and flung into prison. She anathematized | the path. Speech failed the rector at first; the unlucky day on which she first determined to be famous, and she doomed the bishop, who had first fired her ambition, to nethermost Hades.

he wrung his hands and vaguely uttered a wish to emigrate or die; he then made pathetic reference to those two Christian ladies, held up to a scoffing public by a scurrilous scribbling woman. The Miss Stonehams were the virtuous women, and she the scurrilous libeller. He went on in this strain for half an hour, until excess of misery brought its own relief, and suddenly Mrs. Lovell jumped up from the sofa and swore she didn't care for all the bishops on the bench, nor all the vulgar widows or crabby old maids in Christendom; she'd written a book and she'd stick to it, and that was her ultimatum. It is very difficult to say "ultimatum" when you're on the verge of hysterics, but she said it, and then tore up to her room and had a good cry.

At four o'clock the front-door bell rang, and the maid brought in Mrs. Marchmont's card; the card was followed by that lady herself, almost before the maid had closed the door. She addressed Mrs. Lovell in a markedly hostile manner, beginning by saying, "Perhaps you would have known me better if I had sent in my name as Lady Holloway?" Mrs. Lovell, in describing that call afterwards, always said it turned her hair grey in a single hour. Mrs. Marchmont was not a ladylike person at her best, but when roused she had a fluent vocabulary at her command, and she poured it out on Mrs. Lovell. That poor lady felt the cup of her bitterness was full. To sit in your own drawing-room and be abused was more than human nature could bear; to be told by a loudly dressed, red-faced virago that you were no better than a mean, contempt-cut-throats" in the Saturday, and they ible serpent, crawling into the bosoms of confiding families and betraying them, was exceedingly trying to all the Christian virtues; once or twice she moved as if towards the bell, but Mrs. Marchmont checked her at once by saying, "I don't leave this room till I've had my say."

Next day came a letter from her publishers. These ghastly people rejoiced over the hideous publicity of the book — it was making quite a ferment in society, there was an excellent article on "literary

heard there were rumors of two actions about to be commenced against Mrs. Lovell; from a commercial standpoint they thought nothing could be more promising, and they were printing a second edition in all haste.

The next day a quiet, semi-clerical gentleman called at the vicarage and asked to see Mrs. Lovell; the maid said she fancied he was from a Missionary Society. Mrs. Lovell received him in the drawing-room, and found him pleasant and fair-spoken, until he handed her an official-looking document, and explained that it was a writ

Village gossip said afterwards that Mrs. Marchmont threatened to horsewhip her; but Mrs. Lovell denied that, and said she never went beyond shaking her fist in her face. To end it all, not content with frightening the poor lady almost into a fit, she wound up with, " And don't you fancy you're done with me, for I'll have the law"re Marchmont v. Lovell." A mist swam on you, and you'll hear from my lawyer before the week is out," and with that she banged the door and departed.

That was Tuesday; on Wednesday two ladies drove up to the rectory; peeping through the drawing-room curtains Mrs. Lovell descried the two Miss Stonehams. She heard a muffled conversation with the maid, ending with an emphatic statement by the elder Miss Stoneham, "Thank you, we decline to see Mrs. Lovell; we wish to see her husband"-hearing which Mrs. Lovell sank on a sofa and felt her latter end had come, and the sooner it was over the better. For half an hour she remained on that sofa whilst the Miss Stonehams interviewed her husband; then they departed, and she heard his step crossing the hall. As he came towards the drawing room, she says she felt like the trapped thing which hears the hunter coming down

before the unhappy lady's eyes; she heard him as in a dream apologizing for having to serve her with the writ in person, and not through the ordinary channel of her solicitor, but he regretted to say his client had a good deal of personal feeling in the matter, and had insisted, much to his regret, on personal service.

When the rector returned from some parochial visits he found Mrs. Lovell and her official document lying side by side on the bed; when he grasped the situation anger against her was swallowed up in real pity for her and no less real alarm for himself. Before he knew where he was he was plunged into litigation. His ideas moved slowly, and it was a good twelve hours before he realized the real position of matters. The bishop had cut him dead in the streets of Crowborough; as he walked about his own parish he could

the story of her literary venture. Her husband said he could recognize the salient features at first, but after many repetitions even these became blurred in outline, and the blame was shifted to the poor bishop's shoulder, and all the glory and honor were somehow transferred to Mrs. Lovell. She always ended with, "I think, without vanity, my dears, I may say that if I had per severed in my literary career I should have achieved a position second only to George Eliot herself."

ALBERT FLEMING.

From Blackwood's Magazine. ELIZABETH OF VALOIS AND THE TRAGEDY OF DON CARLOS.

mated his touch, and the portraits, even if repulsive in their features, lived and breathed in dignity under the master's hand.

One of the most strking of the pictures in the gallery is that of the subject of the present memoir, Elizabeth of Valois — Isabella della Pace, as she was lovingly called, for her marriage to Philip II. was one of the principal conditions of the Treaty of Château Cambresis. The portrait is by Juan Pantoja della Cruz, and enables us to appreciate that beauty which was the object of universal admiratiou, and won every heart. The eyes are black and brilliant, the complexion dazzling, the head finely shaped, the whole countenance full of life. Her dress is black velvet, which sets off her height. The painter has given her that air of majesty, innocence, and grace, which commanded rever. ence, love, and admiration. She seemed at once the child of Spain and France to combine the gravity befitting the Spanish court with the winning sweetness of

ALL Spanish historians must be grateful to the Cardinal Ximenes, who was the first person to appreciate the value of the Spanish archives, and who removed them to Simancas, where they occupy countless rooms and corridors, and have interested | a daughter of France. every student of Spanish history for the last half-century, since which period they have ceased to be jealously guarded, as they were until that date.

But next to the study of these ancient records, whoever desires to obtain a full appreciation of the stirring events of Spanish history would do well to make himself acquainted with Spanish art, more especially in the gallery of Madrid, for there is no collection in any capital which so vividly tells the whole story of the nation's life. Here the grandeur of the court of Spain is vividly depicted, the solemn and dignified bearing of each important actor on the historic stage, where no levity ever disturbed the stately mien of the Spanish grandee.

It has been well said that "beauty is the lover's gift," and it must be admitted that much of the majesty and grace which charms us in the Madrid Gallery was the painter's gift. Even Charles V. was not a subject Titian would have preferred, had he not brought to the work a mind full of reverence and awe. The emperor's countenance was no index of his great nature; there was light enough within, but it found no expression in his lacklustre eye. Philip II., with his heavy upper lip, his grey, cold eye, and yellow hair, was no better a study for the painter than his imperial father; but the Spanish painter pictured a merit unperceived by the ordinary dwellers in the presence of the sovereign; the glow of the painter's mind ani

There are two other pictures of the young queen, less remarkable for their execution, and yet full of interest — one by Sofonisba Anguisciola, taken when the queen was in the zenith of her youthful beauty; and near it is one of scarcely less interest, that of the unhappy boy Don Carlos, by Sanchez Coello. In the picture of the queen, the artist has paid less attention to her general charms than to those details of dress and ornaments which were deemed of such importance by Philip: the richness of the dress, the brilliancy of the jewellery, convey a just notion of the stately luxury and grandeur of the Spanish court. Truly, Elizabeth of Valois was a fitting subject for courtly painters! Brantôme speaks of that charm which was the admiration of all who saw her, and which won the eulogies of every biographer, "La princesse la meilleure qui ait été de son temps et autant aimée de tout. Il faut l'appeller la belle Elizabeth du monde pour ses rares vertus et perfections." St. Réal vies with Brantôme in his enthusiasm: "Whenever she ap peared in public, it was a fresh triumph of beauty. No one could see her without loving her- so much so, that it was said at Court that no wise man would fix his gaze on her for any long time who cared for his heart. If," he adds, "beauty is a natural royalty, one may say that no queen was ever more queen than she was.'

Elizabeth of Valois, daughter of Henri II. and Catharine de Medici, was born on

the 13th April, 1545, at Fontainebleau. sume an indifference towards, or even preHer birth cast a bright gleam of happi- tend affection for, those who supplanted ness on the last years of her grandfather, her in her husband's affections, so long as Francis I. His life was ebbing away such relations did not weaken the prerogunder the weight, not of years, but of ative of the crown. infirmities, the consequence of a continuous existence of wild passion and ambition, sustained with all the gallantry and bravery of youthful ardor long after the maturity of manhood. He was fifty-three at the time of his death, but forty of these years had been passed in the excitement of war, or amid the dissipations of a gay and profligate court. The result was, that at the king's death the finances were in anything but a flourishing condition, and Henri II. had difficulties to contend with which were in no degree diminished by his weaknesses and his ill-placed affections.

However licentious the court, no youth was ever more tenderly cherished, nor generous qualities more sedulously and ably cultivated, then in Elizabeth of Valois. She was first not only in rank, but in grace and charm, at a court where there was so much grace and so much charm. She united with the sweetest and most pleasant manner peculiar gifts which art can never attain to. She was called the flower of France at a period when the court of France was famous for its beauty, for Catharine and Henri II. agreed that "a court without beauty is like a garden without flowers." Moreover, in these early years Elizabeth of Valois gave proofs of all that kindness of heart which shone forth in her eyes, and the possession of all those qualities which led to her great fortune and her great sorrows.

If we estimate the duration of life by the variety of its scenes and emotions, and the intenseness of its interests, Elizabeth of Valois's life was a long one. Few lives ever had such important events concentrated into so short a space of time; it was truly a crowded life, and crowded with the most important political events. But many historians, not satisfied with these, have added the wildest romance to heighten the interest; they have chosen to connect the tragic fate of the Infant Don Carlos with her own. The sad destinies of these all but children has afforded an admirable theme for dramatists and poets, of which they have not been slow to avail themselves. These stories had their origin in Elizabeth's betrothal to Don Carlos, and in the love with which his promised bride inspired the ill-fated boy.

And yet Henri's brief reign of twelve years was not undistinguished by qualities worthy of his race; his magnificence, his courage and courtly grace, were qualities which might have been expected to shine conspicuously in a son of François I. In Catharine de Medici he found not only a queen but a guide, a counsellor, and friend, who was resolved that the royal authority should not be weakened during her husband's reign; in maintaining that authority she allowed no obstacle to stand in her way. In those days of powerful, of almost independent princes, who possessed feudal privileges, sovereignty was a science which frequently required arts of cunning and practices repugnant to our moral sense, but which at that time were not considered inconsistent with the laws of chivalry and honor. Catharine possessed the great qualification for a successful ruler the art of dissimulation. No one was more keenly alive to the truth of the precept, qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare. Catharine has been selected as the very personification of this Soon after Elizabeth of Valois's engage. vice. In those days the state of moral ment to Don Carlos, his father Philip II. feeling was very unlike what it is at pres- became a widower by the death of Mary ent, and in Italy it was unlike the rest of Tudor. Certainly no pleasant memories Europe. Lord Macaulay, in his article on were associated with his married life, nor Machiavelli, says that "among the pol- did he affect any regrets at her loss; but ished Italians, enriched by commerce, although he had lost England's queen, he everything was achieved by superiority of hoped to retrieve this loss from the same intelligence; the qualities then demanded source, and to share the throne with the for statecraft in Italy were invention, cun- sister-for very soon after the death of ning, hollow friendship, violated faith, Mary, the Count de Fena was sent as sperecklessness of all principle, systematic cial ambassador to Queen Elizabeth with fraud. These, in the brightest days of an offer of marriage. In all the subseItalian history, were not repudiated as un- quent prolonged negotiations, Elizabeth worthy of princes and rulers." Catharine showed her remarkable sagacity and prucould dissimulate where dissimulation in dence. She was most careful not to wound a woman is most difficult; she could as-the susceptibilities of so arrogant and pow

sation.

erful a sovereign as Philip II. She found | least for among the Spanish grandees a ready excuse in her ties of relationship were found more jealousies, rivalries, and with the late Queen Mary. It is true that suspicions than in most courts; but all the pope was willing to grant a dispensa- were compelled to approve of her conduct tion for the marriage; but when this was in the most difficult of positions for a suggested, she replied that such a submis- young princess to occupy, away from all sion to, and indirect recognition, of the her old friends and associations. There papal authority, would be interpreted into was little in Don Carlos except the gift of a declaration of the Roman faith, and the youth to awaken enthusiasm or affection strength of her position in England de- in any one, especially in a princess who pended on the Reformers, who were still at the time of her betrothal was only fourhorror-struck at the cruelties practised in teen years of age. Philip II. was thirtyher sister's reign. Meanwhile Henri II. two, and certainly, in spite of his cold, used all his influence to prevent this new hard, unsympathetic nature, was in all realliance between England and Spain, spects, except in age, far superior to his which would have been very dangerous to son. M. de Fourquevault, with courtly France. The ambassadors of the French phrase, says that at this date "le roi a king at the papal court opposed in the semblé plus beau, plus frais, et plus jeune strongest manner the grant of the dispen- qu'il n'était devant;" whereas the prince was a martyr to every kind of suffering and weakness. He had in no way improved since his visit to his grandfather at Yuste, when the great emperor, warrior, and statesman saw with poignant regret into what feeble hands his magnificent inheritance was destined to fall. It is difficult to imagine any position more distressing than that of the queen. She could not be ignorant of the extravagant affection of Don Carlos. The king never cared for his son, and it is not likely that in that most obsequious of courts, in which the personal favor of the sovereign was the only avenue to preferment, the courtiers who marked the signs of hate would allow the father to remain ignorant of Don Carlos's feelings. The king's clouded, suspicious nature might well have been aroused by this painful revelation, and the highest testimony to Isabella's infinite merit is the never-failing kindness with which she was treated by Philip. It is surprising, indeed, that not a breath of slander was ever blown on the name of the queen, when the composition of the Spanish court is considered. It was a court never in any sense frivolous, and intrigues were carried on with solemn decorum; but she was separated from all the friends of her childhood through the jealous customs of a stiff and pompous nobility, surrounded by spies, and by those parasites of kings who make the ruins of reputations the stepping-stones of their own ambition. Yet, in spite of all disadvantages, Isabella was universally beloved by her adopted country, and her relentless, bigoted husband was even won at moments to compassionate sentiments through her intercession. The correspondence with her sister-in-law, Mary of Scotland, is a testimony to the high standard

While Philip was occupied with these matrimonial schemes, his ambassadors were busily employed in concluding the negotiations for a marriage between Elizabeth of Valois and the Infant Don Carlos. The portrait of the princess had been sent to the prince, and it at once awakened his imagination. A gleam of joy was cast over that sad, reserved, and gloomy nature at the hope of being united to one whose portrait confirmed the common report of her beauty, as he gazed on her gentle and graceful countenance. It may well be imagined what must have been the feelings of a young man of unrestrained passions and violent will, when he learnt that his father, after he had been finally refused by Elizabeth, intended to supplant him as the suitor for the princess. As Brantôme expresses it, Philip II. "coupa l'herbe sous le pied de son fils." Here certainly was a fine subject for the romance of history, and full advantage has been taken of it. The supposed loves of Don Carlos with Isabella of the Peace have furnished admirable material for the drama and the poem. The imag. ination can picture all the characters of the grand tragedy which terminated only with the life, or, as many affirm, the murder, of the prince.

That the prince cherished the warmest attachment for the young queen cannot be questioned, and that this attachment was well known to Philip may in part explain the evil construction which his father put on all his actions; but there is not the slightest evidence that the king's jealousy ever extended to the queen. Indeed all accounts agree that hers was a nature which no one could doubt, even those who from perversity of mind loved her the