nevertheless, we know that all is well, for all of us, and therefore for her.

13. But let us not cloud her short-lived sunshine with the shadow of the future. She went on in her loveliness, the peeresses following in their carriages, with the royal guard in their rear. In Frenchurch Street she was met by the children of the city schools; and at the corner of Gracechurch Street a masterpiece had been prepared of the pseudo-classic art, then so fashionable, by the merchants of the Styll Yard. A Mount Parnassus had been constructed, and a Helicon fountain upon it playing into a basin with four jets of Rhenish wine. On the top of the mountain sat Apollo with Calli'ope at his feet, and on either side the remaining Muses, holding lutes or harps, and singing each of them some "posy" or epigram in praise of the queen, which was presented, after it had been sung, written in letters of gold.

14. From Gracechurch Street the procession passed to Leadenhall, where there was a spectacle in better taste, of the old English Catholic kind, quaint perhaps and forced, but truly and even beautifully emblematic. There was again a "little mountain," which was hung with red and white roses; a gold ring was placed on the summit, on which, as the queen appeared, a white falcon was made to "descend as out of the sky,"

"and then incontinent came down an angel with great melody, and set a close crown of gold on the falcon's head; and in the same pageant sat Saint Anne with all her issue beneath her; and Mary Cleophas with her four children, of the which children one made a goodly oration to the queen, of the fruitfulness of Saint Anne, trusting that like fruit should come of her."

15. With such "pretty conceits," at that time the honest tokens of an English welcome, the new queen was received by the citizens of London. These scenes must be multiplied by the number of the streets, where some fresh fancy meets her at every turn. To preserve the festivities from flagging every fountain and conduit within the walls ran all day with wine; the bells of every steeple were ringing; children lay in weit

with songs, and ladies with posies, in which all the resources of fantastic extravagance were exhausted; and thus in an unbroken triumph-and to outward appearance received with the warmest affection-she passed under Temple Bar, down the Strand, by Charing Cross, to Westminster Hall. The king was not with her throughout the day; nor did he intend to be with. her in any part of the ceremony. She was to reign without a rival, the undisputed sovereign of the hour.

16. Saturday being passed in showing herself to the people, she retired for the night to the "king's manour house at Westminster," where she slept. On the following morning, between eight and nine o'clock, she returned to the hall, where the lordmayor, the city council, and the peers were again assembled, and took her place on the high daïs at the top of the stairs under the cloth of state; while the bishops, the abbots, and the monks of the abbey formed in the area.

17. A railed way had been laid with carpets across Palace Yard and the Sanctuary to the Abbey gates; and when all was ready, preceded by the peers in their robes of parliament, the Knights of the Garter in the dress of the order, she swept out under her canopy, the bishops and the monks "solemnly singing." The train was borne by the old Duchess of Norfolk, her aunt, the Bishops of London and Winchester on either side "bearing up the lappets of her robe." The Earl of Oxford carried the crown on its cushion immediately before her. She was dressed in purple velvet furred with ermine, her hair escaping loose, as she usually wore it, under a wreath of diamonds.

18. On entering the abbey, she was led to the coronation chair, where she sat while the train fell into their places, and the preliminaries of the ceremonial were dispatched. Then she was conducted up to the high altar, and anointed Queen of England, and she received from the hands of Cranmer, fresh come in haste from Dunstable, with the last words of his sentence upon Catharine scarcely silent upon his lips, the golden sceptre, and Saint Edward's crown.

19. Did any tinge of remorse, any pang of painful recollection, pierce at that moment the incense of glory which she was

inhaling? Did any vision flit across her of a sad, mourning figure which once had stood where she was standing, now desolate, neglected, sinking into the darkening twilight of a life cut short by sorrow? Who can tell? At such a time, that figure would have weighed heavily upon a noble mind, and a wise mind would have been taught by the thought of it, that, although life be fleeting as a dream, it is long enough to experience strange vicissitudes of fortune. But Anne Boleyn was not noble and was not wise,-too probably she felt nothing but the delicious, all-absorbing, all-intoxicating present; and if that plain, suffering face presented itself to her memory at all, we fear that it was rather as a foil to her own surpassing loveliness. Two years later, she was able to exult over Catharine's death; she was not likely to have thought of her with gentler feelings in the first glow and flush of triumph.

20. These scenes concluded, in the usual English style, with a banquet in the great hall, and with all outward signs of enjoyment and pleasure. There must have been but few persons present, however, who did not feel that the sunshine of such a day might not last forever, and that over so dubious a marriage no Englishman could exult with more than half a heart. It is foolish to blame lightly actions which arise in the midst of circumstances which are and can be but imperfectly known; and there may have been political reasons which made so much pomp desirable. Anne Boleyn had been the subject of public conversation for seven years, and Henry, no doubt, desired to present his jewel to the people of England in the rarest and choicest setting.

[About three years after her marriage with the king, Anne Boleyn was brought to trial on a charge of being unfaithful to her royal husband; and, being pronounced guilty, was sentenced to death, and subsequently beheaded. The account of her execu tion, given in the following selection, is extracted from Agnes Strickland's "Queens of England."]

Execution of Anne Boleyn.-Strickland.

1. THE queen was ordered for execution on the 19th of May, and it was decreed by Henry that she should be beheaded on the green within the Tower. It was a case without precedent in the annals of England, for never before had female blood been shed on the scaffold; even in the Norman reigns of terror, woman's life had been held sacred, and the most merciless of the Plantagenet sovereigns had been too manly, under any provocation or pretense, to butcher ladies.

2. On Friday, the 19th of May [1536], the last sad morning of her life, Anne rose two hours after midnight, and resumed her devotions with her almoner. When she was about to receive the sacrament, she sent for Sir William Kingston, that he might be a witness of her last solemn protestation of innocence of the crimes for which she was sentenced to die, before she became partaker of the holy rite. It is difficult to imagine any person wantonly provoking the wrath of God by incurring the crime of perjury at such a moment. She had evidently no hope of prolonging her life, and appeared not only resigned to die, but impatient of the unexpected delay of an hour or two before the closing scene was to take place. This delay was caused by the misgivings of Henry; for Kingston had advised Cromwell not to fix the hour for the execution, so that it could be exactly known when it was to take place, lest it should draw an influx of spectators from the city.

3. It does not appear that Anne condescended to implore the mercy of the king. She knew his pitiless nature too well, even to make the attempt to touch his feelings after the horrible imputations with which he had branded her; and this lofty spirit looks like the pride of innocence, and the bitterness of a deeply-wounded mind. While Kingston was writing his last report to Cromwell of her preparations for the awful change that awaited her, she sent for him, and said, "Mr. Kingston, I hear that I shall not die afore noon, and I am very sorry therefor, for I thought to be dead by this time. and past my

pain." "I told her," said Kingston, "that the pain should be little, it was so subtle."

4. And then she said, "I have heard say the executioner is very good, and I have a little neck," and put her hands about it, laughing heartily. "I have seen men and also women executed, and they have been in great sorrow," continues the Lieutenant of the Tower; "but, to my knowledge, this lady hath much joy and pleasure in death. Sir, her almoner is continually with her, and hath been since two o'clock after midnight." Just before she went to execution, she sent this message to the king: "Commend me to his majesty, and tell him he hath been ever constant in his career of advancing me. From a private gentlewoman he made me a marchioness, from a marchioness a queen; and, now he hath left no higher degree of honor, he gives my innocency the crown of martyrdom."

5. The scaffold prepared for the decapitation" of the unfortunate queen was erected on the green before the church of St. Peter-ad-Vincula. The hour appointed by her ruthless consort for her execution having been kept a profound mystery, only a few privileged spectators were assembled to witness the dreadful, yet strangely exciting pageant. A few minutes before twelve o'clock, the portals through which she was to pass for the last time were thrown open, and the royal victim appeared, led by the Lieutenant of the Tower, who acted as her lord-chamberlain at this last fatal ceremonial. Anne was dressed in a robe of black damask, with a deep white cape falling over it on her neck. Instead of the pointed black velvet hood edged with pearls, which is familiar to us in her portraits, she wore a small hat with ornamented coifs under it.

6. The high resolve with which she had nerved herself to go through the awful scene that awaited her, as became a queen, had doubtless recalled the lustre to her eyes, and flushed her faded cheek with hues of feverish brightness; for she came forth in fearful beauty. "Never," says an eye-witness of the tragedy, "had the queen looked so beautiful before." She was attended by the four maids of honor who had waited upon her in prison. Having been assisted by Sir William Kingston to