TE.

The golden gallery, in which the tourney of the poets was to take place,
presented to-day a truly enchanting and fairy-like aspect. Mirrors
of gigantic size, set in broad gilt frames, ornamented with the moat
perfect carved work, covered the walls, and threw back, a thousand
times reflected, the enormous chandeliers which, with their hundreds and
hundreds of candles, shed the light of day in the vast hall. Here and
there were seen, arranged in front of the mirrors, clusters of the
rarest and choicest flowers, which poured through the hall their
fragrance, stupefying and yet so enchanting, and outshone in brilliancy
of colors even the Turkish carpet, which stretched through the whole
room and changed the floor into one immense flower-bed. Between the
clumps of flowers were seen tables with golden vases, in which were
refreshing beverages; while at the other end of the enormous gallery
stood a gigantic sideboard, which contained the choicest and rarest
dishes. At present the doors of the sideboard, which, when open, formed
a room of itself, were closed.

They had not yet come to the material enjoyments; they were still
occupied in absorbing the spiritual. The brilliant and select company
that filled the hall was still for some time condemned to be silent, and
to shut up within them their laughter and gossip, their backbiting and
slander, their flattery and hypocrisy.

Just now a pause ensued. The king, with Croke, had recited to his court
a scene from "Antigone"; and they were just taking breath from the
wonderful and exalted enjoyment of having just heard a language of which
they understood not a word, but which they found to be very beautiful,
since the king admired it.

Henry the Eighth had again leaned back on his golden throne, and,
panting, rested from his prodigious exertion; and while he rested and
dreamed, an invisible band played a piece of music composed by the king
himself, and which, with its serious and solemn movement, strangely
contrasted with this room so brilliant and cheerful--with this splendid,
laughing and jesting assembly.

For the king had bidden them amuse themselves and be gay; to give
themselves up to unrestrained chit-chat. It was, therefore, natural for
them to laugh, and to appear not to notice the king's exhaustion and
repose.

Besides, they had not for a long time seen Henry so cheerful, so full of
youthful life, so sparkling with wit and humor, as on this evening. His
mouth