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118 that you might just as well attempt to chain the winds, or dam a mountain torrent, as to keep him quiet, sober, and virtuous. As he had fallen in with the sordid, scraping views of the old Henry, he now, as an adroit courtier, as readily encouraged the young man to sow his wild oats. Under his fostering hand, and followed and applauded by a shoal of other courtiers, who hailed with acclamation the opening reign of pleasure, Henry soon launched forth into an ocean of gaieties and courtly festivities which were enough to make his penurious father groan in his grave. Those rows of strong and capacious iron chests in the palace of Richmond, began now to open and shut quickly, and the riches of the first of the Tudors threatened "to make themselves wings and fly away."

One scene of pleasure and pageantry succeeded to another. Henry was charged from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head with ambition. He was burning to distinguish himself a hundred ways. He was proud of his own person, proud of his abilities for all purposes, proud of his learning, proud of his accomplishment in all chivalrous practices, proud of his position as one of the greatest monarchs in the world. He had therefore tilts and tournaments, dances and carousals, masquerades and huntings, in all of which he was determined to take the first place. To joust with the spear at the tournament, to fight with axes at the barriers, to lead the chase, and bring down his stag, all the ladies and the courtiers looking on in real or affected wonder; to figure in the dance or the mummery, to sing and play on musical instruments, to win at tennis or at chess, were so many modes in which his vanity indulged itself. Nor did he stop there. He entered the lists with men of learning, of science, and divinity. He wrote church music, which was sung in his chapel, and songs to popular airs, which were carolled in his halls; he competed in poetry with the brightest spirits of the age, and we have some fragments of his verse which are far from despicable. He discussed the beauties of the literature of Greece and Rome with his most learned men, and he entered eagerly into the religious questions of the age, a circumstance which afterwards led to the most remarkable consequences. He was at peace with all the world, but he believed he had a genius for war, and dreamed ever amid these frolics and carousals of his unripe years, of one day emulating the glories of the greatest Edwards and Henries.

All this made deep inroads into his parental treasures, but it augmented his popularity, and he vastly extended that by bringing to justice the two great extortioners of the last reign. To prepare the way for this, he appointed commissioners to hear the complaints of those who had suffered from the grievous exactions of the late reign; but these complaints were so loud and so universal that he was soon convinced that it would be impossible to make full restitution; and he therefore resolved to appease the injured in some degree by punishing the injurers. A number of the most notorious informers were therefore seized, set on horses, and paraded through the streets of London, on the 6th of June, with their faces to the horses' tails. That done, they were set in the pillory, and left to the vengeance of the people, who so maltreated them that they all died soon after in prison. The fate of the two main instruments of popular oppression was suspended by the coronation, which took place on the 24th of the same month.

Henry had been married to Catherine of Arragon on the 3rd of the month at Greenwich. Whatever pretences Henry made in after years of his scruples about this marriage—Catherine having been the wife of his elder brother, Prince Arthur—he seems to have felt or expressed none now. Archbishop Warham had protested against it on that ground in Henry VII.'s time; but though the princess was eight years older than himself, there is every reason to believe that Henry was now anxious for the match. Catherine was at this time very agreeable in person, and was distinguished for the excellence of her disposition and the spotless purity and modesty of her life. She was the daughter of one of the most powerful sovereigns of Europe; and the alliance of Spain was held to be essentially desirable to counteract the power of France. Besides this, the princess had a large dower, which must be restored if she were allowed to return home. The majority of his council, therefore, zealously concurred with him in his wish to complete this marriage; and his grandmother, the sagacious Countess of Richmond, was one of its warmest advocates. "There were few women," says Lord Herbert, "who could compete with Queen Catherine when in her prime; and Henry himself, writing to her father a short time after the marriage, sufficiently expresses his satisfaction at the union:—"As regards that sincere love which we have to the most serene queen, our consort, her eminent virtues daily more shine forth, blossom, and increase so much, that if we were still free, her would we yet choose for our wife before all others." The conduct of Henry for many years, indeed, bore out this profession.

The coronation was conducted with groat splendour; but the rejoicings for it were interrupted by the death of the Countess of Richmond, which took place on the 29th of June, only five days afterwards. Whilst the people were in high good humour with these galas, the Court proceeded to the trials of Dudley and Empson. If they had been fairly tried and condemned for their long career of villany and extortion, nothing could have been more satisfactory to the public. But these two men were lawyers, and they were no sooner brought into court than they confounded their judges by the force of the plea they set up. To condemn them, they must still more condemn the king's late father; for they were prepared to prove the notorious fact that they had only been his obedient instruments; and that whatever they had done, they had done at his express command, and for his benefit. He was the man who had received the gross amount of the wealth wrested from the groaning people. With the caution of astute men, who knew they were engaged in a hazardous business, they had taken care to preserve all the orders and warrants of the king for their transactions.

Empson, who was as plausible as he was daring and impudent, was no sooner put on his defence before the council than he produced his guarantees and vouchers, and threw the whole burden of the guilt on the late monarch. "The crime," he then said, "for which we are accused, and for which we are to be tried, is of a very extraordinary nature. Others are arraigned for violating