tortured. There is something infinitely more appalling about the master of the demon-dog Vanslyperkin, and the vessel which is the scene of their united exploits, than there ever was about Vanderdecken and his Phantom-ship. Yet Captain Marryat has invested that wild legend with a powerful prose interest, and the earlier chapters are especially well written. The Terrible and the Ludicrous triumph in combination in these subjects of our novelist; but in the class to which the new comer Perceval belongs, the Ludicrous preponderates. The characters here, for the most part, are portraits, struck off in salt-water colours; and the company, as we said on another occasion, play off a capital comic pantomime, with the sea for a stage. Witness the inimitable exploits of the "argufying" Jack Easy, and his brother in mischief, Gascoigne; the dashing adventures and spirited sea-scenes of which Frank Mildmay is the hero; and superior to both, though having much of character in common, the heroics of Perceval Keene. Perceval has drawn many tears from gentle eyes, and will live to draw more. There is a frankness of sentiment in him that wins upon our liking, and a quiet, growing power in that touching earnestness with which he pursues good fortune, only that his reserved and haughty father may be induced to acknowledge him, which ripens into a pathetic interest. To make his aristocratic parent proud of him, in place of seeing in him the proof and record of shame, is the object of his soul's hopes, and the struggle is not one that can be watched with indifference. Yet we never forget that the effort is all for himself, and that he is ready to sacrifice even his mother's happiness to its success. This is managed with much artistical skill. The character of Delmar (the father) is brought out with masterly ease, and fixed at once in colours the most simple, natural, and distinct; and a profound judgment and feeling are evinced in the catastrophe, when this proud parent, whose love has long but vainly struggled with his pride; whose lip has been all coldness to the youth, while hot and rapturous blood was gushing through his heart; whose life has been one unseen struggle of affection with the chilling hauteur which was bred in him from his cradle-dies, with all that sensitive and delicate pride unshocked by the disclosure, that the son had his secret too; that he had solved the enigma of his birth, and had pursued fortune under his father's eyes, only to win an open recognition and an acknowledgment of his name. In the manner in which this part of the story is told, there is a charm of feeling and truth that quite subdues whatever of repugnance we experience in entering upon the trial; and we forget how artificial many of the contrivances are, in the manly earnestness of the agents, their natural bearing, and eloquent but suppressed emotions. Yet, touching as all this is, the Terrible in this novel prevails over the Pathetic, as the Ludicrous prevails over the Terrible. Much as Delmar and his affairs attract the reader, he is taken more firmly by the button when Perceval stands upon the deck of the slave-ship, confronting the Spanish negro captain, who has sworn eternal enmity to the European race. With friends on board, and sharks below, and the deep baying of blood-hounds from the shore, the picture required just the relief from horror which it obtains. Vincent is indeed a glorious phantom among the realities, and yet perhaps as real as any of them. But he and his crew, and the scene in the drifting boat, with the feminine brandy-drinker, the shipwreck, and the battle, powerful as they all are, have less weight with us, than the flowing and humorous vein of narrative, and the rich series of comic incident, that make us sorry, when the story is told, that there are but three volumes of it. None of Perceval's predecessors can boast of more freshness than himself, Tommy Dott, Mr Culpepper, and the rest. There is one scene, wherein Master P. teaches Green, his fellow mid, the "mason's signs" for soothing an irritable lieutenant-signs which consist chiefly in placing the thumb to the nose, at the same time spreading out the fingers--which may take rank with the most humorous that sea or shore ever shook at. Here Captain Marryat is inimitable and unrivalled. We are bound to add, that he does not object to a joke because it is a hair's breadth or so too broad; nor does he flinch from telling a home-truth, from any fear that it may be thought by landsmen a little too coarse. Neither should it be forgotten, on the other hand, that besides the excellent service which his books have rendered in enlarging the store of entertaining knowledge, and promoting good spirits and amusement, the naval service owes to him many hints from which reforms have sprung; advice which is the result of extensive experience, and a liberal perception of the rights and interests of the seaman. Captain Marryat, "not knowing what he could do until he tried," never thought of writing a novel until he was thirty years old, when, as he says, he "stumbled" on the fact. We hope he will not think of leaving off until he is seventy, "stumbling" upon a new novel once a year, without experiencing a fall. VOL. II. HOW KING HENRY THE EIGHTH HELD A CHAPTER OF THE GARTER; FROM a window in the presence-chamber, overlooking BB Henry graciously returned the salutation, and passing beneath the great gateway of the royal lodgings, hastened to her. He found her surrounded by her ladies of honour, by the chief of the nobles and knights who had composed her train from Hampton Court, and by the Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio; and having exchanged a few words with her, took her hand, and led her to the upper part of the chamber, where two chairs of state were set beneath a dais of crimson velvet embroidered with the royal arms, and placed her in the seat, hitherto allotted to Catherine of Arragon. A smile of triumph irradiated Anne's lovely countenance at this mark of distinction; nor was her satisfaction diminished, as Henry turned to address the assemblage. "My lords," he said "ye are right well aware of the scruples of conscience I entertain in regard to my marriage with my brother's widow, Catherine of Arragon. The more I weigh the matter, the more convinced am I of its unlawfulness; and were it possible to blind myself to my sinful condition, the preachers, who openly rebuke me from the pulpit, would take care to remind Misunderstand me not, my lords. I have no ground of complaint against the queen. Far otherwise. She is a lady of most excellent character-full of devotion, loyalty, nobility, and gentleness. And if I could divest myself of my misgivings, so far from seeking to put her from me, I should cherish her with the greatest tenderness. Ye may marvel that I have delayed the divorce thus long. But it is only of late that my eyes have been opened; and the step was hard to take. Old affections clung to me-old chains restrained me-nor could I, without compunction, separate myself from one who has ever been to me a virtuous and devoted consort." "Thou hast undergone a martyrdom, gossip," observed Will Sommers, who had posted himself at the foot of the dais, near the king," and shalt henceforth be distinguished as Saint Henry." The gravity of the hearers might have been discomposed by this remark, but for the stern looks of the king. "Ye may make a jest of my scruples, my lords," he continued," and think I hold them lightly; but my treatise on the subject, which has cost me much labour and meditation, will avouch to the contrary. What would befal this realm if my marriage were called in question after my decease? The same trouble and confusion would ensue that followed on the death of my noble grandfather, King Edward the Fourth. To prevent such mischance, I have resolved, most reluctantly, to put away my present queen, and to take another consort, by whom I trust to raise up a worthy successor, and inheritor of my kingdom." A murmur of applause followed this speech, and the two cardinals exchanged significant glances, which were not unobserved by the king. "I doubt not ye will all approve the choice I shall make," he pur ANNE BOLEYN CREATED MARCHIONESS OF PEMBROKE. 367 sued, looking fiercely at Wolsey, and taking Anne Boleyn's hand, who arose as he turned to her. "And now, fair mistress," he added to her, "as an earnest of the regard I have for you, and of the honours I intend you, I hereby create you Marchioness of Pembroke, and bestow upon you a thousand marks a year in land, and another thousand to be paid out of my treasury to support your dignity." "Your majesty is too gracious," replied Anne, bending the knee, and kissing his hand. "Not a whit, sweetheart-not a whit," replied Henry, tenderly raising her; "this is but a slight mark of my good will. Sir Thomas Boleyn," he added, to her father, "henceforth your style and title will be that of Viscount Rochford, and your patent will be made out at the same time as that of your daughter the Marchioness of Pembroke. I also elect you a knight-companion of the most honourable Order of the Garter, and your investiture and installation will take place to day." Having received the thanks and homage of the newly-created noble, Henry descended from the dais, and passed into an inner room with the Lady Anne, where a collation was prepared for them, of which they partook. Their slight meal over, Anne took up her lute, and playing a prelude upon it, sang two or three French songs with so much skill and grace, that Henry, who was passionately fond of music, was quite enraptured. Two delightful hours having passed by, almost imperceptibly, an usher approached the king, and whispering a few words to him, he reluctantly withdrew, and Anne retired with her ladies to an inner apartment. On reaching his closet, the king's attendants proceeded to array him in a surcoat of crimson velvet, powdered with garters embroidered in silk and gold, with the motto,-Þoni soit qui mal y pense,-wrought within them. Over the surcoat was thrown a mantle of blue velvet with a magnificent train, lined with white damask, and having on the left shoulder a large garter, wrought in pearls and Venice twists, containing the motto, and encircling the arms of Saint George-argent, a cross gules. Henry's habiliments were completed by a hood of the same stuff as the surcoat, decorated like it with small embroidered garters, and lined with white satin. From his neck was suspended the collar of the Great George, composed of pieces of gold fashioned like garters, the ground of which was enamelled, and the letters gold. While Henry was thus arrayed, the knights-companions, robed in their mantles, hoods, and collars, entered the closet, and waiting till he was ready, marched before him into the presencechamber, where were assembled the two provincial kings-atarms, Clarenceux and Norroy, the heralds, and pursuivants, wearing their coats-of-arms, together with the band of pensioners, carrying gilt pole-axes, and drawn up in two lines. At the king's approach, one of the gentlemen-ushers who carried the sword of state, with the point resting upon the ground, delivered it to the Duke of Richmond,-the latter having been appointed to bear it before the king during all the proceedings of the feast. Meanwhile, the knights-companions having drawn up on either side of the canopy, Henry advanced with a slow and stately step towards it, his train being borne by the Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, and other nobles and knights. As he ascended the dais, and faced the assemblage, the Duke of Richmond and the chief officers of the order drew up a little on his right. The knightscompanions then made their salutation to him, which he returned by removing his jewelled cap with great grace and dignity; and as soon as he was again covered, they put on their caps, and ranging themselves in order, set forward to Saint George's Chapel. Quitting the royal lodgings, and passing through the gateway of the Norman Tower, the procession wound its way along the base of the Round Tower, the battlements of which bristled with spearmen, as did the walls on the right, and the summit of the Winchester Tower, and crossing the middle-ward, skirted the tomb-house, then newly erected by Wolsey, as a mausoleum for his royal master, and threading a narrow passage, between it and Saint George's Chapel, entered the north-east door of the latter structure. Dividing on their entrance into the chapel into two lines, the attendants of the knights-companions flanked either side of the north aisle; while between them walked the alms-knights, the verger, the prebends of the college, and the officers-of-arms, who proceeded as far as the west door of the choir, where they stopped. A slight pause then ensued, after which, the king, the knights-companions, and the chief officers of the order, entered the chapter-house-a chamber situated at the north-east corner of the chapel-leaving the Duke of Richmond, the sword-bearer, Lord Rochford, the knight-elect, the trainbearers, and pensioners, outside. The door of the chapterhouse being closed by the black-rod, the king proceeded to the upper end of the vestments'-board- as the table was designated,-where a chair, cushions, and cloth of state, were provided for him; the knights-companions, whose stalls in the choir were on the same side as his own, seating themselves on his right, and those whose posts were on the prince's side taking their places on the left. The prelate and the chancellor stood at the upper end of the table; the garter and register at the foot; while the door was kept by the black-rod. As soon as the king and the knights were seated, intimation was given by an usher to the black rod, that the newly-elected knight, Lord Rochford, was without. This intelligence being communicated to the king, he ordered the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk to bring him into his presence; and the injunction being obeyed, the three presently made their appearance, the garter marching before them to the king. Bowing reverently to the |