What a fine thing it would be, by-and-by, to sit on the throne of England in the place of the faded old Queen, six years older than her husband, the magnificent monarch Henry the Eighth! Evidently he tired of the wife of his youth, and plotted separation from her who had faithfully loved and obeyed him more than twenty years. The tale of divorce is too long to tell here; enough that it was done by the help of the Church, and Queen Katharine was ordered to leave the court. She made a dignified speech before her judges, declaring herself daughter of a King and still Queen of England, and should so continue to the end of her days. She then retired to the palace assigned her, degraded--no, not degraded, but shorn of her rank, and yet loving him without change. Her last message written in banishment was, "I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things." Henry admitted that Kate had been the best of wives; but the old love was off, the new one was on, and a private marriage with Anne Boleyn took place--just when and where is not known. The coronation was proclaimed May, 1534, and London, in sleepless preparation, made ready to hail Anne Boleyn Queen Consort of England. The Tower was at that time palace as well as prison and fortress, and the Thames was crowded with every sort of craft, full of crews who flocked to behold the like of which has not been seen before or since in that greatest city on the earth. Bells chimed, music floated over the water, and thousands of flags saluted when Anne came out of Greenwich Palace clad in cloth of gold, attended by her maidens--a beauteous sight to see. When she reached the Tower in the state barge a mighty peal of guns was shot off. The tremendous wave of sound broke over the barriers of Katharine's retreat, and oh, how the salute smote the ear of the neglected and forgotten Queen, where she sat mourning for her dead sons and worse than dead husband! The roofs and bridges were alive with men and boys, musicians playing divers instruments, and making a far-reaching melody of trumpets. The Lord Mayor and officers of the city were in crimson and scarlet, with gold chains round their necks, and there was no end of velvet, ermine, and jewels. Carpets of Persia and India hung from windows and balconies, and there was such splendor as tongue cannot tell, or minstrel sing, or painter paint. Henry met the bride at the water's edge, showy in white and green, the livery colors of his family. We can imagine he looked right kingly, for he was of heroic height, and had not reached the swinish shape that in later years made him the likeness of a prize pig at the fair, a monstrous brute. He kissed Anne, called her the desire of his heart and the delight of his eyes, and vowed to love her and none other while woods grow and rivers run to the sea.