since then her rage is appeased, and the King and she, since they went together to Nonsuch, have been very jocund together."* The same day the King went to Somerset House, where the French were temporarily accommodated, and, addressing them in a conciliatory, yet manly and dignified manner, "prayed them to pardon him if he sought his own ease and safety," and concluded by informing them that he had ordered his treasurer to reward every one of them for his year's service. Accordingly, on the following day, there was distributed among them money and jewels to the value of about 22,000/. A few of the more useful and humble order of domestics were allowed to remain with the Queen; the rest were shipped off from Dover a few days after. The business was not yet entirely concluded. Charles was soon informed that the "gallant, witty, splendid, and profligate " Marshal Bassompière desired audience of him at Whitehall- of course to obtain explanations. This audience was refused at first, but ultimately the Marshal was admitted privately to the King's presence. The latter then explained the real provocation he had received, but grew so warm in the discussion, that he abruptly cried out, "Why do you not execute your commission at once, and declare war against me?" "I am not a herald to declare war," was Bassompière's happy reply, "but a marshal of France to make it when declared." The Ambassador's conduct at another period of their meeting was equally characterised by wit, presence of mind, and a dignified consciousness of his position as the representative of a great monarch, which nothing could disturb. "I witnessed there," writes Bassompière himself, "an instance of great boldness, not to say impudence, of the Duke of Buckingham, which was, that, when he saw us the most heated, he ran up suddenly and threw himself between the King and me, saying, I am come to keep the peace between you two." Steenie," as James had delighted to call him, most probably wished to hear what was passing; but the Marshal at once took off his hat, intimating thereby that it was no longer an audience, but a private conversation. The reproof was the more exquisite, that Buckingham had not thought it necessary to take off his hat before his sovereign. Ultimately Charles gave way, and conceded that his wife should be allowed one French bishop and twelve French priests (none of them to be Jesuits), with numerous other French attendants. A more momentous struggle now engaged the King's attention, and one in which he was destined to be still less successful. The intervals of the great contest between the King and the Parliament were not altogether destitute of events that showed how much Charles might have added to the glory of his country, had he limited his notions of the kingly prerogative by a due consideration of the social changes that rendered it impossible that England should be governed by the Stuarts as by the Tudors. His patronage of the arts is an honour to his memory; and we may judge, from what he did under such unfavourable circumstances, how much he would have done if his wealth and his energies had not been absorbed in the conflict with his people. "The amusements of his court," says the Rev. Mr. Gilpin, 66 were a model of elegance to all Europe, and his cabinets were the receptacles only of what was exquisite in painting and sculpture; none but men of the first merit found encouragement from him, and those abundantly." The cabinet-room of the * Letter from John Pory to Meade, in Sir Henry Ellis's Collection of Letters.

palace, designed by Inigo Jones for Prince Henry, which was erected about the centre of Whitehall, running across from the Thames towards the Banqueting House, and fronting westward to the Privy Garden, was perhaps the richest room in the world in works of art. To Henry VIII.'s original collection had been added a separate one, begun by Prince Henry; but Charles himself was the principal author of its almost incalculable treasures. He bought the cabinet of the Duke of Milan, then considered the most valuable in Europe, entire; for which he paid 18,000l. The Cartoons of Rafaelle were obtained in Flanders through the agency of Rubens. Fresh additions were also continually made either by purchase, or by gift to the King, than which nothing could be more acceptable. The "cream" of the collection was at Whitehall, which contained four hundred and sixty pictures, including twenty-eight by Titian, eleven by Correggio, sixteen by Julio Romano, nine by Rafaelle, four by Guido, and seven by Parmegiano. Rubens' introduction to Charles I. was as an ambassador, and his success in the mission which had been intrusted to him was complete and in every way satisfactory. The King, indeed, held the painter in high esteem, and commissioned him to paint the ceiling of the Banqueting House. For this work Rubens received 30007. With regard to the amusements of his court, they certainly deserved the praise Mr. Gilpin bestowed upon them. They were as magnificent as those of James, and in a thousand times better taste. A description of one of these exhibitions, which was presented before the King, Queen, and Court, at Whitehall, in 1633, by the members of the inns of court, will best illustrate the magnitude of this change. It consisted of a masque and an anti-masque. The first was arrayed and marshalled after the fashion of a Roman triumph, the figures composing which consisted of the comeliest men in England, dressed in the most splendid and becoming costume; the dresses, the chariots, and steeds were covered with ornaments of gold and silver, and blazed in the light of countless torches, while the whole solemn procession moved with measured steps to accompanying bands of music. No puppet or impersonation, whether of the classical, allegorical, or romantic world, intruded to mar the chasteness of the exhibition,-all was real, modern, and of the choicest and happiest selection.

It is with regret that we turn from these pleasant reminiscences of Whitehall and its accomplished owner to the darker events with which it is so permanently associated in our minds. As if utterly unconscious of the strength of the hostility he was evoking in England, Charles in some respects wantonly provoked a similar hostility in Scotland. Thus, for instance, in 1639 (but a few months after a "pacification" between him and the Scots, concluded whilst both parties were in armed array, and on the very eve of hostilities), when the Scottish parliament had been prorogued to prevent its carrying certain measures into effect which would have made it more independent of the royal authority, he rudely sent back without audience the noblemen who came as its deputies from Scotland to wait upon him; and when he did give permission to the Covenanters to send up some of their number to vindicate their conduct, he seized one of them, the Earl of Loudon, the moment he arrived, and sent him to the Tower; on account of his having signed, with other lords of the Covenant, a letter to the King of France, desiring his protection-this letter, be it observed, having been written prior to the "paci

fication." The Scottish lords immediately complained of this arrest as a violation of the law of nations, and the Duke of Hamilton, one of the King's party, assured him that, if Loudon were proceeded against capitally, Scotland was for ever lost. Charles, however, was determined upon his execution. "Sir William Balfour," says Oldmixon, in a very interesting passage, which we transcribe, "Governor of the Tower when Loudon was committed, some days after received a warrant from the King for the beheading that lord the next day within the Tower, for fear of any disturbance if it had been done openly on the hill. The lieutenant, who was at cards with Loudon, changed countenance, and, holding up his hands in amazement, showed his lordship the warrant; who said to him, 'Well, Sir, you must do your duty; I only desire time to make a settlement on some younger children, and that you will let my lawyer come to me for that end:' to which Balfour consented; and the lawyer carried away with him a letter to the Marquis of Hamilton, informing him of the matter, and telling him he was a Scotchman, and must answer it to his country. Balfour followed the lawyer to the Marquis, whom they could not presently find, it being night; at last they found him at Lady Clayton's, and having delivered him the Lord Loudon's letter, which Balfour further explained, the Marquis took Sir William with him to Court, not staying for his coach, and desired admittance about business of very great importance to his Majesty. He was told the King and Queen were in bed, and had given positive orders not to admit any one. The Marquis in vain insisted on his own right as one of the lords of the bedchamber, and the right of the Lieutenant of the Tower, especially when he had any state prisoner; upon which Sir William knocked at the King's bedchamber-door, which being opened unto him, he fell upon his knees, and having just mentioned the warrant, his Majesty stopped him, saying, It shall be executed.' Upon which the Marquis enters, and, falling on his knees, humbly expostulates with the King concerning it. The Queen expressed great displeasure at the intrusion, but the Marquis, taking her up short, let her know she was a subject as well as himself; and that the business he came about was of the highest concernment to his Majesty, to herself, to the whole nation, and to himself in particular. ****Sir,' says he, if you persist in this resolution, no Scotsman will ever draw a sword for you; or, if they would, who should command them? The King replied, Yourself.' 'No, sir,' 'said Hamilton; I dare never appear in Scotland afterwards.' The King, nevertheless, swore twice, By God, Loudon shall die!' Then the Marquis, craving leave to speak one word more, said, Sir, I desire your Majesty to look out for another home, for within four-and-twenty hours there will not be one stone of Whitehall left upon another.' This touched the King more than all the arguments of pity, justice, or distant danger. He called for the warrant, tore it, and dismissed the Marquis and Lieutenant somewhat suddenly." Swift, turbid, and gloomy now rolled on the stream of events: Parliament again assembled on the 13th of April in the following year, with Hampden, Pym, and Cromwell among the members, and the discussion and redress of the public grievances once more engaged their attention. Untaught by all that had taken place previously, Charles sent for them, on the eighth day of their sitting, to the Banqueting House. He did not address them himself; it would have been better if he had. The King's spokesman on this occasion was the Lord-Keeper Finch, the very man whose conduct, whilst Speaker of the House of Commons, had only the day

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before been under their consideration, and been condemned. This man now told them that they ought to remember that Parliaments were called for obtaining of assistance and supplies of money. "When you have voted these," said he, "his Majesty will give you scope and liberty to present your just grievances, and then he will hear them with a gracious ear." It is surprising that the King, with all his shrewdness, should have understood so little the character of the chief men that Parliament as to suppose that they would listen to such language with any other feeling than contempt: there were evidently but two modes of dealing with them-the one, to yield honestly what they demanded; the other, to overpower them by direct force. Finding this appeal utterly ineffectual, Charles sent them various messages to the same purpose; but the Commons continued their course, investigating all the great public grievances. At last he saw that all his efforts to obtain supplies without a redress of those grievances, which he was determined not to grant, were useless; so he again dissolved the Houses. The circumstances attending this dissolution were very striking. The King had been told on the previous evening that if the Commons sat another day they would pass such a vote against ship-money as would not only destroy that revenue, but also other branches of the King's receipts. To prevent this most undesirable consummation Charles hit upon a characteristic expedient. Before eight on the following morning he sent his secretary, Windebank, to the house of Serjeant Glanvil, the Speaker, in Chancery Lane, with a command to bring him to Whitehall. This was done; and when the Commons met, they were surprised for some time at the absence of their Speaker; but the secret was explained when they were summoned to the Upper House to hear the sentence of dissolution read. Could Charles have looked into the hearts and minds of some of the men who quitted his presence on that day in silence, he could not have been otherwise than startled at the danger of the course he was pursuing so great an amount of moral and intellectual power was perhaps never before or since embarked at one time in the popular cause as he must there have witnessed in array against him; and from men, prepared themselves to encounter every danger, even to the block and the axe, in the event of their failure, he must also have perceived how little indulgence he ought to anticipate if matters proceeded to extremities and he was unsuccessful. Extraordinary revelations into men's minds and motives, however, were denied to him, and the ordinary he despised, or was unable rightly to appreciate. So he dissolved the parliament, little thinking that it would be the last he would be permitted to have any such control over. The famous Long Parliament was summoned in the course of the same year, and the scenes which composed the last act of the great drama passed on in rapid succession. Strafford and Laud, the King's ministers, were impeached, and the former beheaded; and the King's prerogative of calling and dismissing parliaments when he pleased was effectually put an end to by a bill for making them triennial, and by making the issue of the writs imperative on particular parties at fixed periods. Here the King endeavoured to stop the progress of the Commons: another lecture was read to them in Whitehall, but not the less did he find himself compelled to give way. The war now grew more and more imminent. On the 27th of December, 1641, after a day of great agitation produced by Charles's attempt to put Colonel Lunsford, a desperate soldier of fortune, into the governorship of the Tower, the train-bands of Westminster and Middlesex were

commanded by Charles to guard the Palace, and from that time one or two companics were left on duty night and day. On the 4th of January "he gave," says May, “unhappily, a just occasion for all men to think that their fears and jealousies were not causeless." He spent the preceding evening in making preparations of a very significant character. Arms were brought from the Tower to the Palace, where a table was spread for the entertainment of a band of young hotheaded men, who were ready to proceed to any extremities. That very day he went to take into custody five of the most obnoxious members of the House of Commons, who, being timely warned, avoided the house in obedience to its orders. A week later Charles left Whitehall, with his Queen, children, and entire court, and removed to Hampton Court. When he again beheld the walls of his favourite home, it was as a prisoner at St. James's, waiting his trial and execution. The war, as is well known, broke out in the same year, 1642. Whitehall was now seized by the Parliament; who in 1645 ordered the "boarded masque house," an immense room built by Charles for these exhibitions, to be pulled down, and that "all such pictures and statues" as were at York House," as were without any "superstition," should be forthwith sold, for the benefit of Ireland and the North. The superstitious pictures appear to have been those which contained representations of the second person of the Trinity, or of the Virgin Mary; these were to be burnt. We pass now to the "last scene of all." The King was sentenced to death on the 27th of January, 1649, and on the morrow, being a Sunday, the commissioners of the High Court of Justice, which had decided his fate, kept a solemn fast in the chapel of Whitehall. On Monday he was to die. About two hours before daybreak of that eventful morning, Charles rose, and dressed himself with more than ordinary care. At ten o'clock Colonel Hacker came to conduct him to the scaffold, and, tapping softly at the door, said all was ready. The door was opened with difficulty by Herbert, who was in attendance upon the King, and who was completely unnerved by the terrible event. When Hacker entered he was as pale as Charles himself, and his voice faltered. They went together from St. James's to Whitehall, the King walking erect and very fast, having Bishop Juxon on his right hand, and Colonel Tomlinson on his left. Behind came a guard of halberdiers, and some of Charles's own gentlemen and servants, bare-headed. At the end of the Park Charles entered Whitehall, and passed through the long gallery into his favourite cabinetchamber, no longer, alas! covered with the pictured wealth that he had lavished upon its walls. He was delayed here for some time, the scaffold not being quite ready; he spent the interval in prayer. About noon he took the slight refreshment of a glass of claret and a piece of bread; soon after which he received the final summons from Colonel Hacker. Attended by Juxon, Colonel Tomlinson, Colonel Hacker, and the guards, he passed through the Banqueting House to the scaffold, which was covered with black. The axe lay on the block in the midst of it. A considerable number of foot and horse soldiers were stationed on all sides, beyond whom were vast multitudes of spectators. Perceiving that the people were too distant to hear what he might say, he addressed himself to the gentlemen on the scaffold. Among other remarks he said, pointing to Bishop Juxon, "There is a good that man will bear me witness that I have forgiven all the world, and even those in particular that have been the chief causers of my