of the stake, there were thousands who felt the shuddering dread of Cranmer. The triumphant cry of Latimer could reach only hearts as bold as his own; while the sad pathos of the Primate's humiliation and repentance struck chords of sympathy and pity in the hearts of all. It is from that moment that we may trace the bitter remembrance of the blood shed in the cause of Rome, which, however partial and unjust it may seem to an historic observer, still lies graven deep in the temper of the English people.'
Of Mary herself, by far the most charitable, and not improbably the truest account, is, that from a period shortly after her marriage with Philip, she ceased to be fully responsible for her actions. Early in 1556 De Noailles, the French Ambassador, describes her as 'in a continual state of excitement because she could not enjoy either the presence of her husband or the affection of her subjects'; and again he says: 'She sleeps but three or four hours, and spends the rest of her time in weeping, and regretting, and writing to bring her husband back, and anger against her subjects.' She is described as constantly breaking out into the most violent and abusive language when speaking of her heretical and disaffected subjects; and Henry II. (of France), in writing to De Noailles, speaks of her as 'possédée et maniée.' And when at last there came upon her the evident disgust and desertion of Philip, the constantly-recurring libels and lampoons which manifested the growing hatred of her subjects, and, finally, the disgrace and danger involved in the loss of Calais, she sank into a condition of dull, miserable despondency and gloom, from which one might suppose that even death itself must have been a welcome deliverance. There is, in fact, a good deal of contemporary evidence
