from the Doge to St. James's, and he thus describes the sovereign to whom he was accredited:

"She is of low stature, with a red and white complexion, and very thin: her eyes are white (bianchi) and large, and her hair reddish; her face is round, with a nose rather low and wide, and were not her age on the decline she might be called handsome rather than the contrary. She is not of a strong constitution, and of late she suffers from headache and serious affection of the heart, so that she is often obliged to take medicine and also to be blooded. She is of very spare dict, and never eats until one or two P. M, although she rises at daybreak. she is endowed with excellent ability, and more than moderately read in Latin literature, especially with regard to Holy Writ; and besides her native tongue she speaks Latin, French, and Spanish, and understands Italian perfectly, but does not speak it. She is also very generous, but not to the extent of letting it appear that she rests her chief claim to commendation on this quality. . . . Her Majesty takes pleasure in playing on the lute and spinnet, and is a very good performer on both instruments; but she seems to delight above all in arraying herself elegantly and magnificently, and her garments are of two sorts: the one a gown such as men wear, but fitting very close, with an under-petticoat which has a very long train; and this is her ordinary costume, being also that of the gentlewomen of England. The other garment is a gown and bodice, with wide and hanging sleeves in the French fashion, which she wears on State occasions. She also makes great use of jewels, wearing them both in her chaperon and round her neck, and as trimming for her gown; in which jewels she delights greatly, and although she has a great plenty of them left her by her predecessors, yet were she better supplied with money than she is, she would doubtless buy many more."

The rule of Mary was, as we know, far from popular. It was feared that her relationship with the Emperor would influence her foreign policy, while her marriage with the Spaniard and her bigoted adherence to the Catholic faith caused her rapidly to lose whatever hold she had upon the affection of her subjects. Murmurs were rife against her government, and, encouraged by France, the spirit of revolt was let loose. The Midland Counties rose up in arms under the Duke of Suffolk, and the men of Kent under Wyatt threatened London. For eight days the Queen was in grave danger; she was implored by those around the throne to retire to Windsor, nay, even to put the Channel between herself and her subjects, and find a refuge in Calais. But the courage of the Tudors was not to be quelled; her foes might burn her palace down, they might come sword in hand into the presence chamber itself, yet she would die as the sovereign of her people, and not as an exile from them. The insurrection was crushed, but it was one of those failures which only required plans to have been more carefully deliberated upon to have resulted in a triumph.

As soon as matters became somewhat settled the question in the Council was whether the Lady Elizabeth had taken any part in the recent conspiracy. France and Venice were openly hostile to Mary, yet among the constant correspondents of Elizabeth were the French and Venetian embassadors. It was the wish of Henry of France to marry Elizabeth to young Courtenay, and raise her to the throne; it was through the captains of the Venetian navy that

Wyatt had been supplied with artillery; a letter of Elizabeth had been found among dispatches intercepted on the way to Paris. The Spanish embassadors asserted that Elizabeth was deeply implicated in the late revolt, and advised the Queen to proceed to extremities against her. Mary was unwilling to believe ill of one to whom she was then much attached. She had only parted from her sister a few weeks ago, and on bidding her farewell had given her two handsome ornaments set with large and costly pearls. Elizabeth in her turn had professed a deep attachment to Mary; she had loyally given in her adherence to the throne, and, at the risk of sacrificing her position as leader of the Protestants, had attended Mass and toned down some of her more pronounced views touching the reformed faith. That her sister was guilty Mary refused to believe. Upon this point, which is one of the many secrets that history has refused to divulge, it was hoped that the recent researches amid the Venetian archives would throw some light. But no document has yet been found proving that Elizabeth was either directly or indirectly connected with the plots against Mary. The young lady herself has given the best account of her movements at this time. Quitting Woodstock she wrote with her diamond ring, on the window pane of the room she had occupied, these lines :

"Much suspected by me
Nothing proved can be

Quoth Elizabeth prisoner."

It was, however, considered advisable that the Princess should be summoned to London and be examined by the Council. Mary put the invitation in the politest manner. She informs her "" "right dear and entirely beloved sister" that, as she "might chance to be in some peril if any sudden tumult should arise," it was expedient that she should make her repair to the Court, where she assured her she would be most warmly welcomed. Elizabeth was then staying at her country seat at Ashridge, some thirty miles from London, and had no desire again to be put under the harrow of a cross-examination by the Privy Council. She pleaded ill-health, and expressed herself as unable to undertake such a fatiguing journey. Mary waited patiently for a fortnight, but at the expiration of that time it became imperative to ascertain how matters really stood. The Spanish embassadors declared she was guilty; Wyatt, who was in prison, had directly accused her; Mary herself began to grow suspicious. Two of the Queen's physicians were sent down to Ashridge to report upon the health of the patient. They came to the conclusion that she was strong enough to travel to London; but as the Princess "much feared her weakness to be so great that she could not be able to travel and to endure the journey without peril of life," the doctors were most considerate of their fair charge, and went south by very easy stages. We have the

itinerary. "The order of my Lady Elizabeth's Grace's voyage to the court. Monday to Mr. Cooke's, 6 miles. Tuesday to Mr. Pope's, 8 miles. Wednesday to Mr. Stamford's, 7 miles. Thursday to Highgate, Mr. Cholmeleye's house, 7 miles. Friday to Westminster, 5 miles." To drive some thirty miles in five days was an undertaking which could scarcely inflict much hurt upon the most delicate of invalids. Yet, if the truth were told, we fancy the young damsel was only feigning ill-health, for her experience of State examinations had not been happy, and she was anxious, if possible, to avoid the ordeal. Soranzo saw her on her arrival, and thus describes her :

"She is now about twenty-one years old; her figure and face are very handsome, and such an air of dignified majesty pervades all her actions, that no one can fail to suppose she is a queen. She is a good Greek and Latin scholar, and besides her native tongue, she speaks Latin, French. Spanish, and Italian most perfectly, and her manners are very modest and affable. During the lifetime of King Edward, she held his opinion about the religion, but since the Queen's accession she has adapted herself to the will of Her Majesty."

On her appearance at Court, Elizabeth confronted her inquisitors with the imperious courage which in after life so eminently characterized her. She gave the lie to her accusers, and maintained that all the charges brought against her were false. Still it was only her own word against that of her foes, and until her guilt or innocence could be definitely proved, it was thought advisable to keep her under close guard. The day before her commit.al to the Tower, she thus concludes her passionate appeal to her sister

"And again kneeling with all humbleness of my heart, because I am not suffered to bow the knees of my body, I humbly crave to speak with your Highness, which I would not be so bold to desire, if I knew not myself most clear as I know myself most true. And as for that traitor Wyatt, he might peradventure write me a letter, but on my faith I never received any from him, and as for the copy of my letter sent to the French king, I pray God confound me eternally if I ever sent him word, message, token, or letter by any means. And to this my truth I will stand unto my death, your Highness's most faithful subject that hath been from the beginning and will be to the end."

To this denial Mary gave no heed, and Elizabeth was committea to the Tower. And now the question arose what was to be done with her? The Imperial envoys loudly asserted that as long as the Princess was at liberty, England would ever be on the brink of revolt and conspiracy. The very life of Mary herself, they said, was not safe, nor was that of her fondly cherished husband. Her father-in-law, Charles the Fifth, to whose counsels she always paid much attention, told her sharply that her first duty was to consult her own safety, and that as long as matters remained in this dangerous state, it was hardly to be expected that Philip would trust himself in the country. The position of Mary was far from secure; her religion was suspected, her husband was liated,

and there was a feeling abroad that England was to be subject to the foreigner. A curious conversation related in the State Papers, between three peasants, shows what was the feeling current among certain classes in the country.

"JACKMAN. I would all priests were hanged!

"CORNE.

God forbid for the Queen's Grace hath granted it. COWLYN. The Queen? a vengeance take her! "JACKMAN. Amen. "COWLYN.. I may say it well, for before New Year's day, outlandish men will come upon our heads, for there be some at Plymouth already. "JACKMAN. Before twelve months you shall see all houses of religion up again with the Pope's laws.

"COWLYN. We ought not to have a woman to bear the sword.

"JACKMAN. If a woman bear the sword, my Lady Elizabeth ought to bear it

first."

The Lady Elizabeth was undoubtedly the favorite of the country, and her sister, worked upon by her Spanish advisers, began gradually to entertain jealousy and spiteful feelings towards one who in the days of her youth had been her playmate and favorite companion. Still she declared, with the sense of justice always strong in the English breast, that she could not proceed against Elizabeth until she had legal proof of her guilt. Legal proof it seemed impossible to obtain, and the Queen, therefore, adopted a compromise between the severity of the Spanish advice and the laxity of complete forgiveness. She would not keep her sister in the dungeons of the Tower, but she would confine her at Woodstock in strict but honorable seclusion. Greatly as Elizabeth murmured at this imprisonment, it was the most fortunate circumstance that could have happened to her; she was removed from any chance of committing herself by listening to the intrigues that were being hatched at Versailles or by paying heed to traitorous designs planned by hotheaded reformers. Though her confinement was honorable, and she lacked nothing save freedom, strict guard was kept over her. Sir Henry Bedingfield was her governor, and his orders were very precise. No stranger was to have access to her without special license; all presents were to be examined before being delivered to her; all gates were to be locked when she walked in the gardens, and the house during the night was to be patrolled by a body of guards. It was during this time that a former tutor of hers, one John Belmain, her " schoolmaster for the French tongue," presented her with a translation of S. Basil's "Epistle upon Solitary Life.” "She is now," he says, "in solitude as it were, and he sends her this as an appropriate present, since solitude leads to the contemplation of God and the love of the unseen world."

In this "solitude" Elizabeth remained from the May of 1854 to the June of 1855. Retirement had now produced reflection, and the Princess had arrived at the wise conclusion that it would better become her if she abjured altogether the perilous course of politics

and remained content with the position in the State sne should occupy. She wrote to Mary, informing her of this resolve, and begged for pardon. Her prayer was granted; the sentence of imprisonment was rescinded, and Elizabeth was summoned to Court. She was received graciously; she was restored to her dignity as Princess of the Blood Royal, and an establishment suitable to her position was assigned to her at Hatfield. The humiliations of the past were at an end. At Court Elizabeth was treated with the distinction due to the next heir to the throne. During the festivities at Christmas, she was seated at the Queen's table nearest the cloth of estate. When a "grand spectacle of jousting" was held upon the festival of S. Thomas of Canterbury, at which two hundred lances were broken, she sat with their Majesties and the aristocracy. The highest in the land did her homage. "Cardinal Pole, meeting her in the chamber of presence, kneeled down on his knees and kissed her hand; and King Philip meeting her, made such obeisance that his knee touched the ground." Next the Queen she was the greatest lady in the land.

As the domestic and foreign policy pursued by the Queen became more and more oppressive to the country, the position of Elizabeth greatly increased in strength and stability, till at last it stood so prominently forward as to overshadow the power of the advisers of the Crown. Around her rallied the large body of the Anglican clergy, who were perfectly content with the spiritual influence and authority of their own branch of the Catholic Church; the aristocracy and the landed gentry, whose proud blood boiled at the subservience of the interests of England to those of Spain; the commercial middle classes, who saw their trade rapidly dwindling and quitting the country, and the yeomen and lower orders, who detested the foreigner simply because he was a foreigner.

Elizabeth was the heroine of England, and men looked anxiously forward to the time when she should be summoned from Hatfield to take her seat upon the throne. She had not long to wait. It was evident to all that Mary was fast sinking into her grave, beneath the load of her public cares and private mortifications. Like some desperate gambler, she had staked her all upon one chance. She had embroiled her country in a bitter foreign war; she had established, by the terrible coercion of persecution, a hated creed; she had exhausted the national treasury and greatly crippled her own private resources; she had been indifferent to the interests of the loyal, warm-hearted people over whom she had been called to rule-and for what? To obtain the love of a cold, ambitious man, who had married her for political ends, and whose subsequent indifference and neglect made her, who had sacrificed all and had gained nothing in return, the laughing-stock of every boudoir and salon in Europe.

Few scenes are sadder in history than those where the sickly,