BEAUTIFUL Granada rose like an enchanted city in the midst of the blooming plain, where flourished the citron and the pomegranate, the latter of which gave to the city its euphonious name. Olive groves and vineyards clustered around it and fig-trees hung heavy with their purplish fruit; while orange and lemon groves bent ’neath the rich burden of golden spheres of luscious nectar, intermingled with the snowy blossoms which, half hidden amongst the dark green foliage, filled the air with such exquisite perfume as to make one dream of the ambrosial fields of Paradise. To the north, towered mountains whose lofty, snow-crowned summits seemed to pierce the blue heavens above, and other ranges guarded it on the east and south, while the blue waters of the Mediterranean washed its western shores, and brought trade and commerce to this fair Eden of sunny Spain.

And as picturesque as was this lovely setting, equally picturesque was the quaint and fascinating city, with its gorgeous Alhambra, whose shining turrets loomed high above the surrounding buildings and its spacious courts, adorned by graceful columns and spanned by arched ceilings glowing with varied colors and ornate with quaint design, while through its many corridors Moorish cavaliers and dark-eyed beauties, attired in their picturesque costumes, passed in a fascinating procession and lent the charm of life to this weird scene.

But war had invaded this fair realm. For long years it had been besieged by hostile hosts, who strove to drive the Moors from their enchanting dominions. Already the city of Santa FÉ had arisen, as though by magic, around the besieged city of Granada, and Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain at length entered the gorgeous Alhambra as conquerors, and the last sigh of the departing Moors echoed amid the fragrant orange groves, in a ghostly wail of hopeless despair.

It was on the 6th of January, 1492, that Isabella and Ferdinand made their triumphal entry into the conquered city, and the standard of the Cross and the banner of Castile were seen floating together on the lofty watch-tower of the glorious palace of the Alhambra. Upon this momentous occasion, the little Catharine of Aragon, then seven years of age, accompanied her parents and sister in the imposing procession.

This pretty Spanish princess had first opened her eyes upon this world at the small town called Alcala des Henares, while Isabella, her mother, was journeying to spend Christmas at Toledo, then the capital of Spain.

Her infant days were spent in camps of war, for the illustrious Isabella accompanied her husband Ferdinand upon all his expeditions, and by her presence and counsel inspired the Christian soldiers to those deeds of valor which gained the victory over the Moors.

It was this same Isabella of Castile, who first instituted regular military surgeons, to attend the sick in the armies and be at hand on the field of battle to care for the wounded. These surgeons were paid out of her own revenues; and she also provided spacious tents, furnished with beds and all things requisite for the sick and wounded, which were called the “Queen’s Hospital.”

Thus, to the compassionate heart of the famous Isabella of Castile, the world is indebted for the first army hospital, which institution has since proved such a blessing to mankind, in the saving of innumerable lives, and in some slight measure alleviating a part of the frightful evils of war.

After the fall of Granada, Ferdinand and Isabella took up their residence in the magnificent Alhambra, and it was in this fascinating place that the childhood of Catharine of Aragon was passed.

It was from Granada, this fairy-land of her youthful memories, that Catharine derived her device of the pomegranate. The pomegranate was the royal insignia of the Moorish kings. The motto afterwards adopted by Queen Catharine, “Not for my crown,” was also derived from the same source; for the crown of the pomegranate is worthless and is always thrown away.

What strange contrast in the two pictures portrayed in the life of Catharine by the unforeseen vicissitudes of fortune. The blooming maiden, filled with ecstatic pleasure by the alluring fascinations of the matchless scenes around her, now wandering with childish curiosity through the glowing courts of the glorious Alhambra, or enjoying the sylvan retreats amidst the orange and citron groves, or seeking the cool shade of the pomegranate trees, presents a very different picture to the neglected queen of England, cruelly banished by her atrocious husband, to die in loneliness and even penury.

When the Princess Catharine was nine years of age, she was betrothed to Arthur, Prince of Wales, eldest son of Elizabeth of York and Henry VII.

The correspondence of these youthful lovers was carried on in Latin, that they might improve themselves in that language.

In 1501, Catharine embarked with her Spanish governess and four young court ladies, attended by a train of lords and ecclesiastics, to go to England to be united in marriage to Prince Arthur. The marriage was celebrated Nov. 14, 1501.

Catharine’s bridal costume was a great surprise to the English ladies. The Spanish princess and her ladies had previously astonished the English populace, when, according to an English fashion, they made their equestrian public entry into London. The large round hats worn by Catharine and her donnas upon that occasion had created much comment.

“At her bridal Catharine wore upon her head a coif of white silk, with a scarf bordered with gold and pearls and precious stones, five inches and a half broad, which veiled the greater part of her visage and her person. This was the celebrated Spanish mantilla. Her gown was very large; both the sleeves and also the body had many plaits, and beneath the waist certain round hoops, bearing out the gown from the waist downward. Such was the first arrival of the farthingale in England, revived at times as hoop petticoats and crinolines. In the elaborate pageantry the princely pair were very prettily allegorized, she as ‘My Lady Hesperus,’ and he as ‘The Star Arcturus,’ from which the Celtic name of Arthur is derived.”

The old chronicles thus describe the gorgeous marriage ceremony:—

“Within the church of St. Paul’s was erected a platform or stage, six feet high, and extending from the west door to the uppermost step of the choir; in the middle of this platform was a high stand like a mountain, which was ascended on every side with steps covered over with red worsted.

“Against this mountain on the north side was ordained a standing for the king and his friends; and upon the south side was erected another standing, which was occupied by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London.

“Then, upon the fourteenth of November, being Sunday, Prince Arthur and the Infanta Catharine, both clad in white satin, ascended the mountain, one on the north and the other on the south side, and were there married by the Archbishop of Canterbury, assisted by nineteen bishops and abbots. The king and the queen and the king’s mother stood in the place aforenamed, where they heard and beheld the solemnization, which, being finished, the archbishop and bishops took their way from the mountain across the platform, which was covered under foot with blue ray cloth, into the choir, and so to the high altar. The prelates were followed by the bride and bridegroom. The Princess Cecily bore the train of the bride, and after her followed one hundred ladies and gentlewomen in right costly apparel. Then the Mayor, in a gown of crimson velvet, and his brethren in scarlet, went and sat in the choir whilst mass was said. The Archbishop of York sat in the dean’s place and made the chief offering, and after him came the Duke of Buckingham. The mass being finished, Arthur publicly dowered his bride, at the church door, with one-third of his income as Prince of Wales; and afterwards the prince and princess were conducted in grand procession out of church into the bishop’s palace, where a grand feast was prepared, to which the Lord Mayor and Aldermen were invited.

“The city functionaries were served with plate valued at one thousand two hundred pounds, but the plate off which the princess dined was of solid gold, ornamented with pearls and precious stones, and worth twenty thousand pounds.

“It was wonderful to behold the costly apparel and the massive chains of gold worn on that day. Sir Thomas Brandon, the master of the king’s horse, wore a gold chain, valued at one thousand four hundred pounds. Rivers, the master of the king’s hawks, wore a chain worth one thousand pounds, and many of the other chains worn were worth from two to three hundred pounds each. The Duke of Buckingham wore a robe of the most beautiful needle-work, wrought upon cloth of gold tissue and furred with sable, worth one thousand five hundred pounds; and Sir Nicholas Vaux wore a gown of purple velvet, so thickly ornamented with pieces of massive gold that the gold alone, independent of the silk and fur, was worth one thousand pounds.”

In honor of this marriage, tournaments, and festivals, and most gorgeous pageants, followed by banquets and grand balls, were celebrated for many days.

But clouds soon gathered around Catharine. In about four months after the marriage, while Prince Arthur and Catharine were residing at the Castle of Ludlow, in Wales, the young prince sickened and died; and the poor young princess was left a widow in a strange land. Catharine was now escorted back to London, where she was received with kindness by Queen Elizabeth, her mother-in-law. But the kind queen died in two years and Catharine’s troubles began regarding her great dower. Her father, Ferdinand of Spain, had promised to give as a marriage settlement two hundred thousand crowns. Only one instalment of this had been paid, and until the whole amount was received, Henry VII. refused to allow his daughter-in-law the revenue Arthur had given her as her marriage gift.

And now began intrigues and quarrels over this poor little widow of sixteen. First King Henry VII. determined to marry her himself, but this proposal Catharine would not accept. Next it was proposed to marry her to the king’s son Henry, now become Prince of Wales. As this proposition was not refused by Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, the helpless young stranger was obliged to submit, and as her father would not pay her dower until the matter was settled, and as her father-in-law would not allow her the revenue from her late young husband, the poor little princess was reduced to great extremities. She needed clothes, she had no means of paying her servants, and neither king seemed to have pity upon her. Her mother, Isabella of Spain, sympathized deeply with the sorrows of her child, but she was now dying and could do little to help her.

At length it was decided that Catharine, now nineteen years of age, should be betrothed to Henry, who was then fourteen. But before this marriage was consummated, Isabella of Spain had breathed her last. Well for her mother-heart that she did not know the terrible trials in store for her beloved child, consequent upon this unfortunate marriage!

The death of King Henry VII. in 1509, prevented all display upon the occasion of this second marriage of Catharine of Aragon, which occurred at Greenwich Palace, June 11, 1509, just three months after the death of Henry VII. From various records it is evident that Henry VIII. loved his wife Catharine quite devotedly at this time. In his letter to his bride’s father he wrote, “that if Catharine and he were still free, he would choose her for his wife before all other women.”

The long-disputed marriage portion was now paid by Ferdinand of Spain, and Queen Catharine, in writing to him, tells of her joy in at last being able to pay her ladies their salaries which had been so long due. In 1510, a prince was born, but he lived but a few days, much to the sorrow of King Henry and Queen Catharine. Another baby prince also died before the birth of the Princess Mary, in 1516.

“The reign of Henry VIII. is characterized by three great movements, which have all left a profound impression upon the destinies of England: the religious reform; the establishment of the absolute power of the crown in principle and often in practice; the social and even political progress of the nation, notwithstanding great outbursts of tyranny on the part of the government, and of servility on the part of the people. The history of this reign is naturally divided into two periods: Henry VIII. under the influence of Wolsey, his favorite and soon his prime minister; Henry VIII. alone, after the disgrace and death of Wolsey.”

Of course, regarding this political aspect of this epoch in history, we can make little or no mention in this short sketch of Catharine of Aragon.

Wolsey, “the Ipswich butcher’s son, the politician priest,” became the chief favorite of Henry and Catharine, although, after he had been the means of securing the execution of the queen’s friend, Buckingham, Catharine was opposed to him.

We must not pass over the meeting of the French and English sovereigns upon the famous “Field of the Cloth of Gold.” This occurred in 1520, at Ardres, a small town near Calais. A very magnificently decorated palace had been prepared for the English king. It was built of wood, and adorned with gigantic figures, representing savages armed with spears and arrows, bearing Henry’s device, “Cui adhaereo praestat” (He whom I support prevails).

Fountains of red and white wine played constantly before this sumptuous abode of the English king, which was adorned with costly tapestries and magnificent gold and silver plate.

A gorgeous tent of cloth of gold had been prepared for the meeting of the two sovereigns. It was ornamented with blue velvet studded with stars, fastened with silken cords mixed with Cyprian gold. Into this glistening pavilion the two kings walked arm in arm; and thereupon began a round of feasting, drinking, music, dancing, and amusements, which lasted a fortnight. The extravagant splendor of this occasion has become renowned; and, in the midst of all these licentious revelries, Cardinal Wolsey celebrated high mass with imposing pageantry. It is recorded that it took years for the estates of many a nobleman to recover from the loans contracted to make a good appearance upon this famous Field of the Cloth of Gold.

In 1521 Henry VIII. determined to defend the Catholic faith against the attacks of Martin Luther. King Henry had no other weapon to use against the monk except his pen. Whereupon Henry published “A Defence of the Seven Sacraments against Martin Luther.” This was gorgeously bound, and presented with much ceremony to Pope Leo X. Thereupon the royal author received the title, from the holy father, of “Defender of the Faith,” of which title the royal hypocrite made strange use afterwards. Meanwhile, the haughty Cardinal Wolsey became more arrogant and overbearing. Having the royal ear, even princes and nobles fawned upon him in menial attentions, and high titled lords served the pompous cardinal on their knees, and deemed it a privilege to do his august bidding. But Wolsey’s fall was soon to come, and would be as direful as his power was now ascendant.

In 1522 the beautiful Anne Boleyn was recalled from France to England, and became one of Queen Catharine’s maids of honor. From this time troubles fell thick and heavy upon the poor queen, who was herself a faithful wife and loving mother, and was, moreover, self-denying and devout. And, strange as it may appear, up to this time, such had been the life of King Henry and Queen Catharine that they had become famous as a pattern couple; and the celebrated Erasmus had said of them: “What household is there, among the subjects of their realms, that can offer an example of such united wedlock? Where can a wife be found better matched with the best of husbands?”

We can hardly imagine the atrocious Henry VIII. ever to have been worthy of such commendation. After being married for seventeen years to his devoted Catharine, this prince of hypocrites is all at once troubled with most grievous qualms of conscience. For seven years he had been flirting with the pretty Anne Boleyn; even from the momentous time when he had noticed her dancing at the festivals attending the celebrated occasion of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. But not until 1527 did this conscience-troubled king declare publicly his very serious doubts as to the validity of his marriage with Catharine, who had been previously married to his elder brother Arthur. His pretended scruples were now confided to Cardinal Wolsey, who advised the king to sue for a divorce. This welcome advice the royal hypocrite most sanctimoniously declared to be most bitter for him to follow, but nevertheless, for his conscience’ sake, he was ready to make this enormous sacrifice.

The famous divorce court at Blackfriars was not held until June 18, 1529. But the conscience-stricken, atrocious dissembler meanwhile used his utmost influence in church and state to force priests and people to confirm his royal pretended scruples; and earls, bishops, cardinals, and popes, were called upon to confirm and applaud his most holy zeal, in thus sacrificing his supposed heart’s ease for the ease of his terribly burdened conscience. Meanwhile, the poor, neglected, faithful wife was openly and shamelessly discarded for the smiles of the new beauty, who had ensnared the fancy of this most atrocious of religious humbugs.

To allay somewhat the fretful anxieties consequent upon the long delay required to bring right-minded men to second his infamous designs, the royal author found solace in his literary occupations, hurling anathemas against the undaunted Luther, ostensibly in defence of that Church whose Pope he wished to influence in favor of his own guilty schemes; but soon this apparently zealous defender of the Romish Church was uncloaked, and he defied even the Pope himself, who dared to denounce his infamous divorce.

We cannot give in detail these stirring but disgraceful scenes. Poor Catharine, a stranger in a strange land, having lost both father and mother, had none to defend her against the calumnies which her inhuman husband sought to fasten upon her, but which her blameless life rendered utterly harmless.

King Henry VIII. had taken very good care to make very specious excuses for the divorce. As six children had been born and none had lived beyond infancy, except the Princess Mary, he declared that he found proof of the wrath of God in these bereavements, because he had married his brother’s widow. And this prince of dissemblers declared in a great meeting of his nobles, councillors, and judges, whom he had assembled in the great chamber of his palace at Bridewell, that, “As touching the queen, if it be adjudged by the law of God that she is my lawful wife, there was never anything more acceptable to me in my life, both for the discharge of my conscience and also for her sake; for I assure you all that, apart from her noble parentage, she is a woman of great virtue, gentleness, and humility. Of all good qualities appertaining to nobility, she is without comparison; and if I were to marry again, presuming the marriage to be good, I would choose her before all other women.” And yet this same ostentatious pattern of perfection and hypocritical religious cant afterwards beheaded the illustrious Sir Thomas More, because he would not sanction the infamous repudiation of the faithful Catharine. And this same pretended Defender of the Church, even though the Pope was hurling from the Vatican his spiritual thunders of excommunication for the sin of renouncing the devoted and blameless Queen Catharine, defiantly married Anne Boleyn, even before the divorce had been fully consummated.

In 1529 Queen Catharine was summoned into court to meet her public sentence. When the crier called, “Henry, king of England, come into court,” he answered from his royal seat of state, in loud tones, “Here,” and thereupon proceeded to make known his many troubles regarding his tender conscience and religious scruples, which so sore distressed his royal mind; ending in a panegyric upon the many virtues of his beloved wife, Catharine, from whom none other cause than his afflicted conscience would ever have forced him to consent to part.

After this arch-traitor to all domestic faithfulness had thus relieved his burdened heart, the crier summoned, “Catharine, queen of England.” Taking no notice of the surrounding legates, the sorrowful queen rose with graceful dignity, and, followed by her ladies, she went round about the court, even to where the king sat, and kneeling at his feet she thus pathetically addressed him, with quaint foreign accent and persuasive voice: “Sir, I beseech you, for the love of God, let me have some justice. Take some pity on me, a poor stranger in your dominions; I have no counsellor in this land, and, as you are the head of justice in your realm, I flee to you. Alas! I take God to witness that for these twenty years I have been to you a true, humble, and obedient wife. And if our children have died, it has not been for the want of a mother’s love or care. The king, your father, was accounted a second Solomon for wisdom, and my father, Ferdinand, was deemed one of the wisest kings of Spain; and they had counsellors as wise as those of these days, and they all, verily, thought our marriage good and lawful. Therefore I marvel greatly at the inventions now brought against me. If you have found any dishonor in my conduct, then am I content to depart; but if none there be, then I beseech you thus humbly to let me remain in my proper state.”

The queen then rose up in tears, and making a low obeisance to the king, she walked out of court; nor would she return, even though the crier again called her name. Nor would she ever more attend these evil councils, but waited in patient silence the coming of her dread doom. Nor did she display any enmity to the boastful Anne Boleyn, who did most indecently declare her growing power over the fickle fancies of the cruel king. Save only on one occasion, did Queen Catharine give to her intimation that she was aware of her ambitious views. The queen was once playing cards with Anne Boleyn, when she thus addressed her: “My lady Anne, you have the good hap ever to stop at a king; but you are like others, you will have all or none.”

At length, as Queen Catharine would not again appear in court, although several times summoned by the loud voice of the crier, King Henry, in his rage, sent Cardinal Wolsey and others to the queen, to have a private interview with her. Catharine was engaged with her ladies in needlework at the time, to while away her tedious hours, for the cruel king had removed the Princess Mary from her mother, nor would any tears avail the lonely, neglected wife, though she wrote most tender letters to the king begging him to let her behold her child. As the prelates entered the apartment where Queen Catharine and her ladies were occupied with their embroidery, the queen rose to meet them, having a skein of white silk around her neck, and apologizing for the manner of their unceremonious reception. “You see,” said Catharine, pointing to the skein of silk, “our humble employment with my maids; and yet, save these, I have no other counsellors in England, and those in Spain on whom I could rely are far away.”

“If it please your Grace,” replied Wolsey, “we would speak with you alone.”

“My lord,” answered the queen, with a proud innocence, “if you have anything to say, speak it openly before these folk; I would all the world should see and hear it.”

Whereupon Wolsey began to address her in Latin, in which language she was well skilled; but she said humbly: “Pray, my good lord, speak to me in English, for I can, thank God, understand English, though I do know some Latin.”

The queen then led the cardinals into her withdrawing-room, and it is recorded of this conference, that she did so set forth her cause that they would not henceforth decide against her.

But chafing at the long pontifical delays, King Henry determined to take the matter into his own hands. He had used every device to induce the queen to consent to the divorce; and had by bribes and threats obtained from most of the universities of Europe opinions that the marriage was illegal.

King Henry then sent a message to Queen Catharine, who was at that time residing at Greenwich Palace, entreating her, for the quieting of his conscience, that she would refer the matter to arbitration. Catharine replied: “God grant my husband a quiet conscience; but I mean to abide by no decision excepting that of Rome.”

This answer so enraged the king that he took the queen to Windsor Castle, and then himself departing on some excuse, he sent authoritative commands to her that she should leave forever the royal palace.

“He is my husband, and it is my duty to obey him,” said the injured and faithful wife; “but though I go hence at his bidding, I am his wife, and for him will I pray.”

King Henry had previously endeavored to have Catharine persuaded to enter a convent; and in view of such an event, his sensitive conscience had required him to apply to the ablest canonists in Rome to give him their opinions on the three following questions: 1. Whether, if a wife were to enter a convent, the Pope could not, in the plenitude of his power, authorize the husband to marry again. 2. Whether, if the husband were to enter a religious order that he might induce his wife to do the same, he might not be afterwards released from his vow and at liberty to marry. 3. Whether, for reasons of state, the Pope could not license a king to have, like the ancient patriarchs, two wives, of whom one only should be acknowledged and enjoy the honors of royalty. Rather convincing proofs, truly, that the compunctions of conscience of this royal hypocrite were a hollow sham!

After her expulsion from her husband’s court, Catharine first went to her manor of the More, in Hertfordshire; and then settled at Ampthill, from whence she wrote to Pope Clement, informing him of her banishment from the royal court. As the Pope would not sanction the divorce, but instead issued a bull of excommunication against the royal rebel, the king, in 1533, dissolved his own wedlock by a decision pronounced in a court held by Archbishop Cranmer. Some historians state that he had married Anne Boleyn previously to the time when the divorce was pronounced.

When the news of this double insult reached poor Catharine, she was lying upon a sick-bed, worn out with sorrow. In vain had she pleaded to be allowed to see her only child, the Princess Mary, for one last farewell. And now her agonized mother’s heart is wrung with added woe. Lord Montjoy, her former page, was deputed to bear to her the minutes of the infamous conference, by whose decision she was degraded from the rank of queen of England to that of dowager-princess of Wales.

Rising from her couch and seizing her pen, she drew it through the words “princess-dowager,” and exclaimed to those who had brought to her this insulting document: “So I return the minutes; and I desire ye to say to his Grace, my husband, Catharine, his faithful consort, is his lawful queen; and for no earthly consideration will she consent to be called out of her name.”

Catharine afterwards removed to the Bishop of Lincoln’s palace of Bungen. By the king’s orders, she was deprived of most of her servants, because she would be waited on by no one who did not address her as queen. She was next removed to Kimbolton Castle, though Henry’s first orders had been to take her to Fotheringay Castle, a place notorious for its bad air. But Catharine had declared that she would not go there “unless drawn with ropes,” and so she had been sent to Kimbolton.

King Henry also withheld her income, due from her jointure as Arthur’s widow; and notwithstanding the noble portion which she had brought as her dower, she was allowed to suffer for the very necessaries of life, and even a new gown was obtained on trust, as her will shows. When one of her servants, in a rage at her inhuman treatment, execrated the perfidious Anne, Catharine gently chided her, saying: “Hold, hold! curse her not, for in a short time you will have good reason to pity her!”

As death rapidly approached the heart-broken Catharine, she welcomed the summons as a joyful release from her earthly unutterable woe. A few days before she expired, she dictated the following touching words to the base husband who had so atrociously wronged her.

“My Lord and Dear Husband: I commend me unto you. The hour of my death draweth fast on, and my case being such, the tender love I owe you forceth me with a few words, to put you in remembrance of the health and safeguard of your soul, which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and tendering of your own body, for which you have cast me into many miseries and yourself into many cares. For my part I do pardon you all, yea, I do wish and devoutly pray God that He will also pardon you. For the rest I commend unto you Mary, our daughter, beseeching you to be a good father unto her, as I heretofore desired. I entreat you also on behalf of my maids, to give them marriage portions which is not much, they being but three. For all my other servants I solicit a year’s pay more than their due, lest they should be unprovided for. Lastly do I vow that mine eyes desire you above all things.”

Catharine of Aragon breathed her last Jan. 7, 1536. Although it was said that King Henry shed tears over her last pathetic letter, which he received a short time before her death, yet it is also stated that he sent his lawyer to endeavor to seize upon her little property and try to escape paying her trifling legacies and debts.

On the day of her burial, King Henry wore mourning, but Anne Boleyn clothed herself and all her ladies in yellow, exclaiming, “Now am I queen! I am grieved, not that she is dead, but for the vaunting of the good end she made.”

Neither King Henry’s arrogant power nor Anne Boleyn’s pernicious influence could prevent the widespread and lasting effect of the Christian death-bed of Catharine. At length some dared to suggest to King Henry, “that it would become his greatness to rear a stately monument to her memory,” whereupon the beautiful abbey-church of Peterborough, where her remains were placed, was spared from destruction at the period of the suppression of the monasteries, and was endowed and established as the see of Peterborough.

The life of the woman who had supplanted her was short and full of sorrow. Three years only elapsed after Henry had married Anne Boleyn, and only four months after Catharine had sent him her dying forgiveness, when her exulting rival met her awful doom.

Already had King Henry cast his eyes upon Jane Seymour, and on the 15th of May, 1536, the sentence upon the queen was pronounced. Wolsey, who had suggested and aided the divorce of Catharine, had fallen under the disfavor of Anne, and through her influence he was overthrown and died in disgrace. And now Anne herself was to suffer the penalty of her wicked ambition. On the 19th of May, 1536, Anne Boleyn was led out upon Tower Green, and a blow from the executioner ended her eventful, but brief life.

“It is done!” cried the inhuman Henry, as he heard the cannon which was the signal that the tragedy was over; “that is an end of the matter. Unleash the dogs, and let us follow the stag.”

Thus ended the life of Anne Boleyn, and on the next day King Henry VIII. was married to his third wife, Jane Seymour.