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A SCENE IN THE STAR CHAMBER. 9 From the British Magazine.

A SCENE IN THE STAR CHAMBER.

BY MISS JEWSBURY.

In reading historical novels, one is prone to fancy that all times were better than those which happen to be passing over our heads; the “good old times,” the “days of chivalry,” and expressions of similar import, are familiar to our ears, and invested with the hues of poetry, are, on paper at least, dear to our imaginations. The costume of past ages seems so much more splendid, their circumstances appear more exciting, and the characters more imposing than those peculiar to our own, that we are tempted to regret our present condition. But when we read history itself, the medal is reversed. The harsh facts that imagination had either kept out of sight, or enveloped in a golden haze, stand out in their native ugliness. The splendour of a court does not, we perceive, atone for barbarism and want in the country at large; and the heroes that we fancied preux chevaliers, are too often discovered to be right noble savages. The stern old barons who have charmed us as portraits, we no longer wish to have known as originals; and we cease to envy their ladies their jewels, their galliards, or their beef steak breakfasts. We acquire a lively sense of the superiority of carpets over strewn rushes; of beds with sheets over beds without; of carriages over packsaddles and even pillions; of libraries of useful knowledge over manuscript legends of fabulous saints. We begin to apprehend, moreover, that bravery may be attired in scarlet broadcloth as well as in armour, plate or chain; that wisdom may exist in the head of him who shaves every day instead of wearing a beard down to his girdle; and that if necessitated to lose a limb, one would prefer a modern surgeon to an ancient amputator who cauterized with boiling pitch!

The perusal of political history imparts a strong impression of the greater comfort of living when laws, like a lady's drawers, have been somewhat “set to rights,” than when a man might lose his head before he precisely knew why, and his property without the pleasure of knowing its destination. Yes, it is the privilege of faithful history to excite gratitude on behalf of the great men who lived in stormy days, and in rude or semicivilized ages struggled with their own ignorance and that of their compeers, -but never envy. Query : Would any delicate lady like to exchange her musical soiree to join queen Elizabeth at the Bear Gardens? Would any lord chancellor like to enact one of Wolsey's three hours ' kneelings to his king? Does any court favourite desire the duke of Buckingham's honours, remembering Felton's stab over the shoulder? What modern Mr. Pym would relish having to return thanks on behalf of the House of Commons to a company of tradesmens ' wives who had sent up a petition? What modern offender would like to take a turn or two on the rack prior to being hanged? Does any patriot sigh to be enabled to give emphasis to the line “friends, countrymen, lend me your ears,” by having his own cut off? Does any council board long for the power of so capacitating him? Lastly, do good men of any denomination wish they had existed in those good old times when the “sword of the spirit” meant an Andrew Ferrara, when the pulpits echoed with railing, and “Judah vexed Ephraim, and Ephraim envied Judah?” Or did the golden age lie in those remoter periods when no truth was discussed, because all truth was hid in darkness, and the whole duty of man lay in believing a lie, or supporting a fraud? “Let us justly appreciate the real benefits our ancestors possessed at their due value, and we shall find ourselves very unwilling to exchange ours for those of Henry VIII., the dungeon and the block; for those of Mary with the rack and the faggot; for those of the heroic and splendid Elizabeth with all her talents; for the James's or the Charles's; or the remoter eras of seignorage, vassalage, of intestine broils, maddening factions, desolation, and civil war.”

Will the good natured reader, then, who may happen to agree with the writer in preferring times present to times past, yield an occasional ten minutes to an occasional sketch, illustrative of various eras in English history? Presuming that the said good natured reader has given his consent, proceed we now to a scene in the star chamber in the time of Charles I.

“Well, Mr. Attorney General,” said the earl of Dorset, “well, Mr. Attorney General, having taken minutes for a decree forbidding the vintners to dress victuals in their houses, till such time as they shall submit to the new tax on their retailed wines, what further remaineth for the morning's occupation? It weareth, methinks, towards noon.”

Would your lordship that the council heard the certificates of all and sundry who have enlarged the city of London, contrary to the late proclamation? Or there are the informations against divers person's of quality for preferring to reside in town when it is his majesty's pleasure that they should away to their several counties. “Pray, Mr. Attorney General, craving the license of interrupting you, what may be this plea.. of Sherfield, the recorder of Salisbury? ”

“Marry, my lord, it is a plea why money should not chink in his majesty's exchequer; the man hath contumaciously taken down the church windows, painted with holy mysteries, and hath replaced the same with plain glass, for the which he hath been most justly fined. But I pray you let us despatch the case of that notorious evil minded, stiff necked spirit, William