she declared her dear son had had foul play, and was the victim of some murderous poisoner. The sinister-visaged, sir Thomas Overbury, with his arrogant pretensions, and darkworking intellect, mysteriously eking out the paucity of his patron's capacity, was the object of the wretched queen's suspicions. He was still in the full sunshine of Somerset's favour, and an uncompromising antipathy, had existed between the virtuous prince of Wales, and the profligate favourite. All suspicions of this kind would, in these times, have at once been silenced, by the report of the physicians, who made a post mortem examination of the prince's body. The minutes of their report, still extant, have brought historical conviction, that he died a natural death. The queen herself was probably convinced by them, when the effervescence of grief had subsided, for she certainly had sufficient intellect to be amenable to the testimony of science, since it was her particular request, that the body of her little daughter Mary might be opened, and the cause of her death ascertained. A circumstance which shews she had more strength of mind, than many mothers in this enlightened era.

Nevertheless, the words she uttered in the first delirium of her grief, were quite sufficient to form the foundation of horrid calumnies in an age, when scandal was more shamelessly reckless than at any time, since the human tongue had acquired skill in falsehood. The poor king was not spared in these reports, but, surely, never did calumny wickeder work, than when it insinuated that James I. had, even in thought, harmed his son. Whatever errors king James might have regarding political economy, his conduct was admirable as a father, he had given Henry an education, which was a model for all princes; not by lucky accident, but with earnest intent, founded on proper principles, and the result was excellent; and, moreover, the most familiar friendship reigned among the royal family. The king had shewn manly courage, when the fever assumed an infectious character; he disregarded all the medical warnings, and

1 Arthur Wilson's Life of James I. A curious portrait of sir Thomas Overbury is among the collections of Wenman Martin, Esq. His face is singularly forbidding, but expressive of abilities; his face is horse-shaped with a strange rounding out of a very long upper lip.

2 Nichols' Progresses.

remained by the bed-side of his son, while the disease was at its worst, till the prince lost his senses in the agonies of death. Then, the miserable father, sick and wretched, retired to Theobalds; but, in the restlessness of his suspense, he would return to the vicinity of the metropolis, and took up his abode in the house of sir Walter Cope, at Kensington, now Holland House. "Of this place he was quickly weary," wrote Mr. Chamberlayne, in one of his news-letters to sir Dudley Carleton, "for he said the wind blew through the walls, and he could not be warm in his bed." In short, the impatient anguish with which both the king and queen "took the death of their son," rather scandalized all the religious professors at their court.

Thus, out of a numerous progeny, queen Anne was left but two surviving children, one of whom she was shortly to lose by marriage. She had never loved her second son, Charles, with the passionate and adoring fondness she bestowed on prince Henry; and, indeed, one of her indiscreet speeches concerning him, was remembered by his enemies as a prophecy of his future misfortunes. Charles, after the death of his brother, had a fit of violent illness; his physicians prescribed him some medicine, which he obstinately refused to take, and disputed the point with an old Scottish nurse, who appealed to the queen's authority. Queen Anne found that her son would no more take the dose from her than from his nurse, and she, with her usual impatience of contradiction, expressed herself very angrily. The nurse reminded her majesty " that there was danger that the prince would die." "No," said the queen, "he will live to plague three kingdoms by his wilfulness." This anecdote, which rests on no better authority than a bio

The autumn of 1612 was remarkably sickly; intermittent fever raged like a pest in London, and many persons were ill with the endemic putrid fever that had carried off the prince of Wales. A handsome young student escaped from Lincoln's Inn, in the delirium of the same fever, and came all undressed to St. James's, having hidden his clothes in an open grave. The royal corpse laid in state at St. James's, and the poor lunatic declared he was the ghost of prince Henry, come from heaven on a message to his parents. The poor creature was kept at the porters' lodge all night, without his clothes, and was given some lashes by the prince's servants to induce him to confess who set him on; his tormentors having no faith in the Shakesperian aphorism, "that a madman's revelations are no gospel." The king had the poor youth released when he heard of the adventure; and desired that he might be taken care of; but he escaped, and was never more heard of; he probably threw himself into the Thames.

graphy written by a conjuror,' bears, nevertheless, the stamp of Anne of Denmark's reproachful petulance. In the momentary irritability which was characteristic of her disposition, if she experienced the least opposition, she usually made cutting speeches against those whom she truly loved; and her hasty repartees have been treasured by party spite for the disparagement of her husband, her daughter, her son-in short, against every one who was dear to her.

The marriage of the princess Elizabeth, had been long deferred by the sickness, death, and burial of the prince of Wales, and the count palatine had remained in England several months, at a great expense, and inconvenience. It was, therefore needful, that the betrothal and marriage should take place as soon as possible after the funeral. The queen was too ill and dejected to be present at the betrothment of her daughter, which was done while the court and even the fiancée herself wore mourning. The marriage took place on the 14th of February, three months after the death of the prince, when the queen was present. She testified more maternal kindness towards her son-in-law, than she had yet shewn, in remembrance of the brotherly friendship he had testified towards her lost son, when on his death-bed, and when he attended his body to the grave. The queen was present, when her daughter Elizabeth, and the count palatine, were united at Whitehall Chapel; it was the first royal marriage celebrated according to the form of the Common Prayer in England; from these ancestors, her present majesty derives her hereditary title to the English throne.

When the princess Elizabeth finally departed from England, with her spouse, the queen sunk into a depression of health and spirits, which gave some cause of fear for her life. She was advised, by her physicians, to try the waters of Bath, to renovate her constitution, and, accordingly, she commenced a western progress in the following April. She was entertained on the way at Caversham House, the seat of lord Knollys. She was welcomed, at various stations in the avenue and gardens, with a champêtre-masque, by Campion, of the same species as Ben Jonson's elegant dramatic poem of "The Fairies," from which

1 Lilly's Charles the First.

specimens have been given. Her majesty, in the evening, was so much pleased with a continuation of the same masque, that, forgetting her ill health, "she vouchsafed to make herself the head of the revels, and graciously to adorn the place with her personal dancing." Lord and lady Knollys, the four sons of the lord-chamberlain, sir Henry Carey, and lord Dorset were the performers in the masque.

1

The queen spent the rest of the spring at Bath. She seemed to derive benefit from the springs, though she was once, while bathing, terribly frightened by a natural phenomenon, which appeared when she was in the king's bath. Close by her there ascended, from the bottom of the cistern, a flame of fire, like a candle, which rose to the surface of the bath, and spread into a large circle of light on the top of the water, to the great consternation and alarm of the queen, who certainly believed it a supernatural messenger from the world below, and nothing could induce her to enter the king's bath again. The physicians in vain assured her, that the apparition proceeded from a natural cause. Her fears were far from being appeased by their explanations, so she betook herself to a bath, which a benevolent citizen had secured, on the dissolution of the monasteries, for the use of the poor. Here, being assured that no subaqueous candles ever intruded themselves, she bathed during her stay. The citizens ornamented the bath she used with a cross and the crown of England, and the inscription, in gold, of "Anna Regina Sacrum." Since that time it has borne the appellation of "the queen's bath.”2

The hateful and disgraceful proceedings of the divorce of lady Frances Howard from her husband, the earl of Essex, took place whilst the queen was absent in the west, the same spring. As she was by no means concerned in any part of that iniquitous business, its discussion is gladly avoided here.

In her homeward return, the queen was encountered, on Salisbury Plain, near a wild ravine, by the Rev. George Fereby, who had instructed his parishioners in church music; he approached the queen's carriages, and entreated that her majesty would be pleased to listen to a concert performed by them. When the queen signified her assent, Nichols' Progresses, vol. ii. pp. 629-638.

2 Warners' Bath, p. 328.

there rose out of the ravine a handsome company of the worthy churchman's parishioners, dressed as Druids, and as British shepherds and shepherdesses, who sang a greeting, beginning with these words, to a melody which greatly pleased the musical taste of her majesty :

"Shine, oh shine, thou sacred star,

On seely1 shepherd swains!"

We should suppose, from the commencing words, that this poem had originally been a Nativity hymn, pertaining to the ancient church, and it is possible that the melody might be traced to the same source. For the great English sacred composers, Tallis, Blow, and Bull, evidently caught the last echoes of the cloister ere those strains were silenced for ever in the land.

The music, the voices, and the romantic dresses, so well corresponding with the mysterious spot where this pastoral concert was stationed, greatly captivated the imagination of the queen. She appointed the reverend George Fereby one of her chaplains, and always regarded him and his compositions with a considerable degree of favour.'

The queen was usually involved in pecuniary difficulties. Notwithstanding the enormous increase to her income, granted by the king, she had incurred debts, in the years 1613 and 1614. The genius of sir Walter Scott, in its comic mood, has often made our readers laugh at the sifflication presented by Richard Moniplies to James I.; yet a more naive and characteristic supplication could scarcely have been devised than the following, which was presented by Heriot himself to the consort of that king.

TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTIE. "The humble petition of George Heriot, your majestie's servant,

"Most humbly sheweth, that, whereas the last time your gracious majestie was pleased to admit your servant to your royal presence, it then pleased your highness to regret that your gracious intentions, towards the payment of your debts, were much hindered by the scarcity of your majesty's treasure, whereupon your suppliant did resolve, and as he still doeth, to forbear to trouble or importune your majesty until it suld please God to second your royal disposition with greater plenty than now is. Only his most humble suit, at this time, is, in regaird of the extreme burden of interests wherewith he is borne down, and which he must shortly pay, or perish, together with some other urgent necessities. That your majesty wald be graciouslie pleased to give your highness' warrant to the right honourable for the discharge of the raymnent (remnant) of an account

the lord

› Harmless. "Nichols' Progresses of James I., vol. ii. p. 666. 3 The queen's treasurer, whose title seems unknown to Heriot's scrivener. Heriot uses, as customary in all documents of that era, the titles majesty and