your Queen and companion, far above my desert and desire. If then you found me worthy of such honour, good your Grace, let not any light fancy or bad counsel of mine enemies withdraw your princely favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most dutiful wife and the infant Princess, your daughter.

Try me, good King, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and 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 suspicion and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open censure, and mine offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me as an unlawful wife, but to follow your affections already settled on that party for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could some while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ignorant of my suspicions therein.

But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my death, but an infamous slander, must bring you to the enjoying of your desired happiness, then I desire of God that He will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the instruments thereof, and that He will not call you to a strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at His general judgment

seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose judgment I doubt not, whatsoever the world may think of me, mine innocence shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared.

My last and only request shall be that myself may only bear the burden of your Grace's displeasure, and that it shall not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who, as I understand, are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Anne Boleyn has been pleasant in your ears, then let me obtain this request; and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in his good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions. From my doleful prison in the Tower.

Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,

ANNE BOLEYN

TO JANE SEYMOUR

MY DEAR FRIEND AND MISTRESS,

The bearer of these lines from thy entirely devoted servant will deliver into thy fair hands a token of my true affection for thee, hoping you will keep it forever in your sincere love for me. Advertising you that there is a ballad made lately of great derision against us, which if it go much abroad, and is seen by you, I pray you

to pay no manner of regard to it. I am not at present informed who is the setter forth of this malignant writing, but if he be found out he shall be straitly punished for it. For the things you lacked I have minded my lord to supply them to you as soon as he can buy them. Thus hoping shortly to receive you in these arms, I end for the present.

Your own loving servant and sovereign,

H. R.

M

FROM KATHERINE PARR

Although the distance of time and account of days neither is long nor many of your Majesty's absence, yet the want of your presence, so much desired and beloved by me, maketh me that I cannot quietly pleasure in anything until I hear from your Majesty. The time, therefore, seemeth to me very long, with a great desire to know how your Highness hath done since your departing hence, whose prosperity and health I desire more than mine own. And whereas I know your Majesty's absence is never without great need, yet love and affection compel me to desire your presence.

Again, the same zeal and affection forceth me to be most content with that which is your will and pleasure. Thus love maketh me in all things to set apart mine own convenience and pleasure, and to embrace most joyfully his will and pleasure whom I love. God, the knower of

secrets, can judge these words not to be written only with ink, but most truly impressed on the heart. Much more I omit, lest it be thought I go about to praise myself, or crave a thank; which thing to do I mind nothing less but a plain, simple relation of the love and zeal I bear your Majesty, proceeding from the abundance of the heart. Wherein I must confess I desire no commendation, having such just occasion to do the same.

I make like account with your Majesty as I do with God for his benefits and gifts heaped upon me daily, acknowledging myself a great debtor to Him, not being able to recompense the least of His benefits; in which state I am certain and sure to die, yet I hope in His gracious acceptance of my good will. Even such confidence have I in your Majesty's gentleness, knowing myself never to have done my duty as were requisite and meet for such a noble prince, at whose hands I have found and received so much love and goodness that with words I cannot express it.

Lest I should be too tedious to your Majesty, I finish this my scribbled letter, committing you to the governance of the Lord, with long and prosperous life here, and after this life to enjoy the kingdom of his elect.

From Greenwich, by your Majesty's humble and obedient wife and servant,

KATERYN THE QUEEN

DE FAVRAS AND HIS WIFE

M M

T

he circumstances in which the letters of these two devoted creatures were written could hardly have been improved upon by the most imaginative writer of romance. Both the Marquis and Madame de Favras had been arrested on Christmas Eve, 1789, charged with having planned the double murder of de Lafayette and M. Bailly, the Mayor of Paris, the removal of King Louis XVI to a fortified town, where he could in safety undo all that the newly-formed legislative groups had forced upon him, and cutting off the food supply of Paris until the citizens of that city should return to their loyalty. In other words, they were charged with conspiring to produce a counter-revolution, which was to be brought about by thirty thousand provincial troops with de Favras as commander. They were confined in the Abbaye, but in widely-separated parts of the building.

At that time there was a prisoner at the Abbaye named Augeard, a former secretary of Marie Antoinette. He enjoyed the privilege of wandering about the prison, and thus learned the identity of the de Favras couple and the nature of the charges against them. He deeply sympathised with them, and contrived to furnish them with