictions invaded and repressed by his pretensions. The Court of Star Chamber even, hitherto above all law, was called in question by him, and its power to levy fines in many cases denied. He went farther, and, as in the case of Owen and Peacham, dictated to the Privy Council, and contradicted the Sovereign to his very face.

It would seem as if at the moment when Coke was hunting down his former benefactor Somerset, the secret decree had gone out from the king against the Lord Chief Justice himself. Somerset was condemned on the 25th of May, and on the 30th of June Coke received an order from the king to absent himself from the Council chamber, and not to proceed on his circuit, but to employ himself in correcting the errors in his Book of Reports. He had outraged James's sense of his own supreme authority, by opposing him in the matter of Commendams and bishoprics, and had, moreover, contended with Villiers, the new favourite, respecting a patent place at Court. Long before he received this startling order for the suspension of his diplomatic and judicial functions, the Archbishop, the Chancellor, and Mr. Attorney-General Bacon had been employed by royal command to collect charges against him. He was now charged with concealing a debt of twelve thousand pounds, due from the late Chancellor Hatton to the Crown; with contempt of the king's authority in declaring from the Bench that the Common Law would be overthrown by proceedings in Equity, or by claims of prerogative; and for disrespect to the Crown in the affair of the Commendams.

The charge regarding the money Coke refuted when brought before the Council, and confirmed his case by a decision at law; as to the second charge, he explained it as in no way reflecting on the king; and for the third, he humbly solicited his majesty's forgiveness. James professed to retain the highest regard for the Lord Chief Justice, and intended, on his showing a proper humility, to continue to him his favour; but when Coke brought in his Book of Reports, and maintained that he could only find five trivial errors in it, James, in great anger for his "deceit, contempt, and slander of government," dismissed him from the Bench, and made Montague, the Recorder of London, chief justice in his place. Coke, with all his harshness and cutting style to others, felt for himself keenly, and is said to have wept like a child on receiving his dismissal. Bacon displayed anything but a philosophical magnanimity on the fall of his rival. He not only joked with Villiers on the disgrace of the great man who had offended the favourite, but he wrote a most insulting letter to the fallen judge, which was particularly odious from being garnished with the cant of piety.

Bacon now looked confidently towards the Chancellorship, and in March of the next year (1617) Brackley resigning from age, the Great Seal was transferred to him, with the title of Lord Keeper. Sir Francis had reached the elevation to which he had so long and so ardently aspired, by a slavish advocacy of the most unlimited claims of prerogative and, as far as in him lay, the restriction of constitutional liberty—a deplorable instance of how completely the most transcendent talents can be united in an ignoble and mercenary nature. Indeed, the conduct of Bacon on this occasion was vain and weak to a pitiable degree. Though he had now reached the mature age of fifty-four, and drew an enormous income from his grants and offices, he was so profuse of expenditure that he was a needy man, pressed with difficulties, which he saw in the Chancellorship an exhaustless means of dispersing. His vanity burst forth to a surprising extent and he assumed all the state of a Wolsey. He rode to Westminster Hall on horseback, in a gown of rich purple satin, and attended by a crowd of nobles, judges, great law officers, lawyers, and students, rivalling even the splendour of the king.

While these affairs were progressing at home, the credit of James abroad had sunk very low. At the conference for effecting a truce between Holland and Spain, held at the Hague—a conference which established the independence of the Low Countries—the English ministers had been made to feel the ignominy of their position, compared with the dignity of the ambassadors of Elizabeth. Prince Maurice told them openly that their master dare not open his mouth in contradiction to the King of Spain; and their allies, the French, in consequence assumed a superiority throughout the negotiations which mortified deeply the English envoys. Nor was that the only slight which James's truckling policy brought on him abroad. He was anxious to ally his son to the Court of Spain, notwithstanding the intense aversion of his subjects from the idea of a Catholic Princess. But Spain declined the offer. He next applied for the hand of Madame Christine, sister to Louis XIII. of France; but here again he was met with the contempt which his mean and insecure character merited: France preferred the suit of the Duke of Savoy. It was never before the fortune of England to have to go begging to the Continental states for wives for its princes: they had hitherto been only too officiously pressed on its acceptance.

We must now trace the proceedings of James in Scotland and Ireland, where he was anxious to establish his principles of Church and State supremacy as thoroughly as in England, and where the seed he sowed rapidly grew into the same harvest of bloodshed and revolution as on the south side of the Tweed.

The Church of Scotland, as established by Knox and his contemporaries, was, like Switzerland (from which they brought the idea), a republic. It acknowledged no head but Christ, nor any concern which the State had with it, except to furnish the support of the ministers whose lives were devoted to the civilisation and religious improvement of the community. The minister and the lay elders of a parish constituted the parochial assembly, which governed all the spiritual affairs of that little circle; a certain number of these assemblies constituted a presbytery, which heard all appeals from the parochial assemblies, and sanctioned the appointment, suspension, or dismissal of their ministers. Beyond the presbytery extended the provincial synod, and the General Assembly claimed the supreme management of the affairs of the Church under God.

This free form of the Scottish Church had always been extremely repugnant to James's despotic notions. Even when he professed to admire its constitution as the purest and most perfect on earth, he was writhing under its authority; and no sooner did he ascend the English throne than he avowed his real opinion of its inconsistency with monarchy. The hierarchy of England delighted him; he regarded it as the surest bulwark of the Throne, and bishops he seemed to regard as the guarantees of royal security. "No bishop no king," was his favourite motto; and the hatred of presbytery which he expressed at Hampton Court led him to seek its utter overthrow in Scotland. He knew the sturdy materials that he had to deal with in the Scottish ministry and people, who had driven out his mother in their hatred of Catholicism; yet this did not deter him from endeavouring to plant episcopacy as firmly in Scotland as in England. He looked on the spirit and form of the Scottish Church but as one remove from republicanism in the State; and his first step, taken in 1605, was a bold one, being no less than to assume the right to prorogue the General Assembly at will. This was at once annihilating the theocratic constitution of the Assembly, and placing the king at its head. This measure was carried out by Sir George Home the Lord Treasurer of Scotland, afterwards Earl of Dunbar. The ministers, though prorogued, met again in defiance of the royal fiat, but were dissolved again and again. The ministers from nine presbyteries still boldly met in assertion of the paramount right of the Church, at Aberdeen, called themselves "an Assembly," appointed a moderator, and before dissolving at the command of the Council, adjourned their sitting to a fixed time that year.

Thirteen of the most prominent ministers were immediately arrested on the charge of having violated the Act of 1584, "for maintenance of the royal power over all estates." The jury was packed by Dunbar, and six of the most refractory clergy were condemned as guilty of high treason, and banished for life. They retired into Holland and France, and were followed thither by numbers of their admirers. Meanwhile, at home, undaunted by this lawless exercise of power, the ministers offered up prayers for their exiled brethren, whom they boldly proclaimed from their pulpits as martyrs to the freedom of the faith; and unsilenced by the menaces of the Court, loudly warned the people of the impending danger to the Church.

But James, with the blind hardihood of a true Stuart, went on, and in 1606 appointed thirteen clergymen to the ancient abolished bishoprics, and gave them precedency in the synods and Assembly. The ministers refused to submit to their authority, and, as they were unsupported by the old reverence, treated their assumed dignity with contempt. But James went on to repeal the Act which had confiscated the episcopal estates, endowed the bishops, and made them moderators of both synods and presbyteries within their own districts. He erected two courts of High Commission, and indeed gave them a power such as their predecessors had never possessed. In 1610 three of these bishops went to England, and received episcopal ordination from the English prelates, and on their return conferred it on their colleagues. And finally, in 1612, it was enacted by the Scottish Parliament that all General Assemblies should only be appointed by the Crown; that the bishops only should present to livings; that they should admit no one who would not first take the Oath of Supremacy to the king, and of canonical obedience to the bishop; that they should possess the power of deprivation and the right of visitation, each in his own diocese.

Andrew Melville, the successor of Knox, boldly though respectfully denied these innovations, asserting the freedom of conscience, and its immunity from the power of any earthly potentate. When pressed by some slavish Scottish lords to conform, he said: "My lords, I am a free subject of Scotland, a free kingdom, that has laws and privileges of its own. By these I stand. No legal citation has been issued against me; nor are you and I in our own country, where such an inquisition, so oppressive as the present, is condemned by Parliament. I am bound by no law to criminate or to furnish accusations against myself. My lords, remember what you are; mean as I am, remember that I am a free-born Scotsman, to be dealt with as you would be dealt with yourselves, according to the laws of the Scottish nation."

This was noble and patriotic language; but Melville had to deal with a vain despot, who declared himself above all laws. He insisted on their attending the royal chapel to hear the preaching of his bishops. The plain presbyterian Scots were scandalised at both what they saw and heard there: at the ceremonies, the gilded altar, the chalices, and tapers, but above all, at the slavish doctrines of those courtly preachers. The Scottish ministers did not hesitate to express their contempt and indignation at the whole spectacle, and Melville ridiculed the entire service in a Latin epigram. For this audacity James summoned him before his Privy Council; but the preacher's blood was now chafed beyond restraint, for he and his colleagues, though they were impatient to get away from what they considered this idolatrous scene, where the conduct of the bishops and clergy was by no means edifying, had been compelled to stay. So far from expressing any regret for his satire on the royal mode of worship, he denounced in the strongest terms the whole system of the Anglican Church, and in his excitement seized the surplice of the primate, and shook angrily what he called the Romish rags of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

James committed him to the Tower for his contumacy (1606), where he kept him four years, and then banished him for life. He went to reside at Sedan, where he died in 1622. His nephew, James Melville, was shut up at Berwick, and died six years before his uncle; the rest of the preachers were banished to remote districts of Scotland, wide apart from each other.

To put the finish to this daring change, James determined to make a journey to Scotland himself in 1617. On leaving that country he had assured his Scottish subjects that he would visit his ancient capital at least once in three years: fourteen years had now elapsed without his redeeming his word, his poverty having hitherto presented an insurmountable obstacle. But he had now consented to yield up the cautionary towns, Brell, Flushing, and Rammekens, for 2,728,000 florins instead of 8,000,000, which were due to him. He had been induced to this by his necessities and the persuasions of Secretary Winwood, who was said to have received £29,000 from the Dutch for his services on the occasion. James now discharged some of his most pressing debts, and obtained a loan of £96,000, with which he set forward to Scotland in the spring of 1617.

On the 7th of June the Scottish Estates met, and James excluded such of the representatives as he knew were hostile to his object of establishing the English Church in all its forms and authority, as the State Church of Scotland for ever. But the Peers, alarmed lest he should restore to his pet church the lands of which they now were in possession, rejected the articles which he recommended. To win over these nobles, James invited them to a secret conference, in which he assured them that no revocation of these lands should be made. Reassured on this head, the Peers were ready to vote as he pleased, and he opened the Estates in one of his vaunting speeches about his power, in which he told his audience that "he had nothing more at heart than to reduce their barbarity to the sweet civility of their neighbours; and if the Scots would be as docible to learn the goodness of the English as they were teachable to limp after their ill, then he should not doubt of success; for they had already learnt of the English to drink healths, to wear coaches and gay clothes, to take tobacco, and to speak a language which was neither English nor Scottish."

In this insolent speech the king might have included himself both as to clothes and language; but these were small matters in comparison with those which he had in view. He brought in a Bill to enact that what the king might determine upon regarding the Church, with the concurrence of the bishops and a certain number of the clergy, should be good in law. At this proposition the ministers were instantly in arms, and presented so determined a remonstrance against it, that he became afraid and gave it up, saying it was unnecessary to give him that by statute which was already his by authority of the Crown. He managed, however, to carry a Bill adding chapters to the bishoprics, regulating the appointment of bishops, and also one for converting the hereditary offices of sheriffs into annual ones, which he would thus be able to influence. Never, surely, with a spirit so essentially cowardly, was there a monarch so ingrained with the bigotry of absolutism, or who so perseveringly laboured to annihilate every liberty of the subject, and leave the nation a base and soulless heritage of the Crown. But the nation was not thus to be trodden into a horde of serfs; and though James escaped to a quiet tomb, it took a terrible vengeance on his children, whom he had inoculated with his incorrigible lust of absolutism.

As nothing more was to be obtained from Parliament, the uncouth tyrant wended his way to St. Andrews, where he had planned a severe retribution for the remonstrant ministers, from a more obsequious tribunal. There the ministers having met at his summons, he singled out Simpson, Ewart, and Calderwood, who had signed the remonstrance which baulked him of his full intentions, and brought them before the High Commission Court, and condemned Simpson and Ewart to suspension and imprisonment. Calderwood, who by his influence and ability excited most of all his dread and resentment, he banished for life. Having thus given the ministers a sharp lesson, he now announced to them that it was his will that the whole ritual of the English Church should be adopted in Scotland in five articles, the name of which afterwards became famous, namely:—1st, That the Eucharist should be received in a kneeling, and not in a sitting, posture, as had been hitherto the mode in Scotland; 2nd, That the Sacrament should be given to the sick at their own houses when they were in danger of death; 3rd, That baptism should, in like cases, be administered in private houses; 4th, That the youth should be confirmed by the bishops; and 5th, That the festivals of Christmas, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Day, and Whit-Sunday, should be observed in Scotland just as in England. These commands were received with unequivocal marks of displeasure by the ministers, but the fate of the three remonstrants availed to keep them silent for a time, and James regarded his plans as fully accomplished; but presently the preachers fell on their knees and implored him to refer the Five Articles to the General Assembly of the Kirk. James for some time refused to listen to them, but on Patrick Galloway assuring him that matters should be so managed that all should go right, he consented.

He then kept his Whitsuntide in the English fashion, with all his crouching prelates and courtiers around him; and afterwards took his way homeward, in the full persuasion that he had succeeded in his object. Time told a very different tale; nor was he himself long in perceiving that, though he had overawed, he had not subdued the sturdy Scottish clergy. Scarcely had he reached England when he learned that the Scots, both clergy and laity, were loud in denouncing the administration of the Eucharist in private houses as a remnant of Popery; the revival of the festivals of Christmas as the return to the ancient Saturnalia; and of those of Easter and Whitsuntide as the renewal of the feasts of the Jews. And on the 24th of November the ministers, in their assembly at St. Andrews, confirmed none of the Five Articles except that of the administration of the Sacrament at the houses of the sick, provided that the sick person first took an oath that he or she did not expect to recover. James was highly enraged. He ordered the observance of the Five Articles to be commanded by proclamation, and withdrew the promised augmentations of stipend. Nor did the king give way in the slightest degree. The next year he managed the Assembly so far, through Lord Binning, as to carry the Articles by a majority of eighty-six against forty-one; and in 1621, three years later, he obtained an Act of Parliament enforcing these Articles on the repugnant spirit of the people. Dr. Laud, whose name we now meet for the first time, afterwards to become so notorious, even urged James to go further lengths; but his fatal advice was destined to act with more force on the next generation.

Whilst James's hand was in, however, he hit upon another mode of incensing the Puritans, and showing his dislike of them. He had been extremely annoyed by the severity of the Presbyterian manners during his visit; and when, on returning, the Catholics of Lancashire presented to him petitions complaining of the strictness of the Puritans, who forbade those sports and recreations to which they had been accustomed on Sundays after service, adding that it drove men to the ale-house, a bright idea occurred to him, and he determined to publish a Book of Sports, encouraging the people on Sundays, after church, to play at running, leaping, archery, morris-dances, and to enjoy their church-ales and festivities as aforetime. These sports, however, were not to be indulged in by the recusants, nor any who had not attended Church in the morning. He also prohibited on Sundays bull and bear-baitings, interludes, and bowls; the last, probably, because they led to gambling. He restored all the jollity of may-poles and rush-bearings.

Many of the established clergy were conscientiously opposed to this mode of spending the Sunday, which appeared to them to savour greatly of Papacy; but James persisted in his scheme, and not only published his Book of Sports, but ordered the bishops, each in his own diocese, to publish his ordinance regarding the Sunday amusements. Abbot, the Primate, is said to have steadfastly refused to read the book in his own church at Croydon, but the other bishops complied. Laud was zealous in its promulgation, and in after years roused the stern and undaunted spirit of the reformers by recommending the revival of the Book to Charles I.

In Ireland the same system had been pursued by James from the commencement of his reign, of endeavouring to force the consciences of his subjects into the mould of his own ideas. On the death of Elizabeth the Irish had openly resumed the Catholic worship in most of the South of Ireland. Mountjoy, the Lord-Deputy, issued a proclamation for its immediate suppression; but the fear of the old lioness of a queen being removed, they treated his orders with contempt and defiance. Mountjoy marched down upon them, and compelled submission at the point of the bayonet, and then passed over to England, having with him the two great chiefs, Tyrone and O'Donnell, with a number of their followers.

These chieftains being well received by James, Tyrone being restored to his honours and estates, and O'Donnell created Earl of Tyrconnel, the Irish conceived wonderful hopes of the clemency and liberality of James. They sent a deputation to join the two earls in petitioning for the full enjoyment of their religion, but they found themselves grievously deceived. James declared that he would never consent to anything of the kind, but so long as he had a hundred men left, he would fight to the death to put down so idolatrous a worship. In his anger he committed four of the delegates to the Tower, where he kept them three months; and this practice of committing Irish deputies to prison for daring to present petitions on such subjects, became his regular practice.

The British Solomon never relaxed his war upon the religion of his subjects, if it were not of the same colour and shape as his own, so long as breath was left in him. It was in his eyes akin to the sin against the Holy Ghost to differ from or doubt the infallibility of his wisdom, for he deemed himself, according to his open avowal, a god upon earth. In 1605, two years only after ascending the throne of England, he issued a proclamation, commanding all Catholic priests to quit Ireland on pain of death; and he commanded all officers, magistrates, and chief citizens of Dublin to attend the Established Church, or suffer the fine of twenty pounds a month, and moreover, imprisonment. The nobility prayed to be permitted the exercise of their religion, but the ill-fated presenters of the petition were thrown into the Castle of Dublin, and their spokesman, Sir Patrick Barnewell, was sent over to England, and incarcerated in the Tower.

James now hit on a bold scheme for breaking down the clanship of Ireland, and so weakening the opposition of the people to his despotic will. He ordered all possessors of lands to bring in their titles to commissioners appointed for the purpose, on the promise that they should receive them again in a more valid and advantageous form. As, from the disturbed state of the country for ages past, many of these titles were defective, the landowners accepted the offer in good faith, but they found that the commissioners, instead of returning them of the same value, and bearing the same conditions, only returned them freehold titles of such lands as were in their own hands. All such lands as were in the hands of tenants, were made over to these tenants, only subject to the rent charges and dues which they had formerly paid. Thus the great bulk of the tenantry of Ireland was freed from its dependence on the will of the chief in capite, and now set him at naught. But though the power of the chiefs was broken, the commonalty showed no more inclination to adhere to a Government which persecuted them on account of their faith. They were now more at liberty, and readier than ever to follow some bold and defiant leader who promised them protection and vengeance on their tyrants. The great lords, thus tricked out of their hereditary rights, were converted into deadly enemies of the English Government.

Tyrone and Tyrconnel, on taking leave of the English Court to return to Ireland, professed extreme gratitude for the kindness of their reception, but in reality they were full of the most hostile sentiments. They looked on this transfer of their seigneurial rights as a measure intended to sever their vassals from them, and thus to subjugate the whole island to the yoke of the English hierarchy. No sooner did they land in Ireland, than Richard Nugent, Lord Delvin, invited them to meet him at his Castle of Maynooth. They unanimously agreed that the destruction of the hereditary faith of Ireland was planned, and they bound themselves by oath to act together for its defence.

Two years later, intelligence was gathered by some one at Brussels, in the service of the archduke, that Tyrone had renewed his relations with the Court of Spain; and, in order to decoy him into England, a pretender to a large extent of his lands was set up, and both parties were summoned over to have the cause tried before the Privy Council. Tyrone, aware of the design, avoided the snare by sending an attorney with full powers to act in his behalf. This stratagem did not succeed. Tyrone received from the Lord-Deputy information that his presence would be necessary in London to defeat the pretensions of his opponent. Tyrone, feigning to comply, only solicited a delay of a month, in order to settle his affairs and raise money for his journey and sojourn at Court. The request being acceded to, he escaped in a vessel sent on purpose from Dunkirk, with two of his sons and nephew, accompanied by Tyrconnel, with his son, and Lord Dungannon, his brother, with thirty of their retainers, and reached in a few days Quillebeque in Normandy.

On the discovery of the escape of these nobles, James was greatly alarmed, believing that they had gone to Spain to join the Armada which during the summer had been collecting in the Spanish ports, and to conduct it to Ireland. The news of their real resort abated his fears. He demanded their delivery from France, and then from the Netherlands, whither they betook themselves, describing them as traitors, and men of mean birth, who had been merely ennobled for purposes of State. He accused them of an intention to excite a rebellion, and returning to Ireland with foreign confederates, to put to death all Irishmen of English descent. The Court of Brussels declined to give up men exiled only on account of their religion, and admitted them into the Spanish army of Brabant. Tyrone himself proceeded to Rome, where the King of Spain allowed him a pension of six hundred crowns per month, and the Pope one hundred.

Active search was made in Ireland for the accomplices of the fugitives; many were arrested in Ulster, some were sent over for trial to England. Lord Delvin, with the eldest son of Tyrone, and Sir Christopher St. Lawrence, were secured and lodged in Dublin Castle. Delvin was tried and condemned as a traitor, but he escaped on the morning fixed for his execution; and no trace of him could be found till he suddenly appeared at the English Court, and throwing himself on his knees before the king, presented such a list of real wrongs inflicted on himself and his father, as compelled James to pardon him and to make him amends by creating him Earl of Westmeath; a clemency, as it proved, well bestowed, and which might have taught the king a more successful way to secure obedience and loyalty from his subjects, than those which he unhappily pursued.

Another Irish chief, O'Dogherty of Inishowen, having received a mortal insult from Paulet, the Governor of Derry, surprised him at table, and by the aid of his followers succeeded in killing him and five others. The avengers captured alive Hart, the governor of the Fortress of Culmore, and leading him to the gates of the Castle, called on the governor's wife to surrender the place, or see her husband murdered on the spot. Conjugal affection prevailed, and O'Dogherty found himself in possession of the stronghold. Possessed by this means of arms and ammunition, O'Dogherty marched with a strong force to Derry, and received the submission of the castle and town. The hopes of the exiles were wonderfully raised by so unexpected an event. They despatched messengers instructing O'Dogherty to hold the place, if possible, till their arrival with foreign aid; but after two unsuccessful attacks, the place was evacuated on the approach of Wingfield, the marshal of the camp, and O'Dogherty fled to the mountains. There, in the month of June, 1608, he was accidentally discovered, and shot.

The rebellion of these great chiefs, by throwing into the hands of the Crown an immense territory, suggested to James the planting of a new English Colony. Undeterred by the failure of Elizabeth's plantation of Ulster, he proceeded to divide the confiscated region, which included nearly the whole of the northern counties of Cavan, Fermanagh, Armagh, Derry, Tyrone, and Tyrconnel, amounting to two millions of acres, into four great divisions. Two of these were again divided into lots of one thousand acres each, a third into lots of fifteen hundred acres, and the fourth into lots of two thousand acres. The two thousand acre lots were appropriated to a class of men called "undertakers and servitors," adventurers of capital from England and Scotland, with the civil and military officers of the Crown. The lesser lots went amongst these and the natives of the province also; but the natives were only to receive their lots in the plains and open country, not in the hills and fastnesses, where they might become formidable to Government. The possessors were bound to pay a mark a year for every sixty acres, and the lesser ones besides to take the Oath of Supremacy, and engage to admit no recusant as tenant.

By these means some hundred thousand acres were planted; but whole districts in the hills were never divided at all, whilst many of the undertakers managed to get immensely more land than they had any right to. It was at this time (1611) that the scheme, already mentioned, of creating baronets was proposed to James by Sir Anthony Shirley, as a means of raising money for the support of the army in Ulster. James caught eagerly at the idea, coined upwards of one hundred thousand pounds out of it, but neither sent any of the money to Ireland, nor gave a handsome gratuity to Shirley for the suggestion, as he promised.

After these measures, James ventured to call a Parliament in Ireland, in 1613, the first for seven-and-twenty years. He wanted money, and he wanted also to enact new laws. But the Catholics were naturally apprehensive of these intended laws, for the whole of James's policy went to crush their religion out of the majority of the inhabitants, and impose on them his own model church. So little had this shallow sovereign profited by the lessons of history, that he expected to convert a whole nation by the sword and confiscation. But Ireland had by all former English monarchs, down to Elizabeth, been taught to regard the Pope as the lord paramount of the island; it was a doctrine that secured the obedience of the people under all their oppressions. But since Elizabeth had separated from the Catholic Church, and stood excommunicated by the pontiff, this maxim, so convenient before, was become extremely inconvenient. To the political causes of discontent was now added the far more irritating one of violated religious faith, which has continued till our time.

Under these circumstances the Lord-Deputy summoned the Parliament, and soon found that, though he had a majority of more than twenty Protestants, the spirit of the Catholics was such that he did not dare to proceed. Since the former Parliament, no less than seventeen new counties and forty new boroughs had been created, and these had been filled by men devoted to the measures of the Crown; the boroughs, the Catholics complained, had been put into the hands of attorneys' clerks and servants, and they expected to find on the projected new plantations only evil-disposed persons, ready to insult and injure the old inhabitants. They objected to many of the returns; they complained that obsolete statutes had been revived for the purposes of oppression; that Catholics of noble birth were excluded from posts of honour; that they were expelled from the magistracy; that they were forbidden to educate their children abroad; that Catholic barristers were not permitted to practise; that Catholic citizens were excluded from all influence in the corporations; and that the whole community was subjected to fines, excommunications, and punishments, which spread poverty and misery over the island.

The Lord-Deputy prorogued the impracticable assembly, and both parties appealed to the king. The Catholics sent as deputies the Lords Gormansbury and Dunboyne, and two knights and two barristers to plead their cause. The expense of the mission was defrayed by a general collection, which was made in spite of a severe proclamation against it. James received them at first graciously, but his anger soon broke out when he found them impervious to his controversial eloquence; and, as usual, he threw two of them into prison—Luttrel into the Fleet, and Talbot into the Tower. He soon had Talbot before the Star Chamber, and strictly interrogated him on the point of loyalty to the Crown, and he severely reprimanded the whole deputation on the same ground; but Lord Delvin on his knees declared that he would ever be faithful to the king as his rightful liege, yet that nothing should ever induce him to abandon his religion. James dismissed them, after having appointed a commission of inquiry regarding the representatives of the new Irish boroughs, which decided that none of the four boroughs incorporated after the writs were issued had a right to sit that Session.

As to the religious grievances, no concession was made, and scarcely had the deputies reached home, when a proclamation appeared ordering all the Catholic clergy to quit Ireland on pain of death. When Parliament met again in Dublin, in 1615, there was an outward air of conciliation; the two parties avoided the grand subjects of discord, except that both Houses joined in a petition that Catholic barristers might be permitted to plead. The attainders of Tyrone, Tyrconnel, and O'Dogherty were confirmed, as well as the plantation of Ulster, and all distinctions between the two races of the Irish—that is, the native Irish and the Anglo-Irish—were abolished by statute, and a liberal subsidy was obtained.

The conciliatory air did not long continue. The Lord-Deputy Chichester made a cautious attempt to enforce the fines for absence from church, beginning with a few timid persons in each county, whose compliance might influence others. In 1623, Lord Falkland, then Lord-Deputy, repeated the proclamation ordering all Catholic priests to leave the kingdom on pain of death; but they only retired into the mountains and morasses and defied his authority. James saw that it was useless to hope for success in his scheme of crushing out Catholicism, till he had planted the whole island after the Ulster fashion, and this was set about in good earnest. Commissions were issued for the examination of all grants and titles, and, by the most iniquitous proceedings, hardly a single foot of land was exempted from the claim of forfeiture to the Crown. It was found that the proprietors of the vast counties of Connaught, Galway, and Clare, had been induced to surrender their titles to Elizabeth, on condition that they should receive fresh ones, and that they had paid three thousand pounds for the enrolment of these titles, but had never got them. On this discovery James was advised to claim the whole island, with the exception of the small portion which he had himself planted; but the owners declared on all hands that they would defend their lands with their swords rather than admit such a claim; and James preferred getting a sum of money. His pretensions were commuted for a double annual rent and a fine of ten thousand pounds. He, however, proceeded to plant the coast between Dublin and Wexford, then the counties of Leitrim and Longford, and finally Westmeath, and King's and Queen's Counties. In this business all law and justice were set aside. James gave orders that three-fourths of the lands should be settled on the original proprietors, but no regard was paid to this. Few of the old possessors obtained above a quarter of their lands again, and many were stripped of every acre which they had inherited from their fathers. Whole septs were removed to the parts most distant from their native localities. Seven such septs were transported from Queen's County to King's, and menaced with instant death by martial law if they dared return. Sir Patrick Crosby received the seigniory of Tarbert, on condition that he leased out one-fourth of it to those unhappy exiles, but very few of them got anything; and, in a word, Carte declares that the injustice and cruelty then committed are scarcely to be paralleled in the history of any age or country. At the same time, the north of Ireland, hitherto a mere wilderness, began immediately to assume an appearance of prosperity.

Such was the condition of Ireland as left by James. He imagined that he had pacified it; it was only the sullen lull before the storm which burst forth in the days of his successor, with a fury only the more terrible from its temporary delay.

During the king's absence in Scotland, Bacon had shown such arrogance in the Council, that he had disgusted everybody. He had appeared to imagine himself king, took up his quarters in Whitehall, and gave audiences in the great Banqueting-house at Whitehall. Mr. Secretary Winwood was so incensed at his presumption that he quitted the Council Chamber, declaring, that he would not enter it again till the king's return; and he wrote at once an account of Bacon's proceedings, assuring the king that it was high time that he returned, for his throne was already occupied. The vain, foolish conduct of the Lord Keeper was watched by an eye which owed him no favour, and a spirit smarting with envy, which was relentless in his revenge. Coke, by offending the favourite, lost his position, but he now saw a way to turn this opposition to Buckingham against Bacon. Buckingham, since his rising into favour, had taken care to promote the fortunes of his friends and relatives. He had cast his eyes on the daughter of the fallen Chief Justice Coke, by Lady Hatton, the widow of Queen Elizabeth's Chancellor; this young lady, who was likely to have a large fortune from her mother, he determined to obtain for his brother John Villiers, a sickly and nearly idiotic youth. Coke, who despised the favourite, and was at feud with him respecting the already mentioned patent place at Court, opposed the match, which was agreeable neither to the young lady nor her mother. But when Coke found himself deprived of his office, and his rival, Bacon, advanced, he bethought himself that by the means of his daughter he had the power of regaining the goodwill of the favourite, and pulling down the arrogant Lord Keeper. Before Buckingham had left for Scotland, Coke had had a private interview with him, in which he agreed to consent to the marriage on condition of regaining his honours and position in the Council and on the Bench.

During the absence of the Court in Scotland, and while Bacon was in the full tide of his assumed greatness, he discovered this compact, which boded him nothing but destruction. Without delay he incited the Lady Hatton, who was in almost everything violently opposed to her husband, to make haste and secure her daughter by secreting her with herself in the house of Sir Edward Withipole near Oxford, and by contracting her in marriage to Henry de Vere, Earl of Oxford, for whom the young lady really entertained a regard. Coke, enraged at this flight, and at the attempt to marry his daughter contrary to his own plans, applied for a search-warrant to enter the house where she was secreted. Bacon refused it, but Winwood was only too happy to grant it. Coke, supported by twelve armed men, made a forcible entry and carried away his daughter. On this Bacon procured the new Attorney-General, Yelverton, to file an information against Coke in the Star Chamber for a breach of the peace. Bacon also wrote to the king and the favourite in Scotland, representing to Buckingham that it was by no means to his honour or interest to ally his family to that of Coke, a fallen, disgraced man, and disliked of the king, especially as much better matches might be found. To James he represented the trouble which Coke had given to his majesty, his fondness for opposing the king's wishes, and the disturbances there had been in the kingdom and courts of justice so long as Coke had been in power. Sir Francis added that now everything was quiet, and that his majesty knew that he had in him an officer always anxious to do his will.

The answer of the king struck him at once to the earth. The great philosopher was not aware how far the compact with Coke had really gone; and when he read the king's letter, reprimanding his presumption, accompanied by another from Buckingham, in which he rated him for his officious meddling, and telling him that the same hand which had made him could unmake him, he saw the gulf into which he had plunged. At once he wrote off to both monarch and minion, imploring the humblest pardon for this unworthy offence, which he would now do all in his power to wipe away. Accordingly, he stopped the proceedings before the Council and in the Star Chamber against Coke, and assured Lady Hatton and her friends that he could not assist them in a course so opposed to the wishes of the young lady's father.

On the return of the Court, Bacon hastened to pay his homage to the proud favourite; but he was then made to feel how much it is in the power of a base and little-souled man in favour, to humiliate the most gigantic mind when it forgets to be submissive. The great renovator of science, the proud and vaunting Lord Keeper, was made to wait for two whole days in the lobby of the upstart. This is Weldon's account of it:—"He attended two days at Buckingham's chamber, being not admitted to any better place than the room where trencher-scrapers and lackeys attended, there sitting upon an old wooden chest, amongst such as for his baseness were only fit for his companions, although the honour of his place did merit far more respect, with his purse and Seal lying by him on that chest. Myself told a servant of my Lord of Buckingham, it was a shame to see the purse and Seal of so little value or esteem in his chamber, though the carrier without it merited nothing but scorn, being worst amongst the basest. But the servant told me they had command it must be so. After two days he had admittance. At his first entrance he fell down flat at the duke's foot, kissing it, and vowing never to rise till he had his pardon; and thus was he again reconciled. And since that time so very a slave to the duke and all that family, that he durst not deny the command of the meanest of the kindred, nor yet oppose anything. By which you see a base spirit is even most concomitant with the proudest mind; and surely, never so many brave parts, and so base and abject a spirit, tenanted together in any one earthen cottage, as in this one man."

Buckingham condescended to forgive the suppliant Lord Keeper: the projected marriage was accomplished, and Bacon soon after—that is, on the 4th of January, 1618—was raised to the dignity of Lord Chancellor, with a pension of twelve hundred pounds a year and the title of Baron Verulam. For, provided he threw no obstacle in the way of the marriage, both James and Buckingham preferred his pliancy to the sturdy spirit of Coke.

The consequences of this forced and unnatural marriage were as deplorable as the means of effecting it were vile. The brother of Villiers was created Viscount Purbeck; but no title could give him a sound body or a healthy intellect. It was not long before he was pronounced utterly mad, was shut up in an asylum, and Buckingham took possession of Lady Purbeck's property under pretence of managing it for her and Lord Purbeck, but spent it for his own purposes; and Coke's daughter, outraged in all her feelings as a woman and her rights as a subject, became a degraded and abandoned character.

Buckingham now reigned supreme at Court. He had rapidly risen from a simple country youth into a baron, viscount, earl, and marquis; he was a member of the Privy Council, Knight of the Garter, had been a Master of the Horse, and was now Lord High Admiral; the Earl of Nottingham—the brave old Howard, hero of the Armada—having been compelled to resign to make way for him. He and his mother disposed of all places about Court, in the Church, in the courts of law, and in the Government. Peers, prelates, and men of all degrees courted humbly his favour, and paid him large sums of money for the places they sought, or agreed to annuities out of their salaries and emoluments. The king seemed to rejoice in the wealth which flowed in on his favourite from these corrupt services, and could not bear him out of his sight.

Let us take Weldon's account of this state of things:—"And now Buckingham, having the Chancellor or Treasurer, and all great officers, his very slaves, swells in the height of pride, and summons up all his country kindred, the old countess providing a place for them to learn to carry themselves in a Court-like garb." The old countess, as Weldon calls her, was far from old, but a woman yet in her prime, and of singular beauty and notorious wickedness. She was another Elizabeth Woodville in looking out for rich heirs and heiresses, and marrying her kin to them. The brothers, half-brothers, cousins of Buckingham, were all matched to rich women, and the women were matched to the eldest sons of earls, barons, and men of large estate. And where there was no title, such was soon conferred. The madman that they gave to Coke's daughter, as we have seen, was made Lord Purbeck; another brother was created Earl of Anglesea. Fielding, who married Buckingham's sister, was made Earl of Denbigh, and his brother Earl of Desmond. Cranfield, who married a female relative, was made Earl of Middlesex. But the most shameful case of all, perhaps, was that of Williams, Dean of Westminster, a paramour of the countess's, who was made Bishop of Lincoln, and allowed to retain not only the deanery of Westminster, but the rectories of Dinam, Waldgrave, Grafton, and Peterborough; the prebends of Asgarbie and Nonnington, besides other dignities; so that, says Heylin, he was a perfect diocese in himself, being bishop, dean, prebendary, residentiary, and parson, and these all at once. Other livings and bishoprics were sold as highly as these were freely given. Fotherby of Salisbury paid three thousand five hundred pounds for his see, and all other dignities and benefices in the Church were equally at the disposal of this upstart and his venal, lascivious mother. "There were books of rates," says Weldon, "on all offices, bishoprics, and deaneries in England, that could tell you what fines and pensions were to pay." He adds, "that Buckingham's female relatives were numerous enough to have peopled any plantation. So that King James, that naturally in former times hated women, had his lodgings replenished with them, and all of the kindred, and little children did run up and down the king's lodgings like rabbits startled out of their burrows. Here was a strange change, that the king, who formerly would not endure his queen and children in his lodgings, now you would have judged that none but women frequented them. Nay, this was not all; but the kindred had all the houses about Whitehall, as if bulwarks and flankers to that citadel."

Buckingham himself, in time, seemed to clothe himself with half the offices in the country. He became Warden of the Cinque Ports, chief justice in eyre of all the parks and forests south of the Trent, Master of the King's Bench Office, High Steward of Westminster, and Constable of Windsor Castle. In his person he was lavish and showy even to tawdriness. He was skilled in dancing, and therefore kept the Court one scene of balls and masques. He had his clothes trimmed at even an ordinary dance with great buttons of diamond, with diamond hatbands, cockades, and earrings; "he was yoked with manifold ropes and knots of pearl; in short, he was accustomed to be manacled, fettered, and imprisoned in jewels."

But one of the most interesting and painful events of the reign of James, and one which does him little credit, now occurred. Sir Walter Raleigh, deprived (as we have seen, to gratify the favourite Carr) of his beautiful estate of Sherborne in Dorsetshire—"which he had beautified with orchards, gardens, and groves, of much variety and delight"—had remained in the Tower from the time of his trial in 1603, that is, thirteen years. His captivity was rendered less severe by the presence in the Tower of other prisoners of intelligence, and, more than all the rest, of the Earl of Northumberland, who gathered around him in his prison men of science and literature, and thus was instrumental in converting his cell into a palace of knowledge and refined delight. Northumberland was another of those men who revelled in learning, whom a king really wise and learned would have rejoiced to honour. But James's love was not a love of learning or literature on its own account, it was a love of himself. It was the vanity of passing for a sagacious and learned king which he possessed, and not the sagacity and the learning themselves. Therefore, so far from cherishing science and learning, and loving the possessor of them, James was too shallow to comprehend the one, and so egotistical that he hated the other. Northumberland had been in prison ever since the year of the Gunpowder Plot, 1605, eleven years, a victim to the suspicions of the king and the tyranny of the Star Chamber, for no participation in the plot was ever proved against him. Amongst his visitants and pensioners were the most profound mathematicians of the age, Allen, Hariot, Warner—"the Atlantes of the mathematical world," Burchill—the celebrated Greek and Hebrew scholar, and other noted characters. Amongst them Sir Walter found the pleasure of cultivating inquiries which his busy public and Court life had before kept unknown to him. He commenced a series of chemical experiments, and the celebrated Lucy Hutchinson, who was the daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, Lieutenant of the Tower, in the preface to her interesting life of her husband, Colonel Hutchinson, says:—"Sir Walter Raleigh and Mr. Ruthin, being prisoners in the Tower, and addicting themselves to chemistry, my mother suffered them to make their rare experiments at her cost, partly to comfort and divert the poor prisoners, and partly to gain the knowledge of their experiments and the medicines, to help such poor people as were not able to seek physicians."

In these chemical inquiries, Sir Walter imagined that he had discovered a universal panacea. The queen in an illness had taken it, and appeared cured by it, and afterwards, as we have seen, tried it in the case of Prince Henry, but without effect.

Sir Walter next turned his attention to history, and commenced a History of the World, a gigantic undertaking, but no doubt one that offered great consolation to the mind of a prisoner for life, from the very fact of its immensity, thus promising to him a constant forgetfulness of his captivity, and a busy discursiveness amid the peoples of the whole globe. Such men as Burchill, who was not only a great classical scholar but a distinguished Latin poet, could furnish him with books and translations, by which means he has displayed so vast an acquaintance with Greek and Rabbinical writers. Raleigh commenced his History for the instruction of Prince Henry, who had a high regard for the author, but the death of that prince in 1612, gave a check to the undertaking, and all that Raleigh has completed extends from the Creation to about a century and a half before the Christian era.

The fall of Somerset and the rise of Buckingham awoke new hopes of liberty in Raleigh. His friends made zealous applications to the favourite, which for a time produced little effect because the true persuasive with the greedy Villiers family was not applied. In the meantime, however, Raleigh managed to interest Secretary Winwood in a grand scheme which he had for discovering and working gold mines in Guiana. Raleigh, as our readers are aware, was of a romantic and adventurous turn. The Admirals Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, with whom he had had the honour of defeating the Grand Armada, had brought home immense treasures from the Spanish and Portuguese territories of South America. Raleigh himself had been engaged in the scheme of settling Virginia in North America, in the year 1584, when he procured a patent from Elizabeth—a copy of one granted still earlier to his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert—with full power to discover and settle any heathen lands not already in the possession of any Christian prince. In consequence, he had equipped various expeditions to the coast of Virginia, which, however, had all proved failures, and Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who conducted one of them, lost his life at sea. Sir Walter's enterprises, which had cost him much money, were immediate failures—failures to himself and his associates, but ultimate successes to the country, for they led to the settlement of that great Federated Republic of Northern America.

But still earlier, in 1595, he had made a voyage to Guiana. The glories of Drake and the other piratical admirals, and the wondrous legend of the golden empire of Guiana, with its inconceivable affluence, and the reported splendours of its capital, Manoa, called by the Spaniards El Dorado, or the golden city, inflamed his imagination. He sailed thither, touching at Trinidad, as if on his way to Virginia; and the Spaniards, deluded by this belief, entered into friendly relations and bartered various commodities with him. But suddenly Raleigh, watching his opportunity, fell on the garrison, killed the guard, and secured the person of Berrio the governor, whom he carried away as guide to Guiana, Berrio having already settled a colony there. This transaction, which was in the true spirit of Drake and the rest, who acted in those regions as if the Spaniards were at war, though they were at entire peace with England, was one of the charges afterwards brought against him. To this Raleigh replied that Berrio, at Trinidad, had formerly made prisoners of eight Englishmen, and that to leave him at his back when he was about to ascend the Orinoco, was to have been an ass. Whether the story of the eight Englishmen was true or not, it was clearly no business of Raleigh's, and the real motive was partly the last assigned—to secure so dangerous a person as Berrio, and at the same time so valuable a guide. In fact, Raleigh, with all his genius, was never renowned for very scrupulous ideas of right and wrong, and shared in all the loose maritime notions of the age.

Thus provided, he sailed for the Orinoco and advanced up it three hundred miles in boats. He seemed to have heard many wonderful rumours of gold mines, and cities built of gold and silver and embossed with precious stones; but he discovered no magnificent Manoa, with pinnacles blazing with diamonds and rubies, nor any gold mines, only signs of gold in the mountains beyond the Spanish town of St. Thomas. He gave out to the natives that he was come to relieve them of the Spaniards, and by their assistance explored the country for a month, when the waters of the mighty Orinoco rose so suddenly and with such impetuosity, that they were carried down at the peril of their lives to their ships.

On his return, Raleigh, although he brought no riches, brought marvellous descriptions of them. Though he had seen nothing but a pleasant country and friendly natives, he did not hesitate to publish the most amazing stories to draw fresh colleagues to the enterprise. He described the country and the climate in colours of heaven, and as for its riches, "the common soldier," he said—detailing the discovery of the large, rich, and beautiful empire of Guiana, with relations of the great and golden city, Manoa—"shall here fight for gold, and pay himself, instead of pence, with plates of half a foot broad, whereas he breaks his bones in other wars for provant and penury. Those commanders and chieftains that shoot at honour and abundance, shall find here more rich and beautiful cities, more temples adorned with golden images, more sepulchres filled with treasure, than either Cortez found in Mexico, or Pizarro in Peru."

Probably Raleigh believed all this himself, on the faith of the natives; but though several expeditions went out nothing of the kind was discovered. Yet these failures in no degree abated the enthusiasm of Raleigh. He represented to objectors that the adventurers sent out were ignorant alike of the locality and of the art of conciliating the natives. Were he permitted to go, he would make Guiana to England what Peru was to Spain.

His glowing descriptions at length captivated the imagination of Winwood, who did his best to excite the cupidity of James on the subject, and not without effect, for he began to speak of Raleigh as a very clever and gallant fellow. The scheme suited James extremely well, as he was always in want of money, and Raleigh asked for nothing, not even a ship to accomplish the enterprise, but guaranteed to the king one-fifth of the gold. Still there was one obstacle; James dared not issue the desired commission without the approbation of the favourite, and this Raleigh and his friends were obliged to purchase by a present of fifteen hundred pounds to Buckingham's uncles, Sir Edward Villiers and Sir William St. John.

In the month of August, 1616, Sir Walter issued from his thirteen years' captivity in the Tower, and commenced preparations for the voyage. Plenty of adventurers and co-operators were found: the Countess of Bedford advanced eight thousand pounds, and Lady Raleigh sold her estate at Mitcham for two thousand five hundred pounds. A fleet of fourteen sail was equipped and manned. But before Raleigh could get out to sea, the Spanish ambassador, Gondomar, had caught wind of the real destination of the squadron. The Spaniard was a deep politician, who assumed an air of gaiety and freedom which won on the courtiers, and not less on James, whose vanity he flattered to the utmost; often speaking false Latin, that James might correct him, he would reply, "Ah, your majesty speaks Latin like a pedant, but I only speak it like a gentleman."

On making the discovery, Gondomar rushed into the presence of the king, exclaiming, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" James, who was always paralysed at the very idea of war, sent in a hurry for Raleigh, took back the patent which he had granted him, and altered it with his own hand. He strictly prohibited the adventurers from invading any territories in possession of his allies, especially of the King of Spain, but commanded that they should confine their enterprise to countries still in the hands of the heathen. They were allowed to trade and to defend themselves if attacked, but not to act on the offensive. He moreover demanded from Raleigh a memorandum under his own hand, of the places with which he meant to trade, and the force he proposed to take out. All this James is said to have shown to Gondomar, so that, fully forewarned, the Spanish ambassador despatched a squadron with troops to St. Thomas, of which his brother was governor.

In all this, it is clear that Raleigh was imposing on the king. This Raleigh himself admits in his address to Lord Carew:—"I acquainted his majesty with my intention to land in Guiana, yet I never made it known to his majesty that the Spaniards had any footing there. Neither had I any authority from my patent to remove them thence." But this was a point on which Gondomar could and probably did enlighten James.

After the guarantees given by Raleigh, Gondomar appears to have ceased his opposition; having, moreover, taken measures to guard against any attack in Guiana. On the 28th of March, 1617, the fleet set sail, but owing to bad weather was obliged to put into Cork, where they lay till August, and did not reach the coast of Guiana till November 12th, after a troublesome voyage of four months. On arriving, two of his ships were missing: disease had reduced his men to a state of miserable weakness, forty-two on board Raleigh's own vessel having died. He himself was disabled for active service, and to his mortification he learned that a Spanish fleet was cruising near in order to intercept them. He wrote to his wife, that reduced as they were, he deemed himself in sufficient force to accomplish the enterprise if the care taken at home to let the Spaniards know of their numbers, had not caused all approaches to be fortified against them.

Being unable to proceed immediately, he sent Captain Keymis up the river in boats to discover the mine, while he lay at its mouth to ward off the Spanish squadron. Keymis was said to have been at the mine they were in search of in the expedition of 1595. He began the ascent of the river on the 10th of December, under orders to make straight for the mine, and if he found it rich to fix himself there; if but poor, to bring away a basket of the ore to convince the king that they had gone out after a reality. The exploring force landed near St. Thomas, but found the Spaniards prepared for them; a battle ensued, in which the governor, the brother of Gondomar, was killed, but at the same time also fell the eldest son of Sir Walter, Captain Walter Raleigh. This enraged the soldiers, who carried the town of St. Thomas by storm and set fire to it. They expected to find in it great wealth, but all that they discovered was two ingots of gold and four refining houses, whence any ore that there might have been was carried off. The Spaniards entrenched themselves in formidable positions amongst the hills—as the invaders supposed, between them and the mines; but Keymis was so much discouraged by the death of young Raleigh, and the violent discontent of the men on discovering the emptiness of the place, and the preparations of the enemy, who again fired upon and killed several of them, that he gave up the enterprise and dropped down the river again.

When Keymis reached the ships with the news of their ill success and of the death of Raleigh's son, Sir Walter was beside himself. Though Keymis had been a faithful officer and friend of his for many years, sharing the dangers and hardships of his former adventures, he upbraided him bitterly with his ruin. Keymis replied that when the young captain was dead, the men set him at defiance, and that to have attempted to reach the mines with them would have been an act of madness; had it succeeded even, it would only have enriched these murderous villains; had it failed, both himself, and probably Sir Walter, would have fallen their victims. Recollecting the feeble condition of his commander-in-chief, he deemed it his duty to return to him.

All was lost on Raleigh, who, feeling the acutest grief for the death of his son, and seeing nothing but destruction await him at home from the wrath of the Spaniards and the disappointed cupidity of the king, raved against Keymis like a madman. The unfortunate officer drew up a statement of the real facts of the case, addressed to the Earl of Arundel, and asked Raleigh to sign it in justice to him: he peremptorily refused. Some days passed on, but instead of moderating his bitterness when Keymis again urged him to sign the statement, he refused, heaping upon him reproaches of imbecility or cowardice. Stung by this ungenerous conduct, the unhappy officer retired to his cabin, and shot himself with a pocket-pistol, and as that had not killed him, finished the bloody deed by a stab with a long knife.

Horror took possession of the fleet at the news of Keymis's suicide, and discord and mutiny broke out on all sides. The officers and men alike expressed their indignation. Captain Whitney, in whom Raleigh reposed the most confidence, and who was under great obligations to him, sailed for England. Others followed his example, and Raleigh soon found himself with only five ships. Yet still he had a larger fleet, manned with a stronger force of daring fellows than the brave crews who had done amazing things under Drake, Hawkins, and others, had Raleigh been in a mood to lead them. Death and disgrace awaited his return home; death or the acquisition of wealth capable of appeasing the royal resentment, was the alternative which attended a bold onslaught on the Spanish shores. But Raleigh's spirit was crushed. In a letter to his wife he declared that "his brains were broken;" and he sailed away to Newfoundland, where he refitted his ships.

He now contemplated the chance of intercepting one of the Spanish treasure-ships, which he felt assured would set all right with James; but fresh mutinies arose and he took his course homewards. In the month of June, 1618, after much hesitation, he entered the harbour of Plymouth, where he was met with the news that a royal warrant was out for his apprehension. Gondomar, furious at the fate of his brother, demanded condign punishment for Raleigh's outrages on the subjects of his most Catholic majesty in Guiana. There were many reasons why the Spanish Court should long for the destruction of Raleigh. He was by far the ablest naval commander that James possessed. He had been one of those who led the English fleet to the triumph over the Armada. He had committed terrible depredations in the Azores and Canary Isles when he sailed with Essex, besides his seizure of the Governor of Trinidad.

Sir Walter was advised by his friends to fly instantly to France, a vessel lying ready to carry him over. But he seemed to have lost all power of self-direction, or it might be that, as his younger son Carew relates, the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke were sureties for his return, and it was a point of honour to keep faith with them. He landed, and was arrested by his near kinsman, Sir Lewis Stukeley, Vice-Admiral of Devon, who conducted him to the house of Sir Christopher Harris, near the port, where he detained him for nearly a week, till he received the royal order for his disposal. No sooner was it announced at Court that Raleigh was secured, than Buckingham wrote, by direction of the king, to inform the Spanish ambassador of the fact, and to assure him that he would give him up to him to be sent to Spain, and dealt with as his royal master should see fit, unless his most Catholic majesty preferred that he should suffer the penalty of his crimes here. Gondomar sent off a special messenger to learn the decision of the King of Spain, and meantime Stukeley was ordered to proceed to London with his prisoner.

Struck now with awe at the prospect of once more being immured in the Tower, and with only the most gloomy prospect of his exit thence, Sir Walter procured some drugs from Manourie a Frenchman, with which he brought on violent sickness, and aquafortis, with which he produced blisters and excoriations on his face, arms, breast, and legs. He was found in his shirt on all fours, gnawing the rushes on the floor and affecting madness; the physicians pronounced him to be in considerable danger, and James, who was then at Salisbury, ordered him to be conveyed for a short time to his own house in London, lest he should convey some infection into the Tower.

This was Raleigh's object, and he now employed the time afforded him to effect his escape in earnest. He despatched his faithful friend, Captain King, to provide a ship for his purpose. This was arranged, but Raleigh, not aware that Manourie was a spy upon him, confided the secret to him, and it was immediately communicated to Stukeley. Raleigh, observing the strict watch which Stukeley kept over him, and deeming him worthy of his confidence, gave him a valuable jewel and a bond for one thousand pounds, on condition that he allowed him to escape. Stukeley took the bribe, but while pretending to be now his sworn friend, only the more effectually played the traitor. He was commissioned to procure all possible evidence of Raleigh's connection with France, and circumstances favoured him. At Brentford Raleigh received a visit from De Chesne, the secretary of the French Envoy in London, offering him, from Le Clerk, his master, the use of a French barque and a safe-conduct to the Governor of Calais. On arriving in London, Le Clerk himself waited on him and renewed the offer. Raleigh expressed his gratitude, but concluded to take the vessel engaged by Captain King, and lying near Tilbury Fort. All this Stukeley communicated daily to the Council.

At the time fixed, Raleigh in disguise, and accompanied by King and Stukeley, who expressed much interest in seeing his relative safely off, took a boat and dropped down the river to reach the vessel at Gravesend. But from the moment that they were on the water, the quick eye of Raleigh noticed a wherry which kept steadily in their wake; and the tide failing, it was judged useless to proceed to Gravesend. They went, therefore, into Greenwich; the wherry also lay to there, and Sir Walter found himself immediately re-arrested by the traitor Stukeley, whose men were in the wherry. King also was arrested, and Sir Walter was conveyed next morning to the Tower. The French Envoy was forbidden the Court and soon after ordered to leave the country.

The answer from the King of Spain did not arrive for five weeks. It stated that in his opinion the punishment of Raleigh's offences should take place where his commission—which he had violated—was issued. It was, therefore, necessary to bring him to trial in London. Meanwhile, he had been subjected to close and repeated interrogations before a commission appointed for the purpose, composed of Lord Chancellor Bacon, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sir Edward Coke, and several other members of Council. He was charged with having imposed upon the king, by representing that his object was to discover a gold mine, when he only wanted to get out of prison and commence piracy; that he had endeavoured to provoke a war with Spain; that he had barbarously deserted his ships' companies, and pushed them into unnecessary danger; that he had ridiculed and maligned the king; that he had feigned madness to deceive his majesty; and that he had attempted to escape in defiance of his authority.

Raleigh denied the charge of treating the name of the king disrespectfully; asserted that nothing proved his sincerity in expecting to reach mines so completely, as his having expended two thousand pounds in the necessary apparatus for refining the ore; that he had never exposed his men to any danger that he did not share himself, except when illness incapacitated him; and that as to feigning madness and trying to escape, the charges were true, but they were, under the circumstances, perfectly natural and pardonable.

The commissioners, finding that they could establish no real case against him of sufficient gravity to implicate his life, resorted to the usual stratagem of Government in those times, as well as in times long after—and set a spy upon him under the colour of a friend. The individual who accepted this dirty office—such villains are always plentifully at hand—was one Sir Thomas Wilson, Keeper of the State Paper Office. He appeared to be hit upon because he had as much learning and ingenuity as he had little principle, and could therefore easily draw out Raleigh to talk by assuming a kindly interest in him. Sir Walter appeared to talk freely, and related his adventures, and also what daily took place before the commission; yet this government pump could bring up nothing very criminating. Raleigh declared that had he fallen in with one of the Spanish galleons, he would have seized it with the same freedom that Drake had done; but his mere intention to do what had won so much fame and favour for other commanders, was not a charge likely to go down with the public. Raleigh remarked that when he made that avowal before the commission, Bacon said, "Why, you would have been a pirate!" and that he had replied, "Oh, my lord, did you ever know of any that were pirates for millions? They that work for small things are pirates."

Finding that there was nothing in Raleigh's proceedings on this occasion which had not been done, and far more than done, with high public approbation, by the greatest commanders of the British Navy, they dared not attempt to condemn him on that score, and therefore James demanded of his Council what other mode they could suggest to take his life. Coke and Bacon proposed that they should fall back simply on the plea of his old sentence, and the king sent to the Tower an order for his execution. The judges, therefore, received an order to issue a warrant for his immediate beheading, but they wisely shrank from such a responsibility, declaring that after such a lapse of time neither a writ of privy seal nor a warrant under the Great Seal would be legal without calling on the party to show cause against it. They accordingly summoned him before them by habeas corpus, and Raleigh, who was suffering from fever and ague, real enough this time, was the next day brought before them at the King's Bench, Westminster. Yelverton, the Attorney General, reminded the Court that Sir Walter had been sentenced to death for high treason, fifteen years before; that the king, in his clemency, had deferred the execution of the prisoner, but now deemed it necessary to call for it. He observed that Sir Walter had been a statesman, and a man who, in respect to his talents, was to be pitied, and that he had been as a star at which the world had gazed; but "stars," he continued, "may fall; nay, they must fall when they trouble the spheres wherein they abide." He called, therefore, at the command of his majesty, for their order for his execution. On being asked what he had to say against it, Raleigh replied that the judgment given against him so many years ago could not with any reason be brought against him then, for he had since borne his majesty's commission, which was equivalent to a pardon; and that no other charge was made against him. The Chief Justice told him that this pleading would not avail him; that in cases of treason nothing but a pardon in express words was sufficient. Raleigh then said, if that were the case, he could only throw himself on the king's mercy; but that he was certain that, had the king not been afresh exasperated against him, he might have lived a thousand years, if nature enabled him, without hearing anything more of the old sentence.

Montague, the Chief Justice, admitted this by saying that "new offences had stirred up his majesty's justice to revive what the law had formerly decreed;" and he ended with the fatal words—"Execution is granted."

Thus Raleigh was put to death to oblige the King of Spain, with whom James was anxious to form an alliance by his son's marriage to the Infanta. The old sentence was but the stalking-horse for the occasion, the Court not daring to allege as the true offence that he died for having invaded the territories of the King of Spain. The public having a strong repugnance to both Spain and any matrimonial alliance with it, which must introduce a Popish queen, would have gloried in the real chastisement of that nation and the capture of its treasure-ships. Sir Walter was executed on the 29th of October, 1618.

Hitherto James had contrived to avoid war for sixteen years. He now saw himself dragged into a hopeless contest by the folly of his son-in-law, Frederick, the Elector of the Palatinate. Frederick was a Calvinistic Protestant, and the Protestants of Bohemia, anxious to prevent the Catholic Emperor of Austria from acquiring their Crown, offered it to him, and the Elector was imprudent enough to accept it. James was thunderstruck by the news, and instantly avowed that the Elector had entered on an enterprise which would involve him in utter ruin. To enable the reader, however, to understand the question, we must take a brief review of the antecedents of the case. Bohemia, a country inhabited by a branch of the great Sclavonic race called Czechs, had early imbibed the doctrines of Protestantism. The people resisted the imposition of the Papal yoke by the Austrian princes, and insurrection and carnage were the consequences. At length the Emperor Rudolph was obliged to cede to the sturdy Bohemians the right of enjoying their own religious faith, and it was stipulated that they should be at liberty to erect churches on the Crown lands. The Calvinists, the most resolute sect of the Bohemian Protestants—for they were divided into Calvinists and Lutherans—declared the Church lands were in fact Crown lands, and began to build churches on estates belonging to the Archbishop of Prague and the Abbot of Braunau. These prelates appealed to the Emperor Matthias, who decided against the Protestants; and an order was issued to pull down again the churches both at Prague and Braunau. At Braunau the people made resistance, and some of their leaders were thrown into prison. This created a great excitement, and Count Thurm, the head of the Evangelical Church, called an assembly of the Protestants at Prague, on the 6th of March, 1618, to take measures for the maintenance of their privileges; but the enthusiasm with which this step was attended, from all parts of the country, much alarming the Austrians, menaces of punishment were issued by Imperial brief against those who took part in it. This roused the wrath of the people, who, headed by Count Thurm, on the 23rd of May, 1618, marched to the royal palace, seized two obnoxious councillors, and hurled them out of the window of the council chamber, which was eighty feet from the ground. These men had been the servile tools of the Austrian Court, and had thereby excited the hatred of the people. They refused the rites of marriage, baptism, and burial to all who would not consent to become Catholics; they were accused of having drawn up the threatening letter which came signed by the Emperor, and of hunting the Protestants into the Catholic churches with dogs. Luckily for them there was plenty of mud in the palace ditch, and they escaped with their lives to scourge the people at a later date.

This bold deed kindled a flame throughout all Bohemia, Moravia, Lusatia, and Silesia. Thurm sent forth a proclamation assuring the Protestants that the die was cast; that they had nothing but vengeance and oppression to expect from Austria; and therefore the time was come to throw off the Austrian yoke, to resume the independence of Bohemia, and make common cause with the Protestants of Germany and the Netherlands. The people flocked to Prague; the palace was occupied by the troops of the different provinces; an oath was taken from the magistrates and officials to obey the States alone; the taxes were ordered to be paid only to those appointed by them; the Jesuits were chased from the country; a council of thirty members was elected to assume the government, and Thurm placed at their head. All this passed with lightning rapidity and caused the utmost consternation in Vienna.

Matthias was sickly and feeble both in body and mind, but his cousin Ferdinand—who had already assumed the title of King of Bohemia, a bigot of the very first water, and whose name soon became the rallying cry of all bigotry in Europe—caught at the opportunity as one sent by Heaven, to enable him to exterminate Protestantism in Austria. He sent off to the Spanish Court in the Netherlands demands for co-operation in this great work, and armies were prepared in Austria; whilst Thurm and the Bohemians, on their part, mustered with all eagerness their forces. Matthias proposed to settle the difference by arbitration, but Ferdinand rejected any such means, seized Cardinal Klesel the Emperor's adviser, and sent him prisoner into the Tyrol, so that the poor invalid Matthias remained a puppet in their hands. He died in March, 1619. Ferdinand, the prince of bigots, to whom whole nations of lives were only as so much dust in comparison with the sacredness of his dogmas, mounted the throne, being elected emperor in August of that year. Now all Europe stood in expectation of the bloody decision of this quarrel,—a quarrel which was destined to spread over all Germany, draw into its vortex Sweden, Denmark, Holland, France, and England, and to be for ever remembered in the world as the most terrible of contests, the "Thirty Years' War."

At this moment, when the Protestants of Germany were joined in a Union for the maintenance of their principles, but were opposed by the far more powerful League of the Catholic princes; when Ferdinand, Emperor of Austria, supported by the Elector Maximilian of Bavaria, the head of the League in Germany, was promised the co-operation of Spain; at this moment the Crown of Bohemia was offered to Frederick, the palsgrave, and he foolishly accepted it. He was a mere youth of twenty, with more ambition than ability; but he was spurred on by his wife, Elizabeth of England, who told him he had courage enough to aspire to the hand of a king's daughter, but not to grasp a crown when offered, and who, when reminded by him of the electoral province which they possessed in safety, exclaimed, "Better a crown with a crust, than a petty electorate with abundance."

This fatal crown, which Elizabeth came to wear, and to have the crust speedily afterwards, had been already offered to John George, Elector of Saxony, who was too shrewd to accept it. Count Thurm had for a time carried all before him, and had even marched into Austria and besieged the Emperor in Vienna; but this success was soon over. The Catholic princes had armed in defence of the Emperor; the students of Vienna and fifteen hundred citizens volunteered in his cause; the distinguished Spanish General Spinola was already on his march to invade the palsgrave's hereditary State, so despised by the Princess Elizabeth; and Count Mansfeld, the general of the German Protestants, was defeated on the Bohemian soil, when Frederick the Elector was crowned king of that country in Prague, on the 25th of October, 1619. He reigned only till the 8th of November of the following year, when he was expelled from his capital by the Austrian and Bavarian forces under Maximilian and General Bucquoi. They had defeated the Protestant generals in Upper Austria and Bohemia, while Frederick—who obtained the name of the "Winter King," because he only reigned one winter—had lost the confidence of his subjects by his luxurious effeminacy, his inattention to government, his impolitic treatment of the native nobles and generals, and his bigoted partiality to the Calvinistic party. Even the Protestant Elector of Saxony, who had refused the crown, allied himself to the Catholic Emperor against him. He was roused from table only by the news of the battle before his walls, rushed out only to see his army scattered, and fled. The Counts Thurm and Hohenlohe counselled him still to make a stand in Glatz, but he was no hero to fight, even for a kingdom; he continued his flight to Breslau, thence to Berlin, and did not stop till he reached Holland. Elizabeth, his queen, now reduced to the crust, far advanced in pregnancy, and deeply pitied by all generous and chivalric minds, accompanied him in his ignominious flight.

Meanwhile, James had been a prey to the most conflicting interests. His Protestant subjects, as ill informed of the state of parties on the Continent as the unfortunate Frederick himself, had received with an outburst of joy the news of the palsgrave being crowned King of Bohemia; and Archbishop Abbot gave the very text from the Apocalypse in which this event, so favourable to the Reformed faith, was predicted. James was urged to send an army to his son-in-law's support, but he saw no chance of keeping him on the Bohemian throne. The Bohemians were divided into three violent parties—Calvinists, Lutherans, and Catholics. The Protestants of Germany were equally divided; some of them had voluntarily offered their aid to the Emperor, and others had submitted to his victorious generals. Spinola was marching on the Palatinate, and James was distracted by the fear of his daughter and son-in-law being reduced to beggary. Yet if he attempted to prop the King of Bohemia on his tottering throne, he should offend the Catholic King of Spain, the sworn ally of the Emperor, and with whom he was at this very time seeking an alliance. Without being able to save his Protestant son-in-law, he should thus lose a Catholic daughter-in-law. If he lay still, all men would call him an unnatural father, all Protestants would declare him an apostate to his religion. Never was man in such a strait. One moment he declared to the Spanish ambassador that the Elector was a fool and a villain, and that he would abandon him to his fate; at another he assured the Protestant envoys from Germany that he would support him to the utmost. At length he hit upon the only rational course; which was, not to attempt an impossibility—the support of Frederick on the baseless throne of Bohemia—but to send a force to defend his patrimonial territories from the Spaniards. The first enterprise was, in fact, soon out of the question: Prague had fallen, his son-in-law and daughter were fugitives; but the second object was still possible, and more necessary than ever.

He sent an army of four thousand men under the Earls of Oxford and Essex to the rescue of the Palatinate. This force was altogether inadequate to cope with the numerous army of the able Spinola; and yet James had exhausted all his means and all his efforts in raising it. Money he had none, and had been compelled to seek a loan and a voluntary subscription. By the autumn the Lower Palatinate was overrun by the Spaniards, and Bohemia had sought and received pardon from the Imperial Court. James's real hope was that Spain would join him in mediating a peace.

In this state of affairs James was compelled to summon a Parliament. It assembled on the 30th of January, 1621, the king having used all the unconstitutional means in his power to influence the return of members. In his opening speech he now admitted what he had so stoutly denied before, the presence of Undertakers in the last Parliament, "a strange kind of beasts which had done mischief." In that shallow, wheedling tone, that rather showed the hollowness of the man than conciliated, as it was meant to do, he even enlarged his confessions and admitted that he had been swayed by evil counsellors. He then demanded liberal supplies to carry on the war in the Palatinate, for which the people had indeed loudly called. The Commons expressed their readiness, but first demanded that the king should enforce the penalties against the Papists with additional rigour, observing that they were the Papists in Germany who had deprived the Elector Palatine of his crown, and were now seeking to deprive him of his hereditary domains. They recommended that no recusants should be allowed to come within ten miles of London, that they should not be permitted to attend Mass in their own houses or in the chapels of ambassadors; and they offered to pass a Bill, giving to the Crown two-thirds of the property of recusants. They then granted him two subsidies, but no tenths or fifteenths—a sum wholly inadequate to the necessities of the war, much less of his expenditure in general. Yet James, to keep them in good humour—hoping to obtain more before the close of the Session—professed to be more satisfied with it than if it had been millions, because it was so freely granted.

The Commons showed more alacrity in complaining of the breach of their privileges. They reminded the king of the four members of their House whom he had imprisoned after the last Session of Parliament, and insisted that such a practice rendered the liberty of speech amongst them a mere fiction. As it was James's policy to remain on good terms with them, he made a solemn assurance that he would respect their freedom in that matter. Yet, the next day, the House, as if to show that they themselves were ready to destroy the liberty within, which they so warmly contended against being infringed from without, expelled one of their members named Shepherd, for declaring, in a speech against a Bill for restraining the abuses of the Sabbath, that the Sabbath was Saturday, and not Sunday; that the Scriptures recommended dancing on the Sabbath day; and that this Bill was in direct opposition to the king's ordinances for the keeping of Sunday.

From their own members they next extended their prosecutions to public officers. They had appointed a committee of inquiry into public abuses, and now summoned witnesses. The conduct of public officers, judges, and their dependents, was subjected to a severe scrutiny. They first examined into the abuses of patents, and three of these incurred particular censure: the one for the licensing of ale-houses, another for the inspection of inns and hostelries, and the third for the exclusive manufacture of gold and silver thread. Patents, to secure to inventors the fruits of their discoveries in arts and manufactures, are beneficial, stimulating to improvement and extending traffic. But these patents were of a directly contrary nature, being grants, for money or through Court favour, to individuals to monopolise some particular business; thus checking competition, and defrauding the fair trader of his legitimate profits. The inquiry laid open a scene of the most extraordinary fraud, corruption, and oppression. The three patents just mentioned were denounced as national injuries, and Sir Giles Mompesson and Sir Francis Michell, a justice of the peace, his partner in them, were arrested as offenders. The culprits sought protection from the Government, Buckingham having sold them the patents and divided the profits with his half-brother, Sir Edward Villiers. The Court was in great tremor, and it was proposed to dissolve Parliament to save the patentees. But Williams, Dean of Westminster, represented this as a very imprudent measure, and another course was adopted at his recommendation. Buckingham affected a patriotic air, as if he himself had been no way concerned in it, and said if his brother had shared the emolument, let him also share the punishment. But this was safely said, for Villiers was already abroad out of the reach of Parliament; and means were not long wanting to let Mompesson escape out of the custody of the Serjeant-at-Arms. Michell was not so fortunate; he was secured and lodged in the Tower.

In these prosecutions Coke was extremely active, for he saw a prospect of taking a signal revenge on Bacon, who had not only supplanted him, but insulted him in his fall. Bacon was notoriously mixed up with the corruptions of the Court of Chancery; and Coke informed the Commons that it was not within their jurisdiction to punish offenders not of their own House, but that they could punish all offences against the State in co-operation with the Lords. Accordingly they invited the Upper House to take cognisance of these offences, with which they readily complied, and sentenced Mompesson and Michell to be degraded from their knighthood, fined, and imprisoned. James, who had done his best to screen the offenders, then in a fit of affected patriotism expressed his indignation at having had his credulity imposed on by these men, and by an illegal stretch of prerogative converted Mompesson's sentence into perpetual banishment. Buckingham, the guiltiest party of all, did not quite escape observation. Yelverton, the Attorney-General, who was accused of participation in these illegal practices, and who was condemned to severe fines and imprisonment for life, boldly accused Buckingham, before the House of Lords, of his master share in them. But that favourite was too strongly fortified by the royal favour, and by those who must have fallen with him, to be seriously endangered. But lesser men did not escape so well. Sir John Bennet, Judge of the Prerogative Court, was impeached, as well as Dr. Field, Bishop of Llandaff, for bribery and corruption. Bennet was charged with having granted administration of wills for money, contrary to law; but he escaped his punishment by obtaining time to prepare his defence, during which Parliament was prorogued; but he was afterwards fined twenty thousand pounds in the Star Chamber, for which, however, he obtained a pardon. Field of Llandaff had bound a suitor in Chancery to pay him over six thousand pounds, if he obtained his suit for him, through Buckingham. At the entreaty of the archbishop, however, he, too, escaped, under the pretence of being left to the dealing of the Church.

But the great offender, at whom Coke and others were directing their main efforts, was the Lord Chancellor Bacon. Bacon had managed to make his way from a moderate position to the highest honours of the State. He was not only Lord Chancellor of the kingdom, and a baron, but in January, 1621, became Viscount St. Albans. Besides this elevation, he possessed a far higher one in the fame of his philosophical works; and had he possessed as much real greatness of mind as talent, might have stood in the admiration of posterity as Milton does—poor, but glorious beyond the tinsel glory of Courts; and it might have been said of him as of the great poet—

"His soul was like a star and dwelt apart."

But Bacon, who had placed his name high on the scroll of immortality by his genius, was destined, like Lucifer, to become more notorious by his fall than by his standing. Brilliant as were his powers, superb as were his accomplishments, he had not hesitated to trail his finest qualities through the mire of Courts and corruption, in the eager quest of worldly distinction. He had risen, perhaps, more by his base flatteries, and his calumnious envy of his contemporaries, than by his abilities; and he had continued, whilst rising, to make enemies on all sides. The king and Buckingham had both conceived a deep dislike to him. James hated all men of genius with the jealousy of a pedant, and was only rendered tolerant of Bacon by his abject adulation, and his services in punishing Coke and carrying out relentlessly the fiats of prerogative. Buckingham probably never forgot what he had done in the matter of Coke's daughter. The Lords hated him for his upstart vanity and ostentation, and the Commons for his desertion of the public cause for that of the despotic king. But perhaps not all these causes together would have availed to pull him down, if Buckingham had not wanted the Great Seal for his creature Williams, now Bishop of Lincoln.

The Parliamentary Committee inquiring into the abuses of office, recommended the House of Commons to impeach the Lord Chancellor for bribery and corruption in the court over which he presided; and the Commons accordingly presented to the Upper House a Bill of Impeachment against him, consisting of two-and-twenty instances of bribery and corruption in his own person, and of allowing the same in his officers. The corruption of the Chancellor was notorious; and out of doors it was asserted that he had received in presents no less than one hundred thousand pounds in the three years of his Chancellorship. This he denied in a letter to Buckingham; but the charges brought against him by the Commons, who were prepared to support them, were so formidable that they completely struck down the guilty man. He felt that his ruin was at hand, and either feeling or feigning sickness, he took to his bed. If he had not perceived sufficient indications of his impending fate from other quarters, the conduct of the king left him in no doubt. James informed the Lords that he trusted the Chancellor might clear himself, but that if he did not, he would punish him with the utmost severity.

It must not be supposed, however, that Bacon was the first to introduce bribery into the Court of Chancery; it was an old and well-known practice, which had been both familiar to Elizabeth and sanctioned by her. But Bacon ought to have had a soul above it, whereas he had indulged in the villainous custom the more profusely because his mode of living was so extravagant and ostentatious, that he saved not a penny of his enormous gain, but was always in need.

Bacon, on the presentation of the Bill of Impeachment, on the 21st of March, prayed for time to prepare his defence, and this was granted him, the House adjourning till the 17th of April. On the 24th of that month, the humbled statesman drew up a general confession of his guilt, which was presented by Prince Charles. In this letter he threw himself on the mercy of the House and the king, and pleaded, with a strange mixture of humility and ingenuity, his very crimes as meritorious, since their punishment would deter others from them. He represented his spirit as broken, his mind as overwhelmed by his calamities; but he added that he found a certain gladness in the fact that "hereafter the greatness of a judge or magistrate shall be no sanctuary or protection to him against guiltiness; which is the beginning of a golden work—the purgation of the courts of justice. And," he added, "in these two points, God is my witness, though it be my fortune to be the anvil upon which these two effects are broken and wrought, I take no small comfort." After this edifying spectacle of exhibiting his punishment as a public benefit, he proceeded to apply that unctuous adulation to the Sovereign and to the Peers in which he was so unabashed a master. He implored mercy at the hands of the king—"a king of incomparable clemency, whose heart was inscrutable for wisdom and goodness—a prince whose like had not been seen these hundred years!" And then the Lords were equally bepraised, "compassion ever beating in the veins of noble blood;" nor were the bishops forgotten, "the servants of Him who would not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax."

But all this cringing to the Crown, the coronet, and the mitre, did not serve him: he was required by the Peers to make a separate and distinct answer to each charge. He complied fully with the demand, confessing everything; and when a deputation from the Lords waited on him to know whether this was his own voluntary act—for they excused him the humiliation of appearing at the bar of the House—he replied with tears, "It is my act—my hand—my heart. Oh, my lords, spare a broken reed!" This full and explicit confession being read in the House, on the 3rd of May the Commons, headed by their Speaker, attended to demand judgment, which the Lord Chief Justice, acting as Speaker of the Upper House, declared to this effect:—That the Lord Chancellor being found guilty of many acts of bribery and corruption, both by his own confession and the evidence of witnesses, he was condemned to pay a fine of forty thousand pounds, to be imprisoned in the Tower during the king's pleasure, to be dismissed from all his offices, and deemed incapable of either holding office again or sitting in Parliament, and to be prohibited from coming within twelve miles of the seat of Parliament.

The king remitted the fine, for the best of reasons—that Bacon had nothing to pay it with; he also liberated him from the Tower after a mere pro formâ imprisonment of a few days, and Bacon retired to hide his dishonour at his house at Gorhambury, near St. Albans. Nor had his fall extinguished all admiration for him as a great lawyer and philosopher. Even in the House Sir Robert Philips, Sir Edward Sackville, and others, reminded the public of the Lord Chancellor's wonderful genius and acquirements; and as Prince Charles returned from hunting one day, he beheld "a coach accompanied by a goodly troop of horsemen," escorting the ex-Lord Chancellor to his house at Gorhambury.

In that beautiful retreat, it was in Bacon's power to have so lived and so written, that his disgrace as a statesman would have been soon lost in the splendour of his genius and the dignified wisdom of his latter years. But unfortunately Bacon was steeped to the core in the love of worldly greatness, and the five years that he lived were rendered still more miserable and still more contemptible by his incessant hankering after restoration to place and honour, and his persevering and cringing importunities to the king and Buckingham for these objects. To such a length did the wretched man proceed, that his letters became actually impious. He told the prince that as the king, his father, had been his creator, he had hoped that he would be his redeemer. The works which he completed after his disgrace were only such as could result from so miserable a condition of mind. They were suggested to him by the king, but were not executed with the zest of his own inclination. They consisted chiefly of a life of Henry VII., a revision of his former works, and the superintendence of a Latin translation of them. At length, finding all his efforts vain to move the king towards his restoration, his health and temper gave way, and he died on the 9th of April, 1626, the melancholy victim of an unworthy ambition.

The Commons had rendered a very valuable service by these impeachments of public men, and one which has since then operated as a precedent in the hands of Parliament to check and punish on a large scale the too daring and unprincipled servants of the Crown. But, as if carried beyond themselves by their success, they now fell into a grievous error, and displayed a spirit as aggressive in themselves, as it was cruel, bigoted, and unconstitutional. One Edward Floyd, a Catholic barrister, a prisoner in the Fleet, was reported to have exulted in the success of the Catholics in Germany over the Elector Palatine. This being mentioned in the Commons, that august body took immediately such violent offence, that it was proposed by members to nail him by the ears, bore him through the tongue, set him in the pillory, and so forth. On inquiry, all that could be substantiated against him was, that he had said "that goodman Palsgrave and goodwife Palsgrave had been driven from Prague."

For this paltry offence—which would not now attract a passing notice in a newspaper—the Commons adjudged Floyd to pay a fine of one thousand pounds, to stand in the pillory in three different places, and to be carried from place to place on a horse without a saddle, and with his face to the tail. The Commons had clearly stepped out of their jurisdiction to adjudge a man who was no member of their House, and Floyd instantly appealed to the king against the proceeding. James, who had so often been checked in his prerogative by the Commons, did not neglect this grand opportunity of rebuking their error. He sent the very next morning to demand by what authority they condemned one who did not belong to them, nor had committed any breach of their privileges; and still more, by what right they sentenced him without evidence taken on oath?

This was a posing inquiry. The House was greatly disconcerted, for they were clearly in the wrong, and the king in the right. It was a hard matter, however, to confess their fault: the case was debated warmly for several days; but at length it was agreed to confer with the Peers, who asserted that the Commons had invaded their privilege of pronouncing judgment in such cases. The Commons still contended that they had a right to administer an oath, and therefore to pass judgment. But the Lords would not admit this, and it was agreed that the Lords should sentence Floyd, which they proceeded to do, as exercising their own exclusive right, the Commons contending that the Lords now judged him by a similar right by which they had already judged him. The sentence was severe enough to satisfy the Commons. The fine was increased from one to five thousand pounds, Floyd was to be flogged at the cart's tail from the Fleet to Westminster Hall, to sit in the pillory, to be degraded from the rank of a gentleman, to be held infamous, and to be imprisoned in Newgate for life.

Perhaps so atrocious a sentence was never pronounced for so trivial an offence. It showed how little either the Lords or Commons were yet to be trusted with the lives and liberties of the subject, and how ill-defined were still their functions. The public expressed its abhorrence of the barbarous proceeding, and Prince Charles exerted himself to procure a mitigation of the punishment, but could only succeed in obtaining the remission of the flogging. The Commons having executed so much justice and so much injustice, but making no approach to a vote of further supplies, James adjourned Parliament on the 4th of June to November. Vehement as had been the wrath of the Commons against a disrespectful allusion to the Palsgrave, they had done nothing towards the defence of his territory. As the public were by no means so indifferent on this point, the fear of their constituents suddenly flashed on the Commons, and they then made a declaration that if nothing effectual was done during the recess for the restoration of the Elector Palatine and the Protestant religion, they would sacrifice their lives and fortunes in the cause. This was not only carried by acclamation, but Coke, falling on his knees, with many tears and signs of deep emotion, read aloud the collect for the king and royal family from the Book of Common Prayer.

Parliament being adjourned, James proceeded to appoint a new Lord Chancellor in the place of Bacon. There were three public candidates for the office—Ley and Hobart, the two Chief Justices, and Lord Cranfield, the Treasurer, who had been originally a city merchant, but had risen by marrying a relative of Buckingham's. But there was another and still more extraordinary competitor determined on by Buckingham and James for the Chancellorship—no other than a clergyman—Williams, late Dean of Westminster, now Bishop of Lincoln. That a clergyman should be placed at the head of the Court of Chancery instead of a lawyer, was enough to astonish not only the members of the legal profession, but the whole public. Williams himself was openly professing to support the claims of Cranfield, and expressed astonishment when the post was offered to him. He declared so strongly his sense of his incapacity for the office, being inexperienced in matters of law, that he would only accept of it on trial for eighteen months, and on condition that two judges should sit with him to assist him. Yet this truly scandalous appointment was actually made, the real cause out of doors being assigned that "his too grate familiarity with Buckingham's mother procured him these grate favours and preferments one a suddaine." It was some time ere the barristers would plead before him.

But not the less did another event confound the dignitaries of the Church. Abbot, the Archbishop of Canterbury, hunting with Lord Zouch in Bramshill Park, in Hampshire, accidentally shot the keeper of the Park in aiming at a buck. The verdict of the coroner's inquest was unintentional homicide; but still the clergy contended that by the canon law the shedding of blood had disqualified him for discharging any ecclesiastical functions. Much censure was also expressed on his engaging in hunting at all; and as there were just then four bishops-elect who awaited consecration, they refused to receive it at his hands. Amongst these were Williams, the Lord Keeper, and Laud, Bishop of St. David's, who were supposed to be partly influenced by a hope of securing the primacy, if Abbot were pronounced disqualified. A commission, however, of prelates and canonists proposed that the archbishop should be absolved from all irregularity, and James, as head of the Church, granted him a pardon and appointed eight bishops to give him absolution; but from this time forward he seldom appeared at Court.

During the recess the king performed an act calculated to conciliate the Commons. By the advice, as it was said, of Williams, the Lord Keeper, he had abolished thirty-seven of the most oppressive of the patents and monopolies, of which the Commons had so long complained. But the effect of this was totally neutralised by other measures of a contrary tendency. Complaints had been made of the growing audacity of the Algerine pirates, who had not only seized several English merchant ships in the Mediterranean, but even on the British coast. James requested Spain, which also was a sufferer from these robbers, to join in an expedition to burn all their ships and destroy Algiers itself. Sir Robert Monsell was sent with a squadron for this purpose, but the Spaniards did not join him, and he was said to have a royal order not to risk his ships. Under such circumstances, nothing very vigorous was to be expected, yet on the 24th of May Monsell sailed up to the fort, and the sailors set fire to the ships and then retired. No attack was made on the town, and the firing of the vessels was so imperfectly done, that the Algerines soon put out the flames, and threw booms across the harbour to prevent the re-entrance of the English. Only two of the pirate vessels were consumed, and the Algerines, like a swarm of hornets irritated in their nest but not injured, rushed forth soon afterwards in such force and fury, that they speedily captured no less than five-and-thirty English merchantmen. Loud and bitter were the complaints in the country of this worse than useless proceeding.

To add to the ill-humour generated by this imbecile transaction, the public had been greatly incensed by the arrest of a number of liberal-minded men—the Earls of Oxford and Southampton, Sutcliffe, Dean of Exeter, Brise, a Puritan preacher, Sir Christopher Neville, Sir Edward Sandys, and Selden, the great lawyer and antiquary; and a prosecution had been commenced against Sir Edward Coke, on no less than eleven charges of misdemeanour during the time that he was a judge. Coke, unlike Bacon, had amassed great wealth during his official life, and it was understood that these charges of peculation and bribery had been got up at the suggestion of Bacon and Coke's own wife, Lady Hatton.

The Commons took up zealously the cause of their members, Sandys and Coke. Sandys had been examined on some secret charge before the Council, and after a month's detention was discharged. Being confined to his bed at the commencement of the Session, two members were appointed to wait on him and learn the cause of his arrest, notwithstanding the assurance of the Secretary of State that it had no connection with his conduct in the House. They also ordered the Serjeant-at-Arms to take into custody the accusers of Coke, and appointed a committee to examine witnesses. They felt assured that the proceedings against these gentlemen originated with their popular conduct in Parliament.

At the same time, Coke, in the Commons, proposed a petition to the king against the increase of Popery and the marriage of the Prince of Wales to a Catholic. It represented that the success in Germany against the Elector Palatine had so encouraged the Papists, that they flocked in crowds to the chapels of the foreign ambassadors; sent their children abroad for education, and were treated with so much lenity that, if not prevented, they would soon again be in the ascendant. Spain was represented, without directly naming it, as the worst enemy of England, and the king was implored to recall all the children of Catholic noblemen and gentlemen from abroad, to marry his son to a Protestant princess, and to enforce the laws with rigour against the Papists.

James received a private copy of this petition, and was thrown into a paroxysm of rage at its perusal. To dictate to him how he should marry his son; to recommend that he should invade the territories of Spain, and to reflect on the honour of his ally, the Spanish king, were examples of intolerable interference with his dearly valued prerogative. He wrote at once to the Speaker, denouncing certain "fiery, popular, and turbulent spirits" in the House, and desiring them not to concern themselves about such matters as were included in the petition. Adverting to Sandys, he denied that his offence was connected with the House of Commons, but at the same time declared that the Crown possessed a right to punish subjects, whether members of Parliament or not, and would not fail to exercise it.

The House received this missive with much dissatisfaction, but with dignity, and vindicated their right of liberty of speech in a firm memorial. James replied that though their privileges were no undoubted right, but were derived from the grace of his ancestors on the throne, yet so long as they kept them within the limits of duty, he should not exercise his prerogative and withdraw those privileges. The House declared its high resentment at this language, which reduced their right into mere matter of royal favour, and the expression of feeling ran so high that James became alarmed, and wrote to Secretary Calvert, instructing him to qualify his assertions a little. But the House was not thus to be satisfied where the question of its privileges was directly raised, and on the 18th of December it drew up the following protest:—"That the liberties and jurisdictions of Parliament are the most ancient and undoubted birthright and inheritance of the subjects of England; that arduous and urgent affairs concerning the king, the State, and defence of the realm, and the Church of England, the making and maintenance of laws, and the redress of grievances, are proper subjects of counsel and debate in Parliament; that in the handling of these businesses every member hath and ought to have freedom of speech; that the Commons in Parliament have like liberty to treat of these matters in such order as they think proper; that every member hath like freedom from all impeachment, imprisonment, and molestation, other than by the censure of the House itself, concerning any Bill, speaking or reasoning touching Parliament matters; and that if any be complained of for anything said or done in Parliament, the same is to be showed to the king by assent of the Commons before the king give evidence to any private information."

This was speaking out; the Parliament threw down the gage and James, in his wrath, took it up. Forgetting that he was represented as ill, he rode up to London in a fury and ordered the clerk of the Commons to bring him the Journals of the House. According to Rushworth, he tore out the obnoxious protest with his own hands, in full Council, and in presence of the judges; at all events he cancelled it; had what he had done entered in the Council-book; and on the 6th of January, 1622, by an insulting proclamation, dissolved Parliament, assuring the public that it was on account of its evil temper that he had dissolved the House of Commons, and not with any intention of doing without one; that he should soon call another; and in the meantime the country might rest assured that he would endeavour to govern well.

The first proof of his notions of governing well was the summoning of the Earls of Oxford and Southampton from the House of Peers, of Coke, Philip, Pym, and Mallory from the Commons, and of Sir John Selden, to appear before the Council. Some were committed to the Tower, some to the Fleet, and others to the custody of private individuals. Though nothing in either House could have occasioned these arrests, various reasons were assigned for them. Moreover, Selden was not a member of the Commons, and he therefore could have incurred no blame there. But he was the legal adviser of Sandys and others, who had made themselves prominent in the popular cause, and he was known as one of the ablest legal advocates of Parliamentary and public rights. The two Peers were also at the head of a popular party which had sprung up in the Lords, and the whole matter was too palpable for mistake. Nothing could, however, be fixed on any of the prisoners which the Government dared to charge as a crime, and after a sharp rebuke they were liberated. There were still other members whose conduct had excited the anger of the Court, but against whom no specific charge could be established. These were Sir Dudley Digges, Sir James Parrott, Sir Nathaniel Rich, and Sir Thomas Carew. To punish them a singular mode was devised. They were appointed to a commission in Ireland to inquire into the state of the army and navy, into the condition of the Church and of public schools, into the abuses in the collection of revenue and in the settlement of the plantations, and into the existence of illegal and mischievous patents. As it was extremely inconvenient for these gentlemen to absent themselves on such business, they protested decidedly against it; but they were told that the king had a right to the services of his subjects, in any way that he pleased; and though these gentlemen had stood boldly with their fellows in a collective capacity for the rights of the subject, they were not sufficiently screwed up to the pitch of martyrdom to stand upon their individual freedom, and refuse at all costs. Coke, who had now taken the lead in the popular cause, because the Court had repelled and dismissed him, offered to accompany them, and assist them with his legal advice and experience, but his offer was declined. The subjects of inquiry, of themselves, were of a nature to furnish much strength and information to the reformers, and the mode of punishing these men was as short-sighted as it was arbitrary. But the great contest was now fully begun, in which the blindness and tyranny of the Stuarts, and the firm intelligence of the people, were to fight out the grand question of constitutional government. Those who regard this as a matter only of Charles I.'s reign have strangely overlooked the doings and doctrines of James, who was the real author of the conflict, and opened it himself with all the dogmatism which distinguished the royal side to the end. This very session Prince Charles had been a diligent attender of the House of Lords, but seems to have had no perception whatever of the spirit which was dominant in the House of Commons, and rapidly diffusing its electric fire through the nation. The names of Pym, Coke, Wentworth, and Laud, were already in men's mouths, the heralds of that mighty host, which, for good or for evil, was soon to engage in terrible combat; the issue of which was to be the morning-star of governmental science to the nations, determining the true powers, uses, and limitations of governments, as well as the liberty of the people protected, by its own popular safeguards, from licence and anarchy.

In foreign affairs James was placed in particular difficulties. The two objects which he had more than all others at heart, were the marriage of his son, the Prince of Wales, to the Infanta of Spain, and the restoration of the Elector Palatine to his hereditary possessions. He had tried too late to secure the Princess Christine of France. She was already affianced to Philip of Spain. He had since negotiated for the hand of Donna Maria of Spain. If he could accomplish this marriage, he should be at once able to secure by it his other grand desire—the restoration of the Palsgrave,—for Spain would then be induced to withdraw its forces from the assistance of the Emperor against the Palatinate, and to add its earnest co-operation in arranging for the Palsgrave's re-instatement.

But against this project of marriage—the stepping-stone to these measures in Germany—stood the aversion of the people in England to a match with so pronouncedly Catholic a country as Spain, and so bigoted a family as that of its Sovereign. Just as adverse were the Spaniards, and especially the priests, to the young Infanta coming into a heretical country, and to any impediment thrown in the way of the Emperor of Germany exterminating the Protestants there. During the life of Philip III., the father of Donna Maria, little progress was made in these negotiations, but on the accession of his son Philip IV., in 1621, the prospect brightened. Both James and Charles wrote to the new king and his favourite Olivarez. In England Gondomar, the Spanish minister, was warmly in favour of the alliance, seeing in it a guarantee for the relief of the Catholics and of increased strength against France. Lord Digby, now Earl of Bristol, late ambassador at Madrid, was equally zealous for the marriage; and James was the more eager for it as he saw no hope of aid in his German project from France. There the feeble monarch, Louis XIII., was wholly in the hands of a despicable favourite, De Luynes, who was insolently opposed to the English interests, though the French people, from the hereditary hatred of the house of Austria, would have gladly marched against the invaders of the Palatinate.

The affairs of Frederick, the Elector Palatine, were desperate. The Palatinate, in fact, was already lost. Count Mansfeldt—the ablest general who had fought for the Elector's interests—and the Prince Christian of Brunswick, had evacuated the Palatinate; Heidelberg and Mannheim were in the hands of the enemy; and these generals had entered the service of the Dutch. The Emperor, in reward for the successful services of Maximilian of Bavaria, had conferred on him the Electorate of the Palatinate with the greater part of the territory.

James himself, to get rid of the maintenance of the garrison, had given up Frankenthal to the Spaniards, on condition that if, within eighteen months, a satisfactory peace were not made, it should be returned. Everything, therefore, was lost, and James fondly hoped that the Spanish match might yet recover everything.

Circumstances appeared to favour his hopes. The young King of Spain and his minister, Olivarez, responded cordially to James's proposal; Gondomar hastened on to Madrid to promote the object, and was soon followed by the Earl of Bristol, equally earnest for the accomplishment of the marriage. It was, however, necessary to procure a dispensation for this union from the Pope, and this the King of Spain undertook to procure through his ambassador at Rome. James was not to appear at all in the affair, but with the unconquerable propensity to be meddling personally in every negotiation, he could not help despatching George Gage, a Catholic, with letters to the Pontiff, as well as to the Cardinals Ludovisio and Bandini; and Buckingham, to complete the intercession, sent Bennet, a Catholic priest, on the same errand.

The Pope was not likely to grant the favour to James without a quid pro quo, and therefore, as might have been expected, replied that the canons of the Church could only be suspended for the benefit of the Church; that the King of England had been very liberal of his promises to the late King of Spain, but had performed nothing; he must now give proof of his sincerity by relieving the English Catholics from the pressure of his penal laws, and the request would be accorded. This was a demand in limine which would have shown to any prudent monarch the dangerous path he was entering upon; but James trusted to his tortuous art of king-craft, and rashly set to work to undo all that he had done throughout his reign against the Catholics. He caused an order under the Great Seal to be issued, granting pardons to all recusants who should apply for them within five years; and the judges were commanded to discharge from prison those who gave security for their compliance with these terms.

There was a glad and universal acceptance of the proffered lenity by the Catholics. The doors of the prisons were opened, and the astonished Puritans saw thousands on thousands of the dreaded Papists once more coming abroad. There was instantly a cry of terror and indignation from John O'Groat's to the Land's End. The pulpits resounded with the execrations of enthusiastic preachers on the traitorous dealing of the Court, and the depicted horrors of Catholic and Spanish ascendency. James trembled, but ordered the Lord Keeper Williams and the Bishop of London to assure the public that he was only seeking to gain better treatment for the Protestants abroad, whom the Continental princes declared they would punish with the same rigour as James had punished the Catholics in England, unless the British severity was somewhat mitigated; and that, moreover, there was no danger; for the recusants, though out of prison, had still the shackles about their heels, and could at any moment be remanded. This, without satisfying the Puritans, undid all confidence amongst the Catholics. They recalled the habitual duplicity of James and felt no longer any security; and when Gondomar boasted in Spain that four thousand Catholics had been released in England, those Catholics only remarked, "Yes; but we have still the shackles about our heels, and may at any moment be thrust again into our dungeons."

His only consolation was that the Spanish match now seemed really to progress. On the 5th of January, 1623, the twenty articles securing the freedom of her worship to the Infanta in England, the cessation of persecution of the Catholics, and the exercise of their religious rites in their own houses, were signed by James and Prince Charles. The dower of the princess was to be two millions of ducats. The espousals were to take place at Madrid by proxy, within forty days from the receipt of the dispensation; and the princess was to set out for England within three weeks. The time for the final consummation of the marriage, and the intervals between the several payments of the dower, were all fixed, and Gondomar and Bristol congratulated themselves on the completion of their arduous negotiation.

At this crisis, however, arrived two Englishmen at the Earl of Bristol's residence at Madrid, under the names of John and Thomas Smith. To the ambassador's astonishment and chagrin, on appearing before him, they turned out to be no other than the Prince of Wales and Buckingham, who had arrived in disguise, and with only three attendants. But how this extraordinary and imprudent journey had come about requires to be told with some detail. It was said to have originated with Gondomar; it had been planned on his visit to London the preceding summer, and had since been stimulated by his letters. He is declared to have represented to the prince, who complained of delay, that all obstacles would vanish at once if he were to suddenly appear and press his own suit. The idea caught the imagination of the prince, and was warmly seconded by Buckingham, who not only longed to seek adventures among the beauties of Madrid, but also hoped to snatch the achievement of the match out of the hands of Bristol, whom he hated. If it were really the scheme of the wily Spaniard, he must have prided himself greatly on its success; a success, however, which produced its own ruin.

When the plan was first opened to James by Charles and Buckingham, he gave in to them without hesitation so much did he desire to have the affair settled. But on thinking it over alone, he was immediately sensible of the danger and the impolitic character of the enterprise. He therefore begged the prince and the favourite to give it up, pointing out, with great justice, how much they would put themselves in the power of the Spaniards, what advantages they would give them over them, and what a storm of anger and alarm would break out at home as soon as it became known. The two knights-errant bade him dismiss his fears, saying that all would go well and that they had selected Sir Francis Cottington and Sir Endymion Porter to attend them. James approved their choice, but commanded Cottington to tell him plainly what he thought of the project. Cottington, who did not seem yet to have been let into the secret, on hearing it, was much agitated and declared that it was a rash and perilous adventure; whereupon James threw himself upon his bed in an agony, crying—"I told you so; I told you so before. I shall be undone, and lose baby Charles." The prince and Buckingham were furious at the behaviour of Cottington, and handled him severely; but after all, James, with his usual weakness, gave his consent, and the travellers set forward on the 17th of February, 1623, and after an adventurous journey arrived at their destination.

Lord Bristol had despatched a messenger immediately on the prince reaching his house, informing the king that his son and friend were safe in Madrid, after a journey of sixteen days. Meanwhile, strange rumours began to run about the Spanish capital that some great man from England had arrived, supposed to be the king himself; and it was deemed best to make the fact known to the Court. Accordingly they sent for Gondomar, who hurried off to Court with the welcome news. There were first private but stately interviews, and then a public reception. The prince was first privately conducted to the Monastery of St. Jerome, from which the Spanish kings proceed to their coronation, and was then brought back publicly by the king, his two brothers, and the élite of the Spanish nobility. Charles rode at the king's right hand through the whole city to the palace, when he was conducted to the apartments appropriated to him. He had then a formal introduction to the queen and Infanta. Charles had two keys of gold given him, by which he could pass into the royal apartments at all hours, yet Spanish etiquette did not allow him to converse with the Infanta except in public. Tired of this restraint, Charles determined to break through the Court formality, and speak unceremoniously with his proposed wife; wherefore, hearing that Donna Maria used to go to the Casa de Campo on the other side of the river to gather Maydew, he rose early and went thither also. He passed through the house and garden, but found that the princess was in the orchard, and between him and her a high wall, and the door strongly bolted. Without further ceremony he got over the wall, dropped down, and seeing the princess at a distance, hastened towards her. But the princess, on perceiving him, gave a shriek and ran off; and the old marquis, her guardian, falling on his knees before the prince, entreated him to retire, as he should lose his head if he permitted the interview. Accordingly he let him out and rebolted the door.

Great were the public rejoicings, however, on account of this chivalric visit. The king professed to feel himself much complimented by the reliance of the English prince on the Spanish honour, on the earnestness it evinced in the prosecution of his suit; and the people as firmly calculated on his conversion to the Catholic faith. The prisons were thrown open; presents and favours were heaped upon him, the king insisted on his taking precedence of himself, and assured him that any petition which he presented to him for a whole month should be granted. There were bull-fights, tournaments, fencing matches, feasts, and religious processions, held in his honour and for his amusement.

But at home, dire was the consternation when it was known that Charles had gone off with slight attendance to Spain. It was stoutly declared that he would never escape alive from amongst the inquisitions and monks of that priest-ridden country, or if he did, it would only be as a Papist. The freedom of comment on the occasion in the pulpits caused James to issue an order through the Bishop of London that the clergy should not in their prayers "prejudicate the prince's journey, but only pray to God to return him home in safety again to us, and no more." Whereupon a preacher, with an air of great simplicity, prayed that the prince might return in safety again, and no more—that is, as it was understood, without a Catholic wife. Yet to pacify his subjects, the king informed them that he had sent after them two Protestant chaplains, together with all the stuff and ornaments fit for the service of God. And he added, "I have fully instructed them, so as all their behaviour and service shall, I hope, prove decent and agreeable to the purity of the primitive Church, and yet so near the Roman form as can lawfully be done. For," says this stern persecutor of Catholicism, "it hath ever been my way to go with the Church of Rome usque ad aras."

In so very complying a mood was James at this moment, that when these chaplains asked him what they were to do if they met the Host in the streets, he replied they must avoid meeting it whenever they could; when they could not, they must do as the people did there. And poor James soon found that he had need of all his moral pliability. The Spanish Court, as might have been foreseen, once having the prince in their power, resolved to benefit by it. They soon let the prince and Buckingham know that the Pope made grave difficulty about the dispensation, and the Papal nuncio was sternly set against it, and it was inquired how far the prince could go in concession. Buckingham wrote, therefore, to the king in these ominous words:—"We would gladly have your directions how far we may engage you in the acknowledgment of the Pope's special power, for we almost find, if you will be contented to acknowledge the Pope chief head under Christ, that the match will be made without him."

This was asking everything and James was brought to a stand. He wrote in reply that he did not know what they meant by acknowledging the Pope's spiritual supremacy. He was sure they would not have him renounce his religion for all the world. "Perhaps," he wrote, "you allude to a passage in my book against Cardinal Bellarmine, where I say that if the Pope would quit his godhead and usurping over kings, I would acknowledge him for chief bishop, to whom all appeals of Churchmen ought to lie en dernier ressort. That is the farthest my conscience would permit me to go; for I am not a monsieur who can shift his religion as easily as he can shift his shirt when he cometh from tennis."

That Buckingham would have advised Charles to abandon his religion for the achievement of his object, had he dared, there is little question, for his mother was an avowed Papist and was his constant prompter in his policy. Before leaving London, the two adventurers had obtained the king's solemn promise in writing, that whatever they agreed to with the Spanish monarch he would ratify; so that James might well be alarmed at their suggestion. Charles, in fact, did not hesitate, in reply to a letter from the Pope, to pledge himself to abstain from every act hostile to the Catholic religion, and to seek every opportunity of accomplishing the reunion of the Church of England with that of Rome. The letter—which, Lord Clarendon truly says, "is, by your favour, more than a compliment"—may be seen in the Hardwicke papers. Charles afterwards said that it was only a promise that he never meant to keep; we may therefore see that already his father's notions of king-craft had taken full possession of him, which, with his large self-esteem and a persevering disposition, produced in him that fatal mixture of determination and unscrupulous insincerity which ruined him. Instead of a firm resistance to the palpable schemes of the Pope and the Spaniard, and a truthful candour which would have convinced them that they had no chance of moving him, he led them by his apparent acquiescence to believe that they could win him over; and when they had carried him beyond the bounds of prudence, and much beyond those of honesty, he had no alternative but to steal away and repudiate his own solemn words and acts. Is it at all to be wondered at that neither foreign nations nor his own could ever after put faith in him? The sophistry and absolutism of the father had already destroyed the son, by perverting his moral constitution. It is probable that Charles also acquired a strong taste for ecclesiastical pomp and circumstance during this visit and its religious shows and ceremonies, which falling in afterwards with the ambitious taste of Laud, also tended to direct him towards the same "facilis descensus Averni."

James had despatched after the prince a great number of people, to form a becoming attendance on the heir of England. Others flocked thither of their own accord and especially Catholic refugees, who swarmed in the prince's court, and particularly about Buckingham. The Jesuits did their best to convert them, and were encouraged by every appearance of success. Though James had sent what he called the "stuff and ornaments" for public Protestant worship, we are informed that these were never used; for though the Prince had the Earl of Carlisle, and the Lords Mountjoy, Holland, Rochfort, Andover, Denbigh, Vaughan, and Kensington, besides a number of other courtiers and their dependents around him, they had no public worship, as if they were ashamed of their heretical faith, or feared to offend their Catholic friends. Charles contented himself with bed-chamber prayers. The consequence was, as Howell, who was there, wrote, that the Spaniards, hardly believing the English Christians and seeing no evidence of worship, set them down as little better than infidels. This occasioned great discontent amongst the more conscientious of the retinue, and they did not hesitate to avow their religious belief, and their contempt of the mummery which they saw around them, which led to much scandal and anger. Archie, or Archibald, Armstrong, the famous Court fool, whom oddly enough James had sent as well as the Church plate and vestments, seemed to think himself privileged by his office to say what he pleased, and he did not hesitate to laugh at the religious ceremonies, and argue on religious points with all the zeal of a Scottish Presbyterian, as he was. Others even proceeded to blows. Sir Edward Varney, finding a priest at the bedside of a sick Englishman, struck him under the ear and they fell to fighting till they were thrust asunder.

This state of things would not have been tolerated so near the Inquisition except for the great end in view—the belief that Charles would become a Catholic. Gregory XV. had written to the Inquisitor-General to this effect:—"We understand that the Prince of Wales, the King of Great Britain's son, is lately arrived there, carried with a hope of Catholic marriage. Our desire is that he should not stay in vain in the courts of those to whom the defence of the Pope's authority, and care of advancing religion, hath procured the renowned name of Catholic. Wherefore, by apostolic letters, we exhort his Catholic majesty that he would gently endeavour sweetly to reduce the prince to the obedience of the Roman Church, to which the ancient kings of Great Britain, with Heaven's approbation, submitted their crowns and sceptres. Now, to the attaining of this victory, which to the conquered promiseth triumphs and principalities of heavenly felicity, we need not exhaust the king's treasures, nor levy armies of furious soldiers, but we must fetch from heaven the armour of light, whose divine splendour may allure the prince's eye, and gently expel all errors from his mind. Now, in the managing of these businesses, what power and art you have, we have well known long ago; wherefore, we wish you to go like a religious counsellor to the Catholic king, and to try all ways which, by this present occasion, may benefit the kingdom of Britain and the Church of Rome. The matter is of great weight and moment, and therefore not to be amplified with words. Whoever shall inflame the mind of this royal youth with a love of the Catholic religion, and breed a hate in him of heretical impiety, shall begin to open the kingdom of heaven to the Prince of Britain, and to gain the kingdom of Britain to the Apostolic See."

It was easy to foresee that this absurd journey would lead to these determined attempts to regain the rich islands of Great Britain to the Catholic Church. The Catholics everywhere regarded the rupture to have been occasioned by Henry VIII.'s Protestant marriage, and nothing appeared so likely as that a Catholic marriage would heal it. It was not so easy to foresee that Charles, at the age of twenty-three, should so consummately act the hypocrite. He wrote to the Pope, in reply to a most gracious and paternal letter from his holiness, calling him "Most Holy Father," telling him how much he deplored the division of the Churches and longed to restore union. Gregory was dead before this extraordinary epistle arrived at Rome, but Urban VIII., the new Pope, lifted up his hands in joyful astonishment on reading it, and "gave thanks to the Father of Mercies, that on the very entrance of his reign a British prince performed this kind of obeisance to the Pope of Rome." Having apparently so favourable a subject to operate upon, Olivarez now told Charles that the treaty entered into through the Earl of Bristol had been rather for show than use, and that now, as the prince and his able adviser were there themselves, they should make a real and effective compact. Accordingly, in spite of the strenuous remonstrances of the two British ambassadors against re-opening the question already settled, Charles and Buckingham permitted it; and the Spanish minister found little difficulty in introducing several new and more favourable clauses. There was, in fact, a public and a private treaty agreed to. By the public one the marriage was to be celebrated in Spain and afterwards in England; the children were to remain in the care of their mother till ten years of age; the Infanta, was to have an open church and chapel for the free exercise of her religion, and her chaplains were to be Spaniards under the control of their own bishops. By the private treaty it was engaged that the penal laws against Catholics should be suspended; that Catholic worship should be freely performed in private houses; that no attempts should be made to entice the princess to abandon her hereditary faith; and that the king should swear to obtain the repeal of the penal Statutes by Parliament.

When this treaty was sent home, James was struck with consternation. He had pledged himself to Charles and Buckingham not to communicate any of their proceedings to the Council; but the present responsibility was overwhelming and he therefore opened his difficulty to the Council. After making what the Secretary of the Council calls "a most sad, fatherly, kind, wise, pious, manly, stout speech as ever was heard," the lords of the Council came to the conclusion, though reluctantly and with fear, that the prince's honour must be maintained and the oath to keep the treaty taken. This, however, was only the public treaty; James kept the private one to himself and swore to it separately.

Having got the English Court, as they supposed, thus secured, both the Pope and the Spaniard raised their heads still higher and showed that they meant to exact the utmost possible concession. In Spain the Papal dispensation for the marriage was already in the hands of the nuncio, but he refused to deliver it till the King of England, according to his oath, had obtained the repeal of the penal Statutes by Parliament; while in England James refused to go a step farther till the marriage was celebrated and the first instalment of the dower paid. When the king's resolve was known, it was conceded that the marriage should at once take place, but that the princess and the dower should remain in Spain till the stipulated indulgence to the English Catholics was obtained from Parliament. James refused this, and sent word that the marriage must be celebrated and the prince bring home his bride, or come without the wedding: this brought the Spaniards down a little. The ambassadors in London assured James that a royal proclamation would satisfy them, but he replied that a proclamation without the added sanction of Parliament was no law; that, however, he would issue an order for Catholic indulgence under the Great Seal. This they were obliged to be satisfied with; but when it came, to the Lord Keeper Williams, he refused to put the Great Seal to it, as a most dangerous act, without precedent.

As there was no prospect of a speedy settlement, Charles, who had probably grown tired of a princess surrounded by such a hedge of difficulties and delays, desired his father to send him an order for his recall. It would appear as if the prince had planned the mode of his retreat, for the preparations for the marriage of the Infanta proceeded, on the understanding that she was to continue in Spain till spring. James was apparently occupied in preparing grand wedding presents for the bride, and a small fleet to bring her home. This, if carried out, must have been very onerous to him; for he had already made doleful representations to Charles and Buckingham, of the exhaustion of his treasury by his remittance of five thousand pounds, and three thousand pounds for their "tilting stuff," &c. At Madrid the marriage articles were signed and confirmed by oath, the Infanta assumed the title of Princess of England, and had a Court formed of corresponding importance.

Never was the marriage so far off. Charles and Buckingham had resolved to steal away and abandon the whole affair. They felt that they were regularly entrapped through their folly; and other causes rendered a speedy exit necessary. Buckingham—vain, empty, and sensual—had given way without caution or control to his licentiousness and love of parade. To make him more fitting for the companion of his son, James had raised him to the rank of duke since his departure. His extravagance, his amours, his haughty bearing, and unceremonious treatment of both his own prince and the grandees of Spain, astonished all Madrid. He introduced the very worst people, men and women, into the palace, and would sit with his hat on when the prince himself was uncovered. His behaviour in the presence of the King of Spain was just as irreverent, and the minister Olivarez was so incensed at his insolence that he detested him. He had the soul of an upstart lackey under the title of a duke, and was never easy unless he could outshine all the grandees at the Spanish Court. He was perpetually importuning the king to supply orders, jewels, and money. Georges and garters were sent over in numbers to confer on different courtiers, and the constant cry of Buckingham's letters was "Jewels, jewels, jewels." He represented how rich the Spaniards were in jewels, and how poor those looked which they themselves already had. He described the prince as quite mean in his appearance, compared with the Spanish splendour. "Sir, he hath neither chain nor hatband, and I beseech you consider first how rich they are in jewels here; then in what a poor equipage he came in; how he hath no other means to appear like a king's son; how they are usefullest at such a time as this, when you may do yourself, your son, and the nation honour; and lastly, how it will neither cost nor hazard you anything. These reasons, I hope, since you have already ventured your chiefest jewel, your son, will serve to persuade you to let loose these more after him:—first, your best hatband, the Portugal diamond, the rest of the pendent diamonds to make up a necklace to give his mistress, and the best rope of pearl, with a rich chain or two for himself to wear, or else your dog must want a collar, which is the ready way to put him into it. There are many other jewels, which are of so mean quality as deserve not that name, but will save much in your purse, and serve very well for presents."

The prince quite aware that he had entangled himself in engagements that he could only keep at the risk of his father's crown, and Buckingham equally aware of the hatred which he had excited in a proud and vengeful nation, the two agreed to put the most honest possible face on the matter, and get away. Charles, therefore, presented his father's order for their return, and pledging himself to fulfil the marriage according to the articles; nay, appearing most eager for its accomplishment before Christmas, they were permitted to take their leave, loaded with valuable presents. The king gave the prince a set of fine Barbary horses, a number of the finest pictures by Titian and Correggio, a diamond-hilted sword and dagger, and various other arms of the richest fashion and ornament. The queen gave him a great many bags of amber, dressed kid-skins, and other articles; and Olivarez also presented him with a number of fine Italian pictures and costly articles of furniture. In return, Charles gave the king diamond-studded hilts for a sword and dagger, to the queen a pair of rich earrings, and to the Infanta the string of pearls recommended by Buckingham, to which was attached a diamond anchor, as an emblem of his constancy. He affected the utmost distress at leaving his bride even for a short time only, and the princess ordered a Mass for his safe journey home.

Never did appearances look more real, never were they more hollow. The Spaniards had endeavoured by every act, into which the sacred name of religion had been dragged, to make the most of their advantage in the presence of the prince, and to extort terms beyond the original contract; they were, therefore, properly punished. But nothing could justify the deep and deliberate falsehood, and repeated perjury of a young Protestant prince, whose conduct stamped a deep stain on his country and on Protestantism itself. The Protestants had long and loudly denounced the jesuitry of the Catholics, and asserted that no faith could be put in their most solemn engagements. Here, however, was a voluntary surrender of the pure and lofty morality of Protestantism, a willing abasement of its honour to the level of the worst Catholic duplicity. We shall see that the whole of Charles's conduct was lamentably in keeping with this unprincipled beginning.

Buckingham was impatient to be in England, from news which he had received that certain courtiers were busily at work in endeavouring to undermine his credit with the king. Behind him he left nothing but detestation, which Olivarez, the chief minister, took no pains to conceal. When the prince and he set out they were attended by the king himself, and a brilliant assemblage of the nobles, who added to the prince's presents a number of fine Andalusian horses and mules. They halted for several days at the Escurial, where they were splendidly entertained, and then the king rode on with them as far as Campillo. The parting of the affianced brothers-in-law was of the most affectionate kind, and the king ordered a column to be erected on the spot, as a lasting monument of it. So Charles rode on, attended by several nobles and entertained most honourably at their castles. He visited the cell of a celebrated nun at Carrion, who was held to be a saint, and to whom Donna Maria had given him a letter.

Arrived at the port where the English fleet was waiting for him, he no sooner stepped on board than he laughed at the credulity of the Spaniards, called them fools, and wondered at his easy escape from them. They landed at Portsmouth on the 5th of October, and there and all the way to and through London their reception was one piece of exultation at the safe return of the prince from the clutches of the dreaded Spaniards. The country resounded with the ringing of bells, the firing of cannon, the whizzing of fireworks, and the shouts of the people. The clergy, without waiting for royal orders, put up thanksgiving in the churches for the prince's happy arrival.

Meanwhile, the prince's perfidy was awaking the Spaniards from a trance of astonishment to a tempest of rage. From Segovia, he had sent back Clerk, a creature of Buckingham's, to the Earl of Bristol. Calculating that the Papal dispensation would by that time have arrived, Clerk was to hand to Bristol an order from the prince not to present the proxies left in his hands—which were to be given up immediately after the delivery of the dispensation—till he received further orders from home. The reason alleged by Charles was that he feared on the marriage by proxy the Infanta would retire into a convent. The idea was so absurd that Bristol saw at once that it was a mere pretence to break off the match. As his honour as well as the honour of the nation was implicated, he at once hastened to the king and laid the doubts of the prince before him. The astonishment of the king may be conceived. He had fixed the 29th of November for the espousals, the 29th of December for the marriage: orders for public rejoicings were already issued, a platform covered with tapestry was erected from the palace to the church, and the nobility had been summoned to attend. He gave Bristol every assurance that the princess should be delivered to the English without delay, and Bristol despatched these assurances in all haste to James. Meanwhile, the Countess Olivarez communicated privately to the Infanta the prince's message, at which she laughed heartily, saying that she never, in all her life, had a mind to be a nun, and thought she should hardly turn one now merely to avoid the Prince of Wales.

Only four days before the one appointed for the espousals, three couriers on the heels of each other arrived from England, bearing from James the message that he was perfectly willing for the marriage to proceed, on condition that the King of Spain pledged himself, under his own hand, to take up arms for the restoration of the Palatine and to fix the day for hostilities to commence. At an early period of the negotiation, Philip had declared that on the completion of the agreement for the marriage, he would give James a carte blanche regarding the affairs of the Elector Palatine, and whatever terms James required, he pledged himself to accede to. Now he repeated that although he could not in honour proclaim war against his nephew the Emperor—being engaged as mediator between him and the Palsgrave, at the instance of James—yet he would pledge himself in writing never to cease, by intercession or by warfare, till he had restored the Palatine to his hereditary dominion. Bristol and his fellow ambassador thought this assurance amply satisfactory; they sent off a messenger in hot haste, bearing their assurances that all possible difficulty was removed; and they went on putting their households into velvet and silver lace, to do honour to the marriage ceremony, as if it were really to take place. Bristol wrote more earnestly to the king, reminding him that the honour of king, prince, and ambassadors was most solemnly pledged; that the matters of the Palsgrave had been treated of separately, and that his majesty had always represented to Bristol himself that he regarded the marriage as a certain pledge of the Palatine's restoration. He added that the prince and my lord duke had also acted entirely on that opinion during their stay there. Charles and Buckingham, in fact, seem to have taken very little trouble about the ex-King and Queen of Bohemia.

But all was in vain; the prince had determined not to complete the marriage. It was believed that the view which he had had of the Princess Henrietta at Paris had, even before his reaching Spain, changed his intentions; and a courier brought from James an order for Bristol not to deliver the proxy till Christmas, "because that holy and joyful time was best fitting so notable and blessed an action as the marriage." When we add that the proxy was well known to the king and prince to expire before Christmas, we can duly estimate this awful language of hypocrisy. The King of Spain saw at once that he had been imposed upon; he gave instant orders to stop the preparations for the marriage, for the Infanta to drop the title of Princess of England, which she is said to have done with tears, and to return to her usual state. The fury of indignation against the English in Spain may readily be conceived.

The Earl of Bristol had acted too much the part of a faithful and honourable servant of the Crown to escape the censure of such a Court, and the vengeance of such a man as Buckingham. He had not hesitated, in spite of the remonstrances of the prince, to represent to James, during their sojourn in Madrid, the disgraceful conduct of that despicable libertine. James had the folly or the wickedness to show to the favourite these letters, and Bristol received his recall. The ambassador wrote to James requesting a remittance sufficient to bear him home, having pledged all his lady's jewels, and incurred a debt of fifty thousand crowns for Prince Charles, so that he had not funds even for his journey.

It does not appear that James or Charles took any notice of this most reasonable appeal; but Philip not only exonerated Bristol from any share in the disgraceful proceedings, but warned him of the danger which threatened him at home, and offered to make him one of the most distinguished men of his own realm, if he would take up his abode in Spain. Bristol, however, declined the noble offer, saying that he would rather lose his head in England, conscious as he was of innocence, than live a duke or Infantado in Spain with the imputation of treason, which was sure in such a case to be cast on him. Though he was ordered to quit Spain without delay, he was instructed to travel slowly, and on his landing he was commanded to retire to his house in the country, and consider himself a prisoner. The malicious Buckingham did his best to have him committed to the Tower, but the Duke of Richmond and the Earl of Pembroke opposed this injustice with effect.

James had got his baby Charles and his dog Steenie home again, but he soon found that they had involved him in troubles and debts, which very much abated the pleasure of their company. They had brought home neither wife nor her much desired money; on the contrary, they had spent his last shilling, increased his debts, thrown away the greater part of his jewels, had left the cause of his daughter and son-in-law in a worse position than before, and now were vehement to engage him in a war with Spain. Under the gloomy oppression of these embarrassments, he lost even his appetite for hunting and hawking, shut himself up alone at Newmarket, and wrote to the Palatine, recommending him to make his submission to the Emperor; to offer his eldest son, who was to be educated in England, to him for his daughter; to accept the administration of his hereditary territory, and to allow the Duke of Bavaria the title of Elector for life. Under the advice of Charles and Buckingham the Palsgrave positively declined any such arrangement.

The only resource now was to call a Parliament, but this was a step which had rarely brought him satisfaction. Before doing this he took the opinion of the Privy Council during the Christmas holidays on these points:—Whether the King of Spain had acted sincerely in the negotiations for the marriage? and whether he had given sufficient provocation to call for war? The Council unanimously supported the idea of the King of Spain's sincere dealing, and a majority declared that there was no just cause for war.

This result, so hostile to the wishes of Buckingham, filled him with chagrin, and his wrath fell with especial weight on Williams the Lord Keeper, and Cranfield the Treasurer. These men had been his most servile creatures; they were, in fact, altogether his creatures; but during his absence they had seen such evidence of displeasure in the king towards him, that they imagined his power was about at an end and they were emboldened to oppose him. But his fierce displeasure and the symptoms of even growing popularity which showed themselves round him, terrified them and they made the most humble submission.

On the 2nd of February, 1624, Williams wrote a most abject letter to Buckingham, begging him to forgive his past conduct, "to receive his soul in gage and pawn:" they were reconciled. People who before hated Buckingham now looked upon him as a patriot, for having broken off the Papist match, and for seeking to punish Spain by war. The heads of the Opposition in the House of Commons, the Earl of Southampton, the Lord Say and Sele, and others came over to him; and through Preston, a Puritan minister and chaplain to the prince, he was brought in favour with many other members of the country party. Buckingham and Charles assured James that the demand of war with Spain was the only cry for him, as nothing would so readily draw money from the Commons. Accordingly, though trembling and reluctant, James summoned Parliament, which met on the 19th of February.

He opened it in much humbler tones than ever before. He expressed a great desire to manifest his love for his people. He then informed them that he had long been engaged in treaties with different countries for the public good, and had actually sent his son and the man whom he most trusted to Spain, and all that had passed there should be laid before them; and he asked them to judge him charitably, and to give him their advice on the whole matter. One thing he begged to assure them of, that in everything, public and private, he had always made a reservation for the cause of religion; and though he had occasionally relaxed the penal statutes against Catholics a little, yet as to suspending or altering any of them, "I never," he exclaimed, "promised or yielded; I never thought it with my heart or spoke it with my mouth!" And this notwithstanding that on the 20th of July previous, he had sworn in the Spanish treaty to procure the abolition of all those laws from Parliament; a fact notorious not only to Charles, Buckingham, and Bristol, but to all the Lords of the Council, and the Spanish ambassadors still in London. He concluded by begging them to remember that time was precious, and to avoid all impertinent and irritating inquiries.

On the 24th of February, a conference of both Houses was held at Whitehall, at which Buckingham went into the detail of the journey of the prince and himself to Spain. Bristol was prohibited from attending Parliament, and the duke gave his own version of the affair. According to him—for he produced only such despatches as had been in a private conference with the Lord Keeper Williams deemed safe; "his highness wishing," says Williams, "to draw on a breach with Spain without ripping up of private despatches"—the Spaniards behaved in a most treacherous manner. He asserted that after long years of negotiation the king could bring the court of Spain to nothing; that the Earl of Bristol had merely got from them professions and declarations; that though the prince had gone himself to test their sincerity, he had met with nothing but falsehood and deceit; and that as to the restitution of the Palatinate, he had found it hopeless from that quarter.

Perhaps no minister bronzed in impudence by years of crooked dealing ever presented such a tissue of base and arrant fictions to the Commons of England. The despatches, had they been produced, would have covered the king, the prince, and the favourite, with confusion. Bristol could have proved, had he been allowed, that he had actually completed the treaty when the prince and Buckingham came and put an end to it. So indignant were the Spanish ambassadors at this shameful misrepresentation of the real facts, that they protested vehemently against the whole of the statement, and declared that had any nobleman in Spain spoken thus of the King of England, he should have paid with his head for the slander.

Buckingham was not only defended but applauded. The prince during the whole time stood at his elbow, and aided his memory or his ingenuity. Coke declared that Buckingham was the saviour of his country; and out of doors the people kindled bonfires in his honour, sung songs to his glory, and insulted the Spanish ambassadors. The two Houses, in an address to the Throne, declared that neither the treaty with Spain for the marriage, nor that for the restitution of the Palatinate, could be continued with honour or safety.

Of all things James dreaded war: he complained of his poverty, his debts, of his desire of quietness at his years; but he had not the resolution to resist the importunities of Buckingham and the prince, backed by a strong cry from the deluded people, especially as he saw no other mode of obtaining the money so necessary to him. In addressing Parliament, he stated candidly the many reasons against the war; the emptiness of his exchequer and the impoverished condition of his allies; that Ireland would demand large sums, and the repairs of the navy more; and then he put to them these questions—whether he could with honour engage in a war which concerned his own family exclusively? and whether the means would be found for prosecuting it vigorously?

A deputation from both Houses answered these queries by calling for war, and offering to support him in it with their persons and fortunes. This address was read by Abbot, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who but six months before had most reluctantly sworn to the Spanish treaty. This was, indeed, a triumph to the archbishop, but did not make the singularity the less of putting an address for war into the hands of a clergyman; and one, moreover, who had so lately fallen into great difficulty on account of his own accidental shedding of blood. When the archbishop came to the passage where James was congratulated on "his having become sensible of the insincerity of the Spaniards—" "Hold!" exclaimed the king; "you insinuate what I have never spoken. Give me leave to tell you that I have not expressed myself to be either sensible or insensible of their good or bad dealing. Buckingham hath made you a relation on which you are to judge, but I never yet declared my mind upon it."

James, indeed, knew very well to the contrary; the Spaniards had been too grasping, and had thus overshot themselves, but they meant to complete the marriage; and it was a most unjustifiable thing in James to go to war with them on the ground of their insincerity, if he did not believe in its existence. But James was desirous that as Buckingham had so strenuously called for war to avenge his own petty, private piques, he should bear the blame of it.

James told them plainly that if he went to war he should demand ample advances, and when five days afterwards the question of supplies came on, he demanded seven hundred thousand pounds to commence the war with, and an annual sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds towards the liquidation of his debts. The amount startled the Commons, in spite of their magniloquent offer to support him with life and fortune; but Buckingham and the prince, who were as mad for war as they had before been for their foolish adventure, let the Commons know that a much less sum would be accepted, and they voted three hundred thousand pounds for the year, which the king consented should be put into the hands of the treasurers appointed by the House, who were to pay money only on a warrant from the Council of War. James also agreed that he would not end the war without their consent. The vote was accompanied by another address, vindicating Buckingham from the censures of the Spanish ambassadors, and then the king issued a proclamation announcing that both the treaties with Spain were at an end.

Thus was James, after twenty years of peace, except in the character of an ally of his son-in-law, launched into a war. The Spaniards ridiculed the idea; for on the authority of Gondomar, they had conceived not only a very contemptible idea of James, but that the kingdom was poor, torn with religious factions, and feeble from the timid and vacillating character of the king. Only one peer, the Earl of Rutland, had the good sense to oppose the vote for the war.

The restraint of the desire to please Spain during the negotiations for the marriage being removed, the Houses of Parliament indulged their old hatred of the Catholics by uniting in a petition to the king to renew their persecution. James again protested that he never intended to abolish those laws, and would never consent to the insertion of a clause in any treaty whatever, binding him to an indulgence of Catholics. And Charles also bound himself by an oath, that "whenever it should please God to bestow upon him any lady that were Popish, she should have no further liberty but for her own family, and no advantage to any recusants at home."

Accordingly a proclamation was issued, ordering all missionaries to quit the kingdom by a certain day under penalty of death; judges and magistrates were ordered to enforce the laws as aforetime; the Lord Mayor was enjoined to arrest all persons coming from Mass in the houses of the ambassadors, and the bishops were called upon to advise the king how the children of the Papists might be brought up Protestants. The Commons called on every member to name all Catholics holding office in his town or county, and prepared a list of them, which they sent to the Lords; but the Lords declared that before they could unite in a prayer for the dismissal of any one, they must have evidence of his guilt; and thus the vindictive scheme fell to the ground.

The Commons, checked in this quarter, turned their attention to their more legitimate prosecution of jobbers and holders of injurious patents. They presented a list of eleven such grievances to the king, who replied that he had his grievances too: they had encroached on his prerogatives; they had condemned patents of unquestionable usefulness; and had been guided in their quest after them by lawyers, who, he would say it to their faces, were in the whole kingdom the greatest grievances of all; for where a suit was of no benefit to either litigant, they made it so to themselves. But this did not prevent them from flying at high game. Buckingham had never forgiven Cranfield, Earl of Middlesex and Lord Treasurer, for turning against him in his absence; and the Opposition party, with whom the duke was now connected, took the lead in prosecuting him on a charge of bribery, oppression, and neglect of duty. James was indignant at this attack, but had not resolution enough to ward it off; though he told Buckingham that he was a fool, and making a rod for his own breech, and Charles that he would live to have his bellyful of impeachments. Cranfield was condemned to a fine of fifty thousand pounds, to be imprisoned during his majesty's pleasure, and for ever excluded from office, from Parliament, and the verge of the Court. Williams, the Lord Keeper, had also a narrow escape. Notwithstanding his cringing at the feet of Buckingham, the favourite had by no means forgiven him; petitions against him were presented to the Committee of Inquiry, but he again sued humbly to Buckingham, and having had the opportunity during the Session of doing him a service, the duke let him off with the proud remark, "I shall not seek your ruin, but I shall cease to study your fortune."

Buckingham and Charles now persuaded the king to change his foreign policy. They sent envoys all over Europe to engage the different powers by any argument and by rich presents to co-operate in the war against Spain and Austria for the restitution of the Palatinate. To Sweden, Denmark, and the Protestant States of Germany, they urged the necessity of reducing the power of the Catholic princes on the Continent. Promises of liberal subsidies were added, and the concurrence of these States was pledged. It was a more difficult matter to influence the Catholic countries of France, Venice, and Savoy to a war which was actually aimed at the existence of their own religion. But the ancient enmity of these States against Austria prevailed over their religious scruples, and they undertook to assist indirectly, by making a show of hostilities against Spain, so as to prevent her from giving effectual aid to Austria, and by allowing soldiers to be raised within their territories, as well as by furnishing money.

With Holland they had effected a league, and undertaken to send troops to resist the invasion of Spain and Austria, when the news of a frightful tragedy, perpetrated by the Dutch in the East, upon the English there, arrived in England. This was what has become so well known in history as the massacre of Amboyna.

Since the Dutch had enjoyed their long truce with Spain, they had been zealously colonising and trading to the East. Besides Batavia, they laid claim to all the Spice Islands in the Indian Archipelago, from which they had expelled the Portuguese. On one of these islands, Amboyna, the English East India Company had, in 1612, established a small settlement, to trade with the natives for cloves. The Dutch compelled them to retire, but in consequence of a treaty in 1619, the English had returned thither, and established a settlement at Cambello. In the whole population there were only about twenty English and about thirty Japanese, whilst there were two hundred Dutch soldiers besides other Dutchmen in the Civil Service. Yet on pretence of a conspiracy between the English and Japanese to surprise the garrison and expel the Dutch, in 1623 the latter seized Captain Towerson and nine other Englishmen, nine Japanese, and one Portuguese, and after torturing them into a confession, cut off their heads.

The horror with which the news of this atrocious deed was received, threatened to ruin Buckingham's plans. But the English minister made a strong complaint on the subject; the States made humble apologies and promises of ample redress, and thus it was contrived for the moment to smooth over the difficulty. It was the more readily done because the unpopular Spaniards had already laid siege to Breda; and six thousand troops were despatched from England to enable Prince Maurice of Orange to cope with the able Spanish general Spinola. Spinola carried Breda in defiance of the Dutch and English; and the Prince of Orange, hearing that Antwerp had been left without a sufficient garrison, marched thither to surprise it but with equally ill success. To obtain fresh men and money, Count Mansfeldt, the Palatine's old auxiliary general, came over to England in the autumn. He was promised twenty thousand pounds a month, and twelve thousand Englishmen were pressed into his service. With these he set sail, to reach as soon as possible his army of French and German mercenaries on the borders of the Palatinate. But the French, who had agreed to allow this force to pass through their territory, refused, on account of their disorderly character; for they were the scum of their own country, and several, on their march through it, had been hanged for their outrages. Mansfeldt conducted them to the island of Zealand, but there also the authorities were averse from their landing; and while remaining cooped up in small miserable transports, in bad weather, and on a swampy shore, they began to perish of fever. Five thousand of them had died before they reached the borders of the Palatinate, and the united force was still too feeble to accomplish anything. Maurice of Orange, meanwhile, having done nothing at Antwerp, retired into winter quarters, and soon after died at the Hague; whereupon the Earl of Southampton and other English officers returned home. Such was the miserable result of the campaign into which James had been hurried by the folly of Charles and Buckingham.

The melancholy thoughts of James were diverted from dwelling on these wretched affairs by the prospect of the marriage of Charles and Henrietta Maria, the youngest sister of the King of France.

It was a curious fact that at the time of Charles's looking out for a wife from one of the principal houses of Europe, the prospect of an English royal marriage was made gloomy by the most awful reflections to both France and Spain. The last Spanish Queen of England was Catherine of Aragon, who had found such a tyrant in the sanguinary Henry VIII., and suffered divorce and severe usage; the last French queen was Margaret of Anjou, who had been driven from the country after the most heroic endeavours to maintain her husband on the throne. Besides these sombre memories, the question presented formidable difficulties from the temper of the English people regarding Popery. Politically the alliance was attractive, and this is generally all-sufficient in regal matrimony. But it was singular that the present marriage with a French princess was followed by similar and even more fearful results than the former. Henrietta Maria married Charles only to engage in a similar contest for the retention of the throne as Margaret of Anjou, and not only to see her husband deposed but put to death.

Charles is supposed by many to have been struck by the young Princess of France at his visit to the French Court on his way to Spain, and to have gone there prepared to break off the match. It is probable, however, that the thought of Henrietta came back more strongly upon him after he found himself disappointed in Donna Maria of Spain; for independently of the other difficulties already related attending Charles's Spanish courtship, it is very likely that he was not extremely fascinated by the Infanta. On the way to Spain, Henrietta, as seen by him, was merely a girl of little more than fourteen years of age, of short stature, and visible but for a brief space. The impression which she left could not be very vivid; but the Queen of France, the elder sister of Donna Maria, was extremely beautiful and, as Charles himself said in his letters to his father at the time, had so much struck him as to inspire him "with a greater desire to see her sister." There can be little doubt that Charles was disappointed in his expectation, for he was of that romantic turn that had he been strongly fascinated by the lady, he would have broken through all difficulties for her sake. But at the Court of Spain he met with another queen, the sister of Louis of France and of Henrietta, who not only cast the Infanta into the shade by her beauty and grace, but actually suggested to Charles the more desirable union with her sister of France. The rigid etiquette of the Spanish Court prevented much intercourse between Charles and the queen; she dared not even converse with him in French without express permission, and one opportunity to do so having been obtained, she begged him never to speak to her again, for that it was the custom in Spain to poison all gentlemen who were very marked in their attentions to the queen. But she seized that one opportunity to say that "she wished he would marry her sister Henrietta, which indeed he would be able to do, because his engagement with the Infanta would be certainly broken."

On the other hand, there was a decided desire in the French Court for this alliance, despite past experience. Mary de Medici, the queen-mother of France, had acquired a predominating influence in the government of her son, Louis XIII., by means of her clever and intriguing almoner Richelieu, who soon mounted into vast power in the State. She entertained a strong hope of effecting a marriage for her daughter with the heir of England, and was no doubt early informed of the probability of the failure of the Spanish courtship. It was soon conveyed to Charles by the English ambassador at Paris, that Henrietta had said, "The Prince of Wales need not have gone so far as Madrid to look for a wife." This following the suggestion of the Queen of Spain, left no doubt of the wishes of the Court of France, and the bait seems to have been soon taken. Buckingham would certainly promote the idea to spite the Spaniards; and Henry Rich, Lord Kensington, appeared in Paris before the Spanish match was formally broken off, to open the subject to the queen-mother.

Mary de Medici, though extremely anxious for the marriage, played the part of the politician well under Richelieu, and gave no decided encouragement to the hints of the English envoy, till he assured her plainly that the match with Spain was positively broken off. Even then, she told Lord Kensington that "she could not consider the matter seriously, as she had received no intimation of such proposal from the King of England, and that the princess could not make advances; she must be sought." On this, Kensington spoke out with authority, and received a favourable answer. It is asserted that a great sensation was excited at the French Court, and the ladies crowded round Lord Kensington to have a view of the prince's portrait, which he carried in a locket; and the locket was soon privately borrowed by the princess and kept for a good long observation, she expressing her satisfaction with the looks of her royal lover. Kensington, by his courtly assiduity at Paris and his letters to Charles, endeavoured to create a strong personal interest in the prince and princess towards each other. Hay, Earl of Carlisle, one of James's favourites, a handsome, empty fop, who prided himself on adorning his person with lace and jewels to the amount of forty thousand pounds, was sent as a formal ambassador for the marriage negotiation, the real conductor of it still being Kensington. A miniature portrait of Henrietta was sent to Charles, who appeared to be enraptured with it.

So far all went well. But notwithstanding the anxious desire for the marriage on the part of the French Court, it was not likely that so crafty a diplomatist as Richelieu would make an easy bargain for the English. The portion of the princess was settled at eight hundred thousand crowns. She was pledged to renounce all claims for herself and her descendants on the crown of France. Then came the question of religion. James and Charles had lately bound themselves by the most solemn oaths that a Catholic wife of the prince should have indulgence in that respect only for her own private worship; and that no toleration whatever should be extended to the English Catholics on account of such a marriage. But this was not likely to pass. The Pope Urban, in the first place, was extremely unfriendly to the match. He expected little good from a prince who had shown such duplicity in the Spanish courtship; and he predicted that the alliance, if effected, would be disastrous; being fully informed by the seminary priests who were in England, secretly prosecuting the support of Catholicism, of the determined temper of the people on that score, and assured by them that if the king dared to relax the penal laws he would not be king long; and if he did not soften their rigour, the Pope argued, what prospect of happiness could there be for a Catholic queen? He was, therefore, averse from granting a dispensation.

Under these circumstances the negotiation appeared for some time at a stand. On the part of the English people, the opposition was scarcely perceptible. They saw that they were pretty certain to have a Catholic queen; the Stuart family did not incline to stoop to the alliance of any further petty Protestant princes; the experiment of the Palatinate was not encouraging. The people, therefore, were far more disposed to receive a daughter of great Henry IV., who had been a Protestant at heart even when he had yielded the profession of his faith to political necessity, than a grand-daughter of Philip II., who had rendered his memory so odious in England and all over the world by bloody persecutions of the Protestants. On the part of the French, however, the proceedings every day seemed involved in growing difficulties.

Richelieu, who, up to the time of the breaking off the Spanish match, was most compliant, now insisted on the concession to the Catholics of all the advantages stipulated for by Spain. He declared that it would be an affront to his sovereign to offer less. James, despite his recent oath, signed a paper, promising indulgence to the Catholics, which Kensington and Carlisle assured Richelieu was quite sufficient; but it had no effect on the astute French minister. "We did sing a song to the deaf," wrote the ambassadors, "for he would not endure to hear of it." In vain did they remind him that the French Court had promised that if they gave toleration to the Catholics, it would send soldiers to the Palatinate, and unite their interests with those of England entirely. Richelieu did not deny this, but contended that the security was not sufficient; they must have an actual treaty. Meanwhile Lord Nithsdale, a Catholic, was sent post haste to Rome, to make promises of favour to the English Catholics in order to procure the dispensation.

At length the French Court agreed to accept the secret agreement of James, which was to the effect that the English Catholics should enjoy a greater freedom of religion than had been guaranteed by the Spanish contract. This was signed by James, Charles, and the Secretary of State, on the 8th of November, and Louis placed his signature on the 12th to the treaty of marriage. By this treaty it was provided, not indeed expressly, as many historians have asserted, that the children of the marriage should be brought up Roman Catholics till their thirteenth year, and that they should remain under the queen's care till that age; a stipulation amounting very much to the same thing; for though Charles chose to construe the article in his own way, the mother used her opportunity thus guaranteed to fix the Catholic faith firmly in the hearts of her sons, as was too well and too disastrously shown in the end.

If the English Court thought the difficulties all surmounted, they were vastly mistaken; for the French ministers now expressed themselves as not satisfied with James's secret engagement. It was, they contended, too vague, and they called upon him to specify precisely the indulgences which he intended towards the Catholics. At this proposition Carlisle expressed his astonishment, and wrote to James in a tone of unequivocal indignation. He advised the king to make no further concessions; feeling sure that if he were firm, the French would give way rather than hazard the failure of the match. But to preach firmness to James was to expect solidity from a mist. He was alarmed at the obstinacy of the Pope; at the declaration of Philip of Spain, that he held the marriage contract with Charles as still valid, from a private agreement between the prince and himself; and at the strenuous efforts made by Philip to bring the Court of France to this persuasion. To complete his dismay, the Huguenots of France, just at this moment, made a rising under the leadership of Soubise. They demanded a better observance of the edicts in favour of the Protestants, seized the Isle of Rhé, near La Rochelle, placed it in a state of defence, sent out a fleet to range the coast, and vowed not to lay down their arms till their demands were granted. James consented to add these express stipulations to his secret bond—That all Catholics imprisoned on account of their religion, since the rising of Parliament, should be liberated; that all fines levied on recusants since that period should be repaid; and that for the future they should suffer no interruption to the free exercise of their religious faith.

All obstacles on the part of the French Court were now removed, and the young princess prepared for her journey to England. But the Pope continued his opposition, still presaging misfortune from the marriage, and refusing to deliver the dispensation. The patience of the queen-mother was exhausted; the ministers of France proposed to proceed on a dispensation from the ecclesiastic authorities in their own realm; but to this James demurred, lest the validity of the marriage might hereafter be called in question. At length the Pope was satisfied by an oath taken by Louis, binding himself and his successors to compel James and his son, by all the power of France if necessary, to keep their engagement. The dispensation was delivered by Spada, the Papal Nuncio; the Duke of Chevreuse, a prince of the House of Guise, and a near relative of James and Charles, through the Queen of Scots, was appointed proxy by Charles, and Buckingham was ordered to go over and receive the bride. But James was destined not to see the completion of the marriage, after all his trouble through nine years of matrimonial negotiations.

On the 13th of March, 1625, he returned to Theobalds from the hunt with an illness upon him, which was regarded as the tertian ague, but which soon developed itself as gout in the stomach. He had long been so thoroughly undermined in constitution by his habits of eating and drinking, that it required no fierce attack of sickness to carry him off. He had always had a strong repugnance to doctors and physic, but now the Court physicians were hurried to his bedside. At this moment appeared the mother of Buckingham with an infallible specific—a plaster and a posset obtained from an Essex quack. These were pronounced marvellous in the cure of ague, and though the physicians protested against their use, they were applied. They did not delay, if they did not accelerate the catastrophe. On the eleventh day of his illness, James received the Sacrament. Williams, bishop and Lord Keeper, preached his funeral sermon, and said that, having told the king "that holy men in holy orders in the Church of England doe challenge a power as inherent in their functions, and not in their person, to pronounce and declare remission of sins to such as being penitent doe call for the same, he had answered suddenly, 'I have ever believed there was that power in you that be in orders in the Church of England, and therefore I, a miserable sinner, doe humbly desire Almighty God to absolve me my sinnes, and you, that are His servant in that high place, to affoard me this heavenly comfort.' And after the absolution read and pronounced, he received the sacrament with that zeal and devotion, as if he had not been a fraile man, but a Christian cloathed with flesh and blood."

On Sunday, the 27th of March, the fourteenth day of his illness, Charles was hastily called before daylight to go to him, but before he reached the chamber the king had lost the power of speech. He appeared extremely anxious to communicate something to him but could not, and soon after expired. He was in the fifty-ninth year of his age, and the twenty-third of his reign. Two only of his seven children, three sons and four daughters, Charles and the ex-queen of Bohemia, survived him.

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REIGN OF CHARLES I.

Accession of Charles—His Marriage—Meeting of Parliament—Loan of Ships to Richelieu—Dissolution of Parliament—Failure of the Spanish Expedition—Persecution of the Catholics—The Second Parliament—It appoints three Committees—Impeachment of Buckingham—Parliament dissolved to save him—Illegal Government—High Church Doctrines—Rupture with France—Disastrous Expedition to Rhé—The Third Parliament—The Petition of Right—Resistance and Final Surrender of Charles—Parliament Prorogued—Assassination of Buckingham—Fall of La Rochelle—Parliament Reassembles and is dissolved—Imprisonment of Offending Members—Government without Parliament—Peace with France and Spain—Gustavus Adolphus in Germany—Despotic Proceedings of Charles and Laud.

Within a quarter of an hour after the decease of James, Charles was proclaimed by the Knight-Marshal, Sir Edward Zouch, at the court-gate at Theobalds. He was in his twenty-fifth year, and so far as the admission of his title and the substantial prosperity of the kingdom were concerned, few monarchs have mounted the throne with more favourable auspices. But though there was entire submission to his right to reign, and the state of parties was such that no immediate change of executive was needed, yet there were at work feelings and principles which required the nicest wisdom to estimate their nature and their force, and the most able policy to deal with them. The battle between prerogative and popular rights had to be fought out, and it depended on the capacity of the monarch to perceive what was capable of modulation, and what was immovable, whether the result should be success or ruin. Charles was equally prepared by his father's maxims, his father's practice, and his habit of favouritism, to convert one of the grandest opportunities in history into one of the most terrible of its catastrophes. The first thing which augured ill for him was his continuing in the post of chief favourite and chief counsellor, the vain, incapable, and licentious Buckingham. The next matter to which Charles turned his attention was his marriage with the Princess Henrietta Maria, sister of Louis XIII. of France, the contract for which was already signed. The third day after his accession, he ratified the treaty as king which he had signed as prince. The Pope Urban, as we have stated, seeing that he could not prevail on the royal family of France to give up the marriage with the heretic prince of England, at length had, through his nuncio, delivered the breve of dispensation.

Louis of France, the queen-mother, the bride, Gaston Duke of Orleans, and the Duke of Chevreuse, Charles's proxy, signed the document with the English ambassadors, on the 8th of May, 1625, and the marriage took place on a platform in front of the ancient cathedral of Notre Dame on the 11th. The Duke of Buckingham arrived to conduct the young queen to England, attended by a numerous and splendid retinue of English nobility. The showy and extravagant upstart appeared at the French Court in a style which threw even the monarch into the shade. He wore "a rich white satin uncut velvet suit, set all over, suit and cloak, with diamonds, the value whereof," say the Hardwicke Papers, "is thought to be worth fourscore thousand pounds; besides a feather made with great diamonds, with sword, girdle, hatband, and spurs with diamonds, and he had twenty-seven other suits, all rich as invention could frame or art fashion." His conduct was as devoid of modesty as his dress, and threw discredit on the king who could entrust his honour and his counsels to such a man.

The king, queen, and queen-mother, accompanied by the whole Court, set out to conduct the young fiancée to the port where she should embark for England. The procession was made as gorgeous and imposing as possible, and at each halting place the Court was amused by a variety of pageants and entertainments drawn from a past age. One alone of these deserves remark, being afterwards deemed ominous—a representation of all the French princesses who had become queens of England. They presented a group distinguished by their misfortunes, the only one necessary to complete the number being herself yet a spectator, the girlish Henrietta, little more than fifteen years of age, who was destined to exceed them all in calamity. The king was, however, seized with an illness, which compelled him to discontinue the journey, and at Compiègne the queen-mother was also taken so ill as to detain the procession a fortnight at Amiens. There the queen and queen-mother took leave of Henrietta. Charles, during the delay at Amiens, had been awaiting his Buckingham. No sooner did that most impudent of libertines reach the French Court than he had the audacity to fall in love with the Queen of France, the beautiful Anne of Austria. He lost no opportunity of pressing his insolent suit on the way in the absence of the king, and had the presumption to imagine that his daring passion was returned. No sooner did he reach Boulogne, than pretending that he had received some despatches of the utmost importance, he hurried back to Amiens, where the French procession yet remained, and rushing into the bed-chamber of the queen, threw himself on his knees before her, and, regardless of the presence of two maids of honour, poured out the infamous protestations of his polluted passion. The queen repulsed him with an air of deep anger, and bade him begone in a tone of cutting severity, the reality of which, however, was doubted by Madame de Motteville, who recorded the occurrence.

The sensation excited by this unparalleled circumstance in the French Court was intense. The king ordered the arrest of a number of the queen's attendants, and dismissed several of them. Yet Buckingham, on reaching England, does not appear to have received any serious censure from his infatuated master, for this breach of all ambassadorial decency and etiquette; and in spite of the resentment of the French king and Court, continued to maintain all the character of a devoted lover of the French queen.

On the 23rd of June the report of ordnance wafted over from Boulogne announced the embarkation; and on Sunday evening the queen landed at Dover, after a stormy passage. Mr. Tyrwhitt, a gentleman of the household, rode post haste to Canterbury to inform Charles, who was at Dover Castle by ten o'clock the next morning to greet his bride. Henrietta Maria was at breakfast when the king was announced, and instantly rose, and hastened downstairs to meet him. On seeing him, she attempted to kneel and kiss his hand, but he prevented her, by folding her in his arms and kissing her. She had studied a little set speech to address him with, but could only get out so much of it as, "Sire, je suis venue en ce pays de votre majesté, pour être commandée de vous"—"Sire, I am come into your majesty's country to be at your command"—but at that point she burst into tears.

Charles was delighted with the beauty and vivacity of the young queen. They set out for Canterbury, and on their way thither were met on Barham Downs by the English nobility; pavilions being pitched there for the purpose of the refreshment of the royal pair, and the introduction of the queen to her court. After the wedding, at which the celebrated English composer, Orlando Gibbons, performed on the organ, the royal cavalcade took its way to Gravesend, and thence ascended the Thames, so as to avoid the city, in which the plague was then raging.

On the 28th of June, the day after the arrival of the queen in London, Charles met his first Parliament. The king had not yet been crowned, but he appeared on the throne with his crown on his head. He ordered one of the bishops to read prayers before proceeding to business, and this was done so adroitly, that the Catholic members were compelled to remain during the heretical service. They betrayed great uneasiness, some kneeling, some standing upright, and one unhappy individual continuing to cross himself the whole time.

Charles was not an eloquent speaker, and, moreover, was afflicted with stammering; but he plunged boldly into a statement which it was very easy for the two Houses to understand. He informed them that his father had left debts to the amount of seven hundred thousand pounds; that the money voted for the war against Spain and Austria was expended, and he therefore called upon them for liberal supplies. He declared his resolution to prosecute the wars which they had so loudly called for with vigour, but it was for them to furnish the means.

As he was beginning his reign, and had not plunged himself into very heavy debt, or preached up, like his father, the claims of the prerogative, he had a right to expect a more generous treatment than James. But, notwithstanding the éclat of a new reign, and the usual desire on such occasions to stand well with the throne, the Commons displayed no enthusiasm in voting their money. There were many causes, even under a new king, to produce this coolness. Charles had won their popularity by abandoning the Spanish match, but he had now neutralised that merit by taking a Catholic queen from France. To please the Commons and the public generally, he should have selected a wife from one of the Protestant houses of Germany or the Netherlands; but for this he had displayed no desire. In the second place, he had retained the hated Buckingham in all his former eminence, both as a minister of the Crown, and as his own associate. Besides, they had no faith in his abilities, either as a commander or a statesman, and beheld with disgust his reckless extravagance and the unconcealed infamy of his life at home. No talent whatever had been shown in the war in Germany for the restoration of the Palatinate; and, therefore, the Commons, instead of voting money to defray the late king's debts and to carry on the war efficiently, restricted their advances to two subsidies, amounting to about one hundred and forty thousand pounds, and to the grant of tonnage and poundage, not for life as aforetime, but merely for the space of one year.

But still more apprehensive were they on the subject of religion. The breach with Spain had naturally removed any delicacy on the part of the Spaniards to conceal the treacherous concessions, in perfect contradiction to the public professions of both the late and the present king, which had been made on that head. It was now freely whispered that the like had been made to France, and the sight of the crowd of priests and Catholic courtiers who had flocked over with the queen, and the performance of the Mass in the king's own house, led the zealous Reformers to believe that there was a tacit intention on the part of the king to restore the Catholic religion.

What rendered the Commons more sensitive on this point were the writings of Dr. Montague, one of the king's chaplains and editor of his father's works. In a controversy with a Catholic missionary, he had disowned the Calvinistic doctrines of the Puritans with which his church was charged, and declared for the Arminian tenets of which Laud was the great champion. This gave much offence; he was accused of being a concealed Papist, and two Puritan ministers, Yates and Ward, prepared a charge against him and laid it before Parliament. Montague denied that he was amenable to Parliament and "appealed unto Cæsar." Charles informed the Commons that the cognisance of his chaplains belonged to him, and not to them. But they asserted their right to deal with all such cases, and summoned him to appear at the bar of the House, where they bound him in a bond of two thousand pounds to appear when called for.

Charles endeavoured to direct their attention to the state of the finances, showing them the inadequacy of their votes, the fitting out of the navy amounting alone to three hundred thousand pounds. He was beyond all indignant at the grant of tonnage and poundage for only one year, seeing that his predecessors from the time of Henry VI. had enjoyed it for life; and the Lords threw out that part of the vote for this reason, so that he had no Parliamentary right to collect it at all. To make matters worse, instead of attending to the pleading of Lord Conway, the Chief Secretary, for further grants, they presented to the king, after listening to four sermons one day and taking the Sacrament the next, a "pious petition" praying him—as he valued the maintenance of true religion and would discourage superstition and idolatry—to put in force the penal Statutes against Catholics.

To this demand Charles could only return an evasive answer. He had recently bound himself by the most solemn oaths to do nothing of the kind; and under the sanction of the marriage treaty with France, the Mass was every day celebrated under his own roof, and his palace and its immediate vicinity swarmed with Catholics and their priests. Nay, he had, just before summoning Parliament, been called on by France to send a fleet in virtue of this treaty to assist in putting down the Huguenots. Soubise, the General of the Huguenots, still retained possession of La Rochelle and the island of Rhé, and their fleet scoured the coasts in such force that the French fleet dared not attempt to cope with it. Richelieu, therefore, requested Charles to give Louis assistance. Charles delayed until he received news, which proved to be premature, that peace had been concluded with the Huguenots. Thereupon he concluded that the ships might be sent without danger. Accordingly, though the affairs of the English fleet had been wofully misconducted ever since Buckingham had been Lord Admiral, he mustered seven merchant vessels, and sent them with the Vanguard, the only ship of the line that was fit for sea, under the command of Admiral Pennington, to La Rochelle. The destination of the fleet was declared to be Genoa, but on reaching Dieppe, the officers and crew were astonished to receive orders to take on board French soldiers and sailors, and proceed to La Rochelle to fight against the Protestants. They refused to a man, and notwithstanding the imperative commands of the Duke of Montmorency the Lord Admiral of France, they compelled their own admiral to put back to the Downs.

On this ignominious return, Pennington requested to be permitted to decline this service, and his desire was much favoured by the remonstrances of the Huguenots, who sent over an envoy, entreating the king not to give such a triumph to Popery as to fight against the Protestants. Charles, with that fatal duplicity which he had learned so early under his father, sent fair words to Soubise, the Duke of Rohan, and the other leaders of the Huguenots; but Buckingham, by speaking out more plainly, exposed the hollowness of his master. He assured the navy that they were bound by treaty, and fight they must for the king of France. Both officers and owners of the ships declared that as they were chartered for the service of the king of England, they should not be handed over to the French without an order from the king himself. Thereupon Buckingham hastened down to Rochester, accompanied by the French ambassador, who offered to charter the vessels for his Government. Men, owners, and officers, refused positively any such service.

Disappointed by this display of true English spirit, Charles ordered Secretary Conway to write to Vice-Admiral Pennington in his name, commanding him that he should proceed to Dieppe and take on board as many men as the French Government desired, for which this letter was his warrant. At the same time Pennington received an autographic letter from Charles, commanding him to make over the Vanguard to the French admiral at Dieppe, and to order the commanders of the seven merchant ships to do the same, and in case of refusal to compel them by force. All this appears to have been imposed on Pennington as a matter of strict secrecy; and that officer had not the virtue to refuse so degrading a service. The fleet again sailed to Dieppe: the men must have more than suspected the object; and when Pennington made over the Vanguard, and delivered the royal order to the captains of the seven merchant vessels, they declined to obey, and weighed anchor to return home. On this Pennington, who proved himself the fitting tool of such a king, fired into them, and overawed all of them except Sir Ferdinand Gore, in the Neptune, who kept on his way, disdaining to disgrace himself by such a deed. The French were taken on board and conveyed to La Rochelle. But that was all that was accomplished; for the English seamen instantly deserted on reaching land, and many of them hastened to join the ranks of the Huguenots, the rest returning home overflowing with indignation and spreading everywhere the disgrace of the royal conduct.

In the whole of this transaction the headstrong fatality of Charles was conspicuous, and foreboded the miseries that were to follow. In the midst of the public excitement from this cause, the Parliament met at Oxford on the 1st of August. The result was as might have been expected. On the king demanding the restoration of the vote of tonnage and poundage, negatived by the Lords, or that other subsidies should be granted in lieu of it, the Commons refused both. In reply to the king's inquiry how the war was to be carried on, they replied that they must first be satisfied against whom the war was really to be directed. They complained that the penal statutes against the Papists were not enforced as promised, and proceeded to their favourite avocation of attacking public grievances. On this topic Coke came forward with an eloquence and a boldness which astonished the Court. With an unsparing vigour worthy of his earlier years—but in a much better cause than that in which his abilities were then often exercised—he denounced the new offices created, the monopolies granted, and the lavish waste of the public money, all for the benefit of Buckingham and his relations. He insisted that the useless pensions which had been recently granted should be stopped till the late king's debts were paid, and that a system of strict economy should be substituted for the now extravagant expenditure of the royal household. Others followed in the same strain, denouncing the odious practice of selling offices, of which Buckingham and his mother were the chief vendors.

A third party showed that they were armed with dangerous matter by the still disgraced and restrained Earl of Bristol. They charged Buckingham with his mal-administration of affairs, with his incompetency as Lord High Admiral, and with having involved this country in an unnecessary war with Spain, merely in revenge of a private quarrel with the Spanish minister, Olivarez. They demanded an inquiry into that affair. One of the members of the House venturing to defend the Government, and condemning the licence of speech against the Crown, was speedily brought upon his knees and compelled to implore pardon at the Bar. Sir Robert Cotton, the founder of the Cottonian Library, applauded the wisdom and spirit of the House in thus summarily dealing with this unworthy member; and after giving a description of the conduct of the late favourite, Somerset, and of the follies and crimes of favourites of former reigns, as the Spencers, the Gavestons, the Poles, and others, pronounced Buckingham as far more insolent, mischievous, and incompetent than any of them.

The favourite, thus rudely handled, was quietly enjoying himself at Woodstock; but the king made him aware of the necessity of defending himself. He hastened to town, and delivered in his place in the Peers, a statement of the accounts of the navy, and a stout denial of any personal motives in the quarrel with Spain. He clearly showed that he felt whence the danger came, and alluding to the Earl of Bristol, said, "I am minded to leave that business asleep, but if it should awake, it will prove a lion to devour him who co-operated with Olivarez."

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To cut short these awkward debates, the king sent word to the Commons that as the plague was already in Oxford, it was necessary to make quick work, and that they should finish the grant of supplies. He offered to accept for the present forty thousand pounds; but the House refused even this, saying that if that was all that was necessary, it might readily be raised by a loan to the Crown. This put the king beyond his patience, and he menaced them with a speedy dissolution; adding if they were not afraid of their health, he would take care of it for them, by releasing them from the plague-invaded city, and find some means of helping himself. The Commons were not in a temper to be intimidated; on the contrary, they went into a most warm and spirited debate on the king's message, and appointed a committee to prepare a reply. In this they thanked him for his care of their health, and of the religion of the nation, and promised supplies when the abuses of the Government were redressed; and they called upon him not to suffer himself to be prejudiced against the greatest safeguard that a king could have—the faithful and dutiful Commons—by interested persons. Before they had time, however, to present this address, Charles dissolved the Parliament, which had only sat in this Oxford Session twelve days.

Thus deprived of all the necessary funds for a war, none but so infatuated a monarch as Charles would have persisted in plunging into it. War had not yet been proclaimed against Spain; it was neither necessary nor expedient; on the contrary, every motive of political wisdom warned him to peace in that quarter, if he really wished to be at liberty to prosecute the interests of the Elector and the Protestant cause. But led by the splenetic imbecility of Buckingham, so far was he from seeing the folly of a war with Spain, that he was soon pushed into one with France. In fact, he took every step which would have been avoided by a wise prince, and speedily involved himself in a labyrinth of inextricable difficulties. Spain quieted and even soothed; France cultivated with the object of obtaining its influence and aid in the recovery of the Palatinate; and the Protestants of Germany sympathised with, if not aided substantially in their severe struggle against Austrian bigotry, Charles might have eventually restored his sister and her husband to their old estate, and have won a place in the European world superior to any king of his time. Instead of this, he took the surest means to exasperate his own people and his most powerful neighbour that his worst enemies could have suggested.

To raise money for the prosecution of the war against Spain, he ordered the duties of tonnage and poundage to be levied, notwithstanding they were not voted by the Peers. He issued writs of Privy Seal to the nobility, gentry, and clergy, for loans of money, and menaced vengeance if they were not complied with. All salaries and fees were suspended, and to such a strait was he reduced by his efforts to man and supply the fleet, that he was obliged to borrow three thousand pounds from the corporations of Southampton and Salisbury to enable him to meet the expenses of his own table.

At length the fleet was ready to sail with a force of ten thousand men; the English fleet consisted of eighty sail, and the Dutch sent an addition of sixteen sail. In weight and armament of ships such a force had scarcely ever before left an English port. But formidable as was this naval power, it was rendered perfectly inert by the same utter want of judgment and genius which marked all the measures of Buckingham. Its destination was to have been kept secret, so that it might take the Spaniards by surprise; but it was well known, not only to that nation, but to the whole Continent. In spite of this, such a force, in the hands of a Drake or a Nottingham, might have struck a ruinous blow at the Spanish navy and seaports; but Buckingham, for his own selfish purposes, appointed to the command Sir Edward Cecil, now created Viscount Wimbledon, a man who had, indeed, grown grey in the service of the States of Holland, but only to make himself known as most incompetent to such an enterprise. He was, moreover, a land officer, whilst the admiral to whom the command regularly fell, in case the Lord High Admiral himself did not take it—Sir Robert Mansell, Vice-Admiral of England—had a high reputation and the confidence of the men as an experienced officer.

On the 3rd of October this noble but ill-used fleet sailed from Plymouth, and took its way across the Bay of Biscay, where it encountered one of its storms, and received considerable damage, one vessel foundering with a hundred and seventy men. The admiral had instructions to intercept the treasure ships from America, to scour the coasts of Spain, and destroy the shipping in its harbours. But instead of doing that first which must be done then if at all—attack the ships in the ports—he called a council, and was completely bewildered by the conflicting opinions given. The conclusion was to make for Cadiz and seize its ships, but the Spaniards were already aware of and prepared for them. Instead of keeping, moreover, a sharp watch for the Plate ships, Wimbledon let several of them escape into port, which of themselves were thought, says Howell, rich enough to have paid all the expenses of the expedition. There was still nothing to prevent a brave admiral from attacking the vessels in harbour; but more accustomed to land service, the commander landed his forces, and took the Fort of Puntal. Making next a rapid march towards the bridge of Suazzo, in order to cut off the communication between the Isle de Leon and the mainland, his soldiers discovered some wine cellars by the way and became intoxicated and incapable of preserving order. Alarmed at this circumstance, their incapable leader conducted them back to the ships. Not daring to attack the port, he determined to look out for the treasure ships. But while cruising for this purpose, a fever broke out on board the vessel of Lord Delaware; and as if it were his intention to diffuse the contagion through the whole fleet, the admiral had the sick men distributed among the healthy ships. A dreadful mortality accordingly raged through the whole fleet. No Plate ships could be seen, for they appear to have been aware of their enemies and held away towards the Barbary coast; and after waiting fruitlessly for eighteen days, Wimbledon made sail again for England. No sooner did this imbecile quit the coast than fifty richly laden vessels entered the port of Lisbon. On landing at Plymouth, with the loss of a thousand men in this most ignominious voyage, the people received the admiral with hisses and execrations.

Meanwhile Charles, who was in straits with his Parliament and subjects, was compelled to try again the more than dubious resort to Parliament for money. To prepare the way for any success with the Commons, he was obliged to do that which must certainly embroil him with his French allies, and add fresh fuel to the fire of domestic discord which consumed him. Certainly never had any man a more arduous part to play, and the king had rendered his position all the harder by the imprudence of his measures; for nothing is easier than for men, by their folly or absurd resentments, to knit themselves up into a web of difficulties. He now resolved to break his marriage oath to France, and persecute the Catholics to conciliate the Protestants. Orders were accordingly issued to all magistrates to put the penal laws in force, and a commission was appointed to levy the fines on the recusants. All Catholic priests and missionaries were warned to quit the kingdom immediately, and all parents and guardians to recall their children from Catholic schools, and young men from Catholic colleges on the Continent. But worse than all, because personally insulting and irritating to the higher classes, who constituted the House of Peers, and who hitherto had exhibited much forbearance, he accepted the advice of his Council that the Catholic aristocracy should be disarmed.

Certainly no proceedings could indispose the House of Peers to the king more than such as these; but meanwhile Charles was active in endeavouring by other measures to win a party there. The Earl of Pembroke had for some time made himself head of the Opposition, and on great occasions brought with him on a vote no less than ten proxies, Buckingham himself being only able to command thirteen. He prevailed on Pembroke to be reconciled to the favourite; and at the same time in order to punish the Lord Keeper Williams who had quarrelled with Buckingham and had told him that he should go over to Pembroke, and labour for the redress of the grievances of the people—he dismissed him and gave the Great Seal to Sir Thomas Coventry, the Attorney-General.

To manage the Commons, and to prevent the threatened impeachment of Buckingham, when the judges presented to him the lists of sheriffs Charles struck out seven names and wrote in their places seven of the most able and active of the leaders of Opposition in the Commons, the most determined enemies of the favourite:—Sir Edward Coke, Sir Thomas Wentworth, Sir Francis Seymour, Sir Robert Philips, Sir Grey Palmer, Sir William Fleetwood, and Edward Alford. As this office disqualified them from sitting in Parliament, the king thus got rid of them for that year; but Coke contended that though a sheriff could not sit for his own county he could for another, and got himself elected for the county of Norfolk, but did not venture to take his seat.

All these measures, it will be seen, were dictated not by a desire to conciliate, but to override the Parliament, and therefore could not promise much good to a mind of any depth of penetration. Parliament was summoned for the 6th of February, 1626, and the 2nd was appointed for the coronation. With the knowledge of a discontented people, Charles went to meet his Parliament, and this consciousness would, in a monarch capable of taking a solemn warning, have operated to produce conciliation, at least of tone; but Charles was one of that class of men who illustrated the striking words of the Latin fatalist "Whom God intends to destroy He first drives mad." Accordingly, he opened the sitting with a curt speech, referring them to that of the new Lord Keeper Coventry, which was in the worst possible taste. He said, "If we consider aright, and think of the incomparable distance between the supreme height and majesty of a mighty monarch, and the submissive awe and lowliness of loyal subjects, we cannot but receive exceeding comfort and contentment in the frame and constitution of this highest Court, wherein not only prelates, nobles, and grandees, but the commons of all degrees have their part; and wherein that high majesty doth descend to admit, or rather to invite, the humblest of his subjects to conference and council with him."

Of all language this was, in the temper of the Commons, the most adapted to incense them. Such talk of the condescension of the Crown, at the moment when they were entering on a desperate conflict against its abuse of the prerogative, only the more stimulated their resolution to their task. They immediately formed themselves into three committees: one of religion, a second of grievances, and a third of evils. They again, by the Committee of Religion, canvassed the subject of Popery; resolving to enact still severer laws against it, as the origin of many of the worst evils that afflicted the nation. They summoned schoolmasters from various and remote parts of the kingdom, and put searching questions to them, as to the doctrines which they held and taught to their scholars; and every member of the House was called upon in turn to denounce all persons in authority or office, known to them as holding the tenets of the ancient faith. In fact, in their vehement zeal for religious liberty, the zealots of the House were on the highway to extinguish every spark of toleration, and to convert the House of Commons into an inquisition, instead of the bulwark of popular right.

They again summoned Dr. Montague to redeem his bail, and receive punishment on account of his book, in which they charged him with having admitted that the Church of Rome was the true Church, and that the articles on which the two churches did not agree were of minor importance. Laud advocated the cause of Montague at Court, for he was of precisely the same opinions, and urged the king and Buckingham to protect him. But both Charles and the favourite saw too many difficulties in their own way to care to interfere in defence of the chaplain. They left him to his fate, and he would have been no doubt severely dealt with, had not higher matters seized the attention of the House, and caused the offending Churchman to be overlooked.

This was the impeachment of Buckingham. The Committee of Grievances had drawn up, after a tedious investigation, a list of sixteen grievances, consisting of such as had so often been warmly debated in the last reign. Of these the most prominent, in their opinion, were the practice of purveyance, by which the officers of the household still collected provisions at a fixed price for sixty miles round the Court, and the illegal conduct of the Lord Treasurer, who went on collecting tonnage and poundage though unsanctioned by Parliament. They charged the maintenance of these evils to the advice and influence of a "great delinquent" at Court; who had, moreover, occasioned all the disgraces to the national flag, both by land and sea, which had for some years occurred, and who ought to be punished accordingly.

The time was now actually arriving of which James had warned his son and Buckingham, when they urged the impeachment of the Earl of Middlesex, but choosing to forget all that, Charles sent down word to the House that he did not allow any of his servants to be called in question by them, especially such as were of eminence and near unto his person. He remarked that of old the desire of subjects had been to know what they should do with him whom the king delighted to honour, but their desire now appeared to be to do what they could against him whom the king honoured. That they aimed at the Duke of Buckingham, he said, he saw clearly, and he wondered much what had produced such a change since the former Parliament; assuring them that the duke had taken no step but by his order and consent; and he concluded by requesting them to hasten the question of Supply, "or it would be worse for them."

On the 29th of March he repeated the menace; but the Commons went on preparing their charges against Buckingham, declaring that it was the undoubted right of Parliament to inquire into the proceedings of persons of any estate whatever, who had been found dangerous to the Commonwealth, and had abused the confidence reposed in them by the Crown.

Seeing them bent on proceeding, Charles sent down to the House the Lord Keeper to acquaint them with his majesty's express command that they should cease this inquiry, or that he would dissolve them; and Sir Dudley Carleton, who had been much employed as ambassador to foreign states, and had recently returned from France, warned them not to make the king out of love with parliaments, and then drew a most deplorable picture of the state of those countries where such had come to be the case. In all Christian countries, he said, there were formerly parliaments; but the monarchs, weary of their turbulence, had broken them up, except in this kingdom; and now he represented the miserable subjects as resembling spectres rather than men, miserably clad, meagre of body, and wearing wooden shoes.

This caricature of foreigners, had it been true, was the very thing to make the Commons cling to their freedom, and keep their affairs in their own hands; and as such arguments had no effect. Charles summoned the House to the bar of the Lords, and there addressed to them a most royal reproof, letting them know that it depended entirely on him whether he would call and when he would dismiss Parliament, and, therefore, as they conducted themselves so should he act. Their very existence depended, he assured them, on his will.

This was language which might have done in the mouth of Henry VIII., who by the possession of the vast plunder of the Church had made himself independent of parliaments and trod on them at his pleasure; but the times and circumstances were entirely changed. The Commons had learned their power and the king's weakness, and would no longer tolerate the insolence of despotism. They returned to their own House, and, to show that they were about to discuss the king's speech in a spirit which admitted of no interruption or interference, they locked the door and put the key in the hands of Sir John Finch, their Speaker. This ominous proceeding struck terror into the king, and a conference with the Upper House was proposed and accepted. There Buckingham endeavoured to smooth down the royal speeches and messages into something like a bearable and constitutional shape, and to defend his own conduct. But by this time the Committee of Evils, Causes and Remedies, had come to the conclusion that the only mode of preventing the recurrence of such mal-administration as Buckingham had been guilty of was to impeach and punish him. The House accordingly passed a resolution to that effect on the 8th of May.

As if Charles were actually inspired by madness, at this moment, when he needed all the assistance of the Peers to screen his favourite from the impeachment of the Commons, he made a direct attack on their privileges. Lord Arundel, the Earl Marshal, had given some offence to Buckingham, and was well known to be decidedly hostile to him. As he possessed six proxies, it was thought a grand stroke of policy to get him out of the House at the approaching impeachment; and a plea was not long wanting. Arundel's son, Lord Maltravers, had married a daughter of the Duke of Lennox without consent of the king, and as Lennox was of blood-royal, this was deemed offence enough to involve Arundel himself. He was charged with not having prevented it, but he replied that the match had been made unknown to him; that it had been secretly planned between the mothers of the young people. This was not admitted, and Arundel was arrested by a royal warrant and lodged in the Tower. The real offender, if real offence there were, was Maltravers, but it was Arundel's absence which was wanted. The Lords, however, took up the matter as an infringement of their privileges; they passed a resolution that "no lord of Parliament, the Parliament sitting, or within the usual times of privilege of Parliament, is to be imprisoned or restrained, without sentence or order of the House, unless it be for treason or felony, or for refusing to give surety for the peace."

They sent an address to Charles demanding Arundel's immediate liberation; he returned an evasive answer: they sent a second address; Charles then ordered the Attorney-General to plead the royal prerogative, and to declare the Earl Marshal as personally offensive to the king and as dangerous to the State. The Peers would not admit the plea, but passed a resolution to suspend business till their colleague was set at large; and after a contest of three months the king was forced to yield, and the Earl Marshal resumed his seat in the House amid cheers and acclamations.

But this most imprudent conflict with the Peers had another and still more damaging result. The Earl of Bristol, who had been so unjustly and ungraciously received, or rather, not received, on his return from his Spanish embassy, to enable Buckingham and Charles to maintain their charge against Spain, had remained an exile from Court and Parliament, but not without keeping a watchful eye on the progress of events. He was not a man to sit down quietly under misrepresentation and injury; and now, seeing that the Peers had roused themselves from their subserviency, and were prepared to take vengeance on the common enemy, he complained to the House of Peers that, as one of their order and possessed of all their privileges, his writ of summons to Parliament had been wrongfully withheld. To have withstood this demand at this moment might have led to a dangerous excitement. The writ was therefore immediately issued, but Bristol at the same time received a private letter, charging him on pain of the king's high displeasure not to attempt to take his place. The earl at once forwarded the letter to the Peers, requesting their advice upon it, on the ground that it affected their rights, being a case which might reach any other of them, and demanding that he might be permitted to take his seat in order to accuse the man who, to screen his own high crimes and misdemeanours, had for years deprived a peer of the realm of his liberty and right.

This alarming claim of the earl's struck both the king and Buckingham with terror; and to prevent, if possible, the menaced charge, the Attorney-General was instantly despatched to the Lords to prefer a plea of high treason against Bristol. But the Peers were not thus to be circumvented. They replied that Bristol's accusation was first laid and must be first heard; and that without the counter-charge being held to prejudice his testimony. Bristol, thus at liberty to speak out, proceeded to town and to the House of Peers in triumph, his coach drawn by eight horses, caparisoned in cloth of gold or tissue; and Buckingham, as if to present a contrast of modesty, a quality wholly alien to his nature, drove thither in an old carriage with only three footmen and no retinue.

Bristol charged him with having concerted with Gondomar to inveigle the Prince of Wales into Spain, in order to procure his conversion to Popery prior to his marriage with the Infanta; with having complied with Popish ceremonies himself; with having, whilst at Madrid, disgraced the king, his country, and himself, by his contempt of all decency and the vileness of his profligacy. He stated that "As for the scandal given by his behaviour, as also his employing his power with the King of Spain for the procuring of favours and offices, which he conferred on base and unworthy persons, for the recompense and hire of his lust—these things, as neither fit for the Earl of Bristol to speak, nor, indeed, for the House to hear, he leaveth to your lordships' wisdoms how far it will please you to have them examined." He went on to charge him with breaking off the treaty of marriage solely through resentment, because the Spanish ministers, disgusted with his conduct, refused any negotiation with so infamous a person; and declared that, on his return, he had deceived both king and Parliament by a most false statement. All this the earl pledged himself to prove by written documents and other most undeniable evidence.

Instead of Buckingham attempting to clear himself as an innocent man so blackened by terrible charges would, it was sought to deprive the testimony of Bristol of all value by making him a criminal and a traitor to the king whilst his representative in Spain. Charles went so far as to send the Lord Keeper Coventry, a most pliant courtier, to inform the Lords that he would of his own knowledge clear the duke, the duke himself reserving his defence till after the impeachment by the Commons. Charles not only guaranteed to vindicate Buckingham, but accused Bristol of making a direct charge against himself, inasmuch as he himself had been with Buckingham all the time in Spain, and had verified his narrative on his return. The Peers passed this royal charge courageously by; and Charles then ordered the cause between Bristol and Buckingham to be removed from the Peers to the court of King's Bench; but the Lords would not permit such an infringement of their privileges. They put these questions themselves to the judges—"Whether the king could be a witness in a case of treason? And whether, in Bristol's case, he could be a witness at all, admitting the treason done with his privity?" The king sent the judges an order not to answer these questions, and in the midst of these proceedings the charges against Bristol were heard, and answered by him with a spirit and clearness which were perfectly satisfactory to the House. The charges against him amounted to this:—That he had falsely assured James of the sincerity of the Spanish Cabinet; had concurred in a plan for inducing the prince to change his religion; that he had endeavoured to force the marriage on Charles by delivering the procuration; and had given the lie to his present sovereign by declaring false what he had vouched in Buckingham's statement to be true. These were so palpably untenable positions that the House ordered Bristol's answer to be entered on the journals, and there left the matter.

But now the impeachment of Buckingham by the Commons was brought up to the Lords. It consisted of thirteen articles; the principal of which were that he had not only enriched himself with several of the highest offices of the State which had never before been held by one and the same person, but had purchased for money those of High Admiral and Warden of the Cinque Ports; that he had in those offices neglected the trade and the security of the coasts of the country; that he had perverted to his own use the revenues of the Crown; had filled the Court and dignities of the land with his poor relations; had put a squadron of English ships into the hands of the French, and on the other hand, by detaining for his own use a vessel belonging to the King of France, had provoked him to make reprisals on British merchants; that he had extorted ten thousand pounds from the East India Company; and even charged him with being accessory to the late king's death, by administering medicine contrary to the advice of the royal physicians.

Eight Managers were appointed by the Commons to conduct the impeachment—Sir Dudley Digges, Sir John Eliot, Serjeant Glanville, Selden, Whitelock, Pym, Herbert, and Wandsford. Digges opened the case, and was followed by Glanville, Selden, and Pym. While these gentlemen were speaking and detailing the main charges against him, Buckingham, confident in the power and will of the king to protect him, displayed the most impudent recklessness, laughing and jesting at the orators and their arguments. Serjeant Glanville, on one occasion, turned brusquely on him, and exclaimed, "My lord, do you jeer at me? Are these things to be jeered at? My lord, I can show you when a man of a greater blood than your lordship, as high in place and power, and as deep in the favour of the king as you, hath been hanged for as small a crime as the least of these articles contain."

Sir John Eliot wound up the charge, and compared Buckingham to Sejanus; as proud, insolent, rapacious, an accuser of others, a base adulator and tyrant by turns, and one who conferred commands and offices on his dependants. "Ask England, Scotland, and Ireland," exclaimed Sir John, "and they will tell you whether this man doth not the like. Sejanus's pride was so excessive, as Tacitus saith, that he neglected all counsel, mixed his business and service with the prince, and was often styled Imperatoris laborum socius. My lords," he said, "I have done. You see the man: by him came all evils; in him we find the cause; on him we expect the remedies."

The direct inference that if Buckingham was a Sejanus the king was a Tiberius, and a rumour that Eliot and Digges had hinted that in the death of the late king there was a greater than Buckingham behind, transported Charles with rage, and urged him on to another of those acts of aggression which ultimately brought him to actual battle with his Parliament. He had the two offending members called out of the House as if the king required their presence, when they were seized and sent to the Tower. This outrage on the persons of their fellow members and delegated prosecutors came like a thunder-clap on the House. There was instantly a vehement cry of "Rise! rise! rise!" The House was in a state of the highest ferment.

Charles hurried to the House of Lords to denounce the imputations cast upon him, and to defend Buckingham; and Buckingham stood by his side whilst he spoke. He declared that he had punished some insolent speeches, and that it was high time, for that he had been too lenient. He would give his evidence to clear Buckingham, he said, in every one of the articles, and he would suffer no one with impunity to charge himself with having any concern in the death of his father. But all this bravado was wasted on the Commons: again with closed doors they discussed the violation of their privileges, and resolved to proceed with no further business till their members should be discharged. In a few days this was done, and the House passed a resolution that the two members had only fulfilled their bounden duty.

On the 8th of June, Buckingham opened his defence in the House of Lords. In this he had been assisted by Sir Nicholas Hyde. He divided the charges against him into three classes: such as were unfounded in fact; such as might be true, but did not affect him; and lastly, those in which he had merely been the servant of the king or of the Executive. In all the circumstances which could be proved, he simply acted in obedience to the late or the present king, with one exception, the purchase of the office of Warden of the Cinque Ports, which he admitted that he had bought, but which he thought might be excused on the ground of public utility. As to the grave charge of the delivery of the king's ships to the French admiral, he did not mean to go into it, not but that he could prove his own innocence in the affair, but that he was bound not to reveal the secrets of the State; and he pleaded a pardon which had been granted by the king on the 10th of February, that is, four days after the opening of the present Parliament.

Thus Charles had kept his word: he had allowed the duke to throw the total responsibility of his deeds on himself, and he had granted him a pardon by anticipation to forestall the conclusions of Parliament. This defence by no means satisfied the Commons, and they proceeded to reply; but in this they were stopped short by the king, who the very next day sent a message to the Speaker, desiring the House to hasten and come at once to the subject of Supply, or that he would "take other resolutions." The Commons set themselves, without loss of time, to prepare a remonstrance in strong terms, praying for the dismissal of the favourite; but whilst employed upon it, they were suddenly summoned to the Upper House, where they found Commissioners appointed to pronounce the dissolution of Parliament. Anticipating this movement, the Speaker had carried the resolutions of remonstrance in his hand, and before the Commissioners could declare Parliament dissolved, the Speaker held up the paper and declared its contents. The Lords, on this, apprehending unpleasant consequences, sent to implore Charles to a short delay, but received the king's energetic answer—"No, not for one minute!"

Charles was left by his own wild devices to try how his fancied right divine would furnish him funds to discharge his debts at home and his obligations abroad. That he was not insensible to his danger, or to the price which he had paid for the support of his favourite, is made plain to us by Meade, the careful chronicler of the time. "The duke," he says, "being in the bed-chamber private with the king, his majesty was overheard, as they say, to use these words: 'What can I do more? I have engaged mine honour to mine uncle of Denmark and other princes. I have, in a manner, lost the love of my subjects, and what wouldst thou have me do?' Whence some think the duke meant the king to dissolve the Parliament." But however he might feel this, he was in no disposition to take warning; the spirit and the inculcations of his father worked in him victorious over any better instincts. No sooner had he dismissed Parliament, than he seized the Earl of Bristol, and Arundel, the Earl Marshal, and thrust Bristol into the Tower. This bit of petty spite enacted, he set about boldly to do everything that the Commons had been striving against. The Commons had published their remonstrance; he published a counter-declaration, and commanded all persons having that of the Commons to burn it, or expect his resentment. He then issued a warrant, levying duties on all exports and imports; ordered the fines from the Catholics to be rigorously enforced, but offering to compound with rich recusants for an annual sum, so as to procure a fixed income from that source. A Commission was issued to inquire into the proceeds of the Crown lands, and to grant leases, remit feudal services, and convert copyholds into freeholds, on certain charges. Privy seals were again issued to noblemen, gentlemen, and merchants, for the advance of loans, and London was called on to furnish one hundred and twenty thousand pounds; and as if the king already feared that his arbitrary acts might produce disturbance, he ordered the different seaports, under the plea of protecting the coasts, to provide and maintain during three months a certain number of armed vessels, and the lord-lieutenants of counties to muster the people, and train troops to arms to prevent internal riot or foreign invasion.

At the moment that the king was thus daringly setting both Parliament and the country at defiance, came the news that a terrible battle had been fought at Lutter between the Austrians under Tilly, and the Protestant allies under Charles's uncle, the King of Denmark; that the allies were defeated and driven across the Elbe; all their baggage and ammunition lost, and the whole circle of Lower Saxony left exposed to the soldiers of Ferdinand. This was the death-blow to the cause of the Elector Palatine. But Charles seized the occasion to raise money by a fresh forced loan on a large scale, on pretence of the necessity of aiding Protestantism, and as if to make the lawless demand the more intolerable, the Commissioners were armed with the most arbitrary powers. All who refused to comply with this illegal demand, this body was authorised to interrogate on oath, as to their reasons, and who were their advisers, and they were bound by oath never to divulge what passed between them and the Commissioners.

Charles issued a proclamation, excusing his conduct by alleging that the necessities of the State did not admit of waiting for the reassembling of Parliament, and assuring his loving subjects that whatever was now paid would be remitted in the collection of the next subsidy. He also addressed a letter to the clergy, calling on them to exhort their parishioners from the pulpit to obedience and liberality. But such were the relative positions of king and Parliament, that people were not very confident of any speedy grant from that body, and the good faith of both Charles and his favourite had become so dubious, that many refused to pay. The names of these were transmitted to the Council, and the vengeance of the Court was let loose upon them. The rich were fined and imprisoned, the poor were forcibly enrolled in the army or navy, that "they might serve with their bodies, since they refused to serve with their purses." In vain were appeals made to the king against this intolerable tyranny; he would listen to no one. Amongst the names of those who suffered on this occasion, stand those of Sir John Eliot and John Hampden, as well as of Wentworth, soon to become the staunch upholder of Absolutism.

In towns the people did not conceal their indignation at these proceedings. "Six poor tradesmen at Chelmsford stood out stiffly, notwithstanding the many threats and promises made them;" and the Londoners loudly shouted, "A Parliament! a Parliament! No Parliament no money!" Still Charles went on in his mad course; no voice, mortal or immortal, could even for a moment break the spell of his delusion. Those judges and magistrates who were averse from enforcing the detestable orders were summarily dismissed. Sir Randolph Carew, the Chief Justice of the King's Bench, must give way to the more pliant Sir Nicholas Hyde, the adviser of Buckingham. But the lawyers in general were ready enough to break the laws by order of the Court, and the clergy were still more so. Laud was now advanced, for his Absolutist and Popish predilections, to the see of Bath and Wells, and sent forth a circular to the clergy enjoining them to preach up zealously the advance of money to the Crown, as a work meriting salvation. He openly advocated a strict league and confederacy between the Church and State, by which they might trample upon all schism, heresy, and disloyalty. There was no lack of time-servers to second his efforts. Roger Mainwaring, one of the king's chaplains, a true high-priest to the golden calf, with the most shameless prostitution of the pulpit, declared before the king and Court at Whitehall, that the power of the king was above all courts and parliaments; that parliament was but an inferior kind of council, entirely at the king's will; that the king's order was sufficient authority for the raising of money, and that all who refused it were guilty of unutterable sin and liable to damnation. He insulted the Scriptures by dragging them in to prove all this, and would have sold, not his own soul only, but the souls of the whole nation to obtain a bishopric. He had his desire; and the success of such religious toadyism inflamed the clergy in the country with a like abjectness. One Robert Sibthorpe, vicar of Brackley, in an assize sermon preached at Northampton, declared that even if the king commanded people to resist the Law of God, they were to obey him, to show no resistance, no railing, no reviling, to be all passive obedience. To demonstrate the Scriptural soundness of his doctrine, he quoted this verse of the Book of Ecclesiastes (viii. 4.): "Where the word of a king is, there is power: and who may say unto him, What doest thou?"

Abbot, the Archbishop, was applied to, to license the printing of this sermon; but the old man, who had always had a Puritan leaning, which his high post alone prevented him from more fully demonstrating, declined to do it. In vain the king insisted: the archbishop was suspended and sent to his country house; and Laud, who was hankering earnestly after the Primacy, licensed the sermon. Sibthorpe did not fail of his reward; he was appointed chaplain in ordinary, and received a prebend in Peterborough, and the goodly living of Burton Latimer. Andrew Marvell designated these model Churchmen as "exceedingly pragmatical, intolerably ambitious, and so desperately proud that scarcely any gentleman might come near the tails of their mules." The subserviency of the clergy was not one of the least evils which a tyrannic court fostered. The people saw more clearly than ever that the Church under such circumstances would become the staunch ally of despotism; and many even of its own honourable members, in the higher walks of life, shrank away from it and joined the ranks of the Puritans, for no other reason than that they were resolute for the liberty of the subject.

The state of feeling on both sides of the Channel meanwhile hastened an open rupture. The French were highly incensed at the treatment of the queen's retinue, who, having become an intense nuisance, were packed off to Paris. Thereupon the most sinister reports were spread among the people, who eagerly imbibed the idea that their princess was a victim in the hands of her heretic husband; and they were ready to avenge themselves on England or on the Protestants of their own country. On the other hand, Charles ascribed his disasters, the defeat of his brother-in-law's allies in Germany, and his consequent unpopularity at home, to the failure of Louis of France in giving the aid which he had promised. Through this default Charles considered that he had sunk a million of money, ten thousand soldiers, and lost the favour of his people. In these ideas he was strengthened by the emissaries of the French Protestants; and very soon Devic and Montague were despatched by Charles to concert measures with the Huguenots, and Soubise and Brancard were received at London as their envoys. It was finally determined that Charles should send a fleet and army to La Rochelle, which the Duke de Rohan should join with four thousand men. It was rumoured that it was planned for a Protestant state to be established between the Loire and Garonne, at the head of which Buckingham should be placed. That there was some great scheme of the kind is certain, for Charles, in dismissing ambassadors from his uncle the King of Denmark, said that he kept his full design from them; "for," he remarked, "I think it needless, or rather hurtful, to discover my main intent in this business, because divulging it, in my mind, must needs hazard it."

Meanwhile France, on its side, had not been inactive. Richelieu had listened not only to the discontent of the French at the concessions made by Bassompierre, the French ambassador, in the matter of the number of the queen's religious advisers, but to the urgent entreaties of the Pope's nuncio, who had never ceased, since the expulsion of Henrietta's priests, to call on Louis to avenge that insult to the Church, and had concluded a treaty with Spain, for mutual defence and for the punishment of England. They regarded the fleet preparing in the English ports, on the pretence of chastising the Algerines and giving aid to the Palsgrave, as really destined against France and Spain, and they planned not only a defence of their own coasts but a descent on the shores of England. It was agreed that Spanish ships should be received in French ports and French ones in those of Spain.

The English, on their part, swept the ships of all nations from the sea, on the plea that they might contain Spanish goods. Letters of mark were issued, and no nations were spared by the cruisers, not even those in alliance with England. The Hanse Towns, the Dutch States, and even the King of Denmark, had to make zealous remonstrances. Louis of France had not confined himself to remonstrances even before signing the treaty with Spain, but had laid an embargo on all English ships in French harbours. But now orders were issued by both the French and English Courts for the suspension of commercial intercourse between the two nations.

On the 27th of June, 1627, the English fleet sailed out of Portsmouth. It consisted of forty-two ships of war, thirty-four transports, and carried seven regiments of infantry, of nine hundred men each, a squadron of cavalry, and a numerous body of French Protestants, altogether about seven or eight thousand men. That it might this time succeed, the Duke of Buckingham took command of it, for in his self-conceit he attributed former failures to his not being on the spot in person, to give the troops the advantage of his consummate genius and experience; the whole of his military genius, if he had any, being yet to be discovered, and the whole of his experience amounting to having seen soldiers on parade. His plans were kept so secret—even from the friends with whom he was to co-operate—that arriving on the 11th of July before La Rochelle, the inhabitants refused to permit him to land. It was in vain that Sir William Beecher and their own envoy Soubise entreated them to receive those who were come as their allies and defenders: the people distrusted Buckingham, and declared that they would make no hostile demonstration against Louis till they had consulted the other churches and got in their harvest. This displayed a dreadful want of management on the part of the English; and Buckingham, thus shut out by those whom he came to support, turned his attention to the neighbouring isles of Rhé and Oléron, which the Huguenots had some time ago surrendered to their king. He decided to invade Rhé, and made his descent the very next day, on the 12th of July. His sudden diversion in this direction took Toyras, the governor of the island, by surprise; the small force with which he attempted to prevent their landing was defeated; but Buckingham, loitering on the shore for four or five days, in landing the remainder of his troops, allowed Toyras to convey the provisions, wine, and ammunition on the island into the strong citadel of the town of St. Martin. A small fort called La Prée lay in Buckingham's path, but he did not stay to take that, but pushed on to St. Martin. The castle stood on a rock overlooking the town and bay, and experienced officers were struck with great misgivings at the sight of it. Buckingham talked of taking it by a coup de main, but Sir John Burroughs, an officer who had acquired a real knowledge of war and sieges in the Netherlands, shook his head and pronounced the place next to impregnable, and that an attempt to storm it would be a useless waste of lives. It was then determined to invest the place in force; but Burroughs was equally dissatisfied with the unscientific construction of the trenches and batteries which were prepared. Buckingham, instead of benefiting by the counsels of this experienced officer, reprimanded him with a sternness which silenced more compliant men. In a few days a shot silenced altogether the honestly officious Burroughs, and the duke went on with his siege only to find that, as that officer had predicted, the fort defied all his efforts.

The news of this attack on France spread consternation amongst the allies of the Palsgrave; the prince himself, the States of Holland, and the King of Denmark, all hastened to express their astonishment and dismay at this rupture between the two great powers who should have enabled them by their united efforts to re-conquer the Palatinate. They would not admit Charles's representation of his obligation to support the French Protestants as of sufficient moment to induce him to destroy the hopes of Protestantism in Germany, and of his own sister and brother-in-law. They begged to be permitted to mediate between the two crowns: Denmark sent ambassadors instantly to Paris, to use its influence for that purpose with the French Court; and the Dutch deprived of their commissions all English officers in their service, who had joined the expedition to La Rochelle.

But they could not move Charles. He wrote to Buckingham, congratulating him on the success of his attempt on Rhé, which was yet no success at all; promising him fresh reinforcements and provisions, and exhorting him to prosecute the war with vigour and to listen to no proposals of peace. He applauded a proclamation which Buckingham had prepared, to assure the French Protestants that the King of England had no intention of conquest, his sole object being to compel the King of France to fulfil his engagements towards the French Protestants into which he had entered with them; that, despite these engagements, he had not dismantled Fort Louis, in the vicinity of La Rochelle; but, on the contrary, had endeavoured to surprise the town and reduce it by force to comply with his own religious demands. Charles, however, ordered Buckingham to make an alteration in the manifesto, so that instead of the defence of the Protestants being the sole cause of his coming, it should be the chief cause, and allow him to put forward other reasons for his hostilities as occasion might require.

With this proclamation in his hand, the Duke de Rohan made a tour amongst the Huguenot churches in the south of France, where the people listened to him with enthusiasm, and all who dissented from the vow to live and die with the English liberators were denounced as traitors. Rohan was empowered to raise forces and advance to the support of La Rochelle; but La Rochelle was in no haste to declare itself, for Richelieu had marched an army into the neighbourhood, and kept it in check. It was the last to hoist the flag of revolt, and it was for the last time.

But all this time Buckingham was experiencing the truth of the warnings of Burroughs: no impression whatever was made on the citadel of St. Martin. Charles's promised reinforcements did not arrive. He wrote to explain the causes of the delay—being the difficulty of obtaining mariners, and the slowness of the Commissioners of the Navy; but he assured him that the Earl of Holland was preparing to bring out fresh forces. On the 12th of August there was a rumour of an attempt to assassinate Buckingham by a Jesuit, with a thick three-edged knife; but a real wound was inflicted on his reputation by a French flotilla bursting the boom which he had drawn across the harbour, despite his fleet, and throwing provisions into Fort St. Martin, in spite of himself. This disaster produced violent altercations between his ill-managed army and fleet. The army charged the misfortune to the sheer negligence of the fleet, and the fleet only answered by loud clamours for pay, having, it appeared, received nothing the whole time.

Under these circumstances Buckingham displayed all the wavering confusion of mind which characterises an inefficient commander. One day he was ready to comply with the written requisition of the officers of the army to abandon the siege; the next, he determined to stay and assault the place. This miserable vacillation was ended by the arrival of the Earl of Holland on the 27th of October, with fifteen hundred men; and the La Rochelle folk sending eight hundred more, it was resolved to make a general assault on the place. On the 6th of November this assault began, but the cannonade produced no effect on the adamantine works and solid walls of the fort; the slaughter of the troops on all sides was terrible, and the attempt was abandoned. Buckingham then wished himself safe on board his fleet; but unfortunately for him and his army, Marshal Schomberg had now posted himself with a strong force on the island between him and his vessels. He had occupied and garrisoned Fort la Prée, which Buckingham had so imprudently left in his rear, and compelled him now to defile his army along a narrow causeway across the marshes, connecting the small island of Oie with that of Rhé. Nothing could demonstrate more forcibly the utter incompetence of Buckingham for military command than thus suffering the enemy to land and lodge in the line of his retreat. Schomberg now attacked the defiling troops in the rear with his ordnance, and the cavalry. The cavalry was thrown into confusion, and the pressure and disorder on the causeway became frightful; the artillery played upon them with dreadful effect, and numbers were pushed off into the bordering bogs and salt pits and suffocated. The destruction soon amounted to twelve hundred men, and twenty pairs of colours were taken. There was no want of bravery exhibited by either Buckingham or his men. Courage, it has been well said, was the sole qualification for a general which he possessed; he was the last to leave the beach; and the men once off the causeway, turned resolutely and offered battle to Schomberg. But that prudent general was satisfied to let them go away, which they prepared to do, to the consternation of the people of La Rochelle, who had risen on the strength of their promises, and were now exposed to a formidable army under the command of Gaston, Duke of Orleans, and Schomberg.

A really good general, though he had suffered serious loss, would still have thrown himself into La Rochelle and, with the sea kept open by his fleet for supplies, might have done signal service in defence of the place. But Buckingham was no such general. He determined to withdraw, contemplating another enterprise equally impossible to him as the taking of the citadel of St. Martin. He had an idea of the glory and popularity of recovering Calais, and communicated this notable project to the king. Charles was charmed with the project, and as he had assured Buckingham that he had done wonders, and almost impossibilities on the island of Rhé, so he anticipated an equally splendid result: this in any other man, except Charles, would have looked like bitter irony. In the eyes of the more sensible officers of the fleet and army, the notion of attempting the surprise of Calais with a reduced and defeated force, and under such a general, was scouted as madness. Buckingham turned the prows of his fleet homewards, and arrived towards the end of November. The fleet and army were indignant at the disgraceful management of the campaign; the people at home were equally so at the waste of public money, and the ruin of national honour; but Charles received Buckingham with undiminished affection, and took to himself the blame of the failure of the expedition, because he had not been able to send sufficient reinforcements and provisions. But he speedily received an impressive reminder of the consequences of this scandalously managed attempt. The people of La Rochelle sent over envoys to represent to him their condition, in consequence of listening to his promises; the French were beleaguering their town, and the most terrible fate awaited them if they were thus deceived and abandoned. Charles gave them comfortable words, and entered into a solemn engagement to stand by them so long as their forts could resist the enemy, and to make no peace without the guarantee of all their ancient liberties.

But how were these grandiloquent words to be redeemed? He had exhausted all the resources of his arbitrary exactions, and had incurred an additional amount of unpopularity by seizing and imprisoning numbers of those who refused to submit to a forced loan; and when they demanded a fair hearing through the exercise of the Habeas corpus, they were told that the king's command superseded that. The Crown lawyers, in fact, vaunted the royal will as the supreme law, whilst Selden, Coke, and the constitutional lawyers referred them to Magna Charta, which had been thirty times confirmed by the kings, and thus aroused a wonderful feeling of popular right in the kingdom.

Whilst such was the state of public feeling, the usual pressure for money rendered it necessary to adopt some means of raising it. Besides the requirements of the home government, the proposed aid to the people of La Rochelle made immediate funds necessary. To attempt extorting supplies by the modes which had so exasperated the public, was a course which all reasonable men regarded with repugnance and apprehension. Charles himself would have braved any danger rather than that of meeting Parliament, with all its remonstrances and demands of redress of public grievances; but his Council urged him to make another trial of the Commons, and he consented. The writs were issued on the 29th of January, 1628, for the assembling of Parliament on the 17th of March. Yet in the course of that very week the king proceeded to repeat the conduct which Parliament had so strongly condemned, and which must render its meeting the more formidable. He required one hundred and seventy-three thousand four hundred and eleven pounds for the outfit of the expedition to La Rochelle, and instead of waiting for a grant from Parliament, he ordered the money to be raised by a Commission from the counties, and that within three weeks. With that irritating habit which he had inherited from his father, he added a menace, saying that if they paid this tax cheerfully, he would meet his Parliament; if not, "he would think of some more speedy way."

Conduct so restless and insulting on the very eve of the opening of Parliament raised the wildest ferment in the public: the Commissioners shrank in terror from their task, and Charles hastened to revoke the Commission, saying that "he would rely on the love of his people in Parliament." This was on the 16th of February, but like Pharaoh, Charles repented himself of his momentary concession, and on the 28th he issued an order to raise the money which the counties had refused, by a duty on merchandise. The merchants were, however, not a whit more willing to submit to an illegal imposition, nor more timid than the counties. The ministers trembled before the storm, and anticipated certain impeachment; the judges pronounced the duty illegal, and once more Charles recalled his order.

What rendered the public more sensitive to these acts of royal licence was, that a number of foreign troops were about to be brought into the kingdom, on the plea of employing them against France, but which the people saw might be turned against themselves or their representatives. They were, therefore, worked up to a pitch of extreme excitement, and bestirred themselves to send up to the House of Commons a body of such men as should not be readily intimidated. Never before had Parliament assembled under such favourable circumstances. Daring as had been the king's assaults on the public liberties, this had only served to rouse the nation to a resolute resolve to withstand his contempt of Magna Charta at all hazards. Westminster elected one Bradshaw, a brewer, and Maurice, a grocer. Huntingdon sent up a far more remarkable man, one Oliver Cromwell, the first time that he had been returned to Parliament by any place. There was a general enthusiasm to turn out all such members as had been inert, indifferent, or ready to betray their trusts out of terror or a leaning towards the Court. When the members assembled the House was crowded; there were four hundred such men as had rarely sat in any English Parliament before. Both county and town had selected such brave, patriotic, and substantial freeholders, merchants, and traders, as made sycophants and time-servers tremble. They were no longer the timid Commons who had formerly scarcely dared to look the lords or even the knights in the face; they were well aware of their power, and in wealth itself they were said to be three times superior to the House of Peers. In running his eye over them, a spectator would see such men as Cromwell, Hampden, Selden, Pym, Hollis, Eliot, Dudley Digges, Coke, Wentworth (soon to apostatise), and others, with intellects illumined by the study of the orators, lawgivers, and philosophers of republican Greece, animated with the great principles of Christianity, and with resolutions like iron. Many of these men had been attended to London by trains of their neighbours, sturdy freeholders and substantial shopkeepers, more numerous than the retinues of any lords, such was the intense expectation of what might ensue, and the prompt resolve to stand by their representatives. And they were not deceived, for this third Parliament of Charles I. marked itself out as one of the grand land-marks of English history.

The king was conscious that if he hoped to gain his chief object from them—money—he must curb his haughty temper and assume a conciliating manner. He therefore, just before the opening of the Session, liberated seventy-eight gentlemen who had been imprisoned for refusing to pay the forced loan; he let the Earl of Bristol out of the Tower, though he lay under an impeachment for high treason; accorded the same favour to Bishop Williams, whom Buckingham had caused to be lodged there; and restored Archbishop Abbot, who had been suspended for refusing to license Sibthorpe's base sermon. But when he had made these concessions to popular opinion, Charles could not command his inveterate habit of threatening, and so spoilt all. In his opening speech he said:—"I have called you together, judging a Parliament to be the ancient, speediest, and best way to give such supply as to secure ourselves and save our friends from imminent ruin. Every man must now do according to his conscience; wherefore, if you, which God forbid, should not do your duties in contributing what this State at this time needs, I must, in discharge of my conscience, use those other means which God hath put into my hands, to save that which the follies of other men may otherwise hazard to lose. Take not this as threatening—I scorn to threaten any but my equals—but as an admonition from him that, both out of nature and duty, hath most care of your preservation and properties."

This was followed by an equally impolitic speech from the Lord Keeper Coventry, who informed the Commons that the king had come to Parliament, not because it was at all necessary, not because he was destitute of other means, but because it was more agreeable to the goodness of his most gracious disposition. And then he unwisely enough added, "If this be deferred, necessity and the sword may make way for others. Remember his majesty's admonition; I say, remember it."

Surely if the veriest novices in government had been set to talk to Parliament, they could not have done it in a more insane, blundering style. If the Commons had had as little tact as the king and his minister, there would have been hard words hurled back again, and the Parliament would have not been many days ere it ceased to exist. But the Commons had men as profound as these were shallow. They took all patiently, and set about quietly to determine on the question of Supplies. They came to the resolution to offer ample ones—no less than five subsidies, the whole to be paid within one year—but they tagged this simple condition to them, that the king should give them a guarantee against any further invasion of their rights.

As we have already stated, during the past year many gentlemen had been imprisoned for refusing to pay the demands of the king made without sanction of Parliament. Five of them had been, at their own request, brought before the King's Bench by writ of Habeas corpus, and their counsel demanded that, as they were charged with no particular offence, but merely committed at the particular command of the king, they should be discharged or admitted to bail; but both were refused. The question was now discussed by the House, and it was resolved that no subsidy should pass without a remedy granted against this royal licence. "It will in us be wrong done to ourselves," said Sir Francis Seymour, "to our posterity, to our consciences, if we forego this just claim and pretension."

"We must vindicate what?" demanded Wentworth; "new things? No; our ancient, legal, and vital liberties, by enforcing the laws enacted by our ancestors; by setting such a stamp upon them that no licentious spirit shall dare henceforth to invade them." In the repeated debates which followed, Sir Edward Coke particularly distinguished himself, old as he was, by his powerful and undaunted speeches. He called upon the members to stand by the ancient laws, and was seconded by other members, who narrated the breaking of those laws by the abuses of raising money by loans, by benevolences, and privy seals; by billeting soldiers, by imprisonment of men for refusing these illegal demands, and by withholding from them the benefit of Habeas corpus. In vain were the speakers warned by the Court party to beware of distrusting the king, who had been driven to these measures by necessity, and by others, who declared that such was the king's goodness that it was next only to that of God. But Coke cried out, "Let us work whilst we have time! I am absolutely for giving supply to his majesty, but yet with some caution. Let us not flatter ourselves. Who will give subsidies if the king may impose what he will? I know he is a religious king, free from personal vices, but he deals with other men's hands, and sees with other men's eyes."

This was approaching the subject of the favourite, which even the boldest were afraid of touching, but which Coke soon after entered upon plainly, and with all courage.

On the 8th of May the House passed the four following resolutions, without a dissentient voice even from the courtiers—1st, That no freeman ought to be restrained or imprisoned, unless some lawful cause of such restraint or imprisonment be expressed; 2nd, That the writ of Habeas Corpus ought to be granted to every man imprisoned or restrained, though it be at the command of the king or Privy Council, if he pray for the same; 3rd, That when the return expresses no cause of commitment or restraint, the party ought to be delivered or bailed; 4th, That it is the ancient and undoubted right of every free man, that he hath a full and absolute property in his goods and estates, and that no tax, loan, or benevolence ought to be levied by the king or his ministers, without common consent by Act of Parliament.

It was clear, from these resolutions, that unless Charles chose to forego his illegal practices of raising money without consent of Parliament, and of imprisoning subjects without any warrant but his own will, he must abandon all idea of the five subsidies; but his necessities were too great, and the difficulties in the way of continuing to plunder people at his pleasure too formidable to allow him lightly to give up the tempting offer. The Lords were less determined than the Commons, and this gave him some encouragement. The matter was argued in the Commons on his behalf by the Attorney-General and the King's Counsel, but they found the leading members of the House too strong in their knowledge of constitutional law to be moved from their grand propositions. In the course of the debate the interference of Buckingham was felt, and the brave Sir John Eliot did not let that pass without criticism. "I know not," he said, "by what fatality or importunity it has crept in, but I observe in the close of Mr. Secretary's relation, mention made of another in addition to his majesty, and that which hath been formerly a matter of complaint, I find here still—a mixture with his majesty, not only in business, but in name. Let me beseech you, sir, let no man hereafter within these walls take this boldness to introduce it."

On the 28th of May the Commons presented to his majesty their celebrated Petition of Right; a document destined to become celebrated, a confirmation of Magna Charta, and the origin of the Bill of Rights secured in 1688, on which rests all the fabric of our present liberties. This Petition was based on the four resolutions. It commenced by reminding the monarch of the great statutes passed by some of the most illustrious of his ancestors, which he had been so long and pertinaciously outraging; that the statute De Tallagio non concedendo, made in the reign of Edward I., provided that no tallage nor aid could be levied by the king without consent of Parliament; that by another statute of the 25th year of Edward III., no person could be compelled to make any loan to the king without such sanction; such loans being against reason and the charters of the land. There could be no dispute here—the king stood palpably convicted, and had he acted in ignorance, could do so no longer. It then went on: "And by other laws of this realm, it is provided that none shall be charged by any charge or imposition called a benevolence, nor by such like charge; by which statutes before mentioned, and the other good laws and statutes of the realm, your subjects have inherited this freedom, that they should not be compelled to contribute to any tax, tallage, aid, or other like charge, not set by common consent in Parliament: yet, nevertheless, of late, divers commissions, directed to sundry commissioners, in several counties, with instructions, have issued, by pretext whereof your people have been in divers places assembled, and required to lend certain sums of money unto your majesty; and many of them, upon their refusal to do so, have had an unlawful oath administered unto them, not warrantable by the laws and statutes of this realm, and have been constrained to become bound to make appearance and give attendance before your Privy Council in other places; and others of them have therefore been imprisoned, confined, and sundry other ways molested and disquieted; and divers other charges have been laid and levied upon your people in several counties, by lords-lieutenant, commissioners for musters, justices of peace, and others, by command or direction from your majesty or your Privy Council, against the laws and free customs of this realm."

The Petition next set forth that divers persons refusing to pay these impositions had been imprisoned without cause shown, and on being brought up by Habeas Corpus to have their cause examined, had been sent back to prison without such fair trial and examination. From this it proceeded to the fact that numbers of soldiers had been billeted in private houses, contrary to the law, and persons tried by martial law in cases where they were only amenable to the common law of the land; and moreover, officers and ministers of the king had screened soldiers and sailors who had committed robberies, murders, and other felonies, on the plea that they were only responsible to military tribunals. All these breaches of the statutes, the Petition prayed the king to cause to cease, as being contrary to the rights and liberties of the subject, as secured by the laws of the land.

The Petition was so clear, and the statutes quoted were so undeniable, that Charles was puzzled what to do. To refuse the prayer of the Commons was to forfeit the five tempting subsidies; to admit it simply and fully was to confess that he had hitherto been altogether wrong, and to leave himself no loop-hole of excuse for the future. Instead, therefore, of adopting the established form of saying, in the old Norman words, "Soit droit fait comme il est désiré," he wrote at the foot of the petition this loose and most absurd assent—"The king willeth that right be done according to the laws and customs of the realm; and that the statutes be put in due execution, that his subjects may have no cause to complain of any wrongs or oppressions, contrary to their just rights and liberties, to the preservation whereof he holds himself in conscience as well obliged as of his own prerogative."

This left the matter precisely where it was, for the king had always contended that he did nothing but what was warranted by his prerogative. The House felt this, and at once expressed their grievous disappointment. To add to their chagrin, Charles sent a message to them, informing them that he should dissolve Parliament on the 11th of June, it now being the 5th. A deep and melancholy silence pervaded the House, which locked the doors to prevent interruption, and debated the matter in all earnestness. A second message from his majesty, commanding them not to cast or lay aspersions on any minister of his majesty, added greatly to the concern of the House. On the day but one before Sir John Eliot had urged the necessity of a "declaration" to his majesty, showing the decay and contempt of religion, and the insufficiency of his ministers, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster had styled Sir John's speech "strange language," and had declared that if Sir John went on, he would go out; upon which the House told him plainly to take himself off. This had brought down the king's second message. The debate went on amid tears and deep emotion from strong and long-practised men; as if they perceived that the great crisis of the nation was come, and foresaw the bloodshed and misery which were to follow if they stood firm to their knowledge of the right; the slavery and degradation of England if they did not.

Sir Robert Philips, interrupted by sobs and weeping, said:—"I perceive that towards God and towards man there is little hope, after our humble and careful endeavours, seeing our sins are many and so great. I consider my own infirmities, and if ever my passions were wrought upon, it is now. This message stirs me up, especially when I remember with what moderation we have proceeded." These earnest and religious men feared that God was hardening the heart of the king as he had done that of Pharaoh, in order to punish the nation for its backslidings and wickedness. "Our sins," said Sir John Eliot, "are so exceeding great, that unless we speedily turn to God, God will remove Himself farther from us. You know with what affection and integrity we have proceeded hitherto, to gain his majesty's heart; and, out of the necessity of our duty, were brought to that course we were in: I doubt a misrepresentation to his majesty hath drawn this mark of his displeasure upon us. I observe in the message, amongst other sad particulars, it is conceived that we were about to lay some aspersions upon the Government. Give me leave to protest that so clear were our intentions, that we desire only to vindicate these dishonours to our king and country. It is said also as if we cast some aspersions on his majesty's ministers; I am confident no minister, how dear soever, can——"

Eliot was interrupted by Sir John Finch, the Speaker, who had for some time been more and more sidling away to the favour of the king, starting up and exclaiming, "There is a command laid upon me, to interrupt any that shall go about to lay an aspersion on the ministers of State." This was a clear infringement of the privilege of Parliament, which the House was not disposed to pass by. Sir John, thus snubbed, sat down, and there remained a significant silence for some minutes. Then Sir Dudley Digges rose and said, "Unless we may speak of these things, let us arise, and begone, or sit still and do nothing." There was another deep silence, at length broken by Sir Nathaniel Rich, who said, "We must now speak, or for ever hold our peace. For us to be silent when king and kingdom are in this calamity, is not fit. The question is, whether we shall secure ourselves by our silence—yea or no? Let us go to the Lords and show our dangers, that we may then go to the king together with our representation thereof." Prynne, Coke, and others, spoke to the same effect, and Coke was so overwhelmed with his feelings, grown old as he was, at the Bar, on the Bench and in the House, that he was obliged to resume his seat.

The House resolved itself into a committee for more freedom of discussion, and put Mr. Whitly into the chair. Finch, the Speaker, begged leave, as he was quitting the chair, for half an hour's absence. The House knew very well that he only wanted to run off and tell the king what was going on, but they let him go, and away he bustled to Whitehall. The House then passed an order, declaring that no man should leave the House under penalty of being committed to the Tower. Then Mr. Kirton rose, and declaring that the king in himself was as good a prince as ever reigned, said "it was high time to find out the enemies of the Commonwealth, who had so prevailed with him, and then he doubted not but God would send them hearts, hands, and swords, to cut all their throats." He added that the Speaker to desire to leave the House as he had done, was unprecedented, and to his mind ominous. Sir Edward Coke once more endeavoured to say what he had not been able to say before, but which must be said, and none so proper as this veteran statesman to say it. "I now see," he observed, "that God has not accepted our humble and moderate carriages and fair proceedings; and I fear the reason is that we have not dealt sincerely with the king, and made a true representation of the causes of all these miseries. Let us take this to heart. In the time of Edward III. had Parliament any doubt as to naming men that misled the king? They accused John of Gaunt, the king's son, Lord Latimer, and Lord Neville, for misadvising the king; and they went to the Tower for it. And now, when there is such a downfall of the State, shall we hold our tongues? Why," continued he, "may we not name those who are the cause of all our evils?" And he added, "Let us palliate no longer; if we do, God will not prosper us. I think the Duke of Buckingham is the cause, and till the duke be informed thereof, we shall never go out with honour, nor sit with honour here. That man is the grievance of grievances! Let us set down the causes of all our disasters, and they will all reflect upon him. As to going to the Lords, that is not via regia; our liberties are now impeached; we are deeply concerned; it is not via regia, for the Lords are not participant with our liberties. It is not the king but the duke that saith, 'We require you not to meddle with state affairs, or the ministers thereof.' Did not his majesty, when prince, attend the Upper House in our prosecution of Lord Chancellor Bacon and the Lord Treasurer Middlesex?"

The secret was out; the word was spoken! The name at which Charles and the duke had trembled, lest it should come into discussion, was, in spite of threats and messages, named; and the naming, and the charging with all the disgraces and miseries of the nation, were received with sudden and general acclamation of "Yea! yea! 'Tis he! 'tis he!" The day was come that James had so solemnly warned both Charles and Buckingham of—when they should have their bellyful of impeachments; having, as Coke now reminded them, themselves set the ball rolling. Aldred, in the letter just quoted, says:—"As when one good hound recovers the scent, the rest come in with full cry, so one pursued it, and every one came home and laid the blame where he thought the fault was, on the Duke of Buckingham, to wit." The duke was speedily accused of treachery and incapacity, both as High Admiral and Commander-in-Chief. All the disgraceful failures, at Cadiz, at La Rochelle, on the Isle of Rhé, and even in Germany, were charged upon his evil counsels or worse management.

Selden proposed a declaration to his majesty under four heads, expressive of the dutiful devotion of the House, of the violation of the nation's liberties, of the intentions of the House, and of the interference of the duke to prevent inquiry. He declared that all this time they had been casting a mantle over the accusation made against Buckingham, and that it was time to revert to that. "At this moment," says Aldred, "as we were putting the question, the Speaker, having been, not half an hour, but three hours absent, and with the king, returned, bringing this message—that the House should then rise—being about eleven o'clock—adjourn till the morrow morning, and no committees to sit, or other business to go on in the interim."

The next day the House met, when Finch apologised for his absence, and his going to the king, declaring that he had communicated nothing but what was to the honour of the House; and wishing that his tongue might cleave to the roof of his mouth before he spoke a word to the disparagement of any member. He informed them that his majesty had no desire to fetter their deliberations, so that they did not interfere with his ministers, and added words of courtesy from the king. The Commons observed that they had no intention of charging anything on the king, but must insist on inquiring when necessary into the conduct of his ministers; and the words of Mr. Kirton being found fault with, which intimated a hope that all those found guilty might have their throats cut, the House resolved that "he had said nothing beyond the bounds of duty and allegiance, and that they all concurred with him therein."

On the following day they went into committee, and commenced their labours of inquiry into the proceedings of the executive. They examined Burlemachi, a foreign speculator, as to a commission which he was alleged to have, for engaging and bringing into this kingdom troops of German horse. He confessed to such warrant, and to having received thirty thousand pounds for this purpose; one thousand of these horse being, as he admitted, already raised and armed, and waiting their passage in Holland. "And the intention of bringing over these mercenaries," said one of the members, "is to cut our throats, or to keep us in obedience!" Another member declared that twelve of the commanders were already arrived, and had been seen in St. Paul's. The House next fell upon a new scheme of excise, which it was proposed to levy without consent of Parliament, and voted that any member who had any information regarding this new imposition and did not disclose it, was an enemy to the State, and no true Englishman.

The danger which was obviously approaching Buckingham in the proceedings of this Committee alarmed the king; and the same day, the 7th of June, he commanded the Commons to meet him in the House of Lords, and then observing that he thought he had given a full and specific answer to their Petition of Right, but as they were not satisfied, he desired them to read the Petition again, and he would give them an answer which should satisfy them. Taking his seat on the throne, this was done, and he then ordered the former answer to be cut off, and the following, in the established form, to be inscribed—"Let right be done as is desired." "Now," he added, "I have performed my part; wherefore, if this Parliament have not a happy issue, the sin is yours. I am free of it."

Thus was passed the Petition of Right, the most important document since the acquirement of Magna Charta. The rejoicing for this conquest, this assurance of quieter days and secure firesides, sped through the City, and thence over the kingdom, and was everywhere demonstrated by acclamations, ringing of bells, and bonfires. On the 10th of June, three days afterwards, the king, as if pleased with this public expression of satisfaction, sent Sir Humphrey May to inform the House of Commons that he was graciously pleased that their Petition of Right, with his answer, should be recorded not only on the journals of Parliament, but in those of the courts of Westminster, and should, moreover, be printed for his honour and the content of the people. On the 12th the Commons showed their content by voting the king the five subsidies, and hastening to pass the Bill for five other subsidies granted by the clergy.

But the exultation over this great triumph did not prevent the Commons from pursuing their labours of inquiry into abuses. They obtained a judgment from the Lords against Dr. Mainwaring for his encouragement of kingly absolutism in his sermons, and censured Laud and Neale of Winchester, for licensing similar sermons; they then came to Buckingham himself, and voted a strong remonstrance against his undue influence and unconstitutional doings, which was presented by the Speaker to the king. The House felt itself highly aggrieved by a speech which the favourite was reported to have made at his own table—"Tush! it makes no matter what the Commons or Parliament doth; for without my leave and authority, they shall not be able to touch the hair of a dog." Buckingham protested that he had never uttered such words, and called upon the House of Lords to demand that the members of the Commons who had thus reported it should be called in to prove it; but the duke was forced to content himself with entering his protest on the journals of the Lords.

The Commons not having voted the tonnage and poundage, calculated that the king would not hastily dissolve the House, and therefore prayed him to remove Buckingham from his counsels, as the author of so many calamities; and they took the opportunity to remind him that tonnage and poundage could not be collected without their consent, as the king's concession of the Petition of Right testified. This called forth Charles again as hotly as ever. Though he had admitted, in granting this Petition, that no kind of duty could be imposed without consent of Parliament, he now sought to except the tonnage and poundage from this condition. He therefore, on the 26th of June, suddenly went to the House of Lords, and summoned the attendance of the Commons. The action had been so impromptu, that the Lords had no notice of it, and neither he nor they had time to robe themselves, when the Commons at nine o'clock in the morning made their appearance. All unrobed as he was, Charles seated himself on the throne, and lectured the Commons on their already beginning to put false constructions on his passing the Petition of Right. "As for the tonnage and poundage, it is a thing I cannot want, and was never intended by you to ask, nor meant by me, I am sure, to grant." And he called on them, but more especially the Lords, who were the judges, to take notice of what he declared his meaning to be when he granted the Petition.

The mischief had been done by former Parliaments granting this impost, now called customs duties, for life; and though Parliament had never altogether surrendered the power of voting it, nor had voted it for life to Charles, he had come to consider it as merged into a matter of prerogative, and not to be affected by his general concession just made. The Commons, however, meant nothing less than that this, as well as every other grant of taxes on the subject, should be void without their assent. Here, therefore, as so often afterwards, they found themselves just where they were with the king as matter of dispute, though they had settled the question as matter of right. No man was ever so hard as Charles I. to be made to see what he did not like. He therefore gave his assent to the subsidies, and prorogued the Parliament till October; and, as if to mark how far he was from intending to submit to what he had thus so solemnly in the face of the whole nation bound himself to, he proceeded to reward the men who had so shamefully advocated absolute power in him. He made bishops of both Montague and Mainwaring, and promoted Sibthorpe to coveted livings.

The king's attention was soon drawn from the battle with the Commons to the demands of the unfortunate people of La Rochelle upon him. He had solemnly pledged his honour to assist them, and they now sorely needed it. Since Buckingham left them to their fate, La Rochelle had been invested by the French army under the king and Richelieu, and the besieged loudly called on the King of England to succour them according to his promise. The Earl of Denbigh was despatched thither with a numerous fleet, yet had done nothing; but having shown himself before the town for seven days, returned, to the great mortification of the Rochellais. Denbigh had been raised to his rank and title simply for marrying a sister of Buckingham's, and the people murmured loudly at the fleet being put into such incompetent hands. The hatred of the duke rose higher and higher, and on the same day that he was pronounced by the Commons the cause of all these national calamities, his physician, Dr. Lambe, was murdered by a mob in London, and a placard was affixed on the walls in these words:—"Who rules the kingdom?—The king. Who rules the king?—The duke. Who rules the duke?—The devil. Let the duke look to it, or he will be served as his doctor was served." A doggerel rhyme was in the mouths of the common people:—

The king was extremely concerned when the placard was shown him, and added double guard at night; but the duke treated the whole with contempt, and prepared to proceed himself with the fleet to relieve La Rochelle. Charles went with him to Deptford to see the ships, and is reported to have said to Buckingham on beholding them, "George, there are those who wish that both these and thou may perish; but we will both perish together, if thou dost." Buckingham proceeded to Portsmouth, where he was to embark. Clarendon relates that the ghost of Buckingham's father had appeared to an officer of the king's wardrobe three times, urging him to go to his son and warn him to do something to abate the hatred of the people, or that he would not be allowed to live long. Since the demonstrations in London, it needed no ghost to show his danger. But he was never gayer than on the eve of the verification of the omens and the menaces.

The duke, on the 23rd of August, rose in high spirits, even dancing in his gaiety, and went to breakfast with a great number of his officers. Whilst he was at breakfast, M. Soubise, the envoy of the people of La Rochelle, went to him, and was seen in earnest private conversation. It is supposed that Soubise had come to the knowledge of certain negotiations between England and France, in which, though both monarchs showed every tendency to listen to an accommodation, neither had yet ventured to propose it; but that it was the object of Buckingham rather to treat than to fight when he got to La Rochelle. At that very moment Mr. Secretary Carleton had arrived from the king with instructions to Buckingham to open by some means a communication with Richelieu, and thus, as it were, accidentally to bring about a treaty. Probably Soubise had acquired hints of these things, for both he and many other Frenchmen about Buckingham appeared greatly discontented, and vociferated and gesticulated energetically. The duke, it is said, had been endeavouring to persuade Soubise that La Rochelle was already relieved, which he was too well informed to credit.

The duke now prepared to go out to his carriage, which was waiting at the door, and as he went through the hall, still followed by the French gentlemen, Colonel Friar whispered something in his ear. He turned to listen, and at the same moment a knife was plunged into his heart, and there left sticking. Plucking it out, with the word "Villain!" he fell, covered with blood. His servants, who caught him as he was falling, thought it was a stroke of apoplexy, but the blood, both from the wound and his mouth, quickly undeceived them. Then an alarm was raised; some ran to close the gates, and others rushed forth to spread the news. The Duchess of Buckingham and her sister, the Countess of Anglesea, heard the noise in their chamber, and ran into the gallery of the lobby, where they saw the duke lying in his gore. He was only in his six-and-thirtieth year.

The first suspicion fell upon the French, and they were in great danger from the duke's people; but when a number of officers came rushing in, crying out, "Where is the villain? Where is the butcher?" a man stepped calmly forward, saying, "I am the man—here I am!" He had quietly withdrawn into the kitchen as soon as he had done the deed, and might have escaped had he so willed. On hearing him avow the murder the officers drew their swords, and would have despatched him, but were prevented by the Secretary Carleton, Sir Thomas Morton, and others, who stood guard over him till a detachment of soldiers arrived and conveyed him to the Governor's house.

The assassin turned out to be John Felton, a gentleman by birth and education, who had been a lieutenant in the army during the expedition to the Isle of Rhé. He had thrown up his commission because he could not obtain the arrears of his pay, and had seen another at the same time promoted over his head. He had, therefore, most likely, a personal grudge against the duke, but had also been led on by religious fanaticism. He was a stout, dark, military-looking man, from Suffolk; but according to his own account, was first excited to the deed by reading the remonstrance of the Parliament against the duke, when it seemed to him that that remonstrance was a sufficient warrant for the act, and that by ridding the country of him he should render a real service to it. He described himself as walking in London on Tower Hill, when he saw a broad hunting-knife on a cutler's stall, and that it was suggested to him instantly to buy it for this purpose.

At Portsmouth one of the royal chaplains was sent to him in his dungeon, where he lay heavily ironed; but Felton, supposing the chaplain sent to draw something from him, rather than for his consolation, said, "Sir, I shall be brief with you; I killed him for the cause of God and my country!" The chaplain, to mislead him, told him what was not true, that the surgeons gave hopes of his life; but Felton promptly replied, "That is impossible! I had the power of forty men, assisted by Him who guided my hand." On being removed to London, the people crowded to see him, showering blessings on him as the deliverer of his country; and one old woman at Kingston said, "Now, God bless thee, little David!" meaning that he had killed Goliath. Felton was lodged in the Tower, and threatened with the rack to make him confess his accomplices, but he steadfastly replied that he had no accomplices or abettors but the remonstrance of the Commons. The Earl of Dorset went to see him, accompanied, as reported, by Laud, and menaced him with the rack if he would not reveal his colleagues. Felton replied, "I am ready, but I must tell you that I will then accuse you my lord of Dorset, and no one but you." Charles urged his being racked, but the judges, who saw better than he did the spirit that was abroad, refused to sanction it, declaring that torture, however used, had always been contrary to the law of England. Felton gloried in his deed, but at length, through the exertions of the clergy, came to confess that he had been misled by a bad spirit; yet it has been doubted whether he ever really abandoned inwardly the persuasion of having done a great and patriotic deed. When the Attorney-General on the trial lauded the virtues, the abilities, wisdom, and public services of Buckingham to the skies, Felton, on being asked what he had to say why judgment should not be passed on him, replied that if he had deprived his majesty of so faithful a servant as Mr. Attorney-General described, he was sorry, and extending his arm exclaimed, "This is the instrument that did the deed, let it be cut off for it!" He was hanged at Tyburn, and then gibbeted at Portsmouth, the scene of his crime.

In place of the duke, the Earl of Lindsay was ordered to take command of the expedition for the relief of La Rochelle, and he was accompanied by Walter Montague, the second son of the Earl of Manchester, who was to open a negotiation with Richelieu. Montague was already a Catholic at heart, and afterwards became so avowedly, and was made commendatory Abbot of Pontoise, and a member of the Council of Anne of Austria. No doubt it was from this known tendency that he had been chosen for this mission. For five days the fleet manœuvred before La Rochelle, and after two ineffectual, and probably rather pretended than actual, endeavours to force an entrance, returned to Spithead. Montague, meanwhile, had been introduced to Louis, had hurried back to London, and was on the point of returning, when the news came of the surrender of La Rochelle. This event put an end to the dreams of a Protestant State in France, and greatly consolidated the power of that country. To the Rochellais it was a terrible lesson against putting faith in English kings. When they were prevailed upon to surrender their peace and prosperity to the promises of protection and religious liberty, the town contained fifteen thousand souls; when they opened their gates to their own sovereign, they were reduced to four thousand. All this misery was the work of Charles and Buckingham.

This event had greatly grieved the Protestants in England, and it was whilst the public was brooding over these matters, and over fresh acts of arbitrary oppression in the Star Chamber and Court of High Commission, as well as by the continued levy of tonnage and poundage and other duties, that Charles called together Parliament. It had been prorogued to the 20th of October, but met on the 20th of January, 1629. The king sent the Commons a message, desiring them to proceed to vote the tonnage and poundage without delay, this having been neglected by the Parliament in the last Session; but the House insisted on going first into the grievances. These were two-fold—such as related to the constitution, and such as affected the faith of the nation. Charles had not only persisted in the enforcement of revenue without Parliament, and dared to tamper even with the Petition of Rights after he had granted it, but had issued a new edition of the Articles of the Church, into which he had introduced a clause to suit the intentions of himself and his great ecclesiastical adviser, Laud. The Commons agreed to take the religious question first, declaring that the business of the kings of this earth should give place to the business of the King of Heaven.

Popery and Arminianism were the things which the Puritans held in almost equal horror. In reference to Popery they inquired what was the reason that the laws regarding it were relaxed? and why out of ten individuals who had been arraigned for receiving ordination in the Church of Rome, only one had been condemned, and the execution of that one respited? Two Committees were appointed to inquire of the judges on what grounds they had refused to receive evidence tendered against the recusants at their trial, and of the Attorney-General by what authority he had discharged the persons in question, on their giving bail for their re-appearance. Every member was bound to give all the information to the House in his power regarding the relaxation of the penal laws, and all attempts or warrants to stay proceedings against the Papists.

But the growth and favour of Arminianism in high places was the most absorbing subject of animadversion. Laud, now Bishop of London, was bent not only on introducing Arminianism to its fullest extent, but ceremonies and rites merging fast into Catholicism. Therefore the Puritans declared the heresy of Arminianism to be the spawn of Popery. Laud had notions of Church government as absolute as Charles had of civil government. All the promotions by him were of Arminian clergymen. Montague was become Bishop of Chichester, Mainwaring was a bishop, and all those who meant to get preferment saw plainly that they must profess Arminianism, and the love of gorgeous ceremonies and plenty of surplices.

There were difficulties, however, for the Articles drawn up in 1562, under Elizabeth, stated:—"The Church hath power to decree rites and ceremonies, and hath authority in matters of faith." Mr. Pym called upon the House to take a covenant for the maintenance of their religious rites, which were in danger; and both he and others denounced the introduction of idolatrous ceremonies into the Church by Charles and others. Sir John Eliot protested vehemently against the introduction of the new clause into the Articles. He called on the House to enter not a mere resolution but a "vow" on its Journals against it, which was done; namely, "that the Commons of England claimed, professed, and avowed for truth, that sense of the Articles of Religion which were established in Parliament in the thirteenth year of Queen Elizabeth, which by the public acts of the Church of England, and by the general and current exposition of the writers of that Church, had been declared unto them, and that they rejected the sense of the Jesuits, Arminians, and all others wherein they differed from it."

The king sent the House a message, desiring them to leave matters of religion, and proceed to pass the vote for tonnage and poundage. This led to a sharp debate between the Court party and the Opposition. The courtiers lauded the goodness of the king, and the enlargement of their liberties which he had granted; but Mr. Coriton replied bluntly, "When men speak here of neglect of duty towards his majesty, let them know we know no such thing, nor what they mean. I see not how we neglect the same. I see it is all our heart's desire to expedite the Bill of tonnage and poundage in due time. Our business is still put back by their messages, and the business in hand is God's. And his majesty's things are certainly amiss, and every one sees it; but woe be unto us if we present not the same to his majesty!" On the 2nd of February the House, instead of the vote of tonnage and poundage, presented to the king "an apology" for delaying that Bill, and containing a complaint of his majesty's encroaching on the orders and privileges of their House by three messages in two days, urging them to change inconveniently the orders of their proceedings. Charles replied by a message through Secretary Coke that he was as zealous for the faith as they were, but must again think it strange that the business of religion should be an obstruction to his business. He once more desired them to pass the vote for the tonnage and poundage, adding one of his mischievous and most impolitic threats, of quickening them by other means if they did not.

The House, resenting this ill-advised message, went on discussing the affairs of the Church. Mr. Kirton, who had in the last Session talked of cutting the throats of all traitorous Ministers, now declared Laud and Neale, Bishop of Winchester, to be at the bottom of all the troubles that were now come upon them and their religion. On the 11th of February, in the Committee on Religion, Oliver Cromwell made his first appearance as a speaker in that House, a circumstance of great mark, seeing what the honourable member afterwards grew into. He said, "He had heard by relation from one Dr. Beard that Dr. Alabaster had preached flat Popery at Paul's Cross, and that the Bishop of Winchester had commanded him, as his diocesan, that he should preach nothing to the contrary. Mainwaring, so justly censured in this House for his sermons, was by the same bishop's means preferred to a rich living. If these are the steps to Church preferment, what are we to expect?" Whereupon the Committee ordered Dr. Beard to be written to by Mr. Speaker, to come up and testify against the bishop; "the order for Dr. Beard to be delivered to Mr. Cromwell." After severe animadversions on Neale, who, Mr. Kirton said, had leaped through many bishoprics, but always left Popery behind him, the House passed to the consideration of the Petition of Right.

Selden called the attention of the House to this subject, and showed that though Charles had promised that the Petition of Right should be printed, and that the king's printer had struck off fifteen hundred copies of that document, the king had sent for and destroyed them, and had then had printed and circulated another copy, from which the king's assent was removed, his first evasive answer restored, and his sophistical explanation at the close of the Session, that it did not apply to tonnage and poundage, introduced. This flagrant violation of his word and of all the forms of Parliament, struck the House with ominous doubts of ever binding the king by any law or by any principle. They summoned the king's printer to their bar, and demanded by what authority he had thus substituted a false for the true Petition. He replied that the day after the Session the Attorney-General had sent for him, and forbade him to publish the copy printed, as did also the Earl of Worcester, Lord Privy Seal; and that he was sent for again to Court, furnished with the new copy, and ordered to print and publish it in that form.

The House was in the highest state of indignation and astonishment. Such a deliberate falsification of a document passed by the House and ratified by himself, branded the king as capable of any act of duplicity, and went to destroy all confidence in not merely his word but his most solemn legislative act. The chief speakers of the Commons expressed their horror and disgust at the deed in no measured terms. Selden exclaimed, "For this Petition of Right, we see how it has been invaded since our last meeting. Our liberties of life, person, and freehold have been invaded; men have been committed contrary to that Petition. No man ought to lose life or limb but by the law, and hath not one lately lost his ears by order of the Star Chamber? Next, they will take away our arms, and then our legs, and so our lives. Let all see we are sensible of this. Evil customs creep in upon us: let us make a just representation thereof to his majesty."

The case of a merchant and member of the House, Mr. Rolles, was then related. His goods had been seized by the officers of the Customs for refusing to pay the rates demanded, though he told them that whatever was declared due by law, he would discharge. This case, amongst a multitude of others, threw the House into a great ferment. "They knew the party was a Parliament man," said Sir Robert Philips; "nay, they said if all the Parliament was with him, or concerned in the goods, they would seize them just the same."

The king, perceiving the storm he had raised, sent word by Secretary Coke to stay further debate on that case till three o'clock the next day, when he would speak with both Houses at Whitehall. Accordingly, meeting them there, Charles, after complimenting the Lords at the expense of the Commons, then said, addressing the members of the Lower House, "The complaint of staying men's goods for tonnage and poundage may have a short and easy conclusion. By passing the Bill as my ancestors have had it, my past actions will be concluded, and my future proceedings authorised. I take not these duties as appertaining to my hereditary prerogative. It ever was, and still is, my meaning, by the gift of my subjects to enjoy the same. In my speech of last Session I did not challenge them as right, but showed you the necessity by which I was to take them, till you had granted them, assuring myself that you wanted only time, and not good will. So make good your professions, and put an end to all questions arising from the subject."

These assertions were in direct contradiction to his declaration in that very speech which we have already quoted, that the tonnage and poundage was a thing that Parliament had nothing to do with. But the concession gratified the Commons; still they did not grant the Customs duties, but employed themselves strenuously in calling to account those who had been concerned in furthering or executing the king's illegal orders. They summoned to their bar Acton, the Sheriff of London, who had seized the goods of Rolles and other merchants, and sent him to the Tower. They summoned also the officers of the Customs who made the seizure, who pleaded the king's warrant, and also his own express command; and the king declared, through Secretary Coke, that he would defend them. This caused loud outcries in the House, but did not check their proceedings, for they sent messages to the Chancellor and Barons of the Exchequer, who excused themselves by saying all those aggrieved had their remedy at law. Thus they did not attempt to justify their proceedings.

On the 25th of February, two days later than these determined inquisitions, showing that the Commons were assuming high and most ominous ground, the Committee of Religion presented to the House a report, entitled "Heads of Articles agreed upon, and to be insisted on by the House." In these they complained that the bishops licensed books in favour of Popery, and suppressed books opposed to Popery; that such books as those of Mainwaring and Montague should be burnt, and some better order taken for the licensing of books. They demanded that candlesticks should be removed from the communion-tables, which were now impiously styled high altars; that pictures, lights, images, should be taken away; and crossing and praying towards the East forbidden; that more learned, pious, and orthodox men should be put into livings, and that better provision should be made for a good minister in every parish.

Again Charles sent them an order to adjourn to the 2nd of March, which they did, but only to assemble on that day in the same resolute and unbending spirit. Sir John Eliot immediately denounced Neale of Winchester, as a rank abettor of Arminianism, and thence passed on to the Lord Treasurer Weston, whom he declared to be his grand supporter in it. This Sir Richard Weston had been seeking his fortune at Court many years, and had nearly spent a private fortune of his own before he obtained any promotion. At last he got employed as ambassador to Archduke Albert in Flanders, and afterwards to the court of Germany, in which he discharged his trust so well that on his return he was made Chancellor of the Exchequer, and a few months before the death of Buckingham, Charles had removed the Earl of Marlborough from the office of Lord Treasurer, and given it to him. Weston was highly elated, and devoted himself with all his ardour to succeed to the place of favourite which Buckingham had held. But though Charles showed him much favour, and eventually made him Earl of Portland, he allowed Weston to succeed to the arbitrary offices and public odium of the duke, but not to the ascendency which Buckingham had possessed over him.

Sir John Eliot now pointed out Weston's criminal subservience to the worst designs of the king. "In his person," he said, "all evil is concentrated, both for the innovation of religion, and the invasion of our liberties. He is now the great enemy of the Commonwealth. I have traced him in all his actions, and I find him building on those grounds laid by his master, the great duke. He secretly is moving for this interruption; and from this fear they go about to break Parliament, lest Parliament should break them."

This was tender ground, and Sir John Finch the Speaker, who was a regular courtier, immediately said he had a command from his majesty to adjourn the House till the following Tuesday week. Several members declared the message to be vexatious and out of order, for that adjournment was a function of their own; but since the Speaker had delivered the message and that was sufficient, they would settle a few matters, and do as his majesty desired. Sir John Eliot produced a remonstrance addressed to the king against levying tonnage and poundage, and desired the Speaker to read it; but he refused, saying the House was adjourned by the king. Eliot then desired the Clerk of the House to read it, but he also refused, and so Sir John read it himself; but the Speaker refused to put it to the vote. Selden then told the Speaker that if he would not put the question to the vote, they would all continue sitting still. The Speaker, however, declared that he had his majesty's command immediately to rise when he had delivered the message; whereupon he was rising, but Holles, the son of the Earl of Clare, and Valentine, who had placed themselves on each side of him for the purpose, held him down in his chair. He made a great outcry and resistance: several of the courtiers rushed to his assistance, but Holles swore that he should sit as long as they pleased. The doors were locked, and there was a scuffle and blows, but the Opposition members compelled the Speaker to continue sitting, notwithstanding his struggles, tears, and entreaties.

Selden delivered an address to the imprisoned Speaker on his duties and his obedience owed to the House which sat under the Great Seal, and had power of adjournment as the king had that of prorogation. Sir Peter Hayman told him that he blushed at being his kinsman, that he was a blot on his family, and would be held in scorn and contempt by posterity; and concluded by recommending that if he would not do his duty, he should be brought to the bar of the House, dismissed, and another chosen at once in his place. Mr. Holles proceeded to read the following set of resolutions, which were loudly cheered, and assented to by the House, namely:—1, That whoever shall seek to bring in Popery, Arminianism, or other opinions, disagreeing from the true and orthodox Church, shall be reputed a capital enemy to this kingdom and Commonwealth; 2, Whoever shall advise the taking of tonnage and poundage, not being granted by Parliament, or shall be an actor or instrument therein, shall be reputed a capital enemy to this kingdom and Parliament; 3, Whatever merchant or other person shall pay tonnage and poundage, not being granted by Parliament, shall be reputed a betrayer of the liberties of England, and an enemy to the same.

Whilst these extraordinary scenes were acting, the king had come down to the House of Lords, but not finding the Speaker there as he expected, sent a messenger to bring away the sergeant with his mace, without which there could be no House. The doors were locked, and the messenger could get no admittance. Charles then sent the Usher of the Black Rod to summon the Commons to his presence, but he could no more obtain an entrance than the messenger. On hearing this, in a transport of rage, the king ordered the Captain of the Guard to break open the door; but this catastrophe was prevented by the House just then adjourning to the 10th of March, according to the king's message.

On the 10th of March the king went to the House of Lords, and, without summoning the Commons, proceeded to dissolve Parliament. He then addressed the Lords, complaining grievously of the conduct of the Commons, which compelled him at that time to dissolve Parliament. He expressed much comfort in the Lords, and conceded that there were in the Commons many who were as dutiful and loyal subjects as any in the world, but that they had some "vipers" amongst them that created all this trouble. He intimated that these evil-disposed persons would meet with their rewards, and bade the Lord Keeper do as he had commanded. Then the Lord Keeper said, "My lords, and gentlemen of the Commons, the king's majesty doth dissolve this Parliament;" though the Commons, with the exception of a few individuals, were not there, nor represented by their Speaker.

This question of the right of the Commons to determine their own adjournment, and to deny to the king the right of preventing the Speaker from putting any question from the Chair, was a vital one, and hitherto undetermined. If the king could at any moment adjourn the Commons as well as prorogue Parliament altogether, and could decide what topics should be entertained by the House, there was an end of the existence of the Commons as an independent branch of the Legislature: it sunk at once into the mere creature of the Crown. There was a great battle for this as for other popular rights, and the determined conduct of the members showed that things were coming fast to a crisis. But at this moment Charles was as resolved to conquer the Parliament, as Parliament was not to be conquered.

No sooner did this unprecedented scene with the Speaker take place, than he adopted measures to punish those most prominently concerned in it. The compulsory detention of the Speaker took place on the 2nd of March; on the 5th he issued warrants to arrest the "vipers"—Eliot, Selden, Holles, Valentine, Hobart, Hayman, Coriton, Long, and Stroud—and commit them to the Tower or other prisons. Stroud and Long were not immediately caught, but on the issue of a proclamation for their apprehension they surrendered. The houses of Eliot, Holles, Selden, Long, and Valentine were forcibly entered, their desks broken open, and their papers seized. On the first day of Michaelmas term they were brought into court, and ordered to find bail, and also to give security for their good behaviour. They were all ready to give bail, but all positively refused to give security for good behaviour, as that implied the commission of some crime, which they denied. They were then put upon their trial, but excepted to the jurisdiction of the court, being amenable only to their own high court of Parliament for what was done therein. But they were told that their conduct had not been parliamentary, and that the common law could deal with all offences there by word or deed, as well as anywhere else. This was another attack on the privileges of Parliament, which, if allowed, would have finished its independence; and these were not the men to surrender any of the outworks and defences of Parliament. They were then sentenced as follows:—Sir John Eliot to be imprisoned in the Tower, the others in other prisons at the king's pleasure. None of them were to be delivered out of prison till they had given security for their good behaviour, acknowledged their offence, and paid the following fines:—Sir John Eliot, as the ring-leader and chief offender, two thousand pounds; Holles, one thousand marks; Valentine, five hundred pounds. Long was not included in this trial, but was prosecuted in the Star Chamber, on the plea that he had no business in Parliament, being pricked for sheriff of his county, and by his oath was bound to have been there. He was fined one thousand marks. This, however, deceived nobody: every one knew that the offence for which he suffered was for his conduct in Parliament. The prisoners lay in gaol for eighteen months. Sir John Eliot never came out again. His noble conduct had made deadly enemies of the king and his courtiers, and even when he was dying, in 1632, after three years' confinement, they rejoiced in his melancholy fate and refused all petitions for his release.

Charles called no more Parliaments till 1640, but went on for eleven years fighting his way towards the block, through the most maniacal attempts on the constitution and temper of the nation. Laud was in the ascendant, and Wentworth, lately a member of the Opposition, who had now changed sides from motives that it would be absurd not to call conscientious, gave his great talents to the Court party. Laud was as much a stickler for the power of the Church as Charles was of the State; their views coincided, and Charles, Laud, and Wentworth, worked shoulder to shoulder in governing without a Parliament. They invented a cant term between them to express what they aimed at, and the means by which they pursued it. It was "Thorough."

Laud had introduced a passage into the ceremonial even of the coronation, which astonished the hearers, and showed even then that he aimed at an ecclesiastical despotism: "Stand and hold fast from henceforth the place to which you have been heir by the succession of your forefathers, being now delivered to you by the authority of God Almighty, and by the hands of us all, and all the bishops and servants of God. And as you see the clergy to come nearer the altar than others, so remember that, in all places convenient, you give them greater honour," etc. This haughty prelate now promulgated such absolute doctrines of divine right of king and priest, and began to run in ceremonies and Church splendour so fast towards actual Popery, that the daughter of the Earl of Devonshire being asked by him why she had turned Catholic replied, "Because I hate to travel in a crowd. I perceive your Grace and many others are making haste to Rome, and therefore, in order to prevent being crowded, I have gone before you."

Under this undaunted leader, the pulpits now resounded with the most flaming advocacy of divine right. A pamphlet was discovered by the Reformers, which had been written for King James, and was now printed, urging the king to do as Louis XI. of France had done—dispense with Parliaments altogether, and secure his predominance by a standing army. The queen's advice was precisely of this character: often crying up the infinite superiority of the kings of her own country and family, whom she styled real kings, while the English were only sham ones. But though Charles was greatly soothed by these doctrines, and strengthened in his resolve to trouble himself no more with Parliaments, he was careful to strengthen his Government by inducing as many of the ablest men of the Opposition as he could to join him. The first with whom he succeeded were Wentworth and Sir John Savile. They were both from Yorkshire, and both men of considerable property. Savile had been persuaded by Cottington the Lord Chancellor, to desert his patriotic friends and professions at the close of the second Parliament for a place in the Privy Council and the office of Comptroller of the Household.

Sir Thomas Wentworth was a much more considerable man. He claimed to be descended from the royal line of the Plantagenets, and had no superior in ability in the House. The position which he had assumed in the Parliamentary resistance to the royal encroachments had been uncompromising and most effective. So much were his eloquence and influence dreaded, that he had been, amongst others, appointed sheriff to keep him out of the House. For his continual opposition he was deprived of the office of Custos Rotulorum and thrown into prison. Yet, when tempted by the offer of rank and power, he fell suddenly, utterly, and hopelessly, and became one of the most unflinching advocates and actors of absolutism that ever lived. On the 21st of July, 1628, Savile was created a baron, and on the morrow Wentworth was raised to the same dignity, as Baron Wentworth; and before the end of the year he was made a viscount and Lord President of the Council of the North. From the moment that Wentworth put his hand to the plough of despotism he never looked back. He became as prominent and as resolute in the destruction of liberty and the prosecution of his former colleagues as he had been for its advancement and for their friendship.

The contagion of this conversion spread. Sir Dudley Digges had taken a conspicuous part in the contests which we have described, and had distinguished himself by his abilities in debate, sufficient to render him worth purchasing. His colleagues had long felt, notwithstanding his zeal, that he would not be proof to temptation. He was offered the post of Master of the Rolls, and he at once accepted it. Noye and Littleton, both lawyers, were as ready to advocate despotism as liberty, and the offer of the Attorney-Generalship to Noye, and the Solicitor-Generalship to Littleton, convinced them instantly that the Court was right, and their old cause and companions were wrong. They testified their capacity for seeing both sides of an argument, by persecuting their old opinions and associates with the red hot zeal of proselytes.

The rest of Charles's ministers were the Lord Keeper Coventry, who, though he appeared on several occasions as the instrument of Charles's arbitrary measures, was thought not to approve very much of them, and who therefore kept himself as much as possible from mixing in political matters. The Earls of Holland and Carlisle, the pusillanimous Earl of Montgomery, his brother the Earl of Pembroke, and the Earl of Dorset were rather men of pleasure than of business, and attended the Council without caring for office. The Earl of Arundel was Earl Marshal, a proud and empty man, whom Clarendon the historian describes as living much abroad, because the manners of foreign nations suited him better than his own, and who "resorted sometimes to Court, because there only was a greater man than himself, and went thither the seldomer because there was a greater man than himself." He was careless of pleasing favourites, and was therefore almost always in disgrace. Lord Weston, already mentioned, was Lord Treasurer, and the Earl of Manchester Privy Seal. Weston was an able lawyer, who succeeded Coke as Lord Chief Justice, and then purchased the office of Lord Treasurer for twenty thousand pounds, only to have it wrested from him again by Buckingham in about twelve months; but he was courtier enough to suppress his resentment, and had now again ascended to his present office, in which he was a very pliant servant of the king. Besides these, Sir John Coke or Cooke, and Sir Dudley Carleton, were Secretaries of State. Carleton had spent too much time in foreign embassies to understand well the state of parties at home, but he understood the will of the king, and took good care to obey and promote it. Coke was "of narrow education, and narrower nature," says Clarendon, who adds that "his cardinal perfection was industry, his most eminent infirmity covetousness." He knew as little of foreign relations as Carleton did of domestic ones; but their office was one of far less rank and importance than such office is now, their real business being to enter the minutes and write the despatches of the Council, not to participate in its discussions. Such were the instruments by which Charles trusted to render Parliaments superfluous. By their aid, but far more so by that of Laud and Wentworth, he soon raised the nation to a state of exasperation, which was only appeased by the blood of all three.

During the violent transactions with his Parliament at home, Charles had made peace with France. In fact, neither France nor Spain had shown a disposition to prosecute the disputes which the King of England had entered into with them. Louis sent home the prisoners he had taken in the La Rochelle expedition, under the name of a present to his sister, and Philip also released those who had been captured at Cadiz. Buckingham had been at the bottom of both wars, and now that he was gone all differences were soon arranged. Louis of France made a demand for the restoration of a man-of-war, the St. Esprit, which had been illegally captured by Sir Sackville Trevor; but he gave up the claim, and Charles was not very importunate in his demands of protection for the French Protestants. Richelieu, however, treated them far better than Charles treated the Puritans in England. He took measures to prevent the possibility of another coalition, by destroying the castles of the nobles and the fortifications of the towns, prohibited the convention of deputies from the churches, and abolished the military organisation of the Huguenots in the South of France; but he left them the exercise of their worship, and attached no disability to a profession of it. This peace was concluded in the spring of 1629, and in the following year that with Spain was also accomplished. The Queen Henrietta was violently opposed to this peace with Spain, because France was still at war with that country and the kindred House of Austria. When she found that she could not prevail on Charles, she is said to have shed tears of vexation.

It is curious that the first overtures to this peace were made through two Flemish painters; the celebrated Sir Peter Paul Rubens, and Gerbier, a native of Antwerp, who had been Master of the Horse to Buckingham. Cottington was despatched to Spain, in spite of the strenuous endeavours of the queen and the French ambassador; and in November, 1630, Coloma arrived as ambassador from Madrid. Philip accepted the same terms as were proposed in 1604, pledging himself to restore such parts of the Palsgrave's territory as were occupied by the troops of Spain—no very important extent—and never to cease his endeavours to procure from the Emperor the restitution of the whole. In consideration of this, Charles once more agreed to that mysterious treaty against Holland which had been in negotiation during the visit of Charles and Buckingham to Spain. This was no other than to assist Philip to regain possession of the seven United States of the Netherlands, which had cost Elizabeth so much to aid in the establishment of their independence, and which had always been, as Protestant States, so much regarded by the English public; with which a great trade was, moreover, carried on. The knowledge of such a piece of treachery on the part of Charles would have excited a terrible commotion amongst the people. For his share of the booty he was to receive a certain portion of the provinces, including the Island of Zealand. Luckily for the king, his treason to Protestantism remained a profound secret, and at length himself perceiving the difficulties and dilemmas in which it would involve him, after Olivarez and Cottington had signed the treaty he withheld his ratification. By this prudent act, however, he forfeited all right to demand from Philip aid in regaining the patrimony of the Prince Palatine.

Whether prudence, a rare virtue in Charles, or other more congenial motives, determined him in withdrawing from the compact with Spain regarding Holland is doubtful, for in the very next year he was found busily engaged with the Catholic States of Flanders and Brabant in a project to drive thence his new ally Philip of Spain. France and Holland were equally eager to assist in this design; but the people of Flanders were suspicious of them, dreading to find in such powerful allies only fresh masters. They therefore applied to the King of England, and a correspondence took place in which Secretary Coke was at great pains to show how much more to the advantage of the people of Flanders and Brabant would be the alliance of England, than that of the ambitious French, or of the Calvinistic farmers of Holland. In religion Coke was zealous to prove that the Catholic and Anglican Churches were almost identical; but his efforts ended, not in offering support in the coming struggle, but in promising to protect them against everyone except the King of Spain. Charles having recently made peace with the Spanish sovereign, "it would be against honour and conscience to debauch his subjects from their allegiance." But if what Coke proposed were not that very fact of tampering with them, it would be difficult to imagine what could be; and, moreover, it was just the King of Spain against whom they required protection. Coke advised them to declare their independence, and then the King of England, he told them, could help them as an independent State; and Philip would not then have cause of offence from Charles, but ought rather to be obliged to him for endeavouring to prevent the States from falling into the hands of France, or some other of his powerful enemies. This duplicity, however, was not by any means encouraging to revolt, and in the meantime Philip, learning what was going on, settled the question by sending into the Provinces an overwhelming force of soldiers.

But the war which ought to have excited the deepest interest in Charles as a Protestant prince, and as the brother-in-law of the Protestant Prince Palatine, was the great war—since called the Thirty Years' War—which was raging in Germany. It was a war expressly of Catholicism for the utter extirpation of Protestantism. The resistance had begun in Bohemia: the Protestants had invited Frederick of the Palatinate to become their king and defend them against the power of Austria and the exterminating Catholic emperor. We have seen that Frederick had, without weighing the hazards of the enterprise sufficiently, accepted the crown, lost it immediately, together with his hereditary dominions; and that all the efforts of England, Denmark, and of an allied host in Germany, had failed to make head against Austria, Spain, and Bavaria. Germany was overrun with the victorious troops of Austria, led on by the ruthless and victorious Generals Wallenstein, Piccolomini, Tilly, and Pappenheim. Horrible desolation had followed the march of their armies all over Germany; the most important of its cities were sacked or plundered; its fields were laid waste; its cultivation was stopped; its people were destroyed or starving; and, with the exception of Saxony and Bavaria, the power of the princes was prostrated, and they were thoroughly divided amongst themselves, and therefore the more readily trodden upon by their oppressors.

But at this moment relief came out of an unexpected quarter. Christian IV. of Denmark had attempted a diversion in favour of the German Protestant princes, and had not only been repulsed, but had drawn the Austrian generals into his own kingdom with fire and sword. But in Sweden had risen up a king, able, pious, earnestly desirous of the restoration of Protestantism, and qualified by long military experience, though yet a young man, to cope with any general of the age. Gustavus Adolphus had mounted the Swedish throne at the age of eighteen, and was now only seven-and-thirty; yet he had already maintained a seventeen years' war against Poland, backed by the power of Austria. But now an armistice of six years was settled with Poland. Wallenstein, the ablest general of Austria, had been removed from the command, in consequence of the universal outcry of the German princes, in an Imperial Council at Ratisbon, against his cruelties and exactions; and the far-seeing Richelieu, who was attacking the Spaniards in Italy and the Netherlands, perceiving the immense advantage of such division in Germany, had offered to make an alliance with the Swede.

On the 23rd of June, 1630, Gustavus embarked fifteen thousand of his veteran troops, and crossed into Pomerania. On the 17th of September the Swedish king gave battle to Tilly and Pappenheim before Leipsic, and routed them with great slaughter. This turned the scale of war: the cowed German princes once more raised their heads and entered into league with Gustavus, who soon drove the Austrians from the larger part of the country, took Hanau and Frankfort-on-the-Main, when Frederick the Palsgrave joined him, hoping to be established by Gustavus in his patrimony. But the brave Swedish king, who was highly incensed against Charles for not joining at his earnest entreaty in this enterprise, in which he himself was hazarding life, crown, and everything, of putting down the Catholic intolerance, and placing a Protestant emperor on the throne, though he received the Palsgrave kindly, gave him no immediate hope of restoration. The English ambassador was there, pressing this vehemently on Gustavus; but the Swede told him he regarded him only as a Spaniard in disguise, and said bluntly, "Let the King of England make a league with me against Spain. Let him send me twelve thousand men, to be maintained at his own cost, and which shall be placed entirely at my command, and I will engage to compel from both Spain and Bavaria full restoration of the Palsgrave's rights."

Gustavus was perfectly right. Had Charles dealt honourably and wisely with his Parliament and people, and husbanded his resources, here was the great opportunity to have re-established his sister and brother-in-law, and have had a glorious share in the victory of Protestantism on the Continent. Gustavus recovered Darmstadt, Oppenheim, and Mainz, and then took up his winter quarters. Meanwhile, the Saxon field-marshal, Von Arnim, invaded Bohemia and took Prague; whilst the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, and Duke Bernhard of Weimar, defeated several bodies of Tilly's troops in Westphalia and the Upper Rhine lands.

This sweeping reverse compelled the Emperor to recall Wallenstein to the chief command. Assembling forty thousand men at Znaim in Bohemia, he marched on Prague, and drove the Saxons not only thence but out of Bohemia altogether. Meanwhile Gustavus, issuing from his winter quarters on the Rhine, directed his course to Nuremberg, and so to Donauwörth, and at Rain on the Lech fought with Tilly and the Duke of Bavaria. Tilly was killed (April 30, 1632); and Gustavus advanced and took Augsburg in April, Munich on the 27th of May, and after in vain attacking Wallenstein before Nuremberg, he encountered him at Lützen, in Saxony, and beat him, but fell himself in the hour of victory (November 16, 1632). He had, however, saved Protestantism. Wallenstein lost favour after his defeat, was suspected by the emperor, and finally assassinated by his own officers (February 25, 1634). The generals of Gustavus, under the orders of Gustavus's great Minister Oxenstierna, continued the contest, and enabled the German Protestant princes to establish their power and the exercise of their religion, at the peace of Westphalia in 1648.

Charles, shamed into some degree of co-operation, had despatched the Marquis of Hamilton with six thousand men to the assistance of Gustavus; but the whole affair was so badly managed, the commissariat and general care of the men were so miserable, that the little army speedily became decimated by disease and was of no service. Hamilton returned home, and the remains of his forces under the command of the Prince Charles Louis, son of the Elector Frederick, were routed in Westphalia. Frederick himself, deprived of all hope by the fall of Gustavus, only survived him about a fortnight; and thus ended the dream of the restoration of the Palatinate.

At home Charles had determined to rule without a Parliament, but this necessarily drove him upon all those means of raising an income which Parliament had protested against, and which must, therefore, continue to exasperate the people. Between the dissolution of the Parliament in 1629, and the summons of another in 1640, these proceedings had apparently advanced the cause of despotism, but in reality they promoted the cause of liberty; the nation had been scourged into a temper which left no means but the sword of appeasing it. The first unceremonious violation of his pledge to the public conveyed in the granting of the Petition of Right was levying as unscrupulously as ever the duties of tonnage and poundage; and the goods of all such as refused the illegal payment were immediately distrained upon and sold.

The king next appointed a Committee to inquire into the encroachments on the royal forests, a legitimate and laudable object if conducted in a spirit of fairness and liberality. In every age gross encroachments have been made on these Crown lands, and especially in the reckless reign of James. But it would seem that the Commissioners proceeded in an arbitrary spirit, and, relying on the power of the Crown, often ruined those who resisted their decisions by the costs of law. The Earl of Holland—a noted creature of the king's—was made head of this Commission, and presided in a court established for the purpose. Under its operations vast tracts were recovered to the Crown, and heavy fines for trespasses levied. Rockingham Forest was enlarged from a circuit of six miles to one of sixty, and the Earl of Southampton was nearly ruined by the king's resumption of a large estate adjoining the New Forest. Even where these recoveries were made with right, they exasperated the aristocracy, who had been the chief encroachers, and injured the king in their goodwill. Clarendon says, "To recompense the damage the Crown sustained by the sale of old lands, and by the grant of new pensions, the old laws of the forest are revived; by which not only great fines are imposed, but great annual rents intended, and like to be settled by way of contract, which burden lighted most upon persons of quality and honour, who thought themselves above ordinary oppressions, and therefore like to remember it with more sharpness."

Besides the tonnage and poundage, obsolete laws were revived, and other duties imposed on merchants' goods; and all who resisted were prosecuted, fined, and imprisoned. But a still more plausible scheme was hit upon for extorting money. The old feudal practice, introduced by Henry III. and Edward I., of compelling persons holding lands under the Crown worth twenty pounds per annum, to receive knighthood, or to compound by a fine, had been enforced by Elizabeth and James, and was not likely to be passed over in this general inquisition after the means of income independent of Parliament. All landed proprietors worth forty pounds a year were called on to accept the title of knight and pay the fees, or were fined, and in default of payment thrown into prison. "By this ill-husbandry," says Clarendon, "which, though it was founded in right, was most grievous from the mode of proceeding, vast sums were drawn from the subject. And no less unjust projects of all kinds—many ridiculous, many scandalous, all very grievous—were set on foot, the damage and reproach of which came to the king, the profit to other men; inasmuch as of twenty thousand pounds a year, scarcely one thousand five hundred pounds came to the king's use or account."

A great commotion was raised by the king depriving many freeholders arbitrarily of their lands to enlarge Richmond Park, and he saw the necessity of making some compensation.

Another mode of raising money was by undoing in a great measure what the Parliament had done by abolishing monopolies. True, Charles took care not to grant these monopolies to individuals, but to companies; but this, whilst it arrested the odium of seeing them in the hands of courtiers and favourites, increased their mischief by augmenting the number and power of the oppressors. These companies were enabled to dictate to the public the price of the articles included in their patent, and restrain at their pleasure their manufacture or sale. One of the most flagrant cases was that of the Company of Soap-boilers, who purchased a monopoly of the manufacture of soap for ten thousand pounds, and a duty of eight pounds per ton on all the soap they made. The scheme was that of the renegade Noye; and all who presumed to make soap for themselves, regardless of the monopoly, were fined, the company being authorised to search the premises of all soap-boilers, seize any made without a licence, and prosecute the offender in the Star Chamber. There was a similar monopoly granted to starch-makers.

King James had formed the idea that London was become too large, and that its size was the cause of the prevalence of the plague and contagious fevers. He had not penetrated the fact that the real cause lay in the want of drainage and cleanliness, and he issued repeated proclamations forbidding any more building of houses in the Metropolis. The judges declared the proclamations illegal, and building went on as fast as ever. Here was a splendid opportunity for putting on the screw. Charles therefore appointed a Commission to inquire into the extent of building done in defiance of his father's orders. Such persons who were willing to compound for their offences, got off by paying a fine amounting to three years' rental of the premises. Those who refused, pleaded in vain the decision of the judges, for Charles had a court independent of all judges but himself, namely, the Star Chamber; and those who escaped this fell into another inquisition as detestable—the Court of the Earl Marshal. Sturdy resisters, therefore, had their houses actually demolished, and were then fleeced in those infamous courts to complete their ruin. A Mr. Moore had erected forty-two houses of an expensive class, with coach-houses and stables, near St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. He was fined one thousand pounds, and ordered to pull them down before Easter, under penalty of another thousand pounds, but refusing, the sheriffs demolished the houses, and levied the money by distress. This terrified others, who submitted to a composition, and by these iniquitous means one hundred thousand pounds were brought into the Treasury.

Simultaneously with these proceedings, Laud, Bishop of London, pursued the same course in the Church. He had long been the most abject flatterer of the royal power, and now, supported by Wentworth, went on boldly to reduce all England to the most complete slavery to Church and State. He was supposed to have the intention of restoring the Papal power; but such was far from his design. Neither Laud nor Charles dreamt for a moment of returning to the union with Rome, for the simple reason that they loved too well themselves the enjoyment of absolute power. Like Henry VIII., they could tolerate no Pope but one disguised under the name of an English king. Never did the Church more egregiously deceive itself than by suspecting Laud or Charles of any design to put on again the yoke of the Roman Pontiff. That spiritual potentate, deluded by such empty imagination, offered Laud a cardinal's hat, which was rejected with scorn.

On the 29th of May, 1630, the queen gave birth to a son, afterwards Charles II., who was baptised on the 2nd of July, the ceremony being performed by Laud, who composed a prayer for the occasion.

Charles had issued a proclamation forbidding any one to introduce into the pulpit any remarks bearing on the great Arminian controversy which was raging in the kingdom—Laud and his party in the Church on one side, the zealous Puritans on the other. Both sides were summoned with an air of impartiality into the Star Chamber or High Commission Court, but came out with this difference—that the orthodox divines generally confessed their fault, and were dismissed with a reprimand; but the Puritan ministers could not bend in that manner and sacrifice conscience to fear, so they were fined, imprisoned, and deprived without mercy. Davenant (Bishop of Salisbury), Dr. Burgess, Dr. Prideaux, Dr. Hall (Bishop of Norwich, whose poetry and liberality of spirit will long be held in honourable remembrance), and many others, were harassed because they did not preach exactly to the mind of Charles and Laud; but the treatment of Dr. Alexander Leighton, a Scottish Puritan preacher, was brutality itself. He had published a pamphlet called "An Appeal to Parliament, or Zion's Plea against Prelacy." It attracted the notice of the Government, which in June, 1630, had him dragged before the Star Chamber, where he was condemned to the following horrible punishment, than which the records of the Inquisition preserve nothing more infernal:—That he should be imprisoned for life, should pay a fine of ten thousand pounds, be degraded from his ministry, whipped, set in the pillory, have one of his ears cut off, one side of his nose slit, and be branded on the forehead with a double S.S., as a "sower of sedition." He was then to be carried back to prison, and after a few days to be pilloried again, whipped, have the other side of his nose slit, the other ear cut off, and shut up in his dungeon, to be released only by death.

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THE REIGN OF CHARLES I. (continued).

Visit of Charles to Scotland—Laud and the Papal See—His Ecclesiastical Measures—Punishment of Prynne, Bastwick, and Burton—Disgrace of Williams—Ship-money—Resistance of John Hampden—Wentworth in the North—Recall of Falkland from Ireland—Wentworth's Measures—Inquiry into Titles—Prelacy Riots in Edinburgh—Jenny Geddes's Stool—The Tables—Renewal of the Covenant—Charles makes Concessions—The General Assembly—Preparations for War—Charles at York—Leslie at Dunse Hill—A Conference held—Treaty of Berwick—Arrest of Loudon—Insult from the Dutch—Wentworth in England—The Short Parliament—Riots in London—Preparations of the Scots—Mutiny in the English Army—Invasion of England—Treaty of Ripon—Meeting of the Long Parliament—Impeachment of Strafford—His Trial—He is Abandoned by Charles—His Execution—The King's Visit to Scotland.

Having reduced the refractory members of the Church and of Parliament in England to silence for the present, Charles determined to make a journey into Scotland, there to be crowned, to raise revenue, and to establish the Anglican hierarchy in that part of his dominions. For the latter purpose he took Laud with him. He reached Edinburgh on the 12th of June, 1633, where he was received by the inhabitants with demonstrations of lively rejoicing, as if they were neither aware of the character and views of the monarch, nor remembered the consequences of the visit of his father. On the 18th he was crowned in Edinburgh by the Archbishop of St. Andrews; but Laud did not let that opportunity pass without giving them a foretaste of what was coming. "It was observed," says Rushworth, "that Dr. Laud was high in his carriage, taking upon him the order and managing of the ceremonies; and, for instance, Spotswood, Archbishop of St. Andrews, being placed at the king's right hand, and Lindsey, Archbishop of Glasgow, at his left, Bishop Laud took Glasgow and thrust him from the king with these words:—'Are you a Churchman, and want the coat of your order?'—which was an embroidered coat, which he scrupled to wear, being a moderate Churchman—and in place of him put in the Bishop of Ross at the king's right hand."

This question of the embroidered robes of the Roman hierarchy, with the high altar, the tapers, chalices, genuflections, and oil of unction, was introduced into Parliament, and forced on the reluctant Scots. They had voted supplies with a most liberal spirit, and laid on a land tax of four hundred thousand pounds Scots for six years; but when the king proposed to pass a Bill authorising the robes, ceremonies, and rites just mentioned, there was a stout opposition. Lord Melville said plainly to Charles, "I have sworn with your father and the whole kingdom to the confession of faith in which the innovations intended by these Articles were solemnly abjured." And the Bishop of the Isles told him at dinner that it was said amongst the people that his entrance into the city had been with hosannas, but that it would be changed, like that of the Jews to our Saviour, into, "Away with him, crucify him!" Charles is said to have turned thoughtful, and eaten no more. Yet the next day he as positively as ever insisted on the Parliament passing the Articles, and, pointing to a paper in his hand, said, "Your names are here; I shall know to-day who will do me service and who will not."

Notwithstanding this, the House voted against it by a considerable majority, there being opposed to it fifteen Peers and forty-five Commoners; yet the Lord Register, under influence of the Court, audaciously declared that the Articles were accepted by Parliament. The Earl of Rothes had the boldness to deny this and to demand a scrutiny of the votes; but Charles intimidated both him and all dissentients by refusing any scrutiny unless Rothes would arraign the Lord Register of the capital crime of falsifying the votes. This was a course too perilous for any individual under the circumstances. Rothes was silent, the Articles were ratified by the Crown, and Parliament was forthwith dissolved on the 28th of June.

Having thus carried his point with the Parliament, Charles took every means, except that which had brought upon him so much odium in England—namely, imprisoning and prosecuting the members who opposed him—to express his dissatisfaction with them. He distributed lands and honours upon those who had fallen in with his wishes, and treated the dissentients with sullen looks, and even severe words, when they came in his way. They were openly ridiculed by his courtiers, and dubbed schismatics and seditious. Lord Balmerino was even condemned to death for a pamphlet being found in his possession complaining of the king's arbitrary conduct in these concerns; but the sentence was too atrocious to be executed.

Charles and Laud erected Edinburgh into a bishopric, with a diocese extending even to Berwick, and richly endowed with old Church lands, which were obtained from the noblemen who held them. A set of singing men was also appointed for Holyrood Chapel; and Laud, who had been made a Privy Councillor, preached there in full pontificals, to the great scandal of the Presbyterians. Thence Charles and his apostle made a tour to St. Andrews, Dundee, Falkland, Dunblane, etc., to the singular discomfort of Laud amongst the rough fastnesses of the Highlands.

Immediately after this, Charles posted to London in four days, leaving Laud to travel more at leisure. No doubt both master and man thought they had made a very fine piece of work in this forcing of the Scottish consciences: they were destined in a while to feel what it actually was, in rebellion and the sharp edge of the axe.

Scarcely had they reached London, when they heard the news of the death of Archbishop Abbot, and Charles was thus enabled to reward Laud for all his services in building up despotism and superstition by making him Primate, which he did on the 6th of August, 1633. It was a curious coincidence that about the same time Laud received a second offer of a cardinal's hat, and he seems to have been greatly tempted by it. He says that he acquainted his majesty with the offer, and that the king rescued him from the trouble and danger; for, he adds, there was something dwelling in him which would not suffer him to accept the offer till Rome was other than she was. To have accepted a cardinal's hat was to have gone over to the Church of Rome, and the Church of England was for him a much better thing now he was Primate.

There undoubtedly did at this precise time take place an active private negotiation between the courts of Rome and England on this topic. The queen was anxious to have the dignity of cardinal conferred on a British subject. Probably she thought that the residence of the English cardinal at London would be a stepping-stone to the full restoration of Catholicism. Towards the end of August, immediately after Laud's elevation to the Primacy, Sir Robert Douglas was sent to Rome as envoy from the queen, with a letter of credence, signed by the Earl of Stirling, Secretary of State for Scotland. His mission was this proposal of an English cardinal, as a measure which would contribute greatly to the conversion of the king. To carry out this negotiation, Leander, an English Benedictine monk, was despatched to England, followed soon after by Panzani an Italian priest.

From the despatches of Panzani we find that there existed a strong party at the English court for the return to the allegiance of Rome, amongst whom were Secretary Windebank; Lord Chancellor Cottington; Goodman, Bishop of Gloucester; and Montague, Bishop of Chichester. He was informed that none of the bishops except three—those of Durham, Salisbury, and Exeter—would object to a purely spiritual supremacy of the Pope, and very few of the clergy.

Douglas was followed to Rome by Sir William Hamilton, to prosecute this secret business, but it all came to nothing, for the king, who was sincere in his attachment to the English Church, was not likely to listen to any proposal for submitting again to the yoke of Rome; and the Pope, on his part, would not comply with Charles's request to exert his influence with Catholic Austria for the restoration of his sister and her son in the Palatinate so long as they continued Protestants. Laud was therefore relieved from his temptation to receive the cardinal's hat by the resolve of the king to yield not one jot of his spiritual or political power; and a Scottish Catholic named Conn being at Rome, was mentioned as candidate for the purple instead. He came to England and was graciously received, not only by the queen, but the king too. He resided in England three years, but without the cardinal's hat, and was succeeded by Count Rossetti as the Pope's envoy. The rumours of the offers of the scarlet hat to Laud, and the residence of these Papal envoys in London, excited the jealousy of the people and added immensely to Charles's unpopularity; for no one felt sure of his real faith.

As Laud, however, could not array himself in scarlet as a cardinal, he determined to make the Anglican Church as Popish, and himself as much of a Pope, as possible. Before reaching the Primacy he had gone a good way. The spoliation of the Church by Henry VIII. and Edward VI., and their greedy nobility, had deprived it of the means of keeping the ecclesiastical buildings in repair. The Catholic Church in England had devoted the property of the Establishment to three objects: one, to the maintenance of the clergy and religious orders; the second, to the maintenance of the buildings of the churches and cathedrals; and the third to the support of the poor. Thus the patrimony of the poor was swallowed up by the aristocracy, and the maintenance of the poor thrown upon the country; and fixed there by the 43rd of Elizabeth. The patrimony of the public for the maintenance of Church buildings being equally shared by the Russells, Villierses, Seymours, Dudleys, and a thousand other Court leeches, neither Charles nor Laud, with all their stickling for the Church, dared to call upon them to disgorge their prey; but a proclamation was issued to the bishops for the repairs of all the churches and chapels, and they were to levy the necessary rates on the parishioners at large, and to exert the powers of the ecclesiastical courts against all such as resisted.

This excited a serious ferment amongst the people, which was greatly increased by the general opinion that these repairs should be done out of the tithes which they paid either to lay or clerical personages. Laud carried matters with far too high a hand to pay the slightest regard to these complaints, and he proceeded to consecrate such churches as were thus repaired, with all the splendid ceremony of Catholicism, as if they had been desecrated by their neglect.

He obtained a commission under the Great Seal for the repair of St. Paul's Cathedral. The judges of the prerogative courts, and their officials throughout England and Wales, were ordered to pay into the chamber in London all moneys derived from persons dying intestate, to be applied to the restoration of this church. The clergy were called on by the bishops in their several dioceses to furnish an annual subsidy for this object. The king contributed at various times ten thousand pounds, Sir Paul Pindar four thousand pounds, and Laud gave one hundred pounds a year. He was bent on making St. Paul's a rival of St. Peter's; and as more money became necessary, he summoned wealthy people into the High Commission Court on all possible pleas, and fined them heavily; so that there was a plentiful crop of money and of murmurs against the Primate, who was said to be building the church out of the sins of the people.

Laud had obtained for his devoted adherents Windebank and Juxon, Dean of Westminster, the posts of Secretary of State and of Clerk of the King's Closet respectively; thus, as Heylin observes, the king was so well watched by his staunch friends that it was not easy for any one to insinuate anything to Laud's disadvantage; and the Primate went on most sweepingly in his own way. He put down all evening lecturing, evening meetings, and extemporary praying. He re-introduced in the churches painted glass, pictures, and surplices, lawn-sleeves, and embroidered caps; had the communion-tables removed, and altars placed instead, and railed in; and he carried his innovations with such an arbitrary hand that many who might have approved of them in themselves were set against them. The stricter reformers complained of the looseness with which the Sabbath was kept, and the Lord Chief Justice Richardson and Baron Denham issued an order in the western circuit to put an end to the disorders attending church-ales, bid-ales, clerk-ales, and the like. But no sooner did Laud hear of it than he had the Lord Chief Justice summoned before the Council and severely reprimanded as interfering with the commands of King James for the practice of such Sunday sports, as recommended in his Book of Sports, and since confirmed by Charles.

The country magistrates, who had seen the demoralisation consequent on these sports and Sunday gatherings at the ale-houses, petitioned the king to put them down; and the petition was signed by Lord Paulet, Sir William Portman, Sir Ralph Hopeton, and many other gentlemen of distinction. But they were forestalled by the agility of Laud, who procured from the king a declaration sanctioning all the Sunday amusements to be found in the Book of Sports, and commanding all judges on circuit, and all justices of the peace, to see that no man was molested on that account. This declaration was ordered to be read in all parish churches by the clergy. Many conscientious clergy, who had seen too much of the dissolute riots resulting from these rude gatherings on Sundays, refused to read the declaration, and were suspended from their duties, and prosecuted to such a degree that they had no alternative but to emigrate to America.

This dictation of Laud extended over the whole kingdom, into Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. Charles was urged to issue proclamation after proclamation interfering in things entirely beyond the range of his episcopal jurisdiction, such as regulating the price of poultry and the retailing of tobacco. In Ireland, Wentworth, now made Lord Deputy, went hand-in-hand with him. That he might the better interfere in all kinds of matters Laud was appointed in 1634 Chief of the Board of Commissioners of the Exchequer, and—on the death of Weston, Lord Portland—the Lord High Treasurer. He then got his friend Juxon made Bishop of London, and in about a year surrendered to him the Treasurership, to the surprise and murmuring of many, for Juxon, till the primate brought him forward, was a man of no mark whatever. Lord Chancellor Cottington, who had been a fast friend of Laud's, and calculated on the white staff of the Treasurer, now fell away from Laud, and many noblemen who had had an eye to it began to prophesy what the end of his career would be. But the University of Oxford, going the whole way with him in his advances towards Popery, styled him "His Holiness Summus Pontifex, Spiritu Sancto effusissime plenus, Archangelus et nequid minus!" And Laud accepted all this base adulation, and declared that these revolting titles were quite proper, because they had been applied to the popes and fathers of the Romish Church. In fact, he desired to be the pope of England.

And in this great Papal authority he was fain to stretch his coercing hand over the churches wherever they were. He procured an order in Council to shut the English factories in Holland, and compel the troops serving there to conform to the Liturgy of the Church of England. Most of the merchants and many of these soldiers had gone thither expressly to enjoy their own forms of religion; but no matter, they must conform. And says Heylin, "The like course was prescribed for our factories in Hamburg, and those farther off, that is to say in Turkey, in the Mogul's dominions, the Indian islands, the plantations in Virginia, the Barbadoes, and all other places where the English had any standing residence in the way of trade." This order was to be carried into the houses and establishments of all ambassadors and consuls abroad.

William Prynne was a young graduate of Oxford, originally from Painswick, near Bath, but now an outer barrister of Lincoln's Inn. He was a thorough Puritan, grave, stern in his ideas, and rigid in his morals, a man who was ready to sacrifice reputation, life, and everything, for his high ideal of religious truth. He was persuaded that much of the dissoluteness of the young men around him arose from the debasing effect of frequenting the theatres; and in that he was probably correct, for the theatres were not in that age, nor for long after, fitting schools for youth. He therefore wrote (1632) a volume of a thousand pages against the stage, called "Histriomastix." He stated that forty thousand copies of plays had been exposed for sale within two years, and were eagerly bought up; that the theatres were the chapels of Satan, the players his ministers, and their frequenters were rushing headlong into hell. Dancing was, in his opinion, an equally diabolical amusement, and every pace was a step nearer to Tophet. Dancing made the ladies of England "frizzled madams," polluted their modesty, and would destroy them as it had done Nero, and led three Romans to assassinate Gallienus. He went on to attack everything that Laud had been supporting—Maypoles, public festivals, church-ales, music, and Christmas carols: the cringings and duckings at the altar which Laud had so much fostered, and all the silk and satin divines, their pluralities, and their bellowing chants in the Church.

Laud had made two vain attempts to lay hold on this pestilent satirist, but the lawyers had defeated him by injunctions from Westminster Hall. But the third time, by accusing him more exclusively of reflecting on the king and queen by his strictures on dancing, he obtained an order for the Attorney-General Noye to indict him in the Star Chamber. There he was condemned to be excluded from the bar and from Lincoln's Inn, to be deprived of his University degree, to pay a fine of five thousand pounds, to have his book burnt before his face by the hangman, to stand in the pillory at Westminster and in Cheapside, at each place to lose an ear, and afterwards to be imprisoned for life. This most detestable sentence was carried into effect in May, 1634, with brutal ferocity, although the queen interceded earnestly in his favour, and the nation denounced the barbarity in no equivocal language.

Prynne, undaunted, nay, exasperated to greater daring by this cruelty, resumed the subject in his prison, whence he issued a tract (1637) styled "News from Ipswich," in which he charged the prelates with being the bishops of Lucifer, devouring wolves, and execrable traitors, who had overthrown the simplicity of the Gospel to introduce the superstitions of Popery. He had found in prison a congenial soul, Dr. Bastwick, a physician, who had written a treatise against the bishops, called "Elenchus papismi et flagellum episcoporum Latialium," for which he had been condemned to pay a fine of one thousand pounds to the king, to be imprisoned two years, and to make recantation. He now, that is in 1636, wrote a fresh tract: "Apologeticus ad præsules Anglicanos," and (in 1637) the "Litanie of John Bastwick, doctor of physic, lying in Limbo patrum," in which he attacked both the bishops' and Laud's service books.

A third person was Henry Burton, who had been chaplain to Charles when on his journey to Spain; but being now incumbent of St. Matthew's, in London, he had preached against the bishops as "blind watchmen, dumb dogs, ravening wolves, anti-Christian mushrooms, robbers of souls, limbs of the beast, and factors of antichrist."

These zealous religionists, whom the cruelties and follies of Laud and his bishops had driven almost beside themselves, were condemned in the Star Chamber to be each fined five thousand pounds, to stand two hours in the pillory, where they were to have their ears cut off, to be branded on both cheeks with the letters S.L., for "seditious libeller," and then imprisoned for life.

This sentence, than which the Spanish Inquisition has nothing worse to show, was fully executed in Old Palace Yard, on the 30th of June, 1637. Prynne from the pillory defied all Lambeth, with the Pope at its back, to prove to him that such doings were according to the law of England; and if he failed to prove them violators of that law and the law of God, they were at liberty to hang him at the door of the Gate House prison. On hearing this the people gave a great shout; but the executioner, as if incited to more cruelty, cut off their ears as barbarously as possible, rather sawing than cutting them. Prynne, who is said to have had his ears sewed on again on the former occasion, had them now gouged out, as it were; yet as the hangman sawed at them he cried out, "Cut me, tear me, I fear thee not. I fear the fire of hell, but not thee!" Burton, too, harangued the people for a long time most eloquently; but the sun blazing hotly in their faces all the time, he was near fainting, when he was carried into a house in King Street, saying, "It is too hot! Too hot, indeed!"

This most disgraceful exhibition made a terrible impression on the spectators, of whom the king was informed that there were one hundred thousand; whilst the executioner sawed at the ears of the prisoners they assailed him with curses, hisses, and groans. Both Charles and Laud were unpleasantly surprised at the effect produced; and to remove the sufferers from public sympathy, they determined to send them to distant and solitary prisons, far separate from each other—to Launceston, Carnarvon, and Lancaster. But the king and his high priest were still more amazed and alarmed when they found on the removal of the prisoners the crowds were equally immense, and that they went along from place to place in a kind of triumph. To attend Burton from Smithfield to two miles beyond Highgate, there were again at least one hundred thousand people, who testified their deep sympathy, and threw money into the coach to his wife as she drove along. Money and presents were also offered to Prynne, but he refused them. Gentlemen of wealth and station pressed to see and condole with the prisoners, whom they honoured and applauded as martyrs. When Prynne reached Chester, on his way to Carnarvon, one of the sheriffs, attended by a number of gentle men, met him, invited him to a good dinner, discharged the cost, and gave him some hangings to furnish his dungeon with in Carnarvon Castle.

This popular demonstration still more startled Laud, who summoned the sheriff, as well as the other gentlemen, before the High Commission Court at York, where they were fined in sums varying from two hundred and fifty pounds to five hundred pounds, and condemned to acknowledge their offence before the congregation in the cathedral and the Corporation in the town hall of Chester. The prisoners themselves were ordered to be removed farther still, and accordingly Bastwick was sent to the Isle of Scilly, Burton to the Castle of Cornet in Guernsey, and Prynne to that of Mount Orgueil in Jersey. But the king and archbishop had now roused a spirit, by their cutting off of ears, which would be satisfied ere long with nothing less than their whole heads.

To stop the outcry against their cruelties, they next determined to gag the press. An order was therefore issued by the Star Chamber, forbidding all importation of foreign books, and the printing of any at home without licence. All books on religion, physic, literature, and poetry must be licensed by the bishops, so that all truths unpleasant to the Church would thus be suppressed. There were to be allowed only twenty master printers in the kingdom, except those of his majesty and the universities; no printer was to have more than two presses nor two apprentices, except the warden of the Company. There were to be only four letter-founders; and whoever presumed to print without licence was to be whipped through London and set in the pillory. All this time the High Commission Court kept pace with the Star Chamber in its prosecutions and arbitrary fines, under pretence of protecting public morals.

Laud soon had delinquents against the atrocious order for gagging the press. In about six months after the infliction of the sentence on Prynne and his associates, he cited into the Star Chamber John Lilburne and John Warton, for printing Prynne's "News from Ipswich" and other books called libellous (1638). The accused refused to take the oath proposed to them, protesting against the lawfulness of the court. Being called up several times, and still obstinately refusing, they were condemned to be fined five hundred pounds apiece, Lilburne to be whipped from the Fleet to the pillory, and both to be bound to their good behaviour. Lilburne was one of the most determined of men. He continued to declaim violently against the tyranny of Laud and his bishops whilst he was standing in the pillory and undergoing his whipping. He drew from his pockets a number of the very pamphlets he was punished for printing, and scattered them from the pillory amongst the crowd. The court of Star Chamber being informed of his conduct, sent and had him gagged; but he then stamped with his feet to intimate that he would still speak if he could. He was then thrown into the Fleet, heavily ironed and in solitude.

To complete Laud's attacks on all persons and parties, there lacked only an onslaught on the episcopal bench, and there he found Williams, formerly Lord Keeper, and still Bishop of Lincoln, for a victim. Williams, with all his faults, had been a true friend of Laud's at a time when he had very few, and the wily upstart had declared that his very life would be too short to demonstrate his gratitude: but he took full occasion to display towards him his ingratitude. From the moment that Laud was introduced to the king, Williams could ill conceal his disgust at the clerical adventurer's base adulation. But Laud continued to ascend and Williams to descend. Williams having lost the seals, retired to his diocese, where he made himself very popular by his talents, his agreeable manners, his hospitality, and still more by his being regarded as a victim of the arbitrary spirit of the king and of Laud. Williams, who had a stinging wit, launched a tract at the head of the Primate, called the "Holy Table," in which he unmercifully satirised Laud's parade of high altars and Popish ceremonies. The Primate very speedily had him in the Star Chamber, where he received private information that if he would give up to Laud his deanery of Westminster, that disinterested prelate would let the prosecution slip. Williams refused, and then commenced one of the most disgraceful scenes in history. Laud, Windebank, and the king were determined to force the deanery and a heavy fine from him. They browbeat his witnesses; threw them into prison to compel them to swear falsely; removed Chief Justice Heath to put in a more pliant man; and at length, through the medium of Lord Cottington, induced Williams, from terror of worse, to give up the deanery and pay a fine of ten thousand pounds. His servants and agents, Walker, Catlin, and Lunn, were fined three hundred pounds apiece, and Powell two hundred pounds.

This being done, Laud uttered a most hypocritical speech, professing high admiration of the talents, wisdom, learning, and various endowments of Williams, and his sorrow to see him thus punished, declaring that he had gone five times on his knees to the king to sue for his pardon. But even so Williams was not destined to escape. The officers who went to take possession of his effects, found amongst his papers two letters from Osbaldeston, master of Westminster School, in one of which he said that the great leviathan—the late Lord Treasurer, Portland—and the little urchin—Laud—were in a storm; and in the other, that "there was great jealousy between the leviathan and the little meddling hocus-pocus."

This, which was no crime of Williams, but of Osbaldeston, was, however, made a crime of both. Williams was condemned on the charge of concealing a libel on a public officer, and fined eight thousand pounds more, and to suffer imprisonment during the king's pleasure. The chief offender, Osbaldeston, could not be found; he had left a note saying he was "gone beyond Canterbury;" but he was sentenced to deprivation of his office, to be branded, and stand opposite to his own school in the pillory, with his ears nailed to it. He took good care, however, not to fall into such merciless hands.

Besides those means of raising a permanent revenue for the Crown, independent of Parliament, which we have already detailed—as tonnage and poundage, the fees on compulsory knighthood, and the resumption of forest lands,—there was discovered another which was owing to the ingenuity of Attorney-General Noye. The landed proprietors had been much alarmed by the rumours that the king would lay claim to the greater part of every county in England except Kent, Sussex, and Surrey, but the whole public was struck with consternation at the additional project of the Attorney-General. As he had been always of a surly and morose disposition, he carried this ungracious manner with him into his apostacy. Formerly he had acted like a rude ill-tempered patriot, now he was the more odious from being at once obsequious to the Crown, and coarsely insolent to those whose rights he had invaded.

In the Records of the Tower he discovered writs compelling the ports and maritime counties to provide a certain number of ships during war, or for protecting the coasts from pirates. It was now declared that the seas were greatly infested with Turkish corsairs, who not only intercepted our merchantmen at sea, but made descents on the coast of Ireland and carried off the inhabitants into slavery. The French and Dutch mariners, it was added, were continually interrupting our trade, and making prizes of our trading vessels. It was necessary to assert our right to the sovereignty of the narrow seas, which, it was contended, "our progenitors, Kings of England, had always possessed, and that it would be very irksome to us if that princely honour in our time should be lost, or in anything diminished."

But the real cause was that Charles was at that time, 1634, engaged in the treaty with Spain to assist it against the United Provinces of Holland, on condition that Philip engaged to restore the Palsgrave. Noye's scheme was highly approved and supported by the Lord Keeper Coventry. On the 20th of October, 1634, a writ was issued by the Lords of the Council, signed by the king, to the city of London, commanding it to furnish before the 1st of March next, seven ships, with all the requisite arms, stores, and tackling, and wages for the men for twenty-six weeks. One ship was to be of nine hundred tons, and to carry three hundred and fifty men; another of eight hundred tons, with two hundred and sixty men; four ships of five hundred tons, with two hundred men each; and one of three hundred tons, with one hundred and fifty men. The Common Council and citizens humbly remonstrated against the demand as one from which they were exempt by their charters, but the Council treated their objections with contempt, and compelled them to submit.

In the spring of 1635 similar writs were issued to the maritime counties, and even sent into the interior, a most unheard-of demand; and instructions were forwarded to all parts, signed by Laud, Coventry, Juxon, Cottington, and the rest of the Privy Council, ordering the sheriffs to collect the money which was to be levied instead of ships, at the rate of three thousand three hundred pounds for every ship. They were to distrain on all who refused, and take care that no arrears were left to their successors. The demand occasioned both murmuring and resistance. The deputy-lieutenants of some inland counties wrote to the Council, begging that the inhabitants might be excused this unprecedented tax; but they were speedily called before the Council, and severely reprimanded. The people on the coasts of Sussex absolutely refused to pay, but they were soon forced by the sheriffs to submit. Noye died before this took place, and squibs regarding him were publicly placarded, saying that his body being opened, a bundle of proclamations was found in his head, worm-eaten records were discovered in his stomach, and a barrel of soap, alluding to the enforcement of the monopoly on that article, was found in his paunch.

To put an end to all murmurs or resistance, Charles determined to have the sanction of the judges, knowing that he could not have that of Parliament. He therefore removed Chief Justice Heath on this and other accounts, and put in his place the supple Sir John Finch, lately conspicuous as Speaker of the Commons. The questions submitted to the judges were whether, when the good and safety of the realm demanded it, the king could not levy this ship-money, and whether he was not the proper and sole judge of the danger and the necessity. Finch canvassed his brethren of the Bench individually and privately. The judges met in Serjeant's Inn on the 12th of February, 1636, when they were all perfectly unanimous except Croke and Hutton, who, however, subscribed, on the ground that the opinion of a majority settled the matter.

To obtain this opinion, Charles had let the judges know through Finch, that he only required their decision for his private satisfaction; but they were startled to find their sanction immediately proclaimed by the Lord Keeper Coventry in the Star Chamber, order given that it should be enrolled in all the courts at Westminster, and themselves required to make it known from the Bench on their circuits through the country. Nor was this all, for Wentworth, now become a full-fledged agent of despotism, contended that "since it is lawful for the king to impose a tax towards the equipment of the navy, it must be equally so for the levy of an army; and the same reason which authorises him to levy an army to resist, will authorise him to carry that army abroad, that he may prevent invasion. Moreover, what is law in England is also law in Ireland and Scotland. This decision of the judges will, therefore, make the king absolute at home, and formidable abroad. Let him," he observed, "only abstain from war a few years, that he may habituate his subjects to the payment of this tax, and in the end he will find himself more powerful and respected than any of his predecessors."

Such were the principles of Wentworth, ready on the smallest concession to grant a dozen other assumptions upon it, and such the counsellors, himself and Laud, who encouraged the already too fatally despotic king to his destruction. The judges were, for the most part, equally traitorous to the nation, and preached the most absolute doctrines and passed the most absolute sentences. Richard Chambers, the London merchant, who had already suffered so severely for resisting the king's illegal demands, also refused payment of this, and brought an action against the Lord Mayor for imprisoning him for his refusal. But Judge Berkeley would not hear the counsel of Chambers in his defence; and afterwards, in his charge to the grand jury at York, described ship-money as the inseparable flower of the Crown. But they were not so easily to override the rights of the people of England. There were numbers of stout hearts only waiting a fitting opportunity to unite and crush the spirit of despotism now growing so rampant. One of the most distinguished of these patriots was John Hampden, a gentleman of Buckinghamshire, whose name has become a world-wide synonym for sturdy constitutional independence. He determined not only to resist the payment of ship-money, but to try the question, so as to make known far and wide its illegality. He consulted his legal friends, Holborne, St. John, Whitelock, and others, on the best means of dealing with it, and encouraged by his example, thirty freeholders of his parish of Great Kimble, in Buckinghamshire, also refused payment. No sooner, therefore, had Charles obtained the opinion of the judges, than he determined to proceed against Hampden in the Court of Exchequer. The case was conducted for the Crown by the Attorney-General, Sir John Banks, and the Solicitor-General, Sir Edward Littleton. The sum at which Hampden was assessed was only twenty shillings: the trial lasted for twelve days before the twelve judges, that is, from the 6th to the 18th of December, 1637.

It was argued on the part of the Crown that the practice was sanctioned by the annual tax of Dane-gelt, imposed by the Saxons; by former monarchs having pressed ships into their service, and compelled the maritime counties to equip them; and that the claim on the part of the king was reasonable and patriotic, for if he did not exercise this right of the Crown, in cases of danger, before the Parliament could be assembled serious damage might accrue. The Crown lawyers ridiculed the refusal of a man of Mr. Hampden's great estates to pay so paltry a sum as twenty shillings; and declared that the sheriffs of Bucks ought to be fined for not putting upon him twenty pounds. But it was replied upon the part of Hampden, that the amount of the assessment was not in question, it was the principle of it. Nor could the Dane-gelt give evidence in the case, the imperfect accounts to be drawn on the subject from our ancient writers being too vague and uncertain. Moreover, the practice of monarchs before or after Magna Charta could not establish any law on the subject, for Magna Charta abrogated any arbitrary customs that had gone before, and strictly and clearly forbade them afterwards. No breach of that great Charter could be pleaded against it, for it was paramount and perpetual in its authority. Again, various statutes since, and last of all the Petition of Right, assented to by the king himself, made any such taxation without consent of Parliament illegal and void; while the very asking of loans and benevolences by different monarchs was sufficient proof of this, for if they had the right to tax, they would have taxed, and not borrowed. The most arbitrary prince that ever sat on the English throne—Henry VIII.,—when he had borrowed, and was not disposed to repay, did not consider his own fiat sufficient to cancel the debt, but called in Parliament to release him from the obligation. They reminded the judges of Edward I.'s confirmation of the charters, and of the statute De Tallagio non concedendo. As to the plea of imminent danger from foreign invasion, as in the case of the great Armada, as the Crown lawyers had mentioned, such cases, they argued, were next to impossible; notices of danger, as in the instance of the Armada itself, being obtained in ample time to call together Parliament. In this case there was no urgency whatever to forestall the measures of Parliament; for neither the insolence of a few Turkish pirates, nor even the threats of neighbouring States, were of consequence enough to warrant the forestalling of the constitutional functions of Parliament.

The Crown lawyers, baffled by this unanswerable statement, then unblushingly took their stand on the doctrine that the king was bound by no laws, but all laws proceeded from the grace of the king, and that this was a right which all monarchs had reserved from time immemorial. Justice Crawley declared that the right of such impositions resided ipso facto in the king as king, that you could not have a king without these rights—no, not by Act of Parliament. "The law," said Judge Berkeley, "knows no such king-yoking policy. The law is an old and trusty servant of the king's; it is his instrument or means which he useth to govern his people by. I never read or heard that Lex was Rex, but it is common and most true that Rex is Lex." The pliable Finch said, "Acts of Parliament are void to bind the king not to command the subjects, their persons, and goods, and, I say, their money, too, for no Acts of Parliament make any difference." Certainly they made no difference to him; and if these base lawyers could have talked away the rights of the people of England, they would have done it for their own selfish interests. When Holborne contended that it was not only for themselves, but for posterity, that they were bound to preserve the constitution intact, Finch testily exclaimed, "It belongs not to the Bar to talk of future governments; it is not agreeable to duty to have you bandy what is the hope of succeeding princes, when the king hath a blessed issue so hopeful to succeed him in his crown and virtues." But Holborne replied, "My lord, for that whereof I speak, I look far off—many ages off; five hundred years hence!"

But all the judges were not of like stamp. Hutton and Croke, who had dissented when the opinion of the judges was first taken, now made a bold stand against the illegal practice. As the ruin of a judge who thus dared to act in upright independence was pretty certain at that time, we may estimate the degree of virtue necessary to such decision, and the noble self-sacrifice of Lady Croke, who bade her husband give no thought to the consequences of discharging his duty, for that she would be content to suffer want, or any misery with him, rather than he should do or say anything against his judgment and conscience.

The case was not decided till the Trinity Term, the third term from the commencement of the trial, when, on the 12th of June, 1638, judgment was entered against Hampden in the Court of Exchequer. But even then five of the judges had the courage to decide for Hampden, though three of them did this only on technical grounds, conceding the main and vital question. The decision of this most important trial was apparently in favour of the king, and there was, accordingly, much triumphing at Court; but in reality, it was in favour of the people, for it had been so long before the public, and the arguments of Hampden's counsel were so undeniable, those of the Crown so absolutely untenable, and opposed to all the history of the nation, that the matter was everywhere discussed, and men's opinions made up that, without a positive resistance to such claims and such doctrines as had here been advanced, the country was a place of serfdom, and the bloodshed and the labour of all past patriots had been in vain. It was accordingly found that people were more averse than ever from paying these demands; and even the courtly Clarendon confesses that "the pressure was borne with much more cheerfulness before the judgment for the king than ever it was after." Lord Say made a determined stand against it in Warwickshire, and would fain have brought on another trial like that of John Hampden; but the king would not allow another damaging experiment; and events came crowding after it of such a nature, as showed how deep the matter had sunk into the public mind.

The course which matters were taking was exceedingly disgusting to the ministers of King Charles—Laud and Wentworth. The latter had been appointed Lord President of the North, where he had ruled with all the overbearing self-will of a king. The Council of the North had been appointed by Henry VIII., to try and punish the insurgents concerned in the Pilgrimage of Grace, and it had been continued ever since on as lawless a basis as that of the Star Chamber itself. In fact, it was the Star Chamber of the five most northern counties of England, summoning and judging the subjects without any jury, but at the will of the Council itself. Wentworth had risen from a simple baronet to be Privy Councillor, baron and viscount, and President of the North, with more rapidity than Buckingham himself had done. On accepting this last office, his power and jurisdiction were enlarged, and he displayed such an unflinching spirit in exercising the most despotic will, that on difficulties arising in Ireland, he was, without resigning his Presidency of the North, transferred thither, where Charles had resolved to introduce the same subjection to his sole will as in England and Scotland.

When the unfortunate expedition to Cadiz had been made, and the king feared the Spaniards would retaliate by making a descent on Ireland, he ordered the Lord-Deputy, Lord Falkland, to raise the Irish army to five thousand foot and five hundred horse. There was no great difficulty in that, but the question how they were to be maintained was not so easy. Lord Falkland, who was one of the most honourable and conscientious of men, called together the great landed proprietors, and submitted the matter to their judgment. These, who were chiefly Catholics, offered to advance the necessary funds on condition that certain concessions should be made to the people of Ireland. These were, that, besides the removal of many minor grievances, the recusants should be allowed to practise in the courts of law, and to sue the livery of their lands out of the court of wards on their taking the oath of Allegiance without that of Supremacy; that the Undertakers on the several plantations should have time to fulfil the conditions of their leases; that the claims of the Crown should be confined to the last sixty years, the inhabitants of Connaught being allowed a new enrolment of their estates; and finally, that a parliament should be held to confirm these graces, as they were called.

Delegates were sent to London to lay these proposals before the king, and on the agreement to pay one hundred and twenty thousand pounds by instalments in three years, Charles readily granted these articles of grace, amounting to fifty-one. But meanwhile, a rumour of these concessions having got out, the Irish Established Church had made a great opposition, and though the parliament was called, nothing was done, nor did Charles intend to do more than get the money. As Lord Falkland was the last man in the world to be a party to anything so dishonourable, he was recalled, and Wentworth was sent over, in the July of 1632, to do the work.

Wentworth's arrival in Ireland was tantamount to a revolution there. He introduced all the regulations of the English Court at the Castle, assumed a guard like the king, which no Deputy before him had done, and carried himself with a haughty demeanour which made the Irish lords stand amazed. The only good which he effected was in putting down the multitude of minor tyrants, but then he combined all their tyranny and oppressions in himself. He was ready to bear any amount of odium, because he trusted to the king's support. His object was to raise a large permanent revenue, and Wentworth soon informed Charles that if this was to be done, there must be an end to making grants to needy English nobles, who absorbed what should flow to the Crown. Charles had promised such grants to the Duke of Lennox, the Earl of Arundel, and others; but on learning Wentworth's views, Secretary Windebank wrote, at the king's command, that Wentworth was at liberty to refuse them these grants, provided that he took "the refusing part" on himself.

As a first measure to raise money, he informed Charles that it would be necessary to call a Parliament. The king, who had found Parliaments too much for him, and was endeavouring to live without them, heard the proposal with consternation, and warned Wentworth against such an attempt; but the Lord Deputy informed him that he had a plan by which he could manage them, and Charles wrote to him, consenting, but still warning. "As for that hydra, take good heed, for you know that here I have found it as well cunning as malicious. It is true that your grounds are well laid, and I assure you that I have a great trust in your care and judgment; yet my opinion is, that it will not be the worse for my service though their obstinacy make you to break them, for I fear they have some ground to demand more than it is fit for me to give."

Wentworth knew that very well, but meant to grant nothing of the kind. He sent out a hundred letters of recommendation in favour of the return of candidates on whom he could rely, and procured a royal order for the absent peers to send blank proxies, which he might fill up as he pleased. These were considerable in number, and consisted chiefly of Englishmen who had obtained their estates or titles from Charles or his father. Thus he secured a majority; and on opening Parliament he informed the members that he meant to hold two Sessions—one for the benefit of the king, the other for redressing the grievances of the people. Had the Irish noticed what had been going forward in England, they would have augured no good from such an arrangement, and might have followed the example of the English Commons, who would always insist on stating their grievances before parting with their money. But the unfortunate Irish listened to the dulcet tones of the Lord-Deputy, who assured them that if they put their trust in him and the king they would have the happiest Parliament that had ever sat in that kingdom. He talked of the misfortunes which had happened to the English Parliament through distrusting the king—he himself having been one of the chief actors in these distrusts—and on his assuring them that he was anxious to hasten to the second Session and the removal of all their grievances they voted him out of the fulness of their confidence six subsidies of larger amount than had ever been granted before.

But when they came to the second Session, awful was the astonishment, and terrible the consternation, of the liberal granters of subsidies. The shameless trickster coolly informed them that of the fifty-one graces promised them by the king, very few were of a kind which he, who knew the circumstances of the country, could grant. In vain they reminded him of his promises, and called on him to fulfil them. He gave them menaces instead of promises, launched at them the most biting sarcasms, and made them appear a set of criminals rather than deceived and insulted legislators. His majority carried everything as he pleased, and after passing a few insignificant graces, he negatived the bulk of them, including all the important ones, and dismissed the Parliament.

He had been equally successful with the Convocation. He obtained from it eight subsidies of three thousand pounds each, but he then refused to grant the conditions promised. It was the settled plan of the king, supported by Laud, to conform both the Scottish and Irish Churches to the English, and Wentworth was the most unscrupulous agent in such a work that they could have. The Irish prelates informed him that their Church was wholly independent of that of England, had its own Articles, of the Calvinistic class, and owed no obedience to the See of Canterbury. He insisted, however, that they must admit the Thirty-nine Articles of England; it was not necessary to parade them before the people, but they must be admitted, and the old Irish Articles might quietly die out. The prelates set about to frame a new code of ecclesiastical discipline; but to his surprise, he learned that they had rejected the English Articles and retained their own. He sent for the Archbishop and the Committee, upbraided the Chairman with suffering such a proceeding, took possession of the minutes, and ordered Archbishop Ussher himself to frame a canon authorising the English Articles. Ussher's production, however, did not satisfy him; he therefore drew up a form himself, and sent it to the Convocation, commanding that no debate should take place, but the Articles should be at once adopted, and informing them that every one's vote should be reported to him. Only one member of the whole Convocation dared to vote against his will; the rest submitted, but with the utmost indignation.

Having thus with a high hand carried his measures—refused the confirmation of the graces, conformed the Irish to the English Church in one Session, and obtained such an amount of money as would not only pay off the debts of the Crown, but would supply for some years the extraordinary demands of the Government, he wrote exultingly to England, declaring that the king was as absolute in Ireland as any king in the world, and might be the same in England if they did their duty there. He boldly demanded an earl's coronet, on account of these services, which, however, Charles deferred for awhile, thinking that he should hold such a man to his work rather by the hope than the possession of high preferment. Wentworth was so delighted with his overruling the Irish Parliament, that he proposed to the king to merely prorogue and not dissolve it, as being the most convenient instrument for effecting his further designs on the country. But Charles would not listen to it, remarking that parliaments were like cats, they ever grew cursed with age, and it was better to put an end to them early, young ones being most tractable. He thanked him for what he had done, and especially for saving him from the odium of breaking his promise about the graces.

How little did this bold bad man see that, whilst he was serving the king's worst purposes, he was preparing his own destruction. In fact, though he had stunned the Irish for a moment by the audacity of his bearing, he had struck deep into their souls a resentment that no man, however powerful or subtle, could withstand. He was, however, only on the threshold of the sweeping changes which he contemplated in that country, for he was resolved to reduce it to a condition of absolute dependence on the Crown. He was not content with forcing the English Articles on the Irish Church, but he refused to the Catholics every relief that Charles had pledged himself to in order to get their money. Instead of abolishing, as promised, the oppressive power of the court of wards, he gave them a more virulent activity. The Catholic heir was still obliged to sue out the livery of his lands, and before he could obtain them, to take the oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy. To obtain his rightful property, he was thus compelled to abjure his religion. But he entertained a still more gigantic design, which was to seize on the fee simple of the greater part of Ireland, on pretence of defective title.

We have seen that in the reigns of Elizabeth and James the titles of the great landed proprietors both in Connaught and Ulster had been called in question, and those monarchs had pretended to renew them on condition of certain payments. These conditions had been repeatedly fulfilled by the proprietors, but not by the Crown. Charles, in 1628, amongst the other benefits promised, had engaged to ratify these titles; but Wentworth showed him the folly of doing that while by alarming them on the point he might draw immense sums from them, or get possession of the lands. To this proposal Charles consented, and the experiment was begun with Connaught. Wentworth proceeded (1635) at the head of a commission, to hold an inquisition in every county of Connaught. He opened his proceedings at Roscommon, where he summoned a jury of "gentlemen of the best estates and understandings," that more weight might attach to their decisions if favourable, or that, if adverse, he might levy heavy fines upon them. He assured the jury that his majesty merely meant to ascertain the condition of all titles, in order that if defective he might render them legal. It was on this plea that the freeholders had been wheedled into the surrender of their deeds and patents by Elizabeth and James; but Wentworth added another alarming fiction. He contended that Henry III., reserving only five cantreds to himself, had given the remainder to Richard de Burgh, to be holden of him and his heirs of the Crown, and that those tenures had now descended to the present king, by the marriage of the heirs of De Burgh with the royal line. According to this the king was the rightful owner of every acre of land in Ireland. He assured the jury, therefore, that it was their best interest to give a general verdict for the king, as he could without their consent establish his right, and if compelled to do that in opposition to them, the result might be much worse for them. By these means he induced the juries in Roscommon, Sligo, Mayo, Clare, and Limerick, to return a verdict in favour of the Crown, but the people of Galway stoutly resisted. They declared that the title of the king, through Edward IV., from Richard de Burgh, could not be proved; there was a hiatus in the genealogy. They were all Catholics, and were the more resolute from having been so shamefully deluded in the matter of wardship. Wentworth was rather glad to be able to make an example of them, and he therefore fined the sheriff one thousand pounds for returning so obstinate and perverse a jury, and dragged the jury into his Star Chamber, the chamber of the Castle, and fined them four thousand pounds apiece. He fell with especial vindictiveness on the old Earl of Clanricarde, and other great landowners of Galway, and set about to seize the fort of Galway, march a body of troops into the country, and compel it to submit to the king's will. The proprietors, disbelieving that the king could know of or sanction such infamous breaches of faith and acts of oppression, sent over a deputation to Charles to lay the matter before him. But the king received them with reproaches, declared his full approval of the proceedings of the Lord-Deputy, and sent them back to Ireland as State prisoners. The old Earl of Clanricarde, whose son had been the head of the deputation, died soon after receiving the news of this conduct of the monarch, and Wentworth wrote to Charles that he was accused of being the cause of his death. "They might as well," he remarked haughtily, "impute to me the crime of his being threescore and ten." He was still busily pursuing other noblemen with the same rancour—the Earl of Cork, Lord Wilmot, and others—when the Catholic party in England, who had a friend in Queen Henrietta, made their complaints heard at Whitehall. Laud, who was acting as outrageously himself in England, informed Wentworth of it, and even hinted more caution, observing that if he could find a way to do all those great services without raising so many storms, it would be excellently well thought of. But Wentworth was as little disposed to avoid storms as his adviser himself. He proceeded in the same autocratic style both towards the public and individuals. It had been the original intention to return to the proprietors three-fourths of their lands, and retain one-fourth for the Crown, amounting to about one hundred and twenty thousand acres, which were to be planted with Englishmen, on condition of yielding a large annual income to the Crown. But now it was resolved to retain a full half of Galway as a punishment of its obstinacy, and Wentworth was proceeding with the necessary measurements, when his career proved at an end.

The individual acts of injustice which he perpetrated were done at the suggestion of his profligate desires or personal revenge, with the most unabashed hardihood. He had seduced the daughter of Loftus, the Lord Chancellor of Ireland, wife of Sir John Gifford, and wanted to confer a good post on her relative Sir Adam Loftus. Such an opportunity soon occurred by an inadvertent expression of Lord Mountnorris, Vice-Treasurer of Ireland. It happened one day that Annesley, a lieutenant in the army, accidentally set a stool on the foot of the Lord-Deputy, when he was suffering from the gout. This Lieutenant Annesley had some time before been caned by Wentworth in a paroxysm of passion, and Mountnorris hearing the incident of the stool mentioned at the table of Chancellor Loftus, said, "Perhaps Annesley did it as his revenge, but he has a brother who would not have taken such a revenge." This being repeated to Wentworth, he treated the observation as a suggestion to Annesley to perpetrate a more bloody revenge; and though he dissembled his resentment for some time, he then accused Mountnorris, who was also an officer in the army, of mutiny, founded on this expression. Wentworth attended the court-martial to overawe its proceedings, and obtained a sentence of death against Mountnorris. The sentence was too atrocious to be carried into execution, but it served Wentworth's purpose, for he cashiered Mountnorris and gave his office to Loftus. Much as the Irish had suffered before, this most lawless act excited a loud murmur of indignation throughout the land; but Wentworth had secured himself from any censure from the king by handing him six thousand pounds as the price of the transfer of Mountnorris's treasurership to Sir Adam Loftus.

The resentment of the Irish was becoming so strong against Wentworth, that the king thought it safest for him to come to England for a time; but he soon returned thither, with the additional favour of the monarch, where he remained till summoned by Charles to assist him by his counsels against the Scots. But the fatal and memorable year 1640 was at hand, to close the story of his tyrannies. We must now retrace our steps, and bring up the conflicts of Scotland with the same blind and determined despots to that period.

The storm against the despotism of Charles had broken out in that country. From the moment of his visit to Edinburgh with his great apostle Laud, he had never ceased pushing forward his scheme of conforming the Presbyterian Church to Anglican episcopacy. He had restored the bishops on that occasion, given them lands, erected deans and chapters, and Laud had consecrated St. Giles's Church as a Cathedral. As he could not persuade the Scottish Peers to submit to the liturgy as used in England, which his father had attempted in vain before him, he consented that a liturgy should be drawn up by four Scottish bishops, who were also to form a code of ecclesiastical canons. They were to introduce into the latter some of the acts of the Scottish assemblies, and some more ancient canons, to make the whole more palatable. These laws and the liturgy were afterwards revised by the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishops of London and Norwich, and Charles ordered the amended copies to be published and preserved.

None but a monarch so foolhardy as Charles would have dared such an experiment on the Scots who had resisted so stoutly his father, and had driven his grandmother from the country for her adhesion to Popery. The people received the publication of the canon with unequivocal indications of their temper; and when, therefore, the first introduction, of the liturgy was fixed for the 23rd of July, 1637, in St. Giles's Church, they went thither in crowds, to give a characteristic reception. The archbishops and bishops, the Lords of Session, and the magistrates went in procession, and appeared there in all their official splendour. This display, however, so far from imposing on the people of Edinburgh, only excited their wrath and contempt, as the trumpery finery of the woman of Babylon. A considerable riot ensued, during which a woman named Jenny Geddes is said to have thrown a stool at the bishop's head. The story is, however, supported by indifferent evidence.

But it was not merely the base multitude, the nobility were as violent against the new Liturgy as the people, and came to high words with the bishops and their favourers amongst the clergy. Four ministers—Alexander Henderson, of Leuchars; John Hamilton, of Newburn; James Bruce, of Kingsbarns, and another—petitioned the Council on the 23rd of August, to give them time to show the anti-Christian and idolatrous nature of this ritual, and how near it came to the Popish mass, reminding them that the people of Scotland had established the independence of their own Church at the Reformation, which had been confirmed by Parliament and General Assemblies, and that the people, instructed in their religion from the pulpit, were not likely to adopt what their fathers had rejected as contrary to the simplicity of the Gospel. But the Bishop of Ross, Laud's right-hand man, replied for the Council that the liturgy was neither superstitious nor idolatrous, but according to the formula of the ancient Churches, and they must submit to that or to "horning," that is, banishment. Still the Council delayed, and the people were pretty quiet during the harvest time, but that over, the news having arrived of a peremptory message from the king, commanding the enforcement of the liturgy, and the removal of the Council from Edinburgh to Linlithgow, thence in the following term to Stirling, and for the next to Dundee, the people flocked into Edinburgh, and, incensed at the idea of their ancient capital being deprived of its honours as the seat of government, they became extremely irritated, attacked the bishops when they could see them, and nearly tore the clothes from the back of the Bishop of Galway. He escaped into the Council House, and the members of the Council in their turn sent to demand protection from the magistrates, who could not even protect themselves.

For greater security the Council removed to Dalkeith, and the Marquis of Hamilton recommended to Charles to make some concessions; but far from giving way, a more positive order for the enforcement of the obnoxious liturgy arrived from the king. But it was found impossible to enforce it: the Earl of Traquair was summoned up to London, sharply questioned as to the causes of the delay, and was sent back with more arbitrary commands. On the 18th of October these were made known, and fresh riots took place, Traquair and two of the bishops nearly losing their lives. The king then consented to the petitioners above mentioned being represented by a deputation personally resident in Edinburgh. The object was to induce the crowds of strangers to withdraw to their homes, when it was thought the people of Edinburgh alone might be better dealt with; but the advocates of the people seized on the plan, and converted it into one of the most powerful engines of opposition imaginable.

At the head of these able politicians, and the contrivers of this profoundly sagacious scheme, were the Lords Rothes, Balmerino, Lindsay, Lothian, Loudon, Yester, and Cranstoun. Balmerino had been severely treated by Charles, and had thus become hardened into the most positive opponent of the episcopal movement. In his possession in 1634 was a copy of a petition to the Scottish Parliament, too strong in its language even for the Scottish dissentients to present. He had, under pledge of strictest secrecy, lent this to a friend. For this he was committed to prison, and at the instigation of Spottiswood, Archbishop of St. Andrews, it was resolved to prosecute him for high treason, and a verdict was procured against him. But the people were so enraged that they assembled in vast crowds, vowing to murder both the jurors who had given the verdict and the judges who had accepted it. Government was alarmed, and the king was reluctantly induced to grant Balmerino a pardon. From that moment he became the champion of the people.

He and his colleagues the nobles, the gentry, the Presbyterian clergy, and the inhabitants of the burghs, formed themselves into four "Tables" or Committees, each of four persons, and each Table sent a representative to a fifth Table, a Committee of superintendence and government. Thus in the capital there were sitting five Tables or Committees, to receive complaints and information from the people, and decide on all these matters. Throughout the country were speedily established similar Tables, with whom they corresponded. Thus, instead of that mere representation of the petitioners which the king contemplated as an expedient for getting rid of the immediate pressure of the people, one of the most perfect and most powerful systems of popular agitation was organised that the world had ever seen. There was the most instant attention to the suggestions of the people by the provincial Tables, and the most prompt and respectful consideration of their reports by the Tables in the capital. A permanent government of the people was, in fact, erected, to which the public looked with the utmost confidence, and by which step its whole weight was brought to bear on the unpopular government of the king.

The formidable nature of this novel engine of the popular will was quickly perceived by the Court; and Traquair was ordered to issue a proclamation declaring the Tables to be unlawful, commanding all people to withdraw to their own homes, and menacing the penalties of treason against all who disobeyed. This proclamation was made by Traquair at Stirling, on the 19th of February, 1638; but it was disregarded. The Tables had procured early information of the forthcoming proclamation, and had summoned the provincial Tables from all parts to assemble in Edinburgh and Stirling. These cities were thus crowded with the very life and soul of the whole agitation. They had already risen in their demands as they perceived their strength, and had ceased to petition for time and some trifling alterations in "the buke." They demanded the formal revocation of the liturgy, the canons, and the Court of High Commission. Now, no sooner had the herald read the royal proclamation than the Lords Hume and Lindsay read a counter proclamation, saw it affixed to the market cross, and copies sent to Edinburgh and Linlithgow, to be read and publicly placarded there.

Traquair, who had clearly foreseen these consequences, and in vain warned the king to avoid them by timely concession, wrote to Hamilton, informing him of what had taken place, and that there was no power in the kingdom capable of forcing the liturgy down the people's throats; that they would receive the Mass as soon. His words received a speedy confirmation. The Tables determined to publish a Solemn Covenant between the people and the Almighty to stand by their religion to the death. Their fathers, at the time of the Reformation, had adopted such an instrument. The great nobles of the time had sworn to maintain the principles of Wishart and Knox, and to defend the preachers of those doctrines against the powers of Antichrist and the monarchy. James had sworn to adhere to this confession of faith, with all their households and all classes of people, in the years 1580, 1581, and 1590. The name of Covenant was thus become a watchword to the whole nation, which roused them like a trumpet. This document had been composed by Alexander Henderson, one of the four ministers who had petitioned, and Archibald Johnstone, an advocate, the legal adviser of the party; and had been revised by Balmerino, Loudon, and Rothes.

This famous document began by a clear exposition of the tenets of the Reformed Scottish Church, and as solemn an abjuration of all the errors and doctrines of the Pope, with his "vain allegories, rites, signs, and traditions." It enumerated the anti-Christian tenets of Popery—the denial of salvation to infants dying without baptism; the receiving the Sacrament from men of scandalous lives; the devilish Mass; the canonisation of men; the invocation of saints; the worshipping of imaginary relics and crosses; the speaking and praying in a strange language; auricular confession; the shaveling monks; bloody persecutions; and a hundred other abominations. All these were made as great offences against the Anglican hierarchy, which was fast running back into those "days of bygone idolatry." The various classes—"noblemen, barons, gentlemen, burgesses, ministers, and commons"—bound themselves by the Covenant to defend and maintain the reformed faith before God, His angels, and the world, till it was again established by free Assemblies and Parliaments, in the same full purity and liberty of the Gospel as it had been heretofore.

On the 1st of March, 1638, the church of St. Giles, which had witnessed so lately the hasty flight of the bishops, was thronged with the Covenanters of all ranks and from all parts of the country. The business was opened by a fervent prayer from Henderson, and then the people were addressed in a stirring harangue by the Earl of Loudon, the most eloquent man in Scotland. The effect was such that the whole assembly rose simultaneously, and with outstretched arms, amid torrents of tears, swore to the contents of the Covenant. That done, they turned and embraced each other, wept, and shouted aloud their exultation over this great victory, for such they felt it, in the united energy and religious dedication of the nation.

Dispersing to their various homes, the delegates carried the fire of this grand enthusiasm with them. Over moor and mountain it flew, across the green pastoral hills of the South, through the dark defiles of the Highlands, and to the sea-swept isles. Thousands continued to pour into the capital to add their signatures to the Covenant; and in every parish on the Sunday the people streamed to listen to the fiery harangues from the pulpits, and to give in their names, with the same tears, emotions, and embraces as in Edinburgh. It was soon found that, except in the county of Aberdeen, the Covenanters outnumbered their opponents in the proportion of one hundred to one.

Nor did these determined reformers readily admit of any dissent or lukewarmness. Where they found any opposed or inert, they roused them by threats, and often by blows and coercion. Some they threw into prison, and some they set in the stocks for refusing to sign. The Catholics were those who principally stood aloof; but these were not calculated at a thousand in all Scotland. Of such they entered the names in a list, and made calculations of their property, with a view to confiscation. In Lanark and other places the contending factions came to blows before the lists were filled up. Active subscriptions were levied for the maintenance of the Cause, and before the end of April there was scarcely a single Protestant who had not signed the Covenant. The bishops had fled to England, and all Scotland stood ready to fight for its faith.

Here was a spectacle which would have shown the folly of his career to any other monarch; but all reason or representation was wasted on Charles. Traquair entreated him, before plunging into war, to listen to the counsels of his most experienced Scottish Ministers; but Charles seldom listened to anything except his own self-will, or any person except his fatal counsellors, Laud and Wentworth. He is said on this occasion to have consulted with a small council of Scotsmen living in England, which had been formed by James on his accession to the English throne, and in accordance with their advice and in opposition to that of the Council in Scotland, he resolved on suppressing the Covenant by force.

In May he sent the Marquis of Hamilton to Scotland, with orders to endeavour to soothe the people by assuring them that the liturgy and canons should only be exercised in a fair and gentle manner, and that the High Commission Court should be so remodelled as to be no grievance. If these promises did not satisfy them, as Hamilton must have known they would not, for Charles's promises were too notorious to be of any value, he was to resort to any exercise of force that he thought necessary.

On the 3rd of June he arrived at Berwick, and sent to the nobility to meet him at Haddington; but no one appeared except the Earl of Roxburgh, who assured him that anything but a full revocation of the canons and liturgy was hopeless. On reaching Dalkeith he was waited on by Lord Rothes, who, on the part of the Covenanters, invited him to take up his abode in Holyrood as more convenient for discussion.

Hamilton objected to enter a city swarming with Covenanters, where the castle was already invested by their guards. These, it was promised him, should be removed and the city kept quiet, on which he consented; and on the 8th of June he set forward. But he found the whole of the way, from Musselburgh to Leith and from Leith to Edinburgh, lined with Covenanters, fifty thousand in number. There were from five to seven hundred clergymen collected; and all the nobility and gentry assembled in the capital, amounting to five thousand, came out to meet and escort him in. All this he was informed was to do him honour, but he felt that its real design was to impress him with the strength of the Covenant party.

Being settled in Holyrood, Hamilton received a deputation of the heads of the League, and asked them what they required to induce them to surrender opposition. They replied that in the first place they demanded the summons of a General Assembly and a Parliament. They then renewed the guard at the castle, and doubled the guards and watches of the city. The preachers warned the people to be on their guard against propositions. They informed the marquis that no English Service Book must be used in the royal chapel, and they nailed up the organ as an "abomination to the Lord." They then waited on Hamilton, requesting him and his officers to sign the Covenant, as they hoped to be regarded as patriots and Christians. The ministers whom the oppressions of Wentworth had chased out of Ulster to make way for the Anglican service were in Edinburgh, inflaming the people by their details of the cruelties and broken promises of Charles and his Lord-Lieutenant in Ireland.

Hamilton saw that it was useless to publish Charles's proclamation, but wrote advising him to grant them their demands, or to lose no time in appearing with a powerful army. Charles replied desiring him to amuse the Covenanters with any promises that he pleased, so that he did not commit the king himself. He was to avoid granting an Assembly or Parliament, but he added, "Your chief end being now to win time, they may commit public follies until I be ready to suppress them." The marquis, therefore, endeavoured to spin out the time by coaxing and deluding the Covenanters. He promised to call a General Assembly and a Parliament, and redress all their grievances. When pressed too closely, he declared that he would go to London himself and endeavour to set all right with the king; but this was part only of the plan of gaining time whilst Charles was preparing a fleet and army. But the Scots were too wary to be thus deceived. They had information that troops were being raised in England, and they too made preparations. At the same time they waited on the marquis, professing the most unabated loyalty, but resolute to have free exercise of their religion. Hamilton promised to present their address to the king, and set out on the 4th of July for England. He informed Charles of the real state of the country, and that the very members of the Privy Council were so infected by the Covenant that he had not dared to call them together. But Charles was not to be induced to take any effective measures for pacifying the public mind of Scotland. His instructions to the marquis were to amuse the people with hopes, and to allow of the sitting of a General Assembly, but not before the 1st of November. He was even to publish the order for discharging the use of the Service Book, the canons, and the High Commission Court, but was to forbid the abolition of bishops, though the bishops were for the present not to intrude themselves into the Assembly. They were, however, to be privately held to be essentially members of the Assembly, and were to be one way or other provided for till better times.

These half measures were not likely to be accepted, but they would serve Charles's grand object of gaining time, and the marquis arrived with them in Edinburgh on the 10th of August. Three days after his arrival the Covenanters waited upon him to learn how the king had received their explanations, and the marquis assured them with much grace and goodness; but when they heard that the bishops were not to be abolished, they treated his other offers with contempt, and Hamilton once more proposed to journey to England to endeavour to obtain a full and free recall of all the offensive ordinances. Before taking his leave, as a proof of his earnestness, he joined with the Earls of Traquair, Roxburgh, and Southesk, in a written solicitation to his Majesty to remove all innovations in religion which had disturbed the peace of the country. By the 17th of September Hamilton was again at Holyrood. On the 21st he received the Covenanters and informed them that he had succeeded; that the king gave up everything; that an Assembly was to be called immediately, and a Parliament in the month of May next; and that the king revoked the Service Book, the Book of Canons, the five Articles of Perth, and the High Commission. The Covenanters were about to express their unbounded satisfaction and loyal gratitude, when the marquis added that his Majesty only required them to sign the old confession of faith as adopted by King James in 1580 and 1590. This single reservation broke the whole charm; their countenances fell, and they declared that they looked upon this as an artifice merely to set aside their new bond of the Covenant.

In all Charles's most solemn acts the cloven foot showed itself. Even when seeming most honest, there was something which awoke a distrust in him. He was not sincere, and he had not the art to look so. In any other monarch the positive assurance that the innovations on the religion of Scotland should be abandoned, would have settled the matter at once; but Charles had so utterly lost character for truth and good faith that it was believed throughout the country that he was still only deluding them, and seeking time ultimately to come down resistlessly upon them. And we know from his own correspondence preserved in the Strafford Papers that it was so. These words addressed to Hamilton, "Your chief end is to win time, that they may commit public follies, until I be ready to suppress them," are an everlasting proof of it. Besides, they had ample information from friends about the Court in England that this was the case, and that in a few months the king meant to visit them with an irresistible force. The people of England were suffering too much from the same species of oppression not to sympathise warmly with the Scottish patriots, and keep them well informed of what was going on there. We find it asserted in the Hardwicke State Papers that the Government was very jealous of the number of people who went about England selling Scottish linen, and it was recommended to open all letters going between the countries at Berwick.

The Covenanters therefore determined to hold together and be prepared. On the 22nd of September, 1638, the Marquis of Hamilton caused the royal proclamation to be read at the market-cross at Edinburgh, abandoning the Anglican Service and the High Commission Court; but as it required subscription to the old confession of faith, there was no rejoicing on the occasion. There were two particulars in this proclamation which fully justified the Scots in refusing to comply with it. It stated that the vow of the Covenant was unauthorised by Government, and therefore illegal; and it professed to grant a pardon for that act to all who signed the confession, which would have acknowledged that the nation had been guilty of a crime in accepting the Covenant, a thing they were not likely to admit, for in that case they could not have refused the re-admission of the very liturgy against which they were at war. They therefore published a protest against the proclamation, founded on these reasons.

The marquis having obtained the signature of the Lords of the Secret Council to the new bond, which Charles had previously signed, though it contained many clauses repugnant to Arminianism, issued the proclamation for the meeting of the Assembly in Glasgow on the 21st of November, 1638, and for that of the Parliament on the 17th of May, 1639. In a few days afterwards, the Council published an act discharging the Book of Common Prayer, the Book of Canons, etc., and called for the subscription of all his Majesty's subjects. The municipal bodies, the ministers, and the people hastened to thank the Council, and to express their joy at the revocation of the obnoxious orders, but they refused to sign the confession.

The marquis wrote to Charles, informing him of the determined spirit of the people, and advising him to hasten his military preparations. He also represented to him the protests of the bishops against the holding of the Assembly; but the king bade him persist in holding it, so that he might not appear to break faith with the public and thus precipitate matters, but to counteract the effect of the Assembly by sowing discord amongst the members, and protesting against their tumultuary proceedings.

But the Scots did not give Hamilton much time for such machinations before the meeting of the Assembly. They were warned by a trusty correspondent—notwithstanding the waylaying of the post was carried into effect—that vigorous preparations were being made to invade Scotland. There were arms for twenty thousand men, including forty pieces of ordnance and forty carriages; but the writer did not believe they would get two hundred men for the service, such was the desire of all parties—nobles, gentry, and people—for their success, which if obtained, he said, would lead many of all ranks to settle in Scotland for freedom of conscience. He added that Wentworth had made large offers of assistance to the king from Ireland, but that the Irish were themselves so injured that he doubted whether any considerable help would be had from Wentworth against them; yet if Charles could muster sufficient force, they might expect no terms from him but such as they would get at the cannon's mouth.

At the end of October the Earl of Rothes demanded from Hamilton a warrant citing the bishops as guilty of heresy, perjury, simony, and gross immorality, to appear before the approaching Assembly. The marquis refused, on which the Presbytery of Edinburgh cited them. Charles had ordered, as a sign of his favour, the restoration of the Lords of Session of Edinburgh, but on condition of their signing the confession of faith. Nine out of the fifteen were induced with much difficulty to sign, but from that moment they were in terror of their lives from the exasperation of the people.

When Hamilton arrived on the 17th of November in Glasgow to open the Assembly, he found the town thronged with people from all quarters, evidently in intense excitement. The Tables had secured the most popular elections of representatives to the Assembly, sending one lay elder and four lay assessors from every Presbytery. The marquis therefore found himself overruled on all points. In his opening speech he read them the king's letter, in which Charles complained of having been misrepresented, as though he desired innovations in laws and religion; and to prove how groundless this was, he had granted this free Assembly, for settling all such matters to the satisfaction of his good subjects. He then of himself protested against the foul and devilish calumnies against his sacred Majesty, purporting that even this grant of the Assembly was but to gain time whilst he was preparing arms to force on the nation the abhorred ritual. The marquis, whilst he was making these solemn asseverations, being well assured, as were most of his hearers, that the king was all the while casting cannon and ball, and mustering soldiers for this "foul and devilish purpose," the Assembly must have been perfectly satisfied that no good was to be expected but from their own firmness. They at once proceeded to elect Alexander Henderson as their Moderator, and Hamilton protested as vigorously against it, but in vain. They next elected as clerk-register Archibald Johnstone, the clerk of the Edinburgh Tables, against which Hamilton again protested with as little effect, Johnstone declaring that he would do his best to "defend the prerogative of the Son of God."

Defeated on these important points, the marquis the next day entered a protest against the return of lay members to the Assembly; and the proctor on behalf of the bishops added their protest, declining the authority of the Assembly, which he contended ought to be purely ecclesiastical. James had, in fact, put the lay members out of the Assembly, and the king therefore treated this original constitution of the Assembly, as settled at the Reformation, as an innovation, turning the charge of innovation on the Covenanters. The marquis would then have read the protests of the bishops with which he was furnished; but the Assembly declined to hear them, and repeated that they would pursue the charges against the bishops so long as they had lives and fortunes. On this Hamilton dissolved the Assembly, and the same day wrote a most remarkable letter to Charles, which appears to leave little ground for the suspicions of the royal party that he was secretly inclined to the Covenant. He informed the king that he had done his utmost, but to no purpose, with that rebellious nation. He seemed to apprehend danger to his life, and that this might be the last letter he should ever write to his Majesty. He blamed the bishops for persuading the king to bring in the English liturgy and canons in so abrupt and violent a manner; that their pride was great, their folly greater. He gives the king his opinion of the character and degrees of the trustworthiness of the different Ministers, and bids him beware of the Earl of Argyle, whom he declares to be the most dangerous man in the State; so far from favouring episcopacy, as had been supposed, that nobleman wished it abolished with all his soul. This was immediately afterwards, as we shall see, made clear by Argyle himself. Hamilton then proceeded to instruct the king how best to proceed to quell what he deemed not merely a contest for religion, but an incipient rebellion. It was to blockade the ports, and thus cut off all trade, by which the burghs, the chief seats of the agitation, lived. As fast as these burghs felt their folly and returned to their allegiance, they should be restored to favour, and their ports opened, which would make the rest anxious to follow. He said he had done his best to garrison the castle of Edinburgh, though it was in a precarious state, but that the castle of Dumbarton might be readily garrisoned by troops from Ireland. If he preserved his life, which he seemed to doubt, he would defend his post to the utmost, though "he hated the place like hell," and as soon as he was free of it would forswear the country. He recommended his brother to the king's favour and his children to his protection if they lived; and to these, if they did not prove loyal, he left his curse. His daughters, he desired, might never marry into Scotland.

The marquis clearly saw the dreadful conflict which was approaching, and his tears and emotion on dismissing the Assembly struck every one with that impression. But the Assembly had no intention of dispersing. Like the Commons of England, they entertained too high an estimate of their right, and of their duty in such a crisis. They therefore passed a resolution declaring the Kirk independent of the civil powers, and the dissolution of the Assembly by the Royal Commissioner illegal and void. They said that if the Commissioner should see fit to quit the country, and leave the Church and kingdom in that disorder, it was their duty to sit; and that they would continue to sit till they had settled all the evils which came within their lawful and undoubted jurisdiction.

Laud, in reply to Hamilton, lamented that fear of giving umbrage to the Covenanters too soon had too long delayed the means to crush them. He thanked him for having conveyed the bishops to Hamilton Castle to protect them, and trusted that his own life would yet be preserved from the diabolical fury of the Scots. What Hamilton had foreseen in the meantime had come to pass. The Earl of Argyle declared plainly in the Council that he would take the Covenant and sanction the Assembly. Accordingly, though not a member of it, he took his place in the Assembly as their chief director; and thus encouraged, they proceeded to abolish episcopacy for ever, to deprive all the bishops, and to excommunicate the greater part of them and all their abettors. Charles, and James before him, had completely conferred all the power of Parliament on the bishops, making eight of them the Lords of the Articles, with authority to choose eight of the nobles, and these sixteen having power to choose all the rest, so that all depended on the bishops, and they, again, on the king. This effectually ranged the nobles against them. The Marquis of Hamilton, notwithstanding his fears, was permitted quietly to withdraw to England, whence he was soon to return against them at the head of the fleet. The people received the news of the proceedings of the Assembly with transports of joy, and celebrated the downfall of episcopacy by a day of thanksgiving. Charles, on the other hand, issued a proclamation declaring all its acts void, and hastened his preparations for marching into Scotland.

But the Covenanters were not the less active on their part, and everything tended to a civil war, the result of Charles's incessant attacks on the liberties of the nation. They made collections of arms, and as early as December they received six thousand muskets from Holland. These had been stopped by the Government of that country, but Cardinal Richelieu had suddenly shown himself a friend, by ordering the muskets as if for his own use, receiving them into a French port, and thence forwarding them to Scotland. However impolitic it might appear for France to assist subjects against their prince, it must be remembered that Charles had managed to create nearly as strong a feeling against him in Louis and his minister Richelieu as in his own subjects. He had set the example by assisting the Huguenots against their prince, and had provoked France by defeating its plan of dividing the Spanish Netherlands between that country and Holland. The present opportunity, therefore, was eagerly seized to make Charles feel the error he had committed. Richelieu, moreover, ordered the French Ambassador in London to pay over to General Leslie, one of Gustavus Adolphus's old officers, who had been engaged by the Assembly, one hundred thousand crowns. This last transaction, however, was kept a profound secret, for the Scots, when advised to seek the assistance of France and Germany, had indignantly refused, saying the Lutherans of Germany were heretics, and the people of France Papistical idolaters; that it became them to seek support from God alone, and not from the broken reed of Egypt. The preachers thundered from the pulpits against the bishops, and the determination of the king still to force them on the country; and they refused the Communion to all who had not signed the Covenant. The Tables called on the young men in every quarter of the country to come forward and be trained to arms, and the Scottish officers who had been engaged in the wars in Germany flocked over and offered their services for the support of the popular cause. The nobles contributed plate to be melted down, the merchants in the towns sent in money, and an army of determined men was fast forming.

Charles, on his part, was not the less busy preparing for the campaign, and he was persuaded by many of the courtiers that he had only to appear, to pacify the Scots. If we are to believe Clarendon, the Treasury was in a flourishing condition, a most unlikely circumstance, considering the unpopular mode of raising funds without a Parliament; and we are assured of the contrary by a letter of the Earl of Northumberland, addressed to Wentworth in January, 1639. He says, "I assure your lordship, to my understanding, to my sorrow I speak it, we are altogether in as ill a posture to invade others or to defend ourselves as we were a twelve-month since, which is more than any one can imagine that is not an eye-witness of it. The discontents here at home do rather increase than lessen, there being no course taken to give any kind of satisfaction. The king's coffers were never emptier than at this time, and to us that have the honour to be near about him, no way is yet known how he will find means either to maintain or begin a war without the help of his people." Cottington wrote to Wentworth in the same strain.

So far from consulting Parliament, Charles had not even opened his difficulties to his Council. He was now compelled to do the latter, and on this occasion Laud was found entreating for peaceful measures. It is probable that he had taken a more rational view of the belligerent temper of the Scots, and saw more danger in the king's attempt to coerce them, than he generally discerned in pushing on arbitrary counsels. His advice was rejected, and the rest of the Council acquiesced in the determination of the king. By the beginning of the year 1639, Charles had named his generals and officers, had issued orders to the Lords-Lieutenant to muster the trained bands of their several counties, and the nobles to meet him at York on the 1st of April with such retinues as belonged to their rank and fortune. To procure money he suspended the payment of all pensions, borrowed where he could, and judges, lawyers, and the clergy were called upon to contribute from their salaries and livings in lieu of their personal service. The clergy were in general extremely liberal. They considered that the cause was their own, and that if the Presbyterians of Scotland became triumphant, the Puritans of England might deal in similar fashion with the Church of England. Laud, moreover, ordered the names of all clergymen who refused to be returned to him. The queen also lent her aid by calling on the Catholics to assist, reminding them that aid given to the king in this emergency was the most likely means to securing future advantages to themselves. When the knowledge of the queen's circular letter to the Catholics became known to the Puritans, they were greatly scandalised; and the Catholics responding readily to the call, and holding a meeting in London presided over by the Pope's Nuncio, tended to strengthen their opinion of the papistical bias of Charles and his Church.

The king, on his part, sought to take advantage of the ancient antipathies between the two kingdoms, and issued proclamations calling on all good subjects to resist the attempts of the Scots, who were contemplating, he asserted, the invasion and plunder of the kingdom and the destruction of the monarchy. But he found this was an empty alarm. The reformers of England knew too well that the cause of the Scots and their own were identical; that the purpose of the king was to destroy the constitutional rights and freedom of religion in both kingdoms alike. The Scottish nobles, as well as the English public, rejected all attempts to divide them in this Cause. There was a time when they could be bought by the money of England, which had been freely and successfully employed by the Tudors. But Charles had little money to give; and to the honour of the Scottish peers, when other temptations were tried, for the most part the sacred cause of their religion triumphed over them. They exhorted one another to stand fast by the Covenant. The most intimate communication between the Scottish and English reformers was maintained by pamphlets secretly circulated, by emissaries traversing all classes and all quarters. The earliest information of the movements of the Court was transmitted; and before Charles commenced his march towards York, General Leslie, the elected Commander-in-Chief, took the initiative, and surprised the castle of Edinburgh, on the 21st of March, at the head of a thousand musketeers, and without losing a single man. The next day, Saturday, the castle of Dalkeith was given over by Traquair, with all the regalia and a large quantity of ammunition and arms. It was thought that Traquair had shown great timidity, to surrender so strong a castle almost without a blow; but he complained of having been left alone, without countenance or advice. The Earls of Rothes and Balmerino took the castle, and conveyed the regalia safely to the castle of Edinburgh. The following day, Sunday, did not prevent even Scotsmen and Covenanters from seizing the castle of Dumbarton. The governor was surprised on his return from church, and threatened with instant death if he did not surrender the keys to the provost of the town, a zealous Covenanter. Stirling was in the hands of the Earl of Mar, who had taken the Covenant; and of all the royal fortresses, only Carlaverock, the least important, remained in the hands of the Crown. The Marquis of Huntly, who had undertaken to hold the Highlands for the king, was overpowered or entrapped by Leslie and Montrose, who at the head of seven thousand men compelled the reluctant professors of Aberdeen to accept the Covenant, when Leslie returned to Edinburgh, carrying Huntly with him. The Earl of Antrim, who was to have invaded the domains of Argyle from Ireland, was unable to fulfil his engagement, and thus every day brought the news of rapid disasters to Charles on his march towards York. Hamilton, who had been despatched with a fleet, appeared in the Forth on the 13th of April. He had five thousand troops on board, and was expected to secure Leith, the port of Edinburgh, and overawe if he could not take the capital; but he found the place strongly fortified, and twenty thousand men were posted on the shores to hinder his landing. All classes, from the noble to the peasant, had been labouring industriously to repair fortifications and throw up batteries, and ladies had carried materials for them. The marquis saw no chance of effecting a landing, and therefore disembarked his men on the islands in the Forth, to prevent them from perishing in the ships, for they were landsmen, and had been hastily pressed into the service, and were both sickly and mutinous. No prospect was ever more discouraging; even Wentworth could not send him the small aid of five hundred musketeers in time, and strongly advised Charles to avoid coming to an engagement with his raw levies against the enthusiastic Scots and their practical generals, but to garrison Berwick and Carlisle to prevent incursions, and wait till the next year if necessary.

Charles arrived at York on the 19th of April, and proceeded to administer to the lords who there awaited him with their followers, an oath of allegiance, binding them to oppose all conspiracies and seditions, even if they were veiled under the pretence of religion. The Lords Say and Brooke declined to take the oath, saying they were willing to accompany their sovereign from loyalty and affection; but that, as they were ignorant of the laws and customs of Scotland, they could not undertake to say that the Scots were rebels, or the war was just. Charles with indignation ordered them to be arrested, but the Attorney and Solicitor-Generals on being consulted declaring that there was no ground for their prosecution, they were dismissed with the royal displeasure and desired to return home. Nor had the king much more satisfaction with the lords who had taken the oath, for they qualified it by signing a paper stating in what sense they took it. To perform an act calculated to please the people whom he was leaving behind, at York he issued a proclamation, revoking no less than thirty-one monopolies and patents, pretending that he had not discovered before how grievous they were to his subjects; but the real fact was, that most of them had been granted to Scotsmen who had now forfeited his favour.

On leaving York he complimented the Recorder, who had paid him the most fulsome flattery, and the municipal authorities, by telling them that he had there experienced more love than he ever had in London on which he had showered so many benefits. At Durham by the bishop and clergy, and at Newcastle by the corporation, he was magnificently entertained, and at every halting-place fresh quotas of horse and foot came in. "But," remarks Clarendon, "if there had been none in the march but soldiers, it is most probable that a noble peace would have quickly ensued, even without fighting; but the progress was more illustrious than the march, and the soldiers were the least part of the army, and the least consulted with. For," he adds, "the king more intended the pomp of his preparations than the strength of them." The certain proof, he might have added, of a very foolish king, as Charles was. But the "ifs" which Clarendon summons up on this occasion to explain the want of success are amusing. "If the war had been vigorously pursued, it had been as soon ended as begun." "If he had been duly informed of what was going on in Scotland," of course he would have known. "If the whole nation of Scotchmen had been entirely united in the rebellion, and all who stayed in the Court had marched in their army, the king or kingdom could have sustained no damage by them; but the monument of their presumption and their shame would have been razed together, and no other memory preserved of their rebellion but in their memorable and infamous defeat." That is, there would have been no Scottish traitors about him to keep him misinformed. This is just as true as the treasury being well furnished, for we know that Hamilton and Traquair kept the king punctually informed of everything the whole time. "If," however, Charles had more wisely chosen his generals,—but Arundel, his general, was a man, says this veracious historian, "who had nothing martial about him but his presence and his looks, and therefore was thought to be made choice of for his negative qualities. He did not love the Scots; he did not love the Puritans; which good qualities were allayed by another negative—he did love nobody else." The lieutenant-general, the Earl of Essex, was too proud and uncompromising, and the Earl of Holland, general of the horse, was just no general at all, "a man fitter for a show than a field." Yet, says Clarendon, "If the king himself had stayed at London, or, which had been the next best, kept his court and resided at York, and sent the army on its proper errand, and left the matter of the war solely to them, in all human reason his enemies had been speedily subdued." With such generals as Arundel and Holland—for Essex was a brave commander, though, as afterwards appeared, no great tactician—it is not so easy to see that. But Clarendon might have safely reduced all his "ifs" into one—if Charles had been a wise king he would not have got into a quarrel with his subjects at all.

With such generals, and an army of raw levies, hastily dragged reluctantly from the plough and the mattock, to fight in a cause with which they had no sympathy, and encumbered by heaps of useless nobles and gentry, Charles marched on to Berwick, and encamped his forces on an open field called the Birks. He had besides the garrison of Berwick three thousand two hundred and sixty horse, and nineteen thousand six hundred and fourteen foot. But, on the other hand, Leslie, says Clarendon, had drawn up his forces on the side of a hill at Dunse, so as to make a great show. "The front only could be seen, but it was reported that Leslie and the whole army were there; and it was very true, they were all there indeed—but it was as true that all did not exceed the number of nine thousand men, very ill armed, and mostly country fellows, who were on the sudden got together to make that show." Leslie, he informs us, had so dispersed his knot of ragamuffins, with great herds of cattle on the hills around, that it was naturally supposed that there was a large army, the bulk of it concealed behind the hill; and he assures us that had the royal army pushed forward the whole illusion would have vanished.

This account is as thoroughly opposed to all the credible historians of the time, Rushworth, Nalson, Burnet, Baillie, and the letters of distinguished persons engaged, as the whole array of "ifs." We are assured that Leslie had pitched his camp at Dunglas, and twelve thousand volunteers had crowded to his standard. The preachers everywhere called on their hearers to advance the cause of God and the Kirk. Those in the camp wrote and disseminated letters to the same effect. One demanded that every true Scot should go forward to extort a reasonable peace from the king, or to do battle with his and their common enemies, the prelates and papists of England. Another denounced the curse of Meroz on all who did not come to the help of the Lord, and of His champions. Another ironically bade those who would not fight for God and their country to bring spades and bury the saints whom they had abandoned to the swords of the Amalekites. They had chosen for the motto on their banners the words, "For Christ's Crown and the Covenant," and over every captain's tent waved the arms of Scotland and these words. Soldiers therefore flocked in on all sides to the sacred standard, and by the time that Leslie marched for Dunse Hill his army numbered nearly twenty thousand men, many of them new to arms, but all enthusiastic patriots. Twice a day they were summoned by sound of drum to drill and to sermon; and when they were not listening to the exciting harangues of the ministers, they were solacing themselves with singing psalms and reading the Scriptures, or with extempore prayer. "Had you lent your ear," says one of them, "and heard in the tents the sounds of some singing psalms, some praying, some reading Scripture, you would have been refreshed. For myself, I never found my mind in better temper than it was. I was as a man who had taken leave from the world, and was resolved to die in that service without return. I found the favour of God shining upon me, and a sweet, meek, humble, yet strong and vehement spirit leading me all along."

Leslie was joined by the Earl of Montrose, who had been posted at Kelso, and the first of their proceedings was to issue proclamations, declaring that they had no intention to invade England if their reasonable demands were granted; and that their only object was to obtain from the king the confirmation of his promises for the free enjoyment of their religion. Whatever was done in the Scottish camp was freely circulated in the royal camp, for they had plenty of friends there, and the strength, the spirits, and resolution of their army were abundantly set forth daily.

It was the fortune of the Earl of Holland to lead the way first against them. He passed the Tweed near Twizel, where the English army had crossed to the battle of Flodden, and advanced towards the detachment of the army near Kelso. He had with him the bulk of the horse and about three thousand infantry. As if no enemy had been in the country, he trotted on with his horse, till he found himself on the hill of Maxwellhaugh, above Kelso, and not only saw the tents of the enemy, but his way barred by an advanced post of one hundred and fifty horse and five or six thousand foot. He then discovered that his foot and artillery were three or four miles behind. On this he sent a trumpet to the enemy, commanding them not to cross the Border, to which they replied by asking whose trumpet that was, and being told the Earl of Holland's, they said the earl had better take himself off; which it appears he lost no time in doing, and rode back to the general camp without striking a blow. The Scots, when they saw him retreating, sent after him a number of squibs and letters of ridicule, which were speedily circulated through the English army. The generals wrote letters to Essex, Holland, and Arundel, entreating them to intercede with the king that matters might be accommodated without bloodshed. Essex is said to have sent on their letters to the king without a word of reply to their messengers. Arundel and Holland were more gracious.

During this marching and countermarching it was that Leslie had posted his army on Dunse Hill, opposite Charles's camp, and the king, who had hitherto despised the Scottish force, now felt alarmed at their close proximity, and the hasty retreat of Holland. He blamed Lord Arundel for giving him no notice of the approach of the rebels, Arundel blamed the scout-master, and the scout-master blamed the scouts. There were earthworks suddenly thrown up to protect his camp and intimation given that overtures would be listened to. Accordingly, on the 6th of June, 1639, the Earl of Dunfermline, attended by a trumpet, arrived in the royal camp, bearing a humble petition to his majesty, entreating him to appoint a few suitable persons to confer with a deputation from the Scots, so that all misunderstandings might be removed, and the peace of the kingdom preserved. The petition was received, for besides the ill-success of Holland, the ill-success of Hamilton and his fleet was notorious; and it was, moreover, rumoured that the mother of Hamilton, a most zealous covenanter, had paid him a visit on board his vessel, and that he was much disinclined by her persuasions to press the Scots closely. There were daily rumours of a descent from Ireland, on the other hand and of a rising of the Royalists in the Highlands under Lord Aboyne, son of the Earl of Huntly, which rendered the Covenanters more desirous of an accommodation. On the part of the Crown the Earls of Essex, Holland, Salisbury, and Berkshire, Sir Henry Vane, and Mr. Secretary Coke, were appointed commissioners; on that of the Covenanters the Earls of Rothes and Dunfermline, the Lord Loudon, and Sir William Douglas, sheriff of Teviotdale. To these afterwards, much to the displeasure of the king, were added Alexander Henderson, late moderator of the assembly, and Johnstone, the clerk-register. They met in Arundel's tent; but before they could proceed to business, the king suddenly entered, and telling the Scottish commissioners that as he understood they complained that they could not be heard, he had determined to hear them himself, and he demanded what it was they wanted. The Earl of Rothes replied simply, to be secured in their religion and liberty. Loudon made some apology for the boldness of the proceedings of the Scots, but Charles cut him short, telling him that he could admit of no apologies for what was past, but that if they came to implore pardon, they must put down what they had to say in writing, and in writing he would answer them.

This was Charles's peculiar style, by which the negotiation appeared likely to come to a speedy end; but the Scots were firm, and adhered to their old sound principle, declaring that they had sought nothing but their own native rights, and the advancement of his majesty's service, and desired to have those severely punished who had misrepresented them to the king. Some historians assert that Hamilton at this juncture came into the camp from the Forth, and strongly advised the king to close with the Scots; though Clarendon affirms that he did not arrive till after the agreement was signed, and found much fault with it. However this may be, after much debate, and several attempts to overreach the Scots, which their caution defeated, it was agreed that the king should ratify all that had been done by his commissioner, which was next to nothing, though he would not recognise the acts of what he called the pretended General Assembly. But the main and only important concession was that all disputes should be settled by another Assembly, to be held on the 6th of August, and by a Parliament which should ratify its proceedings, to be held on the 20th of August, when an act of oblivion should be passed. Both parties were to disband their armies; the king's forts were to be restored, with all the ammunition; the fleet was to be withdrawn; Scottish merchant vessels and goods were to be returned; and the honours and privileges of the subjects replaced. The king resisted, however, any mention of episcopacy in the agreement; for he was as resolved as ever to reinstate the bishops. And indeed, that same duplicity guided him in this as in other actions of his life, being determined to break the whole agreement on the first possible opportunity. The Covenanters strongly suspected as much; and when Charles, before returning, invited fourteen of the leaders to meet him in Berwick, they had the fear of the Tower before their eyes, and declined the honour, and sent as their commissioners the Earls of Loudon, Lothian, and Montrose. Charles represented that it had been his intention to proceed to Edinburgh, and hold the Parliament in person, but that fresh instances of "the valyance of the godly females" deterred him; his chief officers not being able to show themselves in the streets of Berwick without insult from these good women.

What Charles had failed to do in the Convention at large, he managed to effect to a certain degree with the nobles. Loudon and Lothian were said to be greatly softened by the king's conversation, but Montrose was won over altogether.

The two armies were disbanded on the 24th of June, and the Earl of Traquair was appointed the king's commissioner in Scotland, Hamilton firmly declining to return thither. Charles reached London on the 1st of August, and one of the first things which he did was to write to the Scottish bishops, telling them that he would never abandon the idea of reinstating them, and would in the meantime provide for their support. He forbade them to present themselves at the approaching Assembly or Parliament, as that would ruin everything; but he advised them to send in a protest against the infringement of their rights, and get it presented by some mean person, so as to create not too much notice. Such was Charles's perfidious conduct, at the very moment that he was promising the Covenanters the contrary. Accordingly the bishops fixed themselves in the vicinity of the borders, some at Morpeth, some in Holy Island, some in Berwick itself, keeping up a correspondence with their adherents in the Scottish capital, and ready to rush in again on the first favourable chance.

If we are to believe Clarendon, however, "The king was very melancholy, and quickly discovered that he had lost reputation at home and abroad, and those counsellors who had been most faulty either through want of courage or wisdom—for at that time few of them wanted fidelity—never afterwards recovered spirit enough to do their duty, but gave themselves up to those who so much had outwitted them, every man shifting the fault from himself." On the contrary, he says, "The Scots got so much benefit and advantage by it, that they brought all their other mischievous devices to pass with ease, and a prosperous gale in all they went about." They declared that "they did not intend by anything contained in the treaty, to vacate any of the proceedings which had been in the late General Assembly at Glasgow, by which all the bishops were excommunicated, and renewed all their menaces against them by proclamation, and imposed grievous penalties on all who should presume to harbour any of them, so that by the time the king came to London, it appeared plainly that the army was disbanded without a peace being made, and the Scots in more reputation and equal inclination to affront his majesty than ever." The fact was, that whilst Charles was pretending to concede, meaning to revoke when he had the power, the Scots were conscious of their advantage and did not mean to allow him to do so. They were earnest and outspoken in their resolves, and therefore Charles seized a paper in which they published what had really been promised in the treaty, and had it burned by the common hangman.

The Assembly was opened on the 12th of August in Edinburgh, and in spite of what Charles had assured the bishops, they were given up in the instructions to Traquair, for he meant to resist the abolition of the bishops, and to restore them when he had the power, but endeavoured to make political capital out of this concession. Traquair was to obtain, if possible, the admission of fourteen ministers into Parliament instead of the bishops, or, if that were not possible, as many lay members whom the king was to appoint, and who were to choose the lords of the articles. By these perpetual finesses, Charles continually sought to withdraw the concessions that he made, as though those whom he tried to overreach were not as wide awake as himself. He thought, if he could select the Lords of the Articles, and fourteen others devoted to him, he could revoke in the Parliament what he gave up in the Assembly—the characteristic of short-sighted cunning.

The bishops presented their protest to the Commissioner, which, without being read, was to serve as a proof of their not having yielded up their claims; and the commissioner, finding the Covenanters firm to all their demands—for every member of the Assembly before entering it had sworn to support all the acts of the Assembly of Glasgow—gave the royal assent to all the proceedings, and the news of the overthrow of episcopacy was received with shouts of acclamation by the people.

The Parliament of Scotland met on the day appointed, the 20th of August. There the Covenanters displayed their determination not to stickle for small matters, but to destroy the scheme by which that body had been made dependent on the royal will. They would no longer admit the bishops nor the Lords of the Articles whom the bishops had chosen, and who selected the topics, under the direction of the Crown, which should or should not come before the House. They proposed that the lesser barons, the commissioners of the shires, should take the place of the bishops, and that the Lords of the Articles should be selected from men of each estate, by those estates themselves. In order not to appear obstinate, they permitted the Commissioner to name the Lords of the Articles for this once, not as an act of right, but of grace, from themselves. They then decreed that all acts in favour of episcopacy should be rescinded; that patents of peerage should for the future be granted to none but such as possessed a rental of ten thousand marks from land in Scotland; that proxies should never again be admitted; and that the fortresses of Edinburgh, Stirling, and Dumbarton, should be entrusted to none but Scotsmen.

These measures would have completely enfranchised Scotland from the shackles of the Crown, and Traquair, unable to avoid the necessity of ratifying them, prorogued the Parliament to the 14th of November, so that he could receive the instructions of the king. Charles, to get rid of the demands of the Covenanters altogether, prorogued it for six months. The members, who saw the intention, protested against the prorogation under circumstances so vital to the country, but obeyed after naming a deputation to go to the king on the subject. This deputation, headed by the Lords Loudon and Dunfermline, on arriving at Whitehall were refused audience, because they had not come with the sanction of the royal Commissioner; and Traquair was immediately summoned to court to answer for having conceded so much to the Scots. He had, indeed, conceded nothing but what Charles himself had instructed him to do but the king was angry because he had not been able to recover in Parliament, as he had vainly hoped, what was lost in the Assembly.

Traquair, who was aware that having implicitly followed these instructions would avail him little with the king in his mortification, thought of an expedient to divert Charles's anger into another channel. He had discovered a letter addressed by the Covenanters to the King of France, complaining of the miserable condition of Scotland through the attempts of the king to root out the religion of the people; of his having violated the late treaty at Berwick, and dissolved Parliament contrary to the will of the states and to all national precedent, and entreating him to mediate in their favour. This letter was signed by seven lords, and addressed Au Roi. The letter had been publicly declined by Louis, but privately answered, though in very cautious terms.

The production of this letter had all the effect that Traquair hoped for. The wrath of the king was immediately turned on the Covenanters, and Traquair deepened the impression by assuring the king that nothing but war would pacify the Covenanters, and declaring this discovery to be a perfect justification.

The Scots demanded an opportunity of vindicating themselves, and requested leave to send up deputies for that purpose. It was granted, and Dunfermline and Loudon were sent up. No sooner did they arrive than Loudon, whose name was one of those appended to the intercepted letter, was instantly seized and brought before the Council. The letter being addressed simply Au Roi, which was the manner from subjects to their own sovereign, and not as from foreigners, it was deemed treasonable on that ground, if on no other. Loudon asserted that the letter had been written before the pacification at Berwick, and, not being approved, had never been sent, but the contents contradicted that statement; and, moreover, William Colvill, who had carried it to the French court, was in London, and was taken prisoner. Loudon thereupon insisted on his safe conduct, and demanded liberty to return, contending that, if he had done anything wrong, it was in Scotland and not there that he ought to be interrogated. But the king sent both him and Colvill to the Tower.

The Covenanters were greatly incensed at the seizure of their envoy, and demanded his release, but Charles signed a warrant for his execution and was prevented from putting him to death only by the solemn declaration that if he did Scotland was lost for ever. After this it became plain that nothing could avert a conflict between the infatuated king and the Scottish people. Charles's object was to obtain funds; that of the Scots to divide the king's attention by exciting discontent nearer home. England itself had abundant causes of dissatisfaction. The disuse of Parliaments, the continued illegal levying of taxes by the king's own will, the rigorous and ruinous prosecutions in the Star Chamber and the High Commission Court, the brandings, scourgings, and mutilations of such as dared to dispute the awful tyranny of the Government, portended a storm at home ere long, and the Scots found many well-wishers and friends amongst the English patriots. These were everyday drawing into their ranks men of the highest position and the most distinguished talents. The Earls of Essex, Bedford, and Holland were secretly connected with them; the Lord Say, Hampden, Pym, Cromwell, and other men of iron nerve and indomitable will, were watching with deep interest movements in the North so congenial to their own.

Whilst the king was pondering on the means of raising money, an event took place which for the moment promised to present him with a considerable sum. A Spanish fleet of seventy sail was discovered by the Dutch admiral, De Witt, off the Land's End. As it was bearing troops from Spain to Flanders, which were hard pressed by the Dutch, De Witt followed it up the Channel, firing guns to harass its rear, but still more to awake the attention of Van Tromp, who was lying off Dunkirk. The two celebrated Dutch admirals were soon in full chase of the Spaniards. Sixteen of the ships, having four thousand troops on board, bore away with all speed for the coast of Flanders, but the rest fled for shelter into the Downs. Charles sent the Earl of Arundel to inquire of Oquendo the Spanish admiral, what was his destination, being apprehensive lest the fleet might be intended for a descent on Ireland, or in aid of his disaffected subjects of Scotland.

Oquendo satisfied Arundel that they were really on their way to Flanders, and demanded the protection of Charles as a friendly king. Charles was willing to grant it for a consideration, and the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds was the price named in ready cash. For this Charles was to send the Spanish fleet under protection of his own to Flanders; but the two Dutch admirals, having now no less than one hundred sail, from continued fresh arrivals, attacked the Spaniards in the English roads, sank and burned five of the largest vessels, drove twenty-three more on shore, and pursued the rest across the Channel, suffering only ten of them to escape. All this time the English admiral lay near at hand, but made no movement in protection of the Spaniards. The English people on shore beheld the destruction of the Spanish fleet with the utmost exultation, the memory of the great Armada being yet so strong amongst them; but Charles had lost his much desired money, and with the loss had acquired an immense amount of foreign odium. To have suffered the vessels of a friendly Power, which had fled to him for shelter, to be attacked and chased from his own harbour, lowered him greatly in the estimation of Continental nations.

At the time of this untoward occurrence Charles had sent for Wentworth from Ireland, to assist him by his counsels as to the best mode of dealing with his difficulties at home, and the Scots in the North. Wentworth had overridden all obstacles in Ireland, and had forced an income out of the reluctant people there; he was thought, therefore, by Charles the only man whose wisdom and resolution were equal to the crisis. Wentworth had strongly advised Charles not to march against the Scots, knowing that the king's raw levies would have no chance against them; and he had gone on actively drilling ten thousand men, to prepare them for the campaign, which he felt must come, even after all seemed settled at Berwick.

Clarendon, who is a regular Royalist and inclined to see more virtues in Wentworth than other historians of the time, is yet obliged to sketch this picture of the enmities which he justly provoked:—"He was a man of too high and severe deportment, and too great a contemner of ceremony, to have many friends at court, and therefore could not but have enemies enough. He had two that professed it, the Earl of Holland and Sir Henry Vane." Besides having said that "the king would do well to cut off Holland's head," he had insulted the Earl in various ways. He had done all he could to prevent Sir Henry Vane from being made secretary in place of Sir John Coke, whom the king removed on his return from Scotland; but, worse still, Charles now creating him Earl of Strafford, nothing would satisfy him but that he must be also made Baron of Proby, Vane's own estate, from which he himself hoped to derive that title. "That," continues Clarendon, "was an act of the most unnecessary provocation that I have known, and though he contemned the man with marvellous scorn, I believe it was the loss of his head. To these a third adversary, like to be more pertinacious than the other two, was the Earl of Essex, naturally enough disinclined to his person, his power, and his parts." This enmity in Essex, we are told, was increased by Wentworth's insolent conduct to Lord Bacon, for whom Essex had a friendship; and he openly vowed vengeance. "Lastly, he had an enemy more terrible than all the others, and like to be more fatal, the whole Scottish nation, provoked by the declaration he had procured of Ireland, and some high carriage and expressions of his against them in that kingdom." Moreover, Wentworth had no friend in the queen, from his persecution of the Catholics in Ireland, and was continually thwarted by her.

But all these councillors could devise no way to raise funds but by the old and irritating mode of ship-money, for which writs to the amount of two hundred thousand pounds were immediately issued, and this bearing no proportion to the requirements of a campaign against the Scots, they advised Charles to call together a Parliament. To this he demurred; but when they persisted in that advice, he ordered a full Council to be called, and put to it this question:—"If this Parliament should prove as untoward as some have lately been, will you then assist me in such extraordinary ways as in that extremity should be thought fit?"

Charles was thus bent on extraordinary ways, and the Council promised him its support. Wentworth returned to Ireland, being not only created Earl of Strafford, but made Lord-lieutenant of that country. He promised to obtain a liberal vote from the Irish Parliament, which it was thought might act as a salutary example for England. Accordingly, no one daring to oppose his wishes, he obtained four subsidies, with a promise of more if found necessary. The English Parliament was delayed till this was effected, and was then summoned for the 13th of April. To assist the king and council in what was felt to be a critical emergency, Wentworth, now Strafford, returned, though suffering from a painful complaint. He left orders for the immediate levy of an army of eight thousand men, and Charles took measures for the raising in England of fifteen thousand foot and four thousand horse, which he thought would serve to overawe Parliament; and, what is singular, the order for the raising of these troops and providing artillery and ammunition was signed by Laud, so little had he an idea of an archbishop being a minister of the Prince of Peace. Before the arrival of Strafford, Charles read to the Council the account of the liberal subsidies and the loyal expressions which Strafford had put into the mouths of the enslaved Irish Commons. This he did at the request of Strafford himself, to prove not only the loyalty of the Irish, but his own popularity there, in spite of the assertions of his being hated in that country.

When the king met the Parliament on the 13th of April he had not abated one jot of his high-flown notions of his divine right, and of the slavish obedience due from Parliament. The Lord Keeper Finch formerly Speaker of the House but now more truly in his element as a courtier, made a most fulsome speech, describing the king as "the most just, the most pious, the most gracious king that ever was." He informed them that for many years in his piety towards them he had taken all the annoyances of government from them, and raised the condition and reputation of the country to a wonderful splendour; that, notwithstanding such exemplary virtues and exhibitions of goodness, some sons of Belial had blown the trumpet of rebellion in Scotland, and that it was now necessary to chastise that stiff-necked people; that they must therefore lay aside all other subjects, and imitate the loyal Parliament of Ireland in furnishing liberal supplies; that had not the king, upon the credit of his servants and out of his own estate, raised three hundred thousand pounds, he could not have made the preparations already in progress; and that they must therefore grant him tonnage and poundage from the beginning of his reign, and vote the subsidies at once, when his Majesty would pledge his royal word that he would take into his gracious consideration their grievances. And all this attempt to get the supplies before the discussion of grievances, from sturdy commoners who had never yet given way to force or flattery!

Charles then produced the intercepted letters of the Scottish lords to the King of France, to show the treason of the Scots and the necessity of taking decisive measures with them. But the Commons were not likely to be moved from their settled purpose by any such arguments. They elected Serjeant Glanvil as Speaker, and proceeded first and foremost to the discussion of the grievances of the nation. Amongst their old members—though the brave Sir John Eliot had perished in prison, and Sir Edward Coke, who by his later years of patriotism had effaced the memory of the arbitrary spirit of his earlier ones, was also dead—there were Oliver Cromwell, now sitting for Cambridge, Pym, Hampden, Denzil Holles, Maynard, Oliver St. John, Strode, Corriton, Hayman, and Haselrig. There were amongst the new ones, Harbottle Grimston, Edmund Waller, the poet, Lord George Digby, the son of the Earl of Bristol, a young man of eminent talent, and other men destined to become prominent. Sir Benjamin Rudyard and Grimston delivered speeches recommending at once courtesy and respect towards the Crown, but unflinching support of the rights of the people. Harbottle Grimston described the commonwealth as miserably torn and massacred, all property and liberty shaken, the Church distracted, the Gospel and professors of it persecuted, Parliament suspended, and the laws made void. Sir Benjamin Rudyard protested that he desired nothing so much as that they might proceed with moderation, but that if Parliaments were gone, they were lost. A remarkable feature of this Parliament was the number of petitions sent in by the people. These were poured in against ship-money and other abuses, as the Star Chamber and High Commission Court, from the counties of Hertford, Essex, and Sussex. After these matters had been warmly debated for four days, for the king had many advocates in the House, on the 17th Mr. Pym delivered a most eloquent and impressive speech, in which he narrated the many attacks on the privileges of Parliament and the liberty of the subject, and laid down the constitutional doctrine "that the king can do no wrong," thus bringing the conduct and counsels of his ministers under the direct censure of the House, and loading them with the solemn responsibility—an awful foreshadowing of the judgments to come on Laud and Wentworth. From that point the debate turned on the arbitrary treatment of the members of the Commons, and orders were issued for a report of the proceedings of the Star Chamber and the Court of King's Bench against Sir John Eliot, Mr. Holles, and Mr. Hampden, to be laid on the table of the House. The conduct of the late Speaker Finch, in adjourning the House at the command of the king, was declared unconstitutional.

The king could no longer restrain his impatience, and summoned both Houses before him in the Banqueting Hall. There the Lord Keeper Finch, in the presence of Charles, recalled their attention to the necessity of voting the supplies, and repeated the king's promises. He endeavoured to excuse the raising of ship-money as a necessity for chastising the Algerine pirates who infested the seas, and again recommended the liberal example of the Irish Parliament. The only effect produced by this was a most vivid and trenchant speech the next day by Waller, in which he told the House that the king was personally beloved, but that his mode of extorting his subjects' money was detested; and that neither the admiration of his majesty's natural disposition, nor the pretended consent of the judges, could ever induce them to consent to such unconstitutional demands. He then severely castigated the conduct of the bishops and clergy who preached the divine right of monarchs to plunder the public at their own pleasure. "But," said he, "they gain preferment by it, and then it is no matter, though they neither believe themselves nor are believed by others. But since they are so ready to let loose the consciences of their kings, we are bound the more carefully to provide against this pulpit law, by declaring and enforcing the municipal laws of this kingdom."

This again roused the king, who went down to the Lords, and read them a sharp lesson on their not supporting him in his just demands of supplies from the Commons. Thereupon the Lords sent for the Commons to a conference on the 29th of April, and recommended them to pass the votes and take the king's word for the redress of grievances; but the Commons resented their intruding their advice about money matters as an infringement of the privileges of the House; and on the 1st of May, the Lords, through the Lord Keeper, disclaimed any intention of encroaching on any of the well-known rights of the Commons, but that the Lords had felt bound to comply with the request of the king. The Commons returned to their debate on ship-money, and on Saturday, the 2nd of May, Charles sent a message by Sir Henry Vane, now Secretary of State and Treasurer of the Household, desiring an immediate answer regarding the supplies. Lord Digby reminded the House that the demand was that of a hasty and immediate answer to a call for funds to involve the nation in a civil war with the Scots, a people holding the same religion and subjects of the same king as themselves. The debate was continued for two days, Clarendon accusing Vane of deliberately keeping from the House the fact entrusted to him, that the king, though asking for twelve subsidies, would consent to take eight.

But it was not so much the amount as the principle involved in the subsidies which was the question; for, on the 4th of May, Charles sent Vane again with the remarkable offer to abolish ship-money for ever, and by any means that they should think fit, on condition that they granted him twelve subsidies, valued at eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds, to be paid in three years, with an assurance that the House should not be prorogued till next Michaelmas. This was a mighty temptation: here was the direct offer of at once getting rid of one of the monster grievances for ever; but it did not escape the attention of the more sagacious that, by accepting the bargain, they were conceding the king's right to set aside the most established laws, to force his own notions of religion on his subjects, and to make war on them if they refused. They rejected the snare, and maintained the debate for some hours against all the arguments of the Court party. On rising, they informed Vane that they would resume the debate the next morning at eight o'clock; but Sir Henry, seeing very well how it would terminate, assured the king in Council that he was certain that the House would not grant him a penny for the war against the Scots.

On this Charles adopted one of his stratagems. Early in the morning he sent for Glanvil the Speaker, before the Commons had assembled, and detained him at Whitehall, so that the Commons without him could not vote against the supplies, nor protest against the war; and suddenly hastening to the House of Lords, he sent for the Commons and dismissed them. In doing this, he praised the peers at the expense of the Commons, and declared that as to the liberties of the people which the Commons made so much talk of, they had not more regard for them than he had.

This was the last Parliament which Charles was ever to dissolve, and the folly of his conduct became speedily palpable. The Parliament had only sat about three weeks, having met on the 13th of April, and being now dissolved on May 5th. By this hasty act the king had put himself wholly on the army. Had he allowed the Commons to vote against the supplies, many would have sympathised with him; now he had only himself to blame. His enemies rejoiced, exceedingly, and his friends deplored the deed with gloomy auguries.

The king was made to feel his mistake, on applying to the City of London for a loan and receiving a cool and evasive answer. The Scots were greatly elated. They had their agents in close though secret communication with the leaders of the opposition, and now saw the king deprived of the means of effectually contending with them, and felt that they had numerous friends of their cause in England. The passion of the king only increased their advantages. He issued a proclamation declaring why he had dismissed the Parliament, charging the Commons with malice and disaffection to the State, and with designing to bring government and magistracy into contempt; and he gave fresh proofs of his vindictive feeling by arresting a number of the members the day after the dissolution. The public had not forgotten the cruelty practised on their faithful servant Sir John Eliot, and they now saw Sir John Hotham and Mr. Bellasis committed to the Fleet, Mr. Crew, afterwards Lord Crew, to the Tower, and the house of Lord Brooke forced, and his study and cabinets broken open in a search for papers.

To add to the general exasperation, Laud, who had summoned Convocation previous to the meeting of Parliament, continued its sessions after the dissolution, contrary to all custom; and its sitting was employed to pass a series of seventeen new canons of the most offensive and slavish kind. The public excitement was so great against the innovation that the Lord Keeper Finch and some of the judges had to furnish a written opinion declaring the right of Convocation to sit after the close of Parliament, and a new commission was issued with the usual words, "during the Parliament," altered to "during our pleasure." But a guard of soldiers was deemed necessary to protect the sittings, in which the clergy first voted six subsidies to the king, and then passed to the canons, one of which ordered that every clergyman once a quarter should instruct his parishioners in the divine right of kings, and the damnable sin of resisting authority. Others fulminated the most flaming intolerance of Catholics, Socinians, and Separatists. All clergymen and graduates of the universities were called on to take an oath declaring the sufficiency of the doctrines and discipline of the Church of England, in opposition to Presbyterianism and Popery.

On the publication of these canons, great was the ferment in the country, and petitions and remonstrances from Northampton, Kent, Devon, and other counties, were sent up against them. The code was most ungracious as regarded the Catholics, who had just presented to the king, at the suggestion of the queen, fourteen thousand pounds. The queen remonstrated against it, and the king gave orders to Laud to desist from further annoyance in that direction. But anger and discontent were spreading throughout the country, from the outrageous measures to raise money. Fresh writs of ship-money were issued, and many victims were dragged into the Star Chamber for refusal to pay, and fined, so that their money was obtained by one process or the other. The names of the richest citizens were picked out in order to demand loans from them. Bullion, the property of foreign merchants, was seized at the Mint, and forty thousand pounds were extorted for its release; and bags of pepper on the Exchange were sold at whatever they would fetch. It was next proposed to coin four hundred thousand pounds' worth of bad money; but the merchants and other intelligent men came forward and drew such a picture of the ruin and confusion that such an act would produce, that the king was alarmed, and gave the project up. The Council, however, hit upon the scheme of purchasing goods at long credit, and selling them at a low price for ready money. All this time large sums of money were levied throughout the land by violence, for the support of the troops collected for the campaign against the Scots. Carts, horses, and forage were seized at the sword's point; and whoever dared to represent these outrages to the king was branded as an enemy to the Government. The Corporation of London was dealt with severely, because it showed no fondness for enforcing the king's arbitrary demands. The Lord Mayor and sheriffs were cited into the Star Chamber for remissness in levying the ship-money; and several of the aldermen were committed to prison for refusing to furnish the names of such persons in their wards as were able to contribute to Charles's forced loans. Strafford said things would never go right till a few fat London aldermen were hanged.

These desperate measures inflamed the public mind beyond expression, and greatly strengthened the league of the discontented with the Scots. All except the insane tyrants who were thus forcing the nation to rebellion, could see tempests ahead; and the Earl of Northumberland, writing to a friend, said, "It is impossible that all things can long remain in the condition they are now in: so general a defection in this kingdom hath not been known in the memory of man." The disaffection began to find expression, and, according to Clarendon, inflammatory placards were scattered about the City and affixed on gates and public places, denouncing the king's chief advisers. Laud, Strafford, and Hamilton, were the marks of the most intense hatred, and the London apprentices were invited, by a bill posted on the Royal Exchange, to demolish the episcopal palace at Lambeth and "haul out William the fox."

The train-bands assembled and kept the peace by day, but at night a mob of five hundred assembled and attacked Lambeth Palace, and demolished the windows, vowing that they would tear the archbishop to pieces. In a couple of hours the train-bands arrived, fired on them, and dispersed the multitude. Laud got away to Whitehall, where he remained some days, till the damages were repaired and the house was fortified with cannon. Another crowd, said to be two thousand in number, entered St. Paul's, where the High Commission Court sat, tore down the benches, and cried out, "No bishop! no High Commission!" A number of rioters were seized by the train-bands and lodged in the White Lion Prison; but the prison was forced open by the insurgents, and their associates released all but two, a sailor and a drummer, who were executed, according to some authorities; according to others, only one was thus disposed of.

The king was greatly alarmed at this outbreak. He removed the queen to Greenwich, as she was near her confinement, and placed a strong guard over the palace with sixteen pieces of cannon; nor was he easy till he saw a force of six thousand men at hand.

The time for the meeting of the Scottish Parliament had now arrived, and Charles sought to prevent it by another prorogation; but the Scots were not to be put off in any such manner. The king had for some time been treating them like a nation at war; he had prohibited all trade with Scotland, and his men-of-war had been ordered to seize its merchantmen, wherever found. The Scots therefore met on the 2nd of January, set aside the king's warrant of prorogation on the plea of informality, and the members took their seats, elected a president, an officer hitherto unknown, and passed the new Acts. They then voted a tax of ten per cent. on all rents, and five per cent. on interest of money to open the inevitable campaign; and, before rising, appointed a Committee of Estates for the government of the kingdom till the next meeting of Parliament. This Committee was to sit either at Edinburgh or at the place where the headquarters of the army should be, and a bond was entered into to support the authority of Parliament, and to give to the statutes which it had passed or should pass the same force as if they had received the royal assent.

But they had not waited for Parliament to take the necessary steps for organisation of the army. They had retained in full pay the experienced officers whom they had invited from Germany, and the soldiers who had disbanded at the pacification of Berwick returned with alacrity to their colours in March and April. Leslie was still commander-in-chief, and determined to reduce the castle of Edinburgh before marching south. It was in vain that Charles issued his proclamations, warning them of the treasonable nature of their proceedings; they went on as if animated by one spirit, and determined not only to strike the first blow, but to advance into England instead of waiting to be attacked at home.

Charles, on his part, was far from being so early ready or so well served. His plans for the campaign were grand. He proposed to attack Scotland on three sides at once—with twenty thousand men from England, with ten thousand from the Highlands under the Marquis of Hamilton, and with the same number from Ireland under Strafford. But his total want of funds prevented his progress, and the resort to the lawless practices which we have related for raising them, was alienating the hearts of his English subjects from him in an equal degree. It was not till the month of July, and the loan of three hundred thousand pounds by the Lords, that he dared to issue writs for the number of forces. Thus the Scots were ready for action when the king was only mobilising an army.

In the appointment of commanders gross blunders were committed. The Earls of Essex, Holland, and Arundel were set aside, and this, with personal affronts to Essex, tended to throw these officers into the interest of the opposition. Essex and Holland were at undisguised hostility with Strafford, and as he was to take a leading part in the campaign, they were kept out of it to oblige him. The Earl of Northumberland was appointed commander-in-chief instead of Arundel, but was prevented by a severe illness from acting; and Strafford was desired to leave Ireland in the charge of the Earl of Ormond, and take the chief command, which he consented to do, but nominally only as lieutenant to Northumberland. Lord Conway was made general of the horse, partly because he had been born a soldier in his father's garrison of Brell, and had held several subordinate commands; but still more from the causes which put incompetent generals at the head of our armies in later times—Court influence.

On the 29th of June Leslie collected his army at Chouseley Wood, near Dunse, his former camp, and drilled them there three weeks. He had entrusted the siege of the castle of Edinburgh to a select party, and had the pleasure soon after this period to hear of its surrender to his officers. Meanwhile, Conway was advancing northward, and soon gave evidence of his gross incapacity, by writing in all his despatches to Windebank, the Secretary of State, "that the Scotch had not advanced their preparations to that degree, that they would be able to march that year." But the king, Clarendon says, had much better information, and ought to have distrusted the vigilance of such a commander. Moreover, his soldiers displayed a most decided aversion to the service. They were evidently leavened with the same leaven of reform as the Parliament. They wanted to know whether their officers were Papists, and would not be satisfied till they saw them take the Sacrament. "They laid violent hands," says May, "on divers of their commanders, and killed some, uttering in bold speeches their distaste to the cause, to the astonishment of many, that common people should be sensible of public interest and religion, when lords and gentlemen seemed not to be."

Strafford was so well aware of the readiness of the Scots, and the unreadiness and disaffection of the English soldiery, that he issued strict injunctions to Conway not to attempt to cross the Tyne, and expose his raw and wavering recruits in the open country between that river and the Trent, but to fortify the passage of the Tyne at Newburn, and prevent the Scots from crossing. The Scots, however, did not leave him time for his defences. On the 20th of August, Leslie crossed the Tweed with twenty thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry. He had been strongly advised to this step by the leaders of the English opposition themselves, and "the Earls of Essex, Bedford, Holland, the Lord Say, Hampden, and Pym," says Whitelock, "were deeply in with them." No sooner were the Scots on English ground, than the preachers advanced to the front of the army with their Bibles in their hands, and led the way. The soldiers followed with reversed arms, and a proclamation was issued by Leslie that the Scots had undertaken this expedition at the call of Divine Providence, not against the people of England, but against the "Canterbury faction of Papists, Atheists, Arminians, and Prelates." God and their consciences bore them witness that they sought only the peace of both kingdoms by putting down the "troublers of Israel, the fire-brands of hell, the Korahs, the Balaams, the Doegs, the Rhabshakehs, the Hamans, the Tobiahs, the Sanballats of the times," and that done, they would return with satisfaction to their own country.

On the 27th of August they arrived at Heddon-law, near Newburn, on the left bank of the Tyne, and found Conway posted on the opposite side, between Newburnhaugh and Stellahaugh. The Scots kindled that night great fires round their camp, thus giving the English an imposing idea of its great extent; and we are told that numbers of the English soldiers went over during the night amongst them, and were well received by them, for they assured them that they only came to demand justice from the king against the men who were the pest of both nations. The next day the Scots attempted to ford the river, but were driven back by a charge of six troops of horse; these horse were, however, in their turn repulsed by the discharge of artillery, and a second attempt of the Scots succeeded. "As for Conway," says Clarendon, "he soon afterwards turned his face towards the army, nor did anything like a commander, though his troops were quickly brought together again, without the loss of a dozen men [the real loss was about sixty], and were so ashamed of their flight, that they were very willing, as well as able, to have taken what revenge they could upon the enemy."

This was not true, for though "our whole army made the most shameful and confounding flight that was ever heard of," they had no chance of taking revenge with such a commander, being only about four thousand five hundred altogether, horse and foot, while the Scots were twenty-six thousand strong. Moreover, the English had no heart for the work, while the Scots were resolute as one man, and commanded by officers who had grown grey in the service of the victorious Swede, the great Gustavus Adolphus. When the English forces reached Newcastle, they did not feel able to defend it against such an army, and they fled on to Durham. The Scots could scarcely believe their eyes when they found Newcastle evacuated.

The retreating English army, under the panic-stricken Conway, meantime dared not even stop at Durham, but continued their flight to Darlington, where they met Strafford coming up with reinforcements. He was suffering from gout and stone, and in a marvellously bad humour at the late scandalous disaster; and he must have seen enough of the demoralisation of Conway's troops, for he turned back with him to Northallerton, where Charles was lying with the bulk of his army. Altogether, Charles had now twenty thousand men and sixty pieces of cannon wherewith to face the Scots; but the disaffection became so manifest, the desertions so frequent, and the whole condition of the force so unsatisfactory, that though Strafford professed to speak with contempt of the Scots, he assured Charles that it would require two months to put his army into fighting order. They therefore fell back upon York, intending to entrench a camp under its walls, and to send the cavalry to Richmond or Cleveland to guard the passes of the Tees.

The Scots had meanwhile taken unopposed possession of Newcastle, Durham, Shields, Tynemouth, and other towns, and were masters of the four northern counties of England, without having lost twenty men. In this position it has been matter of wonder that they did not still advance, and drive the king before them; but those writers who have thus imagined have greatly mistaken the whole business. The object of the Scots was not, as of old, to annoy and devastate, much less to conquer England; it was simply to force from the king and his evil ministers the recognition and the guarantee of their just national rights. They had advanced into England with this plain declaration; they had attempted not to fight except so far as to force their way to the king's presence. To this they were, in fact, now come. They had achieved a vantage-ground from which to treat, and, though strongly posted, and possessed of the whole country north of the Tees, they had refrained from all ravages and impositions on the people with whom they had no quarrel, paying for whatever they needed. To have done otherwise, would have broken faith with the people of England, who were seeking the same redress of grievances as themselves, and have at once roused the jealousy of the English public, who would have regarded them as invaders instead of friends, and thus strengthened the hands of the king. The Scots knew perfectly well what they were about, and how best to obtain their just demands. They now therefore sent Lord Lanark, Secretary of State for Scotland, and brother of the Marquis of Hamilton, to present the petition of the Covenanters to the king, who was plainly in a strait and therefore compelled to listen to it. They respectfully repeated their pacific designs, and implored the king to assemble a Parliament, and by its wisdom to settle peace between the two kingdoms. This was precisely what the people of England were earnestly seeking, and demonstrates the perfect concert between the leaders of the two nations. To assemble a Parliament was of all things the last which Charles was disposed to consent to, but he was in no condition to refuse altogether. He therefore took three days to consider their request, and on the 5th of September returned to Lord Lanark the answer, that he would assemble a great council of English Peers in York to settle the matters in dispute between them, and that he had already summoned this Assembly for the 24th of that month. By this means Charles endeavoured to escape the necessity of calling a Parliament, but his hesitation did not avail him. All parties were too much interested to let this opportunity slip. Twelve peers—Bedford, Essex, Hertford, Warwick, Bristol, Mulgrave, Say and Sele, Howard, Bolingbroke, Mandeville, Brooke, and Paget—presented a petition, urgently representing the necessity of a Parliament, and describing the sufferings of the nation from the lawlessness of the soldiers, the damage done to trade by the arbitrary levies on merchants, and the danger of bringing in wild Irish troops. The citizens of London prepared a similar one, which Laud endeavoured to quash, but in vain; they obtained ten thousand signatures, and despatched some of the Aldermen and members of the Common Council to present it at York. The gentry of Yorkshire presented another, detailing their sufferings from the support of the army, and their cry, too, was for a Parliament. Strafford, who was desired to present it, endeavoured to persuade them to leave the prayer for a Parliament out, on pretence that he knew the king meant to call one; but they would on no account omit it. Thus pressed on all sides, Charles was reluctantly compelled to promise, and on the meeting of the great council of Peers on the 24th, announced to them that he had issued the writs for the meeting of a Parliament on the 3rd of November.

The Scots had comprised their demands under seven heads, the chief of which were the full and free exercise of their religion; the total abolition of episcopacy; the restoration of their ships and goods; the recall of the offensive epithet of traitors; and the punishment of the evil counsellors who had created all these troubles. The Lords, delighted at the prospect of a Parliament, saw no difficulty in coming to terms with the Scots. They named sixteen of their own body to meet with eight Commissioners of the Covenanters at Ripon, to negotiate the terms of a peace, and sent a deputation of six other lords to London, to raise for the king a loan of two hundred thousand pounds, on their own securities. Charles would have drawn the Conference from Ripon to York, where his army lay, but the Scots were too cautious to be caught in such a snare. They represented the danger of their putting their Commissioners into the power of an army commanded by Strafford, one of the very incendiaries against whom they were complaining, and who termed them rebels and traitors in the Parliament in Ireland, and had recommended the king to subdue and destroy them. The Conference was opened at Ripon, but got no further from the 1st to the 16th of October, than the settlement of the question of the maintenance of the Scottish army till all was concluded. Charles offered to leave them at liberty to make assessments for themselves, but this they declined, as looking too much like plundering; and it was finally agreed that they should retain their position in the four northern counties, and receive eight hundred and eighty pounds for two months, binding themselves to commit no depredations on any party; and the time for the meeting of Parliament approaching, the Conference was adjourned to London on the 24th.

The last Parliament had been called the Short Parliament; this was destined to acquire the name of the Long Parliament, never to be dissolved till it had dissolved the monarchy—the most memorable Parliament that ever sat. "The Parliament," says Clarendon, "met on the 3rd of November, 1640. It had a sad and a melancholie aspect upon the first entrance, which presaged some unusual and unnatural events. The king himself did not ride with his accustomed equipages, nor in his usual majesty to Westminster, but went privately in his barge to the Parliament stairs, and so to the church, as if it had been a return of a prorogued or adjourned Parliament. There was likewise an untoward, and, in truth, an unheard of accident, which broke many of the king's measures, and infinitely disordered his service beyond a capacity of reparation."

This was the defeat in the City of the man on whom he had fixed as Speaker of the Commons, Sir Thomas Gardiner, the Recorder of London, a lawyer on whom Charles greatly calculated for managing the House. But that very morning he learned that Gardiner had been thrown out as one of the four members, and he was so confounded that it was afternoon before he could go to the House. There Lenthall, a bencher of Lincoln's Inn, was immediately elected Speaker, and Charles, believing him well affected to the Church and State, when two days afterwards he was, according to custom, presented to him, confirmed the choice, which he afterwards most bitterly repented. But it was not only in the case of the Speaker that the king was doomed to see himself disappointed. The whole body of the House was of a new character and spirit. "There was," says Clarendon, "observed a marvellous elated countenance in most of the members of Parliament before they met together in the House. The same men, who six months before were observed to be of very moderate tempers, and to wish that gentle remedies might be applied without opening the wound too wide and exposing it to the air, and rather to excuse what was amiss than too strictly make inquisition into the causes and origin of the malady, talked now in another dialect both of things and persons. Mr. Hyde, who was returned to serve for a borough in Cornwall, met Mr. Pym in Westminster Hall some days before the Parliament, and conferring together on the state of affairs, Pym told Hyde that 'they now must be of another temper than they were the last Parliament; that they must not only sweep the house clean below, but must pull down the cobwebs which hung on the tops and corners, that they might not breed dust, and so make a foul house hereafter. That they had now an opportunity to make their country happy by removing all grievances, and pulling up the causes of them by the roots, if all men would do their duties;' and used much other sharp discourse to the same purpose, by which it was discerned that the warmest and boldest counsels and overtures would find a much better reception than those of a more temperate allay, which fell out accordingly."

Charles opened Parliament, as usual, by promising freely redress of grievances on the granting of the necessary subsidies, and called on the two Houses to abandon all suspicions, and put confidence in him; but, after fifteen years of constant struggle and constant breaches of faith, this was impossible. The Commons saw the certainty at length of achieving their objects, not from any goodwill towards constitutional freedom in the king, but from the stringent necessity in which he had placed himself. His creeping into Parliament, as it were, by the back door, instead of coming there in the usual state, showed that he was anxious and depressed, and his advisers were in an equal state of terror. His latest hope—the selection of the Speaker—had failed him, and he saw the Commons commence their work by passing altogether over the question of supplies, and falling in ominous earnestness on the grievances.

On the fourth day of their session they proceeded from acts to deeds. They passed an order that those victims of the Star Chamber, Prynne, Bastwick, and Burton, whose horrible mutilations had revolted the whole civilised world, putting the Reformed Church of England on a par with persecuting and murdering Rome in her worst days, should be sent for from their distant prisons, and called on to state by whose authority they had been thus mutilated, branded, and imprisoned. This order spread a wonderful joy amongst the Reformers everywhere. The three lopped and tortured men were welcomed with acclamations at all places on their journey, and on the 28th of November they entered London attended by hundreds of carriages, and by five thousand people on horseback, both men and women, all wearing in their hats and caps bays and rosemary, and followed by great multitudes, with boughs and flowers, and strewing flowers and herbs as they passed. This was a change from the day when Laud pulled off his cap at the passing of Prynne's horrible sentence, and thanked God for it. The House of Commons, after hearing their statement, voted them damages to the amount of six thousand pounds to Burton, and five thousand pounds each to Prynne and Bastwick, which was to be paid by Archbishop Laud and his associates in the High Commission and Star Chamber.

But they did not stop there; from compensating the sufferers they passed on to the punishment of the oppressors. The Committee of Religion proceeded to inquire into the loose lives of the clergy, their cruelties towards the Puritans, and their introduction of papistical ceremonies. "Their first care," says May in his "History of Parliament," "was to vindicate distressed ministers, who had been imprisoned or deprived by the bishops, and all others who in the cause of religion had been persecuted by them. Many of those ministers were released from durance and restored to their livings, with damages from their oppressors. Many doctors and divines that had been most busy in promoting the late church innovations about altars and other ceremonies, and therefore most gracious and flourishing in the State, were then questioned and committed, inasmuch as the change, and the suddenness of it, seemed wonderful to own, and may serve worthily as a document to all posterity, quam fragili loco starent superbi—how insecure are the proud." On the 18th of December, Denzil Holles was sent to the Upper House to demand the impeachment of Laud. On hearing this the Archbishop rose, and, with his usual warmth declaring his own innocence, was proceeding to charge his accusers with various offences, when he was promptly called to order by the Earl of Essex and the Lord Say, and was stopped by the House and consigned to the Usher of the Black Rod. He apologised, and obtained leave, under surveillance of the gentleman usher, to fetch some papers from his house, necessary to his defence; and after remaining in the custody of the Black Rod for ten weeks he was committed to the Tower (February 24, 1641).

But the Commons had been all this time more deeply engaged in securing the most daring and dangerous offender of all, the Earl of Strafford. Laud, who was generally in London, was more safely within their power at any moment; but Strafford was left in the North, where he was lieutenant-general of the army, Lord President of the Council of the North, and could at any instant slip away to Ireland, where he had still more authority, and a considerable army. Laud, once caged, could wait; but Strafford must be both secured and promptly dealt with. His own friends in London, and his own sagacity, sufficiently apprised Strafford of the danger which awaited him if he came to town. He represented to the king that it were much better on all accounts that he should remain where he was; that in London he should by his presence remind the opposition of their enmity towards him; and that he would only further embarrass the king's affairs if he came, whilst he could be of service with the army, and, if necessary, escape to Ireland, where he might do the king real service. But Charles, who felt his weakness without Strafford, in whose judgment and power of overruling men he had the highest faith, would not hear of it, but insisted on his coming to London: and pledged himself to guarantee his safety, reminding him that he was King of England, and that Parliament should not touch a hair of his head. Strafford was rather bound to obey as a subject and servant of the Crown, than assured of his safety by those solemn pledges. He went to town, and on the third day after his arrival he was arrested, and placed in the custody of the Keeper of the Black Rod.

On the 11th of November, 1640, assuming an outward air of unconcern, Strafford went to take his seat in the House of Lords. The Earl of Northumberland, writing to the Earl of Leicester on the 13th, declared that "a greater and more universal hatred was never contracted by any person than he has drawn upon himself, yet he is not at all dejected." Before he appeared in the House, the impeachment had been carried thither from the Commons. Strafford at once hastened to meet his enemies. Baillie, who was one of the Scottish commissioners, gives this striking account of his arrest:—"He calls rudely at the door: James Maxwell, Keeper of the Black Rod, opens. His lordship, with a proud, gloomy countenance, makes towards his place at the board head; but at once many bid him avoid the House, so he is forced in confusion to go back till he is called. After consultation, being called in, he stands, but is commanded to kneel, and on his knees to hear the sentence. Being on his knees he is delivered to the Keeper of the Black Rod, to be prisoner, till he was cleared of these crimes the House of Commons had charged him with. He offered to speak, but was commanded to be gone without a word. In the outer room James Maxwell, required him, as prisoner, to deliver his sword. When he had got it, he cries with a loud voice for his man to carry my Lord-lieutenant's sword. This done, he makes through a number of people towards his coach, all gazing, no man capping him, before whom, that morning, the greatest of England would have stood uncovered, all crying, 'What is the matter?' He said, 'A small matter, I warrant you.' They replied, 'Yes, indeed, high treason is a small matter.' Coming to his place where he expected his coach, it was not there, so he behoved to return the same way, through a crowd of gazing people. When at last he found his coach, and was entering, James Maxwell told him, 'Your lordship is my prisoner, and must go in my coach;' so he behoved to do." In a few days he was committed to the Tower, and the Commons proceeded to deal with those next in degree. But Windebank, Secretary of State, and Finch the Lord Keeper, fled from the reach of their vengeance.

This, then, was the marvellous state of affairs at this moment. "Within less than six weeks," says Clarendon, "these terrible Reformers had caused the two greatest councillors of the kingdom—Laud and Strafford, whom they most feared, and so hated—to be removed from the king, and imprisoned under an accusation of high treason; and frightened away the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England and one of the principal Secretaries of State into foreign kingdoms for fear of the like, besides preparing all the Lords of the Council, and very many of the principal gentlemen throughout England, who had been sheriffs and deputy-lieutenants, to expect such measure of punishment from their general votes and resolutions as their future demeanour should draw upon them for their past offences." And thus ended the ever memorable year 1640, in which the Parliament had secured the ascendency after fifteen years' determined struggle with the present king, and many more with his father; had humbled the proud and obstinate monarch; imprisoned his two arch-counsellors; impressed a salutary terror on the whole royal party; and initiated changes of the most stupendous kind.

The House of Commons commenced the year 1641 with an endeavour to secure annual Parliaments, and succeeded in obtaining triennial ones. They proposed that the issuing of the writs should take place at a fixed time, and to prevent the Crown from defeating this intention, they demanded, in case the king did not order the writs at the regular time, it should be imperative on the Lord Keeper or Lord Chancellor to do it; in case they neglected it, it should become the duty of the House of Lords to do so; if the Lords failed, then the sheriffs, and if the sheriffs neglected or refused, the people should proceed to elect their own representatives without any writs at all. To frustrate in future any hasty prorogations, by which the House of Commons was liable at any moment to be stopped by the Crown, they proposed that the king should not have power to prorogue or dissolve Parliament within fifty days of its meeting without its own consent.

At one time Charles would have resented so bold a measure most indignantly, and would have dissolved the audacious body at once; but now he condescended to reason with them in a far different tone. He protested against the measure as a direct encroachment on his prerogative, by which sheriffs and constables were to be endowed with powers that hitherto had been only kingly; but he was fain at last to give way, and the Bill, so far as regarded triennial Parliaments, was passed, and a Bill securing the Houses from hasty prorogation followed in May. By that act Charles tied up his hands from dissolving Parliament at all without its own consent, so that he could no longer defeat its measures as he had done. Thus a real and most momentous infringement on the prerogative was made, being brought about by the king's resistance to the cession of just rights. In obstinately claiming the people's privileges, he was driven to forfeit his own. He was now in a dilemma. The army of the Scots still lay in the North, and both the English Commons and the Scottish Commissioners in London were in no hurry to have it disbanded. Whilst it lay there well supported by Parliamentary allowance, the king and his friends were overawed and powerless, and both parties, the Commons of England and the Covenanters of Scotland, were the better able to press their claims and support each other. Both parties were bent on abolishing or reducing episcopacy.

The Scottish Commissioners exerted themselves with the leaders of the English Commons to move for the total abolition of episcopacy in England, and the establishment of Presbyterianism; but this led only to the development of a variety of views in the Commons. Some of the members favoured the Scottish proposal, and of these were the supporters of the petition with fifteen thousand signatures, brought in from London by Alderman Pennington, called the "root and branch petition." Others, as the Lords Wharton, Say, and Brooke, preferred the still more levelling system of the Independents. On the other hand, some of the most prominent Reformers—the Lords Digby and Falkland, and Selden and Rudyard—were opposed to the extinction of the bishops. Digby compared the London petition to a comet portending nothing but anarchy, and with its tail pointing to the North, meaning that it was a Scottish comet; and Lord Falkland was for relieving the bishops of their temporal cares, but not removing them from the Church altogether. The question was warmly debated for two days, but the fate of the bishops was deferred awhile by that of Strafford.

All being prepared, Strafford was brought from the Tower on the 22nd of March, 1641, and placed before the tribunal appointed to try him in Westminster Hall. He had been about three months in prison, and meanwhile a deputation had arrived from Ireland. They brought a petition, calling on the Commons of England to join them in obtaining his condign punishment. They enumerated their grievances and sufferings from his lawless violence under sixteen heads. The Commons welcomed the deputation, as may be supposed, and to obtain full evidence of Strafford's doings in Ireland, not only accused his most active instrument—Sir George Ratcliffe—of high treason, too, but almost every one of his willing subordinates, and secured all of them that they could, and kept them in readiness to be questioned, by which means they also prevented them from doing mischief with the army. The Scottish Commissioners were equally vehement in demanding justice against him for having counselled the king to put down their religion and government by force, and for offering to supply an army of Irish for the purpose. Thus all three kingdoms were arrayed against the common enemy.

After much debate, it had been concluded that the trial should take place in Westminster Hall, before the Lords and Commons. The Earl of Arundel was appointed to preside as Lord High Steward. On each side of the throne was erected a cabinet, where the king, queen, and Prince of Wales could sit without being seen, these cabinets having trellis work in front, and being hung with arras. Before the throne ran lines of seats for the peers, and woolsacks for the judges, and on each side of the peers were ranged seats for the Commons, who consented to sit uncovered there. Near them were the Scottish and Irish deputies, and there was a desk or dock enclosed for the prisoner and his counsel. One-third of the Hall was left open to the public, the rest being defended by a bar; and there was a gallery near for ladies, which was crowded by those of highest rank. There was an intense interest, indeed, felt by all classes, and the hall was daily so crowded, that Mr. Principal Baillie, minister of Kilwinning, whom we have already mentioned, says in the quaint manner of his time, "We always behoved to be there before five in the morning: the house was full before seven."

Strafford was brought from the Tower guarded by a hundred soldiers, who filled, with the officers, six barges; and on landing at Westminster he was received and conducted forward by two hundred of the train-band. All cross streets and entries were occupied by a strong force of constables and watchmen, placed there as early as four in the morning. The king, queen, and prince arrived about nine o'clock, and about the same time the prisoner was conducted into the Hall. On his appearance the porter demanded of the Usher of the Black Rod whether the axe should be borne before him; but the Usher said no, the king had expressly forbidden it.

The bishops did not appear amongst the lords, for their presence had been strongly objected to by the House of Commons, on the plea that the canons forbade their taking part in any trial which involved bloodshed—"clericus non debet interesse sanguini." But the real fact was that they were supporters of Laud, and Williams, of Lincoln, very adroitly volunteered a motion as from the prelates themselves, that they should be excused. The Commons had objected to those who had been made peers since Strafford had been impeached, as they were his avowed friends. All, except Lord Lyttelton, who had been made a baron and Lord Keeper in the place of the fugitive Finch, refused to comply and took their seats; and so says Clarendon, might the bishops, too, had they had the same spirit.

All being ready, the impeachment was read, consisting of twenty-eight capital articles, and then Strafford's reply to it, which filled two hundred sheets of paper. This occupied the first day. The court rose about two o'clock, and the prisoner was reconducted to the Tower. This was the routine of each day during the trial, which lasted eighteen days. On entering the court at nine o'clock, Strafford made three obeisances to the Earl of Arundel, the High Steward, two of which might be interpreted as intended for the king and queen, though they were not at first visible, nor during the whole time were supposed to be so; but the interest of the proceedings quickly made the king impatient of the trellis work, and, according to Baillie, he pulled it down with his own hands. "It was daily the most glorious assembly," continues Baillie, "that the isle could afford; yet the gravity was not such as I expected. After ten, much public eating, not only of confections, but of flesh and bread; bottles of beer and wine going thick from mouth to mouth without cups, and all this in the king's eye.... There was no outgoing to return, and often the sitting was till two, three, or four o'clock at night."

As Strafford went and came, the crowd conducted themselves towards him with forbearance and courtesy, and he returned their greetings with humility and politeness. Few of the lords at first returned his obeisances, and the managers, thirteen in number, showed him no favour. When the Lord Steward ordered the Committee of Management to proceed on the second morning, Pym opened the case with an eloquent charge, commencing with these words:—"My lords, we stand here by the commandment of the knights, citizens, and burgesses, now assembled for the Commons in Parliament, and we are ready to make good that impeachment whereby Thomas, Earl of Strafford, stands charged in their name, and in the name of all the Commons of England, with high treason. This, my lords, is a great cause, and we might sink under the weight of it, and be astonished with the lustre of this noble assembly, if there were not in the cause strength and vigour to support itself, and to encourage us. It is the cause of the king; it concerns his majesty in the honour of his government, in the safety of his person, in the stability of his crown. It is the cause of the kingdom: it concerns not only the peace and prosperity, but even the being of the kingdom. We have that piercing eloquence, the cries, and groans, and tears of all the subjects assisting us. We have the three kingdoms, England, and Scotland, and Ireland, in travail and agitation with us, bowing themselves, like the hinds spoken of in Job, to cast out their sorrows. Truth and goodness, my lords, they are the beauty of the soul, they are the perfection of all created natures, they are the image and character of God upon the creatures. This beauty, evil spirits and evil men have lost; but yet there are none so wicked, but they desire to march under the show and shadow of it, though they hate the reality of it. This unhappy earl, now the object of your lordships' justice, hath taken as much care, hath used as much cunning, to set a face and countenance of honesty in the performance of all these actions. My lords, it is the greatest baseness of wickedness, that it dares not look in its own colours, nor be seen in its natural countenance. But virtue, as it is amiable in all aspects, so the least is not this, that it puts a nobleness, it puts a bravery upon the mind, and lifts it above hopes and fears, above favour and displeasure: it makes it always uniform and constant to itself. The service commanded to me and my colleagues, is to take off those vizards of truth and uprightness, which hath been sought to be put upon this cause, and to show you his actions and intentions in their own natural blackness and deformity."

Pym, after this passage, went one by one through the pleas of Strafford in his reply, and rent away ruthlessly the arguments by which he endeavoured to veil the flagrancy of his actions; but he dwelt for this time more especially on his conduct in Ireland, representing him there as treading on all the rights, privileges, and property of the people in a manner utterly regardless of any constitution or compacts. He then produced as witnesses Sir Pierce Crosby, Sir John Clotworthy, Lord Ranelagh, Lord Mountnorris, and Mr. Barnwell, who had suffered insult, loss of office and honour from the Lord-Lieutenant's overbearing despotism. To this Strafford replied in a long and able speech. The subject of Ireland was resumed the next day, and then from day to day.

After the Managers had gone through some particular charge, and produced their witnesses, the court adjourned for half an hour, when Strafford made his defence and produced his witnesses; the Managers then commented on the evidence, and the court closed for the day. Thus it went on for thirteen days. "All the hasty and proud expressions that he had uttered at any time," says Clarendon, "since he was first made a privy councillor; all the acts of passion or power that he had exercised in Yorkshire, from the time that he was first President there; his engaging himself in projects in Ireland, as the sole making of flax and selling tobacco in that kingdom; his extraordinary proceedings against Lord Mountnorris and the Lord Chancellor Loftus; his assuming a power of judicature at the Council table to determine private interest, and matter of inheritance; some rigorous and extrajudicial determinations in cases of Plantations; some high discourses at the Council table in Ireland; and some casual and light discourses at his own table and at public meetings; and, lastly, some words spoken in secret Council in this kingdom, after the dissolution of the last Parliament, were urged and pressed against him to make good the general charge of an endeavour to overthrow the fundamental government of the kingdom, and to introduce an arbitrary power." "In his defence," continues the same historian, "the earl behaved himself with great show of humility and submission, but yet with such a kind of courage, as would lose no advantage; and, in truth, made his defence with all imaginable dexterity, answering this and evading that with all possible skill and eloquence; and though he knew not till he came to the bar upon what parts of his charge they would proceed against him, or what evidence they would produce, he took very little time to recollect himself, and left nothing unsaid that might make for his own justification."

Though this is the language of the royalist historian, it is borne out by all accounts of this extraordinary trial. Strafford was one of the most eloquent, able, and imposing men of any age. His commanding person, and persuasive and impressive manner, had made his influence paramount wherever he had appeared. He had the faculty vastly developed of making the worse appear the better reason; and never had his splendid talents been so successfully displayed as on this great occasion, when all the ability, the patriotism, and the elocution of the time were arrayed against him. The very weight and vastness of the opposition bearing upon him acted in his favour. There he stood, alone, as it were, against the three kingdoms, dauntless, and unsubdued; laden with growing infirmities, and the deadly hatred of innumerable hosts, yet disdaining to succumb to them; and with a readiness of wit, a promptness of reply, an adroitness of application or of evasion, a keenness of ridicule, a weight of reason, and a rich eloquence, that raised admiration even in those who most loathed him. The sympathies of the ladies were every day more and more enlisted in his cause. They were seen—those of the highest rank—taking notes, discussing the proceedings, and discovering their vivid interest in him by a thousand signs. The courtiers were enraptured; the lords, even the sternest, rapidly relaxed, and at length were almost all on his side. The clergy were unanimous in their plaudits of him, and the Managers saw with dismay a change which threatened their defeat.

Maynard and Glynne, two acute lawyers, were the Managers who chiefly brought forward the accusations, and directed the evidence against him; but they appeared no match for Strafford's intellect and address. They endeavoured to establish a charge of constructive treason, that is, of treason not founded on one clear and palpable act, but on accumulated evidence, the aggregate of many offences; but the prisoner's answer to this was triumphant. They had not his letters, which we have; and though they could point to a long course of arbitrary and unconstitutional conduct, amounting to high misdemeanours, they could not lay their fingers on the damning proofs of his avowed intentions under his own hand, as we now can in the Strafford Papers. But even had they possessed these, it would still have been technically impossible to establish a charge of high treason according to any definition of law, or idea of treason then existing. All the statutes of high treason had heretofore been directed against designs or attempts to injure or remove the king, or any of his family; to subvert the Government, or change the possession of the Crown. That there might be such a thing as treason against the people and their rights had never entered into governing heads.

In vain would Pym or Selden then search Coke upon Littleton, or the statutes at large, for any definition of a treason that would serve them. The statute of 25 Edward III. c. 2 was the great landmark of English history in those matters, and amongst the seven distinct declarations of treasonable offences, they would look in vain for one to fit Wentworth, for most assuredly against none of them had Strafford offended. He was working with the king and his officers; his acts and intentions pointed in a totally different direction. His object was to strengthen the king's government beyond all precedent; to make him, as we now have it under his own hand, the most absolute and independent monarch that ever lived. True, from the reign of Henry IV. to that of Queen Mary, many other species of high treason had been created by the Crown, and especially by Henry VIII. But in none of these reigns, when almost every imaginable or unimaginable thing affecting kingship was made treason, had it ever entered the royal or legal head to conceive of the possibility of treason against the people. Therefore, had all these descriptions of treason been yet existent, none of them would have availed against Strafford, who was most loyal to the king and his government.

The matter was too palpable to be denied, but at this crisis an event occurred which gave fresh hope to the accusers. The younger Sir Henry Vane communicated to Pym a paper which he had discovered in the cabinet of his father, the Secretary of State. The account which he gave of the occurrence, according to Whitelock, was this:—His father being out of town, had sent him the key of his study, desiring him to search for some papers which he wanted. In this search he came upon one paper of such extraordinary contents, that he held himself bound in duty to secure it. The paper was a minute of what had passed in the Privy Council on the morning of the day on which the last Parliament had been dissolved. The question before the Council was offensive or defensive war with the Scots. The king said, "How can I undertake a war without money?" And Strafford was made to reply, "Borrow one hundred thousand pounds of the City. Go rigorously on to levy ship-money. Your majesty having tried the affections of your people, you are absolved and loosed from all rules of government, and may do what power will admit. Having tried all ways, you shall be acquitted before God and man. You have an army in Ireland, which you may employ to reduce this kingdom to obedience, for I am confident the Scots cannot hold out five months." Laud and Cottington declared with similar vehemence that the king was absolved from all law.

Pym, having obtained from young Vane a copy of this paper, on the 10th of April informed the Commons of the fact. After hearing it read, Vane the younger rose and confirmed the relation, excusing himself on the ground that it had appeared his bounden duty to make the matter known, and that Mr. Pym had confirmed him in this opinion. After giving Mr. Pym the copy, he had returned the original paper to its proper place in the cabinet. Sir Henry Vane, the father, here rose, and remarked, with much sign of resentment against his son, that he now saw whence all this mischief came, and that he could give no further particulars of the matter but found himself in an ill condition from its testimony.

On the 12th, charge was made against Strafford in court, who replied that old Vane was his most inveterate enemy; that, as was most probable, if he had delivered this paper to his son, he had been guilty of an unpardonable breach of his oath as a Privy Councillor, to preserve the king's secrets, and was therefore totally unworthy of credit; that he had been strictly examined on what passed at that Council, and at first denied all memory of any such words spoken by him, Strafford, on that occasion; and even on his third examination, after having been shown this paper, he had only recollected he had spoken these words, or some like them; that such words and such counsel were not likely to be soon forgotten; yet, of eight Privy Councillors then present, none of those whose evidence could be obtained could remember any such words, except the Earl of Northumberland, who thought he recollected such words as those—"of being absolved from all rules of government." The Archbishop of Canterbury and Windebank were not present to give their evidence; but the Marquis of Hamilton, Bishop Juxon, and Lord Cottington, could remember no such words. Even had he used the words, it depended much on whether the phrase "this kingdom" meant England or Scotland; that the country under debate was Scotland, and he had demanded of Vane, whether the word used was really "this" or "that." And further, could the authority of this paper be established, it would not establish a charge of treason, for the law demanded the evidence of two witnesses, and this was but the evidence of one.

Pym therefore put in the verified copy of the paper, for the paper itself having been laid on the table of the Committee of Commons, had been purloined, and was never afterwards recovered. That in the possession of Charles was in the handwriting of Digby, which brought him under suspicion. Pym contended that the evidence of the minute itself, and that of Sir Henry Vane, amounted to the required proofs of the law, being two witnesses against the earl. The Lord Steward, Arundel, then called on Strafford to say whether he had any observations to make on this additional proof, and he replied most eloquently:—

"Where has this species of guilt lain so long concealed? Where has this fire been so long buried during so many centuries, that no smoke should appear till it burst out at once, to consume me and my children? Better it were to live under no law at all, than to fancy we have a law on which we can rely, and find at last that this law preceded its promulgation, and try us by maxims unheard of till the moment of the prosecution. If I sail on the Thames, and split my vessel on an anchor, in case there be no buoy to give warning, the party shall pay me damages; but if the anchor be marked out, then is the striking on it at my own peril. But where is the mark set upon this crime? Where the token by which I should discover it?

"It is now full two hundred and forty years since treasons were defined, and so long has it been since any man was touched to this extent upon this crime before myself. We have lived, my lords, happily to ourselves at home; we have lived gloriously abroad in the world; let us be content with what our fathers have left us; let not an ambition carry us to be more learned than they were in these killing and destructive acts. My lords, be pleased to give that regard to the peerage of England, as never to expose yourselves to such moot points, such constructive interpretations of law. If there must be a trial of wits, let the subject matter be of somewhat else than the lives and honours of peers. It will be wisdom for yourselves, for your posterity, and for the whole kingdom, to cast into the fire these bloody and mysterious volumes of constructive and arbitrary treason, as the primitive Christians did their books of curious arts, and betake yourselves to the plain letter of the statute, which tells you where the crime is, and points out the path by which you may avoid it....

"My lords, I have now troubled your lordships a great deal longer than I should have done, were it not for the interest of these pledges which a saint in heaven left me. I should be loth——" here he pointed to his children, and his weeping stopped him. "What I forfeit for myself is nothing, but that my indiscretion should extend to my posterity, I confess, wounds me very deeply. You will be pleased to pardon my importunity. Something I should have said, but I see I shall not be able, and therefore I shall leave it. And now, my lords, I thank God that I have been by His blessing sufficiently instructed in the vanity of all temporary enjoyments, compared to the importance of an eternal duration. And so, my lords, even so with all tranquillity of mind, I submit clearly and freely to your judgment; and whether that righteous doom shall be life or death, I shall repose myself, full of gratitude and confidence, in the arms of the great Author of my existence—'In te Domine confido: non confundar in æternum.'"

What the effect of this address must have been, may be inferred from the observations of Whitelock, the chairman of the Committee which was conducting the prosecution:—"Certainly, never any man acted such a part on such a theatre, with more wisdom, constancy, and eloquence; with greater reason, judgment, and temper; and with a better grace in all his words and actions, than did this great and excellent person, so that he moved the hearts of all his auditors, some few excepted, to remorse and pity."

The Commons were alarmed at the effect of the trial. The production of Vane's paper had been a blow enough to have sunk another man, but the extraordinary eloquence and address of Strafford seemed to have effaced even that; they had little faith in procuring a verdict from the Lords in their present course, and they resolved to change their plan, and proceed against the offender by a Bill of Attainder. They have been accused of adopting the arbitrary measures of Henry VIII. in so doing, and of depriving Strafford of the fair influence of his trial; but we, who enjoy the benefit of their deed, ought not to join in that cry. Strafford was guilty, if ever man was, of the most atrocious attempt that a man can entertain—that of destroying the liberties of his country. The laws had been so framed, from royal bias, as not duly to designate his crime; but not for that, nor for any temporary feeling of pity raised by his admirable defence, did these patriots mean to allow of his escape. But in the House of Commons the Bill of Attainder met with unexpected opposition from one of the most zealous of the Reformers, Lord Digby. He saw, like the rest, that technically they could not condemn Strafford for high treason as the law then stood, and he feared the precedent of condemning men under a show of law that did not exist. It was, in fact, too much imitating the king. It was a real difficulty, which the patriots had not sufficiently foreseen. Instead of charging him with treason, as it was then defined, they should first have remodelled the law, or have charged Strafford with the violation of the national guarantee of Magna Charta, on which there could be no doubt, and for which he was well worthy of death; but it was too late to retrace their steps, and they were obliged to condemn him for the unquestionable crime of treason against the nation, making the act of the Legislature in all its branches an extension of the law. Digby himself did not question his guilt. He said "he believed him still that grand apostate to the commonwealth, who must not expect to be pardoned in this world till he be despatched to the other;" but he pleaded that on the ground of law he should have his life spared. But the Commons knew that while he lived there was no security. On the first occasion the king would pardon and restore him, and all their labour would be thrown away. They sought, therefore, to erect Parliament in so great an emergency into a court of equity as well as of law, believing that what was decreed by both Houses, and had the sanction of the Crown, was and would be a law of itself. They did not, like the Tudors and the Stuarts, seek to condemn him by setting aside the established courts and trial by jury; they gave him the highest court in the realm, and a full trial by his peers, and by their Bill they now called for a verdict.

But that verdict was not obtained without a great struggle. In the Commons it was warmly debated, and it was not till the eleventh day, the 21st of April, that it was carried by a vast majority. Only fifty-four, or, according to Whitelock, fifty-nine members voted against the Bill, and the next morning the names of these were placarded in the streets as "Straffordians," who, to allow a traitor to escape, would betray their country. The Lords, who had been greatly influenced by Strafford's speeches, and his confident exposition of the law, displayed no alacrity to pass the Bill of Attainder through their House; but they soon found themselves exposed to the pressure from without. The nation had made up its mind to the punishment of the man who had advised the king to reduce them to the condition of serfs; and the Lords could not appear anywhere without being pursued by cries of "Justice! justice on the traitor!" Vast crowds surrounded the Parliament House, uttering the same demands, and a petition was carried up from the City, signed by many thousands. The country was terrified by rumours of insurrections and invasions, which were made plausible by the lately discovered plot for marching the army of York on London, and the Court preparations for rescuing and getting away Strafford. There is also clear evidence from the despatches of Rosetti, who was in the confidence of the queen, that the king had ordered the fortifications of Portsmouth to be strengthened; and the command of the fortress was given to Goring, that Charles might have a place of retreat if he was obliged to quit London, and an opening for the landing of troops from France or Holland, whom he might prevail on to come to his assistance.

In carrying up the Bill to the Lords, the Attorney-General, St. John, had endeavoured to get rid of the legal objections to the death of Strafford, by saying that laws were made for the protection of the peaceable and the innocent, not for those who broke all law for the destruction of the people. This was a dangerous doctrine, and did not at all mend the matter; he did not see that the real strength and justification of the case lay in the three branches of the Legislature interpreting the law as extending to the State and Constitution altogether, and by their united act rendering it law.

In the meantime, the anxiety and perplexity of the king became excruciating. He had clearly, by his confident assertions of protection, drawn Strafford into the snare, and if the Lords passed the Bill, how was he, by his own decayed authority, to defend him? He had previously sought the aid of the Earl of Bedford, who was the most influential of the peers, and promised him the disposal of all the great offices of State, on condition that Strafford's life should be spared. Bedford had accepted it, but just at this crisis he fell sick and died. Clarendon says, of his own knowledge, that it was the plan of Bedford to give the king the excise as a settled source of income, and thus extricate him out of all his troubles,—the very thing which was afterwards granted to his son, Charles II. On Bedford's death, Lord Say accepted the same position on the same terms; and it is asserted by Clarendon that it was by his advice that Charles now took a step that proved very fatal. He proceeded to the House of Lords on the 1st of May, whilst the Bill of Attainder was still before it, and calling for the Commons, informed them that having, as they knew, been constantly present at the trial of Strafford, he was perfectly familiar with all that had been advanced on both sides, and that the serious conclusion at which he had arrived was that he was not guilty of treason, and, therefore, in his conscience, he could not condemn him if the Bill were passed and came to him. "It was not," he said, "for him to argue the matter with them; his place was to utter a single decision. But," he continued, "I must tell you three great truths:—First, I never had any intention of bringing over the Irish army into England, nor ever was advised by any one to do so. Second, there never was any debate before me, either in public council or private committee, of the disloyalty or disaffection of my English subjects. Third, I was never counselled by any to alter the least of any of the laws of England, much less alter all the laws."

After the long breach of the law that the king shall not levy taxes without consent of Parliament; after the long exercise of the arbitrary power of the Star Chamber and the High Commission Court, where Magna Charta was utterly set aside; after the brandings, the lopping off of ears, the slitting of noses, and the fining and imprisonment of the subject at the king's pleasure, these assertions show how utterly regardless of truth this king was. He then admitted that Strafford was guilty of great misdemeanours. "Therefore," he said, "I hope you may find some middle way to satisfy justice and your own fears, and not to press upon my conscience. My lords, I hope you know what a tender thing conscience is. To satisfy my people I would do great matters, but in this of conscience, no fear, no respect whatever, shall ever make me go against it. Certainly, I have not so ill-deserved of the Parliament this time that they should press me on this tender point." He proposed that Strafford should be rendered incapable hereafter of holding any place of trust or honour under the Crown.

But the very declarations which he had made in this address were so untrue, that every one must have felt that as long as Strafford lived there was no security against his return to power. The Commons, however, took up the matter in another manner. On their return to their own House—the king had not recognised their presence by a single observation in the other—they instantly passed a resolution, declaring the king's interference with any bill before either House of Parliament, a most flagrant abuse of their privileges. This was Saturday, and the next day the ministers, Scottish and Puritan, took up the subject in their pulpits, and roused their hearers to a sense of their danger, only to be averted by the death of the arch-traitor. On Monday the population poured out in a vast concourse, and directed their steps towards Westminster. Six thousand infuriated people surrounded the Houses of Parliament, armed with clubs and staves, crying out for justice on the prisoner.

At this moment Pym was haranguing the House of Commons on the discovery of the plot to debauch the army, and informing them, moreover, that there was already a strong body of French troops assembled on the opposite coast, and that it was declared to be their intention to take possession of Jersey and Guernsey, and to land at Portsmouth. This was so far true that Montague, a favourite of the queen's, had been despatched to the French court, a fleet had assembled on the coast of Brittany, and an army in Flanders. Montreuil had endeavoured to convince the popular leaders, through the Earl of Holland, that the army was destined for the war in the Netherlands, and the fleet to protect the coasts of Portugal. Their being so near this country, however, was sufficient to justify the popular suspicion, and the public excitement continued to increase. Montague was advised to seek his safety by flight, and the queen was so terrified that she ordered her carriages to Whitehall to flee to Portsmouth. The Lords, however, prevented this by a remonstrance to the king, and thereby probably saved the queen's life from the enraged mob; for it was now that the disclosures of Colonel Goring of the Army Plot became public.

Pym seized the opportunity of this occurrence to press on the Commons a resolution to the effect that the seaports should be closed, and that the king should command that neither the queen, the prince, nor any person attending upon his majesty, should leave London without the permission of the king, acting on the advice of his Parliament. This was passed, and Pym then called on them to make a solemn Protestation, after the manner of the Scottish Covenant, which should be taken by the whole House, binding them by a vow, in the presence of God, to maintain and defend his majesty's royal person and estate, as well as the power and privileges of Parliament, the lawful rights and liberties of the subject, the peace and union of the three kingdoms against all plots, conspiracies, and evil practices, and that neither hope, fear, nor any other respect, should induce them to relinquish this promise, vow, and protestation. It was instantly signed by the Speaker, and by every member present.

The Commons next addressed a letter to the army in the North, assuring them that, notwithstanding the attempts to corrupt them, Parliament relied on their fidelity, and would take care to furnish their pay. They ordered the forces in Wiltshire and Hampshire to advance nearer to Portsmouth, and those in Kent and Sussex to draw towards Dover, and declared any man advising the introduction of foreign troops to be an enemy to his country. These resolutions they despatched with the Protestation to the Upper House by Denzil Holles, calling on the whole House to subscribe to the Protestation. The next morning, being the 4th of May, the Lords desired a conference with the Commons, and informed them of a message from the king, desiring that the intimidation of the mobs might be withdrawn, that the deliberation of the Parliament might be free; and as the peers proposed to take the Protestation unanimously, Dr. Burgess, a popular preacher, was sent out to inform the people of this, and to desire that they would peaceably withdraw to their own homes. The crowds, on this assurance, melted rapidly away. The Protestation was then sent out to be subscribed by the whole nation, as the Covenant had been in Scotland, and with the intimation that any one declining to adopt it should be looked upon as an enemy to his country. To complete their security, the Commons passed a Bill that Parliament should on no account be dissolved without the consent of both Houses.

The next day, on a false alarm that the House of Commons was in danger, the train-bands, headed by Colonel Mainwaring, marched with beat of drum to Westminster; it proved an unnecessary caution, but one that convinced the peers and the king that any resistance to the Commons, backed by the public, was useless. The very next day the news was circulated in Parliament that six or eight dangerous conspirators had fled, amongst them Jermyn, the queen's favourite, and Percy, both members of the Commons, and that the queen was still bent, if opportunity could be found, of escaping too. On the following day, May 7th, the peers voted by a majority that the fifteenth and nineteenth charges against Strafford were proved, namely, that he had quartered soldiers on the peaceable inhabitants of Ireland contrary to law, and had imposed on his own authority an illegal oath on all Scotsmen living in that country. Thereupon they consulted the judges, who unanimously decided that Strafford deserved to suffer the pains and penalties of treason. The Catholics kept away from the House because they would not take the Protestation, and therefore bore no part in Strafford's condemnation. The Bill was passed by a majority of twenty-six to nineteen. The following morning, May 8th, the Bill of Attainder was read a third time and passed; and, at the same time, the Lords also passed the Bill of the Commons against the dissolution of Parliament.

Charles was now reduced to a pitiable condition. On the one hand, he had solemnly pledged himself, both to Strafford and to Parliament, never to consent to the earl's death; but, on the other hand, the two Houses had pronounced against him, and the public was waiting with impatience for his ratification of the sentence. He had lately seen the ominous assemblage of the people, and the march of the City bands to support Parliament; the Scots still lay in the North, waiting with fierce desire for the fall of their enemy; one signal, and the whole country would be in a blaze. The Bill was passed on Saturday, and perhaps never was a Sunday spent by any man, or any house, in so dreadful a state as that passed by Charles and his family. The only alternative left him was to summon his Privy Council, and submit to them his difficulty. But from them he derived very little comfort. The members in general urged on him the necessity of complying with the demand of both Houses of Parliament, and the manifest desire of the public, who were again loudly declaring that they would have either the head of Strafford or the king's. The bishops strongly urged the same arguments; the terror of the Parliament and the people was upon them.

Williams, the old bishop of Lincoln, who had been treated with stern severity by both Strafford and Laud, told the king, when he talked of his conscience, that there was a public as well as a private conscience; that he had discharged his private conscience by doing all in his power to save the earl, and he might now exercise his public conscience by conceding to the decision of his Parliament; that the question now was not about saving Strafford, but about saving himself, his queen, and family. Juxon, Bishop of London, alone had the courage to tell him boldly not to consent to the shedding of the blood of a man whom in his conscience he felt to be innocent. Ussher of Armagh, Morton of Durham, and another bishop, advised him to be guided by the opinion of the judges. The judges being then asked, repeated their judgment that the case, as put to them by the Lords, amounted to treason. Thus borne down by all parties, Charles reluctantly gave way, and late in the evening, though he would not directly sign his assent to the Bill, he signed a commission to several lords to give the assent. Even in this last act his friends endeavoured to console him with the assurance that "his own hand was not in it." It was a miserable subterfuge, for the deed was equally valid, and he executed it with tears, declaring the condition of Strafford happier than his own.

The day of execution was fixed for Wednesday, the 12th of May, and on Monday, the 10th, the commission to this effect passed the Great Seal. But still Charles could not give up the hope of saving the unhappy man. He sent to the two Houses to inform them that he would instantly disband the Irish army; and the next morning, having appeared to have made a favourable impression on the Commons, who had returned a very flattering message, he sent the Prince of Wales to the Lords with a letter once more imploring them to consult with the Commons, and grant him "the unspeakable contentment" of changing the sentence of the earl to perpetual imprisonment, with a pledge never to interfere in his behalf; and if the earl should ever seek his liberty, especially by any application to himself, his life should be forfeited. If, however, it could not be done with satisfaction to the people, he said "Fiat justitia." In a postscript, stated to have been added at the suggestion of the queen, he appended the fatal words, "If he must die, it were charity to reprieve him till Saturday;" words which seemed to imply that, though he asked, he really did not hope to save him. Nothing, however, could have saved him. The House, after reading the letter twice, and after "sad and serious consideration," sent a deputation to inform him that neither of the requests could be complied with.

Strafford, on the previous Tuesday, hearing of the king's extreme agitation and trouble on his account, had sent him a letter which was full of magnanimity. He informed him that the hearing of the king's unwillingness to pass the Bill, on the ground that he did not believe him guilty, and of the excitement of the people against him on that account, had brought him into a great strait; that the ruin of his family on the one side, and fear of injury to the king on the other, had greatly troubled him; that to say that there had not been a great strife in him, would be to say that he was not made of flesh and blood; yet considering that the chief thing was the prosperity of the realm and the king, he had, with a natural sadness, come to the conclusion to desire the king to let matters take their course rather than incur the ill that refusing to sign the Bill might bring on his sacred majesty. Whitelock assures us that the king sent Carleton to him, to inform him that he had been compelled to pass the Bill, and adding that he had been the more reconciled to it by his willingness to die. On hearing this, Strafford started up from his chair, lifted up his eyes to heaven, laid his hand upon his heart, and said, "Put not your trust in princes, nor in the sons of men, for in them there is no salvation."

The night before the day fixed for his execution, Archbishop Ussher visited the prisoner, who begged him to go to his fellow-prisoner, Archbishop Laud, and beg his prayers for him that night, and his blessing when he should go forth in the morning. He had in vain endeavoured to persuade the Lieutenant Balfour to permit him to have an interview with the fallen prelate. In the morning, when led out to the scaffold, on approaching the window of the archbishop's prison, he begged the lieutenant to allow him to make his obeisance towards the prelate's room, though he could not see him himself.

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Laud, however, was on the watch, and putting forth his hands from his window, bestowed his blessing. That was all that his weakness and his emotion permitted. He sank, overcome with his grief, to the floor. Strafford made a profound obeisance, and the procession moved on. But after a few steps the earl turned round again, bowed to the ground once more, saying, "Farewell, my lord! God protect your innocence!" Then proceeding again, he assumed a lofty and dignified air, more even than was usual to him. At the Tower gate the lieutenant requested him to enter a coach, lest the people should wreak their hatred upon him; but he declined, saying, "No, Master lieutenant, I dare look death in the face, and I hope the people, too. Have you a care that I do not escape, and I care not how I die, whether by the executioner, or the madness of the people. If that give them better satisfaction, it is all one to me." He was accompanied to the scaffold by Archbishop Ussher, the Earl of Cleveland, and his brother, Sir George Wentworth, and others of his friends were there to take their leave of him. The crowd assembled to see their great enemy depart was immense, and he made a speech from notes which he had prepared, still protesting his innocence; declaring that so far from wishing to put an end to Parliaments, he had always regarded them, under God, as the best means to make the king and his people happy. His head fell at a single blow, and the astonished people could scarcely believe that they had seen the last of their foe. They retired in quietness, as if overcome by the greatness of the satisfaction; but they testified their joy in the evening by bonfires in the streets (May 12, 1641).

The fall of Strafford carried terror through the Court. Many began to think of flying. Cottington had given up his office of Master of the Wards, and Lord Say and other noblemen of the popular party were introduced into the Ministry. The Marquis of Hertford was made Governor to the Prince, the Earl of Essex Lord Chamberlain, the Earl of Leicester the Lord-lieutenant of Ireland. The king was wholly averse from the new ministers, but hoped to win upon them as he had done upon Strafford, Loudon, and Montrose; and indeed, after their appointment, a bolder and more independent spirit seemed to awaken in the Lords. They threw out several Bills sent up from the Commons, amongst others, one for excluding the bishops from their House. Essex, though a reformer, was by no means hostile to the hierarchy, and always obliged his servants to accompany him to church, and kept a chaplain who was a thorough conformist. The Lords did not object to the bishops and clergy in general being excluded from the Star Chamber, the Privy Council, and the Commissions of the Peace; but they contended that bishops had always formed a part of their body, and that the Commons might next take it into their heads to exclude barons.

The Commons, however, pressed on the Lords Bills for the abolition of the two greatest engines of tyranny in the country, the Star Chamber and the High Commission Court. These, with another for a poll-tax for the maintenance of the armies, the Lords passed; but Charles hesitated. He had given up much this Session: the right of prorogation without consent of Parliament, thus making Parliament perpetual if it pleased; the right to demand tonnage and poundage without the same consent; he had limited the forest laws; granted to the judges their places during good behaviour; and withdrawn the commission for the Presidency of the North as illegal. But to give up the civil and ecclesiastical inquisitions, those ready and terrible torture houses of the Crown, went hard with him. The poll-tax he passed at once, because he thought it would be unpopular, but he refused to sanction the others. The Commons came to a resolution that he should pass all three or none; and the tone of both Parliament and the people was so menacing, that on the 5th of July he gave his consent, and put an end to those un-English abominations.

The Commons having granted the king six subsidies, and tonnage and poundage for the year, he now proposed to proceed to Scotland to hold a Parliament. He was aware that a reaction had taken place there. The Marquis of Montrose had exerted himself to form a party amongst such noblemen and gentlemen as had grown to regard the popular leaders both in Scotland and England as bearing too insolently on the prerogatives of the Crown. He had prevailed on nineteen noblemen to subscribe a bond, pledging themselves "to oppose the particular and indirect practices of a few, and to study all public ends which might tend to the safety of religion, laws, and liberty." They were careful that the language of this bond should not clash openly with that of the Covenant; but the real design did not escape the vigilance of the Committee of Estates. They called on Montrose and his associates to clear themselves, and obtaining the bond, burn it publicly. Notwithstanding this, the confederates opened a secret correspondence with the king, and assured him of their confidence of victory over the Covenanters, if he would honour the Parliament with his presence, confirm his former concessions, and delay the distribution of offices and honours to the end of the session. But this correspondence also was discovered. Walter Stuart, the messenger of Montrose to the king, was seized near Haddington, and the letter of the marquis to the king, with various other suspicious papers, was found concealed in the pommel of his saddle. Montrose, Lord Napier, Sir George Stirling, and Sir Archibald Stuart, were arrested, examined, and sent to the castle of Edinburgh.

These events rendered Charles still more impatient for his northern journey. Not only Traquair, and the other four of his officers who had been excepted from pardon as incendiaries, but these, his new allies, demanded his assistance. By the beginning of August the treaty of pacification was signed by the Scots. They had received an engagement from the English Parliament for the payment of a balance of two hundred and twenty thousand pounds of "the brotherly assistance." Charles had granted an amnesty and an act of oblivion of all that was past, having cost the kingdom about one million one hundred thousand pounds, and both armies were ordered to be disbanded. The Parliament, however, looked on this journey with no friendly eye. Even amongst his own friends, the wily old Bishop of Lincoln, Williams, whom the king, in the absence of Laud, and the loss of Strafford, had taken into favour, and who was soon to be Archbishop of York, advised Charles to keep away from the Scots. He assured him that they would ferret out any secret negotiations that might pass between himself and the royal party, and make the English Commons acquainted with them; and that he would do much better to remain, and employ himself in corrupting and winning over as many as he could of the Parliamentary leaders. The Commons insisted on his appointing a Regency, if he should go, to act during his absence; but he consented only to the naming of a Commission. It was not till the 10th of August that he got permission for his journey, and he was not destined to depart without having another proof of the animus of the House of Commons. On the 4th, Serjeant Wild presented to the Lords a Bill of Impeachment against thirteen of the bishops—Laud's name being put among them—for their recent manufacturing of canons and constitutions contrary to law. Their grant of a benevolence to the king was made an offence under the name of a bribe, and by this means, though they had not been able to exclude all the bishops from the Upper House for ever, they excluded these thirteen for a time.

At length Charles was enabled to set out. He had made the Earl of Holland commander-in-chief of the Forces, much to the disgust of the friends of Essex, who was appointed commander only of those south of the Trent. He was attended in his coach by his nephew, Charles Louis, the nominal Elector Palatine, the Duke of Lennox, now Duke of Richmond, and the Marquis of Hamilton—rather ominous associates. The king had not been gone a week, however, when Holland having quarrelled with the queen, and the king having refused to make a baron at his suggestion, by which he would have got ten thousand pounds, sent a letter to the House of Lords, obscurely intimating some new practices and designs against Parliament. The Lords communicated to the Commons this letter, and the two Houses immediately appointed a commission to proceed to Scotland, ostensibly to procure the ratification of the late treaty, but really to keep watch over the king and his partisans. To this duty were named the Earl of Bedford, Lord Edward Howard, Sir William Almayne, Sir Philip Stapleton, Mr. Hampden, and Nathaniel Fiennes. The king endeavoured to get rid of this unwelcome commission, declaring it needless, and refused to sign the commission when sent to him; but the Parliament still pressing it, he allowed the commissioners to proceed to Scotland to attend him; all of whom did so except the Earl of Bedford.

Charles had set out with the resolve to win over as many of his enemies as possible, and to please the Scots at large, thereby to raise up a counter influence to that at home. At the northern camp, which was not yet broken up, he did all that he could to corrupt the officers, went to dine with old Leslie, the Scottish general, and soon after ennobled him. At Edinburgh he flattered the Covenanters by attending their preachings, and went so far as to appoint Alexander Henderson, the stout champion of the Covenant, his chaplain, appearing to take especial delight in his conversation, and having him constantly about him. He ratified all the acts of the last Session of the Scottish Parliament. As regarded the incendiaries, as they were called—that is, Charles's former ministers—who had been imprisoned for executing his commands, he promised on their release to give their offices to such persons as had pleased the Parliament. He submitted to them a list of forty-two councillors, and nine great officers of State. The Parliament conceded so far as to release all the incendiaries but five, and these were to be referred to a committee for trial, and their sentence to be pronounced by the king. So far, all promised well, but the Covenanters were desirous to have the Earl of Argyll, who had so openly espoused their cause in the General Assembly, appointed to the chief post in the ministry, that of Chancellor; but Charles conferred it on Loudon. Argyll strove for the next, that of Treasurer, a post of great emolument, but Charles gave it to Lord Ormond; but the Parliament would not consent, and the contest for this appointment had gone on ten days, when the feud thus commenced was rent still wider by what is known in Scottish history as the "Incident."

Since Charles had come to Edinburgh, he had continued to keep up his correspondence with the Marquis of Montrose, who was still prisoner in the castle, and who, notwithstanding his known intrigue with the king, had by concert with him kept up a pretence of being a zealous Covenanter. A letter from Montrose, revealing the progress of this correspondence, had been found by some traitorous person about the king, supposed, indeed, to have been taken from his pocket, and had been sent by the Marquis of Hamilton to the Covenanters. Montrose found means to convey to the king his ideas about it, and to warn him especially of the treasonable proceedings and intentions of Hamilton and Argyll. Hamilton, since his having, at Charles's request, assumed the part of a favourer of the Covenanters, had become suspected of being more really of that party than he pretended. The king had grown cool in his manner to him: the letters of Montrose, conveyed through William Murray, a groom of the bed-chamber, urged the king to make away with the traitors Hamilton and Argyll. At this juncture young Lord Kerr sent by the Earl of Crawford a challenge of treason to Hamilton, who appealed to Parliament in his justification, and Kerr was compelled to make an apology. But if we are to believe Hamilton himself, this did not prevent the prosecution of the plot to assassinate or carry them off to some place of concealment. He says, in a letter to his brother, Lord Lanark, that he was sent for suddenly by his brother and Argyll, as he was engaged with some company, desiring him to go to them on matters of the utmost consequence. When he went he was told by them that they had been desired to go to General Leslie, at his house, who informed them of a plot to kill or carry them away. On this being confirmed to Hamilton by Colonel Hurrie and Captain Stuart, the three lost no time in escaping from the city to Hamilton House, at Kinneil; whilst the rumour of the plot spreading, the burghers of Edinburgh had closed their gates, and armed themselves for the defence of the Parliament.

As this was a direct charge of a most black and murderous design on the part of the king, he lost no time, on receiving letters from the fugitive noblemen stating why they had fled, in marching to the Parliament House at the head of five hundred soldiers, to demand an explanation. The Parliament was justly alarmed at this menacing movement, and insisted that a commission should immediately be given to Leslie to guard Parliament with all the city bands, the regiments of foot near at hand, and some troops of horse.

Charles was loud in his complaints of the scandal cast upon him by the needless flight of the three noblemen and the arming of the citizens, and demanded an instant examination before Parliament for his clearance. The Parliament would not consent to a trial before the whole House; but in spite of the king's remonstrances, referred it to a committee, and ordered the immediate arrest of the Earl of Crawford, Colonel Cochrane, William Murray, and others. What the committee discovered is not known, for its proceedings were conducted with the profoundest secrecy; and they finally came to the conclusion that there was nothing which touched the king personally; and yet that the noblemen did not flee without sufficient cause, and were falsely accused by Montrose. Montrose himself, when examined regarding the letter to the king, declared that he meant to accuse nobody in particular; and Crawford, Murray, and the rest, gave confused and disordered answers. All was involved in mystery, and this was no little increased by Hamilton and Argyll returning to Edinburgh in the course of a few weeks, and Hamilton declaring that there was nothing in the affair which reflected any dishonour on the king. Still more to confound all reasoning on the matter, the plotters not only were liberated on bail, but Argyll was placed at the head of the Treasury, was created a marquis, Hamilton a duke, and Leslie an earl, with the title of Leven.

The news of the plot had been despatched with all speed to the Parliament in England, and had created great alarm in London, many being of opinion that a conspiracy was on foot to get rid of all the king's opponents. Parliament, which had adjourned to the 20th of October, had just met again, and the Council sent urgent requests for the return of the king to the capital.

The king, however, appeared in no haste. He remained entertaining all parties in great festivity, distributing the forfeited church lands amongst influential persons, not excepting his covenanting chaplain, Henderson. Honours were as freely bestowed. It was found that Charles had carried the Crown jewels with him: it was now well known that the great collar of rubies was pawned in Holland, and it was believed that Charles was buying up his enemies with others of the jewels, afterwards to be exchanged for money. These unpleasant suspicions were greatly increased by the fact that five companies of foot had, by the king's especial command, been detained at Berwick, notwithstanding the order for disbandment. The Council sent six ships to fetch away the artillery and ammunition from Berwick and Holy Isle, and again represented to Charles the necessity of his presence in London.

His departure, however, was at length determined by startling news out of another quarter, namely, of rebellion in Ireland.

---

• Abbott Bishop, Primate, 464.
• "Addled Parliament," The, 453.
• Albany, Duke of, assumes title of Alexander, King of Scotland, 44.
• Albany, Duke of, proclaimed joint king with Mary of Scotland, assassination of Rizzio, 264;
• flees to Dunbar with Mary, 266;
• unpopularity among the nobles, 267;
• plot against him, 268;
• murdered, 269.
• (See also Darnley, Lord.)
• Amboise, Peace of, 258.
• Amiens, Truce of, 39.
• Archery, Decay of, 16th century, 388.
• Architecture, 15th century, 67;
• 16th century, decline of Gothic, 380;
• old Tudor, 381.
• Argyle, Earl of, chief director of the Assembly, 572.
• Armada, The Spanish, preparation by Philip, 315;
• English fleet, 316;
• strength of Armada, preparation for defence, 318;
• sets sail, driven back by storm, sails up Channel, chased by English, 319;
• fight renewed, 320;
• fire ships, 322;
• retreat of Armada, English land forces, 323.
• Arms and Armour, 16th century, 387.
• Arran, Earl of, Regent, 191;
• relations with England, 193;
• with France, 194;
• reconciled to Beaton, 194.
• Arthur, Prince, married to Catherine of Aragon, 97;
• death and character, 98.
• Ascham, Roger, 363.
• Aske, Robert, executed, 172.
• Askew, Anne, tortured and burnt, 202.
• Audley, Lord, the Cornish rising, 90.
• Babington, Anthony, plot against Elizabeth, 306;
• execution, 307.
• Bacon, Sir Francis, scheme for managing Commons, 452;
• Attorney General, 453;
• undignified conduct on fall of Coke, Lord Keeper, 459;
• Buckingham and Coke's daughter, 468;
• Lord Chancellor, Baron Verulam, 470.
• (See also Verulam, Baron.)
• Bacon, Sir Nicholas, first Baronet created, 452.
• Bancroft, Bishop of London, Archbishop of Canterbury, 415;
• animosity to Catholic and Protestant Nonconformists, 419;
• supports James's claim to Royal Prerogative, 439;
• death, 441.
• Bankruptcy, Statute of, 347.
• Barnet, Battle of, 34.
• Baronet, new title created by James I.: its abuse, 452.
• "Basilicon Doron," 413.
• Bastwick, Dr., 555, 591.
• Beaton, Cardinal, sent to Rome, 190;
• claims regency, solicits aid from France, imprisonment, 191;
• escape, 192;
• plot to assassinate, 196;
• burns Wishart, 199;
• assassinated, 200.
• "Benevolences," 453.
• "Black Saturday," 206.
• Blackwater, Battle of, 334.
• "Bloody Statute," The, 175.
• Boleyn, Anne, 146;
• created Marchioness of Pembroke, married privately to Henry VIII., crowned, 156;
• plot against, 164;
• indicted for high treason, 166;
• her defence, 167;
• beheaded, 168.
• Bonner, Bishop of London, imprisoned by Ecclesiastical Commission, 207;
• deprived of his see, 216;
• restoration of Catholicism, inhumanity, 236;
• chief inquisitor, 238;
• treated coldly by Elizabeth, 246.
• Bosworth, Battle of, 63.
• Bothwell, Earl of, murder of Darnley, mock trial and acquittal, 270;
• divorce from his wife, created Duke of Orkney and Shetland, marriage with Mary, 271;
• rising of nobility, flight and death, 272.
• Bothwell, Lord, intrigues to capture Scottish king, 89;
• spy in Scottish camp, 90.
• Brackenbury, Sir Robert, 54.
• Brandon, Sir Charles, Lord Lisle. (See Suffolk, Duke of.)
• Buckingham, Duke of, 47;
• harangues citizens of London in favour of Gloucester, offers crown to him, 54;
• instigates revolt to set Edward V. on the throne: his descent, 54;
• proclaimed traitor by Richard III., 56;
• marches to join Richmond, 57;
• executed at Salisbury, 58.
• Buckingham, Duke of, executed on charge of practising astrology, 124.
• Buckingham, George Villiers, Duke of, 470;
• his power, 471;
• in Spain, 491;
• at conference of Houses, 500;
• impeachment, 519;
• French expedition, 524;
• assassinated, 536.
• "Buckingham's Flood," 58.
• Bulmer, Lady, burnt at Smithfield, 172.
• Burleigh, Lord, Norfolk's execution, 289;
• urges death of Mary, 290;
• Mendoza, 303;
• Lord Treasurer, 308;
• Mary's death-warrant, 311;
• counsels assistance to Henry of Navarre, 327;
• death, 332.
• "Bye Plot," The, 408.
• Carr, Robert, 44.
• (See Rochester, Viscount.)
• Casket Letters, The, 278.
• Cateau-Cambresis, Treaty of, 250.
• Catesby, Robert, Gunpowder Plot, 419.
• Catherine of Aragon, married to Prince Arthur, 97;
• betrothed to Prince Henry, 98;
• married, 102;
• regent during Henry's absence in France, 107;
• treatment by the King, 146;
• trial, 151;
• divorce, 156.
• Cavendish, Thomas, successful expedition to Spanish Main, 315.
• Caxton, William, 66.
• Cecil, Sir Robert, assembles council to proclaim James King, 404;
• enmity to Raleigh, Cobham, and Gray, 406;
• created Lord Cecil, Viscount Cranbourne, Earl of Salisbury, 406;
• conspiracy against, 408;
• Catesby's conspiracy, 423;
• Lord Treasurer, 438;
• death, 441.
• Cecil, Sir William, confidential counsellor of Elizabeth, Secretary of State, 246;
• policy to Scottish reformers, 252;
• Cecil and Elizabeth's relations to Leicester, 259;
• Cecil and Murray, 277;
• hostility to Mary Stuart's friends, 278;
• Cecil and Knox, 283;
• Scottish policy, 285;
• Duke of Norfolk and Ridolfi plot, 288.
• (See also Burleigh, Lord.)
• Charles, Prince, Spanish match, 491;
• Henrietta of France, 503.
• Charles I., First Parliament, 509;
• tonnage and poundage, 514;
• scheme to prevent Buckingham's impeachment, Second Parliament, 315;
• illegal government, 522;
• failure of expedition to Rhé, 524;
• Third Parliament, 527;
• the subsidies, 528;
• Petition of Right, resistance of Charles, 531;
• passed, 534;
• force sent under Buckingham to aid the Rochellais, 535;
• crowned at Edinburgh, 550;
• adherence to Anglican Church, 551;
• Bishop Williams, 556;
• ship money, treaty with Spain against Holland, 557;
• treatment of Irish, 564;
• renewal of the covenant, temporises, 570;
• letter to general assembly, 572;
• conference, 578;
• Wentworth, 581;
• the Short Parliament, 584;
• illegal extortions, 585;
• Scottish Parliament, 586;
• the Long Parliament, 590;
• trial of Strafford, 595;
• visits Scotland, 606.
• Charolais, Count of, 38.
• Chimneys, Introduction of, 382.
• Clarence, Duke of, marries Isabel of Warwick, retires to Calais, 26;
• at Olney, 27;
• secret agreement with Edward to desert Warwick, 30;
• joined in regency with Warwick, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 31;
• deserts to Edward on eve of Barnet, 33;
• quarrel with Gloucester, 36;
• act of resumption, death of Isabel, 40;
• suitor of Mary of Burgundy, 41;
• at feud with Edward, charged with treason, death in the Tower, 42.
• Cleves, Anne of, 178;
• her reception by, and marriage to Henry VIII., 179;
• divorced, retires to her estates, 183.
• Coins and coinage, 15th century, 75;
• 16th century, their debasement, 392;
• restitution of value by Elizabeth, 393.
• Coke, Lord, indicts Raleigh, 410;
• trial of Somerset, 453;
• supports royal prerogative, 458;
• disgrace, 459;
• restored, 469;
• popular leader, 489;
• speeches in Parliament, 528.
• Colonies, 395.
• Commerce, 16th century, 394.
• "Complaints of the Commons of Kent," 2.
• Congregationalists, 356.
• Costumes, 16th century, 388.
• Courtenay, Earl of Devon, plot to marry Elizabeth and dethrone Mary, 238.
• Coverdale, Miles, 237.
• Cranmer, Thomas, plan for settlement of King's divorce, 155;
• Archbishop of Canterbury, 156;
• Chancellor of the Exchequer, 157;
• introduces bill for the supremacy and the succession, 158;
• confesses Anne Boleyn, 167;
• head of reforming party, 170;
• conforms outwardly to statute of Six Articles, 175;
• Anne of Cleves, 179;
• fall of Cromwell, 182;
• Catherine Howard, 184;
• catechism, 207;
• frames articles and canons, 219;
• attainted, 227;
• trial at St. Mary's, Oxford, 238;
• cited to appear at Rome, renouncement and recantation, 239;
• burnt at Oxford, 240.
• Cromwell, Oliver, 538.
• Cromwell, Thomas, successful advice on divorce to Henry VIII., Privy Councillor, 155;
• Archbishop of Canterbury, pronounces Henry's marriage with Anne Boleyn valid, 156;
• Vicar General, 163;
• Lord Cromwell, 170;
• proposes royal marriage with Anne of Cleves, 178;
• Earl of Essex and Lord Chamberlain, 180;
• bill of attainder, execution, character, 182.
• Culpepper, Thomas, alleged intrigue with his cousin, Catherine Howard, 184;
• attainted and executed, 185.
• Darnley, Lord, 261;
• marries Mary Queen of Scots, created Duke of Albany, 263.
• (See Albany, Duke of.)
• Daubeny, Lord, suppresses Cornish rising, 91;
• commands Royal forces against Warbeck, 94.
• "De Tallagio non concedendo," 530, 559.
• Desmond, Earl of, rebellion, 296.
• Digby, Sir Everard, Gunpowder Plot, 424.
• Dighton, John, murders Princes in the Tower, 54.
• Douglas, Archibald, Earl of Angus, "Bell the Cat," puts to death Earl of Mar, 44.
• Drake, Sir Francis, sent by Elizabeth to harass Spanish settlements, special favours from the Queen, 305;
• exploits against the Spaniards, circumnavigates the globe, knighted, 314;
• destruction of ships in Cadiz harbour, 315;
• fights against the Armada, 319;
• expedition to Portugal, 326;
• failure of expedition against Spanish settlements, death, 328.
• Dudley, Sir Henry, plots to set Princess Elizabeth on the throne, 242;
• plan to betray Hammes and Guines to the French, 243.
• Dudley, Robert, 242;
• Master of Ordnance, 243;
• announces loss of Rouen to Elizabeth, 258;
• her attachment to him, special favours, 259.
• (See Leicester, Earl of.)
• Dymoke, Sir Thomas, 28.
• East India Company chartered, 398.
• Ecclesiastical History under Tudors, 351.
• Edgecote, Battle of, 27.
• Edward, Prince of Wales, 6;
• attainted, 19;
• saved by an outlaw, 22;
• marries Anne of Warwick, 30;
• crown settled on by Warwick's Parliament, 31;
• death at Tewkesbury, 35.
• Edward IV. crowned, 19;
• secret marriage with Elizabeth Woodville, 23;
• alliance of his sister Margaret and embassy to France, 24;
• insurrection against him, 26;
• unpopularity of the Woodvilles, 27;
• taken prisoner at Olney by Warwick, 27;
• marriage of daughter to George Neville, 27;
• escapes from the Moor to Windsor, insurrections in Lincolnshire, 28;
• detaches Clarence from Warwick, 30;
• escapes to Court of Burgundy, 31;
• lands at Ravenspur, 32;
• defeats Warwick at Barnet, 33;
• triumphant return to London, 36;
• alliance with Burgundy against France, 38;
• Treaty of Amiens, 39;
• dissatisfaction of English, 40;
• projected alliances, 43;
• anger against Louis, 44;
• death, burial at Westminster, character, 45;
• children, 46.
• Edward V., 46;
• proposal for his coronation by Queen Mother, 47;
• seized by Gloucester, conducted in state to London and removed to the Tower, 48;
• murder in the Tower, 54;
• Sir Thomas More's account, 55.
• Edward VI., 204;
• repeal of Penal Acts of Henry, changes in doctrines and Church discipline, 207;
• Catechism and Liturgy, Book of Common Prayer, war with Scotland, 208;
• public discontent and risings, 210;
• Fall of Somerset, surrender of Boulogne, Church reform, 215;
• new law of treason, revision of Prayer-Book, Act for compulsory attendance at church, 218;
• Cranmer's Articles of Religion and Code, failing health, 219;
• change in the succession, death, 220.
• Eliot, Sir John, 520;
• speech in Parliament, 531;
• imprisoned, 542.
• Elizabeth, ecclesiastical legislation, 247;
• Philip's proposed marriage, 248;
• assumes title of Queen of France, 248;
• relations with Mary Queen of Scots, 250;
• indignation at Peace of Amboise, 258;
• imprisons Mary, 274;
• Commission of Inquiry, 275;
• aids Protestants of France and Belgium, 279;
• anger at proposed marriage of Duke of Norfolk, 280;
• religious persecutions, 287;
• Ridolfi plot, 289;
• Duke of Anjou, 294;
• religious conformity, 297;
• relations with James VI., 303;
• treaty with Protestants of the Netherlands, 305;
• hesitation to sign death-warrant of Mary, 310;
• sends Drake to harass Spanish Armada, betrays parsimony, 315;
• negotiations with Philip's commissioners, 318;
• reviews troops at Tilbury, 324;
• persecution of Catholics and Puritans, 325;
• sends Drake to Portugal, 326;
• assists Henry IV. against Catholic League, 327;
• rupture with Essex, 332;
• death, 241.
• Empson and Dudley, agents of Henry VII.'s avarice, 109.
• Erpingham, Battle of, 28.
• Essex, Earl of, created Marquis of Northampton, 207.
• Essex, Earl of, Walter Devereux, plan to subjugate and colonise Ireland, 295;
• appointed Earl Marshal of Ireland, 296.
• Essex, Earl of, favourite of Elizabeth, gallant conduct at Peniche, 326;
• at Cadiz, 329;
• hostility of Cecils, commands Spanish expedition, 330;
• Earl Marshal, 331;
• quarrel with the queen, 332;
• Lord-Deputy in Ireland, failure, 334;
• trial, 335;
• conspiracy, 336;
• tried and executed, 338.
• Étaples, Treaty of, 84.
• Falkland, Lord, Lord-Deputy of Ireland, recalled, 560.
• Fawkes, Guido, 420;
• gunpowder plot, 422;
• arrested, 427;
• executed, 430.
• Felton, John, 536.
• Ferrybridge, Battle of, 18.
• Field of the Cloth of Gold, 124.
• Finch, Sir John, Speaker of the Commons, Chief Justice, 558;
• speech at opening of Short Parliament, 582.
• Firearms, 16th century, 388.
• Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, refuses to take new oath of allegiance, 152;
• attainted and beheaded, 162.
• Fitzgerald, Lord Thomas, 187;
• surrenders to Lord Gray, 188.
• Fitzhugh, Lord, 26.
• Fitzwilliam, Sir William, created Earl of Southampton and Lord High Admiral, 173;
• receives Catherine Howard's confession of infidelity, 185.
• "Five Articles," The, 463.
• Flodden Field, Battle of, 112.
• Forest, Miles, murders princes in the Tower, 54;
• rewarded by Richard III., 55.
• Fox, Bishop, 78.
• France, Louis XI., 19;
• invaded by Edward IV., 39;
• expedition against Charles VIII. by Henry VII., 84;
• invasion by Henry VIII., 107;
• marriage of Princess Mary and Louis, 115;
• alliance sought by Francis, 123;
• war with England, 129;
• treaty with Henry VIII., 143;
• advantageous peace, 215;
• Calais regained, 244.
• Frobisher, Martin, 316;
• bravery against Armada, 319.
• Furniture and Decoration, 16th century, 386.
• Gardiner, 147;
• preaches at St. Paul's Cross against Lutheran doctrines, 180;
• growing influence, 186;
• impolitic conduct, 202;
• disgrace and banishment from Court, 203;
• imprisoned by Ecclesiastical Commission, 207;
• liberated by Mary, 223;
• patriotic caution, 226;
• Chancellor, 227;
• proposes reconciliation with Rome, 235;
• President of Commission to try heretics, 236;
• withdraws from the office, 238;
• death, 242.
• Garnet (Gunpowder plot) hanged, 430.
• Gloucester, Richard, Duke of, accompanies Edward IV. in his flight to the Continent, 31;
• visits his brother Clarence the night before Barnet, 33;
• quarrel with Clarence over Warwick estates, 36;
• marries Anne of Warwick, 37;
• pays court to Louis XI., 39;
• hostile conduct towards Clarence, 42;
• commands army against Scotch, enters Edinburgh, 44;
• pledges support to Edward V., 46;
• arrests Lords Grey and Rivers and others, 47;
• seizes the king, 48;
• and his brother, 49;
• holds London in subjection, 50;
• accepts Crown at Baynard's Castle, proclaims amnesty, 51;
• crowned, 52.
• (See also Richard III.)
• Gondamar, Spanish Ambassador, 474.
• Gordon, Lady Catherine, marries Warbeck, 88;
• attached to Queen's Court, 94.
• Gowrie Conspiracy, The, 406.
• Gresham, Sir Thomas, 395.
• Grey, Lady Jane, 202;
• marries Lord Guildford Dudley, and is made Queen, 220;
• beheaded, 232.
• Grindal, Archbishop of Canterbury, 298.
• Guinegate, Battle of. (See "Spurs," 110.)
• Guise, Duke of, head of Catholic League, 304;
• assassinated, 313.
• Gunpowder Plot, The, 419-430.
• Hamilton, Marquis of, sent by Charles to Covenanters, 568;
• concessions, 570;
• opens General Assembly, 571;
• letter to Charles, 572;
• ill-success of fleet, 577.
• Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, 283;
• assassinates Murray, 284.
• Hampden, John, 552;
• ship money, 560.
• Hampton Court Conference, 414.
• Hastings, Lord, confidant of Gloucester, 47.
• Hawkins, Sir John, 313;
• originates slave trade, 314.
• Hedgeley Moor, Battle of, 21.
• Henry VI., his imbecility, 6;
• York appointed Protector, 7;
• defeated at St. Albans, 8;
• Great Council of Coventry, 9;
• Conference at London, 10;
• at Ludiford, 11;
• defeated at Northampton, Parliament for redress of grievances, 13;
• assents to bill of succession, 14;
• attainted by Parliament, 19;
• at Harlech Castle, 20;
• captured and imprisoned, 22;
• restored to throne by Warwick, 31;
• defeat of Barnet, 34;
• death in the Tower, burial at Chertsey Abbey, body removed by Richard III. to Windsor, 36.
• Henry VII., defective title, Parliament and attainted members, 76;
• claims acknowledged by Parliament, 77;
• marriage, Lord Lovel's rising, Lambert Simnel, 78;
• failure of rebellion, 79;
• battle of Lincoln Stoke, 81;
• coronation of Elizabeth, 82;
• origin of Star Chamber, 82;
• his avarice, 82;
• discontent in England, invasion of France, 83;
• Treaty of Étaples, 84;
• Perkin Warbeck, 85;
• Scottish affairs, 89;
• Cornish revolt, 90;
• fresh invasion of the Scots, 91;
• visits France, affiance of daughter Margaret to James of Scotland, 96;
• marriage of Prince Arthur to Catherine of Aragon, 97;
• matrimonial schemes, death of Elizabeth, 98;
• exactions, 99;
• Philip of Flanders and his wife Joanna at Windsor, 99;
• death, 101.
• Henry VIII., marries Catherine of Aragon, 102;
• meets Maximilian, 108;
• Wolsey, 116;
• meets Charles V. at Dover and Field of the Cloth of Gold, 124;
• secret treaty with Charles, 136;
• "Defender of the Faith," seeks divorce, 145;
• refers question to Clement VII., 147;
• claims supremacy as head of the Church, 156;
• suppresses the monasteries, 163;
• execution of Anne Boleyn, 168;
• marries Jane Seymour, 169;
• Statute of the Six Articles, 175;
• execution of relatives of Cardinal Pole, 176;
• marries Anne of Cleves, 179;
• disgraces Cromwell, 181;
• marries Catherine Howard, 183;
• Royal progress in the North, 184;
• publishes Bishops' Book and the King's Book, 186;
• claims Crown of Scotland, 190;
• marries Catherine Parr, 195;
• death, children, succession, 204.
• Henry of Navarre, 304;
• assisted by Elizabeth against Catholic League, abjures Protestant faith, 327;
• league with Elizabeth against Spain, 328;
• assassinated, 445.
• Henry, Prince, son of James I., popularity and character, 446;
• proposed alliance with Princess Christine of France, illness and death, 447.
• Herbert, Lord, besieges Terouenne, 107;
• created Earl of Somerset, 114.
• Hertford, Earl of, takes title of Lord Protector and Duke of Somerset, 205.
• (See Somerset.)
• Hewett, Andrew, burnt at Smithfield, 160.
• Hexham, Battle of, 21.
• High Commission, Court of, 350, 606.
• Holbein, Hans, 383.
• Holles imprisoned, 540;
• demands impeachment of Laud, 591.
• "Holy Maid of Kent," 158.
• Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, burnt, 236.
• Howard, Lord, Earl Marshal, and Duke of Norfolk, 53;
• falls at Bosworth, 64.
• Howard, Lord, of Effingham, Lord High Admiral, 316;
• created Earl of Nottingham, 331.
• Howard, Lord Thomas, Lord Admiral, 107;
• at Flodden, 111;
• Earl of Surrey, 114;
• war with France, 130;
• sentenced to death, but escapes execution, 203.
• Howard, Sir Edward, Lord Admiral, commands fleet against French, 105;
• blockades Brest, brave death, 107.
• Huguenots and Elizabeth, 257;
• rise under Condé, 279;
• massacre of St. Bartholomew, 289;
• horror excited by, Elizabeth assists the Rochellais, 290;
• expedition to Isle of Rhé, 507.
• Independents, 356.
• Ireland, Simnel in, 79;
• Warbeck in, 86;
• insurrection, 187;
• made a kingdom, 189;
• plantation of Ulster, 295;
• Desmond's rebellion, 296;
• Essex in, 333;
• Tyrone's revolt, 334;
• inquiry into titles, 464;
• oppression of Catholics, 467;
• Wentworth, 561;
• his "Thorough" policy, 563.
• Jack Cade, 2;
• takes possession of London,
• slain by Iden, 3.
• Jacquetta of Luxembourg, 22.
• James I., wholesale creation of peers and knights, 405;
• "Main" and "Bye" plots, 408;
• Hampton Court conference, 414;
• abuse of royal prerogative at elections, 416;
• Gunpowder Plot, 419;
• royal treatise, Cardinal Bellarmine, 432;
• collisions with Parliament, 434;
• extravagance and impecuniosity, 436;
• exaction of duties, 438;
• Lady Arabella Stuart, 442;
• Prince Henry, 446;
• marriage of daughter Elizabeth, 447;
• reign of favourites, 448;
• venality at Court, 451;
• George Villiers, fall of Somerset, 454;
• episcopacy in Scotland, 462;
• plantation of Ulster, 466;
• execution of Raleigh, 478;
• thirty years' war, 479;
• his indecision, 480;
• inquiry by Parliament into abuse of patents, 482;
• "governing well," 488;
• the Spanish match, 489;
• negotiations with the Pope, 492;
• public and private treaty with Spain, 495;
• match between Henrietta and Prince Charles, 503;
• secret arrangement with France, 506;
• death, 507.
• James II. of Scotland, slain at Roxburgh, 18.
• James III. of Scotland, 43.
• James IV. of Scotland, slain at Flodden, 114.
• Jane Shore, 36.
• Jesuits, Campian and Parsons, Elizabeth's proclamation against, 298;
• their schemes and plots, 303.
• "John Amend All," 2.
• Juxon, Dean of Westminster, Bishop of London, Lord High Treasurer, 554.
• Ket, Robert, rising in Norfolk, 211;
• repulses royal troops, burns Norwich, 212;
• defeat at Dussingdale, hanged, 213.
• "King's Book," The, 186.
• Knox, John, arrives from France, promotes the Reformation in Scotland, 251;
• urges on Cecil death of Mary Stuart, 283.
• Lambert, John, reformer, put to death, 175.
• Latimer, Bishop, sent to Tower, 227;
• tried at Oxford and burnt, 238.
• Laud, 464;
• Bishop of Bath and Wells, 523;
• chief ecclesiastical adviser, 537;
• Bishop of London, 538;
• "Thorough," 543;
• offered Cardinal's hat by Pope, 548;
• Arminian controversy, 549;
• visits Scotland with Charles, erects Edinburgh into a bishopric, Primate of England, relations with Papal see, 551;
• ecclesiastical measures, 552;
• Lord High Treasurer, 554;
• cruel treatment of Prynne, Bastwick, Burton, Lilburne, and Williams, Bishop of Lincoln, 556;
• admonishes Wentworth, 564;
• counsels peaceful measure in Scotland, 574;
• publishes new canons, 584;
• Lambeth Palace attacked by mob, 586;
• impeachment demanded by Commons, 591.
• Learning, Revival of, 359.
• Leicester, Earl of, scandal, 259;
• supports scheme for marriage of Mary Stuart to Duke of Norfolk, 280;
• expedition to Netherlands, 306;
• commands forces at Tilbury, proposed honours, death, 324;
• (See also Dudley, Robert.)
• Lenthall, Speaker of Long Parliament, 590.
• Leslie, General, surprises Edinburgh, 574;
• Dunse Hill, 576;
• crosses the Tweed, 587;
• ennobled by Charles, 607.
• "Levellers," The, 435.
• Lilburne, sentence of Star Chamber, 556.
• Lincoln Stoke, Battle of, 81.
• Literature and science, 16th century, 358.
• Long Parliament, The, 590;
• temper of the new House, awards compensation to Prynne, Burton, and Bastwick, demands impeachment of Laud, 591;
• impeachment of Strafford, 593;
• reforms demanded, "root and branch" petition, 594;
• trial of Strafford, 595;
• Pym's indictment, 596;
• passes Bill of Attainder, 600;
• intervention of Charles, 601;
• Star Chamber and High Commission Court abolished, 606.
• Lovel, Lord, 78.
• Ludiford, Battle of, 11.
• Luther, Martin, 145.
• "Main" Plot, The, 408.
• Maintenance, Act of, 82.
• Maitland of Lethington, Secretary of State to Mary Stuart, 255;
• conspiracy against Rizzio, flees, reinstated, 266;
• scheme for marriage of Mary Stuart with Norfolk, 280;
• betrayed by Murray, 281.
• "Malevolences," 60.
• Mar, Earl of, hostilities with Earl of Huntley and the Gordons, 256;
• exchanges his title for Earl of Murray, 256.
• March, Edward, Earl of, declared king by Great Council of Yorkists, 16.
• (See also Edward IV.)
• Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI., queen's party, 4;
• machinations against York, 8;
• flees with son to Scotland, 13;
• gains victory at Wakefield, 15;
• struggle with Edward IV., 17;
• her efforts to regain the throne, 19;
• sails for England, 20;
• defeat at Hexham, 21;
• flees to Scotland with Prince Edward, 22;
• reconciliation with Warwick, 29;
• Battle of Tewkesbury ransomed by Louis, retires to Castle of Reculé, 36.
• "Martin Marprelate," 325.
• Mary, Princess, treatment by Warwick's party, interposition of Charles V., 216;
• claims the crown from the Privy Council, 221;
• rising in her favour, 222;
• Council in Northumberland's absence declares for Mary, 223.
• (See also Mary, Queen.)
• Mary, Queen, triumphal entry into London, appeals to Charles V. for guidance, 223;
• her clemency, 224;
• Papal See, 225;
• restoration of Roman Church, 227;
• persecution of the reformed clergy, 226;
• opposition of Council and Protestant party, 227;
• terms of marriage treaty, 228;
• insurrections, 228;
• Elizabeth, 234;
• Mary's marriage with Philip, repeal of penal statutes against Catholics, 235;
• persecution of Protestants, 236;
• false report of birth of a prince, 238;
• Philip's departure, 241;
• conspiracy to place Elizabeth on throne, 242;
• conspiracy under Stafford, 243;
• war against France, 243;
• loss of Calais, 244;
• death, character, 246.
• Mary Queen of Scots, marries Dauphin, 250;
• death of Francis II., 254;
• returns to Scotland, person and character, 255;
• marries Darnley, 262;
• asserts her prerogative as queen, connection with Rizzio, 263;
• birth of James, 266;
• murder of Darnley, 269;
• her unpopularity, 270;
• seizure by Bothwell and marriage, insurrection of nobles, 271;
• captured, 272;
• imprisoned in Lochleven Castle, resigns throne in favour of James, 273;
• flight to England, 274;
• conference at York, 275;
• at Westminster, 276;
• removed by Elizabeth from Scottish border, Act against her, 304;
• Babington's plot, 306;
• trial, 308;
• hesitation of Elizabeth, 310;
• execution, 311.
• Mechlin, League of, 106.
• Medina Sidonia, Duke of, commands Spanish Armada, 319.
• Melville, Andrew, succeeds Knox, refuses to conform, committed to Tower, dies in banishment at Sedan, 462.
• Mercantile Marine, 16th century, 394.
• Merchant Adventurers of London, The, 395.
• Monteagle, Lord, 114.
• Montrose, Marquis of, joins Leslie at Dunse Hill, 576;
• won over to Royal party, 578;
• arrested, 606.
• More, Sir Thomas, Speaker House of Commons, 134;
• question of Henry's divorce submitted to him, 147;
• Lord Chancellor, 154;
• beheaded, 163;
• his "Utopia," 362.
• Mortimer's Cross, Battle of, 16.
• Morton, Archbishop, 78.
• Morton, Regent of Scotland, ordered to resign, regains power, 299;
• charged with murder of Darnley, intercession of Elizabeth, 300;
• trial and execution, 301.
• Mountjoy, Lord-Deputy of Ireland, 338.
• Murray, Earl of, threatened forfeiture, 263;
• Bothwell, 267;
• retires to France, 270;
• Regent, 273;
• Commission of Inquiry on Mary Stuart, 275;
• entrapped by Cecil, 277;
• party to scheme for marriage of Mary Stuart with Duke of Norfolk, 280;
• betrays Maitland, 281;
• negotiations with Elizabeth for surrender of Mary, 283;
• assassinated, 284.
• Music of the 16th century, 378.
• "My Lord of Misrule," Stubbs quoted, 399.
• Nantes, Edict of, 331.
• Navy office, founded by Henry VIII., 394.
• Navy, The Royal, 16th century, 393.
• Netherlands, Protestant revolt, 279;
• Elizabeth's aid to, 292.
• Nonconformists, The, 356.
• Norfolk, Duke of, president of the council, 154;
• condemned for treason, 203;
• miraculous escape, 204.
• Norfolk, Duke of, a commissioner to try Mary Stuart, 275;
• secret design to marry Mary, 276;
• hostility to Cecil, 278;
• displeasure of Elizabeth, 280;
• tried for treason, 288;
• executed, 289.
• Northampton, Battle of, 13.
• Northumberland, Duke of, Dudley, disgraceful peace with France, 216;
• avarice, 219;
• scheme for changing the succession, 220;
• insurrection in favour of Mary, 222;
• trial with chief associates on the council, beheaded, 224.
• (See also Warwick, Dudley, Earl of.)
• "Novum Organum," The, 378.
• Noye, Attorney General, proposes ship-money, 557;
• death, 558.
• O'Neill, created Earl of Tyrone, 189.
• Overbury, Sir Thomas, connection and influence with Carr, 448;
• committed to Tower, 449;
• death, 451.
• Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, 248.
• Parma, Prince of, opposes army under Leicester, 306;
• private mission from Elizabeth, 313;
• preparations to invade England, 315.
• Parr, Catherine, wife of Henry VIII., her Protestant sympathies, 195;
• her narrow escape, 202;
• marries privately Baron Seymour, 208;
• death, 209.
• Pavia, Battle of, 140.
• Petition of Right, 531, 534.
• Philip of Spain, marries Mary, his unpopularity, 235;
• Act constituting him Regent, 236;
• succeeds Charles V., 241;
• quits England, revisits it to urge war against France, 242;
• incursions of English ships on Spanish Main, 313;
• makes preparation to invade England, 313;
• dispersion of his Armada, 323;
• death, 332.
• Pilgrimage of Grace, The, 171.
• Poets, Tudor Period, 366.
• Pinkie, Battle of, 206.
• Plagues in London, 96, 259, 406.
• Pole, Cardinal, 175;
• Papal legate to Queen Mary, 225;
• addresses Parliament and grants Papal absolution, 235;
• endeavours to check persecutions, 238;
• Primate, 240;
• opposes war with France, 242.
• Poor Law Act, 43, 403.
• Presbyterians, persecution of, 279;
• conference with, 414;
• their resistance, 419;
• James I. and, 460.
• Printing, Origin and progress of, 65.
• Prose Writers, Elizabethan, 362.
• Prynne, William, barrister, writes "Histriomastix," indicted by Laud, cruel sentence on, 554;
• publishes "News from Ipswich," increased severity of sentence, popular demonstrations of sympathy, 555;
• awarded compensation by Long Parliament, 591.
• Puritans, The, 355.
• Pym, John, speech at opening of Short Parliament, 582;
• opens case against Strafford, 596.
• Raleigh, Sir Walter, serves in Grey's army, 296;
• Armada, 316;
• sails under Lord Howard in Spanish expedition, quarrel with Essex, 330;
• monopolies, 338;
• Cecil's animosity, the "Bye" conspiracy, 409;
• trial, committed to Tower, 411;
• life in Tower, writes "History of the World," 471;
• voyages, 474;
• return and arrest, 475;
• Gondamar, 476;
• attempted escape, betrayed by Stukeley, trial, executed on old charge of treason, 478.
• Reformation in England, events in, 163, 174, 186, 207, 215, 236, 247, 356.
• Reformation in Scotland, 356.
• "Requests," The, 2.
• Reynolds, Dr., Puritan delegate at Hampton
• Court. Conference, 414.
• Richard III., coronation repeated at York, 53;
• murder of princes in the Tower, 54;
• counter movement to Richmond's plot, 56;
• proclaims Duke of Buckingham and others, 56;
• Parliament proclaims him king and entails Crown on issue;
• wholesale attainders, 58;
• designs on Queen Dowager, 59;
• armistice with Scottish king, 60;
• death of Anne of Warwick, proposes to marry Elizabeth of York, public execration, 60;
• defection of adherents, 62;
• battle of Bosworth, and death, 63;
• buried at Grey Friars Church, 64.
• (See also Gloucester.)
• Richmond, Earl of, at court of Duke of Brittany, 53;
• risings in his favour, 57;
• descent, 58;
• raises army in France, 60;
• lands at Milford Haven, 62;
• conquers at Bosworth, 63;
• enters Leicester in state as Henry VII.
• (See Henry VII.)
• Ridolfi Plot, The, 287.
• Ridley, Bishop of London, 216;
• sent to Tower, 227;
• tried at Oxford and burnt, 238.
• Rivers, Lord, rival to Clarence for Mary of Burgundy, 41;
• welcomes Gloucester at Northampton, 47;
• executed at Pontefract Castle, 50;
• patron of learning, 66.
• Rizzio, 263;
• his murder, 264.
• Robsart, Amy, 259.
• Rochester, Viscount, further honours, Lord Chamberlain, 449;
• marriage with divorced wife of Essex, 451.
• (See also Somerset, Earl of.)
• Rogers, John, Prebendary of St. Paul's, burnt at Smithfield, 236.
• "Root and Branch" Petition, 594.
• Roses, War of, origin of rival badges, 18.
• Russell, Sir John, first historical notice of the Russells, 137;
• created Lord Russell, Duke of Bedford, 173.
• Scotland, Berwick ceded, 19;
• attacked by Edward IV., 44;
• Warbeck at court, 88;
• war with England, 89;
• invasion by Henry VII., 90;
• inroads on England, 91;
• faction rule, 119;
• Albany and Henry VIII., 131;
• Papist party, 189;
• war with England, 206;
• first covenant, 251;
• treaty with England, 254;
• Mary's reign, 299;
• James VI. and Presbyterians, 460;
• introduction of Episcopacy, 565;
• the Tables, 566;
• civil war, 574;
• march into England, 587;
• Charles in Edinburgh, 607.
• Scottish poets, 16th century, 375.
• Scottish coins, 393.
• Selden, Sir John, 488;
• opposes Arminian doctrine, 538;
• imprisoned, 542.
• Seton, Lord, 192.
• Seymour, Edward, created Lord Beauchamp, and Earl of Hertford, 173.
• Seymour, Jane, 164;
• marries Henry VIII., 169;
• birth of son, and death, 172.
• Seymour, Sir Thomas, created Baron Seymour of Sudeley and Lord High Admiral, 205;
• private marriage with Queen Dowager, 208;
• seeks hand of Elizabeth, 209;
• attainted and executed, 210.
• Shakespeare, 358;
• his works, 373-4.
• Ship money, 557;
• protests against writs, sanction of judges, 558;
• Richard Chambers and John Hampden resist payment, 558;
• Hampden's case tried in Court of Exchequer, 559;
• judgment against him, 560.
• Ships, 15th century, 75;
• 16th century, 393.
• Short Parliament, The, its members, numerous petitions, speech of Pym, Star Chamber and Queen's Bench, 583;
• conflict with Charles over supply, 584.
• Sidney, Sir Philip, falls at Zutphen, 306;
• "Arcadia," 364.
• Simnel, Lambert, 79.
• Six Articles, The statute of, 175.
• Solemn League and Covenant, 567.
• Solway Moss, Battle of, 191.
• Somerset, Duke of, 5;
• attainted by Commons, challenge to York, 6;
• committed by Parliament to Tower, reinstated, 7;
• joins Queen Margaret at York, commands at Wakefield, 15;
• at Towton, 18;
• attainted second time, unsuccessful embassage for Margaret to Louis XI., 19;
• death, 22.
• Somerset, Duke of, lack of statesmanship, reform in the Church, ecclesiastical commission, the "Royal injunctions," 207;
• his avarice, Somerset House, defection of council, 214;
• disgrace, 215;
• trial and execution, 218.
• Somerset, Earl of, 451;
• changed manner, supplanted by Villiers, 454;
• charge of poisoning Sir Thomas Overbury, 455;
• condemned, pardoned by king, 548.
• (See also Rochester.)
• Spain, treaty with England, 106;
• hostilities against England, 315;
• capture of Cadiz, 329;
• descent on Ireland, 338;
• intrigues against England, 407;
• Spanish match, 490;
• treaty with Charles I., 557.
• Spenser, Edmund, poet, serves in army of Lord Grey, 296;
• receives forfeited Irish estate, 297;
• "Faerie Queen," 371.
• "Sports, Book of," The, 464.
• Spurs, Battle of, 110.
• St. Albans, Battle of, 8;
• second battle, 16.
• Stanley, Lord, 49;
• imprisoned in Tower by Gloucester, 50;
• constable of England, 52;
• secret treaty with Elizabeth of York, deserts Richard at Bosworth, 63;
• places crown on Henry's head, 64.
• Star Chamber, the, Origin of, 82;
• why named, 346;
• abuse of, 453;
• abolition of, 606.
• St. Bartholomew, Massacre of, 289.
• St. Quentin, Battle of, 243.
• Strafford, Earl of, public indignation against, 586;
• Lieutenant General of the army, 592;
• impeachment, 593;
• trial, 595;
• reply to indictment, 597;
• letter to king, 604;
• execution, 606.
• (See also Wentworth.)
• Stuart, Lady Arabella, history, marriage with Seymour, 442;
• Seymour sent to Tower, stolen interviews, flight and capture, lodged in Tower, 443;
• insanity, death, 444.
• Stuart, Lord James, half-brother to Mary Queen of Scots, Prior of St. Andrews, his treachery, 254;
• chief minister, 255.
• (See Mar, Earl of.)
• Suffolk, Charles Brandon, Duke of, 114;
• marries Mary, widow of Louis of France, 116;
• commands English troops, 137;
• Lord Marshal, 154;
• sent to suppress Catholic insurrections, 170;
• receives Catherine Howard's confession, 185.
• Suffolk, Duke of, father of Lady Jane Grey, 222;
• his rebellion, 228;
• beheaded, 231.
• Sully, Duke of, Envoy Extraordinary to James I., bribes courtiers and makes treaty with James, 407.
• Sunday Sports, Petition of magistrates against, declaration of Charles, 553.
• Supremacy, Act of, 248.
• Tewkesbury, Battle of, 35.
• Thirty Years War, 479.
• Throgmorton, Sir Nicholas, tried for treason and acquitted, 232.
• Throgmorton, Thomas, plots against queen, hanged, 303.
• Towton, Battle of, 18.
• Trinity House, Corporation of, 394.
• Tudor, Jasper, Earl of Pembroke, 16.
• Tudor, Owen, ancestor of Tudor line, beheaded at Hereford, 16.
• Tyrone, Hugh, Earl of, rebellion of, 333.
• Uniformity, Act of, 248.
• Uses, Statute of, 347.
• Usury, Laws against, 395.
• Vane, Sir Henry, sent by Charles to Commons, 584;
• at Strafford's trial, 598.
• Vauclerc, Lieutenant of Calais, 28.
• Verulam, Baron, 470;
• trial of Raleigh, 477;
• Viscount St. Albans, his genius, impeachment, 483;
• retires to Gorhambury, 484;
• death, 485.
• (See also Bacon, Sir Francis.)
• Villiers, George, 454.
• (See also Buckingham, Duke of.)
• Wakefield, Battle of, 15.
• Wales incorporated with England, 187.
• Warbeck, Perkin, origin, 85;
• adventures in France, Ireland, and Burgundy, 86;
• in Scotland, marries Lady Gordon, 88;
• lands at Cork, 91;
• in Cornwall, 92;
• defeated, takes sanctuary in monastery of Beaulieu, at the Royal Court, 94;
• escapes to Sheen Priory, placed in stocks in London, and imprisoned in Tower, 94;
• plots with Warwick, hanged at Tyburn, 95.
• Warwick, Earl of, battle of St. Albans, 7;
• Governor of Calais, 8;
• retires to Calais, 9;
• attacks fleet of Lübeck merchantmen in Channel, 10;
• Attainted, 11;
• lands in Kent with Cospini the Pope's legate, Northampton, 12;
• defeated at St. Albans, 16;
• at Ferrybridge, and Towton, commands the North, 18;
• Ambassador at the Scottish Court, 19;
• Ambassador to France for Bona of Savoy, 23;
• his chagrin at marriage of Edward to Elizabeth Woodville, 23;
• visits France to negotiate marriage of Margaret the king's sister with son of Louis XI. of France, 24;
• indignation at rejection of the proposed alliance, accused of secret partisanship with Lancastrians, restored to royal favour, 25;
• retires to Calais, 26;
• takes the king prisoner at Olney, defeats Lancastrian insurgents under Sir Humphrey Neville, 27;
• meets Edward at the Moor, flees to Calais after failure of insurrection of Sir Robert Wells, 28;
• received by Louis XI., alliance with the Lancastrian party and Queen Margaret, 29;
• Anne, his daughter, married to the Prince of Wales, 30;
• proclaims Henry king, 30;
• summons Parliament, 31;
• battle of Barnet and death, 34.
• Warwick, son of Duke of Clarence, heir apparent of York, imprisoned in the Tower, 76;
• exhibited to the people as the real earl by Henry VII., plot with Warbeck, 95;
• tried and beheaded, 96.
• Warwick, Dudley, Earl of, rivalry with Somerset, 214;
• ungenerous conduct of party to Princess Mary, 216;
• warden of the Scottish Marches, 216.
• Wentworth, arbitrary action in Ireland, 554;
• Lord President of the North, 560;
• dishonourable treatment of Irish Parliament and Convocation, 562;
• inquiry into Irish titles, 563;
• Mountnorris, 565;
• recalled from Ireland to advise Charles, 581;
• returns as Earl of Strafford and Lord Lieutenant, 582.
• (See also Strafford, Earl of.)
• William the Silent, assassination of, 294.
• Williams, Bishop, Lord Chancellor, 486.
• Wishart, George, Scottish Reformer, 198;
• burnt, 199.
• Wolsey, Cardinal, receives bishopric of Tournay, 110;
• Bishop of Lincoln, 114;
• origin and rise, 116;
• Archbishop of York, 117;
• Cardinal, Papal Legate, and Chancellor, favours learning and the arts, 118;
• conduct of foreign affairs, 122;
• power and magnificence, 126;
• conference with the emperor, 127;
• candidature for the Papacy, 128;
• forced loans for king, 130;
• disappointed of Popedom a second time, legatine and increased powers granted for life by Clement VII., suppresses monasteries, 138;
• unpopularity, 142;
• treaty with French envoys, 143;
• seeks to dissuade Henry from marriage with Anne Boleyn, 147;
• joined in Commission with Papal legate to try divorce, 148;
• fall of, 153;
• death, 154.
• Woodvilles, The, their unpopularity, and aggrandisement of the family, 24;
• their influence, 46.
• Wyatt, Sir Thomas, revolt under, 229.
• York, Battle of, 26.
• York, Archbishop of, Edward Neville, peacemaker between Woodvilles and Nevilles, 25;
• invites king to the Moor to meet Warwick and Duke of Clarence, 28;
• confirmed in Chancellorship by Warwick, 31.
• York, Richard, Duke of, lineal descent, 4;
• in Ireland, 5;
• proposed as successor to Crown, Protector, rupture with king, battle of St. Albans, 7;
• Protector again, resigns, 8;
• Council of Coventry, 9;
• Conference in London, 10;
• attainted, 11;
• claims the Crown at Westminster, 14;
• slain at Wakefield, 15.
• Zutphen, Battle of, 306.

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