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FROM
y i33 v. T. TJ*il s ey
and
. %rnsmisfflirra
TRAVELS, DESCRIPTIONS,
TALES AND HISTORICAL SKETCHES.
GRACE GREENWOOD.
)
TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS, BY DEVERETT.X.
VIGNETTE, BY W. T. RICHARDS.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LV.
*1Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
LEANDER K. LIPPINCOTT,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT T rI E
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION,.............................5
STRATFORD UPON AVON. — Shakspeare, ...	17
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. — Byron,.................29
SHERWOOD FOREST. — Robin Hood, ....	49
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE. — Alice Vane, ...	79
WARWICK CASTLE. — Guy op Warwick, .	.	.101
LINCOLN CATHEDRAL AND YORK MINSTER.—
Queen Philippa,......................123
KENILWORTH CASTLE. — Little Rosamond, .	. 143
LONDON AND THE TOWER. — Sir Walter Ra-
leigh, ...............................165
THE TOWER, CONTINUED. — Ladies Jane and
Catharine Grey,.......................187
THE TOWER, CONTINUED. — Arabella Stuart, . 209
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. — The Two Wills, .	. 227
THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER. — The Pro-
rogation, ............................245
(3)!Mntatian.INTRODUCTION.
When in my childhood I read the charming
stories of Mrs. Sherwood and Miss Edgeworth,
and Walter Scott’s Tales of a Grandfather,
there sprang up in my heart a great longing to
visit those noble old countries over the sea from
whence our forefathers came; and when in my
girlhood, at school, I read the histories of Eng-
land, Ireland, Scotland, France, and ancient
Rome, stronger and stronger grew that longing,
and every year that passed after only added to
its intensity, until at last I resolved that, God
willing, I would see those foreign lands and
those peoples about which I had thought and
dreamed so long. I have always noticed that
a resolution formed in this manner is very sure
to be carried out. There were many obstacles
in the way of my darling plan; but my heart and
will were in it; and so it came about that, on
the 29th of May, ^852, I sailed from New York
(7)8
INTRODUCTION.
on the steamship Atlantic for Liverpool, Eng-
land.
I never shall forget that day. It was very
calm and sunny; the skies shed no tears over our
going, and the sea seemed to invite us out on to
its smooth and smiling expanse. They say that
I bore up very well in parting with the friends
who went with me on board the ship ; but
when they were gone, and we had put off from
shore, all seemed to grow dark and desolate
around me. I felt like a poor little child left
for the first time among strangers, and for a
while I fear I behaved like a child; for I bowed
my head upon my hands and cried bitterly, and
thought that I had been rash and foolish in
leaving my pleasant valley home and all my
dear ones to seek my fortune, as it were, in that
great, strange world over the sea. But presently
I said to myself, “ This will never do; we have
undertaken a brave thing, and we must carry it
bravely through.” So, dashing away my tears,
1 choked down my childish feelings, and never
let them overcome me again.
For the first half of the voyage the weather
continued pleasant and all ^went well. WeINTRODUCTION.
9
became accustomed to our life on shipboard, and
endeavored to make ourselves at home. But it
was very, very dull, I assure you, though we tried
hard to amuse ourselves by walking and talking,
reading and playing games. Some ate and drank
a great deal, “ just to pass away the time,” they
said; though, if you had seen them at the table,
you would have supposed they had always been
used to eating five hearty meals a day, they took
to it so naturally. We were all so anxious to
be entertained that we laughed at jokes that we
would never have thought of laughing at on
shore ; indeed, I am afraid that two or three
young gentlemen grew rather conceited and fan-
cied themselves very clever and witty because
we laughed at their nonsense when we had
nothing else to do. There was one of these, I
remember, who one morning formed the bright
idea of pinning a large card, with the word
“ Engaged ” printed on it, belonging to his state
room, on to the coat skirt of another gentleman ;
but he so enjoyed his own trick beforehand that
he went round among all the passengers to tell
them what he was going to do; and the conse-
quence was, that some one slyly pinned just such10
INTRODUCTION
a card to his coat skirt; and we were ail laughing
at him when he thought we were laughing at his
foolish joke.
There was an elderly gentleman who had a
spyglass, and was always on the lookout for
icebergs and whales. One day, after standing
for hours on the wheel house, patiently watching,
he shouted out that there was a great iceberg in
sight. Though we all became excited in a mo-
ment and eager to behold this new wonder of
the great deep, we could not make out any thing
distinctly; but the elderly gentleman declared
that he saw it as plainly as possible, sparkling
in the noonday sun, and a large polar bear sit-
ting on the topmost point. But when the cap-
tain levelled his glass in the direction pointed
out he laughed, and said there was nothing there
but a great white cloud. As for whales, there
was but one seen during the voyage, and that
came spouting along one morning when the
elderly gentleman was down below eating his
lunch. He was terribly vexed at losing the sight
after having watched for it so long, and really
seemed to take a spite against whales, for he
never looked out for them after, but turnedINTRODUCTION.
11
his attention to Mother Carey’s chickens and
porpoises. The first are little sea birds that
sailors have a high regard for and consider sa-
cred. If a passenger should shoot one, they
would expect a tremendous storm to come up
directly and the vessel to be wrecked in a few
hours. Of course this is a foolish superstition.
Porpoises are great, ugly, clumsy fish, that gen-
erally swim in large companies, or “ schools,” as
they are called, and roll and tumble about in an
extraordinary manner.
Hour after hour of the long, bright days, when
we were out of sight of land, I used to sit on
deck, looking over the sea, watching the great
green waves, with their white tops flashing in
the sun, as they rolled far, far away, till they
seemed to break against the sky. I knew it was
very grand and sublime ; but I hated it all the
while, and would have given more for a few rods
of firm earth, grassy, and shady, and flowery,
than for all the seas that ever rolled under the
sun. Though I kept up, and went to my meals,
and made believe I enjoyed them ; though I
walked the deck every day as if I were working
my passage over; though I laughed at every12
INTRODUCTION.
body’s jokes, which was hardest of all, —yet
I never felt happy or well, and always longed
for land.
One day, much to my surprise, I spied a real
live butterfly on one of the spars of the vessel.
It had been blown out from the shore, the cap-
tain said; but its wings were wet with spray
and torn by the winds, and it did not live many
minutes after it lit.
I thought to myself that perhaps this poor
little creature had been born in some secluded
cottage garden, brought up on the sweetest honey
and the purest dew, cradled by night in a jas-
mine flower, and rocked by soft summer winds,
or cosily couched in the heart of a rose, and sung
to sleep by a merry cricket; that perhaps she
had always been happy and contented till some
gossiping locust or vagrant humming bird had
filled her ears with fine stories of grander gar-
dens over the sea, and she had been seized with
a foolish longing for foreign travel, strange sights,
and adventures; that from this time she had
found her garden-home dull, her honey and dew
insipid, her rose-bed uncomfortable, the song of
her cricket-nurse harsh, till she could stand it noINTRODUCTION.
13
longer, but bravely flew off from shore, right
over that beautiful, sparkling sea. Then the
strong wind took her and whirled her on and on
through the salt ocean spray all day and all
night, till it left her at last, not in a foreign, fairy
garden, but on a great ship, which smelt of tar
instead of roses, and where she sunk fluttering
down on to the deck, and the small gold stars
died out of her azure wings, and she was soon
only a little heap of shining dust. Somehow I
did not feel in such good spirits about my own
travels after thinking out this story of the but-
terfly.
Finally there came on stormy weather. It
was rainy, windy, and cold, and the waves ran
mountain high. They said that the sea looked
very grand and terrible from the deck; but I
knew nothing of it, for I was down in the cabin,
prostrated with sea-sickness. I am not going to
describe this to you, dear children. There are
some dreadful things in this life which it is best
you should not know much about till you are
old and strong enough to bear them bravely; and
sea-sickness is one of these.
I remember that one day, when I was most ill14
INTRODUCTION.
and sad, a young lady came to the sofa on which
I lay, and bent over me, and talked for some
time kindly and cheerfully. I had seen her in
our own country, dressed very richly, and adorned
with flowers and jewels, standing before great
crowds of people, and singing as we fancy the
angels sing; but never had she seemed so beau-
tiful and so good as when smiling over my couch
and speaking such gentle, encouraging words to
me in my suffering. That lady’s name was
Jenny Lind.
There were several long, dark days when the
ship did nothing but roll, and pitch, and creak,
and every thing seemed turning upside down;
but, with patient waiting and enduring, all dark-
ness and trouble pass off at last. The day that
the glad cry of “ Land ahead! ” was heard the
sky grew clear, the sea smooth, and we sufferers
all got well.
I can never tell how rejoiced I was to feel the
ground under my feet again, nor how green, and
pleasant, and garden-like England looked to me.
It did not seem a strange country, even at first;
and I soon grew to love it and its kind, hos-
pitable people with all my heart. I presentlyINTRODUCTION.
15
went into the country to visit some friends who
lived in a very charming place. On my way
there, and, indeed, every where that I went in
England, I saw noble houses, parks, and gar-
dens, and pretty cottages, beautiful hedges and
lawns, grand old trees, and hosts on hosts of
flowers. I soon became quite contented and
happy; and I should have been very ungrateful
if I had felt otherwise, all was so delightful
about me, and every where I met such kind and
generous friends. I was sometimes sorry that I
could do so little and give so little in return for
this goodness. I could only love them and thank
God; but perhaps this was enough.
In the sketches which I now propose to write
I do not intend to give you a particular descrip-
tion of all my travels, but shall try to tell you
something interesting of the principal places I
visited, and of the distinguished men and women
who live or have lived in them. And so ends
my introduction.tratfarlt upn Ittntt.
SHAKSPEARE.SHAKSPEARE.
19
of friends into a quiet country village, and
stopped before a remarkably old and odd-looking
house, which, after gazing at very earnestly for a
while, we entered. We first passed through a20
STRATFORD UPON AVON.
room, which seemed built for a shop, into a
smaller apartment, containing a great deep fire-
place, with seats in each corner under the chim-
ney. We then ascended a narrow flight of stairs
to a chamber empty of every thing but a few
books and pictures, and with the walls and even
the ceiling written all over with visitors’ names.
Well, this queer old house is the house of the
great Shakspeare, and this little chamber is the
one in which he was born.
The English keep very sacredly the ancient,
weather-beaten, moss-grown building in which
their grandest poet first opened his baby eyes,
toddled about in as an infant, played in as a
boy, spent year after year in as a young man.
They are proud enough, all the world knows, of
many other things, but proudest of all of the
name and fame of Shakspeare. Among those
names written on the walls I found many fa-
mous men and women, and even some kings
and princes, though by far the greater part were
Smiths and Joneses, Robinsons and Jacksons,
Browns and Simps^jis — families which I think
must travel a great deal and very fast; for ISHAKSPEARE
21
saw their names every where I went in Europe,
though I was pretty sure I left them all in
America.
From the house we went to a lonely old
church on the banks of the river Avon, where,
in what is called the chancel, we saw the tomb
and the bust of Shakspeare.
When, my dear young readers, you are grown
to be men and women, you will doubtless read
the works of this poet; but in the mean time, as
we are at Stratford, perhaps you will be inter-
ested in hearing something of the man who has
made it such a famous place.
THE STORY OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
On the 26th day of April, 1564, (only think
how long ago!) one Mr. John Shakspeare and
his wife Mary presented themselves at the parish
church of Stratford upon Avon with a young
baby, whom they had christened William. The
parents were probably dressed in their best, and
brought a good number of friends with them.
The mother may have looked a little pale, and22
STRATFORD UPON AVON.
trembled, and wept somewhat with joy and
thankfulness. The father must have been proud
and happy ; for, though he had two little daugh-
ters, this was his first son ; but he doubtless
bore himself like a man on the occasion.
Mr. John Shakspeare was a respectable wool-
dealer and a magistrate; but his wife was of a
proud and wealthy family, — one of the Ardens
of Wilmecote,—and some of her friends thought
that she might have looked higher than a trades-
man. But I hope that she never felt so, nor
treated her husband any less kindly than if he
had been a lord.
Years went by, and the little William, or Will.,
as he was called, grew in beauty and in knowl-
edge. He was not so ruddy and robust as most
English boys; but he was well formed, active,
and spirited. He had a broad, high brow, great,
deep, thoughtful eyes, and a mouth full of sweet-
ness and pleasantness. Yet he was a strange,
wayward, wilful boy, who never took heartily to
work of any kind, and was never tired of read-
ing poetry, plays, romances, and history. He
loved to wander off alone in the fields and
w#ods, to listen to the winds and birds in theSHAKSPEARE.
23
trees, and the ripple and laughter of brooks
down rocks and glens ; and he sometimes might
have been overheard talking to himself and sing-
ing snatches of wild songs. He would lie for
hours on the banks of the Avon, watching the
shadows and the clouds, or idly plucking up
grass and daisies and flinging them on the little
river, while he dreamed out beautiful plays and
wonderful fairy tales ; and in stormy winter
nights he would sit in the great chimney corner
and tell strange, wild stories to his brothers and
sisters, till he made them laugh ^tnd cry, and
sometimes huddle together and cling about their
mother with fright and horror. He was his
mother’s darling child. She only understood
him, and knew all that was noble and beauti-
ful under his faults and strange ways ; yet she
was at times almost frightened to see how much
wit, and cleverness, and understanding the boy
had. When sometimes his father would scold
because William showed no inclination towards
the wool business or any business at all, and
would say that the lad would “ never come to
any good,” his mother always answered, with
a good deal of spirit, “ Our Will, is sure to24
STRATFORD UPON AVON.
make some noise in the world yet; now, mark
my words, John.”
But the neighbors all shook their heads wisely,
and said, u Mrs. Shakspeare is spoiling that boy;
he’ll never make the man his father is.”
I am sorry to say that, as he grew out of boy-
hood, the young poet fell into rather wild ways.
He was very witty and lively, and so was much
courted by gay company and exposed to many
temptations. He showed, too, that a great gen-
ius can be very foolish and imprudent, by marry-
ing, before he was eighteen, Miss Anne Hatha-
way — doubtless a worthy young woman in her
way, but not suited to William Shakspeare, it
seems, for he was not long happy with her. He
was obliged to leave his family and Stratford at
last very suddenly, and probably in the night
time, for having been engaged in poaching and
deer killing on the estate of one Sir Thomas
Lucy, a great man in those parts, who became
very much enraged against him. He went up to
London, and became a writer of plays and an
actor at the Globe Theatre. This was in the
latter part of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, or
“ good Queen Bess,” as she was called. SheSHAKSPEARE.
25
was a good sovereign on many accounts, but a
hard-hearted, vain, and passionate woman. She
loved to be feared, honored, and obeyed ; but,
better still, she loved to be flattered. When she
was young she was rather fine looking, and used
to spend many hours at the mirror adorning and
admiring herself; but, as she grew old, she grew
excessively ugly, till at last she took a vow never
to look in a glass again. After that, some of
her maids, who had a spite against her, were
mischievous enough to dress her hair in ridicu-
lous ways, and put the paint on her cheeks in
streaks and spots; so that she often was a hid-
eous object when she believed herself looking
charmingly.
This Queen was fond of the theatre, and ad-
mired William Shakspeare’s plays. She some-
times set him subjects. He wrote one of his
best plays for her, and paid her several beautiful
compliments. After the Queen had smiled on
him, all the noble ladies and gentlemen suddenly
found out that he was a great wit and genius,
and every body paid court to him. But the
royal favor never came to any thing more than
words. Her majesty never gave him titles, cas-STRATFORD UPON AVON.
ties, or estates; and I don’t suppose it ever en-
tered into her head to make him one of her
councillors. But perhaps it was as well for
him; for that was not altogether an agreeable
or comfortable office, the Queen being in the
habit of storming furiously at her ministers when
they ventured to differ from her—sometimes
jumping up and soundly boxing their ears.
It is not now known just what kind of a life
William Shakspeare led in London. His friend
Ben Jonson, a writer, praises him very much ,
and, as we can find no bad account of him, we
may safely conclude that he was not a bad man.
You know there are always plenty of people in
the world who are more ready to speak their
minds about their neighbors’ faults than to cor-
rect their own; so, if the poet had been very
immoral, it would surely have come down to us
in some way.
The great Elizabeth died a miserable old
woman at last-—left a thousand magnificent
dresses in her wardrobe, and not a friend to
weep over her grave ; for she had never loved
any one half so well as she loved herself
Soon after King James VI., of Scotland, cameSHAKSPEARE.
to the throne, William Shakspeare left London
and the theatre, and, with a little fortune that he
had made by his writings, went down to Strat-
ford, where he bought a place not far from the
old house, and lived very comfortably with his
family.
The neighbors said that he had turned out
better than they expected, but that he was still
far from equal to his father, honest John Shaks-
peare, the wool-dealer. He was never a great
man to them. Neighbors are always the last
people in the world to see a man’s greatness.
They never made a magistrate of him in Strat-
ford ; and he died as he had lived — simple Will.
Shakspeare.
But since that time his fame has filled the
world, until it is every where allowed that he is
the greatest poet that ever existed. There is no
book of poetry that has ever been written that
contains so many wise, and beautiful, and won-
derful things as the works of Shakspeare, as you
will find when you are old enough to read them
for yourselves. When that time comes, let me
advise you to be sure and get an edition without28
STRATFORD UPON AVON.
any notes. There are some passages in Shaks-
peare of which it is difficult to understand the
meaning; and if you read the notes you are sure
never to get to the bottom of it, they make the
matter so much worse.j&uiateuii Sllilmj.
15YR0N.BYRON,
31
Birmingham, where I was visiting.
Newstead Abbey, once the home of the cele-
brated Lord Byron, was founded by Henry II.
Its monks were of the order of St. Augustine,
very rich and learned men, high in the favor of32
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
the king. This abbey stands in the most beau-
tiful part of Nottinghamshire, in the very heart
of old Sherwood Forest. It is a noble building,
though now partly in ruins. It is in the midst
of a fine park, and is surrounded by noble trees,
among which are some yews full seven hundred
years old. There is a lovely lake in front of the
abbey, a stream and waterfall, and back of it
gardens, fountains, walks, long shady avenues,
fish-ponds, and almost every out-door luxury you
can imagine. Ah, they understood how to en-
joy the good things of this life, those same holy
old monks. At the reformation, the abbey and
lands of Newstead were taken from the Roman
church and given to one Sir John Byron, a fa-
vorite of the king; and in the Byron family they
remained until the late Lord Byron sold them to
his friend Colonel Wildman. But, though it is
now repaired and splendidly fitted up as a gen-
tleman’s residence, Newstead Abbey would be a
place of little interest if it were not for the mem-
ory of the great poet who once owned jt.
The works of Lord Byron — some of which,
I am sorry to say, are not so good as they should
be — you will not read for years to come; butBYRON.
33
I think it is well you should know something
of the poet himself, that you may be better
able to judge of any of his writings which may
accidentally fall into your hands; and so I will
tell you
THE STORY OF LORD BYRON.
George Gordon Byron was born in London
January 22, 1788. His father was Captain By-
ron, and his mother Catharine Gordon, of Gight.
When George was about two years old his
parents removed to Aberdeen, in Scotland. Cap-
tain Byron and his wife were unfortunately not '
well suited to one another. They found that
they did not agree living together, and so agreed
to live apart. Yet they were not on very bad
terms with each other, but polite and even neigh-
borly, Captain Byron often dropping in to take
a cup of tea with his wife and little son in a
friendly way. Such a state of things would
seem rather strange to us; but people in high
life- have many ways which we common folks
find it hard to understand.
Mrs. Byron was a woman of most violent
334
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
temper, and, though a foolishly fond mother,
often harsh and impatient with her son, who
was a passionate, high-spirited boy. She used
to fly into a terrible fit of anger and storm away
at him whenever he did any thing wrong; and
this would rouse his pride and resentment. So
there were sometimes frightful scenes between
these two, who, after all, loved each other very
dearly.
George was, from his birth, lame from having
one of his feet deformed, and through all his
boyhood suffered a great deal from the efforts
made by the surgeons to put this foot into
shape ; but he is said to have borne his pain
with the utmost courage and patience. He had
a nurse, a very good young woman, named May
Gray, of whom he was very fond, and who used
always to dress his foot for him when the doctor
did not. After putting on the machines and
bandages at night, May would sit down beside
his bed and sing to him sweetly and soothingly?
and tell him stories and legends, or teach him to
repeat holy Psalms. In this way he learned a
great deal of the Bible. - When at last he had
fallen asleep, she would bend over his pillowBYRON.
35
and gaze on him as he lay with one delicate
hand under his flushed cheek — on his full, fair
brow, and clustering curls, and long, dark eye-
lashes, and proud, sweet lips; for George was a
very beautiful boy; and she would grieve that her
darling little master must suffer so much pain and
mortification from his deformed foot, till the tears
would drop from her eyes down on to his face,
and he would stir uneasily in his sleep. Then
she would go away softly and leave him to his
rest. Then, perhaps, Mrs. Byron would come in
to see him as he lay in his little crib; and, though
she may have beaten him violently only an hour
or two before, she would now, looking at his
noble head, and not seeing his poor foot, feel
such pride in his beauty that she would fall to
kissing and fondling him till she got him wide
awake, and poor May’s work had all to be done
over again.
When I was at Newstead I heard a funny
anecdote of little Byron and his nurse which
may amuse you.
When his foot was very bad she was in the
habit of carrying him about the house and gar-
den on her back. One day he wished her to36
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
take him with her to an out-house where hens
and pheasants were kept. He had on a fine
velvet suit, and it rained ; but he insisted that
he tvould see his “ pretty pheasants; ” so May
hoisted him on her shoulders and trotted off.
Just inside the door of this out-house there stood
a bin full of the feathers of hens, ducks, turkeys,
and pheasants; and it happened that May, in
her hurry to get in out of the rain, stumbled, and
pitched her little master right over her head into
this bin. Down, down he sunk, kicking and
choking; and when his nurse pulled him out he
looked so funny, with his wet, velvet clothes and
his curly head stuck all over with down and
feathers, that she broke into a merry fit of laugh-
ter. This threw George into such a terrific pas-
sion that he flew at her and fought like a little
cock-sparrow.
For several years George attended a grammar
school in Aberdeen, kept by one Master Bowers.
His schoolmates say of him that he was “ a live-
ly, warm-hearted, and spirited boy, passionate
and resentful, but affectionate and companion-
able — to a remarkable degree fearless and ven-
turous, and always more ready to give than to
take a blow.”BYRON.
37
We have seen that his unworthy father took
no care of him in his education and training;
he was never taught by his mother to control his
temper or curb his pride; he had little help from
any body in cultivating what was good and
putting down what was bad in his character;
so we must not blame him too harshly because
he was a wilful, wayward, and passionate boy.
Though quick at the studies that suited his
taste, George was not, in general, a forward and
ambitious scholar; indeed, he was nearly always
at the foot of his class; but at this school it was
the custom to alter the order of the classes
once in a while, so that the highest and lowest
boys would change places. When this hap-
pened the young poet would find himself at
the head; and then his master would laugh,
and say, slyly, “ Now, Georgie, my man, let me
see how soon you’ll be at the foot again.”
From Aberdeen George was removed by his
mother into the Highlands for the good of his
health, which was very delicate after an attack
of scarlet fever. Here he learned to love moun-
tains, waterfalls, dark glens, and the wild sea
shore. He would often wander off by himself,38
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
and sometimes get lost in the high heather or
stuck fast in a morass.
In his eleventh year George Byron’s grand-
uncle died, and he became Lord Byron, of New-
stead and Rochdale, in Lancashire. This was a
great change for the little lad — a greater change
than you, dear children, can understand in this
republican country of ours, where we have no
grand titles of this sort, where we don’t want
them, — at least we say so, — and where it is
certain we can’t get them. When first his name
was read aloud in school as “ Lord Byron,” and
he saw all his schoolfellows, with whom he had
so often frolicked and fought, open their eyes
wide, and look at him so still, and respectful,
and almost frightened, he turned pale and red,
and then burst into tears. In play-hours the
boys were so distant and deferential, or made
fun of him so maliciously, that he had little
pleasure in his new title ; and when he went
home he ran up to his mother and asked her if
she saw any difference in him since he had been
made a lord, as he didn’t see any himself.
It was in the joyous summer time that the *
young lord left Scotland, with his mother andBYRON.
39
nurse May, to take possession of the family estate,
of Newstead. In this journey they passed beautiful
Loch Leven, much fine scenery, and many noble
country seats ; but the thoughts of little George
were filled with glowing anticipations of the
grand old house to which he was going. When
they reached the Newstead toll-bar, and saw the
wide grounds and rich woods of the abbey
stretching out before them, Mrs. Byron pre-
tended not to know where they were, but said
to the woman of the toll-house, —
“ Pray, who owns this fine place ? ”
4< Why, my lady, it belonged to old Lord By-
ron, who died some months ago.”
“ And who is the next heir?” asked the
mother.
“ They say,” the woman answered, “ it is a
little boy who lives at Aberdeen.”
“ And this is he, bless him! ” cried out May
Gray, who could not restrain her delight any
longer, but turned and kissed the young lord at
her side with tears of joy in her eyes. Byron
returned the kiss in a proud, patronizing way he
had lately assumed, but with a curl of his red,40
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
handsome lip that seemed to say, “ What silly
creatures these women are ! ”
At Newstead George remained, enjoying the
grandeur of having a neglected estate and a
dilapidated old abbey of his own, and hearing
himself “ My lord-ed ” from morning to night
till he got used to it; for people will get used
to any great honor at last. You know we some-
times see, in our own country, captains, colonels,
and even generals, who after a while take their
titles so easily one would scarcely know them
from common men except on muster days.
Here, for some time, poor Byron suffered more
cruelly than ever with his foot; here his genius
first broke out into rhyme. I am very sorry to
be obliged to record that his first poem was a
naughty epigram on an old lady who, while on a
visit to his mother, had made some remark that
offended his little lordship; but he seems to have
been contented with this, and to have strung no
more rhymes for several years.
Byron had a half-sister, Augusta, of whom he
was very fond always. She was his playmate
at Newstead. I saw in the grounds an elm treeBYRON.
41
in the bark of which he once carved her name
with his own. Some of the letters yet remain.
After a year or two the Byrons left Newstead
for London, where the young lord was placed at
his studies under a tutor. His dear nurse, May
Gray, was then obliged to leave him and return
to Scotland. She was grieved to go, and he was
sad to part with hei. He gave her his own watch,
and a pretty, full-length miniature of himself,
and never forgot her love and faithfulness.
From London Byron went to the great school
at Harrow — a very beautiful place. Here,
though he often showed himself proud and
imperious, he was beloved and admired for what
was true and noble in his character.
There was at this school a fine, clever boy,
who was known as “ little Bob Peel.” One day
it happened that one of the older boys, a stout,
brutal fellow, undertook to make a “ fag ” — that
is, a sort of school slave — of young Peel; but
the little hero resisted with all his might. His
tyrant, however, soon conquered, and then pro-
ceeded to beat him in a most cruel manner. In
the midst of this, another boy, somewhat older
than Pee], but too small to hope to master the42
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
large boy, came running up, and, with tears in
his eyes and cheeks hot with indignation, asked
how many blows he meant to inflict.
u Why, what is that to you, you young ras-
cal ? ” was the reply.
“ Because, if you please,” said the noble lad,
would take half!”
This boy was afterwards the great Lord By-
ron ; little Bob was the great Sir Robert Peel;
but the big bully who beat them nobody knows
any thing about now.
From Harrow Byron went to Cambridge Col-
lege.
Here he published his first volume of poems,
which were not thought remarkably clever, even
for a lord. Indeed, the critics came down upon
them in a savage way, and thought, doubtless,
that they had made an end of the poor young
lordling. But no ; their abuse only did him
good and brought him out stronger than ever.
He came down upon the critics in his turn bit*
teriy and fiercely; and they soon found they had
brought a hornet’s nest about their ears when
they thought they were only demolishing a twit-
tering swallow’s nest.BYRON.
43
Byron spent some of his vacations at New-
stead, which, though in an almost ruined condi-
tion, he always loved. He had here a faithful
servant, “old Joe Murray,” of whom he was
very fond, and a noble Newfoundland dog, named
Boatswain, who was his favorite pet and play-
fellow. This dog was seized with madness,
and, after a great deal of suffering, which he
bore gently and patiently, died, much to the
grief of his master, who mourned for him as
for a dear friend, and erected over his grave a
beautiful marble monument, which is standing
to this day. It is related that, during the dread-
ful last illness of poor Boatswain, Byron would
sit by him in his paroxysms and tenderly wipe
the foam from his mouth.
After leaving college, Byron took his seat as a
peer of England in the House of Lords. Then
he went into London society, and became, I am
sorry to say, a very wild and extravagant young
man. But he grew more and more famous, till
all the world did all in their power to spoil him
with deference and flattery. He was especially
praised and petted by the ladies, who declared
that he was the handsomest, wittiest, and most44
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
interesting young lord that ever was seen. Men
were not so enthusiastic as all this; they some-
times called him a coxcomb, and did not account
him so very handsome or so wonderfully clever
after all.
Lord Byron next travelled on the continent of
Europe a year or two, and wrote the first part of
his great poem, Childe Harold. Then he re-
turned to England and married, but did not
settle down quietly and contentedly as he should
have done, but went on in his old, wild, reckless
way, and got deeper and deeper into debt, till
the friends of Lady Byron interfered, and she,
with her infant daughter, little Ada, went away
from her husband, never to return. Then, when
he was most desolate and desperate, every body
who had praised and flattered him when, per-
haps, he was no better than now, broke out
against him, and raised a perfect tempest of
blame and hatred about his head. This is the
way of the world, children, at least of the great
fashionable world, every where. Byron’s mother
was now dead; his sister Augusta was married;
his property was gone, for he was obliged to sell
dear old Newstead; so he resolved to leave Eng-BYRON.
4 5
land forever. He went down to Italy, where he
spent several years, writing great poems, but
living a most unhappy life. His troubles and
misfortunes had hardened and imbittered his
heart. He was sad and sometimes remorseful,
but never humble and repentant. He tried to
escape from the reproaches of his conscience in
pleasure, adventure, and dissipation ; and, be-
cause of the wrongs inflicted on him by a few,
he tried to hate all the world; but he could not
quite do this. There were times when the old
love for his country, his boyhood’s friends, his
sister, his wife, and little daughter Ada broke out
in sweet and sorrowful poetry, which one can
hardly read without tears. Even when his life
was most blamable he was often known to do
things which showed what generous and noble
impulses he had by nature. He was always
kind and charitable to the poor, and, though far
from rich, never refused to give to the truly needy
and suffering.
It is recorded of him that once, when passing
over the Alps on horseback, there came up a
terrific thunder storm. In the midst of it he
recollected that his guide was carrying for him46
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
a sword-cane, and, fearing that the lightning
might be attracted towards the poor Swiss lad
by the steel, took it away from him and carried
it himself.
But the last days of Lord Byron were the
noblest. He went into Greece in the year 1823.
and offered his services to the brave Greeks in
their struggle with the Turks for freedom. They
gratefully accepted his generous offer ; but he
never had the privilege of fighting and shedding
his noble blood in their righteous cause. At
Missolonghi he was taken ill of a fever, not
very violently, however, and there seemed little
danger at first; but he had not very skilful nurs-
ing or many comforts about him; and he had
several physicians, who were never done with
blood-letting; so it soon went hard with him,
and after a few days all hope was given up.
On the afternoon before he died, when he was
very weak, he called his faithful servant Fletcher
to him and gave him some last messages to his
wife, and daughter, and sister, but in such an in-
distinct voice that poor Fletcher could only make
out the names, “ Lady Byron,” “ Ada,” “ Augus-
ta.” When, weeping, he told his master that heBYRON.
47
had not understood any thing more, Byron
seemed much distressed, and said, —
“ What a pity! Then it is too late; all is
over.”
“ I hope not,” Fletcher answered; “ but the
Lord’s will be done.”
“ Yes, not mine,” said Byron, now subdued
and humble as a little child.
About six o’clock in the evening, after suffer-
ing great pain in his head, he grew very quiet,
and said, softly, “ Noiv I will go to sleep” And
he did fall asleep, but never to wake again in
this world.
Lord Byron’s body was taken to England and
buried in Hucknall Church, near Newstead. His
sister Augusta placed over his grave a small and
simple marble tablet, knowing that it was enough
for so great a poet. Only people who do nothing
to make a name for themselves while living need
great monuments when they are dead.
Within this year Ada Byron (Lady Lovelace)
has been laid by the side of her father.
In judging of the character of Lord Byron,
dear children, I trust that you will pity him,
even while you condemn his faults; for the48
NEW3TEAD ABBEY.
erring are always the most unhappy. Remember
that he had great and peculiar temptations ; that,
when a child, much harm was done to him, both
by too fond indulgence and too great severity;
and that, as he grew older, he was followed and
flattered as a handsome young nobleman and a
brilliant genius, till it was a wonder his head was
not completely turned. Reme^nber that he had
no kind, wise father, and no gentle, religious
mother, to teach him the right, to pray for him
and with him and help him to be good ; and, while
you are sorrowful for him that he so often went
astray and made a wrong use of his beautiful
talent, for your own happier condition, shielded
from the temptations of the great world, rank,
and flattery, and pleasure, — for your own
greater blessings in pleasant, peaceful homes,
and the love and watchful care of kind parents,
— thank God morning and night.IJjmnnnii /Brest.
ROBIN HOOD.
4ROBIN HOOD,
51
main of that prince of outlaws — bold Robin
Hood. There is little forest-land about there
now, — none, indeed, that we should so call,—
all the woods being enclosed in parks, and as
carefully kept as gardens. But, as I journeyedSHERWOOD FOREST.
52
through the country, my thoughts so went back
to the old, old time that I almost expected, when-
ever we passed a grove of trees or a shadowy
glen, to be suddenly surrounded by Robin Hood’s
merry men, armed with long bows and clad in
Lincoln-green, or to see Robin Hood himself
standing under an oak, sounding his silver bugle,
till the old woods rang to the brave blast and
echo answered far adown the glen.
You have all doubtless read many stories of
Robin Hood; but, if you will listen to mine, I
hope I shall be able to tell you some things that
you have never heard before.
Robert Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon, was born
at Locksley, in the county of Nottingham, about
the year 1160, in the reign of Henry II. He was
left an orphan in his childhood, and placed under
the guardianship of his uncle, the Abbot of St.
Mary’s, in York. This priest professed to be a
just and holy man ; but, as it often is when
people make great pretensions to piety, he was
far enough the other way. In those days priests
were greatly feared and honored, and could do
pretty much as they pleased. So the Abbot ofROBIN HOOD.
53
St. Mary’s, who was a hard, avaricious man,
found no difficulty in taking advantage of the
young Earl Robert. By such wily, wicked ways
as only bad priests know he took possession of
all his nephew’s estates and revenues one after
another, pretending that he only meant to take
care of them, lest Robert, whom he accused of
being a wild lad, should squander them in dissi-
pation. Robert bore this for a while, and tried
hard to keep on peaceable terms with his uncle ;
but the old man was very provoking. He would
sit in the refectory of the splendid abbey, at a
dinner table loaded with every luxury in the way
of food, served on massive gold and silver plate,
and with half a dozen bottles of good old wine
before him, and then lecture poor Robert upon
temperance, self-denial, and sober, godly living,
till Robert would smile grimly, and play with the
hilt of his dagger in a way that the venerable
abbot did not like.
When the Earl of Huntingdon came of age
there was not a handsomer or more gallant
young man among all the nobility and yeo-
manry of England. He was tall, straight, and
athletic, with a quick, bounding step, and a54
SHERWOOD FOREST.
brave, broad breast. He had a commanding but
pleasant voice, a hearty smile, clear, honest eyes,
ruddy cheeks and lips; and his head, which he
held rather haughtily, was crowned with cluster-
ing light-brown curls. Though belonging to a
proud, aristocratic family, — who, in tracing their
noble pedigree, could go back, back, till, for all I
know, they lost themselves and their reckoning
in the fogs of the first morning after the deluge,
— Robert was not an aristocrat. He sympa-
thized with the common people, in that day
shamefully imposed upon, taxed, and tyrannized
over by the bold barons and hard-hearted priests.
He joined in all their merry-makings, their man-
ly and warlike exercises. He became so skilful
with his bow that it is said he frequently sent
an arrow the distance of a mile. From among
his fiiends he selected four comrades, who were
always true to him — John Nailor, whom he
nicknamed “ Little John,” George-a-Green, Muck,
a miller’s son, and a jolly friar called Tuck, the
only priest Robert could ever abide.
One day a small sprig of the nobility, one Sir
Roger, of Doncaster, saw him mingling with the
honest yeomen in their sports, and sneered at hisROBIN HOOD.
55
vulgar tastes. Robert replied by challenging
him to a shooting match. Sir Roger’s arrow
missed the target altogether, and stuck fast in
the trunk of a tree some distance farther on.
Robert took aim at this shaft, and split it clean
up the middle. Then all the yeomen shouted
and laughed; and Sir Roger was so enraged
that he was foolish enough to accept a second
challenge to a wrestling match, in which Earl
Robert threw him so often that he never felt
fairly on his legs, but seemed always to be
bumping against the ground. At last his senses
were quite bumped out of him, and he lay stiff
and still. Earl Robert revived him and helped
him up; but he was mortified and sullen, and
ever after had a mean, bitter spite against his
brave conqueror.
It was not long after Robert came of age
before he was quite convinced that it was vain
to hope to get his property out of the close clutch
of his reverend relative. There was no use in
his appealing to the king. Henry II. was now
dead, and Richard I., called “ the lion-hearted,”
had ascended the throne. But in a short time,,
thinking he had a call to go on a crusade to the56
SHERWOOD FOREST.
Holy Land to fight the Saracens, he left the gov-
ernment to the care of Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of
Durham, who was soon supplanted by a bolder
and stronger man — Longchamp, Bishop of Ely
and Chancellor of England, who usurped all the
power and dignity of a monarch, and taxed and
tyrannized to his bad heart’s content.
So, getting desperate, Earl Robert called to-
gether the bravest of his friends, threw up his
title, assumed the name of Robin Hood, and
took to the forest, where he led from that time
a daring and dangerous, but an independent and
merry life. I know it is quite too late to think
of making my hero out a good, honest man,
though Mr. Abbott has done wonders in that
way for Bonaparte ; for long, long ago it got
noised about that Robin Hood was a robber
and outlaw. But in those old days, when kings
robbed, and barons robbed, and priests robbed
worse than all, the thieving business was a
good deal more respectable than it is now;
and the only difference between Robin Hood
and those others was, that he took only from
the rich and powerful, while they robbed the
poor and defenceless.ROBIN HOOD.
57
The brave outlaw was joined by the best
archers in the country, to the number of a
hundred stout men and bold. These he clad
all in Lincoln-green — a dress which made it
hard to distinguish them at a little distance from
the forest foliage amid which they lurked. When
any one of these men was killed or took the
strange notion to return to his friends and turn
honest man again, Robin Hood would set out
on a recruiting expedition. Wherever he heard
of a young man of uncommon strength and
hardihood he would go, disguised, and try him
in wrestling and archery; then, if satisfied, per-
suade the yeoman to enlist. This was most often
easily done ; for those were hard times for the
people, and Robin Hood had a flattering tongue.
So he kept himself in his hundred archers, and
with them haunted the merry greenwood —
Barnsdale, in Yorkshire, Plompton Park, in
Cumberland, and Sherwood, in Nottingham-
shire. Past or through those forests ran the
king’s highways, whereon traders, nobles, and
priests were obliged to travel; but, after Rob-
in Hood became sovereign of them, few jour-
neys could be safely made in their vicinity.58
SHERWOOD FOREST.
Sometimes, just when travellers began to breathe
freely and speak above a whisper, thinking them-
selves out of danger, Robin was down upon
them, and they were obliged to come down
with their money or stand as targets for his
archers. Knowing that it was not good for
holy men to be cumbered with too much world-
ly wealth, he always made free with the purses
of rich priests. The old Abbot of St. Mary’s
himself, who once ventured to pass through
Sherwood with a rich store of gold and silver,
guarded by two hundred men, fell into his hands.
After helping himself to the old miser’s money,
which was rightly his own, he set his lordship on
his horse, with his face towards the tail, and so
sent him off’ towards York, fretting and fuming,
and (some of Robin’s men said) swearing; but
that could hardly have been. The money so
wrested from rich monks and arrogant barons
Robin Hood constantly shared with the poor,
and so filled many a sad home with mirth and
comfort, and made glad and grateful the hearts
of the widow and the fatherless. He was always
tender and kind to women and children. Noble
ladies, with retinues and treasures, could pass inROBIN HOOD.
59
safety through his forests. One time a young
dandy nobleman, meaning to take advantage of
the generous outlaw’s gallantry, undertook to
pass through Sherwood, leading a train, in the
disguise of a lady; but at the first sight of a
band of archers he showed himself so much
more of a coward than a woman that Little
John suspected him, tore off his veil, and hood,
and velvet mantle, and made him pay dearly
for the insult he had put upon womankind.
Of the thousand and one adventures related
of Robin Hood I have only room in this short
history for two ; the first showing how he made
a friend—the second how he won a wife.
One morning, near Sherwood Forest, Robin
Hood met a young man walking slowly, droop-
ing his head and sighing deeply; and he thought
to himself, “ This poor fellow must be melan-
choly mad or in love ; in either case he is to be
pitied.” So he kindly questioned the youth, who
proved to be a yeoman by the name of Will.
Scarlocke. He trusted Robin Hood from the
first, and told him that he was grieving because
a fair maiden whom he loved, and who loved
him, was that day to be married by her friends to60
SHERWOOD FOREST.
a rich old man whom she detested. Robin Hood
inquired the time and place of the wedding; then,
telling Will, to keep up a good heart, bounded
off into the forest.
About noon there was a great ringing of bells
at the church ; then came the wedding party and
their friends. The bridegroom looked very proud
and pompous in his gold-laced, velvet doublet
and white silk hose ; but he was wheezy and
hard of hearing, and so gouty that he had a little
page to lift his feet, first one, then the other,
up the altar-steps. The bride wept and looked
wistfully round for her lover, who was hid behind
a pillar, waiting for Robin Hood. The ceremony
began, and Will, was getting desperate, when a
tall man, in the dress of a beggar, standing near
the altar, drew a silver horn from beneath his
mantle and blew a startling blast. Instantly
fifty men in Lincoln-green burst into the church
and dispersed the bridal party, all but the now
happy bride and the frightened priest, whom
Robin Hood commanded to marry the faithful
pair at once. It was done ; and ever after Will.
Scarlocke was the fast friend of Robin Hood.
One day, in pursuing a deer, Robin Hood wasROBIN HOOD.
61
led into the park of the Earl of Fitzwater. There
he suddenly heard voices and the trampling of
horses, and soon saw a mail-clad knight, fol-
lowed by six men-at-arms, and leading by the
bridle a palfrey, on which sat a lovely lady,
weeping and winging her hands. This maiden
Robin Hood recognized at once as the young
Lady Matilda, only daughter of the Earl of Fitz-
water. Though quite alone, he did not hesitate,
but sprang forward before the party, crying, —
“Hold, thou false knight! I command thee
to let that noble lady go free! ”
“ Stand off, thou unmannerly churl, or I will
cleave thy skull with my broadsword! Know
thou that I am John, thy prince.”
“ And know thou,” replied the outlaw, “ that I
am Robin Hood, King of Sherwood Forest.”
At these words all six of the men-at-arms put
spurs to their horses and fled; and the prince was
glad to follow, scowling and cursing as he went.
Then Lady Matilda, who seems to have been
rather a romantic young woman, fainted, and fell
into Robin Hood’s arms; and he, not knowing
exactly what to do for a lady in such a case,
earned her to a brook, and was about to dip her62
SHERWOOD FOREST.
head in the water, when she suddenly came to
herself. She then related to her preserver how
that bad prince, whom she hated with all her
might, had long been urging her to go with him
to his wicked court, and how that afternoon,
while she was walking in the park, he had sur-
prised and carried her off. She told this story
reclining on a mossy bank, with Robin Hood
sitting at her feet, looking up into her face. She
finished her story; yet still Robin Hood sat at hei
feet, looking up into her face. At last the twi-
light shadows began to fall; then he sighed, and
said,—
“ It is getting late, my lady; shall I conduct
you home ? ”
But the Lady Matilda bent towards him,
blushing and speaking very softly, and said,—
“ You have saved me from shame and sorrow,
henceforth I belong to you.”
Robin Hood started up gladly, then sunk back
sadder than before, and said,—
“ No, lady, no ; you have been too delicately
reared for an outlaw’s wife.”
He then told her that though she might not
dislike his forest life in the warm summer-time,ROBIN HOOD.
63
yet when the fall rains and winter frosts came
she would find the cave in which he lived dark
and chill, and would sigh for her father’s com-
fortable castle-halls.
But Lady Matilda was strong and healthful,
and had little fear of colds or rheumatisms. She
thought Robin Hood excessively handsome, and
fancied that he would be the best protector against
that naughty prince she could have. So she
looked into his face with her beautiful, blue,
beseeching eyes till he could resist her no longer,
but lifted her on to her palfrey, and walked by
her side towards Sherwood Forest, talking to
her, holding her hand, and loving her better and
better every step. They were married at the
camp by jolly Friar Tuck, and had a merry
wedding-feast. The next day Robin Hood and
his wife, who had taken the name of Marian,
sent a messenger to the Earl of Fitzwater, telling
him how they were married, and asking if he
had any objections. He sent back word that he
disowned his daughter, and never would forgive
her, and made some rather unhandsome remarks
upon the character of his son-in-law, which
roused Marian’s spirit. But the old Earl missed64
SHERWOOD FOREST.
his only child, and was so lonely in his grand
castle that at last it seemed to him he must see
her, or he should die. So he disguised him-
self as a mendicant minstrel and went to Robin
Hood’s camp. He was kindly received, and
feasted with good game and excellent wine.
After dinner Robin Hood flung himself down
on a bank of wild violets for a nap, and Marian
began scattering daisies over him. The Earl
watched them in their happiness, and thought
of his own loneliness till he could stand it no
longer, but bowed his head in his hands and
burst into tears. Marian knew that sob; she
had heard it once before, when her mother died.
She dropped her flowers, ran to her father, flung
her arms round his neck, and wept with him.
Robin Hood sprang up and joined them, and all
was made up among the three. Earl Fitzwater
became quite fond of his son-in-law, though he
often warned him that he would come to the
gallows if he did not mend his ways. But
Robin Hood never changed for the better or
worse. He continued to take from the rich and
give to the poor — to play tricks and seek ad-
ventures in disguise — to fight the troops of theROBIN IIOOD.
65
king and the sheriff of Nottingham — to hate
and make war on all priests to the last. He
lived to be an old man, loved by the poor, feared
and hated by the rich.
At length he fell ill of a lingering fever, and,
unluckily, went for help to his aunt, Elizabeth de
Staynton, Prioress of Kirklees Nunnery, in York-
shire— a woman who had great skill in medi-
cine. His old enemy, Sir Roger, of Doncaster,
hearing of this, went to her, and, telling her she
had in her power a great enemy of the church,
urged her on to a dark and cruel deed. The
Prioress went alone to Robin Hood as he lay
tossing and gasping with his fever, and, pretend-
ing great kindness, said she must bleed him. He
stretched out his arm, and she opened a large
vein. The blood spouted out fiercely at first,
and ran for a long time full and fast.
“ Haven’t you taken enough ? ” asked Robin
Hood again and again, his voice growing weaker
and weaker; but the stern old woman always
answered, “ No.” Then he sunk back on his
pillow and fainted. Still the Prioress stood and
looked on him with a cold, stony face, and still he
566
SHERWOOD FOREST.
bled and bled, till the couch on which he lay was
all afloat with his blood. At last his white lips
moved, and he murmured one word that touched
the cruel heart of the Prioress. It was the name
of his mother — her own sister. She sprang for-
ward to bind up the arm and stop the bleeding,
but too late. Robin Hood was dead.
THE LADY MILDRED----A LEGEND OF ROBIN HOOD.
There is a legend of Robin Hood never yet
told in this country, which I think explains
better than any other his leading such a wild,
unlawful life.
When the young Earl of Huntingdon was
ward of the Abbot of St. Mary’s he went often
to the Nunnery of Kirklees, under pretence of
paying his respects to his aunt, Elizabeth de
Staynton, the Prioress, but really to see a lovely
little girl whom she had under her care. This
was his cousin, the Lady Mildred de Clare, who,
like him, was an orphan. Lord Kyme, her
father, a gallant soldier, had been killed inROBIN HOOD.
67
battle; and his wife, who loved him more dearly
than life, than the world and every body in it,
mourned and wept herself away. Even when
her little daughter nestled warmest against her
bosom and wound her soft arms closest about
her neck, she would long to be lying beside him
under the lonely battle-ground, with her head on
his cold, dead heart.
Lady Kyme always loved Robert Fitzooth,
her favorite sister’s son ; and one day when, as
the children were playing on the walls of her
husband’s castle, the little Mildred fell into the
moat, and Robert saved her life at the risk of his
own, she made a solemn engagement with his
mother that, when Robert should have grown to
be a man and Mildred a young woman, they
should be married; for so, she said, two loving
hearts, two noble titles, and two fine estates
would be united.
From this time the shy and tender Mildred
looked up to her brave cousin as her future lord
and husband; while Robert began to call her his
“ little wife,” and was very loving and conde-
scending towards her. She had a boudoir of
her own, where she used to play housekeeping,68
SHERWOOD FOREST.
and he would come to see her. Sometimes he
would pretend he was just returned from the
chase, and would stride in, blowing a little bugle,
and carrying an old deerskin, with the horns on,
and half a dozen grouse or pheasants, borrowed
from the larder. These he would fling at Mil-
dred’s feet, saying,—
“ See, my fair lady, what trophies your noble
lord brings from the chase! Killed them all my-
self with one arrow.”
Sometimes he would come as from the wars,
armed with rusty old pieces of mail and weapons
taken from the armory — a helmet so big that he
was obliged to stuff his jerkin (a sort of jacket)
into it to keep it from shutting down quite over
his face; a ragged corselet of chain armor, which
came.to his knees; a lance, with the point broken ;
a long sword, which dragged behind him ; and a
pair of big boots of mail, with spurs. He would
look proud and warlike as he kissed Mildred’s
hand ; but he would beg her not to embrace him,
as he had no less than a score of wounds on his
breast, and some of them were a little sore.
If she asked him to take a seat, he would say,
“ No, I thank you; I have several other battles.ROBIN HOOD.
69
to fight to-day; ” but the fact was, his boots
came up so high and his corselet hung so low
he couldn’t sit down to save him. Sometimes
he would come in morning-gown and slippers,
and, with a grand, indifferent air, lounge on a
couch, play with his dog, and take no notice of
his poor little wife, till she would begin to cry,
and ask him what she had done to make him
stop loving her, or do a wiser thing — go and get
him something nice to eat; when he was sure to
grow good humored and soon tease her for more.
But these happy, childish days passed by ; the
cousins became orphans at nearly the same time,
and, as we have seen, each was placed under
the care of a hard-hearted relative. But, though
they had many trials and discouragements, they
kept on loving each other truly year after year, till
Robert was a brave young man and Mildred a
beautiful young woman. Robert could not often
see his betrothed except in the presence of his
stern aunt the Prioress, and could only talk to
her through a screen of lattice-work. But some-
times the Prioress permitted a certain old nun to
go with Mildred to meet her cousin. This Sis-
ter Agatha was a good, compassionate woman.70
S111: 11\Y O O D FOR E S T.
She remembered that she was once young, and
how she Joved a brave soldier who fell in battle.
She still wore a lock of his hair, and a piece of
his scarf, with a dark-red stain upon it, next her
poor old heart. So she felt for Robert and Mil-
dred, and would leave them alone, and kneel
in the next room to pray for them, while they
talked in low, loving tones, and smiled over
pleasant plans, but oftener wept sad tears on
each other’s hands, held through the lattice. Here
Robert would lighten his heart of its load of care
and grief, and pour out his impatience and in-
dignation against his hypocritical uncle ; while
Mildred would, grieving, tell how every day
the Prioress warned her against him as a wild,
reckless, priest-distrusting, and therefore godless
young man. The Prioress was a bigot, and
really thought she was doing right in hating and
opposing her nephew because he was not reli-
gious in her particular way. I am sadly afraid
there are some people very like her in this respect
now-a-days. Rut the Abbot had his own rea-
sons for setting himself against this marriage.
Lady Mildred had a large fortune, which he had
not been able to obtain possession of. If EarlROBIN HOOD.
71
Robert married her this would be his, and with it
he might get back his own ; for in those wicked
days kings could be bribed and priests could be
bribed; and lawyers were not much better; they
could be bribed too. I am not sure but that we
have a few of the same sort in our time.
So the Abbot set himself to work, and with
the Prioress and Robert’s enemy, Sir Roger of
Doncaster, concocted a fine plot. The Abbot
suddenly pretended friendliness, and proposed to
his nephew to go to Nottingham Castle, with a
fine escort and outfit, and join Prince John’s
guard. Noble hearts are the last to suspect
treachery. Robert believed his uncle, went to
court, and, as he bore a sealed letter from the
Abbot, was graciously received by the Prince.
Lady Mildred grieved at his going, and, being
very modest, feared he would forget her when
he came to see the gay and grand ladies of the
court. And her fears seemed well founded ; for
weeks and months passed without bringing her
one word from Robert: then came a short, cold
letter, telling her she must give up all thought of
him as her husband, for he was about to marry
one of Queen Elinors maids of honor. Poor72
SHERWOOD FOREST.
Mildred at first cried day and night; then she
grew restless, and walked about as if she were
in a dream, and didn’t see any body or any
thing; then she became calm and haughty, and
smiled sometimes, a chill sort of a smile, and
spoke in a strange, hard tone, as though all the
sweetness had been drained out of her voice in
tears. Then the Abbot and Prioress began to
urge her to marry Sir Roger, of Doncaster; and,
as she didn’t care what became of her now, she
consented.
Earl Robert’s faithful friend, Little John, hav-
ing heard that this wedding was to be, went in
great haste to Nottingham, to Earl Robert, who
was true to his love, who had written to her
many letters, which the Prioress had pocketed,
and which the Abbot had used in imitating the
hand-writing when he forged the one that did the
mischief at last.
When Earl Robert heard Little John’s news
he set off at once for Yorkshire, never waiting for
the Prince’s leave. He rode day and night; but
he reached Kirklees Nunnery an hour too late.
The wedding was over, and Mildred, his dear
“ little wife,” was lost to him forever.ROBIN HOOD.
73
When Lady Doncaster heard that her cousin
Robert had been constant, and that in his anger
and despair he had taken to the forests and be-
come an outlaw, when she found her husband
to be a cowardly, dishonorable man, she prayed
that she might die. But after a while God con-
soled her with the gift of a noble little boy, who
from the first was like her, and unlike his father.
In loving and caring for this son, Lady Mildred
found her only happiness. Sir Roger was proud
of his handsome heir, but never was fond of him;
for, when he said or did a mean thing, he could
not bear the still scorn in the child’s eyes and
the disdainful quiver of his lip.
The castle of Sir Roger was near Barnsdale,
one of Robin Hood’s forests : and, when the free-
booting chief was there, Sir Roger never dared
to journey or hunt with ever so large a train
without his wife to protect him. He kept his
son also very close ; for he suspected him of hav-
ing an admiration for the character, if not a taste
for the life, of Robin Hood.
But one morning, when Hubert was about
twelve years old, he managed to escape from the
castle, and stole off into the greenwood. That74
SHERWOOD FOREST.
day and night passed ; yet he did not return. Sir
Roger, after making all the search he dared, be-
came convinced that the lad had fallen into Robin
Hood’s hands, and groaned with the fear that they
should never see him alive. But Lady Mildred
said, calmly, “ If Hubert is with him. Sir Roger,
he is safe. Robert Fitzooth would never harm
my — our child.”
They sent a herald to Robin Hood’s camp to
ransom and bring back the lad; but the herald
returned alone, saying that Hubert was at the
camp, but Robin Hood refused to receive the
ransom. Then Sir Roger’s fright and rage in-
creased ; but Lady Mildred smiled her sad, quiet
smile, and looked out towards the forest. Sud-
denly there emerged from the wood Robin Hood
and his favorite comrades, mounted on gayly ca-
parisoned steeds and followed by fifty archers.
They paused on a little hill, about a bow-shot
from the castle, and drew together as if con-
sulting. Then Sir Roger, growing very pale,
cried, “ The villain outlaw means to murder our
boy before our eyes ! ” But Lady Mildred still
smiled her sad, quiet smile. Then the group of
horsemen parted, and from between Robin HoodROBIN HOOD.
75
and Little John came young Hubert, riding a
beautiful pony, as black as night and as fleet as
the wind. Down the hill he dashed, over the
meadow! The warder hurried to let down the
drawbridge and raise the portcullis ; and he came
galloping through, reined up in the court, and
flung himself, laughing, into his mother’s arms!
That night, in the great supper-hall of the
castle, Hubert told his adventures and praised
Robin Hood till his father frowned and bade
him u cease his chattering.” But after supper
his mother called him to her chamber and ques-
tioned him about his night in the forest. He
said that soon after he reached the wood he met
an archer, and boldly told him that he wanted to
see Robin Hood. The archer, who was a good-
natured fellow, conducted him to the camp and
introduced him to his chief as the son of Sir
Roger, of Doncaster. Robin Hood started and
frowned at first, he said; then took him by the
arm and looked long and earnestly in his face
and sighed. Here Lady Mildred sighed too.
But after that Robin Hood was very kind to
his young guest, gave him the place of honor by
his side at supper, and made the men sing, and76
SHERWOOD FOREST.
wrestle, and shoot with the long-bow for his
amusement. 44 And at night,” said Hubert, 44 he
himself arranged my bed of moss and leaves and
spread over me his own mantle, and then sat
down by my side and talked to me of you,
mother.” Here Lady Mildred sighed again.
44 He staid,” continued Hubert, 44 talking with
me softly in the moonlight, till a beautiful lady,
whom he called Marian, came out of her tent,
where she had been singing ballads all the even-
ing to a little boy at her knee, and beckoned him
away.” Here Lady Mildred sighed deeper
than before, and turned her face away from her
son.
Hubert kept Robin Hood’s gift many years,
and sometimes rode on him to visit his outlawed
friend. He grew up to be a brave and honest
man, in spite of his weak, bad father, and won
much honor in the service of Richard, the Lion-
hearted.
So Lady Mildred, who lived to a good old age,
was always happy in her noble son. As for Sir
Roger, after having helped to bring about
the death of bold Robin Hood, he was one day
waylaid by Will. Scarlocke and Little John, whoROBIN HOOD.	77
robbed him of his money and his fine velvet doub-
let and tied him to a tree ; and, though he was
set free and sent home in the morning, he took
such a fright and such a cold that he fell into a
fever and died.Ibttingjjam Costlt
ALICE YANE.ALICE VANE.
81
Nottingham, though
a flourishing manufac-
turing town, with many fine
buildings, is not a place of
much interest, aside from the
site and a few remains of an old castle, which
we read a great deal about in English history.
A new castle was built out of the remains of the
old in Queen Anne’s time, which in turn has
gone to decay, or rather was demolished about
682
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
twenty years ago by a mob, who were enraged
against the owner, the Duke of Newcastle, for
some political act.
Old Nottingham Castle, a famous stronghold
of the early Kings of England, was built on a
high rock, overlooking the beautiful vale of Bel-
voir, the hills of Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire
wolds, and the silvery windings of the river Trent.
At the base of the great rock glides the little
river Leen.
Underneath the castle the rock is curiously
perforated in every direction by winding passages
and small caverns, some formed by Nature, but
most, it is supposed, hewn out of the solid stone
by an ancient heathen priesthood of Britain
called Druids. They sacrificed human victims
to their deity, and made use of these caves as
vaults for dead bodies of those they had mur-
dered in a pious way, or as prisons for such re-
fractory men and women as objected to their
particular part in the bloody religious ceremony :
at least so we are told by antiquarians — a set of
very wise men, who get together and form socie-
ties, and talk very learnedly over old stones and
bones and rusty armor and musty books, andALICE VANE.
83
know a great deal more about the people that
lived hundreds of years ago than about their
own brothers and sisters. They always seem to
me a sort of human owl, they can look so far
into the dark ages, and are so delightfully at
home where every body else gets puzzled and
lost.
King John, the bad brother of Richard the
Lion-hearted, frequently held his court at Not-
tingham ; and it was the chosen abode of the
beautiful Queen Isabella, wife of Edward II.
This Queen had a favorite, one Roger de
Mortimer, of whom she was very fond, and,
when her husband was deposed, made him Re-
gent. Mortimer proved arrogant and tyrannical.
The nobles and people hated him ; and the
young King, Edward III., hated him worse than
all. So, by the advice of a Parliament, he re-
solved to make way with his mother’s danger-
ous pet.
Through one of the underground passages of
which I have spoken Edward entered the citadel
and took Mortimer prisoner, in the very presence
of the Queen, and in spite of her remon-
strances and threats. Richard III., who should84
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
have been called Richard the Tiger-hearted, so
cruel and blood-thirsty was he, often held court
at Nottingham. He went from here to Bosworth
Field, where his ugly, deformed body was cut
down in battle. The unfortunate Charles L,
in his war with Oliver Cromwell and the Par-
liament, hoisted his banner on the highest tur-
ret of the castle, and with his own hand set up
his royal standard on a hill near by. A great
storm arose and blew it down that very night,
which was taken by the superstitious people for
a fearful omen ; and when, a few years after, the
poor King was brought to Nottingham Castle,
on his way to Holmby, in Nottinghamshire, a
powerless prisoner, every body said, “ I told
you so.”
For several years during the period of the great
civil war between the Royalists and Republi-
cans, which took place more than two hundred
years ago, one Colonel John Hutchinson was
Governor of Nottingham Castle, holding it for
Cromwell and the Parliament. It was a very
important fortress; and the Royalists tried every
means in their power to get possession of it.
The Earl of Newcastle offered a bribe of tenALICE VANE.
85
thousand pounds to Colonel Hutchinson to be-
tray it into his hands; but the gallant colonel
repelled the offer with manly indignation. If he
had yielded to this temptation he would have
been classed among traitors, and his name would
have been dishonored forever, instead of coming
down to us, as it has come, with a brave and
honest sound.
In this war, the party under Cromwell, who
were called Puritans and Roundheads, be-
cause of their being greatly given to praying
and psalming and wearing their hair closely
cropped, contended for civil and religious liberty
and a republican form of government with the
Royalists, who were mostly aristocrats, and who
were called Cavaliers. After a great deal of hard
fighting and hard praying, the Roundheads got
the power into their hands. They put King
Charles I. to death, which they haa better not
have done, and made Cromwell Lord Protector;
or rather he made himself so ; for he had a will
and a genius for generalship and government
which nothing could withstand.
But Cromwell died, and left no one great and
powerful enough to succeed him. Then the Roy-86
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
alists came pouring in from France and other
countries whence they had fled or been banished,
and brought with them Charles II., as profligate
a Prince as ever lived, and set him on the throne,
and things went on as bad as ever, till there came
another revolution, and England got finally rid
of the royal family of Stuart, and established a
constitutional government, a strictly limited mon
archy, better suited to a great and enlightened
people. Charles I. was a handsome and elegant
Prince, who suffered meekly all the insult and
hard usage put upon him, and died like a man
and a Christian at last. Though often false and
weak, he was doubtless more to be pitied than
blamed ; for falsehood and weakness ran in the
Stuart blood.
Cromwell was a rough, rude, brawny soldier,
with a big nose, and an ugly wart on his
forehead; but though not always just or true,
though always ambitious, and sometimes unscru-
pulous, he taught the world a great new lesson
— that kings have no “ divine right ” to tyrannize
and break faith ; and that they should be made
to answer, not only to God, but to the people, for
the way in which they govern.ALICE VANE.
87
The Cavaliers were gay and gallant gentle-
men, who wore elegant dresses and long carls ;
loved good wine and beautiful ladies; sung mer-
ry songs in praise of their Prince and in ridicule
of the Roundheads ; danced well; fought well;
and were altogether very fascinating fellows.
But, as a party, they despised the common
people, scoffed at republican principles of free-
dom and justice, and even at religion.
The Roundheads were generally stern-featured,
plainly clad men, who wore long faces, and
spoke through their noses, in Scripture language,
which particularly offended the Cavaliers, who
held that to quote so much from a book of which
they knew nothing was the height of ill-breeding.
In truth, I do not suppose that these Round-
heads were the pleasantest sort of people to
meet at balls and merry-makings ; but they were
mostly earnest, honest, determined men, who
fought for what they believed the right; and,
though there were some precious rascals and
hypocrites among them, there were others grand-
ly good and true, — such as John Hampden, John
Milton, Sir Harry Vane, Henry Marten, and
Andrew Marvel, — whose memories are still and88
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
ever shall be hated by tyrants and loved by the free,
the wide world over. Amen.
ALICE VANE----A STORY OF NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
When Colonel Hutchinson went to take com-
mand of the fortress of Nottingham he took with
him his young wife, a very clever and spirited
woman, who afterwards wrote an interesting life
of her husband, which you may read some day.
During the last year of her stay in the castle
Mrs. Hutchinson had under her care a little or-
phan relative by the name of Alice Vane — a
beautiful, dark-eyed, sad, and silent child.
Alice was but a babe, too young to grieve,
when her gentle mother died; but within this
year she had lost her father and her only brother,
both of whom had been killed at the bloody bat-
tle of Naseby. She had dearly loved her noble
father, who, stern as he was among men, was
always mild and tender towards her ; but she had
utterly idolized her brave brother Walter, so
beautiful, so young; for he was only seventeen
the day of the battle in which he fell.ALICE VANTV
89
Alice grieved so bitterly for the loss of these
dear ones that her health suffered. She grew very
pale and thin; and, when she was brought to her
aunt at Nottingham, it was said that she looked
more like a sorrowful little spirit than like a fiesh-
and-blood child. She was a strange, shy, melan-
choly girl, who in the midst of her grief was sel-
dom seen to weep, but always sought some lonely
and silent place in which to indulge her sorrow.
She was a true Puritan — plain in speech and
manner, and though not stiff or stern, always
brave and truthful in heart.
One day, soon after she came to Nottingham,
she was allowed to descend with the warden
into those curious caves and passages underneath
the castle. These she explored with much in-
terest, as she had an adventurous, inquiring
spirit; and she fixed upon one little cave, feebly
lit by a fissure in the rock, opening out to the
day, for her own. She persuaded her kind friends
to allow her to spend an hour or two every day
here, taking with her some of her books and
playthings.
She loved to escape to this quiet spot, from
the sound of endless praying and psalm-singing90
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
and religious discussions, which she could not
understand, from the clang of muskets and the
noise of rude soldiers, to read her little Bible, to
repeat her hymns and the simple prayers her father
had taught her, to think of him and her darling
brother, and to weep for them, without being
told that it was sinful rebellion against God to
mourn for those He had taken to himself.
One sunny day, when the light in her cave
was unusually clear, Alice noticed that the wall
in one corner did not seem of solid rock, but
formed of stones piled one upon another.
Little girls were as curious two hundred years
ago as they are now-a-days. So Alice went
to work at once, pulling and heaving with all
her might; and at last the stones gave way, one
after another, and she saw that they had hid a
small, low passage, leading directly down to the
river Leen.
All was dark at first; but after a moment there
was a little gleaming of sunlight and green
leaves at the farther end of the passage. This
was charming, after being so long confined to
the court-yard of a castle, to be able to sit under
the shade of the thick shrubbery, on the banks ofALICE VANE.
91
that pretty stream, to gather flowers, and put
her feet in the water, and remember pleasant old
times. So she lost not a moment; but, gathering
her frock about her, and crouching low, she
groped her way carefully downward and stole
out into the sunshine. She found the mouth of
the passage completely hid on the outside by
bushes, and that she, as she sat herself down on
a bank, sweet with violets and bright with cow-
slips, could not be seen from the plain below or
the castle above. As she sat there, listening to
the birds, and wondering why it was that they
never seemed to be singing solemn psalms
through their noses like pious Puritans, never
seemed to be preaching or rebuking, but always
trying to cheer her heart with notes of joy and lit-
tle melodious laughters, — so sweet, so tender, as
though they were loving aloud,— her eye caught
something gleaming through the foliage near by,
which she took for a bunch of scarlet poppies.
But, going nearer, she found that it was the end
of a silken scarf; and, putting aside some bushes,
she saw that this was a part of the dress of a
young man, who was lying asleep close against
the rock. He was a Cavalier. Alice knew it92
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
at once by his rich velvet doublet, his plumed
and jewelled hat, and his long curls. The scar-
let scarf she had first noticed was bound about
his right arm; and Alice now saw that it and the
lace ruffles at his wrist were deeply staihed with
blood. He was a very handsome, gallant-look-
ing young man, but so deathly pale, and with so
much suffering in his face, that Alice pitied him ;
and, like the good, brave girl she was, she laid
her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently,
to waken him. He sprang up instantly and half
drew his sword. Alice did not scream, scarcely
moved, but said, very calmly, “ It is only I, a
little girl. What can I do for you, Sir Cavalier ? ”
The young man looked at her doubtfully at
first and questioned her closely; but when he
found that she was quite alone, and that she gave
frank, straight-forward answers, he confided in
her and begged her to help him. He was a no-
bleman, Lord Villiers, in the service of the King.
He had been wounded the night before, in a skir-
mish near the castle, by a deep sword-cut in the
arm, and stunned by a fall from his horse. His
men, who were defeated, had left him for dead;
but he had revived, snd in the early morning hadALICE VANE.
93
dragged himself to this spot, where he had hid,
hoping to be able to escape that night to some
place of safety. But now, he said, he found
himself so weak from pain, loss of blood, and
want of food, that he doubted whether he could
walk at all. Alice advised him to yield himself
up as a prisoner of war at the castle; but he
swore an oath, that made her shudder, that he
would sooner die where he was.
“ Then,” said she, quietly, “ I must do my best
to conceal you, and nurse and feed you, till you
are well enough to go on your way. Trust in
me, and follow me.”
The Cavalier did as he was bid; but, before
entering the narrow, dark passage, he held up
the cross of his sword-handle and bade Alice
swear she would not betray him into her uncle’s
hands. But the little lady put it away with a
great deal of dignity, and said, “ I have prom-
ised. We Republicans do not need oaths to hold
us to our word.”
Alice took back with her an armful of leafy
branches, and, when they reached her little cave,
spread them down for Lord Villiers to lie upon.
She gave him for a pillow the cushion she had94
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
used to kneel on in her devotions, and laid over
him her own little mantle. She then stole up
Into the castle and got some refreshment for
him and a roll of old linen to bandage his arm.
This she dressed as well as she knew how; then
smoothed his pillow, tucked her mantle closer
about him, advised him to say his prayers like
a good Christian, bade him good night, and left
him to his rest.
Alice had watched her aunt nursing wounded
soldiers ; and the next morning, thinking it very
probable that Lord Villiers's arm would be in-
flamed, she took down suitable medicines and
dressings. She found her patient tossing and
moaning with fever, and for two or three days he
suffered a great deal; then she had the happiness
to see him get better and stronger, till he began
to talk and lay plans about leaving her. The
young noble was gentle and grateful, and Alice
grew really fond of him, though it grieved her
that he was a Papist and a Royalist. He was
very familiar and confiding with his little friend,
and told her of his beautiful sister, who was a
great Duchess, and showed her a miniature, which
he wore next his heart, of a still lovelier andALICE VANE.
95
dearer lady; and Alice one day told him her sad
story, in a low, mournful voice, struggling hard
to keep the tears back, while her friend laid his
hand on her head in a soft, pitying way.
At last little Alice brought the joyful news
that a considerable body of Royalist troops were
encamped in the neighborhood; and Lord Vil-
liers resolved to escape and join them that very
night.
In preparation for this escape, he proceeded
to buckle on his sword-belt, which he had laid
aside during his illness. As Alice sat watching
him, her eye fell for the first time on a jewel-
hilted dagger which he wore under his doublet.
Giving a quick, sharp cry, she sprang forward,
caught this from its sheath, and, holding it up,
exclaimed, “ Where did you get this ? Tell me !
O, tell me ! ”
The Cavalier was a good deal startled; but
he replied, very directly, “ Why, to tell the truth,
I took it from the body of a young Roundhead
whom I killed at Naseby. I did not take it as
a trophy of war, but as a memento of him ;
for, though a mere boy, he was as brave as a
lion.”96
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
“ You killed our Walter! You ? ” cried Alice,
in a tone of heart-breaking reproach; then, sink-
ing back, she clasped the dagger against her
breast, and, bowing her head, rocked back and
forth, murmuring, “ O brother! brother! ”
The careless young nobleman was shocked
and grieved for Alice. He laid his hand on her
head in the old caressing way; but she flung it
off with a shudder. Then, a little frightened, he
exclaimed, “ Now, Alice, you hate me, and per-
haps you will betray me.”
But Alice, lifting her head proudly, replied,
“ Do you Royalists have such notions of honor ?
We Republicans do not know how to break our
word or betray a trust. You are safe ; and you
would have been safe had you killed my father
and every body I loved in the world; for you
trusted in me.”
They parted, not as enemies, but hardly as
friends ; for Alice could not again shake cordially
the hand that had cut down her beloved, only
brother. She kept Walter’s dagger, and treas-
ured it sorrowfully all her life.
Lord Villiers escaped that night and joined
the Royalist troops in safety. He continued toALICE VANE.
97
fight for the King till there was no more hope ;
then went over to France, where he remained
until after the Restoration, when he was appoint-
ed an officer in the court of Charles II. One of
the first things he did was to inquire for the fam-
ily of Colonel Hutchinson ; for he had always
gratefully remembered his young protectress.
He found that the colonel was imprisoned in the
Tower, in very ill health, and that his wife and
Alice Vane, now a young woman grown, were
faithfully attending him. So he wrote to Alice,
telling her how grateful he had ever been for her
goodness and care and brave protection, which
had surely saved his life, and how he hoped she
bore no malice towards him in her heart for the
death of her brother. He went on to say that
he could not rest till he had done something to
repay her for her great kindness ; that he had it
in his power through his wife, (for he was now
married,) and his sister, the beautiful Duchess,
to obtain for her the envied situation of Maid of
Honor to the Queen. He said that, among the
many beauties of that gay court, there was not
one so lovely in his eyes as his dear little protec-
tress had promised to be; and that, should she
798
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
accept the offered place, a life of luxury and pleas-
ure would be before her; for every body, from
the King and Queen down to the pages and fal-
coners of the court, would admire and love her
for the beauty of her face and the nobleness of
her character.
Alice Vane replied to Lord Villiers in a frank,
straight-forward letter, with which I will close
this story. You will see that she employed the
plain language then in great use among the Pu-
ritans, especially in writing. I have changed the
spelling, which was in the old English style, and
would be a little difficult for you to read.
Dear Friend : It has given me joy to hear by
thy letter that thou art living and wedded to the
maiden thy heart hath cleaved unto so long; but
I am grieved that thou art exposing her and thy-
self to the temptations of a most ungodly court.
I have long ago forgiven thee that cruel
sword-thrust which made untimely end of my
comely young brother’s life and of the best joy
of mine, and I have prayed that the Lord in his
exceeding mercy will hold thee guiltless of his
blood. Ye did meet in fair fight; and verily,ALICE VANE.
99
hadst thou borne thyself less manfully, thou
wouldst have lain in poor Walter’s place.
Thou dost owe me nought for the little service
I did thee. I would have done the same for the
poorest man in the realm had he so needed.
Thy gay court is no place for a lowly Chris-
tian maiden like me. Thine offer was made in
kindness; but forbear to urge it, lest thou wouldst
have me come to stand before the man Charles
Stuart and warn him to repent of his waste and
wickedness and turn unto the Lord wdiile it is
yet time.
We have been sorely tried by persecutions, loss,
and imprisonment; but the God of Israel hath
been with us in his spirit and his word, and we
have not been dismayed.
I shall tarry with my kinsfolk as long as they
have such earnest need of me; but when I have
release from this dear duty, with a beloved and
godly friend, whom the Lord hath raised up for
me, I shall depart from this unhappy country,
which hath backslidden from liberty and the true
faith, to a land where we may worship in freedom
and in peace. We shall cross the great deep,100
NOTTINGHAM CASTLE.
to where, in the heathen wilderness of America,
God hath prepared a refuge for his people.
The Lord be with thee and preserve thee amid
all the temptations that beset thee, and bring
thee home, if even by sore chastening, to thy
Father’s house at last.
I rest thy friend,
Alice Vane.Wntmik Castle.
♦
GUY OF WARWICK.GUY OF WARWICK.
103
In the town of War-
wick, near Stratford up-
' on Avon, stands a grand old
castle, built in the feudal
times. It is not in ruins,
like nearly all other English castles of that date,
but is kept in beautiful repair and inhabited by
the Earl of Warwick — one of the richest noble-
men in England.
It was on a lovely morning in June that we104
WARWICK CASTLE.
visited Warwick Castle. From a pretty carved
stone bridge over the Avon we took our first
view of the gray old walls, the towers and bat-
tlements, just enough overgrown with ivy to look
beautiful and not ruinous. Never before had I
seen a building for people to live in half so
grand and noble ; yet often, after reading old
English ballads and romances, I had dreamed
of just such places.
We stopped at the porter’s lodge to wait for
the Earl’s permission to enter. In England it is
not customary to admit strangers to see great
houses when the masters or mistresses are at
home; but, on hearing that one of our party
was an American lady, his lordship immediate-
ly commanded that his steward should show us
over the castle and grounds. We passed up a
long, wide passage, cut in the rock, but perfectly
lined with ivy and flowers, visited the summer
houses, and lingered under the shadow of mag-
nificent oaks and cedars. The deep moat, once
filled with water for defence, is now drained and
overgrown with grass and shrubbery; but we
crossed it on a drawbridge, passed under a port-
cullis into the court-yard, and from thence intoGUY OF WARWICK.
105
the great hall of the castle. This is a splendid
apartment, with a floor of polished marble and
a ceiling of curiously-carved oak. It is hung
with shining suits of armor and great branching
horns of deer, and has a wide, deep chimney,
with cosy oaken seats in the corners. We were
then shown through long suites of magnificent
rooms, filled with rich furniture, pictures, vases,
statues, and all sorts of beautiful and costly
things.
The steward who conducted us was a tall,
dignified person, very elegantly dressed — a
grander looking man than our President; but
I am sorry to say he spoke very bad English.
He had a way, which I did not like particularly,
of hurrying us away from things which we
wanted to see, and of calling upon us to admire
things which we didn’t take to at all. He looked
most proud and solemn, and talked most elo-
quently, when he showed us a gloomy state bed,
hung with faded silk curtains and called “ Queen
Anne’s bed,” because that good-natured, stout,
and somewhat stupid old lady once slept on it.
As we entered a small hall, dimly lighted, I
started back suddenly ; for at the other end106
WARWICK CASTLE.
appeared a proud-looking man on horseback, who
seemed just about to ride down upon us; but at
the next glance I saw that it was a picture —
the portrait of King Charles I. by the great
painter Vandyck.
When we left the castle we found that our
friend the steward did not feel quite so grand as
he looked; for he seemed to be very glad to get
the half crown we gave him for his pains, and
touched his hat to us, or rather made believe he
did, for he was bareheaded at the time.
As we were passing out of the grounds we
were invited to stop at the porter’s lodge, to see
some curious old armor and arms, by the por-
tress, whom I thought very hospitable in her
feelings till I found that she expected a fee as
well as the steward.
The armor and arms kept here are of gigantic
size, and are said to have belonged to Guy of
Warwick—a famous knight, about whose his-
tory and exploits countless ballads and romances
were written in old times. From some of these
I will try to make out his story in such a way as
to give you amusement, if not profit.GUY OF WARWICK.
107
STORY OF GUV OF WARWICK.
There was once, in the days of the Saxon
kings, a very powerful noble, named Roland,
who was Earl, not only of Warwick, but of
Oxford and Rockingham. He had no son to
inherit his titles and estates; but he had an only
daughter, named Felice, who was a most extraor-
dinary young woman, not only on account of
her great beauty and wit, but for her learning,
which was prodigious. In those times, if a
young lady could sing a song, play a little on
the lute, dance, ride, fly a hawk, work tapestry,
and write her name, she was considered won-
derfully accomplished. But Miss Felice had
learned masters, whom her father sent for all
the way to Toulouse, who taught her astronomy,
arithmetic, geometry, geography, and rhetoric;
and she finally astonished all the world by her
science.
Earl Roland had a steward, named Segard —
a clever, worthy man, who managed the vast
estates of his lord wisely and justly. This Se-
gard had an only son, named Guy, a remarkably108
WARWICK CASTLE.
beautiful, strong, and courageous young man.
He had been educated as a page to the Earl,
but had been promoted to the office of cup-
bearer— a sort of poetic name for waiter. The
first time that Guy was appointed to attend
upon the Lady Felice at dinner he dressed him-
self elegantly, for he was a bit of a dandy, and
looked so uncommonly handsome that her lady-
ship smiled on him graciously, and said that she
was very happy to make the acquaintance of
such a worthy young man as her papa had often
told her he was. Guy was so agitated at this
kind speech that he spilt a glass of wine he
was pouring for her on her new satin dress. He
was dreadfully frightened at what he had done,
till Felice said, sweetly, “ Never mind ; ” which
showed that she was a very amiable young lady
indeed.
Guy Segard seems to have had all the virtues
but modesty. He presently grew so presuming
as to make love to his beautiful and learned mis-
tress and to ask her to marry him. The proud
Felice said “ No! ” very scornfully; and Guy
took it so to heart that he fell sick with sorrow.
He had the Earl’s best physicians; but they couldGUY OF WARWICK.
109
not make out what ailed him, though they all
agreed that he was sure to die; and his simple
old father believed them, and got every thing
ready for the funeral. Then the Lady Felice
thought to herself that matters were getting rath-
er serious, and that really something ought to be
done to save the poor young man. So she went
to work and dreamed a dream that an angel ap-
peared to her and told her to return the love of
the gallant Guy; and in the morning early she
sent him word that, as soon as' he had received
the honor of knighthood and proved his valor in
battles and tournaments, she would be his wife.
On hearing this good news Guy threw away his
physic, drove out his doleful doctors, and got
well directly.
The good old Earl soon after bestowed upon
him the honor of knighthood, in this way : Guy,
clad in the richest armor, knelt at the feet of the
Earl, in the presence of the whole court; and
the Earl, striking him gently on the shoulder
with his sword, said, “ Rise, Sir Knight! ” and
Guy, who had knelt down a peasant-page, arose
a gentleman-soldier.
The next day he took leave of his father and110
WARWICK CASTLE.
mother, of the Lady Felice, and lastly of the
Earl, who certainly behaved very handsomely on
the occasion, furnishing the young knight with
horses and followers and a considerable sum of
money, with which he set out on his travels in
search of honors and adventures. Felice felt sad
at first; but she finally consoled herself with sci-
ence, and went on studying the stars.
Sir Guy first went into Normandy, where he
presently distinguished himself at a great tourna-
ment to such a degree that he was offered the
hand of the Princess Blanche, the daughter of
the Emperor Reignier. Sir Guy answered that he
was sorry to disappoint the Princess, but he was
already engaged to the most beautiful and scien-
tific lady in the world. Blanche, who was very
pretty, lifted her head proudly and angrily at what
he said about beauty, but dropped it again when
he came to the science; for she, poor thing!
could hardly write her name, and didn’t even
know the Multiplication Table.
From Normandy Sir Guy travelled through
Germany, Lombardy, and Spain, fighting in ev-
ery tournament, winning every prize, and mak-
ing himself more .and more famous. Then heGUY OF WARWICK.
Ill
returned to England, where he was received with
flattering kindness by the King. He hurried
down to Warwick, hoping that Felice would
now be ready to marry him ; but the proud lady
was not yet satisfied. She told him to go abroad
again and get more glory; and he went.
But, while waiting on the sea shore for a fair
wind, Sir Guy heard strange stories of the dev-
astations of a furious dun cow, so enormous that
her bellow was like thunder, and her tramp shook
down houses like an earthquake; and, when she
pawed the ground, she dug great pits and raised
vast clouds of dust.
The people prayed fervently to be delivered
from her; and as for fasting, they were obliged
to do that; for every where she went she eat up
all the grain. Of course Sir Guy buckled on his
armor and rode forth to slay. He followed the
cow to a village, where she went tearing up the
street, jarring down steeples with her bellow,
whisking off chimneys with her tail, and driving
the frightened villagers before her, till she had
them all in the market-place, where she began
tossing them on her horns so fast and furious
that when the knight came up there seemed to112
WARWICK CASTLE.
be more people in the air than on the ground.
But Sir Guy went at her so bravely, and pricked
her so smartly with his lance, that she soon took
flight, and ran bellowing home to her haunt on
Dunsmore Heath. The knight followed at full
speed, and, with a few stout blows with his tre-
mendous battle-axe, put a stop to her cruel sport,
and made happy hundreds on hundreds of poor
peasants.
I cannot think of relating to you all of the ex-
ploits and adventures of Sir Guy during his sec-
ond tour, which lasted several years. Indeed, so
long was he away from his Felice that he once
came near forgetting her and doing her a great
wrong. This was how it happened : Hearing that
the Greek Emperor Ernis was besieged at Con-
stantinople by the Soudan with a powerful ar-
my, he went to his help at the head of a thou-
sand brave knights. The Saracens came up in
vast hosts to assault the city; but Guy, at the
head of his men, went out to meet them with
some terrible engines he had invented, and fought
himself with such prodigious fierceness and
strength that the Soudan was defeated and no
less than fifteen acres were covered with dead Sar-
acens.GUY OF WARWICK.
113
The next day Sir Guy rode out alone to the
Soudan’s camp, to propose to him to have the
conflict settled by a single combat; but the dis-
courteous Soudan no sooner heard his name
than he commanded that the knight should be
immediately put to death; but in an instant
Guy drew his sword, and, dashing up to the mon-
arch, shaved his head clear off, and, catching it
up with his left hand and fighting with the right,
galloped through the camp and back to the city;
and this finished the war. The Emperor Ernis
was so grateful for all these services that he of-
fered him half his kingdom and the hand of his
daughter in marriage. Loret was a beautiful
Princess. Sir Guy consented, and stood up to
be married; when suddenly, at the sight of the
wedding-ring, he thought of Felice, and dropped
the bride’s hand as though it had been a hot
iron, declaring that he could not have her at all.
He then fell down in a swoon, and was so ill as
to keep his bed for several weeks. When he
recovered he still declined to be married; but the
Emperor and Loret, who seem to have been
very good-natured people, treated him just as
well as ever.114
WARWICK CASTLE.
But after a while something occurred to make
him feel a little uncomfortable at Constantino-
ple, and caused him to leave rather suddenly.
One day, when Sir Guy first came into the
Emperor’s dominions, while riding through a
forest, he witnessed a dreadful conflict between
a lion and a dragon. Now, Sir Guy never would
see a fight of any kind without having a hand
in it; so he put his lance in rest, and, galloping
up to the dragon, pierced him through and
through, and at last pinned him to the ground.
When he had finished the monster he was about
to go at the lion with his battle-axe; when
that ferocious animal showed his gratitude at
being delivered from the dragon by crouching
before the knight and fawning on him like a dog.
When Sir Guy turned to go the lion followed
him, and continued to follow him, watch over
him, and share in all his travels and adventures.
When his master was engaged in combat with
any reasonable number of Saracens at a time
he would stand back and see fair play, feeling
quite sure that the knight would be victorious;
but when he saw fifteen or twenty attack Sir Guy
at once he would set up a tremendous roar, leapGUY OF WARWICK.
115
into the midst of the fight, and soon settle the
matter. Then the knight would pat him on the
head and say, “ Good old Leo! ” and Leo would
wag his tail, and lick the hand of the knight, and
trot along after him in search of new adven-
tures.
At the court of the Emperor, Leo became a
very great lion indeed, and always created a sen-
sation when he appeared in society. The Greek
knights envied Sir Guy his noble favorite, and
would have given any price for him if he would
have been as docile to them ; but faithful hearts
can never be bought. The ladies were desper-
ately afraid of him; yet for the sake of his hand-
some master they pretended to admire him, and
said he was u a love of a pet; ” but they took
good care to keep out of the reach of his claws.
The Princess Loret once went so far as to lay
her hand on his mane and say, “ Good Leo;
pretty Leo ; ” but when he was impolite enough
to reply to her compliment by a roar, though it
was one of his mildest, she fainted quite away
and fell into Sir Guy’s arms.
Sir Guy had a rival, one Sir Morgadour, the
steward of the Emperor, who tried for a long116
WARWICK CASTLE.
time to take the brave knight’s life by treachery
and assassination ; for he never had courage to
contend with him singly in fair fight. One day
this cruel and cowardly fellow, seeing the lion
quietly sleeping in an arbor, sent a poisoned ar-
row into his breast. Poor Leo had only strength
enough to reach Sir Guy’s chamber and drag
himself to his dear master’s feet, where he lay
groaning piteously, and wagging his tail slowly
and more slowly, till he died. While the knight
stood weeping beside the corpse, a little girl —
for there were little girls in those warlike old
times — came softly in and told him that, while
she was in the garden picking a few figs for din-
ner, she saw Sir Morgadour shoot the lion. Sir
Guy had forgiven his enemy every attempt upon
his own life; but he now swore over the bleeding
body of his friend to avenge his death. So,
drawing his sword, he rushed out to seek Sir
Morgadour, whom he found directly; and, walk-
ing straight up to him, he immediately cut his
head off— a very severe punishment, certainly,
while it lasted.
As Sir Morgadour’s friends at court looked
black at Sir Guy after this, or cut his acquaint-GUY OF WARWICK.
117
ance altogether, he concluded, as I said, to leave
Constantinople. He travelled again through
Germany and various other countries, fighting
and conquering, defending the right and befriend-
ing the weak ; till at last, having won all the glo-
ry that was to be had in the world, he returned
to England. First he went to York to pay his
respects to King Athelstan, who was particularly
overjoyed to see him just then, because he had
use for him. There was a monstrous dragon,
black and scaly, winged and six-headed, which
was murdering and eating up people by the score
in the county of Northumberland.
So the King said to Sir Guy, “ My people are
petitioning me every day to deliver them from
this monster. They are always grumbling about
something. It seems to me there’s not much
reason in this complaint, for, if the dragon eats
them, they’ll surely get rid of paying taxes ; but
perhaps we may as well put an end to the career
of the foul beast; for he might take a fancy to
come to court — which would be unpleasant,
you know. So Guy, my dear fellow, as drag-
ons are in your line, suppose you undertake this
one.118
WARWICK CASTLE.
The knight bowed low and said, “ Very well,
sire; ” and a few days after he sent King Athel-
stan the dragon’s six heads, with his compli-
ments.
Then he went to Warwick to see Felice, who
had got enough of science, as he of glory. So
they were married, amid great pomp and re-
joicing.
After this happy event people thought that Sir
Guy would settle down quietly and peaceably
at Warwick. But no : his life there soon seemed
very dull and insipid; and, when his wife talked
to him about science, he yawned and sighed for
new adventures. It may be that Felice attended
more to the stars than to her own household; it
may be she was not a good pudding-maker; for
in a short time Sir Guy left her and set out
again on his fighting travels as a knight errant.
Knights errant were roving soldiers, who went
about attending to every body’s business but
their own. There are none of these in our time.
The nearest approach we have to them are a
sort of female knights errant, who go about
meddling and making with their neighbors’
affairs; who meet at tea-tables instead ofGUY OF WARWICK.
119
tournaments, and tilt with tongues instead of
lances. You can find several of these in every
village.
Lady Felice wept till her bright eyes grew
dim after her husband left her. The stars could
not console her this time ; but a little son who
was born to her did; though at first she wept
more bitterly than ever — he looked so like his
father. She called him Raynburn, and cared
for him lovingly till he was four years of age,
when he was stolen away by some Saracens ;
and, though he grew to be a great knight, his
mother never saw him again. So the poor wo-
man had sorrow enough to punish her for all the
pride and vanity of her girlhood.
Sir Guy continued to have many wonderful
adventures; but I have only room for one-more.
Once, in Constantinople, he challenged to com-
bat an uncommonly brave and powerful knight,
one Sir Barnard ; and, though they fought all day,
neither was victorious. Bat Sir Barnard was
afraid to meet his foe next day, and in the night,
while Sir Guy slept soundly, had his bed taken
up, with him on it, and flung into the sea. The
waves were calm; and Sir Guy floated quietly120
WARWICK CASTLE.
off, never once starting in his sleep. Early in the
morning he awoke with a strange feeling in his
stomach, which he presently found was sea-sick-
ness. He found, also, that he was nearly out of
sight of land. By and by he saw a fishing-boat in
the distance. He waived a sheet as a sign of dis-
tress ; and the fisherman came, took him into his
boat and rowed him back to the city, where, as
soon as he was dressed and armed, he entered
the lists, challenged the astonished Sir Barnard
again, and this time slew him.
After some years Sir Guy went back to Eng-
land and visited Warwick in the disguise of a
palmer. He found his wife grown very charita-
ble and religious; and, seeing that things were
going on very well, he did not reveal himself, but
went away disguised as he came, having made
a visit more satisfactory to himself than to his
wife. He retired to the forest of Ardenne,
where he spent the rest of his days as a hermit,
growing more and more pious as he grew old
and feeble. When he took to his bed with his
last sickness, he thought it would be a comforta-
ble thing to have a wife to nurse him. So he sent
for Felice, who came and nursed him tenderlyGUY OF WARWICK.
121
till he died. Then, for all that he had been but
a poor vagabond sort of husband to her, she
grieved so bitterly for him that in fifteen days
she died too.
- This is all I can tell you of Guy of Warwick ;
but perhaps it is more than enough. Between
you and me, I very much doubt the truth of
some of these wonderful stories, especially the
one about the dun cow. Dragons we read of in
the Scriptures ; so perhaps it won’t do to dispute
the possibility of his having killed some monster
of that sort; but who ever heard before of a cow
behaving in such an extraordinary manner, de-
vastating whole countries and tossing such mul-
titudes of people on her horns ? On the whole,
I am inclined to believe it was a mammoth, or
perhaps only a large Durham bull gone mad.linrnto Cutjjekal anil ^nrk
Mlmtn,
QUEEN PHILIPPA.QUEEN PHILIPPA,
125
them, of the Romans, under Julius Caesar. Ro-
man walls, pavements, and coins are found in the
city to this day. The greatest curiosities of the
place are the ruins of a fine old castle, prettily
overgrown with moss, ivy, and wall-flowers, and126
LINCOLN CATHEDRAL.
a magnificent cathedral, built, or rather founded,
by a Bishop Remegeus, somewhere about the
year 1090, but not completed till the year 1380.
So, you see, it is rather slow work building these
immense and splendid churches. This cathedral
stands on a high hill, and can be seen from a
great distance every way. I will not try to give
you an idea of its beauty and grandeur, of its
height and length and breadth, of its splendid
carved arches and enormous pillars, its statues
and gorgeous windows of stained glass. Until
you go abroad you will never see such buildings.
They cost countless sums of money, which the
kings and priests of Catholic countries persuade
or compel the people to raise. Many and many
a poor man has given his last hard-earned penny
for the building of some grand church or monas-
tery when his family were suffering for the want of
food and clothing. We Protestants do not believe
that God, our kind Father, requires or is pleased
with such sacrifices from his poor children. We
believe what he tells us in the Scripture, that he
dwells not in splendid temples made by human
hands, but in the pure hearts of all who be-
lieve in him and love him.QUEEN PHILIPPA.
127
We went up to the summit of the highest ca-
thedral tower and had a wide view over a beau-
tiful country. While up there we heard a great
bell strike the hours in a belfry a little way be-
neath us. It gave out such a thundrous sound
that the old stone tower trembled frightfully.
But we did not hear the big bell of all. “ The
great Tom,” as he is called, must be a very
grand, aristocratic old bell, as he never rings but
on great occasions, such as Christmas, or a sov-
ereign’s coronation. I believe he condescended
to peal out on the birth of the Prince of Wales,
making the old belfry rock again ; but I don’t
suppose he has made any account of the many
Princes and Princesses that have followed.
After we descended from the tower we saw
service performed. There was a grand organ,
that sent its solemn music rolling and swelling
up through the arches and down that vast ca-
thedral like great billows of delicious sound.
Then followed the sweetest singing you can im-
agine from a band of boys who are carefully
trained for choristers. Afterwards we went out
and walked quite round the cathedral, viewing
it on all sides — no trifle of a walk, I assure you.128 *
YORK MINSTER.
The outside is ornamented with a host of stat-
ues and figures of all sorts — some very queer
and funny, though they are on a holy building.
There is one of a profligate priest, Archbishop
Blowet, very appropriately blowing a swineherd’s
horn; and there is another of Satan himself,
who, the old monks used to say, envied them their
grand cathedral; and so, to aggravate him, they
perched him up on a high point, where he could
overlook all the beautiful building. He has a
mean, ugly face and figure, and, besides looking
as spiteful and cross as it is natural for demons to
look, seems ready to die of envy. I am afraid that
the monks who put him up there rather enjoyed
seeing him in such an uncomfortable situation-*
for, with all their piety, I don’t think they were
like the kind little boy you may have heard of,
who pitied Satan and called him “ poor fellow,”
because, he said, “ nobody loves him.”
York Minster is a vast and magnificent build-
ing, far more beautiful than the cathedral at
Lincoln or than any other that I saw in Eng-
land. I wandered through it for hours, wonder-QUEEN PHILIPPA.
129
ing and admiring, never satisfied with gazing up
at its grand arches of finely-carved stone, rising
one above another, supported by immense col-
umns, and at the great windows of stained
glass, which seemed to turn all the light of the
day into glorious rainbows. Nor could I ever tire
of listening to the music of the noble organ,
now solemn, now joyful, and the sweet chant-
ing of the young choristers, which made me
dream of the great music of heaven and the
singing of the saints in blessedness.
York Minster was founded as long ago as the
year 627, by Edwyn, an Anglo-Saxon King of
the Northumbrians. This monarch was convert-
ed from paganism in a rather romantic way ;
but he proved a very true and faithful Christian
for all that.
He wished to marry Edilburga, the daughter
of Ethelbert, King of Kent; but that young
Princess was a Christian, and would not consent
to be his wife, though she liked him very well,
unless he would promise, not only to allow her to
enjoy her religious faith, but to renounce pagan-
ism. Edwyn agreed to let Edilburga keep her
belief; but, though very much in love, he was too130
YORK MINSTER.
wise and honest to promise to give up his own
without knowing what he was going to have in
the place of it. So he told her that he would
examine her religion, and, if it should appear to
him better and purer than his own, he would
adopt it and support it with all his power.
So Edilburga, who relied on his word, came
to York to be his Queen, accompanied by a
learned and eloquent minister named Paulinus,
who talked and argued with the King till he ac-
knowledged himself entirely convinced. Then
he called a council of his great men and frank-
ly acknowledged his change of sentiments, and
called upon them to examine and adopt the new
religion.
This was a very brave and manly deed for a
young King to do. It is always a dangerous
thing to meddle with a people’s religion, if it is
ever so false and bad. It is sacred to those who
believe in it; and those who don’t believe in it
either fear it or live by it; so nobody likes to see
it touched. Now, the armed nobles looked at
one another in silent astonishment; the priests
looked frightened or angry, or drew down their
faces and rolled up their eyes, as though shockedQUEEN PHILIPPA.
131
at the King’s profanity. Edwyn was pale, and
his voice shook a little, but not with fear; for
God strengthened his heart that it did not fail.
A holy light shone in his eye, and he spoke such
wise and earnest words that every honest man
present felt ready to adopt the religion of Jesus
Christ.
Wonderful to tell, the first to address the coun-
cil after the King was Coifi, the heathen high-
priest, who boldly acknowledged that the deities
he had been serving were worthless and power-
less, and declared his willingness to be taught
a better doctrine. Then a noble spoke, saying,
“ O mighty King, of what good is our religion ?
Does it not leave us in thick darkness of igno-
rance about the great future beyond this life ?
Like birds that flit about us for a season, then
fly away out of our view we know not whither, so
we for a little while on this earth pass away, and
no eye can follow us. If the stranger can tell
what that life is that begins when our hearts
stop their beating, what our souls behold when
our eyes have ceased from seeing, where they
dwell when the grave has shut over our bodies,
then let us receive his teachings.”132
YORK MINSTER.
Several other speeches like this were made;
and all the council professed to be of King Ed-
wyn’s opinion.
Coifi, the high-priest, became so excited that
he proposed at once to set about destroying the
heathen temples. So he armed himself and
mounted one of the king’s horses, and, heading
a troop of soldiers, attacked the great temple at
Godmundingham and soon levelled it to the
ground.
From that time the people eagerly embraced
Christianity, mostly from honest conviction, but
some, I am afraid, because the King and the no-
bility had set the fashion. It is said that for
thirty-six days Bishop Paulinus did nothing from
morning till night but baptize converts ; that on
one day he baptized no less than twelve thou-
sand ! I don’t like to dispute any thing I find in
history: I only say that Paulinus appears to
have been a very extraordinary man in his way,
and must have used wonderful despatch.
On the spot where King Edwyn was baptized
he erected a magnificent stone church; but after
his death the pagans got the upper hand and
levelled it to the ground. In the reigns of theQUEEN PHILIPPA.
133
warlike kings that followed, some pious, some
wicked, it was rebuilt and destroyed so often
that it seemed all the time to be either going up
very slowly or coming down very rapidly. At
last, in the year 1216, the present beautiful build-
ing was commenced; and in about two hundred
years it was finished. So it is now nearly seven
hundred years old.
THE STORY OF QUEEN PHILIPPA.
The young King Edward III. was married to
the Lady Philippa, of Hainault, at York, in the
year 1328.
Edward was a brave and handsome man, and
a very good Prince, as Princes go; but as for
Philippa, she was one of the most beautiful and
amiable, wise and noble, of Princesses. Even
now men speak her name reverently ; and women
are proud and happy that such a woman has
lived.
That was a splendid wedding. Such a mag-
nificent procession followed the royal pair into the
minster—all the highest nobility of England and1*'U
YORK xMINSTER.
Scotland ; the parliament and council; Edward’s
beautiful mother, Queen Isabella, with her train
of fair ladies; foreign princes, with their suites; sol-
diers, and musicians, and richly-robed priests. The
minster was hung with rich draperies and strewn
with flowers. Under the arches stood banners so
thick that they shook and rustled against each
other; and all down the aisles there was a great
clang of swords and armor. But when Edward
and Philippa stood before the altar no one no-
ticed the splendor of the scene, for gazing on
their youthful beauty; and every sound was
hushed, that their voices might be heard repeat-
ing the solemn words of the priest.
As Queen Philippa was passing out of the
minster, conducted by her husband, she noticed a
plainly-dressed youth leaning against one of the
pillars, whose pale, gentle face somehow struck
to her heart. It was not the admiration she read
in his gaze which made her look at him so ear-
nestly, but the great thoughts burning in his
eyes. This was Chaucer, the poet, whose works
we read even now with delight, while the very
names of the grand nobles and princes who sur-
rounded him on that day are forgotten.QUEEN PHILIPPA.
135
Philippa continued always to be as good and
sensible as she was graceful and beautiful, and
made the English people an excellent Queen.
From the first she influenced the King to reform
the abuses which had grown out of the infamous
government of his bad mother and her favorite
Mortimer; and she set herself to the work of
improving the condition of the common people
by introducing manufactories into England.
Never before had woollen cloth been made in
that kingdom. She encouraged art and litera-
ture also, and was the friend and patroness of
poets.
Edward, brave and generous as he was, had a
quick and stormy temper, and sometimes did
cruel things, in the heat of passion, when away
from Philippa. But that gentle Queen, when be-
side her stern lord, never failed to plead with him
to be merciful and forgiving. She displayed
this goodness and love of mercy on the occasion
of an accident that happened at a great tourna-
ment given to celebrate the birth of her son Ed-
ward, afterwards the heroic “ Black Prince.” A
temporary scaffolding fell to the ground, with
the Queen and all her ladies. Nobody was136
YORK MINSTER.
killed, and very few were hurt; but there was a
prodigious shrieking and confusion — those who
were quite unharmed screaming the loudest, of
course.
King Edward, seeing what danger his beloved
wife had been in, flew into a terrible rage, and
vowed that the carpenter who built the scaffold
should instantly be put to death ; but Queen
Philippa, though still pale and trembling from
the fright of her fall, threw herself at the feet
of her husband and begged him to spare the
poor man’s life; and Edward yielded to her
prayer.
Queen Philippa was seldom separated from
her husband, but faithfully accompanied him in
his journeys, wars, and cruises, bravely choosing
to share in all his toils and dangers.
At length, however, the King left her in charge
of the kingdom while he went to make war
upon France. He took with him Prince Ed-
ward, who was but sixteen years of age, but
who won much glory at the great battle of
Cressy.
King David, of Scotland, took this opportuni-
ty to come down upon England with a mightyQUEEN PHILIPPA.
137
army; but Queen Philippa collected her forces
and met him at Newcastle upon Tyne. After
her men were drawn up in order of battle she
rode among them, mounted on her white charger,
and entreated them to do their duty to her and
their absent King and to fight manfully for their
country. She then commended them to the pro-
tection of God, and retired from the battle-field
to pray for their success; for, brave as she was,
Queen Philippa was no fighter, and shrank from
the sight of blood and carnage.
The English were victorious, and took the
warlike King David prisoner. After Philippa had
got him lodged safely in the Tower of London
she set sail for France, to join her husband at his
camp before the town of Calais, which he had
been besieging for several months.
And now comes the most beautiful incident in
the life of Queen Philippa.
The defenders of Calais became at last so re-
duced by famine that they were obliged to capit-
ulate. At first Edward declared he would put
them all to death; but his councillor, Sir Walter
Mauny, pleaded with him till he softened some-
what and said, —138
YORK MINSTER.
“ Tell the Governor of Calais that the garrison
and inhabitants shall be pardoned, excepting six
of the principal citizens,, who must surrender
themselves to death, and come forth, with ropes
round their necks, bare-headed and bare-footed,
bringing the keys of the town and castle in their
hands.”
When Sir Walter bore this message to the
Governor of Calais, he caused the bell to be rung,
which called all the inhabitants together in the
town-hall. He then related to them, with many
tears, the hard sentence of the King of England.
It was received with groans and cries of grief
and despair. But, after a short pause, the most
wealthy citizen of Calais, named Eustace St.
Pierre, rose and said, “ Gentlemen, both high and
low: it would be a pity to let so many of our
countrymen die of famine ; it would be highly
meritorious in the eyes of our Savior if such
misery could be prevented. If I die to serve my
dear townsmen, I trust I shall find grace before
the tribunal of God. I name myself first of the
six.”
When Eustace had done speaking, his fellow-
citizens threw themselves at his feet, weepingQUEEN PHILIPPA.
139
and blessing him. Then another rich citizen
rose and offered himself; then another, another,
another • and finally the young son of St Pierre
threw himself into his father’s arms and entreat-
ed to be suffered to die with him; and so the
number was made up. They were delivered
by the governor to Sir Walter Mauny, who
conducted them to the pavilion of the King,
when they knelt before him, saying that they
came to die for the sake of their fellow-citizens.
The poor men looked so pale and starved, and yet
so brave and noble, that even the stern English
knights and barons wept and pleaded for them,
Sir Walter most of all. But King Edward hat-
ed the people of Calais for the great losses they
had made him suffer by sea and by land; so he
ordered that the headsman should do his duty at
once. Then Queen Philippa flung herself at
his feet and clasped his knees, and begged him,
as a proof of his love for her, and for the blessed
Savior’s sake, to spare the lives of those six men.
As King Edward looked down into her tear-
ful face, his own face grew soft and tender; for
he remembered how she had looked when in her140
YORK MINSTER.
beautiful girlhood she had stood by his side at
the altar in York Minster; so he lifted her up
and kissed her, and said, “ Ah, lady, I wish you
had been any where else than here; but you
have so entreated that I cannot refuse you. I
give the men to you: do as you please with
them.”
Then the Queen conducted the six citi-
zens to her apartments, had the halters taken
from their necks, had them clad in handsome
clothes and served with a plentiful dinner.
Then she made each of them a present and
sent them home with an honorable escort. I
do not believe that these men ever went to
bed after that day without praying for the
good Queen Philippa, or blessing her memory.
There were many other beautiful acts and
incidents in the history of Philippa of Hainault
which I should like to tell you if I had space for
them; but I have not.
Through all her life she was amiable, vir-
tuous, and useful — tenderly beloved by her
husband and children, and revered by her grate-
ful people ; so, when God sent his angel DeathQUEEN PHILIPPA.
141
to gently lead her away from an earthly king-
dom and lift from her head its earthly crown,
it was that she might enter into his kingdom
of rest and wear the crown of his immor-
tality.Heniltnnrtji Castle
LITTLE ROSAMOND.LITTLE ROSAMOND.
145
cent structures of the kind in all the world. It
has been besieged, battered, burned, and defaced
in every possible way; but it is still very beauti-
ful and imposing.
I visited it on a lovely morning in early June.
10146
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
There had been a light shower a little while be-
fore ; the grass of the great court-yard was fresh-
ened anew; the ivy that decked the broken old
walls, and climbed and swung about the great
high towers, glistened in the sun and waved in a
pleasant wind; and the yellow wall-flowers shed
down their perfume upon us, falling so thick and
so sweet every way we turned that it seemed
like an invisible rain of fragrance. Daisies and
other wild flowers brightened up the grass, and
modest violets smiled out of shadowy nooks ; and
here and there a blooming rose-tree, nestling up
against the crumbling masonry, seemed trying
with all its little might to hide the desolation and
cheer the solitude of the scene.
Flitting every where about the ruins, and
wheeling around the towers, were hosts of rooks
— black, solemn-looking birds, who keep up an in-
cessant caw-cawing, a sort of doleful jabbering,
among themselves, which I never could imagine
how they could find amusing or profitable. But
doubtless they understand their own affairs and
their own language best. Perhaps they thought
their melancholy cawing far more dignified and
fitting in that mournful place than the sweet,LITTLE ROSAMOND.
147
blithe singing of the blackbirds and the thrushes
that sometimes came to make the lonely air thrill
with their delicious notes and to set all the little
wild flowers trembling with delight; just as some
solemn people in this world think it is most
proper and pious to be harsh and gloomy, and
despise the merry singing of the light-hearted
and the innocent laughter of children.
Kenilworth Castle was built in the reign of
Henry I. by Geoffrey Clinton, a Norman noble.
In the reign of King John it passed out of the
possession of the Clinton family and became the
property of the crown. Henry III., after mak-
ing many additions to it, granted it to his broth-
er-in-law, Simon Montford, Earl of Leicester.
This Simon Montford afterwards proved a traitor,
and gave King Henry a great deal of trouble by
raising a rebellion. For a time he was victori-
ous, and, at the battle of Lewes, took captive
the King and the Prince of Wales. The Prince
escaped, raised another army, attacked and de-
feated the rebels. Montford was slain ; and the
remains of his army, headed by his son, fled to
Kenilworth Castle, which was besieged by
Prince Edward, but gallantly defended for six148
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
months; when famine and pestilence obliged the
rebels to capitulate. Thus the castle came
again into the possession of the crown.
The unfortunate Edward II., who got into
so much trouble with his barons because of
his favorites proving insolent and meddlesome,
was imprisoned in the dungeons of Kenilworth
Castle, while his beautiful but bad Queen, Isa-
bella, and her favorite, Roger de Mortimer, were
holding a gay court in its halls. Perhaps some-
times at night the poor King faintly heard the
sound of music and revelry. Perhaps he wept as
he sat alone in the cold darkness, remembering
how fondly he had loved that cruel woman, and
listened to catch one tone of her voice, once so
dear to him, though now speaking gentle words to
his enemy; or even to hear the sound of her
dancing feet, though they seemed to be treading
on his heart.
Kenilworth, remained the greater part of the
time in the possession of the crown till the reign
of Elizabeth, who bestowed it upon Robert Dud-
ley, Earl of Leicester. It was in the time of
this proud noble that Kenilworth reached the
height of its splendor, and really became aLITTLE ROSAMOND.
149
beautiful and splendid palace as well as a pow-
erful fortress. In erecting new and magnificent
buildings, towers, and gateways ; in enlarging the
lake which lay near it; in improving the chase,
the parks, and gardens, — he expended no less
than half a million of pounds sterling — about
two millions and a half of dollars.
At this castle, in the year 1575, the Earl of
Leicester received Queen Elizabeth and her
whole court, and entertained them for seventeen
days, in the most princely and costly manner
imaginable.
When this entertainment came off all the
country was turned upside down with delight
and excitement, and every body said that
nothing half so grand had ever happened in the
world, — not even when the Queen of Sheba paid
a friendly visit to King Solomon,—and never
could happen again. In truth there was great
parade and festivity at the castle. There were
players, singers, jugglers, and tumblers from Lon-
don, France, and Italy ; there were hosts of gal-
lant knights and noble ladies ; there was dan-
cing, tilting, hunting, hawking, eating; and I am
afraid there was some pretty hard drinking — at150
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
least this little fact in history looks like it:
“ Over and above the wine and other liquors,
there were drank no less than three hundred and
twenty hogsheads of beer.”
The Earl of Leicester was a handsome, ac-
complished gentleman, but a wily courtier. He
sought to win the favor of the Queen, so that
she should choose him for her husband and raise
him to the throne.
But Elizabeth saw his ambitious designs;
and, though she liked him very well, she did not
think he would make a good ruler for the peo-
ple. It was said, also, that this great Queen
loved the power and glory of royalty too much to
share them with any man. She certainly refused
to marry Leicester, though he strove and plotted
for years to gain a seat beside her on the throne,
it is even said that he caused a lovely young girl
called Amy Robsart, whom he had privately mar-
ried, to be murdered, so that he could lawfully
wed his Queen. But I hope it was not so:
though certainly the poor lady did drop off very
suddenly and mysteriously.
Eiiz abeth Tudor was not decidedly a good
woman ; but she was one of the best sovereignsLITTLE ROSAMOND.
151
that ever reigned in England. She was brave
and energetic, and gifted with excellent sense
and judgment.
This Queen was the daughter of Henry VIII.
and Anne Boleyn. “ Bluff’ King Harry,” as he was
called, was a coarse and cruel man, who while he
lived was feared and hated, and when he died
was only not forgotten because the story of his
crimes kept up a shuddering remembrance of him
in the minds of the people. He divorced his good
wife, Katharine of Arragon, so that he might
marry one of her maids of honor, the beautiful
Anne Boleyn ; but in the course of a year or
two he took a fancy to another lady; and so
he had Queen Anne's head taken off to make
way for Queen Jane, who, fortunately for her,
died in time to escape the scaffold. He next
married the Princess Anne of Cleves, whom he
divorced for Catharine Howard, who in her turn
was soon obliged to lay her pretty head upon
the block, because it was the King’s pleasure to
have another consort. And so he went on till
all the beautiful young ladies in the kingdom
lived in mortal fear of the crown and the
axe ; and some, who were neither beautiful nor152
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
young, professed to be most frightened of
all.
The motherless Elizabeth led but a sad life
during the reign of her sister, Queen Mary, who
imprisoned her and treated her very harshly,
principally on account of her Protestant faith.
But her own trials did not make her more merci-
ful towards others. She seldom forgave her ene-
mies, but punished with long imprisonment or
death all rebels and conspirators. When the
Queen of Scots was driven from her own coun-
try by the rebellion of her subjects, and sought
refuge in England, instead of granting her hos-
pitality and help, Elizabeth put her in prison.
Mary Stuart was very beautiful; but somehow
this did not seem to help her cause with her
“ cousin of England,” who kept her in close
confinement for nineteen years, and then be-
headed her.
Of Queen Elizabeth’s last sad days and her
death I have already told you. As for her faults,
after all, there may have been more excuses for
them than we know, and there may have been
more noble and generous qualities in her charac-
ter than we find set down in history. Histoii-LITTLE ROSAMOND.
153
ans are usually more apt to relate bad than good
things of sovereigns and great people. There is
but one true account of any human life; and
that is the record kept by God’s just angel in
heaven.
The descendants of the Earl of Leicester sold
Kenilworth to the royal family ; and, when Crom-
well became Lord Protector, he bestowed it upon
six of his favorite officers. These Puritan sol-
diers made terrible work with it — dividing the
great estate into farms, destroying the parks and
gardens, draining the lake, and making of the
castle a complete ruin ; and a ruin it has remained
ever since.
But now for a little story, which I hope will
interest you.
LITTLE ROSAMOND---A LEGEND OF KENILWORTH
CASTLE.
It was the evening of the day set for Queen
Elizabeth’s visit to Kenilworth. Great multi-
tudes of people had been for many hours assem-
bled on the walls, in the chase, and park and154
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
gardens, to witness the splendid sight. But her
majesty had been detained till twilight at War-
wick to receive the homage of her subjects; and
now it was announced that the grand entrance
would be made by torchlight. At length the
great bell of the castle tolled and a single rocket
shot up into the air. Then all held their breath
and listened. At first they could only hear a
dull, sea-like sound in the direction of Warwick
Castle; but it came nearer and grew louder, till
they could distinguish the tramp of horses, mu-
sic, and shouting, and the clang of armor.
When the Queen entered the royal chase hun-
dreds of great rockets were sent blazing and
hissing into the sky; and such a mighty shout
was set up by the multitude that it was almost
a wonder it didn’t jostle the stars out of their
places. Yet they did not seem at all disturbed
by the tumult, but staid quietly in their orbits,
and winked at one another, as though making
fun of the Earl’s fireworks. The whole music
of the castle burst forth; then there was a round
of artillery and a tremendous discharge of
blunderbusses.
The procession moved slow and stately fromLITTLE ROSAMOND.
155
the gate of the park, illuminated by two hundred
great wax torches, borne by armed horsemen.
The Queen, who was young at that time, and,
though not handsome, was noble and grand
looking, came mounted on a beautiful milk-white
horse, which she managed very finely; for she
was an admirable rider. She was dressed in the
richest silks, velvet, and lace; and from head to
foot she seemed almost blazing with costly jew-
els. Beside the Queen rode the Earl of Leices-
ter, on a jet-black steed, one of the handsomest
in the world, with trappings of velvet and gold
and silver bits. The Earl was gorgeously
dressed, and glittered all over with gold and
gems. He sat his horse so elegantly, and was so
proud in his bearing, that he might have been
mistaken fora King had he not rode bare-headed
like the rest of the courtiers. After the Queen
and the Earl followed a train of noblemen and la-
dies, guards, pages, knights, gentlemen, and sol-
diers — a long and splendid cavalcade. On either
side stood a line of people closely packed to-
gether, all bowing and shouting their loyal wel-
comes.
As the Queen was approaching the outer156
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
tower she checked her horse to speak to one of
her ladies; when suddenly there broke, or rather
slid, through the line of soldiers a little girl, who
flung herself at her majesty’s feet and grasped
her robe, crying, —
“ A boon ! Great Queen, a boon ! ”
A rude soldier strode forward and lifted his
broadsword over the head of the child; when,
quick as a flash, a boy, scarcely larger than the
girl, leaped out of the crowd and snatched the
sword from the soldier’s hand, saying, boldly,—
“ Thou art a cowardly knave ! ”
The man turned upon him in rage, caught
back the sword, and might have killed him with
it had not the Queen cried, —
“ Hold, villain ! By my faith, I think the lad
is right. Wouldst butcher babes like these ?
Then art thou one of King Herod’s men, and
none of ours. Stand back! ”
Then, turning her eyes on the little girl, who
stood trembling at her side, she looked at her a
moment in silent surprise. And well she might;
for the child was as beautiful as an angel. She
could scarcely have been more than ten years
of age. She was very fair and delicate, with aLITTLE ROSAMOND.
157
tender, appealing face, and a voice sweet, but
mournful, like the sound of a wind harp. She
had large, dark eyes, with long heavy lashes;
but her eyebrows were a shade lighter; and her
hair, which was soft and wavy, was of a rich,
golden hue. Now tears were flashing in her
eyes; her red lips were quivering; her cheek
was brightly flushed; her hair gently lifted
from her forehead by the evening wind; and, in
her simple white frock, she looked there under the
torchlight so like a radiant little seraph that the
stern Queen spoke softly to her, almost as though
in fear, saying, —
u Who art thou ? and what wouldst thou with
me?”
44 My name is Rosamond Vere,” answered the
child; 44 and I come to put this petition into your
own hands, and to beseech your majesty to
grant the prayer of a poor motherless little girl,
who will pray to God for you every night and
morning as long as she lives.”
The Queen smiled graciously and took the
paper, but said,—
44 This is no time or place to read petitions,
child. Come to the castle to-morrow, at the hour158
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
of twelve, and we will give thee audience. But
tell me, who is thy brave young champion ? By
my soul, he hath a right gallant spirit! ”
“ I do not know, your majesty. I never saw
him before,” said Rosamond.
The boy of whom they spoke had gone back
among the spectators; but on hearing these
words he stepped modestly forward. He was a
handsome lad, with deep, dark, beaming eyes,
and a sort of grand look about his forehead,
which made him seem, for all his plain, peasant
dress, nobler than any young lord or duke in all
that cavalcade.
The Queen smiled on him, and said,—
“ Well, young rash-head, what art thou
called ? ”
“ William Shakspeare, may it please your
majesty.”
“Marry, a good name, and an honest; and
thou art a brave lad. Doubtless we shall hear of
thee when thou art a man. But now away with
ye both; for it is late for such chicks to be
abroad.”
Then she loosened the reins of her horse and
rode forward with Leicester; and all the proces-LITTLE ROSAMOND.
159
sion moved on again. They passed through the
tower, over the bridge, and entered the castle,
with another peal of music and discharge of ar-
tillery, and such a terrific irruption of rockets
that some of the country-women shrieked with
fright, thinking that the castle and all the great
folks in it were being blown into atoms; some
even fancying that they saw the Queen on her
white horse riding straight up into the air.
Rosamond Vere went away to Warwick with
some friends, and William Shakspeare went
home to Stratford with his father and mother.
They drove in a rough little wagon ; for in those
days only kings and nobles had carriages. Wil-
liam sat on a bag of wool behind his parents.
His head was full of the splendors he had seen,
and his heart beat high and fast with pride be-
cause of the Queen’s praise. He was greatly
excited ; but he was tired also ; and when they
reached home he was found fast asleep on the
wool-bag.
The next day, when little Rosamond presented
herself at the castle, she was at once admitted
and conducted to an ante-room, where she had a
few minutes to wait. She met there an elegant160
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
young courtier, one Sir Walter Raleigh, who
kindly instructed her how to conduct herself be-
fore the Queen. Above all things, he told her
she must remember never to turn her back on her
majesty, but, when she was dismissed, to go out
backwards : and Rosamond promised to do as
he bade her. Just at twelve she was summoned
by the Lord Chamberlain to the great hall, where
the Queen was holding court. She was seated
on a throne, under a canopy of state. She wore
her crown, and a dress of rich velvet, soft, blue
like the sky, covered with white lace so fine that
it looked like light clouds, and looped up with
great diamonds, that shone like stars.
After having been conducted to the foot of
the throne, Rosamond knelt there, and looked
up timidly into her majesty’s face. Alas ! it was
clouded with a frown.
“ And so,” exclaimed the Queen, “ thou art
the daughter of that Walter Vere who lately
conspired with other traitors to set our prisoner,
Mary of Scotland, free! He hath deserved
death ; and death he shall have ! ”
“ O, have mercy, gracious madam! ” cried Ro-
samond. “ My poor father had a tender heart;LITTLE ROSAMOND.
161
and the Queen of the Scots moved it by her
tears and her beauty. O, she is so beautiful, if
your grace would see her you would have pity
on her also.”
Queen Elizabeth blushed deeply, for she knew
in her heart that she was envious of Mary Stu-
art’s beauty ; and she said, more sternly than be-
fore, —
“ Thy father hath acted traitorously, and must
abide his sentence. Go, child! ”
But Rosamond, instead of rising, took from
her bosom a small package and placed it in the
Queen’s hand. It was a paper containing a
ring. On the paper was written the name of
Walter Vere, and a verse of Scripture, signed
“ Anne R.” On the ring was engraved a crest,
the arms of the Boleyns.
Queen Elizabeth turned pale as she examined
these, and hastily asked, —
“ Where got you this ? And this ? Speak,
girl!”
“ My father,” answered Rosamond, “ was an
officer in the Tower at the time the Queen, your
mother, was imprisoned there. He was good to
11162
KENILWORTH CASTLE.
her ; and the night before she was beheaded she
gave him these mementos.”
Elizabeth’s face softened, and a tear shone for
a moment in her cold, gray eye, but did not fall;
then she spoke : —
44 For her memory’s sake we grant thy prayer.
We forgive thy father; but let him see to it how
he again braves our ire.”
She then wrote an order for the immediate
liberation of Walter Vere, stating that she had
granted him a full pardon. This paper she was
about to give into the hands of an officer, to be
conveyed to London; but Rosamond begged that
she might carry it herself; and the Queen, kindly
assenting, placed her under the charge of the
officer, requesting him with her own lips to be
kind to the child. She extended her beautiful
hand to Rosamond, who kissed it fervently, but
was too much overcome with joy and thankful-
ness to speak a word more. She rose up so be-
wildered, and in such haste to set out on her
journey, that she quite forgot Sir Walter Ra-
leigh’s injunctions, and, turning her back on the
Queen, actually ran out of the hall, much to the
merriment of the gay court.LITTLE ROSAMOND.
163
The rest of Rosamond’s story is soon told.
She went to London and freed her father, who
never got into any trouble of the kind again.
She grew to be a beautiful woman, married a
country gentleman, and lived for many years far
from the great world, but happy and beloved, be-
cause always good and loving.Unite anil tjj* €mtx.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.LONDON.
167
On the evening of
June 24 I fast entered
London. Coming up from
Coventry by the railway, I
could see little of the great
city till I was in the midst of it. I only re-
member seeing in the distance a great cloud of
smoke overhanging a dim, vast multitude of
houses, towers, and spires ; then, as we drew
nearer and the darkness deepened, hosts of lights,168
THE TOWER.
as innumerable as though all the stars had
dropped out of heaven, began to twinkle, and
flash, and throb, and waver ; and then, above
the clang of the engine and the rush of the
train, I could hear a strange, dull, unceasing
roar. This was the noise of the travel and
traffic of London — sounds that are never wholly
hushed, but in the daytime thunder like torrents
and cataracts, and in the night copie to your ear
with a hoarse, heavy swell, like tffe ‘beating of
the sea against a far, rocky shore.
In truth there was something almost fright-
ful in this first rush, and roar, and vastness of
London to me, coming to it as I did at night.
But when I found myself in a beautiful station,
roofed with glass and cheerfully lighted, and met
there a kind friend who was awaiting me, I took
heart at once; and when, an hour later, I sat
with my dear friends, the L----s, in their pleas-
ant drawing room, chatting and drinking tea, I
felt as contented and happy as I had ever felt in
my life.
I was several weeks in London on this first
visit, and during that time I saw many people —
authors and artists, and statesmen and philan-LONDON.
169
thropists — whom I had long loved or honored
for their works and their noble deeds; and I saw
others, of whom I had hardly heard before,
whom I learned to love and honor with all my
heart.
It will not be possible for me to describe to you
all the great sights of London; but I will tell
you something of the most noted.
We will begin with
THE TOWER.
This famous fortress and ancient palace stands
on the north bank of the Thames, just beyond
the limits of the city. It is a large, irregular
building, of dark-gray stone, with four corner
turrets and two entrances — one by a bridge
over the moat, and the other by a gateway from
the river. This last is called the Traitor’s Gate,
as state prisoners were obliged to pass through
it. The older portion of the tower was built by
William the Conqueror; but nearly every suc-
ceeding sovereign, down to a recent reign, made170
THE TOWER.
additions and improvements. It passed from a
palace into a fortress, from a fortress to a prison;
and now it is used only as an armory and a safe
depository of state papers, rare and curious relics,
and the crown jewels, called the Regalia.
Near where visitors now enter, the royal mena-
gerie was kept until a few years ago, when it
was removed to the Zoological Gardens. Here
King James I. once witnessed a fight between a
lion and three dogs, and seemed highly amused
by the sport. If we were not talking of a crowned
King, I should say he showed very cruel and vul-
gar propensities.
In the Bell Tower the Princess — afterwards
Queen — Elizabeth is supposed to have been
confined. She was imprisoned by the order of
her sister, Queen Mary, on the charge of treason,
of which she was quite innocent. When the
stern guards brought her to the Traitor’s Gate
she refused to land there; but, when they rough-
ly reminded her that she had no choice, she
stepped proudly up on to the stair, and said,
solemnly, —
^ Here landeth as true a subject, being a pris-LONDON.
171
oner, as ever landed at these stairs; and before
thee, O God, I speak it, having none other friends
than thee.”
Opposite to the Traitor’s Gate is the Bloody
Tower — so called because it is believed that in
it the poor young princes, sons of Edward IV.,
were murdered by the order of their cruel uncle,
the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard III.
In the Beauchamp Tower Lord Dudley, the
husband of Lady Jane Grey, Robert Dudley,
Earl of Leicester, and many other eminent pris-
oners were confined. The Lady*Jane was im-
prisoned in the Brick Tower. The Bowyer
Tower is said to have been the scene of the mur-
der of the Duke of Clarence by order of his
brother, Richard of Gloucester.
There is a long apartment called the Horse
Armory, where I saw a great many figures of
knights clad in complete suits of mail, mounted
and armed. These figures represent the fashions
and the monarchs or great men of every reign
back to that of the first Edward. It is a very
interesting hall, but not so much so as the one
in the White Tower, called Queen Elizabeth’s
Armory. This contains a vast variety of curious172
THE TOWER.
old weapons of warfare, such as battle-axes, lances,
pikes, ponderous broadswords, halberds, glaives,
and crossbows. Here is kept the beheading-
block, darkly stained with blood and cut by
many a deadly blow. Beside it leans the heads-
man’s axe, now blunt and rusty, but which was
doubtless keen and bright when it severed the
proud head of the Earl of Essex from his body
and struck through the slender neck of poor
Anne Boleyn. But more dreadful to behold
even than these are the instruments of torture.
These are horrible weapons and machines
used to extort confessions from criminals and
suspected persons. The sight of them made
me shudder and grow faint; the thought of
them has ever since been painful to me; so, if
you please, we will talk of other things.
At the farther end of this hall there is a figure
of Queen Elizabeth on horseback, dressed as she
was when she went to St. Paul’s to return thanks
for the destruction of the Spanish Armada
which had been sent against England.
Out of this hall opens the gloomy little room
in which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined during
his long imprisonment in the reign of James I.SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
173
And now I will tell you some stories of the
Tower, begining with a brief life of
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
Walter Raleigh was the younger son of an
ancient and honorable family, who lived at a
fine old country seat called Fardell, near Plym-
outh. He was born in 1552. At an early age
he showed such extraordinary talent that his
father, who was an excellent scholar, educated
him very carefully, and took much pride in the
wonderful advances he made in all branches of
learning. At the age of sixteen he entered Ox-
ford, where he soon gained a great reputation for
scholarship. But in a little more than a year he
left college and entered the army, having volun-
teered to join a noble expedition fitted out by
the order of Queen Elizabeth to aid the perse-
cuted Huguenots in France.
Like a good son, he first returned home to re-
ceive his father’s blessing and his mother’s fare-
well kiss. His proud father gave him a fervent
benediction ; his gentle mother kissed him ten-174
THE TOWER.
derly; and when she had followed him down
to the court yard, and seen him mount his fiery
steed and ride away with his pretty page and
faithful esquire, she ascended to her chamber in a
turret and watched him from the window as long
as she could see the waving of his white plume,
and wept and prayed for him, and then sat alone
a long time, thinking of all the pleasant past,
and wondering if her darling son would come
back to her from the wars unchanged, still her
own good, beautiful boy — if she would ever see
him again.
Walter Raleigh was abroad on this dangerous
and toilsome service five years. Then, after a
visit to his home, he made a campaign in the
Netherlands, and the next year embarked on his
first voyage to America with his half-brother,
Sir Humphrey Gilbert. They unluckily encoun-
tered a large Spanish fleet, and were defeated.
Walter reached England just in time to head an
expedition to Ireland to put down an insurrec-
tion raised by the intriguing Spaniards. Here
he was successful, and so distinguished himself
by his bravery that he was appointed to the gov-
ernment of Munster and Cork.SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
175
But matters becoming too quiet in Ireland to
suit his restless, daring spirit, he returned to Eng-
land, and went to court, “ to seek his fortune,”
as they say in old fairy-stories.
He was then a remarkably handsome and ac-
complished gentleman, with elegant manners
and a great taste for splendid dress.
For some time he did not succeed in his ob-
ject, as he was not very wealthy and had no
great friend to present him to the Queen. But
Fortune favored him at last. One day he was
so lucky as to meet her majesty walking out
with her courtiers and ladies. The Queen was
magnificently dressed in satin and velvet, and,
as usual, was loaded with costly jewels. Around
her neck was a stiff ruff of rich lace, full a foot
wide ; and her hair, of a reddish yellow, — called
by the court poets “ golden,” — was confined by
a net of pearls and diamonds.
It was Raleigh’s first view of the Queen.
He was quite awe-struck by her grand manner,
und so dazzled by her gorgeous dress as almost
to think her beautiful. His brave heart, that
had never failed him in battle or on the stormy176
THE TOWER.
seas, now fluttered wildly in his breast like a
frightened bird. Such was English loyalty in
the olden time.
It had been showery that morning, and a lit-
tle pool of water lay just across her majesty’s
path. As she came to this she paused, not be-
ing willing to spoil her gold-wrought slippers or
risk getting a cold. Just as her minister, Lord
Burleigh, was advising her to turn back and take
another path, Walter Raleigh stepped forward,
and, bowing very low, took from his shoulders
his new court cloak of purple plush and spread
it over the muddy place. The Queen smiled
graciously on the young stranger ; for she was
pleased with his gallantry and ready wit, and not
displeased with his elegant air and handsome
face; then, setting her foot on the cloak, she
walked daintily over it to the dry ground.
After she and her gay train had passed by,
Raleigh took up his fine new cloak, now quite
ruined. But almost as soon as that mud dried
it seemed to turn to gold dust for him ; for his
gallant act won the kind regard of the Queen;
and that brought fortune.SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
177
One day, being in one of the halls of the pal-
ace, he wrote on the glass of the window, with
his diamond ring, the following line : —
“ Fain would I climb; but yet I fear to fall.”
Elizabeth observed him; and the next morn-
ing, much to his surprise and joy, he found
this line, written underneath his, in the Queen’s
own hand : —
“ If thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all.’
From this time Raleigh knew that Queen
Elizabeth was disposed to befriend him, and he
rapidly rose to the highest favor. For a while
he was very happy, and I am afraid a little
proud. It seemed to him to be a grand thing to
be one of that great Queen’s chosen friends ;
to have her confide in him, ask his advice, and
praise his wisdom and eloquence ; to receive ti-
tles and honors, to dress splendidly and live
sumptuously, and be followed and flattered
by a crowd of courtiers almost like a reigning
prince.
He went down to Fardell about this time for
a little visit, where he talked a great deal of the
12178
THE TOWER.
Queen and the great people at her court; anc
every body wondered and admired, and was daz-
zled and delighted, except his mother. She was
strangely sad and anxious ; for she feared that
this sudden favor and fortune would excite envy
and ill-will, and that his own bold, adventurous
spirit would bring on trouble and reverses. And
then—though he was still good and loving —
she saw that his old home-looks and ways were
gone. She did not take to his fine court dress ;
and the night after he went away she unlocked
an old chest and took out a faded school-boy
suit, which he had worn when he first went away
from home, and wept over it, and felt that the
great world had indeed got her dear boy away
from her, and that she could never, never have
him back again.
After a while Walter Raleigh found that these
same flattering courtiers were his secret enemies,
plotting against him. He became restless and
uncomfortable, and set out on another voyage.
He was again unsuccessful, but no wise discour-
aged, and in the following year fitted out two
ships and sailed for the New World. This time
he discovered Virginia and founded a colony
there.SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
179
It was Raleigh, I grieve to say, who first in-
troduced the savage habit of smoking into civil-
ized society; for it was on his return from this
voyage that tobacco was first brought to Eng-
land. It is related that one morning, shortly
after he reached home, his servant coming into
his library with a foaming tankard of ale, on see-
ing him sitting in a cloud of tobacco-smoke was
so frightened by the strange sight that he threw
the ale at his head to extinguish him, and, rushing
down stairs, proclaimed that his master was on
fire.
For several years Raleigh continued to make
voyages of discovery and conquest, and gained
great treasure and honor for himself and his coun-
try. Queen Elizabeth was grateful to him : she
knighted him, and bestowed upon him new
offices of trust and large estates.
Sir Walter Raleigh, as we will now call him,
continued to be noble and upright, and never
used his influence with his sovereign except for
good and just purposes. He was honest and
independent, and, whenever he differed from the
Queen in opinion, told her so frankly. He so
often interceded with her for those whom he180
THE TOWER.
thought unjustly imprisoned or condemned that
she once exclaimed, impatiently, —
“ Sir Walter, when will you cease to be a
beggar ?”
“ When your majesty ceases to be a benefac-
tress,” he answered.
Yet, for all the Queen’s partiality for him, she
was fearfully angry at his presuming to love and
woo, without asking her consent, one of her
maids of honor, the beautiful Elizabeth Throck-
morton, and imprisoned him and his wife for
several months in the Tower.
But she afterwards pardoned them, and again
showered smiles and wealth upon Sir Walter.
I do not know whether, with such a beautiful
young wife, he cared very much for the elderly
Queen’s smiles; but money never came amiss to
him ; for he lived very extravagantly, and had al*
most as great a passion for costly dress as Queen
Elizabeth herself. He tilted in silver armor?
his sword and belt were set with diamonds,
pearls, and rubies: on great occasions he ap*
peared at court wearing thirty thousand pounds
worth of jewels.
For the next eight or nine years Sir WalterSIR WALTER RALEIGH.
181
Raleigh’s life was full of successes, conquests,
and honors; but after the death of Queen Eliz-
abeth all went badly with him. His enemies
influenced James I. against him ; and he was so
slandered and persecuted that he joined in a
wild conspiracy to place the Lady Arabella
Stuart on the throne. For this he was arrested,
tried, and sentenced to death. The King, how'-
ever, reprieved him, but kept him imprisoned
in the Tower for twelve years. Here it was that
Sir Walter Raleigh best proved that he was a
great and good man. He did not sink down
in sullen despair and mope away his melan-
choly days, but went to work diligently and
cheerfully for the good of the world. He wrote
several noble works, and showed himself to be
a rare scholar, a philosopher, an historian, and a
poet.
At length he was released, but not formally
pardoned. He found himself poor, forsaken by
his old friends, and still persecuted by his foes.
Yet his great courageous heart did not fail. He
undertook a new voyage to Guiana —King
James granting him a commission, in the hope
of his bringing back much treasure. But182
THE TOWER.
through treachery, and the folly of James him-
self in revealing the secret of the expedition to
the Spanish minister, Raleigh suffered a dis-
astrous defeat. In an unequal fight with the
Spanish forces he lost his beloved eldest son.
Returning almost heart-broken to England, Sir
Walter was again arrested and committed to
the Tower.
A set of wicked old judges, who only cared to
decide as the King wished, and forgot that God
would judge them, decided that the sentence of
death pronounced upon him fifteen years ago
was still in force, and should be executed. Sir
Walter defended himself with wonderful elo-
quence ; but it was of no use. He was again
condemned, and the very next day was led to the
scaffold. He died grandly as a brave soldier,
but meekly as a true Christian. After address-
ing the multitude, he took the axe from the
headsman and felt its edge, saying, “ ’Tis a
sharp medicine, but a sure cure for all ills.” He
laid his head upon the block as calmly as
though it were a pillow, and commended his
soul to God as serenely as though saying
his nightly prayer. The headsman was soSIR WALTER RALEIGH.
183
touched with reverence and pity that he hesi-
tated to do his dreadful duty. Seeing this, Sir
Walter said, “ Strike, man — strike!” And he
struck.
When that noble head — grown gray in toil
and study, care and hardship — rolled upon the
scaffold, a dismal groan went up from the crowd.
Only selfish and ambitious courtiers had envied
and hated Raleigh ; the people had always loved
and honored him; and many there were that
wept for him that day and prayed that his soul
might rest in God.
On the night before his execution Sir Walter
Raleigh wrote a very affecting letter to his be-
loved wife, with some portions of which I will
close this history: —
“ You shall receive, my dear wife, my last
words in these my last lines. My love I send
you, that you may keep it when I am dead;
and my counsel, that you may remember it when
I am no more.
“ I would not, with my will, present you sor-
rows, dear Bess: let them go to the grave with
me and be buried in the dust. And, seeing184
THE TOWER.
that it is not the will of God that I shall see
you any more, bear my destruction patiently
and with a heart like yourself.
“First, I send you all the thanks that my heart
can conceive or my words express for your many
labors and cares for me, which though they
have not taken effect as you wished, my debt to
you is not the less; but pay it I never shall in
this world.
“ Secondly, I beseech you, for the love you bear
me living, do not hide yourself many days, but
by your labors seek to help the miserable for-
tunes of your poor child.
* * *	* *
“ To what friend to direct you I know not;
for mine have left me in the true time of trial.
Most sorry am I that, being thus surprised by
death, I can leave you no better estate. God
hath prevented all my determinations — that
great God who worketh all in all; and, if you
can live free from want, care for no more; for the
rest is vanity. Love God : in him you shall find
true and endless comfort. Teach your son also
to serve God whilst he is young, that the fear of
God may grow up in him; then will God be aSIR WALTER RALEIGH.
185
husband to you and a father to him — a hus-
band and a father that can never be taken* from
you.
“ Dear wife, I beseech you pay all poor men.
* *	* Remember your poor child for his
father’s sake, who loved you in his happiest es-
tate. I sued for my life; but it was for you and
yours that I desired it; for know it, dear wife,
your child is the son of a true man, who in his
own respect despiseth Death and his misshapen
and ugly forms.
“ I cannot write much. God knows how
hardly I steal this time when all sleep ; and it is
also time for me to separate my thoughts from
the world.
“ Beg my dead body, which living was denied
you, and either lay it in Sherbourne, or in Exe-
ter church, by my father and mother.
“ I can say no more. Time and death call
me away. The everlasting God, powerful, infi-
nite, and inscrutable, God Almighty, who is
goodness itself, the true light and life, keep you
and yours, and have mercy on me, and forgive
my persecutors and false accusers, and send us186
THE TOWER.
to meet in his glorious kingdom. My dear wife,
fareW'ell! Bless my boy, pray for me, and let
my true God hold you both in his arms.
“ Yours that was, but now not my own,
“ Walter Raleigh.1’<&ijt €mu, rmttratwfc
LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE
GREY.LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY.
189
with delicious sweetness, and roses, violets, and
honeysuckles seemed striving which should look
the most beautiful and make the most fragrance,
two little girls were sitting under the shade of a
laurel tree, near the basin of a fountain, in the190
THE TOWER.
garden of a grand old country residence called
Bradgate, in Leicestershire. The names of
these two young misses were Jane and Catha-
rine Grey. They were the daughters of the Mar-
quis of Dorset, — afterwards Duke of Suffolk, —
and Lady Frances Brandon, who belonged to the
royal family, being a niece of Henry VIII. So,
little girls as they were, they bore the title of
Lady.
The eldest, Lady Jane, was about twelve
years of age — Lady Catharine a year or two
younger. Both were beautiful and amiable, but
very unlike. The Lady Jane was quiet, thought-
ful, and remarkably fond of study; while the
Lady Catharine was a restless, fearless, light-
hearted child, who loved many things better
than she loved her books. Lady Jane was al-
ways happy when at hard study, or receiv-
ing instruction from her masters, especially
from her favorite tutor, the good and learned
Roger Ascham, under whose teaching and gui-
dance she became celebrated for her learning in
the languages, sciences, and religion. She was
an earnest Protestant, and was always able to
give a reason for the faith she professed.LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 191
The Lady Catharine, though a good and do-
cile pupil, fell far behind her sister in her attain-
ments. She could hardly be said to have been
fond of study ; but she endured it very well. In
truth, like a few — I trust a very few — little girls
in our own country and time, she often preferred
play to books? She had such a passion for the
open air, the wooded park, the breezy downs,
the murmur of winds among the trees, the wild
melody of the birds, the plash of fountains, the
tinkle of pebbly brooks, the glow of sunshine,
and the beauty of flowers, that her school-room
too often seemed to her a dreary, weary place of
confinement; and she used to pity herself, as a
poor helpless prisoner in the dungeons of the cru-
el giant “ Useful Knowledge,” and think herself
very hardly used indeed. Alas! the time came
¥
when she better knew what imprisonment was.
This was the morning of a holiday. Lady
Catharine had been running about the garden
and grounds, chasing butterflies, mocking the
birds, and dancing to the dash of the waterfall •
and now she had just returned with her arms
full of roses, lilies, and glossy laurel leaves ; and
flinging herself down, all flushed and panting,192
THE TOWER.
upon a bank of violets by the side of her grave
sister, she exclaimed, half petulantly, half lov-
ing!y> —
“ I prithee, Jane, lay aside that tiresome Greek
book. Thou wilt mope thyself to death over
thy dull old Plato. Certes, sister, I marvel much
thy tender conscience will allow thbe to so batter
thy poor brains and waste thy precious time
over knotty heathen philosophies.’’
The Lady Jane shook her head reprovingly,
as she replied, —
“ Ah, Kate ! Kate! thou art a froward and a
naughty child to speak thus saucily of the ‘di-
vine Plato,’ as Master Roger Ascham nameth
him.”
“ Master Roger Ascham,” said Lady Cath-
arine, “is tiresome too; and Master Harding
and Master Aylmer are also exceeding dull and
prosy. I would that thou and I and our cousin
Edward had never seen a word of Greek or Latin,
but could barely read and write our own home-
ly English. Methinks we should then have been
freer and merrier, and led sensible, Christian
lives, like — like — the birds and the deer.”
“ Sister,” said the Lady Jane, gravely, w me-LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 193
thinks it is time thou shouldst speak less famil-
iarly of the King’s majesty, the high and mighty
Edward VI.”
“ Why, sister dear,” said Lady Catharine,
with a proud toss of her pretty head, 44 is he not
our cousin ? and are we not also of royal
blood ? I ween the honor is not all on our side.
Thou mayst 4 King’s majesty’ him as much as
it pleaseth thee; .but as for me, I will say 4 our
cousin Edward’ till he does an unprincely act,
and then I will disown him.”
44 Thou wilt, wilt thou ? Marry, thou hast a
bold spirit, coz! ” exclaimed a pleasant voice
behind them. Both started, looked round, and
blushed. Then Lady Jane rose suddenly and
bent one knee in joyful homage ; but the wilful
Lady Catharine only bowed her head till its
golden curls fell over her laughing eyes, and
pointed to her lap full of flowers as an excuse
for not rising.
The visitor was the young King, Edward VI.
It was in the second year of his reign, and he
was about eleven years of age. He was a slen-
der, delicate boy, with a mild, thoughtful face,
and nothing very kingly in his appearance exc*ot
13THE TOWER.
194
his dress, which was extremely costly and ele-
gant. In his early childhood he had often visit-
ed and played with his cousins, the Ladies Jane
and Catharine Grey; and when he was called to
the throne by the death of his father, Henry VIII.,
he still continued his friendship, preferring them
to his proud sisters, the Princesses Mary and
Elizabeth. Now, having made a formal visit to
their noble parents, he had chosen to search for
them in the garden unattended. He found them
without much difficulty; for even titled little
girls—little girls with royal blood in their veins
— do not always laugh and talk as softly as
they should.
The boy-king first gallantly lifted the Lady
Jane and kissed her on both cheeks; then he
kissed Lady Catharine and pinched her ear, say-
ing that she was the sauciest Kate in all his
kingdom; and then he seated himself be-
tween the sisters and began talking in a grand,
lofty style, which Lady Jane thought very
proper for a monarch, but which rather amused
Lady Catharine. He complained that the cares
of state, and the pomp, forms, and labors of roy-
alty, so absorbed him that he had little time forLADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 195
recreation — scarce two hours in the day to give to
his old favorites — Cicero, and Plato, and Virgil.
And then he asked how his fair cousins got on
with their classics.
“ Well and ill,” answered Lady Catharine;
“ sister the first, I the last. In sooth she does
not miss thee in her study half so grievously as
I miss thee in my play; for thou wert right
blithe of heart and mirthsome of speech ere thou
didst become a great King.”
As Lady Catharine said this she looked up at
the slender boy in an arch, quizzical way he
didn’t quite like. So, to turn the talk from him-
self, he said, —
“ Prithee, Kate, what art thou weaving of
those flowers ? ”
“ Marry, royal cousin, a wreath for our grave
Lady Jane, to make her look blither for our holi-
day ; and, now it is finished, thou thyself shalt
crown her.”
“ I’faith, right willingly will we assist at the
coronation of so fair a queen of the May,” said
the King; and taking the wreath, woven of
roses, lilies, and laurels, he lightly laid it on the
brow of his cousin. But it proved to be much196
THE TOWER.
too large for her delicate head, and, being very
heavy, slid down over her face and hung about
her neck.
The three children laughed at first; but when
King Edward, in removing the wreath, accident-
ally wounded his cousin with a sharp thorn hid
among the roses, which made a cruel scratch
across her white throat, they all became serious.
The thoughtful Lady Jane, while wiping away
the blood, moralized about crowns being perilous
things, till she saw that King Edward looked a
little uncomfortable, when she dropped the sub-
ject and took up Plato; and presently the two
young pedants got deep into a solemn Greek dis-
course, and made believe they understood it all
and liked it as well as though it were an Eng-
lish ballad or a fairy tale ; but I very much
doubt if they did.
Lady Catharine wandered off by herself wher-
ever the sunshine seemed the brightest or the
birds sang sweetest. Suddenly, at a turning of
a sheltered garden walk, she met two gay young
courtiers belonging to the King’s suite. They
were sauntering idly along, with their gilded
spurs jingling and their jewelled swords clang-LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 197
ing at their sides. The youngest, who was a
bold, reckless boy, seeing the Lady Catharine
unattended, and not knowing her, started for-
ward and addressed her in a light, familiar tone.
But his companion drew him aside, and, lifting his
own richly-plumed hat, bowed low as the fright-
ened girl passed quickly by ; though neither did
he know that she was a titled lady. If he had
thought that she was only the gardener’s daughter
it would have been all the same. Some years
after Lady Catharine Grey knew both these
young noblemen. The eldest was the Earl of
Hertford ; and the youngest was Lord Herbert,
son of the Earl of Pembroke.
As Lady Jane Grey grew towards womanhood
she retained her love of study and became more
and more famous for her learning. Her masters
said that she spoke French, Italian, Latin, and
Greek with astonishing fluency, and read the
Hebrew, Chaldee, and Arabic. But you know
we can make some allowance for masters. Those
worthy men may have been tempted, for their
own credit as tutors, to make her out a greater
prodigy than she was. They may have, merely198
THE TOWER.
introduced her to some of those venerable old
tongues, if they did not throw in a language or
two in making up the list. But, without doubt,
she was a very learned young lady for those times,
and, what was better, very amiable, pious, and
benevolent. Poor people loved her, and the
great people of the court honored her — a good
deal on her own account, but mostly because the
King set the fashion.
As for Lady Catharine, she continued the
same proud, wayward, mirthful girl till great
sorrows bowed her brave spirit and saddened
her merry heart.
At the age of sixteen Lady Jane Grey was
married to Lord Guilford Dudley, son of the
Duke of Northumberland. The wedding was
one of great pomp and splendor; and every
body said that so beautiful a bride and bride-
groom had never been seen at the English court.
On the same day the Lady Catharine was be-
trothed— against her will I hope — to Lord
Herbert, son of the Earl of Pembroke.
Lord Guilford Dudley was very young, but a
brave and gallant nobleman ; and Lady Jane
loved him fondly, and looked forward to manyLADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 199
happy years as his wife. But her father-in-law,
the ambitious Duke of Northumberland, had
other views for her.
That very year the health of King Edward,
which had never been very robust, began to de-
cline alarmingly fast. The gentle boy was very
much under the control of his favorite adviser,
the Duke of Northumberland, and by him was
persuaded to make a will setting aside the rights
of his sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, and appoint-
ing his beloved cousin, Lady Jane Grey, his suc-
cessor to the throne.
The young King did this, not because he was
wanting in affection for his sisters, but because
he thought that Lady Jane, being an enlightened
Protestant, would be a better sovereign for the
English people than the Princess Mary, who was
a bigoted Catholic — or the Princess Elizabeth
in whose religious principles he had little confi-
dence.
On the 6th of July, 1553, the amiable young
King died at his palace at Greenwich. Two
days after the Duke of Northumberland and
other great Lords waited on the Lady Jane at
Sion House to inform her of his majesty’s death,200
THE TOWER.
to acquaint her with his last will, and to offer
her the crown and sceptre, hailing her as the
Queen of England.
At the first announcement, the poor, timid girl
was so overcome by surprise, grief, and terror
that she fainted and fell to the ground.
Her father raised her and placed her on a chair
of state ; and as soon as she had revived all knelt
in homage before her, while Northumberland rever-
ently proffered her the crown. This she refused
again and again with tears and strong protesta-
tions, though her proud mother wept, and her stern
father commanded, and Northumberland argued
and stormed. But when her husband stepped
forward and took her hand, and looked pleading-
ly into her eyes, and begged that she would ac-
cept the crown for his sake, and when they
promised her that he should have a seat beside
her on the throne and share in all the power and
glory of royalty, she felt her loving heart give
way, and said, sadly, “ Do with me as thou
wilt; but, O Guilford, my soul misgiveth me
that no good will come of such as I aspiring to
so high an estate. If you love me truly, sweet
friends, you will rather wish me a secure andLADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 201
quiet fortune, though mean, than an exalted con-
dition, exposed to the tempests, and to be fol-
lowed by some dismal fall.” Then, sinking on
her knees, clasping her hands, and raising her tear-
ful eyes towards heaven, she said, fervently, —
“ If the right be truly mine, O gracious God,
give me strength, I pray most earnestly, so to rule
as to promote thy honor and my country’s
good.”
On the very same day that Jane was pro-
claimed Queen in London, Mary was proclaimed
at Norwich. Then commenced the struggle and
the fighting. For a while it was doubtful which
of the two the people would favor. The major-
ity would have probably preferred a Protestant
sovereign ; but the English people have always
had a remarkable reverence for Kings, and the
children of Kings, and for the blood royal, where
it runs richest and thickest; and so the Princess
Mary, daughter of that kingly Bluebeard, Hen-
ry VIII., and Katharine of Arragon, carried it
over simple Lady Jane, daughter of Henry Grey
and Frances Brandon. After a troubled reign of
ten days, Queen Jane was informed by her fa-
ther that her cause was lost — that she must lay202
THE TOWER.
down her crown, take off’ her royal robes, and re-
tire to private life.
Lady Jane received this news meekly, almost
joyfully; returned to Sion House with her hus-
band, and began again to dream of a happy life
of love, and peace, and usefulness. Alas ! it was
never to be in this world.
By Queen Mary’s command, she was soon
after arrested and committed to the Tower. Her
husband, her father, the Duke of Northumber-
land, and many other friends were also impris-
oned there. Of these all were pardoned except
Northumberland and “ Guilford Dudley and his
wife,” as Queen Mary slightingly called them.
The two last were kept in separate and strict
confinement for nearly eight months, when the
Queen signed their death warrant.
The L&dy Jane had borne all the sorrow and
humiliation of her lot with the utmost patience
and sweetness. Among the hardest of her trials
were the persevering efforts made by the Queen’s
priests to persuade her to renounce her Protestant
faith and become a Roman Catholic; but the no-
ble woman stood firm to her sacred principles, and
heeded neither threats nor entreaties. When sen-LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 203
tence of death was pronounced against her, the
priests redoubled their zeal and arguments; but in
vain. Nothing moved her calm soul from its deep
trust in God. On the last night of her life, when
two learned bishops came, with a forlorn hope of
converting her, she astonished them by the clear-
ness of her reason, the wisdom of her arguments,
and the serenity and meek confidence of her spir-
it. In spite of their blind bigotry, they felt when
they went away that they had been conversing
with a saint, and that there would soon be an-
other angel among the blessed.
Lord Guilford had obtained the Queen’s con-
sent to a last interview with his wife that night;
but she declined to see him, for fear that the
dreadful parting would overcome the fortitude of
both. But, to cheer his poor heart, she reminded
him that the separation would be but for a very
little while, and then they would meet in a world
where disappointment, suffering, and death would
never, never come to interrupt their wedded hap-
piness.
She wrote a farewell letter to her sister Cath-
arine, in the Greek language, on the flyleaf of
her Testament. Then she prayed and composed204
THE TOWER.
herself to sleep, that she might be calm and
strong in the morning. God’s angels ministered
to her, so that she slept peacefully, and dreamed
of her home and her mother, instead of the axe
and the headsman.
Lord Guilford Dudley was first led to exe-
cution. From her grated window his wife saw
him go forth from the Tower to death, and
thought of that proud but fatal day on which
he had first entered it, in pomp and splen-
dor, by her side, when she came to be proclaimed
Queen from that ancient prison-palace. Now
the poor youth looked pale and wasted, and his
eyes were swollen with weeping ; but he ascend-
ed the scaffold with a firm tread, and died with
heroic calmness and resignation.
The Lady Jane was executed within the court
of the Tower. From the scaffold she briefly ad-
dressed the people. She admitted that she had
erred in accepting the crown, but solemnly de-
clared that she had meant no evil, but sought to
do what was best for the people and the re-
formed religion. She said that she hoped for
pardon and salvation only through the mercy of
the Lord Jesus Christ, and then begged the spec-LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 205
tators to pray for her. She knelt down and re-
peated a fervent prayer ; then she rose and bared
her neck for the axe. Her eyes were bandaged,
and she was led to the block. She laid her
beautiful head down quietly, and said, in a sweet,
clear voice, “ Lord, into thy hands I commend
my spirit.” The headsman swung his axe in
the air; it gleamed terrible in the sunshine, then
fell, with a dull, heavy sound; and all was over.
Shortly after the execution of his daughter, the
Duke of Suffolk, who had been a second time
arrested for treason, was also beheaded. The
surviving members of his family were treated
with harshness and distrust by the Queen and
neglected by the servile and bigoted court.
Even Lord Herbert, the betrothed husband of
Lady Catharine, forsook them, and, false das-
tard that he was, refused to fulfil his engage-
ment. But she was happier rid of him than she
could possibly have been as his wife; and she
doubtless scorned him, and thanked Heaven for
her own release.
"When Elizabeth became Queen she was
jealous of Lady Catharine, who had inherited206
THE TOWER.
her sister’s right, such as it was, to the throne,
and wished to keep her in obscurity and prevent
her marrying any powerful nobleman. So, wheu
the Lady Catharine and the brave and true-
hearted Earl of Hertford found that they dearly
loved one another, they did not dare to let her
majesty know it, but were privately married.
After a while, Elizabeth found out their secret,
and in her rage and spite had them both arrested
and committed to the Tower. But her anger
and cruelty could not part that devoted husband
and wife. They loved tenderly, firmly, and
faithfully, and thanked God for each other to the
last.
After an imprisonment of seven years, during
which time she had three children born in the
gloomy Tower, Lady Catharine Hertford died
of a broken heart, making her lonely prison-
chamber a bright and blessed place by her an-
gelic resignation. When she knew that her last
hour was come, she took off her wedding ring
and desired that it should be sent to her hus-
band, who was not permitted to come to her
when she was dying. She then embraced her
three little boys with prayers and a few tearsLADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY. 207
which she could not keep back. Then she dosed
her eyes with her own hands and went softly to
sleep in the love of Jesus.
Lord Hertford was released after a longer im-
prisonment of three years. He lived to be an
old man ; but the love of his unfortunate young
wife was ever a constant memory in his heart,
sweet, though mournful, like the scent of the
votive wreaths that withered over her grave.Clje €mu, rntttrauefr.
ARABELLA STUART.
14ARABELLA.STUART,
211
liy the latter part of
the reign of Queen
Elizabeth there appeared at
her court a young relative
of her own, named Arabella
Stuart.
“The Lady Arabella,’’ as she was always
called, was the only child of Charles Stuart,
Earl of Lenox, and Elizabeth Cavendish, of
Hardwick. Her father was of the royal blood212
THE TOWER.
of both England and Scotland; for he was the
great-grandson of Henry VII. and the uncle of
James VI. He died at the early age of twenty-
one, leaving his daughter with no protector in
the perilous great world to which she was
born.
The Lady Arabella was very carefully educat-
ed by her grandmother, the old Countess of Len-
ox, who lived in London. As she grew up to
womanhood she became celebrated for her tal-
ents and accomplishments and for the elegance
and grace of her manners. She became the or-
nament of that splendid court, where she was
admired for her wit and learning, and loved and
wondered at for her kind, generous heart, her
frankness of speech and innocent ways, and for
her bright, sunshiny disposition.
This was the time when Elizabeth Tudor had
finally, with much reluctance, begun to realize
that, great Queen as she was, — powerful, re-
nowned, magnificent, — she was getting to be
an old and a decidedly ugly woman; and accord-
ingly she grew harsher and sourer, more testy
and tyrannical, every day. Of course she made
all the people about her unhappy and uncomfort-ARABELLA STUART.
213
able; though they were far enough from letting
her know they felt so, Fll warrant. No; they
doubtless assured her that she was a saint for
goodness and a lamb for amiability; and when,
at seventy years of age, she went stiffly and
rheumaticaily through the court dances, in her
towering wig, her immense ruff, and hooped pet-
ticoat, wily courtiers who wanted gifts and of-
fices professed to be in raptures with her sylph-
like figure, graceful movements, and sweet,
youthful smile; and designing court ladies,
though ever so young and blooming, coyly hung
back when asked to join the minuet, declaring
with a simper that they really could not make
figures of themselves after such dancing as that.
Yet, though they flattered her to her face in
this fulsome manner, there is little doubt but
that they privately relieved their feelings by ridi-
culing her vanity and ugliness; and some of
them, I am afraid, in their secret hearts wished
her quietly laid away in her royal tomb in West-
minster Abbey.
Such, dear children, were courts and courtiers
in those old times — sometimes wrongly called
“ the good old times.’’214
THE TOWER.
The young Lady Arabella was like a singing-
bird, a wild flower, a bounding doe, a laughing
brook, a gleam of sunlight — any thing cheer-
ful, sweet, glad, and natural — in that stiff, for-
mal, cold, and hypocritical place.
But Queen Elizabeth was jealous of her, as
she had been of Lady Catharine Grey, for the
same absurd reason, — her royal blood, — and
treated her with cruel suspicion and harshness.
She was particularly set against her marrying;
and when a son of the Duke of Northumberland
addressed her, and she was pleased with him,
and they were having a pleasant correspondence
and looking forward to a happy life together,
Elizabeth, like the tyrannical Queen she was,
came between them and parted them forever.
She placed the Lady Arabella in confinement,
and kept her there until she thought her suffi-
ciently punished for her presumption and disobe-
dience.
As for the young noble, he seems to have been
but a faint-hearted lover; for he quietly yielded
to the Queen, and abandoned Arabella, proba-
bly contenting himself with a wife less danger-
ously allied to royalty, and less obnoxious toARABELLA STUART.
215
Elizabeth, on the ground of talents and beauty,
as well as illustrious birth.
When her cousin, James VI., of Scotland,
ascended the throne of the United Kingdoms,
Lady Arabella Stuart hoped for a brighter and
easier life. But no ; matters were only worse ;
and she was at last convinced that, unless she
could drain every drop of that fatal royal blood
from her veins, she could never cease to be an
object of distrust to the reigning sovereign,
whether Tudor or Stuart.
To add greatly to her misfortunes, her name
was made use of, without her leave or knowledge,
by a set of mad adventurers who conspired to
depose King James and seat her on the throne.
It was little wonder that the English people
were disgusted with their new Scottish King,
who, besides being coarse, ill-made, awkward,
and altogether ungentlernanly, was violent-tem-
pered, obstinate, conceited, tyrannical, shallow-
pated, and pedantic. In short, it seems proved
by the history of his time that a more contempti-
ble monarch never sat on the throne of England
for any length of time; and that is saying a
great deal. The Lady Arabella, on the other216
THE TOWER.
hand, was a good, wise, and gracious lady, and
would probably have made an excellent Queen.
Nevertheless it was a wild and hopeless scheme ;
for James had the legal right, possession, which,
it is said, is “nine points of the law;” and the
English people were not yet strong and free
enough to disregard these things when royal pre-
rogatives were abused and honest loyalty sought
to be degraded into slavish submission.
This unfortunate plot was the one in which Sir
Walter Raleigh was so unhappily implicated.
The Lady Arabella was present during the trial
of the conspirators, and denied having had any
knowledge of their designs. It was even proved
that, when a letter was sent her to warn her
that she was suspected of such a plot, she
laughed over it, in her frank, light-hearted way,
and sent it to the King.
But, though there was not the slightest evi-
dence against her, and she was honorably ac^
quitted, she was always afterwards obliged to
endure cold neglect and petty persecutions from
the King and royal family, and consequently
the court. She grew retired, studious, and reli-
gious in her habits, shunning the gay world asARABELLA STUART.
217
much as possible. And the court grew not a
little more tiresome for this. There was no one
to take her place; and her lively talk and charm-
ing manners were missed even by those who
were too stupid or ungenerous to acknowledge
her rare talents and goodness.
It was generally thought that the Lady Ara-
bella would never marry, she had become so
thoughtful and reserved, and appeared so entire-
ly devoted to learning and religion. It seems
that the King thought so; for he gave her a writ-
ten permission to wed, provided she chose for
her husband one of his subjects. He made a
great parade about this, as though it were an act
of wonderful generosity.
But by this time the Lady Arabella understood
her royal kinsman; and when she found that in
her deepest heart she loved William Seymour,
son of the Earl of Beauchamp, and that all the
joy of her sorrowful, persecuted life was in the
dear love he gave her, she did not dare to bestow
her hand upon him before the world, or to inform
the King of her attachment, but was privately
married, as the Lady Catharine Grey had been.
By the way, this William Seymour was a218
THE TOWER.
grandson of Lady Catharine and the Earl of
Hertford; so he came of a brave and faithful
stock.
This happy union was soon interrupted. The
secret of the marriage was discovered, and, by
some ill-natured courtier, conveyed to the King,
who proceeded to take vengeance on the offend-
ers. Mr. Seymour was at once imprisoned in
the Tower. The Lady Arabella was committed
to the custody of Sir Thomas Parry, at Lam-
beth, but soon after removed to the house of a
Mr. Conyers, at Highgate, where she was not so
closely watched but that she had opportunities
to write and send letters to her husband, who
found means to send her loving and cheering re-
plies. So this true-hearted pair comforted each
other under their trials, and thus were happy
for a while, in spite of their tyrannical sovereign.
But some base little spy of a bird, who ought
to have been on better business, carried tidings
of this correspondence to the ear of the King,
who fretted, and stormed, and swore in broad
Scotch, and commanded that the Lady Arabella
should be removed to Durham and kept in close
confinement there.ARABELLA STUART.
219
A friend gave the poor woman timely warn-
ing ; and she, in her grief and terror at the pros-
pect of this further separation, wrote to her hus-
band, begging him to arrange some plan of es-
cape for them both.
The noble Seymour had made so many friends
in the Tower that he was not strictly guarded,
but allowed to walk about the courts and see his
friends .privately. So he wrote to his wife, lay-
ing a very ingenious plan for her to escape, giv-
ing her particular directions, and promising to
join her at Lee, and cross the channel with her
to France, in a vessel which she would find wait-
ing for them.
On the night before the day set for her jour-
ney to Durham, the Lady Arabella, assisted by
a faithful serving woman named Markam, dis-
guised herself completely in male attire. She
put on a doublet, a pair of long French hose, a
large wig of light hair covering her dark locks, a
black hat, a cloak, and a pair of high top-boots.
Then she buckled about her slender waist a
long, light sword, called a rapier,—trembling
at the very touch of it, —and so went out with
Markam quite unsuspected.220
THE TOWER.
They walked a mile and a half to an inn,
where one of Seymour’s friends was awaiting
them with horses.
When the Lady Arabella mounted she was
so faint with terror and fatigue that the hostler
who held the stirrup for her said he feared “ that
young gentleman would hardly hold out to
London.”
But the brisk exercise in the cool night air re-
vived her; and after a while she grew strong,
courageous, and cheerful, and even laughed with
Markam about her manly way of riding, which
of course was strange and awkward to her.
* About six o’clock in the morning they reached
Blackwall, where they found two men, a gentle-
woman, and a waiting-maid, with two boats —
one to receive them, and the other filled with the
trunks and valuables of Mr. Seymour and his
wife.
They hastened from Blackwall to Wool-
wich, from Woolwich to Gravesend, and from
Gravesend to Lee, where they went at once
on board the French bark which was lying
at anchor. Here the Lady Arabella wished
to remain until her husband should come;ARABELLA STUART.
221
but her followers and the captain of the vessel
thought it not prudent, and, against her tear-
ful entreaties, hoisted sail and put out to sea,
only promising her to hover as near as was safe
to the English coast, that Seymour might join
them.
In the mean time Mr. Seymour had safely ef-
fected his escape from the Tower by disguising
himself as a countryman, in a coarse cloth suit,
with a black wig and a false beard, and boldly
walked out of the great west gate beside a cart
that had brought him a load of fagots. The
woodman who took his place for a little while
was well paid for his pains, I can assure you.
Mr. Seymour then passed quietly along the
Tower wharf, by the warders of the south gate,
to where one of his faithful friends was waiting
for him with a boat They rowed to Lee, and
found to their grief that the French bark had
weighed anchor and was gone. But there was
a ship in the distance that they hoped was it.
Though a storm was coming on, and the waves
were rising very high, Mr. Seymour hired a fish-
erman to take him out to this vessel. Alas! it
was not the right one. Then, in his sorrowful222
THE TOWER.
perplexity, almost in despair, he hailed a New-
castle coal-craft, and for a large sum induced the
master to alter its course and land him in Flan-
ders — probably hoping that his wife would be
able to join him there.
Now, when the news of the escape of the La-
dy Arabella and William Seymour came to the
King he stormed worse than ever, swore several
hard oaths in broad Scotch, raved up and down
his cabinet, kicked the pet spaniel of his hand-
some favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, and
behaved in a most unkingly manner generally;
all because a faithful and, loving husband and
wife had made a brave effort to live together, as
they had promised before God to do. He or-
dered that a vessel of war should at once be
sent after the fugitives. This ship soon came
' up with the French bark, which was lingering
for Mr. Seymour, and fired into her thirteen shot
before she would surrender.
The Lady Arabella was taken and lodged in
the Tower, bravely protesting, it is said, that she
was more glad that her husband had escaped
from it than she was sorry to enter it herself, as
his happiness was of far more consequence thanARABELLA STUART.
223
her own. But, poor man ! little happiness came
to his sad heart after that dreadful disappointment.
He lived for several years in Flanders, a lonely,
sorrowful exile — ever looking longingly towards
his country, that he dared not revisit — ever think-
ing of his noble wife as sitting in her gloomy
prison chamber, sadly musing over the brief, hap-
py days of their love, or as weeping wildly and
stretching out her arms towards him — as some-
times despairing utterly, and sometimes vainly
hoping for deliverance.
The Lady Arabella was brought before the
King’s Privy Council and very sternly examined.
She replied to all their questioning with frank-
ness and admirable judgment, and bore herself
far more royally than the miserable, jealous-
minded monarch that opposed her. Nothing
treasonable could be proved against her; and
yet she was sent back to the Tower. O, what
a foreboding gloom fell on her once glad spirit,
what a deathlike chill shot through her brave,
warm heart, as she passed once again under the
cold shadows of those dark prison portals !
About a year from this time the Lady Ara-
bella sent word to her cousin, the King, that she224
THE TOWER.
had some very important disclosures to make.
So the King, rubbing his hands in savage glee at
having brought the proud woman to terms,
called a Privy Council, in great haste, to hear
what she had to disclose.
The prisoner appeared before them and made
some very startling disclosures indeed — so star-
tling that the base King turned pale, and all those
hardened old lords looked shocked, almost
grieved. She revealed that sorrow, persecution,
and imprisonment had driven her mad! Yes;
the once gay and gifted Lady Arabella Stuart
was a maniac!
Again her cousin, the King, sent her back to
the Tower, perhaps thinking it the best place
to hide the dreadful work of his injustice and
cruelty.
But even those massive prison walls could
not shut the disgraceful and horrible truth from
the world. The story of the Lady Arabella’s
wrongs and sufferings, despair and madness,
got abroad, and few were so careless or hard-
hearted as not to feel for her. Women talked
of her sadly at their firesides, while their chil-
dren wept around; rough men spoke her nameARABELLA STUART.
225
in pitying tones, saying, “ Alack! a woful
ending to the faithful loves of so fair a dame
and so gracious a gentleman! ” — while brave
youths, listening, played with the hilts of
their swords and cursed the King in their secret
hearts.
At last the fearful tidings reached William
Seymour, and made all the sorrow that had
gone before seem as nothing. After that he no
longer thought of his Arabella as sitting in quiet
grief, thinking of him and remembering the
dear old happy days, but as shrieking out inco-
herent words and singing wild ballads ; as clad
in a coarse garb; as bound and struggling in
fierce frenzy; or as moping in speechless mel-
ancholy, slowly sinking into the deep stupor of
idiocy.
So he suffered while three miserable years
dragged on ; and then, it is said, a sweet vision
was sent to comfort him. He dreamed he saw
his beloved wife, smiling with love and hap-
piness, clothed in beautiful garments, pure
white, like her wedding dress — in her “ right
mind,” sitting at the feet of Him who came to
15226
THE TOWER.
comfort the sorrowful and “open the prison
doors to them that are bound.”
When William Seymour awoke from this
dream he was at peace, and he said, “ Now I
know it is well with her.” And it was well.
The Lady Arabella was dead.3#0tnnn0ter ihktj.
THE TWO WILLS.THE TWO WILLS.
229
upon the site of a Roman temple dedicated to Apol-
lo. But there is no very authentic record of it be-
fore the time of Edward the Confessor. He rebuilt
it in what was then considered a splendid style
of architecture, and expended immense sums230
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
upon it. He appointed a great many monks to
live there, and gave them a great deal of money,
that they might be easy and comfortable; and
in return they flattered and fawned upon him,
put him in the conceit that he could work mira-
cles by touching people for the “ King’s evil,”
and made a saint of him after he was dead.
From his time down to a recent reign the
abbey has been growing in beauty and im-
portance, though it has suffered sadly in various
revolutions,, and is far less splendid in some
respects than it was before the old Catholic
worship was done away. It looks somewhat
too dark and dreary without the rich altars, the
golden chalices and candlesticks, the burning ta-
pers and incense, the pictures and images of
saints, angels, the Blessed Virgin and the Child
Jesus, which once made it so brilliant and beauti-
ful a show. But the English people, although they
love beauty and splendor, thank God for this
change. It is better to give freedom and the
Bible to the poor than to decorate altars; and
darkened churches are better than darkened
souls.
Westminster Abbey is not so magnificent asTHE TWO WILLS.
231
York Minster, nor so imposing as St. Paul’s Ca-
thedral ; but it is more interesting than either,
because of its age, its history, and the many
tombs of distinguished people which it contains.
In the old churchyard without are a multitude
of graves covered with flat stone slabs. Nearly
all the inscriptions are so worn away that one
tries in vain to decipher them. I thought, as I
walked over these stones, that perhaps many of
those who sleep in the unknown graves below
may have been in their lives noble and good,
though not deemed worthy of a burial among
heroes, princes, and poets within the minster.
And then I thought of a surer record for such,
and rejoiced in the promise that the names of
the righteous shall be carved on the imperishable
tablets of God’s remembrance.
Westminster Abbey is a vast edifice, built,
like all ancient cathedrals, in the form of a cross,
with so many aisles and chapels that it seems
like a congregation of small churches with one
grand roof over all.
Dear children, I truly wish that I could give
you such a description of Westminster Abbey
as would make it stand and shine out before232
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
you in all its immensity and solemn beauty.
But, as this cannot be, I must content myself with
speaking of some of the most interesting objects
which it contains, and leave the grand building
itself to your imaginations till that happy hour
when you may behold it with your own wonder-
ing, delighted eyes.
In the south transept is what is called “ The
Poet’s Corner,” because here are the tombs or
tablets of many of the most famous poets of
England. To this spot all who love poetry first
turn their steps. The oldest tomb here is that
of Chaucer, who, you will remember, lived in
the time of Edward III. and Queen Philippa.
The next is that of Edmund Spenser, who lived
in the reign of Elizabeth, and was one of the
most wonderful poets that ever was known. His
soul was as full of beauty and melody as an
English wood in summer is of flowers and bird-
songs. He had a pure spirit, a gentle heart; and
the world has been brighter and happier for his
having lived and written. But alas! his own
life was one of trial and suffering, though he was
much courted and flattered in the first days of
his fame. His friend Ben Jonson states thatTHE TWO WILLS.
233
he actually died of want in London, and that,
just at the last, he refused twenty pieces of gold
sent him by the Earl of Essex, saying “ he was
sorry he had no time to spend them.”
But when he was dead his great friends rallied
about him and made a grand funeral for him in
the abbey. When his body, once admired for
its symmetry and beauty, but now worn with care
and wasted with famine, was let down into the
grave, his brother poets threw in upon it elegies
and epitaphs. Alas! so it too often is in this
world. People are more ready to go to great
funerals than to seek out the suffering, and find
it cheaper to write elegies for the dead than to
furnish bread for the starving.
Yet there was one among that group of poets
who, you may rely on it, would have shared his
last crust with his friend, had he known of his
need. This was a play-actor and writer whom
he Vailed “ gentle Willy,” but whom the world
will know forever as William Shakspeare.
The next poet buried here w#s Francis Beau-
mont. He had a dear friend, whose name was
Fletcher. The two always lived and worked
together, and wrote so much alike that nobody234
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
could tell their writings apart. They loved each
other so well in life that it was almost cruel to
separate them in death ; but Fletcher was not
buried in the abbey.
Next in interest are the tombs of Dr. Johnson,
Garrick, the great actor, and Sheridan, the bril-
liant wit.
In this corner is the tomb of one Thomas
Parr, who actually lived in the reigns of ten dif-
ferent sovereigns, and died at the prodigious age
of a hundred and fifty-two years! Poor old man !
H# must have feared that God had forgotten
him.
The most beautiful of all the chapels is that
of Henry VII. One can hardly imagine that
this could ever have been more magnificent than
now; yet it has doubtless been much injured
and defaced since the time of its royal founder.
In the nave of this chapel the Knights of the
Bath have always been installed. In old times
the candidates for this honor were obliged
to take a cold bath and afterwards watch all
night; but in modern times both the bath and
the vigil have been omitted by special order, as a
disagreeable and dangerous duty — that is, whenTHE TWO WILLS.
235
the young knight happened to be a Prince of the
blood.
The principal tombs in this chapel are those
of Henry VII., his Queen, and his mother, Mar-
garet, Countess of Richmond; Queen Mary;
Mary, Queen of Scots; Queen Elizabeth ; King
James I., his Queen and children, and the Lady
Arabella Stuart; Queen Anne, and her husband,
Prince George of Denmark; William III. and
his Queen; the famous Duke of Buckingham ;
the poet Addison ; and that noble Lord Orsory
of whom his father, the Duke of Ormond, said,
in the midst of his grief, “ I would not ex-
change my dead son for any living son in Chris-
tendom.^
In this chapel there is a white marble sarcoph-
agus, which contains some bones found in an
oaken chest in the Tower during the reign of
Charles II., and supposed to be the remains of
the young King Edward V., and his brother,
Richard of York, who were murdered by order
of their uncle, Richard III.
As I stood beside this I shuddered, and the
tears started to my eyes as I thought of those
two poor innocent boys, smothered to death by236
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
brutal wretches, as they lay locked in each other’s
arms, dreaming pleasant dreams, perhaps, of
happy days gone by forever, or of the heart-
broken mother they were nevermore to behold.
The story of a murder like this is a blood-stain
on the page of history that nothing can erase;
and the horror of men at such a murderer grows
deeper and deeper age after age. Since Richard
of Gloucester fell on Bosworth Field the world
has made its great journey around the sun
more than three hundred and fifty times; yet
it has never rolled out of the shadow of his
crimes.
In the chapel of St. Paul, among the grand
monuments of lords and ladies, stands a colos-
sal statue of James Watt, the great engineer,
who, among other noble works, improved the
steam-engine and brought it to its present per-
fect state. I was glad to see this statue in West-
minster Abbey; for, after the best of the poets,
none of the great people here buried have done
so much good for the world as James Watt.
In the chapel of the Kings there is a beauti-
ful figure of Eleanor, Queen of Edward I., which
lies on her tomb^ Old as it is, there is nothingTHE TWO WILLS.
237
so graceful and lovely in all the abbey. The
tombs of Edward III. and the noble Queen
Philippa are also in this chapel.
Here are kept the old coronation-chairs of the
Kings and Queens of England, and the famous
stone of Scone, on which the early Scottish
Kings were crowned. The Scots held it in the
highest veneration, and had many wonderful
traditions concerning it—the most absurd of
which were, that it was the pillow on which Ja-
cob rested his head on the night when he had
the beautiful dream of a ladder full of angels ;
and that it was once owned by the warlike
Scythians ; and that, when a native Prince seated
himself on it to be crowned, it gave out sounds
like thunder and cried “ God save the King ”
in good Scythian.
The poor Scots were greatly grieved when
Edward I. took this rare stone from them. They
would rather he had taken its weight in silver,
provided so much of that precious metal could
have been raised in all Scotland.
The great drawback to one’s pleasure in visit-
ing Westminster Abbey is the fact that you
cannot go about by yourself and see things atWESTMINSTER ABBEY.
2'dS
your leisure, but must be conducted by a stupid-
looking personage called a verger, who, after
making you pay a shilling, hurries you through
the chapels, giving you a lesson about the
tombs, which he has by heart, and repeats in a
pompous, sing-song tone, and in very bad
English.
This is very trying indeed; but we must bear
it, for it seems to be one of the fixed institutions
— some say impositions — of the country.
THE TWO WILLS.
In the cloudy month of April, in the year
1509, in his royal chamber in his new palace of
Richmond, the mighty monarch, King Hen-
ry VII., lay dying with the gout. He was in
great distress both in body and mind; for, when-
ever there was a little lull in that terrible gout-
torture, his conscience set in to lash and sting
him till his very soul writhed in agony. He
had been a guileful, perfidious, cruel man — not
bold in wickedness like his predecessor, Rich-
ard TIL, but hiding his evil deeds from the world;THE TWO WILLS.
239
and now his secret crimes looked out at him
from the dark corners of his memory, like
threatening demon-faces. His dear friends the
priests tried to comfort him. They told him
that he had been a very good King and a most
exemplary son of the church. Still they ad-
mitted that he had committed a few trifling
errors, and for his human weaknesses and little
sins perhaps it would be as well for him to give
something more to the church, and make some
provision for masses to be said for his royal soul
after it should have parted from his royal body.
King Henry, who knew his own sins best,
thought so too, and left in his will directions for
a costly tomb to be erected in his chapel before
the high altar. He made many rich bequests
to this altar, and left a large sum of money to
pay for wax tapers which should be kept perpet-
ually burning, and masses to be perpetually said
for the repose of his soul. Then he besought
his son Henry to right some of the wrongs he
had done and restore some of the property he
had unjustly confiscated. Think of his ask-
ing Henry VIII. to do that! And then he
bowed his crowned head and yielded to a mon-240
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
arch greater than he, a tyrant yet more inex-
orable— grim King Death.
In the smiling month of June, in the same
year, there sat, propped up in a chair of state,
before an open window that looked out upon a
pleasant lawn, a noble lady — Margaret, Countess
of Richmond, mother of King Henry VII. She,
too, was dying; but tranquil and almost pain-
less was her passing away ; for her heart was at
peace with the world, and her soul already re-
posed in God.
All day long, great people — princes and prin-
cesses, lords and ladies — had been coming to pay
their respects for the last time before she should
depart from the world and the court forever; and
though she each time lifted her head and extend-
ed her hand in her old proud and stately way,
for every guest she had wise and serious, yet
kind and gentle, words of admonition and fare-
well.
Many a gay courtier, in her presence, felt
his heart strangely touched and drawn towards
God ; and many a thoughtless court dame went
out from that death-chamber with her eyes castTHE TWO WILLS.
241
down and penitent tears glistening on the long
lashes.
The young King, Henry VIII., came striding
in, jingling his spurs and clanging his sword, in
his rough, bluff way; and with him came his
good Queen, Katharine of Arragon. When the
noble Countess solemnly enjoined upon her
grandson to take counsel of God, and rule justly
and mercifully, he promised ; but in his base
heart he knew that he lied.
There was no lack of priests about the dying
Countess. She had always been considered a
remarkably devout woman, and it was thought
that she would leave the greater part of her im-
mense property to the Church. So the holy men
stood by her to the last. They gave her the sac-
rament ; they chanted and burned incense, and
said a multitude of prayers in her chamber.
But when Death, who came to the good Coun-
tess Margaret as an angel of blessed release,
swung open the invisible gates and led her into
her heavenly home, the pious fathers suffered a lit-
tle disappointment; for she, too, had made a will.
She had left some bequests to the Church ;
16242
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
she had endowed two colleges ; but she had also
left a large sum for the perpetual benefit of the
poor of Westminster.
In the reign of Henry VIII. began the Refor-
mation in England. After a while the King fa-
vored it; not from conscientious motives, but
because he had quarrelled with the Pope, and
because, being avaricious and rapacious, he
was glad of an opportunity of getting pos-
session of the treasures of the abbeys and
churches. One of the first things he did was
to rob his dead father of his silver candlesticks,
his incense, and his masses. He even destroyed
the altar itself, after stripping it of every thing
valuable. So the lights were put out, the chant-
ing was hushed, the sweet incense ceased to as-
cend before the tomb of Henry VII. So his
royal will was set at nought.
But the nobler will of his truly pious mother
has remained in force and continued its blessed
work through generation after generation down
to this very day. Around her tomb the bless-
ings of the poor arise in a pure, perpetualTI1E TWO WILLS.
243
incense; there the memory of her good deeds
sheds inextinguishable light, and, more than gol-
den chalice or silver candlestick, sacred relic or
royal emblem, commends her name to the rev-
erence and loyal love of the world.€Jjt Mm ^him of XfetmittBter.
--4---
THE PROROGATION.THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER. 247
is the New Palace of West*
minster, which stands on the Thames, near to
the Abbey. It is an immense edifice, built of
fine stone, which is richly and elaborately carved
in all sorts of figures, flowers, and devices. It
has many graceful towers and pinnacles, and
almost countless windows, arches, and niches;248 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER.
and, vast as it is, it seems like a structure of
fairy land, so delicately and exquisitely is it
finished, where it is finished at all; for some
portions of this palace are yet far from com-
plete.
You must know this is not a royal resi-
dence, but is built for the great English Parlia-
ment, and contains the houses of Lords and
Commons.
Attached to the New Palace is old Westmin-
ster Hall — a majestic building, erected by Wil-
liam Rufus. That King taxed his subjects in
a most grievous manner for money to expend
on this hall, and compelled poor artisans to
work for small wages; so that the sighs and
curses of the people may be said to have
echoed every stroke of the chisel and blow of
the hammer till the imposing edifice stood com-
plete.
Within this hall all coronation and state ban-
quets were formerly given. Here Parliaments
have sat and many state trials have been held.
King Charles II. was tried and condemned here
on the 20th of January, 1649. Here Oliver
Cromwell was inaugurated Lord Protector, withTHE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER. 249
great pomp and ceremony, on the 16th of Sep-
tember, 1653.
On the 30th of January, 1661, a great crowd
of people were gathered in the court-yard before
Westminster Hall, gazing and pointing upward
to a horrible object upon the top. It was the
head of Oliver Cromwell spiked upon an oaken
pole, and fixed there by command of the new
King, Charles II. And here I think I must tell
you something more of that head of Cromwell.
Charles I., you will remember, was the son of
that King James of whom we have seen so
much meanness and cruelty. Charles was more
of a gentleman than his father; handsomer and
more gracious in his manners, but in his way
scarcely less tyrannical. For many years he
pursued a reckless and foolish course, unjustly
extorting money from his subjects; intriguing
with foreign courts and the army; now defy-
ing and dismissing Parliament; now flattering
and weakly yielding to it; always promising
and never fulfilling; belying the real kingly
character; and being only true to his double-
dealing Stuart nature and to his father’s bad
example.250 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER.
Chief among this King’s enemies, for talent,
energy, boldness, and good strong sense, was
Oliver Cromwell. He was a brave and skilful
general, a masterly politician, an eloquent ora-
tor— in short, an admirable leader for the people ;
and he proved a wiser and a more active ruler
than England had known for many a long year.
After King Charles was beheaded, (he died very
bravely, to his honor,) Oliver broke up a Parlia-
ment which didn’t suit him, and got one after
his own heart, and had every thing his own way.
He made the nation respected abroad; he made
himself feared and honored even by kings and
nobles who pretended to despise him for his low-
ly birth. But in one thing he was unwise : he
was too strict and stern in the forms of religion.
He and his Puritan followers sung too many
psalms and said too many long prayers in pub-
lic, and set the;r solemn faces too hard against
the elegant arts and innocent amusements of
society. The people grew tired, and secretly
longed for a few royal shows, processions, coro-
nations, tournaments, or birthday festivals. But
they stood in such mortal fear of “ old Noll,”
as they called Oliver, that they kept pretty quietTHE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER. 251
till he died and his son Richard undertook to
fill his place. Then they said, “ Come, we have
had enough of this ; let us have a real King and
a gay court again at any cost, and have done
with the brewer’s family, and this long, dull
Sunday.”
So they called home Charles II., who had
long been hoping for an invitation, and was not
backward in accepting it. They declared him
King, and flattered and feasted him, and made
as much joyful ado over him as though he had
been the “ prodigal son ” himself; and so he
was, as far as the prodigality went.
Charles II., who was called “ a generous
Prince ’’and “ the merry monarch,” began his reign
by certain acts any thing but generous or merry.
He put to death nearly all the Puritan leaders
he could lay his hands on; and then he had the
dead bodies of Cromwell and his friends Ireton
and Bradshaw taken from their graves in West-
minster Abbey, dragged in a cart to Tyburn, and
there hung on the gallows from sunrise to sun-
set. They were then cut down and beheaded.
The trunks were thrown into a pit; the heads
spiked and fixed on the top of Westminster Hall.252 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER.
Cromwell had been embalmed; and his head
remained entire, though exposed to the weather
twenty-five years.
One stormy night, in the latter part of the
reign of James II., it is said, the old staff was
broken off by a strong wind, and the head, rolling
down the eaves, fell into the court below, right at
the feet of a lonely sentinel. He, seeing what it
was, took it up, placed it under his cloak, and
went on making his dreary round. When he
went home he hid it upon a spacious chimney,
thinking, doubtless, that the time would come
when it would bring a large price as a great cu-
riosity. There was a mighty hue and cry set up
about the missing head, and the sentinel never
dared to divulge the secret of its being in his
possession. But after his death his family sold
it to a Mr. Russell, a relative of Cromwell. In
his family it remained, descending from father to
son, until one Mr. Samuel Russell, being very
poor, sold it to the proprietor of a museum.
About fifty years ago Mr. Henry Wilkinson
bought it at a large price, and at the house of
his son, William Arthur Wilkinson, Esq., a dis-
tinguished member of Parliament, I saw it aTHE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER. 253
short time before I left England. It is kept in
an old oaken box, wrapped in black silk, and
locked in a cabinet. It is regarded with much
reverence by its present possessors, who honor
the character of Cromwell, and it doubtless is a
very valuable relic; but it is a mournful and
horrible spectacle. So well was this head em-
balmed, that, notwithstanding the hard usage it
has met with, much of the hair and beard, and
some portions of the skin and flesh, yet remain
upon it —the latter blackened and shrivelled like
those of an Egyptian mummy. The iron spike
of the broken oak staff is yet fast in it; and on
the lower part of the skull is a deep cut, made
by the headsman, who evidently struck too high
the first time. And this is the story of Oliver
Cromwell’s head, which, when fast on his sturdy
shoulders and when his live eyes gleamed out
of it, ruled a great nation and awed the whole
world, but, when dead, a revengeful king could
dishonor, and any crow could peck at.
I was shown over the new Palace of Westmin-
ster by Mr. Cobden, a member of the House of
Commons, who explained every thing to me in
the. pleasantest possible manner. With him I2d4 the new palace of Westminster.
passed through many beautiful halls and corri-
dors, and visited the houses of Lords and Com-
mons. In the latter I heard a short speech from
Mr. D’Israeli, a famous statesman, but a person
not very remarkable in his appearance, except for
a gay waistcoat, a pair of keen, restless, dark
eyes, and a head of very black hair, hanging in
stiff’ little curls, which look more like corkscrews
than any thing else.
In the House of Lords we heard a few words
from the great Lord Brougham. Those of
you who have seen pictures of him in “ Punch ”
know just how he looks ; for they are frightfully
like.
The House of Lords is the most magnificent
and brilliant hall I ever saw. It is really daz-
zling with gilding and beautiful ornaments, and
richer than you can imagine in carving, pictures,
and velvet hangings. The seats of the peers
and the steps of the throne are covered with
crimson; the throne itself is a mass of rich
carving, gold, and crimson velvet; and all about
are the royal arms, national emblems and de-
vices, curiously wrought or painted in gorgeous
colors.THE PROROGATION.
255
I saw this chamber to better advantage at an-
other time — and this was when Queen Victoria
prorogued (that is, dismissed) Parliament, on
the 1st of July, 1852.
THE PROROGATION.
I took the seat appointed to me in the gallery
of the House of Lords at an early hour, and
watched the peers and peeresses, officers of the
church and state, foreign ministers and spectators
enter and take their places.
I had never beheld any thing half so splendid
in the way of costly dress and jewelry as then
met my eye on every side. The peers all wore
robes of crimson velvet, trimmed with ermine,
with jewelled orders about their necks and dia-
mond stars sparkling on their breasts. The for-
eign ministers wore the court dresses of their
various countries, some of them exceedingly rich
and beautiful. The judges wore long, black
robes, and those enormous white wigs which the
English think so venerable and imposing, but
which only strike us as queer and absurd. Then256 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER.
there were the bishops, who, though doubtless
very pious men, did not seem to disapprove of
all this worldly pomp and splendor, but looked
contented and merry, and were very handsomely
attired indeed.
The peeresses and other great ladies present
were dressed in the richest velvets, satins, bro-
cades, and laces, with ornaments of plumes,
flowers, and all varieties of costly jewels ; some
wearing on their heads, in their ears, about
their necks and arms, and down their dresses,
large fortunes in diamonds — shining, and flash-
ing, and blinking all over them like a fairy illu-
mination. Many of those noble lords and la-
dies were handsome, stately, and graceful enough
to do without titles, fine dress, orders, and
diamonds; but some, it seemed to me, were
very much indebted indeed to titles, fine dress,
orders, and diamonds. Near me sat a little In-
dian Princess, dressed in her native costume, and
covered from head to foot with gems and gold.
It was said that the court ladies were greatly
interested in this child, partly because she was
pretty and a little of a savage, and partly because
there was something rather romantic in her his-THE PROROGATION.
257
tory. Her mother had been converted to Chris-
tianity, and, when she was dying, made her hus-
band promise to take her little girl to England
and place her under the charge of Queen Vic-
toria, that she might be educated as a Christian.
The Prince did as he had promised; though he
knew he would be hated and denounced for it in
India. He took his little daughter to England.
Queen Victoria accepted the charge, and stood
sponsor for her when she was baptized into the
English church.
About two o’clock there was a brave firing of
great guns, to announce her majesty’s arrival at
the Victoria Tower; and, a few minutes after, all
in the house rose in respectful silence to receive
the Queen. She entered with a slow, dignified
step, conducted by her husband, Prince Albert,
and followed by officers of state and the army.
The Queen did not wear her crown — it was
borne before her on a velvet cushion by the Earl
of Derby; but she wore a splendid tiara of dia-
monds. Her dress was of white satin, striped
with gold, and over it an open robe of crimson
velvet, trimmed with ermine and embroidered
with gold. The train of this robe, many yards
17258 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER.
in length, was borne by ladies, gentlemen, and
pages.
Queen Victoria is a pretty pleasant-looking
woman, fair and plump, with mild, blue eyes,
soft, brown hair, and a very sweet smile; but
she certainly is not Queen-like in the way that
Mary Stuart and Elizabeth Tudor were. She
is not handsome, nor haughty, nor even tall.
But, short as she is, she looks quite stately
enough when seated on the throne, and is not a
bit too simple and mild in her manner and ex-
pression for a Queen who has really no power
of herself; and, though she is not beautiful or
proud, it’s a comfort to know that she will not
blow up her husband with gunpowder, as Mary
Stuart did hers; and will not box her ministers’
ears, or order her enemies’ heads to be cut off,
like stormy Queen Bess.
Never, it seemed to me, was there a little wo-
man so radiant with great, lustrous, throbbing
diamonds. They seemed to have been starred
upon her, till she shone like brightness itself.
When her breast heaved they glistened like
foam-beads on the crest of a wave; and when
she bowed her head or moved her arms, sheTHE PROROGATION.
259
shook off little sparkles of light, as a rose-tree
shakes off dew-drops when it stirs in the morn-
ing wind.
On the right and left of the throne are two
chairs of state — one for the heir apparent, and
the other for the Prince consort. The young
Prince of Wales was not present that day ; but
Prince Albert sat in his place, at the left of his
wife. He is a tall, handsome, military-look-
ing man, and is much liked and respected by the
English people. Between him and the Queen
stood the great Duke of Wellington, bearing
the sword of state, which was almost too heavy
for him in his feeble state of health. He was
very old; his head was tremulous with palsy,
his hair was snowy white, and his tall figure
was wasted and bent. I could not realize, when
I looked at him, that he was indeed that great
general, the conqueror of Napoleon Bonaparte.
This was the last prorogation he was to witness :
he died early in the following autumn.
The members of the House of Commons were
summoned, and came hurrying into a little place
railed off for them under the gallery, opposite the
throne. Some of these are Lords and Honora-260 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER.
bles, and all of them, it is supposed, are gentle-
men ; yet they crowded and pushed one another
in a most unceremonious way, and seemed as
eager to see the show as a set of schoolboys. I
noticed that Mr. D’Israeli soon made his way
into the front rank, though he came in last.
That is what genius does for a man.
There was a long, dull speech read to the
Queen, which she heard patiently, being used to
such things ; then she gave her approval to some
bills; and then the Lord Chancellor, kneeling at
her feet, put into her hand her own speech,
which she read in a sweet, clear tone of voice,
with perfect emphasis and distinctness.
Then the Lord Chancellor rose and announced
that Parliament was prorogued till the 20th of
August; then the Queen rose and Prince Albert
rose ; then the peers and peeresses rose; then
the foreign ministers, distinguished and undistin-
guished strangers, rose. Prince Albert gave his
hand to the Queen; the ladies, gentlemen, and
pages took up the train ; Lord Derby stepped for-
ward with the crown; the poor old Duke tottered
along with the sword of state ; the whole grand
procession passed out; and the brilliant assemblyTHE PROROGATION.
261
broke up and followed as quietly as possible. So
ended this beautiful royal pageant for me; but
some of my friends who were outside, and saw
the Queen and Prince Albert get into their
splendid state carriage and drive away, professed
to pity me for having lost the best part of the
show. It was well they thought so. According
to their account, it was a wonder the sun was
not dazzled quite out of sight by that gorgeous,
golden equipage. But the sun was out on a hol-
iday,— a rare thing in England,—and deter-
mined not to be outshone even by royalty.
Queen Victoria is a gentle and conscientious
sovereign, an affectionate daughter, a loving wife,
a tender mother, and a true Christian. Such
a woman has not sat on the throne of Great
Britain for many a year, if ever before ; so let us
say with her subjects, and from our hearts, “ God
save the Queen! ” not because she is the Queen,
out because she is good.
FINIS.