come very near it, for there were divers pieces of great store of plate to use; besides the plates that hung on the walls to give light, which were of silver gilt, with wax-lights.

The trumpets blew, and the guests were conducted to the table; where, says Cavendish, "the service came up in such abundance, both costly and full of devices, with such a pleasant noise of music, that the Frenchmen, as it seemed, were wrapped up in a heavenly paradise."

The Cardinal was not there; but, at the second course, he "came in, booted and spurred, suddenly amongst them; at whose coming there was great joy, every man rising from his place." But my Lord Cardinal made them all be seated, and being in his riding apparel, called for his chair, and sate him down in the midst of the high table, and was there as merry and pleasant as ever I saw him in all my life.

Presently after came up the second course, which was above a hundred several devices, which were so goodly and costly that I think the Frenchmen never saw the like. But the rarest curiosity of all the rest, they all wondered at (which indeed was worthy of wonder) was a castle and images in the same, like St. Paul's church for the model of it. There were beasts, birds, fowls,—personages most excellently made; some fighting with swords, some with guns, others with cross-bows; some dancing with ladies, some on horseback in complete armour, justling with long and sharp spears, with many more strange devices. Among others, I noted there was a chess-board made of spiceplate, with men of the same, and good proportion.

And

because the Frenchmen are very expert at that sport, my Lord Cardinal gave that to a French gentleman, commanding that there should be made a good case, to convey the same into his country.

"Then called my lord for a great bowl of gold, filled with hippocras, and putting off his cap, said, 'I drink a health to the king my sovereign lord, and next unto the king, your master;' and when he had drank a hearty draught, he desired the grand master to pledge him a cup, which cup was worth five hundred marks, and so all the lords in order pledged these great princes. Then went the cup merrily about, so that many Frenchmen were led to their beds. Then went my lord into his privy chamber, making a short supper, or rather a short repast, and then returned again into the presence chamber amongst the Frenchmen, behaving himself in so loving a sort and so familiarly towards them that they could not sufficiently commend him. And while they were in communication and pastime, all their livery were served to their chambers; every chamber had a basin and ewer of silver, and a great livery-pot, with plenty of wine and sufficient of every thing."

Such were the merry and gorgeous doings at Hampton Court, then in all the glory of its newness, in the days of Wolsey's prosperity. I am afraid the story of Henry VIII. coming to see this splendid palace on its first being built, and saying in a jealous surprise, "My Lord Cardinal, is this a dwelling for a subject?" and the courtly Cardinal replying, "My gracious liege, it is not intended for a subject; it is meant

only for the greatest and most bounteous king in Christendom," is too good to be true; for although Wolsey did give up this favourite palace to his royal master, it was long afterwards, and only on the palpable outbreak of his displeasure, as a most persuasive peace-offering; an offering which, though especially acceptable, failed nevertheless to ensure lasting peace. The sun of the great Cardinal was already in its decline. His fair Protestant enemy was in possession of the king's ear and mind, and he had soon to make his sorrowful exclamation :

Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;

But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have :
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to rise again!

The story of the ambition and greatness of Wolsey is a

splendid and rare story; but what would it have been without

his fall? Had he gone down to the grave in the fulness of his age, and the undiminished strength of his power, it would have been looked upon as a wondrous career of prosperity, and would have excited but little curiosity in posterity; but his fall came, to fix it on the heart of all time. Never were mortal fortunes so complete in their light and shade, in their height and depth, as his. While we are gazing on the authority and the gay pageantries of the long life of the great man, as on the brightness of a summer day that seems as if it would shine on for ever; suddenly the clouds blacken overhead, the lightning flames abroad, the tempest falls, with deluging torrents and a rending thunderbolt, and when it is past-we gaze in silent astonishment on a scene of blackened desolation!

The fall of Wolsey is one of the most complete and perfect things in the history of man. The hold which he had so long on that fierce and lionlike king-that passionate and capricious king-is amazing; but at once it gives way, and down he goes for ever. But, great as he was in his prosperity, so is he great in his ruin. There are those who accuse him of servility and meanness, but they do not well comprehend human nature. Wolsey knew himself, his master, and the world; and Shakspeare, whose own heart was the representative of the universal heart of man, has shewn that he judged justly of Wolsey's spirit in his delineation of him at this crisis. Wolsey knew himself. He knew his own proud ambition, and he knew that his story must for ever stand a brilliant point in the annals of his country; but to give to it an effect that would cover

S

a multitude of sins, and make him, who had hitherto been a daring adventurer and a despot of no mean degree, an object of lasting commiseration-it was necessary to fall with dignity and die with penitence. He knew his master,-and his favour once gone; his resentment once at the pitch, by the thwarting of his passions; his cupidity once kindled-there was nothing to expect but destruction, certain, and at hand.

Nay, then, farewell!

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;

And from that full meridian of my glory

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,

And no man see me more.

In the contemplation of Wolsey in his fallen condition, we are so much affected by his humility, his candour, and his sorrow, that we forget his former haughtiness and his crimes. He never accuses his sovereign of injustice; he breaks out in no passion against him; he acknowledges that he was the creature of his favour, and that all he had-rank and fortunewere his to take away, as he had given them. His tears for so great a reverse-for such a stripping down of power and honour-are natural; and his tears and sorrow for his faithful servants open up the noblest place in his heart, and go far to make you love and honour him. We cannot help comparing the cases of Thomas à Becket and his own; and asking what would Wolsey have done, had he stood in the situation of that daring and indomitable churchman. Probably he might have put on the same air of menace and defiance. But here matters