"Not so loud," said Herne, or you will wake this sleeper. It is as you suppose. Will you not aid her now? Will you not bestow some of your treasure upon her before it is wholly wrested from you by the king? I will do aught you wish, surely and swiftly."

"Go then to my palace at Esher," cried the cardinal. "Take this key to my treasurer-it is the key of my coffers. Bid him deliver to you the six caskets in the cabinet in the gilt chamber. Here is a token by which he will know that you came from me," he added, delivering him a small chain of gold, " for it has been so agreed between us. But you will be sure to give the treasure to Mabel."

"Fear nothing,” replied Herne. And stretching forth his hand to receive the key and the chain, he glided behind the tapestry, and disappeared.

This strange incident gave some diversion to Wolsey's thoughts; but ere long they returned to their former current. Sleep would not be summoned, and as soon as the first glimpse of day appeared, he arose, and wrapping his robe around him, left his room and ascended a winding staircase leading to the roof of the tower.

The morning promised to be fine, but it was then hazy, and the greater part of the forest was wrapped in fog. The castle, however, was seen to great advantage. Above Wolsey rose the vast fabric of the Round Tower, on the summit of which the broad standard was at that moment being unfurled; while the different battlements and towers arose majestically around. But Wolsey's gaze rested chiefly upon the exquisite mausoleum lying immediately beneath him, which he himself had erected. A sharp pang shook him as he contemplated it, and he cried My very tomb will be wrested from me by this rapacious monarch; and after all my care, I know not where I shall rest my bones!"

aloud 66

Saddened by the reflection, he descended to his chamber, and again threw himself on the couch.

But Wolsey was not the only person in the castle who had passed a sleepless night. Of the host of his enemies many had been kept awake by the anticipation of his downfal on the morrow; and among these was Anne Boleyn, who had received an assurance from the king that her enmity should at length be fully gratified.

At the appointed hour, the two cardinals proceeded to the royal lodgings. They were detained for some time in the antechamber, where Wolsey was exposed to the taunts and sneers of the courtiers, who had lately so servilely fawned upon him. At length, they were ushered into the presence-chamber, at the upper end of which, beneath a canopy emblazoned with the royal arms woven in gold, sat Henry, with Anne Boleyn on his

right hand. At the foot of the throne stood Will Sommers, and near him the Dukes of Richmond and Suffolk. Norfolk, Rochford, and a number of other nobles, all open enemies of Wolsey, were likewise present. Henry watched the advance of the cardinals with a stern look, and after they had made an obeisance to him, motioned them to rise.

"You have sought an interview with me, my lords," he said, with suppressed rage. "What would you?"

"We have brought an instrument to you, my liege," said Wolsey, "which has just been received from his holiness the pope.

"Declare its nature," said Henry.

"It is a citation," replied Wolsey, "enjoining your highness to appear by attorney in the papal court, under a penalty of ten thousand ducats."

And he presented a parchment, stamped with the great seal of Rome, to the king, who glanced his eye fiercely over it, and then dashed it to the ground, with an explosion of fury terrible to hear and to witness.

"Ha! by Saint George!" he cried; " am I as nothing, that the pope dares to insult me thus ?"

"It is a mere judicial form, your majesty," interposed Campeggio; " and is chiefly sent by his holiness to let you know we have no further jurisdiction in the matter of the divorce."

"I will take care you have not, nor his holiness either," roared the king; "by my father's head! he shall find I will be no longer trifled with."

"But, my liege," cried Campeggio

"Peace!" cried the king. "I will hear no apologies nor excuses. The insult has been offered, and cannot be effaced. As for you, Wolsey—”

"Sire!" exclaimed the cardinal, shrinking before a whirlwind of passion, which seemed to menace his utter extermination. "As for you, I say," pursued Henry, extending his hand towards him, while his eyes flashed fire, "who by your outrageous pride have so long overshadowed our honour,-who by your insatiate avarice and appetite for wealth have oppressed our subjects, who by your manifold acts of bribery and extortion have impoverished our realm, and by your cruelty and partiality have subverted the due course of justice, and turned it to your own ends, the time is come when you shall receive due punishment for your offences."

"You wrong me, my dear liege," cried Wolsey, abjectly. "These are the accusations of my enemies. Grant me a patient hearing, and I will explain all."

"I would not sharpen the king's resentment against you, lord cardinal," said Anne Boleyn, for it is keen enough; but I cannot permit you to say that these charges are merely hostile.

Those who would support the king's honour and dignity must desire to see you removed from his counsels."

"I am ready to take thy place, lord cardinal," said Will Sommers; "and will exchange my bauble for thy chancellor's mace, and my fool's cap for thy cardinal's hat."

"Peace!" thundered the king. "Stand not between us and the object of our wrath. Your accusers are not one, but many, Wolsey; nay, the whole of my people cry out for justice against you, and they shall have it. But you shall hear the charges they bring. Firstly, contrary to our prerogative, and for your own advancement and profit, you have obtained authority legatine from the pope; by which authority you have not only spoiled and taken away their substance from many religious houses, but have usurped much of our own jurisdiction. You have also made a treaty with the King of France for the pope without our consent, and concluded another friendly treaty with the Duke of Ferrara, under our great seal, and in our name, without our warrant. And, furthermore, you have presumed to couple yourself with our royal self in your letters and instructions, as if you had been on an equality with us."

"Ha! ha! The king and I would have you do thus!' 'The king and I give you our hearty thanks!' Ran it not so, cardinal ?" cried Will Sommers. "You will soon win the cap and

bells."

"In exercise of your legatine authority," pursued the king, "you have given away benefices contrary to our crown and dignity, for the which you are in danger of forfeiture of your lands and goods."

"A premunire, cardinal," cried Will Sommers. nire-ha! ha!"

"A premu

"Then it has been your practice to receive all the ambassadors to our court first at your own palace," continued Henry,"to hear their charges and intentions, and to instruct them as you might see fit. You have also so practised that all our letters sent from beyond sea have first come to your own hands, by which you have acquainted yourself with their contents, and compelled us and our council to follow your devices. You have also written to all our ambassadors abroad in your own name concerning our affairs, without our authority; and received letters in return from them by which you have sought to compass your own purposes. By your ambition and pride you have undone many of our poor subjects; have suppressed religious houses, and received their possessions; have seized upon the goods of wealthy spiritual men deceased; constrained all ordinaries yearly to compound with you; have gotten riches for yourself and servants by subversion of the laws, and by abuse of your authority in causing divers pardons of the Pope to be suspended until you, by promise of a yearly pension, chose to revive

them; and also by crafty and untrue tales have sought to create dissension among our nobles."

"That we can all avouch for," cried Suffolk. "It was never merry in England while we had cardinals among us."

"Of all men in England your grace should be the last to say so," rejoined Wolsey; "for if I had not been cardinal you would not have had a head upon your shoulders to utter the taunt."

"No more of this!" cried the king. "You have misdemeaned yourself in our court by keeping up as great state in our absence as if we had been present; and presumptuously have dared to join and imprint your badge-the cardinal's hat, under our arms, graven on our coins struck at York. And lastly—whenever in open parliament allusion hath been made to heresies and erroneous sects, you have failed to correct and notice them, to the danger of the whole body of good and Christian people of this our realm."

"This last charge ought to win me favour in the eyes of one who professes the opinions of Luther," said Wolsey, to Anne. "But I deny it, as I do all the rest.”

"I will listen to no defence, Wolsey," replied the king. "I will make you a terrible example to others how they offend us and our laws hereafter.'

"Do not condemn me unheard!" cried the cardinal, prostrating himself.

"I have heard too much; and I will hear no more!" cried the king, fiercely. "I dismiss you from my presence for ever. If you are innocent, as you aver, justice will be done you. If you are guilty, as I believe you to be, look not for leniency from me, for I will shew you none!"

And, seating himself, he turned to Anne, and said, in a low tone," Are you content, sweetheart ?"

"I am," she replied. "I shall not now break my vow. False cardinal!" she added aloud," your reign is at an end."

"Your own may not be much longer, madam," rejoined Wolsey, bitterly. The shadow of the axe," he added, pointing to the reflection of a partisan on the floor, "is at your feet. Ere long it may rise to the head."

And, accompanied by Campeggio, he slowly quitted the pre

sence-chamber.

Thus ends the Third Book of the Chronicle of

Windsor Castle.

RECENT WRITINGS OF SIR EDWARD LYTTON

BULWER, BART.*

WHEN Eva, and the other Poems which Sir Edward Bulwer published last year, made their appearance, we took up the volume-not assuredly with that narrow and ungracious feeling which is ever ready to argue from success to failure; which predicts, from an acknowledged mastery in one art, incapacity for another; and modestly claims the privilege of controlling by its own tastes or prejudices the impulses of the genius it recognises-yet still, we opened it with a little apprehensiveness that tried habits of composition, and accustomed modes of expression, when proved all-powerful over the thoughts and emotions of countless readers, might in some instances influence too far the expression of the spirit of poetry which had prompted Power to a new exercise of its gifts-and that the highest of all.

As we read, the fear vanished. We saw that the Poet was not standing in his own light, obscured in the brilliancy of his own prose. Instead of being the victim of creations to which, in other forms, his imagination and knowledge have given birth, he appeared in these compositions to have forgotten their existence. Here was the first step gained. The next was in a like unconsciousness of the presence of those great modern lights of poetry, which, if they have inspired many youthful writers, have allured others to an unusual extent into imitative tracks and endless repetitions of a mistake. Scarcely any poems have appeared in our time so free from reminiscences of the late and the living masters of song as these of Bulwer's; so innocent of fleeting colours borrowed from the unfading dreams of Coleridge and Shelley; of faltering tones echoed from the woody haunts of Wordsworth, or the wild shores and gorgeous solitudes where the genius of Byron still reigns unapproachable.

There is much that is new in these poems, and more that is new to the present age. The author, with a power of thought equally deep and brilliant, and with a freshness and fulness of language rarely possessed, employed his gifts wisely when he turned from the models of the day, and studied the tone of our elder poets. It is not so much the tone of a particular writer, or even of a school, as of an age, that we here refer to. It is true, that amongst these poems are several which call to mind the rich music as well as the rare and delicate meanings, of" bright particular stars" amongst the poets of past time. Thus, in such pieces as "Memnon," and the "Consolations of Sleep," we see that all which is happiest-in other words, all which is most simple as well as fanciful, all which is most airy as well as profound -in the writings of Cowley, has justly been remembered. In the graceful little poem, "The Love-letter," in the entire and perfect chrysolite called "Doubt," as in others of the charming class they describe, it is evident that the more exquisite of the strains of Herrick, Carew, and Suckling, have been read and admired. Some passages as plainly indicate a close and successful penetration into the deep and golden secrets of Dryden's verse; as here and there we fall in with aphorisms on books, character, or society, at once cutting and EVA, and other Poems: THE LAST OF THE BARONS, 3 vols. VOL. III. Z