of mind, and a constant terror, that would be perfectly unbearable. . . . . Could the best and kindest of us who depart from the earth have an opportunity of revisiting it, I suppose he or she would have a pang of mortification at finding how soon our survivors were consoled. And so Sir Pitt was forgotten-like the kindest and best of us-only a few weeks sooner." Not in such an old-fashioned thing as constancy: "Perhaps in Vanity Fair there are no better satires than letters. Take a bundle of your dear friend's of ten years back-your dear friend whom you hate now. Look at a pile of your sister's how you clung to each other till you quarreled about the twenty pound legacy! Get down the round-hand scrawls of your son, who has half-broken your heart with selfish undutifulness since or a parcel of your own, breathing endless ardor and love eternal, which were sent back by your mistress when she married the nabob-your mistress, for whom you now care no more than for Queen Elizabeth. Vows, love, promises, confidences, gratitude, how queerly they read after a while! . . . . The best ink for Vanity Fair use would be one that faded utterly in a couple of days, and left the paper clean and blank, so that you might write on it to somebody else." like, without the romance and the sentiment of sacrifice-who strive, fast, watch, and suffer, unpitied; and fade away ignobly and unknown. The hidden and awful wisdom which apportions the destinies of mankind is pleased so to humiliate and cast down the tender, good, and wise; and to set up the selfish, the foolish, or the wicked. 'Vanity of vanities, is all vanity.'" Oh! what a dreary book! Give us its narrative, its comedy, its brilliant jesting and wit, and let us laugh and be merry; but spare us these reflections, O bitter cynic! if you would not drive us to despair. The grave irony that praises baseness, or the grave censure that condemns it, leaves us equally helpless and hopeless if you show us no way of escape. When did the bitterness of the fruit ever prevent men from clutching at the fair outside? We want something better, something substantial on which to rest and feed, in the place of this universal negation, this desolate hollowness and barrenness of life. Human nature is bad enough; but while God reigns over the world, and while his Spirit is abroad in it, we rejoice to think that glimmerings of truth and trust and kindness, of faithful service But we must eat the fruit of these and disinterested love, are ever breaking ways, my brothers: through the darkness, witnesses of that gracious Presence which offers light and peace to all. There is a better and brighter tone in The Newcomes, due perhaps to those Sol "The bustle, and triumph, and laughter, and gayety which Vanity Fair exhibits in public, do not always pursue the performer into private life and the most dreary depression of spirits and dismal repentances sometimes overcome him. . . . . The success and pleasure of yester-omons, the critics, against whose verdict on his former work the author jeers in his day becomes of very small account when a certain (albeit uncertain) morrow is in view, about introduction. The narrative is less effecwhich all of us must some day or other be spe- tively told, but there is more variety and culating. O brother, wearer of motley! are less cynicism. Points which are touched there not moments when one grows sick of with bitter irony in one, are softened into grinning and tumbling, and the jingling of cap pathos in the other. Characters are not and bells? This, dear friends and companions, so completely separated into milk-andis my amiable object-to walk with you through the Fair, to examine the shops and the shows water and sauce piquante. We are given there; and that we should all come home after something to admire or love in the Colothe flare, and the noise, and the gayety, and be nel and Ethel, even in Clive and Lord perfectly miserable in private." Kew, and in Miss Honeyman, J. J. Ridley, and Madame de Florac. Nay, we find to our surprise, that there is such a thing as constancy and disinterestedness in affection; that it is possible for a younger brother to rejoice when the earl, his senior, recovers from the effects of a duel; more surprising still, we are told that there is something higher than the world's customs and' maxims, with which the world is at odds: How should we not be miserable and depressed, when good people are the only ones in this upside-down world who do not eat the fruit of their own ways? How many are destined "to perform cheerless duties; to watch by thankless sick-beds; to suffer the harassment and tyranny of querulous disappointed old age! How many thousands of people are there, women for the most part, who are doomed to endure this long slavery!-who are hospital nurses without wages-sisters of charity, if you "It is an old saying that we forget nothing; as people in fever begin suddenly to talk the language of their infancy, we are stricken by 1861.] lose those we love?" memory sometimes, and old affections rush back | live in it.) As to poor, weak, womanly on us as vivid as in the time when they were Clive, his utmost heroism is to bear the our daily talk, when their presence gladdened destiny he can never conquer. Lord our eyes, when their accents thrilled in our Kew's return to better thoughts, after ears, when with passionate tears and grief we his duel, is well and happily told: neverflung ourselves upon their hopeless corpses. Parting is death, at least as far as life is con- theless, we do not believe in Lord Kew; cerned. A passion comes to an end,....and we do not believe that a young man can we see it no more: but it has been part of our range through every form of sensuality "If love lives through from earliest boyhood, and yet remain souls, and it is eternal." In one all life; and survives through all sorrow; and "simple, kindly, and modest." remains steadfast with us through all changes; respect we entirely agree with Thackeray; and in all darkness of spirit burns brightly; we do not want sermons in novels, but and, if we die, deplores us forever, and loves we want the very thing he never gives still equally; and exists with the very last gasp us-a purer atmosphere to breathe. If and throb of the faithful bosom, whence it passes with the pure soul beyond death-surely it the novel-reader catches any thing from shall be immortal? Though we who remain the novelist, he does it by sympathy, not are separated from it, is it not ours in heaven? by reflection; and in vain is the writer's If we love still those we lose, can we altogether touching pathos or cynical wisdom, whilst, surrounded by hazy views of right, and open tolerance of wrong, we grope with him through the black mist of worldli ness, which, like a sooty London fog, If hangs over all his pictures of life. there is one truth which he is in earnest to proclaim in The Newcomes, it is this, that marriage without love is the seed of misery and ruin: yet he should rather have said that marriage without the qualities that excite love is the real source of misery. Men and women are not so unhappily constituted that, when thrown into that close relationship, they should not learn to look with kindness on each other, if there be aught to inspire kindBut we can not reform this great Here on one side is Self and Ambition and Ad- ness. vancement; and Right and Love on the other. social evil, while the influences that minWhich shall we let to triumph for ourselves?-ister to it remain unchanged. Are wowhich for our children ?" This is very beautiful. Again: "Oh! to think of a generous nature, and the world and nothing but the world to occupy it of a brave intellect, and the milliner's bandboxes, and the scandal of the coteries, and the fiddle faddle etiquette of the court for its sole exercise!—of the rush and hurry from entertainment to entertainment, of the prayerless rest at night, and the awaking to a godless morrow." "This book is not a sermon, except where it can not help itself, and the speaker pursuing the destiny of his narrative finds such a homily before him. O friend! in your life and mine, don't we light upon such sermons daily? don't we see at home as well as among our neighbors that battle betwixt Evil and Good? and yetThis is brave, and yet Thackeray does not surfeit us with any overwhelming quantity of Right and Love. It is disappointing to have no higher ideal of manhood than the nobleminded simpleton Colonel Newcome, the generous but weak and undisciplined Clive, or the kind-hearted roué Lord Kew. Thackeray seems unable to realize the union of strength and tenderness, of good principles and gay geniality. If any one is excellent, we must expect him to be weak or blundering; if any one is clever and agreeable, we must excuse him for being dissipated. When Ethel has struggled out of the abyss of vanity and selfishness, there is not a man in the book who is fit to touch her hand, (we except the Colonel and J. J. Ridley, who escape the world's brand, only as being unfit to men to bring their whole hearts to the altar, while men bring the burnt-out cinders of theirs? While men are thoughtless, selfish, and sensual, are women to be disinterested and pure? While men love wine and gambling, and the nymphs of the opera, and the gold that supplies these pleasures, are women not to love dress and diamonds, fine houses and carriages, and the rank and fashion which they symbolize? There is no remedy for the evil Thackeray deplores, except the higher standard which he never gives us. Let us rejoice if, scared by his terrible picture, one victim here and there may escape the dark abyss; au reste, let us take up his writings in our tired hours, as a source of infinite amusement, rapidly turning over the pages that bring reflections rather depressing than hopeful. (TO BE CONCLUDED.) From Bentley's Miscellany. THE CONSTABLE O F THE TOWER. AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. BY WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH. XVI. derous coffin was removed to the privychamber, and set upon a large frame IN WHAT MANNER THE OBSEQUIES OF KING HENRY VIII. WERE CEL-Covered with cloth of gold, where it EBRATED.-SHOWING HOW THE FUNERAL PROCESSION SET FORTH FROM THE PALACE AT WESTMINSTER. remained for five days; during which time lights were constantly burning within the chamber, a watch kept night and day by thirty gentlemen of the privychamber, and masses and orisons offered for the repose of the soul of the departed monarch by the chaplains. THE time appointed for placing the late King within the tomb now drew nigh, and as the obsequies were the most magnificent ever celebrated in this country, or perhaps in any other, we may be excused for dwelling upon them at some Meanwhile, all the approaches to the length; the rather, that besides present- chapel within the palace were hung with ing a very striking illustration of the black, and garnished with escutcheons of customs of an age that delighted in the King's arms, descents, and marriages; shows and solemnities of all kinds, the while in the chapel itself the floor and extraordinary honors paid to Henry on walls were covered with black cloth, the his interment, prove the estimation in sides and ceiling set with banners and which his memory was held by his standards of Saint George, and the high subjects; and that notwithstanding the altar covered with black velvet, and tyranny of his rule, he was regarded as a adorned with magnificent plate and jewmighty monarch. By its unprecedented els. In the midst of the sacred apartsplendor, his burial worthily closed a reign which was one long pageant-a pageant for the most part gorgeous; sometimes gloomy, tragical, and even awful; but ever grand and imposing. Luckily, ample materials for accurate description are provided for us, and we shall avail ourselves freely of them, in order to present a full account of the most remarkable Royal Funeral on record. ment, surrounded by barriers, clothed with black, with a small altar at its foot, adorned like the high altar with plate and jewels, was set a superb catafalque, garnished with pensils and escutcheons, and having at each corner the banner of a saint beaten in fine gold upon damask. A majesty of rich cloth of gold, with a valance of black silk fringed with black silk and gold, canopied this catafalque, which was lighted by four-score square tapers, each two feet in length, and containing altogether two thousand pounds weight of wax. Embalmed by apothecaries and surgeons of greatest skill in the art, wrapped in cerecloth of many folds, and in an outer cover of cloth of vairy and velvet, bound with cords of silk, the corpse of the In regard to some of the accessories puissant monarch was at first laid out on here particularized, or which will be subthe couch whereon he had expired, with sequently mentioned, it may be remarked, a scroll sewn on the breast containing his that the "banner," which could be borne titles and the date of his demise, written by none of inferior degree to a banneret, in large and small characters. The body was square in form, and displayed the was next cased in lead, and deposited in arms of the sovereign all over it. The a second coffin of oak, elaborately sculp-"standard" differed in shape from the tured, and of enormous size. Enveloped in a pall of blue velvet, whereon was laid a silver cross, the pon banner, being much longer, and slit at the extremity. This ensign did not display armorial bearings. The "pennon" was less than the standard, rounded at the extremity, and charged with arms. "Bannerols" were banners of great width, representing alliances and descents. "Pensils" were small flags shaped like the vanes on pinnacles. Banners of saints and images were still used at the time of Henry's interment, when, as will be seen, many of the rites of the Church of Rome were observed. On Wednesday, second of February, 1547, being Candlemas-day, during the night, the coffin, having been covered with a rich pall of cloth of tissue, crossed with white tissue, and garnished with escutcheons of the King's arms, was removed with great ceremony and reverence to the chapel, where it was placed on the catafalque, all the tapers about which had been previously lighted. A rich cloth of gold, adorned with precious stones, was then thrown over the coffin. On the day after the removal of the royal corpse, the Marquis of Dorset, as chief mourner, with twelve other noblemen, foremost among whom were the Earls of Arundel, Oxford, Shrewsbury, Derby, and Sussex, assembled in the pallet-chamber, arrayed in sable weeds, with hoods over their heads, and thence proceeded in order, two and two, to the chapel-the chief mourner marching first, with his train borne after him. Officers of arms and gentlemen ushers headed the solemn procession, which was closed by the vice-chamberlain and other officials, all in suits of woe. On arriving at the catafalque, the Marquis of Dorset knelt down at its head, and his companions on either side of it. Then Norroy, king of arms, appearing at the door of the choir, cried with a loud voice: "Of your charity pray for the soul of the high and most mighty Prince, our late sovereign lord and King Henry VIII." Next, Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, Tunstal, Bishop of Durham, and Bonner, Bishop of London, came forth from the revestry in their full robes, and proceeding to the high altar, a solemn requiem was sung, the whole choir joining in the hymn. Here the body remained for three days, constant watch being kept about it, and the tapers continuing ever burning. The solemnities connected with the burial were to occupy as many more days. The royal corpse was to be conveyed with all possible ceremony to Windsor Castle. The first day's halt was to be at the convent of Sion. On the second day, Windsor was to be reached. On the third day, the interment was to take place in Saint George's Chapel. At an early hour on the morning of Monday, fourteenth February, the solemn ceremonial began. The shades of night had not yet wholly fled, but abundance of flaming torches cast a strange and lurid light on the gates, towers, and windows of the palace, and on the numerous dusky groups collected in its courts. Before the great hall door was drawn up a right noble funeral chariot, whereunto were harnessed seven Flanders horses of the largest size, wholly trapped in black velvet down to the pasterns, each horse bearing four escutcheons of the late King's arms, beaten in fine gold upon double sarcenet, upon his trappings, and having a shaffron of the King's arms on his head. The car was marvelous to behold. It was of immense size, and its wheels, being thickly gilt, looked as if made of burnished gold. The lower part of the vehicle was hung with blue velvet, reaching to the ground between the wheels; and the upper part consisted of a stupendous canopy, supported by four pillars overlaid with cloth of gold, the canopy being covered with the same stuff, and having in the midst of it a richly gilt dome. Within the car was laid a thick mattress of cloth of gold and tissue fringed with blue silk and gold. After the funeral-car had thus taken up its station, there issued from the chapel a solemn train, consisting of mitred prelates in their copes, and temporal lords in mourning habits, the Bishops walking two and two, and reciting prayers as they moved along. Then came the coffin, borne by sixteen stout yeomen of the guard, under a rich canopy of blue velvet fringed with silk and gold, sustained by blue staves with tops of gold, each staff being borne by a baron-namely, the Lords Abergavenny, Conyers, Latimer, Fitzwalter, Bray, and Cromwell. After the coffin followed the Marquis of Dorset and the twelve mourners, the latter walking two and two. Many torch-bearers attended the procession, the greater number marching on either side of the body. When the coffin had been reverently placed within the chariot, a pall of cloth of gold was cast over it. Then was brought forward an object, considered the grand triumph of the show, which excited wonder and admiration in all who looked upon it. This was an effigy of the departed monarch, beautifully sculptured in wood by the most skillful carver of the day, and painted by a hand no less cunning than that of Holbein himself. Bedecked in Henry's own habiliments of cloth of gold and velvet, enriched with precious stones of all kinds, this image had a marvelous and life-like effect. In the right hand was placed a golden scepter, while the left sustained the orb of the world with a cross. Upon the head was set a crown imperial of inestimable value. Over the shoulders was the collar of the Garter, and below the knee was the lesser badge of the order as worn by the King himself in his lifetime. The attitude of the figure was noble and commanding, and exactly like that of the imperious monarch. Borne by the three gigantic warders of the Tower, who seemed not a little proud of their office, this image was placed in the chariot under the superintendence of Fowler and other gentlemen of the privy-chamber, its feet resting upon a cushion of cloth of gold, and its upright position being secured by silken bands fastened to the four pillars of the car. The effigy of the King being fixed in its place, six bannerols of marriages and descents were hung on either side of the chariot, and one bannerol at each end. All being now arranged, Sir Anthony Denny and Sir William Herbert, chief gentlemen of the privy-chamber, entered the car, stationing themselves, the one at the head of the coffin, and the other at its foot. During these preparations, which occupied a considerable time, a vast crowd had collected within the precincts of the palace, and this assemblage began now to manifest impatience in various ways. Even the solemnity of the occasion did not prevent many quarrels and scuffles, which the halberdiers and mounted pursuivants of arms strove in vain to check. As the time advanced, and the crowd grew denser, these disturbances became more frequent, and the guard had enough to do to keep the tumultuous and noisy throng outside the barriers, which extended from the palace-gates beyond Charing-cross, the whole of this space being filled by countless spectators, while every window was occupied, and every roof had its cluster of human beings. Just as the bell of Westminster Abbey tolled forth the hour of eight, the great bell of Saint Paul's, never rung save on the death or funeral of a monarch, began its awful boom, and amidst the slow and solemn sounding of bells from every adjacent steeple, coupled with the rolling of muffled drums, the funeral procession set forth from the courts of the palace. First rode two porters of the King's house, bearing long black staves; after them came the sergeant of the vestry, with the verger; next, the cross, with the children, clerks, and priests of the chapel, in their surplices, singing orisons. On either side of this train, from the cross to the dean of the chapel, walked two hundred and fifty poor men, in long mourning-gowns and hoods, having badges on the left shoulder-the red and white cross, in a sun shining, with the crown imperial above it. Each of these men carried a long blazing torch, and the number of these flambeaux made an extraordinary. show. Two carts laden with additional torches for use during the progress of the procession, attended them. This division was closed by the bearer of the Dragon standard, with a sergeant-at-arms holding a mace on either side of him. Backward and forward along the line rode mounted pursuivants to keep order. Next came a long train of harbingers, servants of ambassadors, trumpeters, chaplains, esquires, and officers of the household, according to degree. After this miscellaneous troop came the standard of the Greyhound, borne by Sir Nicholas Stanley, with a sergeant-of-arms on either side. Next followed the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London, and after them the knights bannerets, chaplains of dignity, and all those of the King's household who were knights, with other notable strangers. This division was under the conduct of two heralds and other officers, who rode from standard to standard to keep order. Next came the standard of the Lion, borne by Lord Windsor, hooded and trapped, and attended by two sergeants with maces. He was followed by the lower council, walking two and two; by the lords of the council; and by a long line of noble strangers and ambassadors. With the ambassador of the Emperor Charles V. came the Archbishop of Can |