back at the foot of the scaffold, and the executioner was hidden under it.

Egmont had at first desired to make a speech to the people from the scaffold; but when the bishop represented to him that he would either not be heard, or if he were heard, the present disposition of the people would be likely to cause acts of violence, which would ruin his friends; he then gave up the design. For several moments he walked up and down upon the scaffold, with a noble resolution, and complained that it was not allowed him to die a more honourable death for his king. Until the last moment, he had not believed that the king would in reality treat him with such severity; he thought that the king would not allow it to go further than the mere terror of execution. As the last moment approached when he was to receive the last sacrament, as he looked around with a stern countenance, and nothing followed, he turned to Julian Romero, and demanded of him once more, if no pardon was to be hoped for? Julian Romero shrugged his shoulders, looked to the ground, and was silent. Then Egmont gnashed his teeth, threw aside his mantle, kneeled upon the cushion, and prepared for the last prayer. The bishop allowed him to kiss the crucifix, and gave him the last ointment; after which the count made a signal for him to leave the scaffold. Immediately he drew a silk cap over his eyes, and awaited his death-stroke.

Over the body and the streaming blood, a black cloth was immediately thrown. All Brussels, that formed one crowd around the scaffold, felt the fatal blow. Loud sobs and cries interrupted the gloomy silence. The Duke of Alva who witnessed the execution from a window, wiped his eyes. Soon after followed the Count of Horn, who, more passionate than his friend, and having more reasons of hatred towards the king, had received the sentence with less calmness than he, although culpable in an inferior degree. He had allowed himself to use improper language against the king, and it was with difficulty that the bishop had persuaded him to make a better use of his last moments; at last he col

lected himself and confessed his sins before the bishop, which he had at first refused.

Accompanied by Don Julian Romero and the other two, he ascended the scaffold. In passing by, he saluted many of his friends. He walked untied, as Egmont had done, dressed in black, wearing upon his head a cap of the same colour, after the fashion of Milan. Having ascended, he threw a glance upon the corpse covered by the cloth, and asked of the by-standers, whether that was the body of his friend. Having received an affirmative answer, he spoke several words in Spanish, threw aside his cloak, and knelt on the cushion. All uttered loud cries as he received the deathblow. Both heads were stuck upon poles, and were planted above the scaffold, where they remained until three o'clock in the afternoon, when they were taken down and deposited in leaden coffins.

The presence of so many spies and tyrants that surrounded the scaffold, could not prevent the citizens of Brussels from dipping their handkerchiefs into the down-streaming blood, and taking home with them this dear relic.

THE SMOKING CABINET.

H

ISTORY confirms the remark of Burke, that "kings are fond of low company." Louis XI., Peter the Great, Louis XVI., and a score of other sovereigns could be enumerated, whose well-known habits present striking illustrations of this tendency of royal tastes. Hence it happens that the monarchical form of government is rather favourable to the exertion of an underhand influence in the most important concerns of the state. The royal favourite, or the royal favourite's cousin often carries a measure by dint of intrigue, which the wisest council, or the most experienced and able minister might have arged in vain. Authentic accounts of this species of politicai manoeuvring should by no means be neglected by the careful student of history, inasmuch as they explain historical phenomena which would otherwise be wholly inexplicable. Among the irresponsible cabinets by whom princes have been managed, there is none more curious than the smoking party of Frederick William II., father of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia. For the entertainment of our readers, we venture to copy from Campbell's recent Life of Frederick, the following graphic account of this singular cabal, which existed during the greater part of the reign of Frederick William II.; but was summarily abolished by his son, who equally disliked an intriguing cabinet and a smoking party.

"According to the usual routine, the king went, in summer at seven, in winter at five, to the evening party so celebrated under the name of "Tabacks-collegium," as to deserve a page in the history of Prussia. It may not be amiss to observe that Frederick 1. had been accustomed to have the same kind of smoking parties, only with this difference, that in his time the etiquette of the court was not to be disturbed even by clouds of tobacco smoke, as may be seen in a pic