If Mary did not inherit the beauty either of her father or mother, she had many of the qualities by which both were characterised. She had the courage, firmness, and obstinacy of Henry VIII., and she had all the virtues belonging to the unfortunate Katherine of Aragon. Her conduct under the trials to which she was exposed was most exemplary, and even her enemies could find no fault with it. Firmly attached to the principles of the Catholic religion, in which she had been brought up, she never wavered for a moment in her adherence to her faith, but would have suffered martyrdom rather than renounce it. When commanded by the council under Edward VI., to desist from the performance of mass, she still continued to celebrate it in private. Mary spoke well in public, and possessed a voice so sonorous that she could be distinctly heard by a large assemblage. Her stirring address to the citizens at Guildhall gave the _coup de grace_ to Wyat’s formidable rebellion. She also possessed many accomplishments, playing so well upon the lute and spinet as to astonish and delight professed musicians by her skill. She also greatly excelled in embroidery, and in other female work. Her intellectual accomplishments were of a high order, though they did not excite so much astonishment in those days of learned ladies as they would in our own. She spoke French and Spanish perfectly, and read Italian with ease, though she did not speak it. She was also mistress of Latin. At the request of Catherine Parr, she translated into English Erasmus’s Paraphrase of the Gospel of St. John. Since her accession to the throne, all her time, except the hours of devotion, had been given to affairs of state. She arose at daybreak, performed her religious duties, heard mass, and thenceforward devoted herself to public business, being easy of access to all who desired to approach her. Bigoted Mary was, intolerant and severe towards those who differed with her on points of faith; but she had many redeeming qualities, which should have saved her from the obloquy to which she has been subjected. Such was Mary when she met her affianced husband on that lovely moonlight night in the garden of Wolvesey Castle—a night ever after cherished in her memory as the happiest of her existence. Blissful, indeed, were her feelings as she paced to and fro upon that soft sward with her royal lover, listening to the vows he breathed in low and passionate tones, and believing all he said. Philip felt his power, and exercised it. From that moment to the latest of her existence, she fondly loved him. Ingrate that he was, he but poorly requited her affection. We shall not record the words he uttered. Idle words were they, such as feigned passion has ever at command, but they produced the effect designed. Suspicious as Mary was by nature, she had no suspicion now. She persuaded herself that Heaven had rewarded her at last for all her sufferings by bestowing upon her a fond and faithful spouse.