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'That," replied the monarch, extending his hand familiarly, and laying it upon the shoulder of his favorite, " can never be— we know each other too well for that!"

An expression difficult to describe, flashed from the eyes of Becket-it lasted only for an instant; like lightning from a summer's cloud-it was seen and disappeared.

"Say no more," continued the speaker; "I must have a man on whose fidelity I can rely, to fill the primate's place—and upon whom can I rely, if not on thee?"

"Sire!"

"God's wot!"—his usual

"It is settled," interrupted Henry. oath—“ the more thou ravest against this dignity, the more I am resolved to confer it on thee: thou fearest, I warrant me, that I shall encroach too much upon the revenues; fear not that— enough shall be left thee to keep good cheer in Canterbury when I visit thee!"

With these words, the king left the cabinet, leaving the future primate of England absorbed in thought—alone.

CHAPTER XI.

Murder, most foul, as in the best it is;

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural !

SHAKSPEARE.

How often has it been observed, that women possess more tact in discerning character than men; and never was the observation more justified, than in the result of the unwise choice which Henry, despite the resistance of Becket, and the advice of his wife and mothor, made of the former to fill the vacant primacy.

No sooner was the new archbishop installed, and the act irrevocable, than the new prelate resigned the great seal, which he had held so long to the satisfaction of his master: a new, and let

us hope a better, spirit had come over him. As a Saxon, he felt for the wrongs of his people, who were oppressed by laws to which their forefathers had been strangers. The Norman yoke weighed heavily upon them, and the only shield against their masters, was in the privileges and immunities of the church.

Henry, who was perhaps the most magnificent prince of his age, had been accustomed, amongst other means of replenishing his exchequer to hold the richest benefices in the kingdom vacant -and employ the revenues for his own purposes, to the manifest injury of the poor, whose chief dependence lay in the charities of the church.

Becket,—who, during his chancellorship, had never once objected to the legality of the proceeding-was no sooner installed in his new dignity, than he loudly protested; and, despite the indignant remonstrance of the king, proceeded to fill the vacant benefices. True, Henry withheld the temporals of the livings, but the primate unhesitatingly filled up the spiritual cures.

The dispute was at its height, when Becket withdrew his adherence to the celebrated constitution of Clarendon. This filled the measure of the king's resentment, and Becket, to avoid the danger with which the fury of the monarch threatened him, retired to the continent, whence he fulminated decrees against all who ventured to oppose him, excommunicating the prelates who had crowned the heir of the monarchy, whom his father impolitically caused to be anointed during his own lifetime.

It is far from the purpose of our present memoir to trace the progress of the dispute between the primate and the king. The latter, moved, perhaps, by recollections of his sins, in a fit of penitence and illness recalled the archbishop from his exile; but the quarrel broke out again with redoubled violence, and the bold defender of the liberties of the church and the people—for at that time the two causes were the same-fell, savagely murdered, at the foot of the high altar of Canterbury Cathedral, on the 31st of December, 1171.

The assassins were four barons of the king's bed-chamber, who were incited to the deed, if not by the express command of the

king, at least by the hasty words which escaped from him in their presence.

Their names were Fitz-Urse, Button, Monoille, and Tracy. The tumult into which England was thrown by the assassination of the primate, was only appeased by Henry performing a degrading penance at the tomb of his canonized servant: the haughty Henry absolutely submitted to be whipped by the monks of the cathedral, in expiation of his crime.

During these events, Eleanora was in her own dominions, with her son Richard. The country was governed nominally in her name, but in reality by the Norman soldiers of her husbanda state of things equally displeasing to herself and son, who had still greater cause of complaint: Henry withholding from him his wife, the Princess Alice, who, there is too much reason to believe, fell a victim to the violent passions of her father-in-law.

On Henry's arrival in Guienne, Richard, who had so lately been crowned, and Geoffrey, the younger brother, fled to Paris to demand protection from the French king against the tyranny of their father, who withheld from them the inheritance of their mother. When Henry II. heard this, his indignation knew no bounds. He arrested Eleanora in the midst of her own subjects, and imprisoned both his wife and his daughter-in-law, the Princess Marguerite-who had mortally offended him by refusing to be crowned with her husband, Henry, because the ceremony was not performed by his tutor and friend, Becket.

The imprisonment of the queen lasted upwards of sixteen years she was confided to the care of Glanville, the Lord Justiciary of England-a person devoted to the interests of her husband.

During this long period, the Princess Alice was the mistress of her father-in-law; yet such was the dread inspired by his severity, that few dared even to whisper the secret.

But if her husband was thus harsh to the woman to whom he owed so much, his sons, at least, remained faithful to the persecuted Eleanora; and many were the insurrections which-in her native dominions-they headed in her favor.

During one of these, the eldest, Prince Henry, died.

By the death of his brother, Richard now became heir to the English crown. The melancholy event had reconciled Henry and his queen; for about that time she was restored to a certain degree of liberty.

Richard demanded his wife, and, on being refused, flew to arms; and this time succeeded in obtaining possession of his maternal inheritance—a triumph which so enraged his father, that he once more caused Eleanora to be arrested.

The rumor of his divorce was renewed; and there is little doubt, could he have obtained it from the Court of Rome, that Henry would have shared his throne with his unworthy daughterin-law, who was the willing partner of his crimes. So incensed was Henry with his son Richard, whose successes in Aquitaine had humbled him, that he thought seriously, at one time, of leaving the crown to his favorite, John; but the King of France answered the appeal of the rightful heir, and Henry, after an unsuccessful expedition, agreed to meet his son.

It was the first time he had been vanquished, and it crushed his proud spirit to the dust.

What rendered his humiliation the more bitter, was, that his favorite, John, for whose advancement he had contemplated the injustice, had deserted from his standard to the enemy. From the moment he heard it, the king never smiled again.

HENRY, feeling that his end was approaching, commanded his attendants to convey him to the cathedral of Chinon, where, there is every reason to believe, he received the last rites of the church.

The only one of his children present at his last moments was the son of his mistress, Rosamond; and the once powerful Henry felt keenly the desertion in which he had been placed. Vainly his illegitimate offspring tried to console him.

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Speak not of consolation!" he exclaimed; "I am cursed— cursed in the offspring of the woman to whom I gave my hand without my heart! What could I expect from such a marriage but a race of parricides ?"

"Speak not of them, Geoffrey !" interrupted the dying monarch; "or if thou dost, let it be to join with me in cursing them!"

The son of Rosamond had inherited much of his mother's gentleness of disposition: he had been too long a resident at the court of his father, not to know how deep had been the injury which he had inflicted upon the honor and happiness of Richard. It was not without a shudder that he listened to the passionate exclamations of the dying monarch, who called upon him to curse his brother Richard.

"Father," he said, "I must speak!"

"This is no idle moment; and would the task had fallen to any lot but mine, to remind you of the cause which Richard Plantagenet has had for disobedience !"