perforce style it. Then I rise betimes, for I am no lag-a-bed, and take my book, and stroll forth into the park, if it be summer, or into the garden if winter, and read and meditate till summoned to my slender repast." "Much the same mode of life as I have passed myself," replied Edward, "though I have never yet had my fill of the chase. Now I am king I mean to gratify my inclinations, and kill plenty of deer in Windsor Forest and in Enfield Chase. But if you like not hunting, sweet coz, surely you must be fond of hawking? 'Tis a noble pastime!" May be so," rejoined Jane, gravely, "but I like it no better than hunting; and I like coursing with greyhounds less than hawking, and angling less than coursing. Your majesty will smile when I tell you that I deem all these sports cruel. They yield me no delight. I cannot bear to have harmless creatures tortured to make sport for me. It sickens me to see a noble hart pulled down, and I have rescued more than one poor crying hare from the very jaws of its pursuers. Poor beasts, I pity them. I pity even the mischievous otter." "I do not share your sentiments, Jane," said the king; "but I admire them, as they show the tenderness of your disposition. For my own part, while hunting or hawking, I become so excited that I feel little for beast or bird. I have small liking for angling, I must needs confess, for that sport does not excite me, but I read by the river-side while my preceptors ply the rod and line. But, as I just now said, I will have a grand chase in Windsor Forest, which my uncle, Sir Thomas Seymour, shall conduct; and you shall come and see it, if you list, sweet cousin.” "I "I pray your majesty to hold me excused," replied Jane. have more hunting than I care for at Bradgate. But I should delight in roaming through Windsor Forest, which, they tell me, is a right noble wood." Have you not seen it?" cried Edward. "Nay, then, there is a great pleasure in store for you, sweet coz. Marry, there are no such groves and glades at Bradgate as you shall find there." "That I can readily believe," rejoined Jane; "and the castle itself hath much interest to me." "I shall not visit it until after a sad ceremony hath taken place in Saint George's Chapel," observed Edward, with much emotion, "and the king, my lamented father-on whose soul may Jesu have mercy!-hath been placed by the side of my sainted mother in its vaults. But when this season of gloom is passed, when I have been crowned at Westminster, when the Lord Protector and the council will let me remove my court to Windsor, then, sweet cousin, you must come to the castle. Marry, it will content you. 'Tis far better worth seeing than this grim old Tower, which looks more like a dungeon than a palace.' "Nay, my liege," replied Jane, "Windsor Castle, however grand and regal it may be, can never interest me more than this stern-looking fortress. Within these walls what tragedies have been enacted! what terrible occurrences have taken place! It must be peopled by phantoms. But I will not dwell longer on this theme, and I pray you pardon the allusion. Strange to say, ever since I set foot within the Tower, I have been haunted with the notion, which I cannot shake off, that I myself shall, one day, be a prisoner in its cells, and lose my life on its green." "That day will not occur in my time, sweet cousin," replied Edward. "It is not a place to inspire lively thoughts or pleasant dreams, and I must needs own that I slept ill myself last night. I dreamed of the two children of my namesake, Edward V., and their murder in the Bloody Tower. I hope you had no such dreams, Jane?" "Indeed, my liege, I had-dreams more terrible, perchance, than your own," she rejoined. "You will guess what I dreamed about when I tell that, on awaking, I was rejoiced to find my head still on my shoulders. Hath your grace any faith in omens?" "Not much," answered Edward. "But why do you ask, sweet coz?" "Your majesty shall hear," she returned. "When I entered the Tower yesterday with the noble lord my father, and your grace's loving cousin my mother, we crossed the inner ward on our way to the palace, and amongst the crowd assembled on the green I noticed a singularly ill-favoured personage, whose features and figure attracted my attention. The man limped in his gait, and was clad in blood-red serge, over which he wore a leathern jerkin. Black elf-locks hung on either side of his cadaverous visage, and there was something wolfish and bloodthirsty in his looks. On seeing me notice him, the man doffed his cap, and advanced towards me, but my father angrily ordered him back, and struck him with his horsewhip. The man limped off, glaring malignantly at me with his red, wolfish eyes, and my father then told me it was Mauger, the headsman, and, as it was deemed unlucky to encounter him, he had driven him away. Doth not your majesty think that the meeting with such a man, on such a spot, was an ill omen?" "Heaven avert it!" exclaimed the young king. "But let us change the topic. Tell me the subject of your studies, my learned cousin?" "I can lay no claim to the epithet your majesty hath bestowed upon me," she replied. "But the book I am reading is Martin Bucer's Commentary on the Gospels.' "I have heard of it from my tutor, Doctor Cox, who describes it as an admirable treatise. You shall expound it to me, Jane. Doubtless you have read Bucer's 'Commentary on the Psalms?'" "I have, my liege, and I will essay to expound that work to you, as also the 'Pirskoavol' of Paul Fagius, which I have been lately reading, if you be so minded." "You could not please me better. I am certain to derive profit and instruction from your comments, Jane. The preparation is needful, for it is my purpose to invite Bucer and Fagius to England. His grace of Canterbury hath already spoken to me concerning them. It shall be my aim to make my court the resort of learned and pious men, and, above all, of such as are most zealous for the reform of the Church, and its complete purification from the errors of popery." "Bucer and Fagius are both men of great learning and piety, sound and severe controversialists, able and ready to refute and assail, if need be, the adversaries of the good cause, and I am rejoiced that your grace intends to invite them to your court. You will do yourself honour thereby. But there is another person, not unknown to your highness, whom I think might be of service in carrying out the mighty work of the Reformation which you project. I mean the Princess Elizabeth's instructor, worthy Master Roger Ascham." "I have not overlooked him," replied Edward. "Ascham merits promotion, and he shall have it. A man must needs be master of Greek to fill a professor's chair in St. John's College, Cambridge, as Ascham hath filled it, and his knowledge of divinity is equal, I am told, to his scholarship. My wise and well-beloved father chose him from his acquirements to be Elizabeth's instructor-she is now reading Sophocles and Cicero with him-and when his task with her is finished, as it must be ere long, for she is a quick and willing scholar-I will have him near me." "Your grace will do well," rejoined Jane. "Roger Ascham ought to be one of the luminaries of our age; and, above all, he is a godly man, and without guile. His latinity is remarkably pure." "It must be so, if you commend it, my learned cousin," remarked the king, "for you are a very competent judge. Both Sir John Cheke and Doctor Cox lauded your Latin letters to me, and said they were written with classic elegance and purity." "Your grace will make me vain," rejoined Jane, slightly colouring; "but I am bound to state that my own worthy tutor, Master Elmer, made the same remarks upon the letters with which you have honoured me. Talking of my correspondents-if I may venture to speak of any other in the same breath as your majesty—I am reminded that there is another person worthy of your attention, inasmuch as he would be a humble but zealous co-operator in your great design. The person I refer to is Henri Bullinger, disciple and successor of Zwinglius, and at this present a pastor at Zurich. |