the heavy Gothic crown, which might have otherwise crushed her beautiful tresses."

On the following day he saw her who had been the object of his humble suit, and whose heart he perhaps knew might have been his, carried like an idol in a chair of state, draped with cloth of gold, which was not suffered to conceal her lovely person from the public gaze. "On her head she wore a coronet of pearls, her neck and bosom blazed with jewels.”*

The tournament was given in her honour; and the knights were to contend for her pre-eminence in beauty. While her aged and sickly husband lay reclined on a couch, and with difficulty endured the fatigue of the honours showered on his youthful spouse, Charles Brandon won all the heroic honours of the day, and was the universal conqueror. What a trial it must have been for poor

* Miss Benger.

She

Mary when he claimed, as was customary, the victor's honours from her hand! but once betrayed her emotions, and that was with true womanly feeling, when her hero was in mortal danger from the encounter of some strange colossal champion; then her fears for him overcame her, and her emotion was visible.

Suffolk triumphed, but he was only allowed to bid farewell to Mary and hasten back to England.

How truly miserable must be the state of the woman whom the death of her husband can be said to set free! Such however was the case with the royal bride of France: forced into a political marriage with a husband more than old enough to be her grandfather, she could have known no happiness on a throne while her heart and affections were in the land she had left.

On New-year's day, about two months after his wedding festivities, old King Louis

died, and Mary's brother King Henry, unconscious of the pleasure he conferred on her and his messenger, despatched his gallant and courtly favorite Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, to the assistance and protection of the young widow. We cannot wonder that before she returned to the control of her fond yet tyrannical brother, the widowed Queen should consent to place herself for life under the protection which King Henry only meant to be temporary: she was privately married to Suffolk in Paris, and returned to England after an absence of five months, a happier bride than she had left it. Perhaps, as we said before, were the end of every love story written, might dark shades appear on the page which the novelist closes in all the glow of rapturous felicity.

Her brother Henry VIII. was extremely enraged at the presumption of Suffolk, who might have purchased his royal bride at the cost of his head, if Queen Katharine had

not called in the aid of the all-powerful minister, Cardinal Wolsey, to join with her in interceding for his offence. Henry, in consequence, forgave it, and the young couple were received at Greenwich Palace, where their marriage was publicly solemnized.

An old historian gives a quaint and picturesque account of the celebration of Mayday, which soon after followed.

The King, with Queen Katharine and the fair Queen Mary rode forth to Shooter's Hill, where they were met by two hundred of the King's Yeomen all habited in green, like Robin Hood and his merry men. Robin himself demanded permission to shew his archery, and this being granted, he whistled, and all his men discharged their arrows. Then he frankly invited the royal party to enter the good greenwood, and see how outlaws lived: the horns blew, on consent being given, until they came to an arbour made of boughs of hawthorn, spring flowers, and

bright moss, the paths strewed with flowers and sweet herbs, which the King and Queen much praised. Then, said Robin Hood, "Sir, outlaws' breakfast is venison, and therefore you must be content with such fare as we use."

Then the King and court sat down and were served with venison and wine to their great contentation. On their return they were met by two Ladies and a chariot drawn by five horses, on each of which rode a lady representing some peculiar quality or attribute of the spring: and in the car appeared Flora and May, who saluted the King with goodly songs, and so brought him to Greenwich in the sight of the people, to their great joy and solace.

How altered is England since the olden time when Kings and Queens "rode a Maying," to the "joy and solace" of their subjects, and Chroniclers minutely recorded the same for the benefit of posterity!