member of the Royal Family, and no one grudged the expense which was being lavished on the ceremony.

The Palsgrave arrived in October, and at the same time the public learned, with real grief and dismay, what had been known for some weeks in Court circles, that Prince Henry was seriously ill. The truth is that the young Prince had never been of strong physique. He lived a full life, and beyond doubt overtaxed his strength with military and other exercises. He himself often said that he thought old age no precious gift, since "it was to small purpose for a brave, gallant man, when the prime of his days were over, to live till he were full of diseases."

On Sunday, October 25th, he was at Whitehall to hear a sermon, and the preacher chose as his text: "Man that is born of a woman is of short continuance and is full of trouble." The text seemed almost to have been prophetic of his danger, for that very afternoon at the dinner-table he was taken suddenly ill with sickness and fainting and was carried back to his palace of St. James's. It was on this occasion that it was alleged he had eaten some poisoned grapes, and when, in after years, Lord Chief Justice Coke was investigating other matters, he was unwise enough to remark in open Court: "God knows what went with good Prince Henry, but I have heard something," a phrase that cost him the King's favour and his high office. Two things also told against the King in these base suspicions. First, that he sent his physician, Mayerne, to his son's bedside, who violently quarrelled with the other doctors about diagnosis and treatment, and, further, that when his son died he gave order that there should be no mourning and the Christmas festivities should proceed as usual.

For Mayerne contended, against Butler, Atkyns, and the English doctors, that their patient must be bled, and they, on their part, absolutely refused to allow any such thing, prescribing, among other things, that a cock should be cloven by the back and applied to the soles

of his feet, which the fat foreigner derided, and they, in their turn, fought with him on the subject of bleeding. At length Mayerne told them that they must forget that they had a prince in hand and must pursue the same method of cure as they would with an ordinary person. Otherwise, for aught he saw, he must die because he is a prince, though if he were of low rank he might be saved. This moved them to allow their patient to be bled on one occasion, which seemed to relieve him, but Mayerne was not allowed to have his way any further, and so he returned to the King and told him that nothing could be done, and His Majesty then gave order that Mayerne was to do what he would, without the advice of the rest.

All this got noised abroad, and led to many of the rumours that are scattered up and down the letters and records of the time. But as far as can be known to-day, there is no truth whatever in the suggestion of foul play. The young Prince died of typhoid fever, as many of his subjects had done in that insanitary age of filth, and passed away on Friday, November 6th, 1612, at the age of eighteen and a half.

And now there was no one to withstand the ambition of old Henry Howard, who, at the age of seventy, might, one would think, have left the world of politics for holier meditations. But it is strange how men cling to the offices of government even when old age, illness, and the grave are tugging at their bedclothes. The passing of the young Prince set all men free in that foul Court to follow their worst instincts. James could revel in his favourites and less squalid pleasures without fear of reproving glances. Rochester had no longer to meet the scornful frowns of the Prince. Nor need Frances Howard trouble her mind any longer that a prince's influence would be used against her plans for the future. The Earl of Essex had lost a friend and champion who could have stood between him and the injustice of the proceedings which were to give the

Countess her freedom. For no sooner was the Prince interred at Westminster than the world learned, with astonishment, that the Countess had left her husband and gone to live with the Earl of Northampton, who had openly petitioned the King that her marriage should be forthwith annulled.

Chapter XIII: The Quarrel

A

LTHOUGH the funeral meats for

Prince Henry's obsequies were scarce cold when the bells rang for the marriage of his sister Elizabeth, the celebration of the wedding was a festivity of wonderful riches and bravery. It is said that the marriage of Elizabeth to the Palsgrave cost James a hundred thousand pounds. But this was not an extravagance that the country resented. For the match was to the contentment of all well-affected people. They joyed in it, since it brought hope of a firm foundation for the stabilising of religion. The Catholics, among them Henry Howard, were antagonistic; Danish Anna at first sneered at her daughter's homely husband and nicknamed her "Goody Palsgrave," but when it was seen how enormously popular the business was with the people, nothing was heard of these objections in Court circles, and with one accord rich and poor joined in rejoicings.

The dresses of the ladies were the most extravagant ever seen. Lady Wotton's gown cost £50 a yard for embroidery, and the two daughters of Lord Montague, to the joy of themselves and the disdain of all the other young ladies of the Court, spent £750 apiece on their wedding apparel. The King had a special hall built for the banquet, and in the evening there were fireworks and a sham fight on the river which cost over £9,000, and then there were masques upon the ensuing nights, and the revellers of the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn gained great credit with their show, riding down the Strand to Westminster in their costumes and making a grand display of dancing at Whitehall.

But now the last draught of hippocras has been drained

is

from the golden bowls at the banquets, and the pearls and diamonds and gold and silver and silks and fine linen and embroidery are packed away, and the Palsgrave and his bride have ridden off towards Flushing, the King accompanying them as far as Rochester. London weary of gossip about wedding fineries, and the only man interested in them to-day is my Lord Treasurer, who is looking into the accounts. For the lawyers in St. Paul's, the gossips in the City, and the lords and ladies of the Court are all asking of one another who knows the truth of the strange stories that are floating about the town concerning the beautiful Countess of Essex.

For it becomes known that, with the full approval of the Earl of Northampton, her great-uncle, she has left her husband, and it is alleged she charges him with being no husband to her, and he himself is ready to admit this, in so far as she is concerned. Others say that he declares he has been bewitched, but refuses to consent to any divorce or nullity, and the Earl of Northampton, moving on behalf of the Countess, has demanded of the King a Commission to inquire into these strange matters and decree a nullity of marriage between husband and wife.

The Countess had bought Sir Roger Aston's house at Hounslow, and withdrawn herself to that place. She also visited Mrs. Turner, who had a house at Hammersmith, where she and Rochester met. It is not to be believed that she then, or at any time, told him anything of her traffic with Forman and the other wizards and wise men she had consulted. Forman had, it is true, written her a magic letter, which she had sent to her lover, and bequeathed her an enchanted nutmeg, of which she made him love philtres. But that these things turned Rochester's mind towards thoughts of love and marriage is scarce to be believed. For from the first she had enchained his heart and he hers, and now when she comes to him with this tragic story of the