The Picture Gallery Explored / Or, an account of various ancient customs and manners: interspersed with anecdotes and biographical sketches of eminent persons
Date: 2018-07-10T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Biography -- Juvenile literature; Manners and customs -- Juvenile literature

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Title: The Picture Gallery Explored

Author: Unknown

Release date: July 10, 2018 [eBook #57482]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PICTURE GALLERY EXPLORED ***

THE

Picture Gallery

EXPLORED.

Page 12.
Page 53.

London: Published by Harvey & Darton, Mar. 1, 1825.]

THE
PICTURE GALLERY
Explored;
OR,

AN ACCOUNT OF VARIOUS ANCIENT CUSTOMS AND MANNERS:

INTERSPERSED WITH
ANECDOTES AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
OF
EMINENT PERSONS.

DE PLANOIN ALTUM

London:

PUBLISHED BY HARVEY AND DARTON,

GRACECHURCH STREET.

1825.

PREFACE.

Although nothing is original in the following little work, except the dialogue, which was necessary as a connecting link; yet the compiler trusts, that it will be found to contain, in a small compass, much useful and interesting information. In selecting the anecdotes from writers of acknowledged merit and veracity, she has endeavoured to avoid, as much as possible, the beaten track, and to introduce names and points of character, not usually presented to the notice of children. She still remembers, with pleasure, the avidity with which, when quite young, she perused true stories, and how anxiously she sought for further particulars of those illustrious individuals, who either gained her affectionate admiration by their exemplary virtues, or elated her young imagination by the brilliancy of their talents or their achievements.

Such biographical sketches are introduced, as were thought likely to awaken emulation, or to lead forward in the path of piety and knowledge.

THE

PICTURE GALLERY.

CHAPTER I.

“Well, Ann,” said Susan Spencer, “it really is fixed for us to visit cousin Robert; for mamma has given orders to Hayward to prepare our clothes, and we are to set out next Monday.”

“I cannot think what can induce mamma to visit him just now,” answered Susan: “he is such an oddity, I hear, and lives so very retired. Mary Morgan told me, (and Mary knows him well,) that he rarely goes into parties; and she laughed immoderately, when she said that the heavy little windows, and massy doors of the old mansion, always reminded her of a monastery; and, for her part, she thought it would be better to turn it into one, people it with monks, and make Mr. Wilmot superior of the order. I cannot tell you half that she said; but it was so droll, that we all laughed with her.”

“I dare say you did,” replied Susan; “and I think it excessively provoking to be immured there, when the Drummonds, and the Williams’s, and the Grovenors are going to the seaside. It vexes me to think how Miss Drummond will boast, when she returns, of the company she has been introduced to, the new fashions she has seen, and how often her music and dancing were praised; whilst you and I must sit by, without having a word to say, or being able to relate any thing but the histories of the old rooks, that perched in the high trees close to the house, or——or——” But here they were interrupted by the entrance of their mother; and as they well knew that observations of this kind would be displeasing to her, they turned the conversation to some indifferent subject.

Susan and Ann Spencer were the daughters of a military officer, whose delicate state of health had obliged his wife to accompany him abroad; leaving, with reluctance, her two little daughters to the care of their paternal grandmother. They were good-tempered, affectionate, and animated; but the mistaken fondness of the old lady, had not only indulged their weaknesses, and forbade any correction of their errors, but had introduced them into all her parties; so that their little heads were filled with the love of dress and visiting.

The death of their father in India, and the return of their mother, after an absence of six years, suddenly put a stop to these injudicious plans; and Susan and Ann had been under their mother’s care about three months, when the preceding dialogue took place.

Mrs. Spencer was a woman of too sincere piety, and too good an understanding, to allow her grief, deep as it was, for her departed husband, to interfere with her duties towards her children. She knew that the best test she could give of affection to his memory, was to render them worthy of his name, and, if possible, inheritors of his virtues. She loved them with the tenderest affection, but she was not blind to their faults; and whilst she strove to gain their confidence, she endeavoured, by gentle means, to counteract their foibles.

Whilst she was endeavouring to arrange her plans, she received an invitation from her cousin, Mr. Wilmot, an elderly gentleman, and the guardian of her children, to pay him a visit of some months; and knowing that she should receive from him that advice and co-operation, which long experience, a sound judgment, and a well-informed mind could bestow, she hesitated not to accept so desirable a proposal.

On the following morning the party left Brook-street, and in a few days reached the place of their destination, without the occurrence of any material incident on the road. They were received with the hospitality and politeness inseparable from benevolence and good-breeding; and even Susan and Ann, prejudiced as they were, could not help silently allowing, that he was neither quite so ugly, nor so old-fashioned, as they expected.

The evening passed cheerfully in detailing the little events of their journey; and when, as their cousin took them by the hand, in bidding them good night, he kindly said, “I have known both your parents from infancy, and hope that I shall find, on further acquaintance, that you, my dear girls, are equally worthy of my love,” they involuntarily dropped their best curtseys, and returned his salutation with their most good-humoured smiles.

Mr. Wilmot was fond of children, and he devised many schemes for Susan’s and Ann’s amusement. “When we are become better known to each other,” said he to Mrs. Spencer, “I shall submit some plans for their instruction; till then, allow me to dissipate the gloomy ideas that, I dare say, have crept into their minds, from the notion of visiting a recluse old man.” And so completely did he succeed, that, in a few weeks, the two girls wondered that they could ever have imagined such an agreeable visit could be a dull one.

The summer was now in its beauty, and a party was proposed for an excursion on the water. Mr. Wilmot, who had entered into more company since the arrival of his relations, readily acquiesced in the invitation of a neighbouring family, that he and the ladies should partake of the proposed pleasure. The little girls anticipated with youthful impatience the happy morning; and scarcely had day-light entered their chamber, when, jumping out of bed, they drew aside their curtains, in the hope of beholding a resplendent day; and their disappointment was extreme, in finding it pouring with rain, without the slightest prospect of its cessation.

With heavy hearts they descended to the breakfast-table; and after watching for some time the continued pattering of the rain, Susan at last exclaimed, “How mortifying! I cannot think what we shall do with ourselves to-day.” Mr. Wilmot smiled, and said, “I hope, my dear, all our stores of amusement are not exhausted, even though the elements are unpropitious to our excursion. When you have finished your bread and butter, I fancy this key (drawing at the same time one from his pocket,) will unlock some little store of entertainment.”

“Oh, Sir, we will be ready in a few minutes,” said the girls, brightening up at this intelligence; and eagerly dispatching the remains of their meal, they followed their kind cousin through the hall, till he stopped at an oaken door, to which he applied the key; and in an instant they found themselves within a spacious and handsome Picture Gallery.

CHAP. II.

“Stop, stop, my dears,” cried Mr. Wilmot, in answer to the girls’ repeated enquiries: “one question, if you please, at a time. What did you say, Ann?”

“I was wondering, Sir,” answered Ann, “that you should have, amongst this beautiful collection of paintings, an engraving of London Bridge: I have passed over it repeatedly, and never saw any thing remarkable in it.”

“Perhaps not, my dear,” said Mr. Wilmot; “but might not this proceed from your ignorance of the events connected with it. For my own part, I never cross it without musing on the ‘mighty past,’ and contrasting the eventful scenes that have taken place either upon it, or in its immediate vicinity, with the present happy state of commercial bustle and national peace.”

“And pray, Sir, what were those events?” asked Ann: “when did they take place, and when was the bridge built? If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you will have the kindness to relate to us a few of these particular circumstances.”

“Certainly, my love,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “and in endeavouring to give you the information you desire, I trust you will find it not only a detail of dates, but a chain of interesting anecdotes; which have, moreover, for you, Susan, the additional charm of being all true. And now, without any further preface, I shall inform you, that the first notice of the existence of a bridge occurs in the laws of Ethelred, which fix the tolls of vessels coming to Billingsgate ad pontem. Pennant remarks that it could not be prior to 993, when Unlaf the Dane sailed up the river as high as Staines, without interruption; nor yet subsequent to the year 1016, in which Ethelred died, and the great Canute, king of Denmark, when he besieged London, was impeded in his operations by a bridge, which even at that time must have been strongly fortified, to oblige him to have recourse to the vast expedient I shall tell you of. He caused a prodigious ditch to be cut on the south side of the Thames, at Rotherhithe or Redriff, a little to the east of Southwark; which he continued at the south end of the bridge, in the form of a semicircle, opening into the western part of the river. Through this he drew his ships, and effectually completed the blockade of the city. Evidences of this great work were found in the place called Dock Head, near Redriff. In digging this dock, in 1694, fascines (or faggots) of hazel and other brush-wood, fastened down with stakes, were discovered; and large oaken planks, and numbers of piles, have been met with in ditching, in other adjacent parts.

“Previous to the erection of the bridge, a ferry had long been established, on or near the site. Some historians assert, that the first stone bridge was built or commenced in the reign of the empress Maude; but during the boisterous era of her brief dominion, and her incessant struggle for power with king Stephen, it may be supposed that she had little time for beautifying the city.

“Pennant and other antiquarians inform us, that the first stone bridge was built in the reign of John, by Peter, curate of St. Mary Cole Church, a celebrated architect of that period: it proved the work of thirty-three years; and Peter dying in the interim, was buried in the chapel, which he had constructed in one of the piers, in honour of St. Thomas.

“Solidity appears to have been the chief object of the artist; and to accomplish this object, all other considerations were disregarded or sacrificed. It would be superfluous to descant on the well-known defects of the foundation of London Bridge: they survive to this day, though not to the same extent as formerly. You will be surprised to hear, that the bridge was crowded with houses, badly constructed, which leaned in a terrific manner, and were obliged to be propped with timber, which crossed in arches from the roofs, to keep the buildings together, and to prevent them from falling into the river. Dismal confined residences, immersed in dirt and dissonance, for ever assailed by the din of carts and rumbling over the narrow pavement; the clamours of watermen, the rush of falling waters, and the frequent shrieks of drowning wretches, whelmed in the cataract below: to these horrors, were added, at intervals, the calamities of fire and pestilence.

“A conflagration burst out on the south-west side: the bridge was instantly covered with multitudes, who rushed out of the city to extinguish the flames. Whilst engaged in this charitable office, the fire seized the other end, and hemmed in the crowd. Above three thousand persons perished: those who escaped the flames, were swallowed by the waves; and the fire above was only less insatiable than the deluge beneath. Originally there were three openings on each side of the street, decorated with balustrades, to give the passengers a view of the water and the shipping.

“In one of these a draw-bridge was contrived, useful either by way of defence, or for the admission of vessels into the upper part of the river. This was protected by a strong tower, which being well armed and manned, occasioned the repulse of Fauconbridge, in 1471, in his wild attempt upon the city, at the head of a lawless banditti, under pretence of rescuing the unfortunate Henry the Sixth, at that time a prisoner in the Tower in London. Sixty houses on the bridge were burnt in the desperate attack, and no less desperate defence. A second conflict took place during the ill-conducted insurrection of Sir Thomas Wyatt, in the reign of Queen Mary; and the check which that rash adventurer received, in endeavouring to force the bridge, brought on a series of disasters which ended in the total annihilation of his disorganized force. He, and about sixty of his followers, were executed, and their heads gibbeted in the most public parts of the city. So late as the year 1598, Hentner, the German traveller, enumerated above thirty heads, which he had counted with a pathetical accuracy; and the old map of the city, 1597, represents them in horrible clusters.”

“How dreadful such exhibitions must have been!” said Susan.

“Yes, my dear, it must have been revolting to every humane mind: and I gladly turn your attention from the contemplation of this frightful spectacle, to the romantic exploits of Edward Osborne, apprentice to Sir William Hewit, cloth-worker, who, about the year 1536, was an inhabitant of one of the perilous houses on the bridge. A maid-servant, playing with his only daughter in her arms, at a window over the water, dropped the child: death seemed inevitable; for few escaped the whirlpools below, and still fewer were daring enough to hazard their own lives, in the fearful chance of saving another’s; but young Osborne lost not a moment in considering the risk, but plunged gallantly into the torrent, and brought the rescued infant safely to land. His intrepid valour met its due reward: when the young lady attained womanhood, she paid her preserver with her heart. Several persons of rank asked her hand in marriage; and the earl of Shrewsbury, representative of the noble family of Talbot, became a suitor to the merchant’s heiress. But, undazzled by the title which courted her acceptance, with the tender devotedness to her first affection, that renders woman’s love so pure and holy, she kept her faith to her more humble lover; and Sir William, grateful for the precious blessing of a daughter endued with one of the sweetest attributes of feminine virtue, generously gave her to him who best deserved the boon. Edward Osborne proved no common man: he took the tide of fortune at the flood, and became the founder of a family destined to obtain the highest honours in the state. The duke of Leeds sprung from this auspicious union.”

“I am glad this brave young man succeeded so well,” said Ann. “Have you any more anecdotes to tell us, Sir?”

“A melancholy tale,” continued Mr. Wilmot, “is connected with the annals of London Bridge. Amidst the multitudes who have found a grave in the dangerous abyss which yawns beneath, one voluntarily sought in it a resting-place, and oblivion for a spirit deeply wounded by the ingratitude of a friend. The son of Sir William Temple, the bosom counsellor of William of Nassau, yet the honest adviser of his ill-starred master, James the Second, when his father declined to take a share in the new government, accepted the office of secretary of war. His interest procured the release of captain Hamilton, confined in the Tower for high treason, under his promise that he would repair to Tyrconnel, then in arms for king James in Ireland, and persuade him to submit. When arrived in that country, this faithless friend immediately joined the rebels, and led on a regiment to the attack of king William’s troops. The taunts of rival courtiers, the unfortunate termination of his endeavours to serve his sovereign; and, above all, the sting of that barbed arrow, winged by the hand of one whom he had so loved and trusted, threw him into a profound melancholy; and though the king was fully convinced of his innocence, he possessed not fortitude to sustain the mental pang. On the 14th of April, 1689, he hired a boat on the Thames, and directed the waterman to shoot the bridge: at that instant he flung himself into the cataract; and having filled his pockets with stones, to prevent all chance of safety, instantly sunk.

“He left a note in the boat, in explanation of the motives which led to the fatal resolution, to this effect: ‘My folly in undertaking what I was unable to perform, has done the king and kingdom a great deal of prejudice. I wish him all happiness, and abler servants than John Temple.’

“Deeply as we must lament the wrongs and sufferings of this unfortunate gentleman, we cannot help deploring still more his melancholy end. ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ is a sacred and imperative command, equally involving self-destruction with murder. And, although the spirit may be goaded to agony, yet insanity can alone apologize for suicide. Let us hope, that in this instance, it was temporary mental aberration that led to the fatal act.

“But to return to the narrative of London Bridge. The church of St. Magnus, at the bottom of Fish-street Hill, is a memorial of the foresight and sagacity of Sir Christopher Wren. The houses on the bridge, at the time that this building was erected, projected beyond it, and reached the church, when they became too great a nuisance to be tolerated, and were taken down. The foot-path to the bridge was obstructed by the tower of St. Magnus, so that travellers were obliged to traverse the carriage-road. Unwilling to endure the continuance of this inconvenience, a meeting was held to consult on the propriety of cutting a passage through the wall. This expedient was considered to be extremely hazardous; but no other being practicable, it was determined to try it. The workmen, on commencing their operations, found a complete and perfect arch, which this great architect, foreseeing the alterations which time would render necessary on the bridge, had provided for the convenience of posterity. When the present bridge shall be taken down, passengers will have to rejoice at the increased convenience and comfort that a new erection may afford; but the antiquary will sometimes heave a sigh over the destruction of this silent memorial of days long passed away.”

“Pray, Sir,” said Susan, when Mr. Wilmot paused, “who was Sir Thomas Wyatt, of whom you spoke in the early part of your account?”

“Sir Thomas Wyatt, of Allingham Castle in Kent,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “was the son of the poet, wit, and courtier of that name. He was once distinguished for his zealous loyalty, and is said to have been also a catholic, a peculiarly acceptable circumstance in the reign of queen Mary, herself a rigid Papist. Though allied in blood to the Dudleys, not only had he refused, to Northumberland, his concurrence in the nomination of Jane Grey, but without waiting to see which party would prevail, he had proclaimed queen Mary in the market-place at Maidstone; for which instance of attachment he had received her thanks. But Wyatt had been employed, for several years, on embassies to Spain; and the intimate acquaintance he had acquired of the principles and practices of its court, filled him with such horror, that, on the intended marriage of Mary with Philip, he incited his friends and neighbours to rebellion. For this unguarded and very wrong step, he justly suffered the punishment of the laws. Other charges were adduced; and it was said, (how truly cannot now be ascertained,) that it was the intention of the conspirators to dethrone Mary, and place her sister Elizabeth on the throne, having first married her to the earl of Devonshire. These latter accusations might be groundless; but when a man permits himself to take up arms against his sovereign, he cannot say, ‘So far will I go, and no further.’”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Susan, when Mr. Wilmot concluded: “I hope all your anecdotes are not finished.”

“Amongst the names that I have enumerated,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “I forgot to mention Sir William Wallace, who was hanged and quartered in Smithfield, in 1305, and his head stuck upon a pole fixed upon London Bridge.”

“Dear Sir,” said Susan, “what crime had he committed? and who was he?”

“His only crime, my dear,” answered the old gentleman, “was magnanimously defending his country against the ambitious designs of our king Edward the First. But to answer to your second question fully, I must enter first into a few particulars.

“One of the enterprises that presented itself to the ambition of the martial Edward, was the conquest of Scotland; a country which he was desirous of annexing to his hereditary dominions, as Ireland and Wales had already been; or, at least, of reducing it to a state of dependance on the English crown. A dispute arose about this time, between the competitors for the crown of Scotland, John Baliol and Robert Bruce, whose claims were nearly equal, and whose parties were almost of equal strength.

“To avoid the horrors of a civil war, the chiefs determined that the question should be referred to the king of England, for arbitration.

“This appeal furnished Edward with the occasion he had long desired, of laying claim to the sovereignty of Scotland. He endeavoured, in vain, to establish his right by precedents, arguments, and diplomatic reasonings. None of these availed to produce conviction in the minds of the Scotch, till they were backed by a powerful army! Judgment was at last given in favour of Baliol, though clogged with the condition, that he should take the oath of allegiance to the king of England. But this unhappy prince soon found, that, instead of being a sovereign, he was really a slave. To remind him of his dependance on the crown of England, Edward cited him, on every trifling occasion, to his court, and required him to renew his homage continually. This royal vassal was summoned six times in the course of the year, to appear before the king in parliament, and answer to complaints lodged against him; and, on some of these occasions, he was treated with the greatest indignity. Averse as was this prince from war, he could not submit to such degradation, but secretly prepared to shake off a yoke which had proved so galling. An open rupture would probably have immediately ensued, had not the attention of Edward been withdrawn from the affairs of Scotland, by a war with France, in which he found himself suddenly involved. A scuffle which had taken place between the crew of a Norman and English vessel, involved the nations to which they belonged in a destructive war, which raged with great fury for a considerable time, and in which torrents of human blood were wantonly shed.

“In order to avert the storm of war from his own dominions, the French king made common cause with Baliol of Scotland, and encouraged him to assert his independence; and Edward immediately suspended his continental operations, that he might lend his whole strength to the conquest of Scotland, and the subjection or expulsion of its sovereign.

“The Scottish chiefs, who had witnessed with indignation the degradation of their king and country, gathered all their forces; and every thing indicated the approach of a tremendous conflict. But as yet they wanted a leader of sufficient courage and patriotism, around whose banner they might rally with confidence. Baliol made a feeble effort to preserve his crown; but was at length utterly defeated by the earl of Warienne, in the battle of Dunbar, after which he surrendered himself to Edward, who committed him to the Tower of London, where the unfortunate prince languished several years in solitary confinement.

“Nor was the severity of the king confined to the person of the fallen monarch. Many of the nobility of Scotland were sent into England, and immured in different castles; the ensigns of royalty were carried off, with all the contents of the Scottish treasury; and the most important affairs, both civil and military, confided to Englishmen.

“Thus Scotland wore, for a time, the appearance of a conquered country; and it is not improbable that Edward flattered himself, that these hardy sons of the north were completely brought into subjection. If such, however, were his expectations, he was soon undeceived; for whilst the king was carrying on the continental war, for the recovery of those possessions which had formerly belonged to the English crown, a revolution suddenly broke out in Scotland, which was stirred up by a chief of great intrepidity and inflexible patriotism. This celebrated chieftain was Sir William Wallace, whose virtues and heroic deeds make so conspicuous a figure in the annals of Scotland, and whose name well deserves to be enrolled amongst the patriots and martyrs of former generations.

“This generous chief, feeling yet more acutely for the oppressed state of his country, than for his personal wrongs, gathered around him a small but valiant band, which harassed the English army in all its movements, and not unfrequently attacked, with success, detachments of the army, far superior in number to themselves. The reputation, and consequently the followers of Wallace, increased daily; until, at length, he was able to give battle to the earl of Surry, who commanded an army of forty thousand veteran soldiers, and he defeated him, with great loss, in the celebrated battle of Stirling. Following the tide of success, which had set in so strongly in his favour, Wallace drove the English before him, out of Scotland, penetrated into the border counties, took possession of several English fortresses of great strength, and returned laden with the spoils of victory. Edward was informed of these disasters, while prosecuting a war in Flanders, and lost no time in repairing to the north of England, with all the troops he could collect. In a short time he found himself at the head of an army, containing upwards of eighty thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry. Thus powerfully reinforced, he marched forward to meet the enemy, who were encamped near Falkirk. A tremendous battle ensued, in which, after prodigies of valour performed on both sides, the English were completely victorious. But notwithstanding the overwhelming forces of the English monarch, and the divided state of their own country, the Scottish patriots were not deterred from persisting in the attempt to regain their independence, however hopeless it might appear. They rallied again and again, after repeated defeats and losses, until, at length, the principal nobility of Scotland, moved by jealousy of each other, and corrupted by the flatteries of Edward, deserted, and finally betrayed, their gallant leader. The satisfaction of Edward was too great to be concealed, when he learned that Wallace had been delivered into his hands, by the treachery of Sir John Monteith, one of his own countrymen: unmindful of the generosity which had distinguished his youth, he now breathed revenge against his fallen adversary, and ordered him to be conducted to London, where he was publicly executed as a traitor, though he had never been a subject of the English crown.”

“Oh, how unjust,” said Susan. “Do tell us some more anecdotes.” “Oh, pray do,” said Ann.

“I am sorry to refuse you,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “but it is two o’clock, and it is time to join your mamma. Besides,” continued he, smiling, “we should even use our rational pleasures with moderation, if we mean to continue the enjoyment of them.”

“Well, then, dear Mr. Wilmot, you will let us come soon again,” cried the girls.

“Yes, my dears,” he replied. “But see, the sun is shining: we can take a little walk before dinner: it will refresh you.”

The party then left the gallery.

CHAP. III.

As it is not my intention to enter so fully into the history of Susan and Ann, as it is to relate the true stories they heard from Mr. Wilmot, I shall only just tell my young readers, that the following day proving fine, they enjoyed the promised excursion on the water. The weather now becoming very sultry, and the children unable to take their morning walks, their mother and Mr. Wilmot, who sought to mingle instruction with amusement, proposed that they should spend an hour or two, in the middle of every day, in the picture gallery.

The two little girls were delighted with this proposition, and followed with alacrity their good-humoured conductor, as he kindly led the way.

When they had entered the room, Mr. Wilmot stopped before a fine sketch of an entrance into Oxford; and whilst pointing out to the children the college at which he had been educated, he enquired whether they had ever been told who were the first founders of the university.

The children answering in the negative, Mr. Wilmot proceeded to tell them that it was founded in the year 886[1], in the second year after St. Grimbald’s coming over to England. Its first regents and readers in divinity were, St. Neot, an abbot and eminent professor of theology; and St. Grimbald, an eloquent and most excellent interpreter of the Holy Scriptures; grammar and rhetoric were taught by Asser, a monk of extraordinary learning; logic, music, and arithmetic, by John, a monk of St. David’s; and geometry and astronomy by another John, a monk and a colleague of St. Grimbald, a man of acute wit and immense erudition. “These lectures,” says the annalist, “were often honoured with the presence of the most illustrious and invincible king Alfred, whose memory, to every judicious taste, shall be sweeter than honey.” From this small beginning arose this now celebrated university, which is at once the ornament and pride of the land.

1.  See Camden’s Britannica.

A few observations made by Mrs. Spencer, who had joined the party, led Mr. Wilmot to give the following sketch of the progress of Christianity, from its first introduction into this country, together with the origin and establishment of the protestant religion.

“Various are the opinions,” said he, “entertained respecting the precise period when, or by whom, Christianity was first introduced into this happy island. Nor can it tend to our improvement, though it might gratify our curiosity, to know, whether St. Paul, when he visited the ‘western isles,’ included England; or whether his immediate predecessors, or followers, preached the ‘glad tidings of salvation’ to the natives. It is sufficient for us to know, that the gospel found its way hither some time in the first century; since, in the persecution of the Christians, by the cruel and tyrannical Nero, in the year 64, many of them fled hither for an asylum. Its progress in Great Britain, during the three first centuries, is certainly involved in some obscurity; though it probably increased during the fourth century, as we find three English bishops present, at the council held at Arminium, respecting the Arian controversy.

“About this period the Saxons, having subdued the country, pursued, with unrelenting cruelty, the Christians: multitudes of whom were put to death, and thousands sought and found a refuge in the mountains of Wales. History has stamped the character of our countrymen in this age with infamy. From the sovereign to the meanest of his subjects, licentiousness and gross immorality abounded; and it is cheering to turn from this darkened era, to the labours of the celebrated St. Augustine, and forty other monks, who, having been sent from Rome, for the purpose of converting our island to the faith, succeeded in persuading the Anglo Saxons to embrace Christianity, about the year 590. On Christmas-day, king Ethelbert and ten thousand of his subjects were baptized; and though, amongst this crowd of professed converts, there is reason to fear that few possessed more than the name of Christian, we may yet believe there were some on whom the ‘day-star’ had not risen in vain.

“In the seventh century our island had almost universally received the Christian religion: popish superstition had, however, unhappily mixed itself with the pure faith, and increased rapidly. One great source of corruption in the clergy, was the practice that now prevailed of persuading people to relinquish their property to them, and go on pilgrimage.

“On the death of Augustine, who had been consecrated the first archbishop of Canterbury, Laurentius succeeded to the vacant see; and, through his instrumentality, king Edbald was not only converted, but promoted the gospel by every means in his power.

“The first Saxon king who completely cast all his ‘idols to the moles and to the bats,’ was Ercombert, the son of Edbald, who reigned in 640.

“It is impossible to contemplate this era of our national history, without regretting the superstitious, and even idolatrous rites, which were interwoven with the profession of the gospel made by our forefathers: yet there is no doubt that genuine religion was possessed by many, and Great Britain, at this period, was allowed the honour of enlightening several of the neighbouring northern nations.

“In the eighth century, the pope had obtained such influence, that he exalted himself not only above every created being, but laid claim to prerogatives and powers which belong to Omnipotence alone. The distinguishing doctrines of the gospel were hid under a mass of ceremonious observances: pardon for sin was to be purchased at the hands of the priests; and immense sums were raised, by paying for masses, to deliver the souls of the dead from purgatory.

“Still more lamentable was the state of religion in the ninth century. But Divine Providence, at this melancholy season, raised up a ‘nursing-father’ to the English church, in the person of king Alfred, who seems to have ‘feared the Lord from his youth,’ having early habituated himself to prayer. He was remarkable for his learning, as I have before told you. He died in the year 900, and was buried at Hyde Abbey in Winchester.

“Historians are all agreed that, in the tenth century, scarcely a vestige of true piety could be found. It was called ‘an iron age, barren of all goodness—a leaden age, abounding in all wickedness.’ ‘Christianity,’ to borrow the words of Melancthon, ‘during the middle ages, was become a mere compound of philosophy and superstition.’ ‘What religion did survive,’ says an admirable author, ‘was confined to a few—was immured in cloisters—was exhausted in quibbles—was wasted in unprofitable subtleties—was exhibited with little speculative clearness, and less practical clearness.’ Yet, even in this dreary age, one faint spark of light is discoverable. Bernard and Guthebald, two of the natives of Britain, went as missionaries to Norway, where they successfully preached the gospel, which extended itself from thence to the Orkneys, Greenland, and Iceland.

“Religion and literature both rather improved in the eleventh century. The celebrated speech of William the Conqueror, after he became king of England, has been often repeated. This dauntless monarch refused to be considered as the vassal of the pope. ‘I hold my kingdom,’ said he, ‘from none but God and my sword.’ This king was a great encourager of learning.

“In the twelfth century Oxford became celebrated as the seat of learning. The clergy now boldly claimed exemption from civil jurisdiction, and their right to appeal on all occasions to the pope. To these extravagant pretensions king Stephen readily assented; but they were resisted by his successor, Henry the Second. In spiritual affairs he was, however, enslaved to the popedom; and instances of his persecutions are recorded, towards thirty men and women, who fled into this country, from Germany, to avoid similar cruelties.

“In this century Richard the First engaged in the Crusades, to recover the Holy Land from the Turks, but failed in his enterprise. His brother John, who succeeded him, not only ignominiously swore fealty to the pope, but stipulated for himself and his successors to pay an annual tribute to Rome for ever, on pain of forfeiture of his kingdom. Some idea may be formed of the thraldom in which this monarch was held, from the following anecdote, recorded with feelings of just indignation, by Holinshed, in his Chronicles.

“‘When,’ says he, ‘John, upon just occasion, had received some grudge against the ambitious behaviour of the Cistercian monks, in the second year of his reign; and, upon denial to pay such sums of money as was allotted unto them, had caused seizure to be made of such horses, swine, cows, and other things of theirs, which were maintained in his forests, they denounced him as fast among themselves, with bell, book, and candle, to be accursed and excommunicated. Thereto they so handled the matter with the pope and their friends, that the king was fain to yield to their good graces: insomuch that a meeting for pacification was appointed between them, at Lincoln, by means of the archbishop of Canterbury, who went often between him and the Cistercian commissioners, before the matter could be settled. In the end, the king himself came also unto the said commissioners, as they sat in their chapterhouse, and fell down at their feet; craving pardon for his offences unto them, and heartily requiring that they would, from thenceforth, commend him and his realm, in their prayers, unto the protection of the Almighty, and receive him into their fraternity: promising, moreover, full satisfaction of their damages sustained, and to build a house of their order, in whatsoever place of England it should please them to assign; and this he confirmed by charter.’

“The thirteenth century commenced with the persecution of the Waldenses, one million of whom are said to have perished in France; and the duke of Alva boasted that he destroyed thirty-six thousand of these pious people in the Netherlands.

“The Dominican and Franciscan Friars arose about this time, and were in great repute amongst the people, on account of their sanctity. But their rapacity was unlimited; and the cloak of religion alone disguised their exactions. Such was the superstition of the age, that our countryman, Roger Bacon, was accused of magic, on account of his extraordinary literary attainments, and confined in prison a long time, for no other crime. He appears to have been a man not only of vast learning, but of a philosophical and inventive genius.

“In the fourteenth century, true religion was scarcely to be recognized. The king and people of England were reduced to a state of almost complete vassalage to the pope. In the reign of Henry the Fifth, a law was passed against the perusal of the Scriptures in England. It was enacted, ‘That whatsoever they were, that should read the Scriptures in the mother tongue, they should forfeit land, cattle, life, and goods, from their heirs for ever; and so be condemned for heretics to God, enemies to the crown, and most errant traitors to the land.’

“In this century arose the order of Jesuits; an order which obtained a political influence almost unparalleled. Their founder, Ignatius Loyola, was born at the castle of Loyola, in the province of Guipuscoa, in Spain, in 1391: he was first page to Ferdinand the Fifth, king of Spain, and then an officer in his army; in which he signalized himself by his valour, and was wounded in both legs, at the siege of Pampeluna, in 1421.

“To this circumstance the Jesuits owe their origin; for, whilst he was under care of his wounds, a life of the Saints was put into his hands, which determined him to forsake the military for the ecclesiastical profession. His first devout exercise was to devote himself to the Virgin Mary, as her knight: he then went a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; and, on his return to Europe, he continued his theological studies in the universities of Spain, though he was then thirty-three years of age. After this he went to Paris; and in France laid the foundation of this new order, the Institutes of which he presented to pope Paul the Third, who made many objections to them; but Ignatius, adding to his three vows, of Chastity, Poverty, and Obedience, a fourth of implicit submission to the Holy See, the institution was at length confirmed; and its founder expired the following year, viz. in 1450.

“Whilst we cannot but consider Ignatius Loyola in error, and must most fully allow that the influence his followers obtained, was dangerous and destructive; ‘yet, perhaps, of all the remarkable men whose lives have been recorded, no one has displayed more ability in discovering his own deficiencies, and more perseverance in correcting them. By the rare union of unwearied patience and consummate prudence, with perfect enthusiasm, he accomplished the object of his ambition; and lived to see a wider range of success than his boldest hopes could have anticipated[2].’

2.  Quarterly Review.

“But to return to my narration. No punishment appears to have been more frequently inflicted by the clergy, than that of public penance; and as a curious instance of it occurs in this century, in the reign of Henry the Fifth, I shall give you the particulars.

“In the afternoon of Easter day, a time which required devotion, at a sermon in the east of London, a great fray arose in the said church, between the Lord Strange and Sir John Trussel, on account of some misunderstanding subsisting between their wives. Many of the spectators interfering, in order to appease, if possible, the tumult, they were not only several of them badly wounded, but one man, named Thomas Petwardine, killed on the spot. The gentlemen were in consequence apprehended and committed to the Tower, and the service suspended.

“When information reached the archbishop of Canterbury respecting this outrageous profanation of the church, he caused the offenders to be excommunicated in St. Paul’s, and all other churches in London; and shortly after he sat at St. Magnus, in order to enquire into the authors of the offence, who were principally discovered to be Strange and his wife. On the following first of May, the offenders submitted themselves to do penance, and swore to do it agreeably as was enjoined, which was as follows: That, immediately, all their servants should, in their shirts, go before the parson of St. Dunstan’s, from St. Paul’s to the said St. Dunstan’s seat, and the Lord Strange and his lady bare-footed; Reginald Henwood, archdeacon of London, following them. Also it was appointed, at the consecrating or hallowing the said church, which they had profaned, the lady should fill all the vessels with water, and offer likewise to the altar an ornament of ten pounds; and the lord, her husband, a pix (or chest in which the Host is kept) of silver, value of five pounds: which done, by way of satisfactory expiation, they were absolved; but Lord Strange had first made the wife of the said Petwardine, killed in the fray, large amends.

“But, in the midst of this papal tyranny, loud complaints began to be heard; and, towards the latter end of this century, attempts were made to reform them. Thomas Bradwardine, archbishop of Canterbury, who devoted himself to the study of the Holy Scriptures, and whose writings display the soundness of his doctrines, flourished in this age. He may be justly termed one of the morning stars of the Reformation.

“About the year 1440, the art of printing was introduced; and this, under the divine blessing, opened the way for the promulgation of the sacred volume, with a rapidity unknown to manuscript editions. The first printed book with moveable types, was a copy of the Bible, which made its appearance between the years 1450 and 1452. This discovery is certainly to be attributed to the Germans, whether it consisted in printing with blocks of wood, or types moveable at pleasure. John Guttenburgh, of Mentz, has the best claim to the honour of this invention. The introduction of this invaluable art into this country, in 1447, is justly ascribed to William Caxton, a merchant of London, who acquired a knowledge of it in his travels abroad. He is said to have been a native of Caxton, a village near Cambridge, towards the latter end of the reign of Edward the Fourth. The first book printed in the English tongue was ‘The Recuyell of the History of Troy;’ and is dated September the nineteenth, 1471, at Cologne. The ‘Game of Chess,’ dated in 1474, is allowed, by all typographical antiquaries, to have been the first specimen of the art among us. Mr. Caxton died in 1486, or, according to other accounts, in 1491.

“In this century, viz. in 1428, the bones of John Wickliffe, the rising sun of the Reformation, were taken up and burnt, by an order of the council of Constance; and his works were thrown publicly into the flames, at Oxford.

“This great man was born at Richmond in Yorkshire, in the year 1324. He was presented to the rectory of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, through the influence of his friend the duke of Lancaster; and, in spite of the machinations of the priests, he not only preached with great success, but his doctrines became extremely popular, and he expired in peace, on his living, in the year 1384.

“The event of his death was hailed with triumph by the popish faction. But in vain did tyranny or artifice strive to stop the progress of truth: his followers rapidly increased; and, under the name of Lollards, we find them enduring, in the fifteenth century, a furious persecution. Yet, in spite of all that cruelty could devise, the doctrines of Wickliffe were not only maintained, but, one hundred and fifty years afterwards, we find that they had made great progress through all ranks in the nation.

“It was at this period that the Reformation from popery and its errors commenced, under the reign of Henry the Eighth; and it was instigated, in a great measure, by the resistance of the pope to the divorce of this monarch, from the widow of his brother Arthur, to whom he had been married several years, and by whom he had one daughter, afterwards queen Mary. Religious scruples respecting the validity of this union, were the ostensible motives given by the capricious king; whilst a passion for Ann Boleyn, a celebrated and accomplished beauty, was the real motive which led to a step so wonderfully over-ruled for good.

“That Henry, previous to this time, had been a devoted papist, may be inferred from a book which he wrote in defence of popery, against Martin Luther, the celebrated Saxon reformer; for which the pope had bestowed on him the title of ‘Defender of the Faith,’ still retained by our monarchs. During this period many persons suffered persecution; and though it is far from my intention to enter into an account of many of the ‘noble army of martyrs,’ yet, to render you thankful for the mercies you enjoy in this privileged land, I will just mention, that, in 1519, six men and a woman were burnt at Coventry, for teaching the Lord’s prayer, the creed, and the ten commandments, in the vulgar tongue.

“On the 14th of November, 1532, Henry was secretly united to Ann Boleyn. On the second of May, 1534, the sentence of divorce was formally pronounced by Cranmer, between the king and Catherine of Arragon; and, on the twenty-eighth of the same month, his marriage with Ann Boleyn (who afterwards became the mother of our celebrated queen Elizabeth) was publicly confirmed. The pope’s excommunication followed this step immediately; and Henry was so enraged, that he resolved to break entirely with the see of Rome, and to abolish the papal authority for ever.

“The parliament confirmed his proceedings, and thus were our forefathers delivered from the tyranny of Rome.

“But, strange as it may appear to you, persecution still raged, and many sufferers might be named, who, about this period, underwent martyrdom; for Henry, though he had indignantly renounced the temporal authority of the pope, was still zealously devoted, in all spiritual matters, to the Romish forms. Neither party, consequently, escaped his wrath. The reformers, who, by their preaching and writings, attacked the doctrinal errors, and exposed the superstitious and burdensome ceremonies of papacy, were equally liable to punishment with the Romish priests and laymen, who denied his supremacy. Whilst the lesser abbeys, to the number of three hundred and seventy-six, were suppressed, and, not long after, the greater ones shared the same fate; yet, with an inconsistency peculiar to Henry’s character, he caused several eminent protestants, among whom was the excellent lady Ann Askew, to be burnt to death in Smithfield.

“One great act was achieved in this reign—the translation of the Bible into English; and, in the month of September, 1538, Thomas Cromwell, lord privy-seal, viceregent to the king’s highness, sent forth instruction to all bishops and curates throughout the realm; charging them to see, that in every parish-church, the Bible of the largest volume printed in English, should be placed for all men to read in: and a book of register was also provided and kept in every parish-church, wherein was to be written every wedding, christening, and burying, within the same parish for ever. Crosses and images in many places were taken down: one image in particular is mentioned, as exposed at St. Paul’s cross, by the bishop of Rochester, and afterwards broken and plucked in pieces. This piece of machinery seems to have been curiously contrived, so as to move the eyes and lips.

“But the death of Henry put an end to the dangerous versatility of his opinions; and the short reign of Edward the Sixth, who succeeded his father when but nine years of age, was marked by signal benefits to the protestant cause. Not only were sundry injunctions issued for the removing of images out of all churches, and measures taken for the suppression of idolatry and superstition within his realms and dominions, but the Homilies (which are still in use in the church) were composed by many of the most pious and learned men of the age, and directed to be read generally for the edification of the lower classes:—the Lord’s supper was ordered to be administered to the laity:—the Catechism was compiled for the use of children, by Cranmer:—the Liturgy was established by law; and the Articles were drawn up, explanatory of the doctrines of the Church of England, and which, in the main, appear, under the name of the thirty-nine articles, in the Prayer-book.

“The apparel of the clergy, after the reformation, underwent a change, and was restricted to sable garments. Previous to this, the graduates went either in a variety of colours, or in garments of light hue, as yellow, red, green, &c. with their shoes piked, their hair crisped, their girdles armed with silver; their shoes, spurs, bridles, &c. buckled with light metal; their apparel, for the most part, of silk and richly furred; their caps laced and buttoned with gold: so that a priest of those days would not now be recognized as belonging to the order.

“But the hopes of the Reformers were clouded by the premature death of the young king, who expired at Greenwich, the sixth of July, 1553.

“He possessed undoubted piety; and his talents appear to have been very great. It is related of him, that he knew not only the name and style of living of his great officers and judges, but in what estimation their religion and conversation were held. He had a singular respect for justice; and was particularly assiduous in the dispatch of business. Charitable and humane in an extraordinary degree, this exemplary prince just “sparkled” for a time, then was “exhaled,” and “went,” undoubtedly, “to Heaven.”

“The gloomy era which followed, on Mary’s accession to the throne, is marked, in the memory of every Englishman, with sentiments of horror and detestation. The queen, a zealous catholic, was anxious to restore the popish forms of worship; and a statute was passed, abolishing all the laws relative to religion, which had been enacted in Edward’s reign.

“Mass was again celebrated, images and crosses erected, and punishments followed any affront to the priests: reconciliation with the pope followed.

“Married clergy were dispossessed of their preferments; and reading the sacred volume, in the vulgar tongue, not only forbidden, under pain of death; but, in the year 1557, the papists actually burnt all the English Bibles they could seize.

“Persecution raged with accumulated violence; and amongst the excellent men who preferred a good conscience to life itself, I shall only enumerate Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, and Hooper.

“Others, equally valiant for truth, perished also in the flames; but their numbers were too great to allow of my enumerating them. In one year alone, eighty-five persons were burnt for their religious opinions; and the joy and holy triumph, with which many of them expired, under the excruciating torment of the flames, served to confirm the more wavering, and strengthen the surrounding crowd.

“But, in mercy to the nation, Divine Providence terminated this cruel reign, by the death of the queen, on the 19th of November, 1558; and Elizabeth’s accession was ushered in with every demonstration of joy.

“Nor did the conduct of this wonderful woman disappoint the expectations raised on her behalf; and her long and prosperous reign was marked by proceedings of wisdom. By an act of oblivion, she quieted the fears of those who had reason to dread her power, released all those confined for conscience sake, and consulted on the best plan for bringing about, and settling the reformed religion. As soon as the parliament met, several bills were passed in favour of the protestant cause.

“The English liturgy was restored; and, in short, all the laws respecting religion, which were made in the reign of king Edward, were revised, and those of queen Mary repealed.

“All offensive popish observances were abolished, and the national worship was modelled to nearly the present standard.

“Thus was the Reformation finally settled, under the wise policy and energetic measures of queen Elizabeth; to whom, under God, the protestants are indebted for their deliverance from superstition and tyranny.”

“Excuse me, Sir,” said Mrs. Spencer, when Mr. Wilmot had finished his narration; “but you spoke of the Lollards as a persecuted sect, and I fancy the girls are ignorant from whence the title was derived. Perhaps you will kindly give them this information, and add a few more particulars of the life of John Wickliffe.”

“The Lollards,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “were so called from Raynard Lollard, who lived in the thirteenth century. He was at first a Franciscan monk, and afterwards a zealous preacher and martyr. After his death, all the reputed heretics were indiscriminately called Lollards, by their sanguinary persecutors. These sects were dreadfully oppressed in France and Flanders; but in England they were, for a time, protected by the powerful influence of the celebrated John Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, and many other noblemen, who either secretly or openly espoused their cause, in defiance of all the machinations of the Catholic clergy.

“The rise of this sect in England, under the celebrated John Wickliffe and his followers, may justly be considered as the earliest dawn of the Reformation. There were, indeed, some solitary individuals who had before protested against the growing corruptions of the Romish church; and these, as being reformers at heart, and as having made some honourable, though ineffectual attempts at reformation, deserve to be remembered with honour. The first of these was Robert Groteste, or Great-head, bishop of Lincoln, who is supposed to have been born about A.D. 1175, and flourished in the reign of Henry the Third. He was a man of great learning, fervent piety, and undaunted courage. As soon as he was called to the episcopal chair he began to reform abuses, especially in the religious houses belonging to his diocese. This great and good man both saw and lamented the corrupt state of the church to which he belonged, and turned all his episcopal and personal influence to purify it from these flagrant corruptions. Conscious that Rome was the fountain-head of all, he aimed at cleansing the spring, that the streams issuing from it might be pure also. When any bulls were received from thence, containing instructions contrary to the gospel, and injurious to morality and religion, he tore them in pieces with indignation. Nor was he content with refusing to comply with these instructions; but he wrote to the pope, when in the plenitude of his power, letters of sharp reproof and faithful admonition. When these philippics were received at Rome, the pontiff threatened vengeance against his faithful monitor; which he was only deterred from executing, by the earnest persuasions of his cardinals, and conviction of the public odium he should incur, by sacrificing a man of such exemplary piety and distinguished learning. It is no small honour to this excellent prelate, that he resisted, successfully, the papal power, at a period in which that power seemed to be irresistible, and when the mightiest sovereigns were compelled to crouch before the Roman pontiff.

“The next individual who lifted up a standard against the corruptions of popery, during that period, was Richard Knapwell, a Dominican friar, who maintained, in the year 1286, several propositions which were deemed heretical by the prelates of that age, and most furiously controverted by archbishop Peckham. The greater part of these propositions were unintelligible jargon, relative to the sacrifice of the mass; but the last, which was probably the most obnoxious of the whole, contained a sound Protestant maxim: namely, ‘That, in articles of faith, a man is not bound to set on the authority of the pope, or of any priest or doctor; but that the holy Scriptures, and right reason, are the only foundations of our assent.’ These doctrines were denounced, but it is not known what became of the author of them. Of Thomas Bradwardine, archbishop of Canterbury, I have already told you. But the individual who aimed the most effectual blow at the mighty fabric of papal superstition, was the celebrated John Wickliffe. This primitive reformer delivered lectures on divinity, in Merton College, Oxford. His learning acquired him great reputation; but he soon became disgusted with the vices, ignorance, and rapacity of the clergy, and preached against them with great zeal. His boldness attracted the attention of king Edward the Third, from whom he received several benefices, and by whom he was sent on several embassies to the court of Rome. Here he saw so much to confirm his former opinions, that, on his return, he inveighed, with increased vehemence, against the errors of popery. He soon proceeded so far as to deny the pope’s supremacy, and even to denounce him as antichrist. This effrontery, in an humble ecclesiastic, soon armed against him all the dignitaries, of the church which he had presumed to assail; and subjected him to the thundering anathemas of the pontiff, who commanded him to be apprehended and condemned for his heretical discourses.

“The rector of Lutterworth would soon have been the prey of his mighty adversaries, had not the duke of Lancaster, and lord Henry Percy, then marshal of England, espoused his cause, and afforded him protection. Whether their conduct proceeded from political or religious motives, is a matter of uncertainty; but, whatever might be the inducement, it had the happiest effect; for it not only enabled Wickliffe to pursue his Herculean task, but emboldened many, both of the clergy and laity, to embrace his tenets.

“In a few years the Wickliffites, or Lollards, became exceedingly numerous, notwithstanding the attempts, made by argument and force, to suppress them. The doctrines taught by this reformer were similar to those of the latter reformers, but far less purified from error. They were, however, sufficient to alarm the Roman hierarchy, and make them earnestly desirous of repressing them by force, since it was vain to use arguments.

“The most opprobrious epithets were applied to this most faithful and diligent labourer, who continued, till death, to discharge, with fidelity and zeal, the duties connected with his official station.

“His great work of translating the Holy Scriptures was completed a little before his decease, which took place in the year 1384. This latter event was hailed with delight by his enemies, who fondly imagined that it would lead to the overthrow of his heresy. But they found that it had taken too deep root to be exterminated; and though, during the disturbed years of Richard’s reign, attempts were made to destroy the writings of Wickliffe, and his followers, and to remove all who were suspected of Lollard sentiments, from their benefices, they continued to flourish, and were finally triumphant, as I have before related to you.”

“I am sure Mary Ann and Susan are much obliged to you for the information you have given them,” said Mrs. Spencer; “and I hope they will prove their sense of the obligation, by endeavouring to remember what you have told them.”

The little girls looked assent to their mamma’s observation; and Mary Ann enquired if Mr. Wilmot would object to giving some little account of the Crusades.

“So far from objecting, my dear,” answered her kind cousin, “it gives me pleasure to hear you make enquiries, since it proves that you are interested in my anecdotes.

“The object of the Crusades was to drive the infidels out of the possession of the Holy Land; and the zeal of a fanatical monk, towards the end of the eleventh century, gave rise to this wild undertaking. Peter the Hermit (for so he was named) ran from province to province, with a cross in his hand, exciting kings and people to this holy war, as it was called. His enthusiasm spread with astonishing rapidity: not only princes, and nobles, and warriors; but shepherds and mechanics, women and children, left their peaceful occupations, and hastened to enlist themselves under the banner of their deluded leader. It is asserted by contemporary authors, that six millions of persons, at different times, assumed the badge of the cross. These crosses were worn on their clothes, and their colours distinguished the different nations. The English wore them white, the French red, the Flemish green, the Germans black, and the Italians yellow.

“In the second Crusade a considerable troop of women rode amongst the Germans: they were arrayed with the spear and shield. But the historian satirically remarks, that some love of usual delights had mingled itself with the desire of great exploits; for they were remarkable for the splendour of their dress, and the bold leader was called the golden-footed dame.

“These ladies were, however, of an age to judge for themselves; and however we may smile at their folly, our pity is not excited, as it is for the children of France and Germany, who, seduced by the preaching of fanatics, about the year 1213, thought themselves authorized by Heaven, to attempt the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre; and ran about the country, crying, ‘Lord Jesus Christ restore the cross to us.’ Boys and girls stole from their homes: no bolts, no bars, no fear of fathers, or love of mothers, could hold them back; and the number of youthful converts was thirty thousand. They were accompanied by some fanatical persons, some of whom were taken and hanged at Cologne. The children passed through France, crossed the Alps; and those who survived hunger and thirst, presented themselves at the gates of the sea-ports of Italy and the south of France. Many were driven back to their homes; but seven large ships, full of them, went from Marseilles. Two of the vessels were wrecked on the isle of St. Peter; the rest of the ships went to Bugia and Alexandria, and the master sold the children to slavery. These dreadful facts are mentioned by four contemporary writers.

“In the third crusade, Richard the First, surnamed Cœur de Lion, as I before told you, signalized himself eminently. The very word Richard was dreaded in Syria, so great was the terror he had spread. Syrian mothers used to frighten their children, by telling them that king Richard was coming; and horses, according to vulgar tradition, dreaded the lion-hearted monarch; for, if a courser started, the rider would exclaim, ‘What! do you think king Richard is in the bush?’ In the year 1193, died the sultan Saladin, the Saracen chief; and, as his character was a remarkable one, I shall give you a brief sketch of it. He was in the fifty-seventh year of his age when he expired. During twenty-two years he had reigned over Egypt, and for nineteen years was absolute master of Syria. No Asiatic monarch has filled so large a space, in the annals of Europe, as the antagonist of Cœur de Lion. He was a compound of the dignity and the baseness, the greatness and the littleness of man. As the Moslem hero of the third holy war, he proved himself a valiant soldier and a skilful general. He hated the Christian cause; for he was a zealous Mussulman, and his principles authorized him to make war upon the enemies of the prophet; but human sympathy mollified the rigour of his enthusiasm, and, when his foes were suppliant, he often forgot the sternness of Islamism.

“He was fond of religious exercises and studies; but his mind was so much above the age in which he lived, that he never consulted soothsayers or astrologers.

“He had gained the throne by blood, artifice, and treachery; but, though ambitious, he was not tyrannical: he was mild in his government, and the friend and dispenser of justice. Eager for the possession, but indifferent to the display of power, he was simple in his manners, and unostentatious in deportment. He attempted the arts of conciliation and tuition, to change the religious sentiments of the Egyptian Fatemites; but the intolerant spirit of his religion would sometimes appear; the politician was lost in the zealot; and he inflicted punishment on those who presumed to question any of the dogmas of a Mussulman’s creed.

“But I must refer you,” said Mr. Wilmot, “to Mills’s History of the Crusades, for further particulars of this eventful period: in the meanwhile, it is sufficient for me to say, that, before the expiration of the thirteenth century, the whole band of adventurers were driven from their Asiatic possessions. There were, in all, nine Crusades; in which, according to Voltaire, two millions of human beings perished.”

“It was, indeed,” remarked Mrs. Spencer, “a dreadful waste and effusion of human blood. One beneficial consequence arose, however, from these extravagant excursions, which was neither expected nor intended.

“It was impossible for men to travel through so many lands as the Crusaders did, without imparting some of the improvement or knowledge they had gained, to their respective countries, on their return. The spirit of commerce was by this means fostered and spread, the progress of navigation advanced, and useful information was circulated.”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “and evil was thus wisely overruled for good. But,” added he, “I recollect that I have omitted to give my little cousins any account of the Reformation in Scotland; which, as it commenced in the reign of Edward the Sixth, and was concluded in that of Elizabeth, under the intrepid, and, it must be confessed, austere John Knox, could not, with propriety, be introduced before; especially, as it was not so much my design to interweave the history of individuals, in the sketch I have given, as to mark the progress of religion, from the first century to the age of Elizabeth.

“When popery was the established religion in Scotland, this eminent man, (who had been one of the chaplains of king Edward the Sixth,) narrowly escaped with his life, from cardinal Beaton, the archbishop of Glasgow, and bishop Hamilton; and he was afterwards cited before bishop Tunstall, for preaching against the mass; and was obliged to leave England, by the persecution of Protestants, which arose on queen Mary’s accession to the throne. Returning, however, to Scotland, in 1559, just as a public prosecution was carrying on against the Protestants, who were about to be tried at Stirling, (through the treachery of the queen regent, who had promised them protection,) he did not hesitate to join their ranks, and share their dangers. By the most bold and intrepid conduct, he exposed the abuses of popery, and animated the nation against it, by every means in his power; in which he spared no labour, and dreaded no danger.

“He corresponded with Cecil, the able and faithful minister of queen Elizabeth; and by that means, was chiefly instrumental in establishing those negociations between ‘the congregation’ and the English, which terminated in the march of an English army into Scotland, under the orders of queen Elizabeth, to aid the Protestants, and to assist them against the persecutions of the queen regent.

“This army being joined by almost all the principal men of Scotland, proceeded with such vigour and success, that they obliged the French forces, who had been the principal support of the queen regent’s tyranny, to evacuate the kingdom, and thus restored the parliament to its former independence. Of that body a great majority had embraced the Protestant religion; and, encouraged by the ardour and number of their friends, they improved every opportunity which occurred, of overthrowing the whole fabric of popery. They sanctioned the whole confession of faith, submitted to them by Knox and the other reformed ministers. They abolished the jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical courts, and transferred the causes to the cognizance of the civil court; and they prohibited the exercise of religious worship, according to the rites of the Romish church.

“On the death of the queen regent, Mary, queen of Scots, arrived from France, and immediately established the popish service, in her own chapel, which, by her protection and countenance, was much frequented. Knox opposed this, as he did the other evidences, given by Mary, of her attachment to the Romish cause.

“An act of the queen’s privy council having been proclaimed at Edinburgh, immediately on her arrival, forbidding any disturbance to be given to the mass, under pain of death, Knox openly declared against it, in his sermon, on the following Sunday; and on the marriage of the queen with Darnley, he not only preached another sermon, expressing his dislike to the alliance, on account of the religious principles avowed by the young nobleman; but when the latter went to hear him preach, he took occasion to speak his opinions, in terms certainly not the most gentle. Such plain and honest dealing as this, was not very likely to be palatable to a court, and he was accordingly silenced.

“By no means, however, deterred, he went on, in private, with the great work of reformation; and was one of the most active and successful instruments, in delivering Scotland from papal corruption, and priestly domination. He lived to preach against the awful massacre of the Protestants, in Paris, on St. Bartholomew’s-day; and desired that the French ambassador might be informed that he had done so.

“He died the twenty-fourth of November, 1572, and was interred at Edinburgh, several lords attending his funeral; and particularly the earl of Morton, who was on that day chosen regent of Scotland, and who, as soon as he was laid in the grave, exclaimed, ‘There lies one who never feared the face of man—who has been often threatened with dirk and dagger, but yet has ended his days in peace and honour; for he had God’s providence watching over him in a special manner, whenever his life was sought.’

“In judging of the character of John Knox, we must make some allowance for the age in which he lived, and the part he was destined to act. Happily for us, we live in a day when party spirit and religious bigotry are much softened: let us, therefore, endeavour to be thankful for the blessing, and learn to look with charity and brotherly love, on those who may differ from us in their mode of worshipping the Supreme Being.

“But the dinner-bell rings: let us leave the gallery,” said Mr. Wilmot.

CHAP. IV.

“What have you found to excite your curiosity there, Susan?” said Mr. Wilmot, observing her eyes fixed upon the full-length picture of a gentleman attired in the costume of the reign of Henry the Eighth.

“I am looking, Sir,” she replied, “at the singular dress of this gentleman.”

“At no period, perhaps, of our national history,” continued Mr. Wilmot, “was extravagance in dress carried to a higher pitch, than in this and the succeeding reign. The various modes of wearing the hair, and cutting the beard, seem to have afforded much umbrage to Holinshed, who lived at this time; and he enumerates, with amusing gravity, the variety and diversity which prevailed with respect to the latter. Ear-rings of gold, stones, or pearls, were in use amongst the courtiers. ‘But never,’ he mournfully observes, ‘was it merrier with England, than when an Englishman was known abroad by his own cloth; and contented himself at home with his kersey hose, his plain slops; (or small clothes;) his coat, gown, or cloak, of brown, blue, or puke; with some pretty furniture of velvet or fur, and a doublet of sad tawny, or black velvet, or other comely silk; without such cuts or gaudy colours as are worn in these days, and never brought in but by consent of the French, who think themselves the gayest men when they have most change of jaggs, and variety of colours about them. Certainly, of all ranks,’ he continues, ‘our merchants have the least altered their attire, and are, therefore, the most to be commended; for, although what they wear is very fine and costly, yet it still represents the ancient gravity suitable for citizens and burgesses.’

“It was very unusual to see any young men above the age of eighteen or twenty, without a dagger either by his side, or at his back; and even burgesses and aged magistrates, whose occupations are generally supposed to be peaceful, were also thus armed. The nobility commonly wore swords or rapiers with their daggers, as did also every servant following his master. Others carried two daggers, or two rapiers in a sheath, always about them; and, when quarrels arose, the consequences were frequently dreadful. These warlike implements were much longer than those used in any other country. In travelling, some carried with them, on their shoulders, staves, some of which were twelve or thirteen feet long, besides the pike of twelve inches; but I must tell you, that these were mostly suspicious characters.

“To such an excess had this love of dress arisen in the reign of Elizabeth, that it was thought necessary to check it by a proclamation, issued in October, 1559. It was, indeed, felt as a serious evil at this period, when the manufactures of England were in so rude a state, that almost every article for the use of the higher classes, was imported from Flanders, France, or Italy, in exchange for the raw commodities of the country, or, perhaps, for money.

“The invectives of divines have placed upon lasting records some transient follies, which might otherwise have sunk into oblivion; and the sermon of bishop Pilkington, a warm polemic of this time, may be quoted as a kind of commentary on the proclamation. He reproves ‘fine-fingered rufflers, with their sable about their necks, corked slippers, trimmed buskins, and warm mittens. These tender Parnels,’ he says, ‘must have one gown for the day, another for the night; one long, another short; one for winter, another for summer; one furred through, another but faced; one for the workday, another for the holiday; one of this colour, another of that; one of cloth, another of silk and damask: change of apparel, one afore dinner, another after; one of Spanish fashion, another of Turkey; and, to be brief, never content with enough, but always devising new fashions and strange.”

‘Yea, a ruffian will have more in his ruff and his hose, than he should spend in a year. He, which ought to go in a russet coat, spends as much on apparel for him and his wife, as his father would have kept a good house with.”

“Miss Aikin conjectures, that the costly furs here mentioned, had probably become fashionable, since a direct intercourse had been opened, in Henry the Eighth’s reign, with Russia; from which country ambassadors had arrived, whose barbaric splendours had astonished the eyes of the good people of London. The affectation of wearing, in turns, the costume of all nations in Europe, with which the queen herself was not a little infected, may be traced partly to the practice of importing articles of dress from those nations, and that of employing foreign tailors in preference to native ones; and partly to the taste for travelling, which, since the revival of letters, had become laudably prevalent among the young nobility and gentry of England.

“In the reign of Elizabeth, also, we find an order of the lord mayor and common council, regulating the dress of apprentices, and directing that they shall not presume to wear any apparel than that received from their masters. It was enacted, that ‘apprentices shall wear no hat, but a woollen cap: they shall not wear ruffles, cuffs, loose collars, nor any thing more than a ruff at the collar, and that not more than a yard and a half long. They must wear no doublets but what are made of canvass, fustian, sackcloth, English leather, or woollen, without any gold, silver, or silk trimmings. They must wear hose of cloth and kersey; but of no other colour than white, blue, or russet. Their breeches must be of the same materials as their doublets, and neither stitched, laced, nor bordered. Their upper coat must be of cloth or leather, without stitching, pinking, edging, or silk trimming. They shall wear no other surtout than a cloth gown or cloak, lined or faced with cotton, cloth, or baize, with a plain, round, fixed collar. No pumps, shoes, or slippers, to be allowed them, but of English leather, without being pinked, edged, or stitched. No girdles or garters to be worn, but what are made of crewel, woollen, thread, or leather. They must wear neither sword nor dagger; but a knife only. All jewels, rings, gold, silver, or silk, are forbidden in any part of their dress. Neither shall they frequent any dancing, fencing, or musical schools, under severe penalties; one of which was, to be publicly whipped at the hall of their company.’”

“During the reign of Henry the Eighth, luxury seems to have increased rapidly,” remarked Mrs. Spencer. “The furniture of the houses, the style of living, and even gardening, appear alike to have undergone a progressive improvement.”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Wilmot: “we find that, about this time, the walls of the houses were either hung with tapestry, arras work, or painted cloths, on which were represented birds, beasts, herbs, &c. Wainscotting with oak, or wood imported from the east, began now to be generally used, and rendered the rooms much more comfortable than formerly. Stoves were not much used, though they began to appear in the houses of the nobility and the wealthy citizens.

“But expensive furniture was most prevalent. ‘Not only,’ says Holinshed, ‘is it not rare to see abundance of arras, rich hangings of tapestry, silver vessels, and such other plate as would furnish several cupboards, to the sum oftentimes of a thousand or two thousand pounds at the least; but the rest of the house was proportionably furnished. In the abodes of knights, gentlemen, merchants, and some other wealthy citizens, it is not unusual to behold a great profusion of tapestry, Turkish work, pewter, brass, fine linen, and costly cupboards of plate, worth five or six hundred or a thousand pounds.’ But the tide of luxury invaded even the lower orders. ‘The inferior artificers, and main farmers, who, by virtue of their old, not of their new leases, (says the chronicler,) learned to garnish also their cupboards with plate, their joined beds with tapestry and silk hangings, and their tables with carpets and fine linen. There are old men yet dwelling in the village where I remain,’ says Holinshed, ‘which have noted three things to be marvellously altered in England, within their sound remembrance; and other three things too, too much increased. One is the multitude of chimneys lately erected: whereas, in their young days, there were not above two or three, if so many, in most up-landish towns of the realms, (the religious houses, and manor places of their lords always excepted, and, peradventure, some great personages,) but each one made his fire against a reredosse in the hall, where he dined and dressed his meat. The second, is the great (although not general) amendment of lodging; for, said they, our fathers, yea, and we also ourselves, have lain full oft on straw pallets, or rough mats, covered only with a sheet or coverlets, made of dagswain[3] or hop-harlots[4]; and a good round log under their heads, instead of a bolster and pillow. If our forefathers had, within seven years after their marriage, purchased a mattress or flock-bed, and added thereto a sack of chaff to rest his head upon, he considered himself to be as well lodged as the lord of the town, who, probably, himself, seldom lay on a bed of down, or whole feathers; so contented were they with simple fare. Indeed, even now[5], in some parts of Bedfordshire, and elsewhere farther in the south, the same plans are pretty much pursued. Pillows were only for an indulgence to the sick. As for servants, if they had any sheet above them, it was well; for rarely had they any thing under their bodies, to protect them from the pricking straws, which often found their way through the canvass of the pallet. The third thing they speak of, is the exchange of vessels; as pewter for treen[6] platters, and silver or tin spoons, for wooden ones; for so common were all sorts of treen ware in old times, that a person could hardly find four pieces of pewter, including the salt-cellar, in a good farmer’s house; and yet, in spite of this frugality, they were scarcely able to live, and pay their rents, without selling a cow, or a horse, or more, although they paid but four pounds, at the uttermost, by the year.’

3.  A rough, coarse mantle.

4.  Probably hop-sacking.

5.  Henry the Eighth’s reign.

6.  Wooden and earthen dishes.

“It is impossible not to smile at Holinshed’s enumeration of the evils attendant upon the introduction of chimneys. Colds, catarrhs, &c. are included; whilst he gravely assures us, that whilst they had only reredosses, their heads were free from pain. Smoke being considered not only a sufficient hardener of the timber in the house, but the best medicine to keep the good man and his family from the quack, or catarrhs, which were then but little known.”

Mrs. Spencer smilingly remarked, that she supposed our forefathers would willingly have acquiesced in the observation, that, “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” “But,” she added, “I believe they took their meals at much earlier hours than are at present in fashion.”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Wilmot: “the nobility and gentry dined at eleven o’clock before noon, and supped at five, or between five and six o’clock in the evening. The merchants seldom dined or supped before twelve at noon, or six at night, especially in London. The husbandmen dined at high noon, and supped at seven or eight; but out of term, in our universities, the scholars dined at ten.

“Great silence was observed at the tables of the ‘honourable and wise;’ and it seems that a curious custom prevailed amongst artificers and husbandmen, of each guest bringing his own dish, or so many with him, as his wife and he could agree upon.

“Abundance and unbounded liberality, prevailed at the entertainments of the great. The cooks, at this period, seem to have been mostly Frenchmen, or strangers. Besides the usual meats, and the delicacies that the season afforded, red deer is particularly enumerated. It was usual to reserve the beginning of every dish for the greatest personage sitting at table, to whom it was handed up by the waiters, as order required; from whom it again descended to the lower end, so that every guest tasted of it. Unexpected and numerous visitors flocked to the mansions of the nobility and gentry, and rendered it necessary not only to retain a large retinue of servants, but a very ample supply of provisions.

“The chief part of the food was brought in before them, chiefly on silver vessels, if they were of the degree of barons, bishops, and upwards, and placed on their tables. What was left, was sent down to their serving-men and waiters; and their reversion was bestowed upon the poor, who waited in flocks at their gates to receive the bounty.

“A daily allowance was appointed for their halls, where the chief officers and household servants, (for all were not permitted by custom to sit with their lord,) with such inferior guests as were not high enough to associate with the nobleman himself, took their meals.

“In the houses of the nobles, pots, goblets, jugs of silver, with Venice glasses of all shapes, were commonly in use. In inferior habitations, ‘pots of earth, of various colours and moulds, many of them garnished with silver, were in requisition; and pewter supplied the place of more costly utensils, amongst the still lower ranks. When any one had drank, he made the cup clean by pouring out what remained, and restoring the vessel to the cupboard again. Gentlemen and merchants maintained about an equality at their tables, varying the number of dishes according to the resort of strangers; yet even these maintained an ordinary for their servants, independent of what was left by the family.’ Venison appears to have been with them a favourite, and by no means rare dish; and at certain feasts given by them, they appear to have rivalled the haughty barons, in the variety and sumptuousness of the dishes prepared. Butchers’ meat was rejected with disdain; and some very minute particulars have reached us, of the ornamental parts of these entertainments. Amongst them, jellies of various colours and forms are named. ‘Marchpain wrought with no small curiosity, tarts of various hues and sundry denominations, conserves of old fruits and home bred, suckets, sugar-bread, ginger-bread florentines, with several outlandish confections, altogether seasoned with sugar,’ seem to have borne a conspicuous part.

“We are as ignorant of the excellence of some of these highly-extolled dishes,” said Mr. Wilmot, as he paused for a few moments, “as our ancestors were of many of those fruits and vegetables, which are now familiar to the lowest class. I allude to melons, pompions, gourds, cucumbers, radishes, skirrets, parsnips, turnips, carrots, cabbages, and all kinds of salad herbs. These, from the time of Henry the Fourth, to the latter end of Henry the Seventh, and beginning of Henry the Eighth’s reign, were not only unknown, but were considered as food suitable alone for hogs and other animals. After this period, they not only became plentiful among the higher orders, who were in the habit of sending abroad yearly for new seeds, but found their way commonly to the inferior classes.

“At the same era, gardening received a new impulse; and the ingenuity and care of the florist, is spoken of in terms of high eulogium, together with some little appearance of incredulity, as relates to the practicability of the theories advanced; theories which are now comprehended by the most humble individual. It may also surprise you to learn, that the culture of medicinal herbs formed a very important and useful branch of the gardener’s calendar, at this time; and noblemen and gentlemen devoted to them large plots of ground, and mingled them with the flowers which adorned their parterres.

“The varieties of fruit which were likewise introduced at this epoch, are mentioned with a tone of exultation, that may cause a similar feeling of surprise on your part, my little cousins,” said Mr. Wilmot, “accustomed as you are to regard them as the natural produce of autumn.

“‘Delicate apples, plums, pears, walnuts, and filberts,’ are included in this catalogue; whilst apricots, peaches, almonds, and figs, are spoken of as strange fruit, introduced within the last forty years of the author’s account, and cultivated only in the orchards of the nobility.”

“The word comfortable,” said Mrs. Spencer, “understood in no other country so well as in England, could not, I think, have been applied, as characteristic of the mode of living practised by our ancestors.”

“Not according to our modern ideas,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “but I will relate a few more anecdotes, descriptive of ancient customs and manners.

“Previous to the time of Elizabeth, instead of glass, the windows of houses in the country were composed either of lattice made of wicker, or of spars of oak placed in chequer; but in the reign of the ‘maiden queen,’ glass becoming cheaper, this mode of admitting light fell into disuse.”

“I do not wonder that they were glad to exchange,” said Susan: “it must have rendered the houses cold and comfortless.”

“But you forget,” said Mr. Wilmot, “they must have formed nice avenues for the smoke to escape, when there were not any chimneys. But I have omitted to mention a curious fashion, which took its rise from some learned divine, previous to the reign of Henry the Fourth, and which continued long after that of the sixth Henry. It was no other than that of taking away the father’s surname, however honourable or ancient, and substituting that of the town in which the individual was born. Thus, Richard Nottingham, a celebrated friar, was named from an island where he was born, near Gloucester. William Barton, a famous doctor, and chancellor of Oxford in Richard the Second’s reign, from Barton in Lincolnshire. Walter Disse, of Disse in Suffolk, a Carmelite friar, and confessor to the duke and duchess of Lancaster, in Henry the Fourth’s reign. Richard Hampoole, from a town in Yorkshire, a zealous doctor, and afterwards a virtuous hermit, in Henry the Sixth’s days. Hundreds of others followed this example, among whom may be enumerated William Wainfleet, bishop of Winchester, lord chancellor of England, and founder of Magdalen College, Oxford. His original name was Paten; but he altered it to the name of the town of which he was a native. To this whimsical notion may be traced many of our present surnames, such as German, or Germin, which was assumed out of affection to Germany, the country from which their forefathers came. Jute, Jud, and Chute, from the tribe of Judes, one of the German nations who came over with Hengist and Horsa; and Calthrop, Caltrap, and Caltrop, were all but for Caldthorp, signifying a cold town. Paten, Patten, or Patent, is likewise derived from the Saxon word Pate, the sole of the foot, and therefrom Patan, signifying flat-footed.

“Before the Reformation, there were very few free-schools in England. Latin was generally taught to the youths at the monasteries. In the nunneries were taught needle-work, confectionery, surgery, and physic, (surgeons and apothecaries being then very rare,) writing, drawing, &c.

“Before the civil wars, in gentlemen’s houses, at Christmas, the first dish that was brought to table, was a boar’s head with a lemon in its mouth. The first dish that was brought to table on Easter-day, was a red herring, riding away on horseback; that is, a herring served up by the cook in a corn-salad, to look like a man on horseback. A gammon of bacon was eaten at Easter, to show the abhorrence of Judaism, at that solemn commemoration of our Lord’s resurrection.

“In 1486, the reign of Henry the Seventh, a certain number of archers, and other strong, active persons, were constituted by this monarch yeomen of the guard, and were in daily attendance upon his person. This was the first English monarch that instituted a bodyguard; and it was generally thought that he took his precedent from France.

“In 1568, noblemen’s and gentlemen’s coats were made in the same fashion as those of yeomen of the guard; and in 1678, the benchers of the inns of Court still maintained that fashion in the making of their gowns.

“The Normans brought with them civility into England. In those days, upon any occasion of bustle of business, great lords sounded their trumpets, and summoned all those that they held under them. Sir Walter Long, of Draycott, kept a trumpeter, and rode with thirty servants and retainers; from whence took the rise of the sheriff’s trumpets.

“Gentlemen carried prodigious fans, with very long handles: with these their daughters were often corrected. The lord chief justice, Sir Edward Coke, rode the circuit with a fan of this description: the earl of Manchester also used a fan; and both fathers and mothers slashed their daughters with them, when they were grown up women. At Oxford and Cambridge, the rod was frequently used by the tutors and deans; and Dr. Potter, of Trinity College, in the year 1669, or thereabouts, whipped his pupil who had a sword by his side.

“The conversation and habits of these times were starched and formal: gravity often passed for wisdom, and quibbles for wit, even in clergymen’s sermons. The gentry and citizens had little learning of any kind; and their way of bringing up their children was suitable to all the rest. They were as severe as schoolmasters to them, and the schoolmasters were as severe as governors of houses of correction. The child, consequently, dreaded the sight of his parents. Gentlemen of thirty and forty years of age, stood like mutes and bare-headed before them; and the daughters, when grown young women, stood at the cupboard-side, during the whole time of the proud mother’s visit, unless, as the fashion then was, leave was requested that a cushion might be given them to kneel upon, when they had done sufficient penance by standing, and which was brought them by a serving-man.

“Learning seems to have advanced much during Elizabeth’s reign. ‘It was rare to find a courtier unacquainted with any language but his own. The ladies studied Greek, Latin, French, Spanish, and Italian. The more elderly among them exercised themselves, some with the needle, some with caul-work, (probably netting,) divers in spinning silk; some in continual reading, either of the Holy Scriptures, or of histories either of their own or foreign countries; divers in writing volumes of their own, or translating the works of others into Latin or English: whilst the younger ones, in the meantime, applied to their lutes, citharmes, pricksong, and all kinds of music. Many of the more ancient, were also skilful in surgery and distillation of waters, besides sundry artificial practices pertaining to the ornature and commendation of their bodies. This,’ adds our author, ‘I will generally say of them all, that, as each of them are cunning in something whereby they keep themselves occupied in the court; there is, in manner, none of them, but when they be at home, can help to supply the ordinary want of the kitchen, with a number of delicate dishes of their own contriving: wherein the portingal is their chief counsellor, as some of them are most commonly with the clerk of the kitchen, &c.’

“‘Every office at court,’ says the same author, (Holinshed,) ‘had a Bible, or the book of the Acts and Monuments of the Church of England, or both; besides some histories and chronicles lying therein, for the exercise of such as come into the same.’”

Mrs. Spencer smiled and said, that the praise bestowed upon the ladies of Elizabeth’s reign, was no small commendation. Learned, accomplished, and domestic, they seemed the very acmé of excellence.

The bell now announced company. Susan and Ann quitted the gallery with reluctance; and not before they had obtained a promise from Mr. Wilmot, that they should visit it on the following day.

CHAP. V.

“Perhaps you would have the kindness, Sir,” said Mrs. Spencer, as she sat at work with her daughters, “to resume the conversation, which was interrupted this morning, and in which we were much interested. I observed written, under a painting in the gallery, ‘Funeral of Henry the Seventh;’ and as it was previous to the reformation, and consequently attended with some ceremonies fallen into disuse in a Protestant realm, I have no doubt we should be much interested in the recital.”

Mr. Wilmot waited not for a second request, but began as follows:

“After all things necessary for the interment and funeral pomp of the late king were sumptuously prepared and done, the corpse of the deceased was brought out of his privy-chamber, where it had rested three days; and every day had three dirges, and masses sung by a mitred prelate.

Page 83.
Page 87.

“From thence it was conveyed into the hall, where it also remained three days, and where a similar service was performed: the same ceremony was observed, for the like space of time, when it was moved into the chapel. In each of these places was a hearse of wax, garnished with banners, attended by nine mourners, who daily made their offerings. Every place where the procession stopped, was hung with black.

“Upon Wednesday, the ninth of May, the corpse was put into a chariot, covered with black cloth of gold, drawn with five coursers, covered with black velvet, garnished with cushions of fine gold; and over the corpse was an image or representation of the late king, apparelled in his rich robes of state, the crown on his head, and the ball and sceptre in his hands, laid on cushions of gold. The chariot was ornamented with banners, scutcheons, and arms, descriptive of the monarch’s titles, dominions, and genealogies.

“The king’s chaplain, and a number of prelates, led the way, praying. Then came the king’s servants in black, followed by the chariot, attended by nine mourners, and lighted by torches, amounting to the number of six hundred, which were carried on either side. In this order they proceeded from Richmond to St. George’s Fields. Here they were met by all the religious men, priests, clerks, &c. within and without the city, who took the lead. The mayor and his brethren, with many of the common council, met the corpse at London Bridge, and escorted it through the city.

“Long torches, placed on each side of the street, with young children standing on stalls, bearing tapers, lent to this funeral pomp additional solemnity; illuminating, with their flickering beams, the remains of him who had paid the debt of mortality, common alike to potentates and subjects.

“Arrived at St. Paul’s, the body was taken out, and conveyed into the choir, where it was placed under a hearse of wax, garnished as before; whilst a solemn dirge was sung, and a sermon preached on the occasion, by the bishop of Rochester.

“Here it rested for the night, and on the following day was removed towards Westminster; Sir Edward Howard bearing the king’s banner, on a courser, trapped in the arms of the deceased monarch. In Westminster was a curious hearse, composed of nine ‘principals[7], all full of lights,’ which were lighted at the coming of the corpse.

7.  Principals, in architecture, are corner-posts, which are fixed into the ground-plates below, and into the roof.

“Six lords bore the coffin from the chariot, and placed it under the hearse, the image lying on the cushion, on a large pall of gold. The hearse was double-railed. Within the first rail sat the mourners; and within the second partition stood knights, bearing banners of saints; and without the same stood officers of arms.

“When the mourners were placed in order, garter king-at-arms cried, ‘For the soul of the noble prince, king Henry the Seventh, lately king of this realm;’ and immediately the choir began ‘plecabo,’ and a dirge was sung; which being finished, the mourners departed, and, after taking refreshment, reposed for the night.

“On the next day three masses were solemnly sung by three bishops: at the last was offered the king’s banner, courser, and coat-of-arms, his sword, target, and helm. At the conclusion the mourners made their offerings of rich palls of cloth of gold, and bauderkin, (or cloth of gold, with figures embroidered in silk:) ‘Libera me’ was then sung, and the body committed to the earth.

“At this part of the ceremony the king’s treasurer, lord steward, chamberlain, and comptroller of the household, broke their staves and cast them into the grave; garter king-at-arms exclaiming, with a loud voice, ‘Vive le roi Henri le huitième, roi d’Angleterre et de France, sire d’Irlande.’

“The obsequies ended, the party returned to the palace, where a sumptuous feast was provided for them.”

“What a happiness it is,” said Mrs. Spencer, “that we are no longer under the burdensome ceremonies of popery—that we are not required to sing dirges for the dead, nor pay for masses, to deliver their souls from an ideal purgatory.”

“It is so,” replied Mr. Wilmot. “The ensuing coronation,” he continued, “of Henry the Eighth and Katherine, was conducted with circumstances of extraordinary pomp; but it is not my intention to enter into a minute description of it; and I shall only relate to you a few of the pageants that were exhibited on the occasion, and which mark the manners of the age. Amongst others, was a park, artificially constructed, with pales of white and green, wherein were fallow deer; and, in the park, trees, bushes, and ferns, very curiously constructed. The deer were hunted in the presence of the queen and court, and afterwards presented to them. Another device was a palace, in which was a curious fountain, and over it a castle, surmounted with a crown imperial, with battlements of roses and pomegranates, gilded; whilst, under and about the said castle, ran a vine, the grapes and leaves whereof were gilded with fine gold, with white and green lozenges strewed about the castle; and, in every lozenge, either a rose or a pomegranate, and a sheaf or arrows; or else the letters H. and K. in gold, with certain arches and turrets gilded, to support the same castle; whilst, from the mouths of certain beasts, ran white, red, and claret wine.

“Henry the Eighth was remarkably expert at the games then in practice; such as bearing off the ring, wrestling, casting the bar, &c. Shooting, singing, dancing, and music, seem likewise frequently to have engaged him; and it will afford you some idea of the mixture of simplicity and ostentation of the age, when I tell you, that, in the second year of his reign, he rose early on May-day, to gather hawthorn and green boughs. Richly dressed himself, and, accompanied by his knights, squires, yeomen, and guard, arrayed in white satin and sarcenet, with bows and arrows, he went shooting into the wood; and returned again to court, every man wearing a green bough in his cap. These rural festivities seem often to have been repeated, and accompanied with more or less splendour. Nor could the royal party have had far to ride, ere they could procure those symbols of the beautiful month they were about to commemorate. For it was only late in the preceding reign, that the gardens, which had been continued, time out of mind, without Moorgate, now called Moorfields, were destroyed, and a plain field made of them, for archers to shoot in. And a few years after the excursion of the youthful monarch, which I have just mentioned, the citizens of London, disliking the enclosures of the common fields about Islington, Shoreditch, Hoxton, and other places near the city, whereby they could not be suffered to exercise their bows, nor other popular games, as they had before been accustomed to, assembled themselves one morning, and went with spades and shovels into the said fields, and there worked so diligently, that all the hedges about town were cast down, and the ditches filled.”

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“Another May morning was celebrated with far more variety than that before mentioned. The court lying at Greenwich, the royal party rode out for an airing. Passing by Shooter’s-hill, they observed a company of yeomen, amounting to about two hundred, clad in green, with hoods of the same colour. One of them, calling himself Robin Hood, stepped forwards, and addressing the king, begged permission to shoot before the sovereign. The request being of course granted, he whistled, and instantly the whole band discharged their arrows at once. A second signal called forth a similar proof of skill. These arrows, it seems, whistled as they flew, in consequence of some ingenious contrivance in the head; and the noise was so singular and great, that the illustrious spectators, and their train, expressed both astonishment and delight.

“Robin Hood then requested the company of the distinguished party into the green wood, that they might see how outlaws fared. And the horns were blown, until they came to a wood under Shooter’s-hill, where they found an arbour, composed of boughs, with a hall, a great and an inner chamber, very well made, and covered with flowers and sweet herbs. Robin Hood then addressed the king in these words: ‘Sir, outlaws’ breakfast is venison, and therefore you must be content with such fare as we use.’ Upon which Henry and his consort seated themselves, and were served with venison and wine, to their mutual gratification.

“On their return they were met by two ladies, in a rich chariot, drawn by five horses: a lady was seated on each steed, and they bore on their heads inscriptions, allegorically representing the peculiar attributes of the season; whilst lady May and lady Flora, splendidly attired, sat in the carriage, saluting the king with songs, until he arrived at Greenwich. A great concourse of people were assembled to view this celebration of the day, and appear to have entered fully into the amusement.”

“There is something extremely interesting,” said Mrs. Spencer, “in the sovereign of a great people thus affording himself and his subjects a simple and even elegant recreation.”

“Nor was Christmas a season of less festivity,” continued Mr. Wilmot. “Warlike knights and ‘peerless dames,’ issuing from castles, erected in the royal halls, with sham fights, music, and dancing, seem to have constituted a prominent feature of entertainment. One of these pageants, exhibited at Greenwich, on Twelfth-night, was an artificial garden, called the garden of ‘Esperance.’ This garden was towered at every corner, and railed with gilt rails; whilst the banks were adorned with artificial flowers, composed of silver and gold, with green satin leaves. In the midst of the garden stood a pillar of antique work of gold, set with pearls and stones; and on the top of this pillar was an arch, crowned with gold, in which was placed a bush of white and red roses, and a bush of pomegranates, both made of silk and gold. Six knights, with an equal number of ladies, descended from this fanciful parterre, who, after dancing many dances, stepped up again into it, and were wheeled out of the room. The whole, as usual, concluded with a banquet.

“The birth of Henry’s first son, who died in his infancy, was celebrated with even more than usual gaiety. But it would be fatiguing, both to you and to me, were I to relate to you the almost endless devices enumerated; though, as you have probably heard of the ancient jousts, or combats on horseback, which were a favourite diversion with our forefathers, I shall give you an account of one, in order that you may be able to form some idea of this species of recreation.

“On this occasion it commenced with a forest, in which were interspersed rocks, hills, and dales, with a variety of trees and flowers, hawthorn, fern, and grass, composed of green velvet, damask, satin, and sarcenet, of a variety of colours. Within the wood were seen six foresters, attired in green, and by their sides lay a number of spears. In the middle stood a golden castle, before the gate of which was a gentleman, gaily dressed, wreathing a garland of roses for the prize. This pageant appeared to be drawn by a lion and an antelope. The lion was covered with damask gold, and the antelope wrought all over with silver damask, his tusks and horns gilt.

“These animals were led by men, attired so as to represent wild men, or, as they were styled, ‘woodhouses:’ their heads, faces, hands, legs, and whole body being covered with green flossed silk. On either side of the lion and unicorn, sat a lady in splendid attire; whilst the beasts were tied to the car with huge golden chains. When the pageant rested before the queen, the foresters blew their horns, and the device opening, disclosed four knights completely armed, bearing magnificent plumes on their heads, and spears in their hands; the housing of their horses, on which were embroidered their names, being composed of gold. To combat with these, a swell of trumpets and drums announced on the field the entrance of the earl of Essex and the lord Thomas Howard, with their friends, and a gallant train, well armed; the trappings and bases of their horses being composed of crimson satin, embroidered with branches of pomegranates of gold and posies. After the usual display of feats of address and skill, the jousts, for that day, were closed.

“On the morrow, after dinner, they were re-renewed, with this difference in their attire, that the noblemen and their hordes wore cloth of gold and russet tinsel: the knights, cloth of gold and russet velvet: the gentlemen on foot, russet satin and yellow; and the yeomen, russet damask and yellow; all of them garnished with scarlet hose and yellow caps.

“The entrance of the king, under a pavilion of cloth of gold and purple velvet, sumptuously embroidered, with a superb plume glittering with spangles of gold, and his three aids or supporters, each under a pavilion of crimson and purple damask, studded with their sovereign’s initials in gold, gave an additional splendour to this day’s entertainments.

“Gentlemen and yeomen, to the number of one hundred and sixty-eight, attired in their peculiar colours, and twelve children on horseback, each differing from the other, but all richly dressed, were ranked on this side of the lists. The opposite party were preceded by Sir Charles Brandon, habited as a recluse, in a long robe of russet satin, and unattended by music, bearing a petition to the queen, to licence him to run in her presence. Assent was, of course, granted; when he was instantly armed cap-à-piè[8], and, crossing the tilt-yard at full gallop, was received by a company in russet satin, who awaited him.

8.  Cap-à-piè, from head to foot.

“Alone came young Henry Guildford; himself and horse clad in his squire’s robe of russet cloth of gold, and cloth of silver, closed in a device or pageant, made like a castle or a turret, wrought of russet Florence satin sarcenet, set out in gold, with his word or posie. He also demanded leave of the queen to run; which being granted, he took his place at the tilt end. A number of his servants, dressed in his colours, russet, satin, and white, with hose of like colour, then made their appearance, and followed their master.

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“The marquis of Dorset, and Sir Thomas Bullen, clothed as pilgrims, from St. James’s, in tabards of black velvet, with palmers’ hats on their helmets, and with long Jacob’s staves in their hands, followed. Their horses’ trappings were of black velvet; and these, together with their own dresses, were strewed with scallop-shells. Their servants also wore black satin, with scallop-shells of gold on their breasts.

“They were, soon afterwards, succeeded by lord Henry Buckingham, earl of Wiltshire, himself and his horse apparelled in cloth of silver, embroidered with his posy or word, and arrows of gold, in a posy, called, “La maison de refuge,” made of crimson damask, bordered with roses and arrows of gold; on the top, a greyhound of silver, bearing a pomegranate of gold, the branches whereof were so large, that they overspread the whole pageant. Sir Giles Capell, Sir Rowland, with many other knights richly armed and accoutred, entered also on this side of the lists.

“When all was ready, the trumpets sounded a flourish, and the combatants rushed together. Adroitness and skill in unlacing the antagonist’s helmet, and in unhorsing him, seem to have formed a prominent part of these martial exercises, in which the king and his aids were, as usual, distinguished, and to whom, on this occasion, the prize was adjudged.

“I shall close this account with the description of one more pageant, running upon wheels, which was introduced at this period, and which, to use the words of Holinshed, was ‘curiously made, and pleasant to behold, being solemn and rich; for every post thereof was covered with friezed gold, wherein were trees of hawthorn, eglantine, roses, vines, and other pleasant flowers of divers colours, with gilly-flowers, and other herbs, all made of satin, damask, silver, and gold, according as the natural trees, herbs, and flowers ought to be.’

“These festivals were soon followed by the death of the young prince, who expired on the twenty-second of February, at Richmond, and was buried at Westminster.”

“Nothing,” said Mrs. Spencer, “marks more distinctly the progress of national taste, than its public amusements. England, at the time you have been speaking of, was gradually emerging from her rusticity; and the ludicrous mixture displayed in the pageants exhibited, of refinement and grossness, prove that the luminous era which was to follow, was but just dawning upon her. But put up your work, my dears: tea is waiting, and Mr. Wilmot appears exhausted.”

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CHAP. VI.

“This is a splendid painting, Sir,” said Mrs. Spencer, as she this morning stopped to admire a picture that hung at the entrance of the gallery: “from the magnificence attending it, I should suppose it represented a royal baptism.”

“You are quite right, my dear madam,” answered Mr. Wilmot. “It is the christening of no less a personage than our illustrious queen Elizabeth; and, as a singular chain of events befel most of the individuals present at it, I think I cannot commence this day’s entertainment with a more interesting relation.

“At one o’clock in the afternoon, the lord mayor, Sir Stephen Peacock, in a gown of crimson satin, adorned with his chain, and with the aldermen in scarlet robes, ornamented with their golden collars, took boat for Greenwich, where they found many lords, knights, and gentlemen assembled. The whole way from the palace to the Friars, was strewn with green rushes, and the walls were hung with tapestry, as was the Friars’ church, in which the ceremony was performed.

“A silver font, covered with crimson satin fringed with gold, stood in the midst of the church; and round it were arranged several gentlemen, with aprons and towels round their necks. All things being arranged, the procession set forth. It began with citizens walking two and two; then gentlemen, ’squires, and chaplains; then the aldermen and the mayor alone; and, following these, the king’s council and chaplain in copes; and, lastly, barons, bishops, and earls.

“The gilt basin was carried by Henry, earl of Essex. This nobleman perished, a few years afterwards, by a fall from his horse. He was alike distinguished for his magnificence, and the part he bore in tilt and tourney. Sprung from a royal lineage, being descended from Thomas of Woodstock, youngest son of Edward the Third, his high connexion must have rendered him occasionally fearful lest they should involve him in the same fatal catastrophe with that which the duke of Buckingham had so lately suffered. But his premature death, whilst it placed him beyond the reach of caprice, left his title at the disposal of the monarch, who, much to the mortification of this illustrious family, bestowed it on his favourite, the low-bred Cromwell.

“The salt was borne by Henry, marquis of Dorset, the father of lady Jane Grey, who, after receiving the royal pardon for his share in the criminal enterprize for placing the crown on the head of his ill-fated and gentle daughter, joined the rebellion of Wyatt, and finally forfeited his life on the scaffold.

“William Courtnay, marquis of Exeter, followed, bearing the taper of virgin wax. This nobleman had the misfortune to be very nearly allied to the English throne, his mother being a daughter of Edward the Fourth. He was, at this period, highly distinguished by the king’s favour, who had even declared his intention of making him heir apparent, in preference to his own sisters, and his daughter Mary. The divorce from Catherine had, indeed, by proclaiming the latter illegitimate, rendered her incapable of succeeding to the throne. But, three years afterwards, he fell a victim to the jealousy of the fickle monarch, on a charge of corresponding with his proscribed cousin, cardinal Pole; and his honours and estates were not only forfeited, but his son, though quite a child, was immured in close custody.

“The chrism, which was very rich, being made of pearl and stone, was carried by the beautiful lady Mary Howard, daughter of the duke of Norfolk. She also furnished another illustration of the remark I commenced with; for she lived not only to witness, but, by the evidence she gave on his trial, to assist in the unjust condemnation of her illustrious brother, the earl of Surry, whose talents, and whose gallantry, still adorn the annals of English history. This lady, descended from our Saxon monarchs, Henry bestowed upon his base-born son, created duke of Richmond; an insult, which, in other reigns, the Howards would have resented as it deserved.

“The infant princess, wrapped in a mantle of purple, richly furred with ermine, was carried by one of her godmothers, the dowager duchess of Norfolk. This lady was the step-grandmother of Ann Boleyn; but the high distinction afforded, too shortly, but little cause of exultation. And equally melancholy was the termination of that closer alliance with royalty, which was formed for her, in the person of her own grand-daughter, Catherine Howard. On the discovery of this queen’s ill-conduct, the aged duchess was declared guilty of misprision of treason, and, overwhelmed with disgrace, was committed to custody; but she was afterwards released, when Catherine had expiated her follies and vices on the scaffold. Nor less exempt from trial was the other godmother at the font, the dowager marchioness of Dorset. Her grand-daughter, lady Jane Grey, perished by an ignominious death. Three of her sons shared the same fate; and the fourth died, during the reign of Elizabeth, a prisoner in the Tower, in which he had been confined, for the offence of distributing a pamphlet, asserting the title of the Suffolk line to the crown.

“The marchioness of Exeter, the other godmother at the font, not only wept over the untimely end of her husband; and her only son wasting the flower of his youth in a tedious captivity; but she herself was attainted of high treason, some time afterwards, and underwent a long and arbitrary imprisonment.

“On either hand of the duchess of Norfolk, walked the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk; the only nobles of that rank then existing in England. On every public and important occasion, both civil and military, their united names appear during the reign of Henry the Eighth; but the termination of their respective careers forms a striking contrast. The duke of Suffolk was ever regarded with the same favour, which he had gained as Charles Brandon, the jocund companion of his royal master’s youthful exercises. Nor did his marriage with the king’s sister, involve him in either troubles or misfortunes; and he did not live to witness those which overwhelmed his grand-daughter. He died in peace, sincerely lamented by his sovereign.

“Very different was the treatment which the duke of Norfolk received from the king. His high birth, and powerful connexions, created fears in Henry’s mind, for the tranquillity and safety of his son, the virtuous Edward the Sixth. The former services of his faithful and noble servant were overlooked, and sacrificed to his present alarm. With almost his last breath he decreed the death of Norfolk. But even Henry was no longer absolute: his orders were this time disobeyed, and the duke survived him. He, however, suffered a long and tedious captivity; and lived but a short time after his tardy restoration to liberty and honour, under Mary.

“One of the infant’s train-bearers, was the countess of Kent. If she were, as is probable, the widow of the second earl of that title, she must have been the daughter of the earl of Pembroke, a zealous Yorkist, who was slain fighting in the cause of Edward the Fourth.

“Thomas Boleyn, earl of Wiltshire, the proud and delighted grandfather of the princely babe, supported the train on one side. He lived to witness the cruel and disgraceful end of his son and daughter, and died long before the prosperous days of his illustrious grandchild.

“Edward Stanly, third earl of Derby, formed an exception to this train of ill-fated nobles. Educated by Wolsey, whose ward he was, he proved himself a faithful subject to four succeeding sovereigns; and, in the most disturbed times, stood firm in his unshaken loyalty. Full of years and honours, and rich in hereditary distinctions, he died, universally esteemed, in 1574.

“Four lords, three of whom met with disastrous fate, supported the canopy over the royal infant. One was her uncle, the accomplished viscount Rochford, who suffered death by the tyranny of Henry, for a crime of which he is now most fully acquitted. Another was lord Hussey, who expiated the crime of rebellion on the scaffold, a few years afterwards. The two others were brothers, of the family of the illustrious but unfortunate Howards.

“Lord William, uncle to Catherine Howard, was unjustly condemned to perpetual imprisonment and forfeiture of goods, for not exposing her misconduct; but the sentence was afterwards remitted. He lived to be eminent in the next reign, under the title of lord Howard of Effingham, and died peacefully, in a venerable age.

“The ambition of lord Thomas was the cause of his sufferings. He married the lady Margaret Douglas, niece to the king, and on the discovery of which he was committed to the Tower, where he died in close imprisonment.

“The ceremony of christening was performed by Stokely, bishop of London, attended by several abbots and bishops mitred; and the benediction was pronounced by Cranmer, that learned and distinguished prelate, whose virtues, whose weaknesses, whose general benevolence and holy faith, exhibited amidst the flames of martyrdom, have rendered him a distinguished character in the history of this eventful reign.

“At the conclusion of the ceremonies, garter king-at-arms cried aloud: ‘God, of his infinite goodness, send prosperous life and long, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth.’ The trumpets then sounded a flourish, and the party prepared to retrace their steps to the palace.

“In the return from church, the gifts of the sponsors, consisting of bowls and cups, some gilded, and others of massy gold, were carried by four persons of quality, viz: Thomas Somerset, second earl of Worcester; Thomas Ratcliff, lord Fitzwalter, afterwards earl of Sussex; and Sir John Dudley, son of the detested associate of Empson, and afterwards the notorious duke of Northumberland; whose crimes received, at length, their due recompence in that ignominious death, to which his guilty and extravagant projects had conducted so many comparatively innocent victims.”

When Mr. Wilmot had finished his narration, Mrs. Spencer remarked, that, by the untimely death of Ann Boleyn, the infant princess became a partaker of some of the trouble that involved so many of the distinguished individuals who attended this august ceremony.

“Yes,” said Mr. Wilmot; “and there are some curious extracts extant, respecting the petty mortifications she was destined to endure in childhood, whilst the subject of her legitimacy was left unsettled. Passing over these, however, I shall give the girls a short account of the pursuits that engrossed her youth, and which is taken from some writings of the celebrated Roger Ascham.

“This gentleman says: ‘The lady Elizabeth has completed her sixteenth year; and so much solidity and understanding, such courtesy united with dignity, have never been observed at so early an age. She has the most ardent love of true religion, and of the best kind of literature. The constitution of her mind is exempt from female weakness; and she is endued with a masculine power of application. No apprehension can be quicker than hers, no memory more retentive. French and Italian she speaks like English; Latin with fluency, propriety, and judgment: she also spoke Greek with me frequently, willingly, and moderately well. Nothing can be more elegant than her handwriting, whether in the Greek or Roman characters. In music she is very skilful, but does not greatly delight.

“‘With respect to personal decorations, she greatly prefers a simple elegance to show and splendour; so despising the outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing gold, that, in her whole manner of life, she greatly prefers Hippolyta than Phædra.

“‘She read with me almost the whole of Cicero, and a great part of Livy: from these two writers, her knowledge of the Latin language has been exclusively derived. The beginning of the day was almost always devoted by her to the New Testament, in Greek; after which, she read select orations of Isocrates, and the tragedies of Sophocles. For her religious instruction, she drew first from the fountains of Scripture, and afterwards from St. Cyprian, the common-places of Melancthon, and similar works, which contain pure doctrine in simple language.’”

Mrs. Spencer remarked, that Ascham’s account of Elizabeth’s simplicity in dress was singular, when contrasted with the love of magnificence and show, which she displayed in after life.

“And yet,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “his testimony is corroborated by that of Dr. Elmer, or Aylmer, who was tutor to lady Jane Grey and her sisters, and became, subsequently, during Elizabeth’s reign, bishop of London. He thus draws her character, when young, in a work entitled, ‘A Harbour for faithful Subjects.’

“‘The king left her rich clothes and jewels; and I know it to be true, that, in seven years after her father’s death, she never, in all that time, looked upon that rich attire and precious jewels, but once, and that against her will. And that there never came gold or stone on her head, till her sister forced her to lay off her former soberness, and bear her company in her glittering gayness. And then she so wore it, as every man might see that her body carried that which her heart disliked. I am sure that her maidenly apparel, in king Edward’s time, made the noblemen’s wives and daughters to be ashamed to be dressed and painted like peacocks; being more moved with her most virtuous example, than with all that Peter or Paul wrote on the subject. Yea, this I know, that a great man’s daughter, lady Jane Grey, receiving from lady Mary, before she was queen, good apparel of tinsel, cloth of gold, and velvet, laid on with parchment lace of gold, when she saw it, said: ‘What shall I do with it?’ ‘Marry!’ said a gentlewoman, ‘wear it.’ ‘Nay,’ quoth she, ‘that were a shame to follow my lady Mary, against God’s word.’ And when all the ladies, at the coming of the Scots queen dowager, Mary of Guise, (she who visited England in Edward’s time,) went with their hair frownsed, curled, and double curled, she altered nothing, but kept her old-maidenly shamefacedness.’

“Whatever Elizabeth’s subsequent taste in dress might have been, it is evident, that at this period she strictly conformed to the rigid turn of sentiment which prevailed in young Edward’s reign. Miss Aikin tells us, that there is a print, from the portrait of her when young, in which the hair is without a single ornament, and the whole dress remarkably plain.

“But I must leave this interesting part of Elizabeth’s character, and proceed to the time when the insurrection by Wyatt, of which I have formerly spoken, was made a pretext for confining her person within the Tower.

“Three of the queen’s council were dispatched to Ashbridge, to summon her to London; and with such rigour did they execute their commission, that, although on their arrival late at night, they found her confined to her bed with illness, they not only insisted upon seeing her at this time, but, ere the lady to whom they had given their message could deliver it, they rudely burst into the room of the princess, and informed her, that, ‘alive or dead,’ they must carry her with them.

“That Elizabeth had conducted herself with great amiability, may be inferred from the grief with which her servants saw her depart. They naturally anticipated, from the severity of the proceedings, the worst that could befall their youthful mistress. And, in so weak a state was the afflicted princess, that she was obliged to rest four nights, in a journey of twenty-four miles.

After the residence of a few days at Hampton Court, she was conducted to the Tower privately, by the earl of Sussex and another lord, three of her own ladies, three of the queen’s, and some of her own officers.

“Holinshed has preserved some curious and characteristic traits of her conduct, which I shall relate to you, in nearly his own words.

“On reaching the place of her destination, she at first refused to land at the traitors’ gate, which, when one of the uncourteous lords heard, he replied, that ‘she should not choose;’ offering her, at the same time, his cloak, to protect her from the rain; ‘which she, putting it back with her hand, with a good dash, refused.’

“Setting her foot upon the stairs, she said: ‘Here landeth as true a subject, being a prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs; and before thee, O God! do I speak it, having none other friends but thee alone.’ To whom the same lord answered again: ‘That, if it were so, it was the better for her.’

“Observing a multitude of servants and warders standing in order to receive her, she said: ‘What needed all this?’ Being informed that it was customary, on receiving a prisoner: ‘If it be,’ said she, ‘for my cause, I beseech you that they may be dismissed.’ Whereupon, the poor men knelt down, and, with one voice, prayed God to preserve her; for which action they all lost their places the next day.

“Passing on a little further, she sat down upon a stone, and there rested herself; upon which the lieutenant, expressing his fears upon her account, and begging her to come in from the rain, she replied: ‘Better sitting here, than in a worse place; for God knoweth, I know not whither you will bring me.’ On seeing her gentleman-usher in tears, she reproved him, telling him, he ought rather to be her comforter, and not to dismay her; especially since she knew her truth to be such, that no man should have cause to weep for her. Then rising, she entered into her prison, the doors being locked and bolted upon her.

“This last act of severity seems exceedingly to have distressed the princess; but, calling for her book, she devoutly prayed that she ‘might be suffered to build her house upon the rock, whereby the blasts of the blustering weather should have no power upon her.’

“The confinement of the princess in the Tower, was purposely rendered as irksome and comfortless as possible. It was not till after a month’s close confinement, by which her health had suffered materially, that, after many entreaties, she gained permission to walk in the royal apartments, accompanied by the lord chamberlain, and three of her gentlewomen; the windows being shut, and she not permitted to look out of them. Afterwards, she had liberty to walk in a small garden, the doors and gates being shut; and the other prisoners being closely guarded during the time, and strictly commanded not to look from out of the windows, or to speak.

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“Even a child of five years old, belonging to some inferior officer in the Tower, who was wont to visit her daily, and to carry her flowers, was suspected of being employed as a messenger between her and the earl of Devonshire; was strictly examined by the lord chamberlain; and, notwithstanding his youth and simplicity, ordered not to visit her again. The child answering, that ‘he would bring his lady and mistress more flowers,’ he was threatened with a whipping if he did not desist. The next day, as the princess was walking in the garden, the boy, peeping in through a hole in the door, cried out, ‘Mistress, I can bring you no more flowers;’ whereat she smiled, but said nothing. Nevertheless, the lord chamberlain hearing the circumstance, severely rebuked his father, and ordered him to send him from home.

“Her confinement in the Tower lasted for some time. She was afterwards removed to Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, and retained in a kind of honourable captivity, till the death of her sister Mary set her free.

“This event took place on November the nineteenth, 1558; and, on the twenty-third of the same month, Elizabeth, now become queen, set forward for her capital, attended by about a hundred nobles, knights, gentlemen, and ladies; and took up her abode, for the present, at the Chartreux, or Charter-house, formerly a considerable monastery, but dissolved in the reign of Henry the Eighth, and then the residence of lord North; a splendid pile, which offered ample accommodation for a royal retinue.

“Her next removal, according to ancient custom, was to the Tower. On this occasion, the loyalty and gallantry of the English nation were fully displayed. Pageants and endless devices attracted her attention on all sides: singers and musicians lent their aid; and, more than all, the air was rent with the joyful acclamations of her enraptured subjects, as, preceded by her heralds and great officers, the maiden queen, gratified and affected by the homage that a brave and generous nation offered up, expressed her grateful sense of it by holding up her hands, with a pleased countenance, to those who were at a distance from her, and by the ‘most tender and gentle language to those who stood near.’ One simple act of kindness was noticed with peculiar commendation. A branch of rosemary given her with a petition, by a poor woman in Fleet-bridge, was seen in her chariot till she came to Westminster. Nor was her reception of the English Bible, which was presented to her in Cheapside, less grateful to the feelings of her people, still bearing in remembrance the persecutions they had received. She not only took it reverently in her hands, but kissed it, and laid it on her bosom; assuring the citizens of her high sense of its value, and that she should read it most diligently.

“I do not think,” said Mr. Wilmot, “that I can conclude these extracts from Holinshed better, than by quoting Miss Aikin’s remarks upon this part of Elizabeth’s life; concluding with the prayer she offered, which has been preserved by the careful chronicler.

“‘With what vivid, and what affecting impressions, (says this lady,) of the vicissitudes attending on the great, must she have passed again within the antique walls of that fortress, once her dungeon, now her palace. She had entered it by the traitors’ gate, a terrified and defenceless prisoner, smarting under many wrongs, hopeless of deliverance, and apprehending nothing less than an ignominious death. She returned to it in all the pomp of royalty, surrounded by the ministers of her power, ushered in by the applauses of her people, the cherished object of every eye, the idol of every heart.

“‘Devotion could alone supply becoming language to the emotions which swelled her bosom; and, no sooner had she reached the royal apartments, than, falling on her knees, she returned humble and hearty thanks in the following prayer.

“‘O Lord Almighty and everlasting God, I give thee most hearty thanks, that thou hast been so merciful to me as to spare me to behold this joyful day. And I acknowledge that thou hast dealt as wonderfully and as mercifully with me, as thou didst with thy true and faithful servant Daniel, thy prophet, whom thou deliveredst out of the den, from the cruelty of the greedy and raging lions; even so was I overwhelmed, and only by thee delivered. To thee, therefore, only be thanks, honour, and praise, for ever. Amen.’

“And now, having conducted Elizabeth to this triumphant moment of her life, we will leave the subject this morning,” said Mr. Wilmot, “and renew it to-morrow.”

CHAP. VII.

“That Elizabeth was a woman endowed with a masculine mind,” said Mr. Wilmot, “that she was prudent, wise, and energetic to an extraordinary degree, and that she deserves to be ranked amongst the most illustrious of sovereigns, cannot be denied; and yet, contrary to Roger Ascham’s assertions, respecting her early simplicity, we find her, after ascending the throne, uniting to all this greatness of character, a vanity so unbounded, and a love of admiration so childish and weak, that we start at the contrast and inconsistency, displayed at times by this wonderful female.

“Contemporary historians have left on record several descriptions of the public festivities then in fashion; and though it must be allowed, that the spirit of the age fostered this romantic turn of disposition; yet we can hardly help mingling a smile of ridicule, with our admiration of the loftier traits of her mind, when we peruse the accounts of the entertainments with which the queen was wont to be amused, even to a late period of life. Holinshed, with his usual minuteness, has entered very fully into the relation of these festivities; and I shall abridge, for your amusement, one of the many narrations he presents us with.

“In one of her progresses, which were very frequent, she stopped at Norwich, where she was received by the mayor and corporation, with every demonstration of joy, and with a variety of orations and most doggrel rhyme.

“Two days after her arrival, Mercury, in a blue satin doublet, lined with cloth of gold, his garments ‘cut and slashed in the finest manner,’ with a peaked hat of the same colour, as though it would cut and sever the wind asunder; and on the same, a pair of wings, and wings at his feet, in a coach, most extraordinarily painted with birds and naked spirits, hanging by the heels in the air and clouds, and with horses winged and painted, appeared at her window, and invited her to go abroad, and see more shows; and a kind of mask, in which Venus and Cupid, with wantonness and riot, were discomfited, in no very gentle manner, by the goddess of Chastity and her attendants, was exhibited in the open air.

“A troop of nymphs and fairies lay in ambush for her return from dining with the earl of Surry; and in the midst of these heathenish exhibitions, the minister of the Dutch church waited his opportunity to offer to her the grateful homage of his flock. After this oration, a very curious compliment was paid her, in the form of a monument, on which was artificially graven the scriptural history of Joseph; and in the middle of the same device, was a figure of a serpent, entwining itself around a dove, which bore this sentence: ‘Wise as the serpent, and meek as the dove.’

“It appears that the inventing of masks, devices, and pageants, for the recreation of the queen in her progresses, was a distinct profession. George Ferrers, formerly commemorated as inventor of pastimes to Edward the Sixth; one Goldingham; and Churchyard, author of the Worthieness of Wales, of some legends in the Mirror of Magistrates, and of a prodigious quantity of verse on various subjects, were the most celebrated proficients in this branch: all three are handed down to posterity, as contributors to the ‘princely pleasures of Kenilworth;’ and the two latter, as the managers of the Norwich entertainments.

“But although it is not my intention to enter into all the pageants which were exhibited, during the six days of the queen’s stay at Norwich, I cannot, however, pass over the very original one, representing a battle between six gentleman, apparelled only in doublet, hose, and helmet on the head: during which, ‘the legs and arms of men, well and lively wrought, were to be let fall, in numbers, on the ground, as bloody as might be.’ A violent shower of rain prevented Elizabeth’s enjoying this delicate exhibition; and the following day she left the city, passing under wreaths, made of flowers, extended from each side of the street, and mixed with garlands, coronets, pictures, rich cloths, and a thousand devices; whilst songs of lamentation for her departure, and orations on the high honour she had done the inhabitants, saluted her ear, till she reached the purlieus of Norwich.

“Whilst I am willing to allow,” said Mrs. Spencer, “that taste was as yet in its infancy, and the ludicrous incongruities, and pedantic labour, exhibited in these diversions, are characteristic of a semi-barbarous age; still I cannot but express my surprise, that a mind so highly gifted as was that of Elizabeth, could find amusement in such uncouth representations, and puerile performances. But I have not yet, Sir, remarked any evidence of personal vanity. These festivities were contrived by her subjects, not ordered by herself; and she was, in politeness, obliged to listen to the eulogiums of her people, even though the subject were in praise of herself.”

“That is true,” replied Mr. Wilmot; “but I think you will alter your opinion, when you have the account of the entertainments that were conducted by the queen, in honour of the proposals of marriage made to her by the duke of Anjou.

“She caused to be erected, on the south-west side of the palace of Whitehall, a vast banqueting-house, made of timber, covered with canvass, and painted on the outside with a work called rustic, resembling stone. It was lighted with two hundred and ninety-two windows; whilst, from festoons of ivy and holly, hung pendants of flowers, mixed with fruits of various kinds; amongst which, pomegranates, oranges, pompions, cucumbers, grapes, and carrots are named. The whole was spangled with gold; whilst, between the festoons, appeared the ceiling, painted with a sky, sun, sunbeams, and stars, intermingled with scutcheons of the royal arms. Three hundred and seventy workmen were employed in its construction, and one thousand seven hundred and forty-four pounds expended upon it.

“In this artificial palace the French ambassadors were received, and most ‘royally banqueted and feasted’ by the maiden queen; whilst her ministers were employed in drawing up, by her command, the marriage articles.

“Meanwhile, several of the gentlemen and nobles, anxious to participate in the gay illusion and courtly pleasures of the day, agreed amongst themselves, to prepare a triumph; ‘the sumptuous service of which, and the valiant manner of performing it, redounding,’ according to Holinshed, ‘to their endless fame and honour.’ The plan was as follows:

“The young earl of Arundel, lord Windsor, Philip Sidney, and Fulke Greville, called themselves the four foster-children of Desire; and to that end of the tilt-yard where the queen was seated, their refined homage gave the name of the Fortress of Perfect Beauty. This castle her majesty was summoned to surrender, in an adulatory message, conveyed by a boy, dressed in red and white, the colours of Desire; and it is not the least part of this singular entertainment, that the first message was delivered to her on a Sunday, as she returned from chapel.

“On her refusal, a day was fixed for the celebration of the pageant; and on that morning, a mount, placed upon wheels, was rolled into the tilt-yard, and the four cavaliers, in superb armour and accoutrements, and each at the head of a splendid troop, rode into the yard. When they had passed, in military order, before the queen, the boy who had given her the former defiance, addressed her again, in a strain so quaint and fulsome, that it would neither tend to your improvement nor pleasure, were I to repeat it.

“When this harangue was finished, (during the recital of which, music was heard within the mount, and the mount itself rose up in height,) the device was moved close to the queen, the music sounded, and one of the boys, accompanied by cornets, sung a fresh summons to the fortress; and when that was ended, another boy, turning to the foster-children and their retinue, sung an alarm, ‘with a pleasant voice and a seemly countenance: which ended, the cannons were shot off, the one with sweet powder, and the other with sweet water, very odoriferous and pleasant; and the noise of the shooting was very excellent concent of melody within the mount. And after that, was store of pretty scaling-ladders, and the footmen threw flowers, and such fancies, against the walls, with all such devices as might seem fit shot for Desire: all which did continue till the time the defendants came in.’

“These were about twenty in number, and each accompanied by his servants. Amongst them was Sir Henry Leigh, who came running in as unknown; and, after breaking six lances, went out again. Of this gentleman I shall have occasion to speak hereafter. Trumpeters and pages attended, and speeches were severally delivered to the queen, on the part of these knights, several of whom assumed fantastic characters; and surely none more so than Sir Thomas Perrot and Anthony Cook, who thought proper to personate Adam and Eve; being begirt with apples and fruit, and the latter having hair hung all down his helmet. These knights ‘were accompanied by an angel.’

“The messengers, on the part of Sir Thomas Ratcliff, described their master ‘as a forlorn knight, whom despair of achieving the fate of his peerless and sunlike mistress, had driven out of the haunts of men, into a cave of the desert, where moss was his bed, moss his ceiling, moss his candle, and moss, watered with salt tears, his food.’ Even here, the report of this assault on the fortress of Peerless Beauty, reached his ears, and roused him from his solitude—from bondage to a living death; and, in token of his devoted loyalty and inviolable fidelity to his excellent and divine lady, he had sent her his shield, hewn out of the hard cliff, only enriched with moss; which he begged her to accept, as the ensign of her fame, and the instrument of his glory; prostrating himself at her feet, as ready to undertake any adventures, in hopes of her gracious favour.

“On the part of the four sons of Sir Thomas Knolles, Mercury appeared, and described them as the legitimate sons of Despair, brethren to hard mishap, suckled with sighs, and swathed up in sorrow, weaned in woe, and dry-nursed by Desire; long time fostered with favourable countenance, and fed with sweet fancies; but now, of late, alas! wholly given over by grief and disgrace, with despair, &c.

“The speeches being ended, probably to the relief of the hearers, the tilting commenced, and continued till night, with some fresh circumstances of magnificence, and a few more harangues. At length the challengers presented to their sovereign an olive bough, in token of their humble submission; and both parties were dismissed by her, with thanks and commendations.

“I told you I would give you some account of Sir Henry Leigh, whose formal resignation of the office of queen’s champion, so long his glory and delight, and which took place four years preceding this last pageant, forms one of those romantic ceremonies which mark so well the age of Elizabeth. The gallant earl of Cumberland was his destined successor, and the momentous transfer was effected after the following fashion.

“Having first performed their respective parts in the chivalrous exercises of the band of knight-tilters, Sir Henry and the earl presented themselves to her majesty, at the foot of the gallery where she was seated, surrounded by her ladies and nobles, to view the games.

“They advanced to slow music, and a concealed performer accompanied the strain with the following song:

“My golden locks time hath to silver turn’d,

(Oh, time! too swift, and swiftness never ceasing,)

My youth ’gainst age, and age at youth hath spurn’d;

But spurn’d in vain, youth waneth by increasing:

Beauty, strength, and youth, flowers fading been;

Duty, faith, and love, are roots and evergreen.

“My helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lover’s songs shall turn to holy psalms;
A man at arms must now sit on his knees,
And feed on prayers that are old age’s alms;
And so, from court to cottage I depart,
My saint is sure of mine unspotted heart.

“And when I sadly sit in homely cell,

I’ll teach my swains this carol for a song:

‘Bless’d be the hearts that think my sovereign well,

Curs’d be the souls that think to do her wrong.’

Goddess, vouchsafe this aged man his right

To be your beads-man now, that was your knight.”

“During the performance, there arose out of the earth a pavilion of white taffeta, supported on pillars resembling porphyry, and formed to imitate the temple of the vestal virgins. A superb altar was placed within it, on which were laid some rich gifts for her majesty. Before the gate stood a crowned pillar, embraced by an eglantine; to which a votive table was attached, inscribed, ‘to Elizabeth.’ The gifts and the tablet being, with great reverence, delivered to the queen, the aged knight being in the mean time disarmed, he offered up his armour at the foot of the pillar, and, kneeling, presented the earl of Cumberland to her majesty; praying her to accept of him as a knight, and to continue these annual exercises. The proposal being graciously accepted, Sir Henry armed the earl, and mounted him on his horse: this done, he clothed himself in a long velvet gown, and covered his head, in lieu of a helmet, with a buttoned cap of the country fashion.”

“This is by far the most elegant ceremony you have described, Sir,” said Mrs. Spencer; “but I cannot help lamenting, that the distinguished character of Elizabeth should be sullied with such weakness.”

“We will turn,” said Mr. Wilmot, “from the contemplation of her defects, to view her in those affairs, when the strength of her character appears in all its native lustre—when the sacred feelings of the moment, lent to her words and actions that energy and dignity, which so often gained her the admiration of hoary statesmen, and of surrounding nations. You have heard of the threatened attack of the Spanish Armada, and the vigorous measures that were taken to defend the country against the threatened invasion. When all the preparations of defence were finally arranged, the queen resolved to visit, in person, her camp at Tilbury, for the purpose of encouraging her troops.

“Mounted on a noble charger, with a general’s truncheon in her hand, a corslet of polished steel laced on over her magnificent apparel, and a page in attendance, bearing her white plumed helmet, she rode bare-headed, from rank to rank, with a courageous deportment and a smiling countenance; and, amid the affectionate plaudits and shouts of military ardour, which burst from the animated and admiring soldiery, she addressed them in the following short and spirited harangue.

“‘My loving people, we have been persuaded, by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you, I do not desire to live, to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear: I have always so behaved myself, that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects.

“‘And therefore I am come amongst you at this time, not as my recreation or sport; but being resolved, in the midst and heat of battle, to live or die amongst you all: to lay down, for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England too; and think foul scorn, that Parma, or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm.

“‘To which, rather than any dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms; I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field.

“‘I know, already, by your forwardness, you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the mean time, my lieutenant-general shall be in my stead, than whom, never prince commanded more noble and worthy subjects; not doubting, by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.’”

“It is, indeed, a noble speech,” said Mrs. Spencer; “and one can imagine the loud plaudits that would ensue, when she had ended her address. If I am not mistaken, it was about this time that newspapers were introduced.”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Wilmot: “the intense interest in public events, excited in every class by the threatened invasion of Spain, gave rise to the introduction, into this country, of one of the most important inventions of social life, that of newspapers. Previous to this period, all articles of intelligence had been circulated in manuscripts; and all political remarks, which the government had found itself interested in making to the people, had issued from the press in the shape of pamphlets; of which, many had been composed during the administration of Burleigh, either by himself, or under his direction. But the peculiar convenience, at such a juncture, of uniting the two objects in a periodical publication, becoming obvious to the ministry, there appeared, some time in the month of August, 1558, the first number of the English Mercury, a paper resembling the present London Gazette, which must have come out almost daily; since the number 50, the earliest specimen of the work now extant, is dated July 23rd of the same year. This interesting manuscript is preserved in the British Museum. But (said Mr. Wilmot, turning to Susan and Ann) I think that you both know the Royal Exchange.”

“Yes, Sir,” they replied; “but we do not know who built it.”

“It was built,” answered Mr. Wilmot, “by Thomas Gresham, a merchant. Born of a family at once enlightened, commercial, and wealthy, he had not only imbibed their spirit and their virtues; but, fortunately for himself, neither the advantages of the education he had received at Cambridge, nor his own superior attainments, tempted him to quit the walk of life for which he was intended, and in which he afterwards so eminently distinguished himself.

“His father, Sir Richard Gresham, had been agent to Henry the Eighth, for negotiations of loans with the merchants of Antwerp; and the abilities of young Gresham were soon discovered, by the eminent services he rendered, when in a similar capacity to Edward the Sixth, by redeeming the credit of the king, then sunk to the lowest ebb by the mismanagement of his father’s immediate successor. Under Elizabeth he enjoyed the same appointment, to which was added that of queen’s merchant; and it appears, by the official letters of the times, that he was occasionally consulted in political as well as pecuniary affairs. He was a spirited promoter of the infant manufactures of his country, several of which owed their origin to him.

“By his assiduity and commercial talents, he rendered himself one of the most opulent merchants in the kingdom; and the queen showed her sense of his merit, by bestowing on him the office of knighthood.

“Gresham had been always liberal and patriotic; but the death of his only son, in 1564, determined him to render his country his principal heir.

“Hitherto the citizens of London had been unprovided with any building in the shape of a Burse, or an Exchange, such as Gresham had been accustomed to see abroad, in the commercial cities of Flanders; and he now munificently offered, if the city would give him a piece of ground, to build one at his own expence.

“The edifice was begun accordingly, in 1566, and finished within three years. It was a quadrangle of bricks, with walks on the ground-floor for merchants, (who now ceased to transact their business in the middle aisle of St. Paul’s Cathedral,) with vaults for warehouses beneath, and a row of shops above; from the rent of which the proprietor sought some remuneration for his great charges. But the shops did not immediately find customers; and it was partly with a view of bringing them into vogue, that the queen promised to give her countenance to the undertaking, in January, 1571. Holinshed gives the following particulars of this visit. On the twenty-third of January, the queen, accompanied by her nobility, came from Somerset House, and entered the city by Temple Bar, Fleet-street, and by the north side of the Burse, to Sir Thomas Gresham’s in Bishopsgate-street, where she dined. After dinner, her grace, returning through Cornhill, entered the Burse on the south side; and, after she had viewed every part thereof, above the ground, especially the Pawne, which was richly furnished with all sorts of the finest wares in the city, she caused proclamation to be made by the sound of trumpet, that it should henceforth be called the Royal Exchange.

“Gresham offered the shops rent-free, for a year, to such as would furnish them with wares and wax-lights, against the coming of the queen; and the proposal produced a very sumptuous display. Afterwards, the shops of the Exchange became the favourite resort of the fashionable of both sexes. The building was destroyed by the fire of 1666; and the divines of that day, according to their custom, pronounced this catastrophe a judgment on the avarice and unfair dealing of the merchants, and the pride, prodigality, and luxury of the purchasers and idlers, by which it was frequented and maintained.”

“Then the present Exchange is not the building erected by Sir Thomas?” said Ann.

“No, my dear,” replied Mr. Wilmot: “the first stone of the second fabric was laid by Charles the Second, who rode in state into the city for this purpose, in 1667. It bears the original title, and was erected in about three years, at the expence of £80,000.”

Mrs. Spencer remarked, that Gresham was a splendid benefactor to the city of London; for, besides the Royal Exchange, he left his magnificent residence in Bishopsgate-street, as a college for the benefit of the citizens of London. He thought that, as the inhabitants of that city possessed much money, a proportionate quantity of knowledge and learning should be diffused among them. He bequeathed annuities for public lectures in divinity, law, physic, and astronomy, geometry, music, and rhetoric: his house was appointed for the residence of the lecturer, and there the lectures were to be read. But Gresham College is now turned into the Excise Office.

“Did I understand you, Sir,” said Susan, “that the aisle of St. Paul’s was formerly used by the merchants of London, as a resort in which to transact business?”

“You may well ask the question, indeed,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “and, in replying to it, I shall first tell you, that, in the year 1441, the beautiful steeple of St. Paul’s was struck by lightning; (it was the loftiest in the kingdom;) and, together with the bells and roof, was utterly destroyed. Never did parties in religion run higher than about this period of the reign of Elizabeth. The manner in which this accident was commented upon, by adverse disputants, not only marks the temper of the times; but informs us to how many purposes this building, professedly devoted to divine worship, was appropriated.

“A papist immediately dispersed a paper, representing this accident as a judgment from Heaven, for the discontinuance of the meeting, and other services, which used to be performed in the church, at different hours of the day and night. Pilkington, bishop of Durham, who preached at Paul’s Cross, after the accident, was equally disposed to regard it as a judgment; but on the sins of London in general, and particularly on certain abuses, by which the church had formerly been polluted. In a tract, published in answer to that of the papists, he afterwards gave an animated description of the practices of which this cathedral had been the theatre; curious, in the present day, as a record of forgotten customs.

“He said, ‘No place had been more abused than St. Paul’s had been, nor more against the receiving of Christ’s gospel; wherefore it was more wonderful that God had spared it so long, than that he overthrew it now. * * From the top of the spire, at coronations, or other solemn triumphs, some, for vain-glory, had thrown themselves down by a rope, and so killed themselves, vainly to please other men’s eyes. At the battlements of the steeple, sundry times, were used their popish anthems, to call upon their gods, with the torch and taper, in the evenings. In the top of one of the pinnacles was Lollard’s Tower, where many an innocent soul had been cruelly terminated and murdered. In the middest alley was their long censer, reaching from the roof to the ground; as though the Holy Ghost came down in their censing, in likeness of a dove. In the arches, men complained of wrong and delayed judgments in ecclesiastical causes; and divers had been condemned there by Annas and Caiphas, for Christ’s cause. Their images hung on every wall, and pillar, and door, with their pilgrimages, and worshipping of them; passing over their massing and many altars, and the rest of their popish service.

“‘The south-side alley was for usury and popery; the north for simony; and the horse-fair in the midst, for all kinds of bargains, meetings, brawlings, murders, and conspiracies. The font, for ordinary payments of money, as well known to all men as the beggar knows his dish; so that without and within, above the ground and under, over the roof and beneath, from the top of the steeple and spire down to the floor, not one spot was free from wickedness.’

“How the divines of that age reconciled these violents philippics against those who differed from them in religious views, with the injunction left by the apostle, in his masterly delineation of Christian charity, is not for me to determine,” said Mr. Wilmot. “You will observe, that the practice of making St. Paul’s a kind of exchange, for transactions of all kinds of business, and a place of meeting for idlers of all sorts, is here alluded to: it is frequently mentioned by writers of this and the two succeeding reigns; and when, and by what means the custom was put an end to, does not appear.

“It was here that Sir Nicholas Throgmorton held a conference with an emissary of Wyatt’s: it was here that one of the bravos, engaged in the noted murder of Alden of Feversham, was hired. It was in St. Paul’s that Falstaff is made to say, he bought Bardolph.

“In bishop Earl’s admirable little book, called, ‘Microcosmography,’ the scene is described with all the wit of the author, and somewhat of the quaintness of his age, which was that of James the First. He says, ‘Paul’s walk is the land’s epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this; the whole world’s map, which you may here discern in the perfectest motion, jostling and turning. It is the great exchange of all discourse; and no business whatever, but is here stirring and afoot. It is the synod of all pates politic joined and laid together, in most serious posture; and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is the market of young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of all lies, which were, like the legends of popery, first coined and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here; and not a few pockets. The best sign of a temple in it, is, that it is the thieves’ sanctuary.

“‘The visitants are all men, without exception; but the principal inhabitants and possessors are, stale knights, and captains out of service, men of long rapiers and breeches, which, after all, turn merchants here, and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their dinner; but thriftier men make it their ordinary, and board here very cheap.’”

The bell now rang, and company was announced. Susan and Ann quitted the gallery with reluctance; but not before they had obtained a promise from Mr. Wilmot, that they should visit it again on the following day.

CHAP. VIII.

Punctual to the moment of appointment, Mr. Wilmot led his young friends into the gallery; and, after giving them leave to range round it, he begged that they would select a subject for the morning’s entertainment.

“Then, Sir,” said Susan, “I should like to be informed who that wounded officer is, and that poor soldier, who, even whilst drinking with eagerness, seems to fix his eyes so intently on him.”

“That officer,” answered Mr. Wilmot, “is Sir Philip Sidney, one of the brightest ornaments of queen Elizabeth’s court; and whose personal endowments were only equalled by his valour and humanity.

“When, at the battle of Zutphen, in the United Provinces, in which he had distinguished himself, his thigh-bone was broken by a musket-shot, in the agony of his wound he called for water: some was brought him, but, as he was lifting it to his lips, the ghastly looks of a dying soldier met his eye. ‘Take this,’ said he, holding the water to him, ‘thy necessities are yet greater than mine.’ We can better estimate the self-denial of this generous act, when we remember that the wound was mortal, and that, after sixteen days of acute suffering, it terminated his valuable life.

“Thus perished, at the early age of thirty-two, this Marcellus of the English nation; at once the pride and ornament of his time—the theme and favourite of song and story.”

Page 142.
Page 148.

“The beautiful anecdote which I have just related to you, inspires a love and esteem for his virtues, which will be retained as long as the name of Sidney shall exist. He is described by the writers of that age, as the most perfect model of an English gentleman, that could be formed, even in imagination; and when to this we add his amiable disposition, his elegant erudition, his rare talents and dauntless valour, we are prepared to estimate the demonstrations of grief which were expressed for his loss, and the almost unexampled honours paid to his memory. The court went into mourning for him, and his remains received a magnificent funeral in St. Paul’s: the United Provinces having in vain requested permission to inter him at their own expence, promising that he should have as fair a tomb as any prince in Christendom. Elizabeth, who had called him ‘her Philip,’ always spoke of him with affectionate regret. The kings of France and Scotland lamented him in verse. Cambridge and Oxford published three volumes of ‘Lachrymæ’ on his death. Spenser in rhyme, and Camden in prose, commemorated and deplored their patron. Lord Brooke was so proud of his friendship, that he directed it to be part of his epitaph, ‘Here lies Sir Philip Sidney’s friend.’ A crowd of humbler votaries emulously strove who best should paint his excellence and loss; and it would be endless to enumerate the names of those who have, in latter times, celebrated, in various forms, the name of Sidney.

“Envy, for a while, seemed to have expired, whilst foreigners and countrymen alike joined in the tribute of respect offered to his memory. Du Plessis Mornay, a celebrated Hugonot leader, condoled with Walsingham on the loss of his incomparable son-in-law, in terms of the deepest sorrow: Count Hohenloe passionately bewailed his friend and fellow-soldier: and even the obdurate heart of Philip the Second, was touched by the untimely fate of his god-son.

“Henry Sidney, the father of this accomplished young nobleman, was a man endowed with wisdom and talent. Exemplary in his own conduct, he sought to infuse into the mind of his son, the purest and most elevated moral principles. Nor was his laudable conduct—his parental solicitude—disappointed: he saw, in the brilliant career of his beloved son, his warmest wishes anticipated, his fondest hopes realized.

“That Philip Sidney, whilst on his travels, though still very young, conducted himself with prudence, and displayed much soundness and clearness of principle, may be inferred from his obtaining the friendship of Hubert Languet, a celebrated protestant at Frankfort. And, though his character was not faultless, though he partook of some of the errors incident to his age and station, yet, as a man—a high-souled and accomplished man—he had, among his contemporary countrymen, neither equal nor competitor.

“Flattery has long since ceased to spread her meretricious splendour round his name, and the historian can now calmly examine the pretensions to that merit, which not only England, but Europe, attached to his short-lived but brilliant career; and she can, with confidence and complacency, enrol him amongst the noble few, whose example may be held up as a beacon to youth, and still serve to kindle the animating glow of emulation.

“His death was worthy of the best parts of his life: he showed himself, at the last, devout, courageous, and serene. His last words are worthy of remembrance, they were uttered with seriousness and composure: ‘Love my memory; cherish my friends: their fidelity to me, may assure you that they are honest. But, above all, govern your wills and affections by the will and word of your Creator. In me, behold the end of this world and its vanities.’

“His wife, the beautiful daughter of Walsingham; his brother Robert, to whom he had performed the part of an indulgent and anxious parent rather than that of a brother; and many sorrowful friends, surrounded his bed. Their grief was, beyond doubt, sincere and poignant, as well as that of the many persons of letters and of worth, who gloried in his friendship, and flourished by his bountiful patronage. He was the author of a romance, entitled ‘Arcadia,’ now only known to the curious in literature.”

Whilst Mrs. Spencer and Susan were expressing their high admiration of the character of Sir Philip Sidney, Ann was busily examining a picture which hung next to the before-mentioned painting. As soon as the observations on this last subject had ceased, she eagerly enquired whose rustic dwelling it represented.

Mr. Wilmot replied: “That of Edmund Spenser, one of our first genuine poets; whose rich and melodious strains will find their way to the tastes of the real lovers of minstrelsy, as long as inexhaustible fertility of invention, truth, fluency, and vivacity of description, copious learning, and a pure, amiable, and heart-ennobling morality, shall be prized among the students of English literature.

“From the circumstance of Spenser’s being entered as a sizar at Cambridge, it is probable that he sprung from an obscure parentage, and possessed but a slender patrimony. His merit, however, soon dawned through the shades that surrounded him; and his intimacy with Stubbs, a noted character of the day, and still more his friendship with Gabriel Harvey, by whom he was introduced to Sir Philip Sidney, attest the superiority of his mental acquirements.

“The choice of his associates, together with some passages in his ‘Shepherd’s Calendar,’ had given rise to the suspicion that he was inclined towards puritanical sentiments; and possibly had some share in the disappointment of a fellowship, which he had hoped to obtain in 1576. Leaving college on this event, he retired for a time into the north of England; but the friendship of Sidney, who was fully capable of appreciating his genius, drew him again from his retirement; and it was at Penshurst that he composed much of the ‘Shepherd’s Calendar,’ published in 1579, under the signature of Immerito, and dedicated to his accomplished patron.

“This year Spenser was sent by the earl of Leicester (probably at his nephew’s request) to France, on some commission; and, in the following, he obtained the post of secretary to lord Grey, and attended him to Ireland.

“Spenser, though the child of fancy and of the Muse, was yet the man of business; and an excellent paper on the state of Ireland, which he drew up at this time, is still read and valued. He received a considerable tract of land out of the forfeited estates of the earl of Desmond; and also the castle of Kilcoman, which henceforth became his residence, and where he had the pleasure of receiving a first visit from Raleigh.

“Similarity of taste and pursuits must soon have created an intimacy between these candidates for fame; and the barbarism and ignorance which surrounded them, must have cemented their friendship, and heightened the pleasure they must have experienced in each other’s society.

“Nor did the seductive blandishments of a court banish from the affections or remembrance of Raleigh, when he returned to England, the tuneful bard whom he had left behind in the ‘emerald isle.’ He mentioned him to the queen with enthusiasm; obtained for him some favours, or promise of favours; and, on the second visit which he made to Ireland, (probably for the purpose of inspecting some large grants which he had himself obtained,) he insisted upon his friend’s returning with him; and hastened to initiate him into those arts of gaining a fortune, which had proved so prosperous to himself. But neither the taste, nor the retiring temper of the poet, was calculated to combat with the intrigues and treacheries of this heart-sickening scene; nor yet to endure the servile dependence on another’s will, that must be borne by the pursuer of courtly fortune. Bitterly did he regret his learned leisure, and deplore the mistaken kindness which had taught him to forsake retirement and ease, for the ‘solitude of a crowd, where all around were either foes or strangers.’ He has left upon lasting record, in a few brief, energetic lines, his warning to others, his grief and repentance; and, hastening back to obscurity, he prepared to earn that title to immortal fame, which will ever attend the author of the ‘Faery Queen.’ This great work appeared in 1589, with a preface addressed to Raleigh, and a considerable number of recommendatory poems; one of which, a sonnet of great elegance, is marked by the initials of that same patronizing friend.

“The premature death of Spenser, under circumstances of severe distress, now called forth the sympathy and bitter regrets of the friends of English literature. After witnessing the destruction of his whole property, including the plunder of his house, by the Irish rebels, he fled to England for shelter. The fifty pounds per annum, which he enjoyed as her majesty’s poet laureate, being apparently his only resource, he took up his abode in an obscure lodging in London, and pined away in penury and despondence.

“The genius of this great poet, formed on the most approved models of the time, and exercised upon themes peculiarly congenial to its taste, received, in all its plenitude, that homage of contemporary applause, which has sometimes failed to reward the nobler masters of the lyre.

“The adventures of chivalry, and the dim shadowings of moral allegory, were almost equally the delight of a romantic, a serious, and a learned age. It was also a point of loyalty to admire, in ‘Gloriana,’ ‘Queen of Faery,’ or in ‘The Empress Mercilla,’ the avowed types of the graces and virtues of her majesty; and she herself had discernment sufficient to distinguish between the brazen trump of vulgar flattery, with which her ear was sated, and the pastoral reed of antique frame, tuned sweetly to her praise by Colin Clout.

“Spenser was interred with great solemnity in Westminster Abbey, by the side of Chaucer; the generous Essex defraying the expences of the funeral, and walking himself as a mourner. That ostentatious but munificent woman, Ann, countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery, erected a handsome monument to his memory, several years afterwards. The brother poets who attended his obsequies, threw elegies and sonnets into the grave; and, of the more distinguished votaries of the Muse in that day, there is scarcely one who has withheld his tribute to the memory of this beautiful author. Shakspeare, in one of his sonnets, had already testified his high delight in his works.

“Joseph Hall, afterwards eminent as a bishop, a preacher, and a polemic, but, at this time, a young student at Emanuel College, has more than one complimentary allusion to the poems of Spenser, in his ‘Toothless Satires,’ printed in 1597.”

“I think you mentioned, Sir,” said Mrs. Spencer, “that it was in Ireland Sir Walter Raleigh first became acquainted with the illustrious bard. Did Sir Walter spend much of his time there? Perhaps you will oblige us by some account of him.”

“Willingly,” answered Mr. Wilmot. “Ireland, in particular, was the scene of several of the early exploits of that brilliant and extraordinary genius, Walter Raleigh; and it was out of his service in this country, that an occasion arose for his appearing at court, which he had the talent so to improve, as to make it the origin of all his favour and advancement.

“Raleigh was the poor youngest son, of a decayed but ancient family in Devonshire. His education at Oxford was yet incomplete, when the ardour of his disposition encouraged him to join a band of a hundred volunteers, led by his relation, Henry Champernon, in 1569, to the aid of the French protestants. Here he served a six years’ apprenticeship to the art of war; after which, returning to his own country, he gave himself for awhile to the more tranquil pursuits of literature; for ‘both Minervas claim’d him as their own.’

“In 1578 he resumed his arms, under general Norris, commander of the English forces in the Netherlands. The next year, ambitious of a new kind of glory, he accompanied that gallant navigator, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, his half-brother, in a voyage to Newfoundland. This expedition proving unfortunate, he obtained, in 1580, a captain’s commission in the Irish service; and, recommended by his vigour and capacity, rose to be governor of Cork.

“A quarrel with lord Grey put a stop to his promotion in Ireland; and, on following this nobleman to England, their difference was brought to a hearing before the privy council, when the great talents, and uncommon flow of eloquence, exhibited by Raleigh in pleading his own cause, by raising the admiration of all present, proved the means of introducing him to the presence of the queen. His comely person, fine address, and prompt proficiency in the arts of a courtier, did all the rest; and he rapidly rose to such a height of favour, as to inspire with jealousy even him who had long stood foremost in the good graces of his sovereign.

“It is recorded of Raleigh, during the early days of his court attendance, when a few handsome suits of clothes formed almost the sum total of his worldly wealth, that, as he was accompanying the queen in one of her daily walks, she arrived at a miry spot, and stood in perplexity how to pass. With an adroit presence of mind, the courtier pulled off his cloak, and threw it on the ground to serve her for a foot-cloth. She accepted with pleasure an attention which flattered her; and it was afterwards quaintly said, that the spoiling of a cloak had gained him many good suits.

“As a soldier, a statesman, and a scholar, Raleigh was eminently distinguished through the whole reign of Elizabeth. He rendered her many important services; and she not only acknowledged them, but protected and encouraged him in the enterprises which he projected. He was the discoverer of Virginia, and took effectual measures for promoting its prosperity. His active enterprises against the Spaniards, both in Europe and South America, excited the particular enmity of the court of Spain, which used every means to effect his destruction. During the reign of Elizabeth, these machinations were fruitless; but, on the accession of James the First, Sir Walter lost his interest at court, was stripped of his employments, and unjustly accused and condemned for a plot against the king. He was afterwards trusted by James with a commission of considerable importance, and thus virtually pardoned for all supposed offences. The malice of his enemies at last prevailed against him; and he was pusillanimously sacrificed to appease the Spaniards, who, whilst Raleigh lived, thought every part of their dominions in danger.

“He was executed in Old Palace-yard, in the sixty-sixth year of his age. His behaviour on the scaffold was manly, unaffected, and even cheerful. Being asked by the executioner which way he would lay his head, he answered: ‘So the heart be right, it is no matter which way the head lies.’

“During his imprisonment, he wrote the following affecting letter to his son; and, as it contains many solemn and affecting admonitions, and testifies the influence of religion on his mind, I shall read it to you.

“‘My son, let my experienced advice and fatherly instructions sink deep into thy heart. Seek not riches basely, nor attain them by evil means: destroy no man for his wealth, nor take any thing from the poor; for the cry thereof will pierce the heavens; and it is most detestable before God, and most dishonourable before worthy men. Nor wrest any thing from the laborious and needy soul: God will never prosper thee, if thou offendest therein. Use thy poor neighbours and tenants well: have compassion on the poor and afflicted, and God will bless thee for it. Make not the hungry soul sorrowful; for if he curse thee in the bitterness of his spirit, his prayer shall be heard of him that made thee.

“‘Now for the world, dear child: I know it too well to persuade thee to dive into the practices of it: rather stand upon thy guard against all those that tempt thee to it, or may practise upon thee, thy conscience, thy reputation, or thy estate. Be assured, that no man is wise or safe, but he that is honest. Serve God, commend all thy endeavours to him, who will either wither or prosper them. Please him with prayer; lest, if he frown, he confound all thy fortune and labour, like the drops of rain upon the sandy ground. May God direct thee in all thy ways, and fill thy heart with his grace!’

“He also wrote a letter of consolation, and filled with pious sentiments, to his wife; but the specimen I have given you, will serve to exemplify the prepared state of his mind, previous to the solemn event.

“An engagement this morning,” said Mr. Wilmot, “obliges me now to conclude; and we will, therefore, quit the gallery.”

CHAP. IX.

The first picture which attracted the little girls’ attention, on their entrance into the gallery this morning, was the representation of an eruption of Mount Vesuvius. They instantly applied for information to Mr. Wilmot, which he as willingly gave them, in the following words:

“This celebrated volcano is situated a few miles east of Naples, in Italy. The first eruption on record, happened on the twenty-seventh of August, A.D. 79. It was accompanied by an earthquake, which overturned several cities. Pliny, the naturalist, being too curious in observing the effects of this violent convulsion of nature, was suffocated by the sulphureous smoke.”

“Who was Pliny?” asked Susan.

“Pliny the Elder,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “was one of the most learned of the Roman writers; and was born at Verona in Italy, A.D. 23. But a letter from his nephew to a friend, describing his character and the event, will give you a more perfect idea of both, than any other means I can adopt. This amiable and learned man first enters into an account of his uncle’s surprising application, as well as great mental powers; and after relating the nature of his employments, he proceeds to say:

“‘You will wonder how a man, so engaged as he was, could find time to compose such a number of books as he did; and some of them, too, upon abstruse subjects. But your surprise will rise still higher, when you hear that, for some time, he engaged in the profession of an advocate; that he died in the fifty-sixth year of his age; that, from the time of his quitting the bar, to his death, he was employed, partly in the execution of the highest posts, and partly in personal attendance on those emperors who honoured him with their friendship.”

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“‘But he had a quick apprehension, joined to unwearied application. In summer, he always began his studies as soon as it was night; in winter, generally at one in the morning, but never later than two, and sometimes at midnight. No man ever spent less time in bed; insomuch, that, without retiring from his book, he would sometimes take a short nap, and then pursue his studies. Before day-break he used to wait upon Vespasian, who, likewise, chose these seasons to transact business. When he had finished the affairs which that emperor transmitted to his charge, he returned home again to his studies.

“‘After a short and light repast, at noon, according to the good old custom of the ancients, he would frequently, in the summer, if disengaged from business, repose himself in the sun; during which time, some author was read to him, from which he made extracts and observations; as, indeed, this was his constant method, whatever book he read; for it was a maxim of his, ‘that no book was so bad but that something might be learned from it.’

“‘When this was over, he generally went into the cold bath; and, as soon as he came out of it, generally took a slight refreshment, and then reposed himself for a little while. Thus, as if it had been a new day, he renewed his studies till supper-time; when a book was again read to him, upon which he would make some slight remarks. I remember once, his reader having pronounced a word wrong, somebody at table made him repeat it again; upon which my uncle asked his friend, if he understood it? who, acknowledging that he did: ‘Why, then,’ said he, ‘would you make him go back again? We have lost, by this interruption, above ten lines;’ covetous was this great man of time!

“‘In summer he always rose from supper by day-light, and in winter as soon as it was dark; and he observed this rule as strictly as if it had been a law of the state.

“‘Such was his manner of life amidst the noise and hurry of the town; but, in the country, his whole time was devoted to study, without intermission, excepting only when he bathed. In this exception I include no more than the time he was actually in the bath; for, while he was rubbed and wiped, he was employed in hearing some book read to him, or in dictating. In his journeys he lost no time from his studies; but his mind, at those seasons, being disengaged from all other business, applied itself wholly to that single pursuit.

“‘A secretary constantly attended him in his chariot, who, in the winter, wore a kind of warm gloves, that the sharpness of the weather might not occasion any intermission to my uncle’s studies; and for the same reason, when at Rome, he was always carried in a chair. I remember, he once reproved me for walking. ‘You might,’ said he, ‘employ those hours to more advantage;’ for he thought every hour lost, that was not given to study. By this extraordinary application he found time to compose the several treatises I have mentioned; besides one hundred and sixty volumes, which he left me by his will, consisting of a kind of common-place, written on both sides, in a very small character; so that one might fairly reckon the number considerably more. I have heard him say that, when he was comptroller of the revenue in Spain, Largius Licinius offered him 400,000 sesterces (about £.3200 of our money) for those manuscripts, and yet they were not then quite so numerous.’”

“What a remarkably industrious man he must have been!” said Ann.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Wilmot; “and although it would not be possible for the generality of men to pursue his plans, yet I think we may all learn something from his diligence, and his (may I not say) miserly care of time. But to proceed with the narration.

“‘My uncle was at this time, with the fleet under his command, at Misenum, in the gulf of Naples. On the twenty-fourth of August, at about one in the afternoon, my mother desired him to observe a cloud, which appeared of a very unusual shape and size. He had just returned from enjoying the benefit of the sun; and, after bathing in cold water, and taking a slight repast, was retired to his study: he immediately arose, and went out upon an eminence, from which he might more distinctly view the phenomenon. It was not, at this distance, discernible from what mountain the cloud issued; but it was found afterwards to proceed from Vesuvius, about six miles distant from Naples. I cannot give you a more correct, or exact description of its figure, than to represent it by that of a pine-tree; for it shot up a great height, in the form of a tall trunk, which spread at the top into a sort of branches; occasioned, I suppose, either by the force of the internal vapour, which impelled the cloud upwards, decreasing in strength as it advanced, or, that the cloud, being pressed back by its own weight, expanded itself in the manner I have mentioned: it appeared sometimes dark and spotted, and sometimes bright, as it was either more or less impregnated with earth and cinders.

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“‘This uncommon appearance excited my uncle’s philosophical curiosity to take a nearer view of it. He accordingly ordered a light vessel to be prepared; and offered me the liberty, if I thought proper, to attend him. I chose rather to continue the employment in which I was engaged; for it happened that he had given me a certain writing to copy.

“‘As he was going out of the house, with his tablets in his hand, he was met by the mariners, belonging to the galleys stationed at Retina, from which they had fled in the uttermost terror; for that port being situated at the foot of Vesuvius, they had no other way than to escape by sea. They conjured him, therefore, not to proceed, and expose his life to imminent and inevitable danger. In compliance with this advice, he exchanged his original intentions; and, instead of gratifying his philosophical spirit, he resigned it to the more magnanimous principle of aiding the distressed.

“‘With this view he ordered the fleet immediately to put to sea, and went himself on board, with an intention of assisting, not only Retina, but the several other towns, which stood thick upon that beautiful coast.

“‘Hastening to the place, therefore, from which others fled with the utmost terror, he steered his direct course to the point of danger; and with so much calmness and presence of mind, as to be able to make and dictate his observations upon the appearance and progress of that dreadful scene. He was now so near the mountain, that the cinders, which grew thicker and stronger the more he advanced, fell into the ships; together with pumice-stone and black pieces of burning rock. They were, likewise, in danger of being aground by the sudden retreat of the sea; and also from the vast fragments which rolled down from the mountains, and obstructed all the shore. Here he stopped, to consider whether he should return back. On which the pilot addressing him, ‘Fortune,’ said he, ‘attends the brave: steer to Pompianus.’

“‘Pompianus was then at Stabiæ, (now called Castel è nar di Stabia, in the gulf of Naples,) separated by a gulf, which the sea, after several windings, forms upon that shore.

“‘Pompianus had already sent his baggage on board; for though he was not at the time in actual danger, yet, being within the view of it, and indeed extremely near, he was determined, if it should in the least increase, to put to sea as soon as the wind should change. It was favourable, however, for carrying my uncle to Pompianus, whom he found in the greatest consternation; and, embracing him with tenderness, he encouraged and exhorted him to keep up his spirits. The more to dissipate his fears, he ordered his servants, with an air of unconcern, to carry him to the baths; and, having bathed, he sat down to supper (with great, or at least what is equally heroic) with all the appearance of cheerfulness. In the meanwhile, the fire from Vesuvius flamed forth, from several parts of the mountain, with great violence; which the darkness of the night contributed to render still more visible and dreadful. But my uncle, in order to calm the apprehensions of his friend, assured him it was only the conflagration of the villages, which the country people had abandoned. After this he retired to rest, and, it is most certain, was so little discomposed as to fall into a deep sleep; for being corpulent, and breathing hard, the attendants in the anti-chamber actually heard him snore.

“‘The court which led to his apartment being now almost filled with stones and ashes, it would have been impossible for him, if he had continued there any longer, to have made his way out; it was thought proper, therefore, to awaken him. He got up, and joined Pompianus and the rest of the company, who had not been sufficiently unconcerned to think of going to bed. They consulted together, whether it would be most prudent to trust to the houses, which now shook from side to side, with frequent and violent concussions; or flee to the open fields, where the calcined stones and cinders, though levigated indeed, yet fell in large showers, threatening them with instant destruction. In this distress they resolved for the fields, as the less dangerous situation of the two: a resolution which, while the rest of the company were hurried into by their fears, my uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate consideration. They went out then, having pillows tied upon their heads with napkins; and this was the whole defence against the storm of stones that fell around them.

“‘It was now day every where else; but there a deeper darkness prevailed than in the blackest night; which was, however, in some degree, dissipated by torches and other lights of various kinds. They thought it expedient to go down further upon the shore, in order to observe if they might safely put out to sea; but they found the waves still run extremely high and boisterous.

“‘There my uncle, having drunk a draught or two of cold water, laid himself down upon a sail-cloth, which was spread for him; when, immediately, the flames, preceded by a strong smell of sulphur, dispersed the rest of the company, and obliged him to rise. He raised himself with the assistance of the servants, and instantly fell down dead; suffocated, I suppose, by some great and noxious vapour, having always had weak lungs, and frequently subject to a difficulty of breathing. As soon as it was light again, which was not till the third day after this melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and without any marks of violence, exactly in the same posture in which he fell, and looking more like a man asleep than dead.’”

“And what became of the younger Pliny, Sir?” asked Ann, “during this dreadful scene.”

“I will give you his narration in his own words,” answered Mr. Wilmot.

“‘My uncle having left us, I continued the employment which prevented my going with him, till it was time to bathe: after which, I went to supper, and then fell into a short and uneasy sleep. There had, during many days before, been some shocks of an earthquake, which the less alarmed us, as they are frequent in Campania; but they were so particularly violent that night, that they not only shook every thing about us, but seemed to threaten total destruction. My mother flew to my chamber, where she found me rising in order to awaken her. We went out into a small court belonging to the house, which separated the sea from the buildings.

“‘As I was at that time but eighteen years of age, I know not whether I can call my behaviour, in this perilous conjuncture, courage or rashness; but I took up Livy, and amused myself with turning over that author, and even in making extracts from him, as if I had been perfectly at my ease. While we were in that situation, a friend of my uncle’s, who was just come from Spain to pay him a visit, joined us; and observing me sitting by my mother, with a book in my hand, reproved her patience and my security: nevertheless, I still went on with my author.

“‘It was now morning, but the light was exceedingly faint and languid; the buildings all around tottered; and though we stood upon open ground, yet, as the place was narrow and confined, there was no remaining without imminent danger: we therefore resolved to leave the town. The people followed us in the utmost consternation, and (as to a mind distracted with terror, every suggestion seems more prudent than its own) pressed in great crowds about us, in our way out. Being advanced at a considerable distance from the houses, we stood still, in the midst of a most hazardous and tremendous scene. The chariots which we had ordered out, were so agitated backwards and forwards, though upon the most level ground, that we could not keep them steady, even by supporting them with large stones.

“‘The sea seemed to roll back upon itself, and to be driven from the banks by the convulsive motion of the earth: it is certain, at least, that the shore was considerably enlarged, and several sea-animals were left upon it.

“‘On the other side, a black and dreadful cloud, bursting with an igneous serpentine vapour, darted out a long train of fire, resembling flashes of lightning, but much longer. Upon this, our Spanish friend, whom I mentioned above, addressing himself to my mother and me with great warmth and earnestness, said, ‘If your brother and your uncle is safe, he earnestly wishes that you may be so too; but if he perished, it was, doubtless, his desire that you might both survive him. Why, therefore, do you delay your escape a moment?’

“‘We could never think of our own safety,’ we replied, ‘whilst we were uncertain of his.’ Upon which our friend left us, and withdrew from the danger with the utmost precipitation. Soon afterwards, the cloud seemed to descend and cover the whole ocean; as, indeed, it entirely hid the island of Caprea, (an island near Naples, now called Capri,) and the promontory of Misenum. My mother conjured me to make my escape any way, which, as I was young, I might easily effect. As for herself, she said, her age and corpulency rendered all attempts of that sort impossible: however, she would willingly meet death, if she could have the satisfaction of seeing that she was not the cause of mine. But I resolutely refused to leave her, and taking her by the hand, led her on. She complied with great reluctance, and not without many reproaches to herself, for being the occasion of retarding my flight.

“‘The ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no great quantity. I turned my head, and observed behind me a thick smoke, which came rolling after us like a torrent. I proposed, while we had yet any light, to turn out of the high road, lest she should be pressed to death by the crowd that followed us.

“‘We had scarcely stepped out of the path when darkness overspread us: not like that of a cloudy night, or when there is no moon; but of a room that is shut up, and all the lights extinct. Nothing then was to be heard but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the cries of men; some calling for their children, others for their husbands, others for their parents, and only distinguishing them by their voices. One lamenting his own fate, another that of his family; some wishing to die, from the very fear of dying; some lifting their hands to the gods; but the greatest part imagining that the last and eternal night was come, which was to destroy the gods and the world together. Amongst these, were some who augmented the real terrors by imaginary ones, and made the frighted multitude believe that Misenum was actually in flames.

“‘At length a glimmering light appeared, which we imagined rather the forerunner of another burst of flame, (as in fact it was,) than the return of day. However, the fire fell at a distance from us; and then again we were immersed in thick darkness, and a heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which we were obliged every now and then to shake off, otherwise we should have been overwhelmed and buried in the heap.

“‘I might boast that, during all this scene of horror, not a sigh or expression of fear escaped from me, had not my support been founded on that miserable, though strong consolation, that all mankind were involved in the same calamity, and that I imagined that I was perishing with the world itself. At last this terrible darkness was dissipated by degrees, like a cloud or smoke; the real day returned, and even the sun appeared, though very faintly, as when an eclipse is coming on. Every object which presented itself to our eyes (which were extremely weakened) seemed changed, being covered with white ashes, as with a deep snow.

“‘We returned to Misenum, where we refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and passed our anxious night between hope and fear: though, indeed, with a much larger share of the latter; for the earth still continued to shake, while several enthusiastic persons ran wildly among the people, and making a kind of frantic sport of their own and their friends’ wretched situation. However, my mother and I, notwithstanding the danger we had passed, and that which threatened us, had no intention of leaving Misenum till we should receive some account of my uncle.’”

“How singular it was,” said Susan, “that Pliny should read an historical work, at a moment of such imminent danger. Do you call it fortitude, Sir?”

“I am something, my dear, of lord Lyttelton’s opinion, respecting this part of this really amiable man’s conduct: ‘That, when all nature seemed falling into final destruction, to be reading Livy and making extracts was an absurd affectation. To meet danger with courage is manly, but to be insensible to it is brutal stupidity; and to pretend insensibility where it cannot be supposed, is ridiculous falseness.’”

“But his conduct, in refusing to leave his mother, you will allow, was noble,” remarked Mrs. Spencer.

“Undoubtedly it was a beautiful act of filial piety; and whilst I have passed a censure on the one act mentioned, I wish it to be remembered, that no Roman ever excelled him in sincere integrity of heart and greatness of sentiment; although there was a mixture of vanity blended with his virtue, which impaired and disgraced it.”

“I think, Sir,” said Ann, “you spoke of some cities being destroyed at this time.”

“Yes, my dear, and Herculaneum was one. Like Pompeii and other cities, it was thought to be utterly destroyed, till the beginning of the eighteenth century, when it was discovered; and many of the houses were found perfectly furnished, and the furniture in good preservation.”

“Do volcanic eruptions ever occur in other countries?” asked Susan.

“The principal apertures of this kind,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “besides Vesuvius, are, Etna in Sicily; Stromboli, one of the Lipari Islands, north of Sicily; and Hecla in Iceland.

“So late as the year 1783, a volcanic eruption in Iceland surpassed any thing recorded in history. The lava spouted up to the height of two miles perpendicular, and continued thus for two months; during which time it covered a tract of three thousand six hundred square miles of ground, in some places more than one hundred feet deep; and this tremendous visitation was followed by a train of consequences, the most direful and melancholy, some of which continue to be felt to this day.

“Immense floods of red hot lava were poured down from the hills, with amazing velocity; and, spreading over the low country, burnt up men, cattle, churches, houses, and every thing they attacked in their progress. Not only was all vegetation in the immediate neighbourhood of the volcano destroyed, by the ashes, brimstone, and pumice which it emitted; but, it being thrown up to an inconceivable height in the atmosphere, they were scattered over the whole island; impregnating the air with noxious vapours, intercepting the genial rays of the sun, and empoisoning whatever could satisfy the hunger or quench the thirst, of man or beast. Even in some of the more distant districts, the quantity of ashes that fell was so great, that they were gathered up by handsful. Upwards of four hundred people were deprived instantly of a home; the fish were driven from the coasts; and the elements seemed to vie with each other, which should commit the greatest depredations: famine and pestilence stalked abroad, and cut down their victims with ruthless cruelty, while death himself was glutted with the prey. In some houses there was scarcely a sound individual left to tend the afflicted, or any who possessed sufficient strength to inter the dead.

“The most miserably emaciated tottering skeletons were seen in every quarter. When the animals that had died of disease and hunger were consumed, the wretched creatures had nothing to eat but raw hides, and old pieces of leather and ropes, which they boiled, and devoured with avidity. The horses eat the flesh off one another; and, for want of other sustenance, had recourse to turf, wood, and even excrementitious substances; while the sheep devoured each other’s wool. In a word, the accumulation of miseries originating in the volcanic eruption, was so dreadful, that, in the short space of two years, not fewer than 9336 human beings, 28,000 horses, 11,461 head of cattle, and 190,488 sheep, perished on the island.

“Such is Dr. Henderson’s account of this melancholy calamity; a visitation which was awful in its nature, and unparalleled in its horrors.”

“What a blessing it is,” said Ann, “that we live in England, where no troubles of the kind ever assail us.”

“Cherish the feeling of thankfulness, my dear girl,” said Mr. Wilmot; “for it is indeed a favoured—a privileged country. And here,” said he, turning to a full-length portrait of George the Third, “is the picture of our late venerable monarch; whose benevolent wish, that every child in his dominions might possess a Bible, and be able to read it, deserves to be transmitted from sire to son.

“The ornament of his domestic circle, his gentle and pious daughter, was taken from him; and his reason lasted only to receive her last farewell, and mingle his blessings with her dying accents.

“Let us compare the experience of this Christian king with that of Abdalrahman, one of the greatest monarchs of his line.

“Cordova, the place of his residence, displayed 600 mosques, 900 baths, and 200,000 houses; and the caliph gave laws to eighty cities of the first, and to three hundred of the second and third order: and twelve thousand villages and hamlets decorated the beautiful banks of the Guadalquiver.

“Three miles from Cordova, in honour of his favourite sultana, the third and greatest of the Abdalrahmans constructed the city, palace, and gardens of Jehrar.

“Twenty-five years, and about three millions sterling, were employed by the founder. His liberal taste invited the most skilful sculptors and architects of the age; and the buildings were sustained or adorned by twelve hundred columns of Spanish and African, of Greek and Italian marble.

“The hall of audience was encrusted with gold and pearls; and a great basin in the centre was surrounded with the curious and costly figures of birds and quadrupeds.

“In a lofty pavilion of the gardens, one of those basins and fountains, so delightful in a sultry climate, was replenished, not with water, but with the purest quicksilver.

“The seraglio of Abdalrahman, his wives, and concubines, and eunuchs, amounted to six thousand three hundred persons; and he was attended to the field by a guard of twelve thousand horse, whose belts and scimeters were studded with gold.

“Our imagination is dazzled by the splendid picture, (says Gibbon,) and whatever may be the cool dictates of reason, there are few among us who would obstinately refuse a trial of the comforts and cares of royalty. It may, therefore, be of some use to borrow the experience of the same Abdalrahman, whose magnificence has, perhaps, excited our admiration and envy, and to transcribe an authentic memorial, which was found in the closet of the deceased caliph.

“‘I have now reigned above fifty years, in victory or peace, beloved by my subjects, and dreaded by my enemies, and respected by my allies. Riches and honour, power and pleasure, have waited on my call: nor does any earthly blessing appear to have been wanting to my felicity. In this situation I have diligently numbered the days of pure and genuine happiness which have fallen to my lot: they amount to fourteen. O man! place not thy confidence in this present world.’

“I will conclude this morning’s entertainment with a few lines by the princess Amelia, whom I mentioned to you in my notice of our late excellent monarch.”

‘Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,
I laugh’d, and talk’d, and danc’d, and sung;
And, proud of health, of freedom vain,
Dreamt not of sickness, care, and pain;
Concluding, in these hours of glee,
That all the world was made for me.

‘But when the days of trouble came;
When sickness shook this trembling frame;
When pleasure’s gay pursuits were o’er,
And I could dance and sing no more;
It then occurr’d, how sad ’twould would be,
Were this world only made for me.’

CHAP. X.

“Pray, Sir,” said Susan, “what place does this gloomy picture describe?”

“It is a drawing of the monastery of La Trappe,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “remarkable for the austerity of its monks, and celebrated, in ancient times, as the residence of the learned but licentious Abelard; and, in more modern, by the singular reformation and self-devotedness of Monsieur de Rancé.

“I will give you an account of it, as described by a gentleman who visited it in 1819.

“The situation of this monastery was well adapted to the founder’s views, and to suggest the name it originally received of La Trappe, from the intricacy of the road which descends to it, and the difficulty of access and egress, which exists, even to this day, though the woods have been very much thinned since the French revolution. Perhaps there never was any thing in the whole universe better calculated to inspire religious awe, than the first view of this monastery: it was imposing even to breathlessness.

“The total solitude, the undisturbed and chilling silence, which seem to have ever slept over the dark and ancient woods; the still lakes, reflecting the deep solemnity of the objects around them;—all impress a peaceful image of utter seclusion and hopeless separation from living man; and appear formed at once to court and gratify the sternest austerities of devotion—to humour the wildest fancies, and promote the gloomiest schemes of penance and privation.

“In ascending the steep and intricate path, the traveller frequently loses sight of the abbey until he has actually reached the bottom; then, emerging from the wood, the following inscription is seen, carved on a wooden cross:

‘C’est ici que la mort et que la verité

Elevent leurs flambeaux terribles;

C’est de cette demeure, au monde inaccessible,

Que l’on passe à l’éternité.’

“A venerable grove of oaks, which formerly surrounded the monastery, was cut down in the Revolution. In the gateway of the outer court is a statue of St. Bernard, which has been mutilated by the republicans: he is holding in one hand a church, and in the other a spade, the emblems of devotion and labour. This gateway leads into a court, which opens into a second enclosure; and around that, are granaries, stables, bakehouses, and other offices necessary to the abbey, which have all been happily preserved.

“On entering the gate, a lay-brother received me on his knees, and, in a low and whispering voice, informed me they were at vespers. The stateliness and gloom of the building; (the last rays of the sun scarcely penetrated through its windows;) the deep tones of the monks, chaunting the responses, which occasionally broke the silence, filled me with reverential emotions, which I was unwilling to disturb. It was necessary, however, to present my letter of introduction; and friar Charles, the secretaire, soon after came out, and received me with great civility.

“He requested that, in going over the convent, I would neither speak nor ask him any questions, in those places where I saw him kneel, or in the presence of any of the monks. I followed him to the chapel alone. As soon as the service was over, the bell rung to summon them for supper.

“Ranged in double rows, with their heads enveloped in a large cowl, and bent down to the earth, they chaunted the grace, and then seated themselves. During the repast, one of them standing, read a passage of Scripture, reminding them of death and the shortness of human existence. Another went round the whole community, and, on his knees, kissed their feet in succession; throwing himself prostrate on the floor, at intervals, before the image of our Saviour. A third remained on his knees the whole time, and in that attitude took his repast. These penitents had committed some fault, or neglected their religious duties; which, according to the regulations, they had accused themselves of, and were, in consequence, doomed to the above modes of penance. The refectory was furnished with long wooden tables and benches. Each person was provided with a trencher and a jug of water; and a cup, having on it the name of the brother to whom it was appropriated: as, friar Paul, friar Francis; and which name they assume on taking the order. Their supper consisted of bread soaked in water, a little salt, and two raw carrots placed by each: water is alone their beverage.

“The dinner is varied with a little cabbage or other vegetables: they have very rarely any cheese, and never meat, fish, or eggs. The bread is of the coarsest kind possible. Their bed is a small truckle boarded, with a single covering, generally a blanket; no mattress or pillow; and, as in the former time, no fire is allowed but one in the great hall, which they never approach.

“The hardships undergone by these monks appear almost insupportable to human nature. Their mode of life and regulations exist nearly in the same state as established by the founder. In reciting them, such dreadful perversions of human nature and reason make it almost difficult to believe the existence of so severe an order, and lead us to wonder at the artificial miseries which the ingenuity of pious but mistaken enthusiasm can inflict upon itself.

“The abstinence practised at La Trappe allows not the use of fish, meat, eggs, nor butter, and a very limited allowance of bread and vegetables. They eat only twice a day: their meals consist of a slender repast about eleven in the morning, and two ounces of bread and two raw carrots in the evening; which, both together, do not at any time exceed twelve ounces.

“The same spirit of mortification is observed in their cells, which are very small, and have no other furniture than a bed of boards, a human skull, and a few religious books. Silence is at all times rigidly maintained: conversation is never permitted. Should two of them ever be seen standing near each other, though pursuing their daily labour, and preserving the strictest silence, it is considered as a violation of their vow, and highly criminal. Each member is, therefore, as completely insulated as if he alone existed in the monastery. None but the Père Abbé knows the name, age, rank, or even the native country, of any member of the community.

“Every one, at his first entrance, assumes another name; and, with his former appellation, each is supposed to abjure not only the world, but every recollection and memorial of himself and his connexions. No word ever escapes from his lips, by which another could possibly guess who he is, or where he comes from; and persons of the same name, family, and neighbourhood, have often lived together in the convent for years, unknown to each other, without having suspected the proximity.”

“Surely,” said Mrs. Spencer, “the recluse and solitary life of these mistakenly pious men, is in direct opposition to the precepts of the sacred volume, which enjoin us to love our neighbour as ourselves. Now this love appears best to be exemplified by acts of benevolence and practical kindness. ‘If we would do good to mankind, we must live with them;’ and the daily and hourly instances of self-denial that we are called upon to exercise, is surely of more benefit to the mind, than the most rigid austerity, or the most severe bodily penances.”

“I quite agree with you,” replied Mr. Wilmot: “the very mortifications they endure may induce self-love, or, I should rather say, self-righteousness; and nothing, I think it will be generally allowed, can be more contrary to the tenor of the gospel spirit. Very different was the conduct of Bernard Palissy, a native of Saintes, in the south of France, who lived in the reign of Henry the Third. He was a potter by trade; but, having an innate genius for the sciences, he devoted all the time he could spare from his pottery, to the cultivation of them.

“The king hearing of him, and curious to see so extraordinary a character, sent for him to Paris, and had several interviews with him. Palissy was, by religion, a protestant; and it was thought his religious principles were the great obstacles to his fortune.

“One day the king told him, unless he would change his religion he should be compelled to withdraw his protection from him. Palissy heard the king with the respect due to his rank, but answered with a firm and dignified tone: ‘Your majesty has frequently told me that you pitied my case, but since you can say that you shall be compelled to withdraw your protection from me, I now pity yours. This is not the language of a king; yet know, Sire, that not the whole faction of the Guises, nor all the catholic subjects united, shall ever compel a potter of Saintes to bow the knee to senseless images of wood and stone.’

“The king was so struck with the answer, that he never after mentioned the subject of changing his religion to Palissy; but suffered him, in a short time, to return home to his native town, where he remained in peace to the end of his life. He lived to a great age; never forsaking his business, nor ceasing, in his moments of leisure to follow his favourite scientific pursuits.”

“I am admiring,” said Mrs. Spencer, “this figure of Demosthenes addressing the multitude. What energy and spirit there is in his action.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Wilmot; “and every thing that relates to such a character, is highly interesting, both because it is intimately connected with the history of the times, and because it is a striking example of the influence of mind over the greatest physical powers. Though he neither wore the insignia of royalty, nor presided as supreme magistrate over a powerful republic, nor commanded fleets and armies; yet, by the mere thunder of his eloquence, he made the mightiest monarchs of his day tremble upon their thrones, and roused the slumbering energies of Greece. He was the son of an opulent Athenian manufacturer.

“The style of oratory that charmed his youthful fancy, was not the mild and flowing eloquence of Isocrates, who was then the most celebrated rhetorician in Athens; but the nervous and impassioned harangues of Isæus, whose school, as well as that of the philosophical Plato, he constantly attended.

“It is said, that he made the most determined efforts to conquer some natural defects which seemed very formidable, and gradually acquired a dignified and manly eloquence. For a time he secluded himself almost entirely from society, that he might form his style on the purest models, and induce a habit of chaste and elegant composition. During this period, he transcribed the history of the Peloponnesian wars, by Thucydides, eight times; so desirous was he of acquiring a style of composition similar to that of the justly-admired historian. But this was not the only advantage derived from the study of Thucydides. Whilst employing himself in copying the works of that historian, Demosthenes imbibed his patriotic spirit; his imagination was filled with the former glory of his country; a generous indignation was kindled in his bosom, in comparing the ancient splendour of Athens with its present state of voluntary degradation; and a noble, but perhaps a romantic ambition possessed his soul, to be the instrument of renovating a decayed republic. Animated with these hopes and various prospects, he appeared in the public assembly; and, in his orations against Philip, poured forth such a strain of eloquence, that none of the venal orators of Athens were able to resist.

“The magistrates and common people were borne along by the mighty torrent, ere they were aware: his audience, instead of finding leisure or inclination to admire the splendid corruscations of his genius, found themselves imperceptibly animated by the same patriotic spirit, and roused from their lethargy by the impassioned vehemence of the youthful orator. In those unequalled specimens of ancient eloquence, which have been preserved amid the wreck of ages, we meet with such elevated sentiments, clothed in such glowing language, that, while reading them with delight approaching to admiration, we are no longer surprised at the powerful effect they produced on the popular assemblies of Greece. We cannot wonder that multitudes should throng from every province, to hear him declaim on a subject so deeply interesting to their feelings;—that so many states rose at his hope-inspiring call, from the slumber of inactivity, or the shades of despair, to make a vigorous effort for their expiring liberties;—or that Philip should have confessed, that the eloquence of Demosthenes injured him more than all the armies and fleets of the Athenians. ‘His harangues,’ said the Macedonian monarch, ‘are like the machines of war and distant batteries raised against me, by which all my projects are subverted, and my enterprises ruined, in spite of all my efforts. I believe,’ continued that generous adversary, ‘had I been present and listened to his orations, I should have been the first to conclude on the necessity of waging war with myself.’

“During the active reigns of Philip and Alexander, Demosthenes sounded a perpetual alarm, and ceased not to warn his countrymen against yielding to the ambitious projects of these enterprising monarchs. But when Antipater obtained possession of Athens, the orator fled to the isle of Calauria, and took sanctuary in a temple dedicated to Neptune. Fully persuaded that he had nothing to hope from the clemency of Antipater, he withdrew into the interior; and, under a pretence of writing to his family, put a poisoned quill in his mouth, which, in a few minutes, terminated his mortal existence, and disappointed the meditated vengeance of his enemies.

“A higher eulogium could scarcely have been pronounced on this prince of orators, than that which was spoken by Antipater himself, several years before his death. ‘I regard not,’ said he, ‘the harbours, the fleets, the armies of the Athenians: Demosthenes alone gives me pain. Without him, the Athenians would be amongst the most despicable inhabitants of Greece. He alone inspires and animates them: he rouses them, with his thundering eloquence, from their slumbers, and puts arms and oars into their hands, in spite of themselves. He perpetually sets before them the ancient victories of Marathon and Salamis, and invites them to similar deeds of valour. Nothing escapes his penetrating mind: he foresees all our projects—countermines and defeats all our designs: insomuch, that if Athens confided in his wisdom, and implicity followed his counsels, our condition were hopeless. No bribe can tempt him: like another Aristides, he is impenetrable to such overtures: patriotism alone inspires and actuates him.’ Such was the honourable testimony, borne by an enemy, to the commanding talents and public virtue of this celebrated orator.”

“How strikingly is St. Paul’s definition,” said Mrs. Spencer, “of that light and frivolous propensity of the Athenians, which led them to pass the day only to ‘hear and tell some new thing,’ illustrated by Plutarch’s relation of the illiterate citizen, who voted Aristides to the punishment of the ostracism. When that great man questioned his accuser, whether Aristides had ever injured him, he replied: Far from it: that he did not even know him; only he was quite tired of hearing him every where called ‘the just.’ Besides that spirit of envy which is remarkably displayed in his speech, to have heard this excellent person calumniated must have been a refreshing novelty, and have enabled him to tell a new thing.”

Mr. Wilmot smiled and said: “The delicate and refined females of our favoured country, should feel peculiar thankfulness in comparing their happy lot with the degraded state of women in the politest ages of Greece. Condemned to ignorance, labour, and obscurity—excluded from rational intercourse, debarred from every species of intellectual improvement or innocent enjoyment, they never seem to have been the objects of respect or esteem. In the conjugal relation, they were the servile agents, not the endeared companions of their husbands. Their depressed state was, in some measure, confirmed by illiberal legal institutions, and their native genius was systematically restrained from rising above one degraded level. Such was the lot of the virtuous part of the sex. I forbear to oppose to this gloomy picture, the profligate renown to which the bold pretensions of daring vice elevated mercenary beauty; nor should I glance at this impure topic, but to remind my young cousins, that immodesty in dress, contempt of the sober duties of domestic life, a boundless appetite for pleasure, and a misapplied devotion to the arts, were among the steps which led to this systematic profession of shameless profligacy, and to the establishment of those countenanced corruptions, which raised the more celebrated but infamous Athenian women to that bad eminence. But, Ann, you are engaged with a fine historical subject.”

“The death of Pericles, the Athenian general,” said Mrs. Spencer. “Will you kindly relate to them the particulars of it?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Wilmot. “When Pericles was at the point of death, his surviving friends and the principal citizens, sitting round his bed, discoursed together concerning his extraordinary virtue, and the great authority he had enjoyed. They enumerated his various exploits, and the number of his victories; for, whilst he was commander, he had erected no less than nine trophies to the honour of Athens. These things they talked of, supposing that he attended not to what they said, but that his senses were gone. He took notice, however, of every word they had spoken, and thereupon delivered himself as follows: ‘I am surprised, that, while you dwell upon and extol those acts of mine, though fortune had her share in them, and many other generals have performed the like, you take no notice of the greatest and most honourable part of my character; that no Athenian, through my means, ever put on mourning.’”

“Since you are talking of benefactors to their country,” said Mrs. Spencer, “allow me to relate a few particulars of Herodes Atticus, an Athenian citizen, whose munificent gifts would have been worthy of the greatest king.

“The family of Herod was lineally descended from Cimon and Miltiades, Theseus and Cecrops, Ægeus and Jupiter; but the posterity of so many gods and heroes was fallen into the most abject state. His grandfather had suffered by the hands of justice; and Julius Atticus, his father, must have ended his life in poverty and contempt, had he not discovered an immense treasure, buried under an old house, the last remains of his patrimony.

“According to the rigour of the law, the emperor might have asserted his claim; and the prudent Atticus prevented, by a frank confession, the officiousness of informers. But the equitable Nerva, who then filled the throne, refused to accept any part of it, and commanded him to use, without scruple, the present of fortune. The cautious Athenian still insisted that the treasure was too considerable for a citizen, and that he knew not how to use it. ‘Abuse it, then,’ said the monarch, with a good-natured peevishness, ‘for it is your own.’

“Many will be of opinion, that Atticus literally obeyed the emperor’s last instructions, since he expended the greatest part of his fortune, which was much increased by an advantageous marriage, in the public service. He had obtained for his son Herod the prefecture of Asia; and the young magistrate, observing that the town of Troas was but indifferently supplied with water, obtained from the munificence of Hadrian three hundred myriads of drachms, (about one hundred thousand pounds of our money.) But in the execution of the work, the charge amounted to more than double the estimate; and the officers of the revenue began to murmur, till the generous Atticus silenced their complaints, by requesting that he might be permitted to take upon himself the whole additional expence.

“The ablest preceptors of Greece and Asia had been invited, by liberal rewards, to direct the education of young Herod. Their pupil soon became a celebrated orator, according to the useless rhetoric of that age; which, confining itself to schools, disdained to visit either the forum or the senate. He was honoured with the consulship at Rome; but the greatest part of his life was spent in a philosophical retirement, at Athens and the adjacent villas; perpetually surrounded by sophists, who acknowledged, without reluctance, the superiority of a rich and generous rival. The monuments of his genius have perished, but some considerable ruins still preserve the fame of his taste and munificence.

“Modern travellers have measured the remains of the Stadium which he constructed at Athens. It was six hundred feet in length, built entirely of white marble, capable of admitting the whole body of the people; and was finished in four years, whilst Herod was president of the Athenian games.

“To the memory of his wife Regilla he dedicated a theatre, scarcely to be paralleled in the empire: no wood, except cedar very curiously carved, was employed in any part of the building.

“The Odeum, designed by Pericles for musical performances, and rehearsals of new tragedies, had been a trophy of the arts over barbaric greatness, as the timbers employed in the construction consisted chiefly of the masts of the Persian vessels. Notwithstanding the repairs bestowed on that ancient edifice by a king of Cappadocia, it was again fallen to decay. Herod restored its ancient beauty and magnificence.

“Nor was the liberality of that illustrious citizen confined to the walls of Athens. The most splendid ornaments bestowed on the temple of Neptune in the Isthmus, a theatre at Corinth, a Stadium at Delphi, a bath at Thermopylae, and an aqueduct at Canusium in Italy, were even insufficient to exhaust his treasures.

“The people of Epirus, Thessaly, Eubœa, Bœotia, and Peloponnesus, experienced his favours; and many inscriptions of the critics of Greece and Asia, gratefully style Herodes Atticus their patron and benefactor.

“But we have had a long meeting this morning,” said Mr. Wilmot: “let us adjourn till tomorrow.”

CONCLUSION.

The indisposition of Mr. Wilmot on the following day, prevented the little party from meeting in the gallery as usual. It proved to be an attack of a very serious nature, which confined him to his room for some months. Susan and Ann attended him with an assiduity and affection, that proved his instructions had not been thrown away upon them. At intervals, they read the books from which his anecdotes had been taken; and thus became acquainted with the history of their own and other countries.

The tuition and wise counsel of their sensible mother, had done much to correct the errors of their dispositions and characters, and to infuse a love of rational pursuits. The love of dress became a secondary point, and neatness and simplicity was alone regarded. They had still faults, but they were open to conviction. A sense of weakness opens an encouraging prospect of improvement, and time and care will, it is to be hoped, rectify the most serious of their erroneous propensities.

When Mr. Wilmot’s health was a little restored, they accompanied him to the sea-side; and here I must take my leave of my young readers, unless, at any future time, they should wish to hear more of Susan and Ann, and the Picture Gallery.

THE END.

Harvey, Darton, and Co. Printers,

Gracechurch-street, London.

- Transcriber’s Notes:

- Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.

- Typographical errors were silently corrected.

- Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.

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Table of Contents

- THE Picture Gallery EXPLORED.

- PREFACE.

- CHAPTER I.

- CHAP. II.

- CHAP. III.

- CHAP. IV.

- CHAP. V.

- CHAP. VI.

- CHAP. VII.

- CHAP. VIII.

- CHAP. IX.

- CHAP. X.

- CONCLUSION.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE