shall the messenger start, bearing my warrant and denoting him that shall represent me. Now thou knowest all, Anne, thou may guess that I am troubled somewhat. For I have that difficult part to play—to decide, when I am all indecision. I have done for the best, I-and yet it may be. Well! well! I have thrown the die, and will stand the fortune or fate of the cast."

Anne sighed. The King, to prevent further discussion, turned to the window once more.

"Come, look with me at this motley group below. It may chase the gloom from thy dear face: a gloom that but awhile thou charged mine with harbouring. Wilt thou not smile, Anne? Not even at the mad prank of the page yonder! Ha! ha! look, Anne, look!”

And Henry laughed out lustily at the not over-delicate trick of one of the pages, who had contrived to trip a scullion in carrying foul water or something as agreeable, and the poor man, in his fall, discharged his burden over a worthy citizen standing by. The latter, afraid to vent his anger upon the author of his wrong, nevertheless failed not to dissipate some part of it at the expense of the unfortunate scullion, whom he belaboured soundly with his staff. But Anne looked not upon this scene: her eyes were directed to a figure below, the face turned to the casement she and the king occupied. The form bore the dress of a Benedictine, and, as he stood looking up to the queen, Anne felt a chill shudder pass over her. There was nothing repellant in the features of the monk; they were, on the contrary, attractive: but it was the attraction the serpent is said to have upon the poor bird-the fascination of fear. That fine and noble countenance, so cold and passionless, it might have been the work of a statuary: or a thing of flesh and blood, in the form of man, walking the earth, wanting-but never seeking -a soul. A year later, and Ignatius Loyola had given it a name-the Jesuit.

"Fare thee well, awhile, lady," said the King, as he withdrew from the window; "it is time I should meet the Council; therefore, my bird, I must quit thee. But rest content; in my communications with Rome, our interests are one. Then, hie thee to thy chamber. I will come anon."

As Anne shortly quitted the gallery, by a different exit to her husband, she was joined by a tall, handsome man.

"What ails thee, Anne?" asked he. "Hast thou quarrelled with thy lord or thy greyhound?"

"Nay, George," replied the Queen: "but the latter quarrels with every one approaches me. I must be rid of him, an he be not more peaceful."

"Poor brute," said the gentleman, patting the hound's head; "he fancies all men enemies of thine. Would I might slip him at one or two I wot of."

"Hush, brother. I would not that you should do anything of the kind. I am sick of these quarrels and their uncharitableness. The good Latimer-"

"Ay, ay, I honour him, Anne. But our enemies are strong, and none the less enemies for that. Therefore, I say, I would Luther were at the throats of some."

"Call the dog not again by that name, brother. It is but a jest of thine; but, believe me, there is no name, not even the fiend's itself, that Henry more-"

"Fears?"
"Hates."
"Luther!"

As they passed along the corridor to Anne's private apartments, the queen related her late conversation with the king, relative to John de Bellay and his mission. And the Lord Rochford listened with a serious brow, but answered not.

ས.

THE HOLY CITY.

Rome! the Rome of Romulus: city of refugees and robbers. Mistress of the world; city of the Cæsars. Head of Christianity: city of the Popes. The eternal city: city of ruins. Rome, with its Vatican, the Quirinal and the Lateran. The Colosseum, the Forum, and the Catacombs. The Basilica of St. Peter and the Castle of St. Angelo. Churches and dungeons. Rome with its Colonna, the Orsini, the Frangipani, the Medici, the Farnese and the Borghese, and the other heads of great families, noted for their fearful hates and their more fearful loves. Rome of the Republic; of the Emperors; now of the Church.

The city of the Seven Hills was indeed strangely moved. Nations in numbers with those hills were gathered within

her walls. There was the Frenchman, the Spaniard, the German, the Swiss, the Italian, the English, and, lastly, the man of the City, the Roman. Each with a separate interest, albeit hidden somewhat under the guise of faction or friendship. But now, and men and nations drew into one or other of two parties of the Emperor or of the King of England. Upon the Emperor's side were the Spaniard, the Italian, and the Roman: on the King's the English, French, and Swiss. Germany was divided. The powers of the two parties were pretty equally balanced: the Pope leaning toward England, and the Emperor himself acting with indifference-nevertheless his partizans and allies made amends, by their vehemence and malignity. The streets were filled with mer-at-arms and archers, to preserve something like peace and order. The body-guard of the Pope, composed of Swiss mercenaries, guarded the approaches to the Vatican and the other Pontifical palaces. San Angelo's cannonclumsy ill-contrived things-but dangerous-grinned significantly from the battlements, and the soldiery stationed within, in large bodies and strongly armed, told of precautions taken towards the security of the city, and the doubt whether the rude manners and ruder passions of the nations assembled might not lead to quarrel and bloodshed, to thehowever the victory went-injury or perhaps burning and sacking of Rome.

In the Forum and along the Corso, the crowd congregated most: so numbersome and thickly wedged, it was with difficulty any made way. Many rich dresses of satin and velvet, with chains of gold and jewelled caps; but more of coats of mail and the good steel by the side. But there were other dresses; the long frocks of the friars, and the scarlet robes of the cardinals. There were the black cloak and hood of the Dominican, the white of the Carmelite, the grey of the Grey Friar. The whole posse of monkery was passing quiet, but not silent, through the crowd: whispering a word here, another there: getting and giving signs and looks. Busy, very busy, though seemingly doing little or nothing. The highest Church dignitary was not so active, nor performed so much as one of these same friars. Oh! but the crowd was great. More comers; more comers: knight jostled churchman, noble was elbowed by footmen. The mob grew denser and the crush greater, and the perspiration broke out on

men's foreheads, although it was March, and the frost was sharp and the air cold. But spite of the crowd, the crush, or the weather, men kept without doors, and questioned all they met in one unvarying phrase, "Is he come?"

The day passed and the night drew in; but the crowd remained, and the monks went about as before, and, although the greater men retired when the dark came on, yet others of note kept the streets, with their followers nigh to them. But when midnight told from the cannon of St. Angelo-for the gates of Rome were not to be supposed closed till that hour-the lords withdrew, and the people ran hastily to their homes, and held vigil there to the first light.

There was little sleep in Rome that night: and as morning broke, the streets were crowded again, and the late comer's first question was as the day before, "Is he come ?" Presently, the lords came abroad, and the streets filled faster, and there were more people than yesterday, though it had appeared all Rome was out of doors on that day. The monks, too, were in greater number, and their whispers had become short speeches, and when they had quitted some spot, there ever arose a murmur and a cry. There were angry words, and flushed faces. And the Cardinals went to and from the Vatican and messages passed to St. Angelo: and the Pontiff's palace received an additional guard. The Bishop of Paris was seen at times, and the people cried out as he passed, "Is he come?" But John de Bellay wore a heavy look, and he went his way. When night came, the chief men

retired as before and as the hour of twelve was bellowed forth from the castle, the streets were not deserted, but men by turns watched and patrolled through all that night.

The third day came, and the monks were up betimes, before the lords ventured abroad; and as the latter took their stations, or passed to the Vatican, stormy sayings and angry reproaches were rife. There had been more iron and steel, and less of silk and velvet latterly seen; but this day men were clad from top to toe in their battle panoply. And there was more jostling and some blows struck; but the curse of excommunication was recorded against whomsoever should draw sword in Rome during the month. Then, as noon advanced, there was a whisper that John de Bellay had received tidings, and the face of the French Bishop was more cheerful when he quitted the Pontiff's palace; and the

monks, who had not been seen since early morning, came abroad in numbers, and groups collected round them, and they harangued. And the armed men of the Imperial faction went about in array; but the King's party had, by the persuasion of the Pontiff, drawn to their quarters. Still the streets were full, and the monks preached, and the people listened, and cursed, and filled the city with dreadful noises. And when the castle guns, as before, told the hour, a yell arose that deadened their roar, and the words were heard over Rome, "He is not come."

When the fourth morning broke upon the town, men, looking in men's faces, remembered them of the old fable, how that Romulus, the founder of their city, had been suckled by a wolf. And they 'gan to think whether, in their three nights' vigil, the spirit of the fell beast had not entered into their bodies, and now looked out of their eyes. And as the great men arrived, and gazed upon the strange-eyed beings waiting them-albeit their own looks were full pale and evil they trembled as one does at an unnatural sight, and many crossed themselves.

John de Bellay was early at the Vatican, and the mob hooted and pelted him as he went. And shortly the Cardinals in their red hats and robes came, and a great shout was raised, when it was told the Consistory was sitting. Yet was there much, very much, to be anxious upon. And in the waiting, strong men sat them down upon the ground sick at heart of expectation, spirit prostrate with delay. Oh! and a moment, the fainting started, strong and unwearied, to his feet, while the simultaneous movement of the multitude was loud and dissonant. Another moment, and the nations were upon their knees, the heads bowed, and their eyes to the earth, and an old man from a balcony stretched forth his arms bodily unto, and in spirit over them. Silence! a few words, scarce articulate, and the blessing is done. Still upon their knees, with their eyes now up to the Pontiff, do the numbers wait. In a low voice, yet in that hushed multitude heard afar, Clement slowly enunciated-the curse of the Church upon Henry and upon England.

Rising high above his fellows, the chiefest of the Imperialists held up his hand, and in a voice that cracked in its vehement loudness, he shouted "Amen." But no response from other lips-none. Three days, three nights. Man's pas