darted past the king, and made towards the upper part of the forest. In another instant, the hounds were uncoupled, and at his heels, while Henry and Anne urged their steeds after him, the king shouting at the top of his lusty voice. The rest of the royal party followed as they might, and the woods resounded with their joyous cries.

The hart royal proved himself worthy of his designation. Dashing forward with lightning swiftness, he rapidly gained upon his pursuers-for though Henry, by putting his courser to his utmost speed, could have kept near him, he did not like to quit his fair companion.

In this way, they scoured the forest, until the king, seeing that they should be speedily distanced, commanded Sir Thomas Wyat, who, with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, was riding close behind him, to cross by the lower ground on the left, and turn the stag. Wyat instantly obeyed, and plunging his spurs deep into his horse's sides, started off at a furious pace, and was soon after seen shaping his rapid course through a devious glade.

Meanwhile, Henry and his fair companion rode on without relaxing their pace, until they reached the summit of a knoll, crowned by two enormous oaks, and commanding a superb view of the castle, where they drew in the rein.

interest, rose in his saddle, and uttering various exclamations, shewed, from his impatience, that he was only restrained by his passion for Anne Boleyn, from joining it.

Ere long, stag, hounds, and huntsmen, were lost amid a thick grove, and nothing could be distinguished but the distant baying of the former, and the cries of the latter. At last, even these sounds died away.

Henry, who had ill brooked the previous restraint, now grew so impatient, that Anne begged him to set off after them, and leave her, when, suddenly, the cry of hounds burst upon their ear, and the hart was seen issuing from the dell, closely followed by his pursuers.

The affrighted animal, to the king's great satisfaction, made his way directly towards the spot where he was stationed; but on reaching the side of the knoll, and seeing how it was occupied, he darted off on the right, and tried to regain the thicket below. But he was again turned by another band of keepers, who drove him back towards the knoll.

Scarcely had Sir Thomas Wyat reined in his steed by the side of the king, than the hart again appeared bounding up the hill. Anne Boleyn, who had turned her horse's head to obtain a better view of the hunt, alarmed by the animal's menacing appearance, tried to get out of his course. But it was too late. Goaded by the keepers in the rear, and driven to desperation by the cries of hounds and huntsmen in front, the hart lowered his horns, and made a furious push at her.

Dreadfully alarmed, Anne drew in the rein so suddenly and sharply, that she almost pulled her steed back upon his haunches; and in trying to avoid the stag's attack, flung herself into the arms of Sir Thomas Wyat, who was close beside her.

In all probability, she would have received some serious injury from the infuriated animal, who was just about to repeat his assault, and more successfully, when a bolt from a cross-bow, discharged by Morgan Fenwolf, who suddenly made his appearance from behind the nearest oak tree, brought him to the ground.

But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger only to encounter another equally serious. On seeing her fling herself into the arms of Sir Thomas Wyat, Henry regarded her in stern displeasure for a moment, and then calling angrily to his train, without so much as deigning to inquire whether she had sustained any damage from the accident, or making the slightest remark upon her conduct, rode sullenly towards the castle.

"You

"I told you how it would be, gossip," observed Will Sommers to Sir Thomas Wyat, who, separating himself from Anne as soon as he could, had withdrawn into the rear of the train. have succeeded, at length, in rousing Harry's jealousy. Look to your head."