that we should follow HIS footsteps." Here Wolsey bent his head, and remained absorbed in thought or prayer.

It would be wearying without sufficient object were we to detail the entire scene. It will appear from the foregoing sketch, that Wolsey well understood the genius and turn of mind of that young and interesting Princess, and that the nature of his consolation and motives of action were exactly suited to her understanding and temper.

Mary was young and had certain ill-defined but powerful motives for abhorring this marriage. She secretly loved the Duke of Suffolk, although she hardly suspected the real state of her heart. Wolsey was too shrewd a diplomatist not to elevate the maiden's mind by high and self-devoting examples, rather than give such as neighboured on every-day worldly policy. He proposed the honor of self-sacrifice, rather than ambition, pride, or expediency, and he soon had good reason to approve the wisdom of his course.

Mary, who had opened the interview as an impassioned advocate of her own will, closed it with a calm expression of her submission to her duty and the requirements of her condition.

As she retired she bent low before Wolsey, who with considerable emotion, rose and in unsteady voice pronounced his benediction and thus ended the scene between the royal beauty of the court of England and the foremost politician of the age.

On reaching her own apartment-but why should we follow her there? what need to repeat her first burst of natural passion-"Oh that I had been born a yeoman's child;" all this sad recurrence of the heart to its distressful state will easily be anticipated without our giving it definite form.

A careless observer might have concluded that the good resolve apparent on her leaving Wolsey had vanished into thin air as soon as she was alone and in her chamber. But not so: the motives which first induced compliance were of a high and enduring character; and their full meaning and force recurred after the first burst of grief and distress had subsided.

It was the nature of these high motives to increase with their being fed; or, in the simplest phrase, to grow the more the mind contemplates them. An oak is firmer rooted by storms.

We may not detain our readers by recording Mary's internal struggle, and the gradual mastery of her inclinations, and firm resolve to conform to duty with dignity and submission. We introduce one particular scene previous to her leaving for France, (the day preceding her intended departure,) because it instances not only a severe trial of her fortitude, but a propriety to which women are so keenly alive and men so obtusely blind.

The King had resolved that the Princess should be accompanied by the chief nobles of his court, and with great pomp and splendor. He himself arranged the cortège, and on the day in question handed an engrossed copy of the arrangements to the Princess in the state chamber.

As Mary entered by a small side door with Lady Charlotte Lovell and Lady Kate Piercy, she saw only the King, Queen, and Wolsey: she was conscious that at the entrance stood several attendants, but was ignorant of their persons from the violence of the emotion which blinded her at the moment of entrance

As the King rose and gave her the engrossed programme she seemed to run her eye mechanically over it, but after a few moments, she came to a stop, turned deadly pale, and gasped for breath.

"Does not the list please our sister?" asked the King in a tone of mortification.

"I should prefer Lord D'Aubeney for my equerry, if it please your highness," said the Princess, in an almost whispered

tone.

"Supplant Charles Brandon by our worthy chamberlain ! that were an insult to our brother France, Mary. Besides, the Mareschal de Cordes might ill brook to see our worthy Lord D'Aubeney now for the first time since they did confer at Estaples.* It would be thought we were turned merchants, and kept our wares till we secured their price. And by this body of mine! Charles is the properer man," continued the King, raising his voice.

"I do beseech your highness send Sir Gilbert Talbott, or my good Lord Berners; deny me not this boon, my gracious liege," and Mary fell on her knees before the king.

"Art mad, art mad? What will the Duke of Angouleme think of us? That we our maidens send to wed their dotards, -heaven assoilzie us!-because we have no youth of parts and exercises here at home."

Mary arose trembling violently after a minute's pause she exclaimed, calmly and resolutely,

"The custom of Nations makes our present position regal, and our lawful accent, that of command; we do refuse to sanction the appointment of his grace the Duke of Suffolk as our

*The Bishop of Exeter, and Lord D'Aubeney were sent to confer at Estaples with the Mareschal de Cordes, in the late king's invasion of France, on November 3rd, 1492, upon Henry's demands, which, agreeable to that avaricious monarch's disposition, were wholly pecuniary. Henry received 745,000 crowns in compensation for injuries, arrears, and dis

bursements.

equerry, and we appoint in lieu thereof Sir Gilbert Talbott; and further, we appoint the Earl of Arundel lieutenant of our knightly escort, in the place of Sir Gilbert Talbott, now made our equerry."

There was not a face where the liveliest emotion was not depicted. Henry for a moment seemed wonder-struck, but, recovering his self-possession quickly, he turned round with much dignity, and exclaimed aloud to some party at the grand entrance,

“My Lord of Arundel, short time is left for preparation ; you must bestir yourself. Charles Duke of Suffolk, you have heard our royal sister's sentence."

Poor Mary, until that moment unconscious of the presence of the Duke of Suffolk, felt hardly able to support herself.

The Duke approached, more like a ghost than a living warrior, and kneeling before the Princess exclaimed, with voice almost inarticulate with emotion,

"I humbly beseech your highness' clemency. If for some fault I have in ignorance committed, I have brought upon my ill-starred head the heavy weight of your highness displeasure"A pause ensued, but Mary spoke not.

"Never in thought or word, or most remote intent, did I ought knowingly to offend your highness. If that my punishment be not revoked my knightly sword will rust, mine arm will wither, and never will another happy morn dawn on the disgraced and broken-hearted Suffolk."

"Hold! hold, my Lord of Suffolk," said Queen Catherine, rising from her seat and hurrying to the princess, whom she perceived tottering. Another moment, and she had sunk insensible into the arms of Lady Charlotte Lovell.

For many reasons the queen had remained perfectly neuter throughout the whole transaction. First, because, she disliked the union; secondly, because Henry was extremely irritated against her father; and, lastly, because she saw from the first all interference would but make things worse for Mary, and might seriously compromise her own position with her husband. All her aim was, therefore, to keep out of the way, or when present, as on this occasion, to remain passive.

Her woman's heart soon apprized her of the Princess's motive for superseding Suffolk, and it was nothing but the increasing distress and final syncope of Mary which threw the Queen off her guarded resolve, and roused her to tender assistance.

As the Princess was borne out, accompanied by the Queen and Ladies Lovell and Piercy, Henry remained with downcast eye and stern and thoughtful brow.

It was obvious to Wolsey, who was standing next him, a keen and interested spectator of the scene, that the young monarch was more moved than he cared to show; he occupied himself therefore in rolling up and securing some large folds of parchment, and pretended not to observe that Henry had turned his back upon the court and was moving quietly, by his private entrance, from the state chamber.

Suffolk, too intensely sensitive of the slight he still believed to have been put upon him by his being superseded-too grievously wounded in hopes, and despairing of the reversal of his sentence-bruised in heart and bewildered in head, hurried home and gave himself up to the keenest self-reproach and almost maddening sorrow.

He could see in his reverse nothing but shame and disappointment.

He wondered what he could have committed to have disgusted the Princess.

Who had poisoned her mind against him?

He called to remembrance all with whom he had conversed. He feared Lady Charlotte Lovell; and yet he reflected she was no reputed slanderer-she was not wont to work ill with those for whom she professed friendship.

He thought of Lady Kate Piercy-yes, she was a bitter and satirical wit—but no, she was too high-couraged to do a deed of

meanness.

"Wolsey? Ah! was he the traitor?"

Strange! Men are vain, boys very vain, young warriors vain to a degree, and yet it never struck Suffolk, in all his deep perplexity, that his own repute and graceful parts and qualities were the sanctified and holy traitors" to him.

66

[To be continued.]

PRIESTS, WOMEN, AND FAMILIES: By J. MICHELET. Charles Edmonds, Strand.

PRIESTS, Women, and Families! Surely a man ought to have somewhat to say who startles us with such an announcement in the hurried passage of life.

What man does not hear in this his own name thrice pronounced, as though the infantine apparition had appeared to him also, as to the Scottish usurper, and claimed, by his emphatic repetition, his attention and regard. Who amongst us, with such a solemn conjuration, would not exclaim "Had I three ears I'd hear thee."

Priests, Women, and Families! The wrath of Pelean Achilles is a feeble subject for an epic, compared with this; the fortunes of the first founder of the Roman race, a child's story-book; the moving tale

"Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree,"

is less vital.
Priests, Women, and Families! What a strange collocation.
And where is Man in this category? Where, in the relation of
Father, Brother, Husband, Son? Think you he should not
have had his place in the goodly company-in each of these
important relations? Wherefore is he then omitted?

We learn that when Michelet's work was made public, "in every church and from every pulpit he was preached against, and named by name:" and thus was the sanctuary desecrated by furious tirades against a living man.

We were not persuaded that it constituted a sufficient reason for neglecting a work upon a subject of such vital importance: the author being the Professor of History in the College of France, and having opportunities of access to authentic documents which could not but render his contributions to ecclesiastical history valuable.

But it seems the learned author of the tractarian heresy of the 19th century, in a sermon lately delivered before the University of Oxford, spoke of our author as "the infidel writer." A most startling announcement; which if true would most assuredly have excluded all notice of Michelet's work from these pages.

"Salvation by Grace through Jesus Christ" are the half dozen words in which Michelet conveys his confession of faith, and what right he in consequence has to the title of "infidel writer" we leave to the decision of our readers.

We proceed to a primary consideration of his preface, which is taken up with a review of the objections made against the work before us.

After noticing the vituperation by which he has been assailed, he enumerates the order of complaints. The first to us seems comical enough:

One prelate mourns in perspective over the lot of the priests whom we deliver up to martyrdom-to wit, marriage.

Without insisting upon the obvious anomalies of their position, we do think that if the priest is to advise the family, he ought to possess the experience of the family man. As a married man, or better still, a widower, ripened by age and experience (one who has loved, suffered, and been enlightened by domestic ties upon the mysteries of the moral life, which