with the Howards and others who have come to greet

him.

The " poor man wandering about forty years in a wilderness of barren soyle," as King James had aptly described himself, had made up his mind that England was a Canaan of milk and honey, given to him for his personal enjoyment. Having escaped from the northern frozen banks of Tay, he and his Scots followers were going to live a life of royal pleasure and leave the harder details of government and administration to Cecil and the Howards. To a man in the prime of life, who had been overborne and bullied from his youth up, by Scots schoolmasters, austere divines, and turbulent nobles, to throw aside the affairs of State and wallow in feasts and masques and make royal progresses and holidays of hunting and hawking, at the expense of others, was a temptation not to be rejected.

Friendly historians have sought to palliate the idle, greedy, blasphemous profligacy of James's Court by the excuse that it was a gross and sensual age, and one must not expect a higher grade of conduct from a sovereign. than the mean of his period. But the facts are against them. There were, in truth, many God-fearing and decent citizens even in high places who hated the manners of James's Court and looked back with regret on the honest days of Queen Elizabeth. Whatever the age may have been, there can be no doubt the personality of the King and the manners of the Court he presided over were exceptionally gross and selfish and brought ruin and disgrace to many who came within their sway.

But for the moment no one considered anything but to give the King pleasure. And those who entertained him on his southern journey, well knowing his appetites, prepared the most glorious and ostentatious feasts for his delight. Some, indeed, say that the King declared the greatest feast he sat down to was that given by Sir Oliver Cromwell of Hinchinbrook, uncle of him who was to be Protector, but Robert Cecil's entertainment was

at least as gross, if not as great. For it was here, if I remember right, that one of the King's attendants ate, to his single share, a whole pie reckoned to have cost Sir Robert 10, being composed of ambergreece, magisterial of pearl, musk, etc., which piece of gluttony made the fellow so ill, and withal so offensive to the outer world, that he could not attend the Court for many days after.

There was this good thing to be said for King James, that though a pedant, he was fond of an apt reply, and liked converse to have a savour of wit and resource about it. It was Sully who noted this, calling him " the wisest fool in Christendom."

As they sat at Robert Cecil's table, after the more solid part of the feast was ended and the King was playing with costly sweetmeats, he was minded to try a fall with Henry Howard on the subject of religion, for it was common talk that that wise statesman was always of the old religion, and lived and died in the old faith, though he hid this successfully from all but his confessor.

Archy, the King's jester, sat on a low stool at his feet, and the King, from time to time, threw him a cake as one might jerk a nut to an ape.

Leaning forward and looking across to Lord Henry, His Majesty inquired carelessly: "My lord, have you not a desire to see Rome ?

Cecil and the others were startled. Lord Henry, gravely bowing to the King, replied boldly: "Yes, indeed, sir."

"And why?" asked the King, in his Scots sing-song. "Because," replied Lord Henry, with enthusiasm, " and it please Your Majesty, it was once the seat of the greatest monarchy, and the seminary of the bravest men in the world among the heathen; and then again because afterwards it was the see of so many Holy Bishops in the primitive church, most of them martyrs.'

"Verra guid! Verra guid!" murmured the King. "And for nothing else?"

Lord Henry knew that he must in some words assert his allegiance to the reformed faith, and in a lower and earnest voice, as if only for the King's ear and those of his friends near by, he continued: "Certainly, and it please Your Majesty, for two things especially. The one to see him who they say hath such a power to forgive other men's sins, to confess his own sins upon his knees before a chaplain, and the other to hear Antichrist say

his creed."

At this the King smiled good-humouredly, and as the wit of the reply tickled his mind his smile changed to a loud laugh, which the courtiers echoed with relief at the happy ending of this dangerous talk. This seemed a cue for the fool, Archy, to take the stage, and he sprang on the stool, and, flapping his elbows like a rooster's wings, crew three times lustily. Lord Henry bit his lip, but His Majesty rose, and threatening Archy with a whipping, moved from the banqueting hall, leaning on the arm of Lord Henry, who, that evening, was made a member of the Council.

Overbury, who was himself a man of wit, greatly admired the resource and courage of Henry Howardlittle imagining the part that in years to come the great Earl of Northampton was to play in his own destruction.

Chapter III: Frances Howard

T

HE real tragedy of Frances Howard is not recorded in contemporary narratives, nor has Dryasdust troubled his head about the causes of her ruin. He, good, easy man, shakes his head at the lady and tells us that she was an abandoned woman. So indeed she was, abandoned as a child to the storms of the wicked world by parents and relations and all who should have guided her steps into paths of peace and happiness. Thereafter the world treated her in the way the world treats all its children. Whilst she was the reigning beauty of the Court and wife of the King's favourite, roses were scattered at her feet, sonnets were penned in praise of her virtues, and great men fought to kiss the hem of her farthingale. When she was exposed to the world in the nakedness of sin the same herd pelted her with pasquinades, ribald rhymes, and bawdy ballads. The gadfly of the royal passages, who a few months before had pinned a portion of her marriage garter in his cap and boasted of the favour, became famous for an hour by twisting the letters of her name into a foul anagram, and was acclaimed a wit.

But if you would understand the psychology of the unhappy girl and appraise her moral responsibility for the foulness of her deeds, you must read her story and weigh the evidence for yourself before you cast your stone at the sinner. You must study her environment, the fierce intrigues of the politicians, and the foul conduct of the King himself, and then you can attempt to measure what chances a frail girl might have to save her honesty when thrown headlong into this whirlpool of iniquity by those who should have kept her safe in a haven of home.

That she was a woman who sinned seems scarce to be denied, yet the pen flinches from entering judgment. Maybe her physical beauty pleads strongly for her, swaying the juryman in you. That such rare gifts of bodily splendour and attraction for mankind should have been bestowed on this poor girl to ensure her destruction seems the crime of the gods. It is as if some terrible deity had fashioned this delicate butterfly of womanly beauty for the grim pleasure of breaking it on the wheel. Doubtless there was world's wisdom in St. Paul's glorification of the body as a holy temple, and there is, perhaps, divine authority for his judgment of destruction on defilers of the temple. But those of us who are mere common members of the proletariat of sinners may, when we have heard Frances Howard's story, be content to enter a nolle prosequi in the words of the Master: "Neither do I condemn thee.”

So, then, to the girl's story. Without irrelevant or malicious comment, and without embellishing or lightening the dark passages of her life, let us make such portrait of her as the records permit.

Frances Howard was born in 1593, and was the daughter of that famous sailor, Thomas Howard, beloved of the great Queen, who called him "Good Thomas " when he brought back the fleet from the Azores and saved his ships from destruction. An operative, sensible sea-dog and no coward. The world laughed at him when he became Chancellor of the University of Cambridge and told the dons that he did not understand a word of their Latin greeting, but he guessed it was well meant, and invited them to a splendid feast by way of replying in a universal tongue.

If not a clever diplomatist, he was honest, and is known to have refused a Spanish pension which others in his position did not hesitate to take, though some may not have earned their wages. As a mere matter of eugenics and heredity one cannot see why the daughter of such a father should run headlong into evil ways.