YALE UNIVERSITY
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HISTORICAL AND LITERARY MEMORIALS
OF THE CITY OF LONDON
Volume II.

Memoirs of John Heneage Jesse

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Historical and Literary
Memorials d ^ ^^
J- ji j> Of the City of London
By
John Heneage Jesse

In Two Volumes
Volume II.

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L. C. Page & Company
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CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
THE HAYMARKET, LEICESTER SQUARE, AND ST. MARTIN'S-IN-
THE-FIELDS. PAGE
Haymarket — Haymarket Theatre — ^'Suffolk House — Lei
cester Square — Anecdote of Goldsmith — St. Martin's
Lane, Church, and Churchyard — Soho Square — War-
dour and Oxford Streets — Rathbone Place . . 21

CHAPTER II.
COVENT GARDEN.
Covent Garden Market — "Old Hummums" — St. Paul's,
Covent Garden — Russell Street and Its Coffee-houses
— Bow, James, King, Rose, Bedford, and Henrietta
Streets — Maiden Lane — Southampton and Tavistock
Streets ...  50

CHAPTER III.
DRURY LANE AND CONTIGUOUS STREETS.
Drury Lane — Drury House — Wych Street — Drury Lane
Theatre — Long Acre — Phoenix Alley — Queen Street
— Lincoln's Inn Fields — Portugal Street — Duke Street
— St. Giles's Church and Churchyard . . . .90
17

1 8 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
CHARING CROSS AND WHITEHALL. PAGE
Statue of Charles the First — Execution of General Harri
son and Hugh Peters — Anecdotes of Lord Rochester
and Richard Savage — Old Royal Mews — Cockspur
and Warwick Streets— Scotland Yard — Attempt to
Assassinate Lord Herbert — Sir John Denham — Wal
lingford House — Dukes of Buckingham — Admiralty . 143
CHAPTER V.
THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL.
By Whom Originally Built — The Residence of Cardinal
Wolsey, Henry the Eighth, Edward the Sixth, Queen
Elizabeth, and James the First — Banqueting-house —
Whitehall, the Residence of Charles the First, Crom
weU, James the Second, and Queen Mary . . .176
CHAPTER VI.
THE THAMES AT LONDON.
The Thames in Ancient Times — Thames by Moonlight
— Old Palace of Whitehall — Northumberland, York,
Durham, Salisbury, Worcester, and Somerset Houses
— Temple Garden — Alsatia — Bridewell — Baynard's
Castle — Queenhithe — Bankside — Water Processions . 266
CHAPTER VIL
THE TOWER.
Description of the Fortress — Its Principal Bulwarks —
Tower Chapel — Traitor's Gate — Kings Who Built,
Enlarged, and Lived in It — Distinguished Prisoners
Whose Misfortunes or Crimes Have Thrown a Deep
Interest over Its Dungeons  289

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

" Suddenly wrapped them up among the
CLOTHES " {See page 368) . . . Frontispiece
King's Theatre, Haymarket .... 25
Interior Drury Lane Theatre .... 96
Charing Cross  144
Plan of the Tower of London . . . 296
Anne Boleyn  392
Sir Walter Raleigh  466

Memorials of London, Second Series. Vol. I.

MEMORIALS OF LONDON.

CHAPTER I.
the haymarket, leicester square, and st.
martin's-in-the-fields.
Haymarket — Haymarket Theatre — Suffolk House — Leicester
Square — Anecdote of Goldsmith — St. Martin's Lane,
Church, and Churchyard — Soho Square — Wardour and
Oxford Streets — Rathbone Place.
As late as the last days of the Protectorate, the
tract of ground to the north, between Pall Mall
and the villages of Hampstead and Highgate, con
sisted almost entirely of open country. St. Martin's
Church stood literally in the fields ; Whitcombe
Street was then Hedge Lane ; St. Martin's Lane
and the Haymarket were really shady lanes with
hedges on each side of them ; the small village of
St. Giles stood in the fields a little to the east ;
a windmill, surrounded by one or two scattered
dwelling-houses, was to be seen where the pres
ent Windmill Street now stands ; Leicester Square

22 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
was occupied by Leicester House and its pleasure
grounds ; while the only other object worthy of
notice was a building on the rising ground at the
upper end of the Haymarket then known as the
" Gaming House." Shortly after the Restoration
this latter building was pulled down, and Coventry
House, from which the present Coventry Street
derives its name, was erected on its site. This
house appears to have been built by the Right
Honourable Henry Coventry, ambassador to Swe
den and secretary of state in the reign of Charles
the Second, who retired here from the cares of
public employment in 1679, ^^'^ '^^'^ ^i^^ ^^^^
in December, 1686.
In 1 71 1, the celebrated statesman, Sir William
Wyndham, then a young man of five and twenty,
was residing in the Haymarket. He had only
recently become a husband, and still more re
cently a father, when a fire broke out in his
house, by which his young wife (a daughter of
the " proud " Duke of Somerset) and his infant
child very nearly lost their lives. Swift writes on
the day on which the accident occurred : " I was
awaked at three this morning, my man and the
people of the house telling me of a great fire in
the Haymarket. I slept again, and two hours
after my man came in again, and told me it was
Sir William Wyndham's house burnt, and that
two maids, leaping out of an upper room to
avoid the fire, both fell on their heads, one of

THE HAYMARKET. 23
them upon the iron spikes before the door, and
both lay dead in the streets. It is supposed to
have been some carelessness of one or both those
maids. The Duke of Ormond was there helping
to put out the fire. Wyndham gave ;!^6,ooo but
a few months ago for that house, as he told me,
and it was very richly furnished. His young child
escaped very narrowly ; Lady Catherine escaped
barefoot ; they all went to Northumberland House.
Wyndham has lost ;£ 10,000 by this accident; his
lady ;^i,ooo worth of clothes; it was a terrible
accident." In a miserable lodging in the Haymarket,
Addison composed his celebrated poem, the
" Campaign," written, as is well known, at the
express desire of Lords Godolphin and Halifax
to celebrate the recent victory of Blenheim.
"Pope," says Mr. D'Israeli, "was one day taking
his usual walk with Harte in the Haymarket,
when he desired him to enter a little shop, where,
going up three pair of stairs into a small room.
Pope said, 'In- this garret Addison wrote his
" Campaign ! " ' To the feelings of the poet this
garret had become a consecrated spot ; genius
seemed more itself, placed in contrast with its
miserable locality."
It was in the Haymarket that Baretti (whose
name is so intimately associated with the literary
annals of the last century) had the misfortune to
take away the life of a fellow creature in a street

24 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
quarrel, for which he was subsequently arraigned
for murder at the bar of the Old Bailey on the
20th of October, 1769. It is remarkable that,
among the witnesses who spoke to his character
for humanity at his trial, he should have numbered
so many celebrated men as Burke, Garrick, Gold
smith, Reynolds, Topham Beauclerk, and Doctor
Johnson. Baretti, it seems, was hurrying up the
Haymarket, when he was accosted by a woman,
who behaved with such rude indecency that he
was provoked to give her a blow on the arm.
Three men, who were her companions, immedi
ately made a rush at him, and, pushing him off the
pavement, attempted to thrust him into the mud.
Alarmed for his safety, Baretti stabbed one of the
men with a knife which he was in the habit of
carrying for the purpose of carving fruit. On this
the man pursued and collared him, when Baretti,
still more alarmed for his safety, stabbed him
repeatedly with the knife, of which wounds he
died the following day. Baretti was acquitted at
his trial, on the ground that he had acted in self-
defence. As late as the year 1755, according to a map
printed for "Stow's Survey," the spot of ground,
on which the Italian Opera House now stands, was
occupied by such places as Market Lane, White-
horse Yard, and the Phoenix and Unicorn Inns,
the latter standing at the southeast corner facing
Cockspur Street and Pall Mall East. The next

THE HAYMARKET. 25
object of interest in the Haymarket is the Hay
market Theatre. The first stone of Sir John
Vanbrugh's theatre, as it was then occasionally
styled from his having been the original projector
of it, was "laid by Anne, Countess of Sunderland,
the most beautiful of the four charming daughters
of the great Duke of Marlborough. She was usu
ally styled the " Little Whig," from the smallness
of her stature and the interest which she took in
party politics, and Colley Cibber informs us that
this remarkable title was actually engraved on the
foundation-stone. The theatre was opened on the
9th of April, 1705, with an Italian opera, which
met with but indifferent success, and about half
a century since was burnt to the ground. The
patent by which it is now held was granted to the
celebrated Foote, and was afterward purchased,
and successively held, by the two Colmans, father
and son.
Close to the Haymarket Theatre, on the site of
the present Suffolk Street and Suffolk Place, stood
Suffolk House, the residence, in the days of James
the First, of Thomas, first Earl of Suffolk, and his
beautiful and unprincipled countess, whose names
so frequently occur in the profligate annals of that
reign. In the old street, which was erected on
its site, lived the charming actress, Mary Davis,
who is said to have captivated the heart of
Charles the Second, by singing, in the character
of Celania, in "The Mad Shepherdess," the song.

26 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" My lodging is on the cold ground."
Pepys informs us that, in 1667, Charles publicly
acknowledged the beautiful girl as his mistress ;
that he presented her with a ring valued at seven
hundred pounds, and furnished a house for her in
Suffolk Street. Pepys further informs us that he
happened one day to be passing by when she was
stepping into her coach, in Suffolk Street, and he
tells us a " mighty fine coach " it was. Little
else is known of Mary Davis, but that her picture
was painted by Lely, and that a daughter which
she had by Charles became the mother of the ill-
fated Francis Ratcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater.
In Suffolk Street lived Miss Vanhomrigh, the
celebrated Vanessa of Swift's poetry, and the
victim of his eccentric brutality. It was at her
mother's house, in Suffolk Street, that we find
him keeping his best cassock and wig, ready to
put them on when he paid visits to the House of
Lords, and it was here that —
" Vanessa held Montaigne and read,
While Mrs. Susan combed her head."
Running parallel with Suffolk Place is James
Street, with its well-known tennis-court, in which
Charles the Second and his brother, the Duke of
York, used frequently to indulge in their favourite
game. The house, No. 17, at the southwest
corner of the Haymarket and James Street, is

THE HAYMARKET. 27
said to be that through which the royal brothers
used to pass on their way to the tennis-court.
Passing through Panton Street (so called from
a Colonel Thomas Panton who obtained authority
to build houses here, in 1671), we come to Leices
ter Square, or, as it is still occasionally styled,
Leicester Fields. It appears by "Faithorne's
Plan of London," printed in 1658, that Leicester
House, the residence of the Sidneys, Earls of
Leicester, was then the only house on the site
of the present square. Here, on the 13th of Feb
ruary, 1662, died the amiable and interesting
daughter of James the First, Elizabeth, Queen of
Bohemia, whose melancholy story is still seldom
read without a tear. In this house — at the time
when the recent magnificent victories of Blen
heim, Oudenarde, and Malplaquet had rendered
his name a household word with the English
people — Prince Eugene was lodged during his
visit to England in 171 1. In the course of the
same century, Leicester House, to use the words
of Pennant, became "successively the pouting-
place of princes." When George the Second,
then Prince of Wales, quarrelled with his father,
in 171 7, he took up his residence, with his
family, in Leicester House. At length, on St.
George's Day, 1720, an interview took place be
tween the father and son, and we are told that
the first intimation which the public had that it
was satisfactory was the fact that, when the

28 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
prince returned to Leicester House, he was at
tended, as formerly, by the royal guards.
Here Frederick, Prince of Wales, resided with
his princess and her children, during the many
years that he was on bad terms with his father,
George the Second. On the 4th of January,
1749, we find the royal children (including
George the Third, then a boy of eleven years
old) performing the play of " Cato," before their
parents at Leicester House ; the following is the
dramatis personce :
Cato . Master Nugent.
Fortius . Prince George (afterward George III.).
Juba . Prince Edward (afterward Duke of York).
Sempronius Master Evelyn.
Lucius . Master Montague.
Decius . Lord Milsington.
Syphax . Master North.
Marcus . Master Madden.
Marcia . Princess Augusta (afterward Duchess of
Brunswick).
Lucia . Princess Elizabeth.
In Leicester House, Frederick, Prince of Wales,
breathed his last. He had been ill for some days,
but so little did his family apprehend any fatal
result, that almost at the moment of his decease
they were amusing themselves with cards in the
outer room. Between nine and ten o'clock in
the evening he was seized with a fit of coughing.
It had continued for some time, when the prince

THE HAYMARKET. 29
laid his hand on his stomach, and said, "Je sens la
mort." His favourite German page, who was
supporting him, suddenly felt him shiver, and ex
claimed, "The prince is going!" The princess,
who was at the foot of the bed, immediately
caught up a candle and ran toward him, but
before she could reach him he was dead. Ac
cording to Wraxall, the person in whose arms the
prince expired, was Desnoy6rs, a celebrated
dancing-master of the period, who, at the mo
ment of the fatal seizure, was engaged in play
ing the violin for the amusement of the dying
man. Leicester House, which is described in 1773 as
a "large old brick building with a courtyard be
fore it," was pulled down in 1806. It stood on
the north side of the square, on the site of the
present Leicester Place. Adjoining it, to the
west, stood Saville House, the residence of Sir
George Saville, ancestor of the Earls and Mar
quises of Halifax. George the Third resided
here during the lifetime of his father, Frederick,
Prince of Wales, and on his accession to the
throne we find his brother, the young Duke of
York, keeping his court here. This house was
the scene of one of the famous riots fomented by
Lord George Gordon in 1780, the interior being
completely pillaged and destroyed by the mob.
Some of the apartments, we believe, of old Saville
House still remain, and are now chiefly occupied

30 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
by a shooting-gallery, and what was recently Miss
Linwood's well-known exhibition of needlework.
In Leicester Square lived, at different periods,
three of the greatest painters which this country
has produced: Sir James Thornhill, Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and Hogarth. Thornhill breathed his
last in this square, on the 2Sth of October, 1764.
In the course of the day he had been brought
from Chiswick, in rather a weak state of health,
but with his accustomed cheerfulness unimpaired.
He appeared much gratified by a letter which was
handed to him from a friend in Pennsylvania, and
having drawn up a rough draught of an answer to
it, he retired to rest. Shortly afterward he was
seized with an attack of vomiting, and having rung
his bell, he was found in a hopeless condition, and
expired about two hours afterward.
The residence of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and the
house in which he died, was No. 47, on the west
side of the square, which is now occupied by a
literary and scientific institution. How changed
from the days when Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick,
Topham Beauclerk, Doctor Johnson, and Boswell
were feasted at Sir Joshua's hospitable board ! I
seldom pass by this house without calling to mind
a curious passage in the life of Oliver Goldsmith,
of which Leicester Square was the scene, and in
which the mingled vanity and simplicity of this
remarkable man were singularly exemplified. The
story was thus related to Mr. Croker by an eye-

THE HAYMARKET. 31
witness : " One afternoon, as Colonel O'Moore
and Mr. Burke were going to dine with Sir Joshua
Reynolds, they observed Goldsmith (also on his
way to Sir Joshua's) standing near a crowd of
people who were staring and shouting at some
foreign women at the windows of one of the houses
in Leicester Square. 'Observe Goldsmith,' said
Mr. Burke to O'Moore, 'and mark what passes
between him and me by and by at Sir Joshua's.'
They passed on, and arrived before Goldsmith,
who came soon after, and Mr. Burke affected to
receive him very coolly. This seemed to vex poor
Goldsmith, who begged Mr. Burke would tell him
how he had had the misfortune to offend him.
Burke appeared very reluctant to speak ; but, after
a good deal of pressing, said that ' he was really
ashamed to keep up an intimacy with one who
could be guilty of such monstrous indiscretions
as Goldsmith had just exhibited in the square.'
Goldsmith, with great earnestness, protested he
was unconscious of what was meant. 'Why,' said
Burke, ' did you not exclaim, as you were looking
up at those women, what stupid beasts the crowd
must be for staring with such admiration at those
painted Jezebels, while a man of your talents passed
by unnoticed } ' Goldsmith was horror-struck, and
said, ' Surely, surely, my dear friend, I did not say
so .-" ' • Nay,' replied Burke, ' if you had not said
so, how should I have known it .-• ' ' That's true,'
answered Goldsmith, with great humility; 'I am

32 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
very sorry — it was very foolish; I do recollect
that something of the kind passed through my
mind, but I did not think I had uttered it.' "
Hogarth, the great artist of human nature, lived
and died at the southeast corner of Leicester
Square, now well known as Sabloniere's Hotel.
It is remarkable that both Thornhill and his son-
in-law, Hogarth, should have died in the same
month, in the same year, and in the same square,
and that both should have been buried at Chis
wick. The house in which Hogarth breathed his
last is in other respects of great interest. Here,
during a visit which he paid to England, lived the
great Polish patriot, formerly the aid-de-camp of
Washington, Thaddeus Kosciusko :
"... Ye who dwell
Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet
The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt !
Poland ! o'er which the avenging angel past.
But left thee as he found thee still a waste ;
Forgetting all thy still enduring claim,
Thy lotted people and extinguished name ;
Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear,
That sound that crushes in the tyrant's ear, 
Kosciusko ! on — on — on — the thirst of war
Gasps for the blood of serfs and of their Czar," etc.
There may be those persons to whom it may be
interesting to be informed that the Countess Guic-
cioli, whose changeless affection soothed the clos
ing years of the author of the above beautiful

THE HAYMARKET. 33
lines, and whose name will descend to posterity
connected with the love and the poetry of Lord
Byron, resided, during a visit which she paid to
England, in the same house in which Kosciusko
lived and Hogarth died. There are other persons,
less poetically constituted, to whom it may be no
less interesting to be informed that in the adjoin
ing house lived the celebrated surgeon, John
Hunter, during the last years of his valuable life,
and that here he formed his extensive museum
of anatomical preparations for the illustration of
physiological science.
Our remaining notices of Leicester Square,
though not without interest, may be summed up
in a few words. In 1698 we find the Marquis of
Carmarthen residing in Leicester Square, and giv
ing a ball here to Peter the Great, whom he had
been selected to attend during his visit to Eng
land. Swift informs us that he lodged here in
1711, and here, on the 29th of December, 1765,
died "at his house in Leicester Square," Prince
Frederick William, youngest brother of George
the Third, at the age of sixteen. In Leicester
Square stood formerly the " Feathers " public-
house, the favourite resort of Grose, the antiqua
rian, of Henderson, the actor, and of " Athenian "
Stuart. Behind Leicester House stood, in 1658, the
Military Yard, founded by Henry, Prince of Wales,
the interesting and high-spirited son of James the

34 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
First. In the days of Charles the Second it was
converted by a M. Foubert into an academy for
riding and other manly exercises, and even as late
as the days of Pennant continued to be a noted
riding-school. In Orange Court, Leicester Square,
lived John Opie, the celebrated painter, who died
in 1807.
In the centre of the north side of Leicester
Square is a small and dirty outlet, called St.
Martin's Street. In this miserable place, at the
corner of Long's Court, in a house of good size,
and formerly perhaps of some pretensions, lived
Sir Isaac Newton. The house will be easily dis
cernible by a small wooden erection on the roof,
which is said to have been the private observatory
of the immortal philosopher. He seems to have
removed to this street from Jermyn Street.
From St. Martin's Street we easily pass into
St. Martin's Lane, which was converted from a
country lane into a populous street about the
middle of the seventeenth century. Here, in
1660, at the residence of her father, Doctor Kille-
grew, the witty and well-known favourite of Charles
the Second, was born the pious and gifted Anne
Killegrew, the poetess and the painter, unspoiled
by being a beauty and unsophisticated by being
a maid of honour ! Her name is celebrated by
Anthony Wood, Ballard, Vertue, and Horace Wal
pole, but it is Dryden who has immortalised her
beauty, her genius, and her worth :

THE HAYMARKET. 35
" Art she had none, yet wanted none ;
For nature did that want supply ;
So rich in treasures of her own,
She might our boasted stores defy ;
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,
That it seemed borrowed where 'twas only born."
Anne Killegrew, as we have already mentioned,
died in the apartments of her father, in the clois
ters of Westminster Abbey, at the age of twenty-
four, and was buried in the Savoy Chapel, in the
Strand. At No. 103 St. Martin's Lane lived Sir James
Thornhill, the painter, previous to his removal to
Leicester Square, and at the back of this house
he founded, to his credit, one of the earliest schools
for the study of the antique. This house is con
nected with an interesting anecdote. Hogarth,
then unknown to fame, had formed a clandestine
marriage with the daughter of Sir James Thornhill,
which the decorator of Windsor Castle and Green
wich Hospital was little inclined either to overlook
or to forgive. They were living on bad terms
together, — the son-in-law in his poverty and the
father-in-law in his pride, — when one morning, on
his entering his breakfast-room, he was struck by
some drawings which he perceived on the table.
They were the first pencil sketches of Hogarth's
immortal series of pictures, "The Harlot's Prog
ress." To the credit of Thornhill, he forgot the
poverty of his son-in-law in his admiration of his

36 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
genius, and from henceforward they were recon
ciled. It is remarkable that the house in which
this scene occurred should afterward have been
the residence of Sir Joshua Reynolds.
We descend, by way of St. Martin's Lane, to
that famous and beautiful structure, St. Martin's
Church, rendered, perhaps, the more striking from
its contrast with the disgraceful deformities with
which modern barbarism has been permitted to
desecrate one of the finest sites in any capital in
Europe. In any other country public indignation
would long since have swept its absurdities to the
ground ; and it is still to be hoped that something
may be done to remedy this grievous desecration.
St. Martin's Church, so deservedly celebrated
for the elegance of its steeple and the extreme
beauty of its portico, stands on a spot of ground
which appears to have been bestowed at a very
early period on the abbot and convent of St.
Peter's, Westminster. That a church existed here
in very early times is proved from a dispute which
took place in 1222, between William, Abbot of
Westminster, and Eustace, Bishop of London,
concerning the dependence upon, or exemption
of, St. Martin's-in-the-Fields from the jurisdiction
of the latter prelate. In the reign of Henry
the Eighth a small church was built here at the
expense of the king, and since that period St.
Martin's has continued to be an appropriation in
the gift of the sovereign. In consequence of the

THE HAYMARKET. 37
increase of the neighbouring population, the church
built by Henry was enlarged in 1607, James the
First and his son Henry defraying a part of the
expense, and the parish the other part. Finally,
this church was pulled down in 1721, and between
that year and 1726 the present beautiful building
was erected by Gibbs, at the expense of ^^37,000.
St. Martin's Church is associated with the names
of many individuals, to whose history is attached
a deep and lasting interest. The immortal Ben
Jonson, whose parents lived close by in Hartshorn
Lane, was first sent, we are told, to "a private
school in the church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields,"
and it was in this church that the unfortunate
Prince Charles Edward is stated to have formally
abjured the religion of his forefathers.
In the burial-ground of St. Martin's lie the re
mains of Mrs. Anne Turner, so celebrated as the
agent of the Countess of Somerset in effecting
the tragical murder of Sir Thomas Overbury.
She was the widow of a physician, who left her
young, beautiful, and penniless ; when, prefer
ring crime to poverty, she was easily enlisted in
the dark designs of her patroness. In the world
of fashion, in the days of James the First, she
was remarkable for having introduced yellow
starch into ruffs. When Coke, the lord chief
justice, passed sentence of death on her, he
added the singular order that, "as she was the
person who had brought yellow starched ruffs

38 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
into vogue, she should be hanged in that dress,
that the same might end in shame and detesta
tion." It is remarkable that the hangman who
executed this wretched woman appeared dec
orated with yellow ruffs on the scaffold. Anne
Turner was hung at Tyburn on the 15 th of No
vember, 161 5, and, according to Camden, died a
" true penitent." There were many, indeed, who
seem to have forgotten the fact of her detestable
crime in the interest excited by her youth and
beauty, and her becoming demeanour on the scaf
fold. A Mr. John Castle writes to one of his corre
spondents, on the 28th of November, 161 5 : "Since
I saw you, I saw Mrs. Turner die. If detestation
of painted pride, lust, malice, powdered hair, yel
low bands, and the rest of the wardrobe of court
vanities ; if deep sighs, tears, confessions, ejacu
lations of the soul, admonitions to all sorts of
people to make God and an unspotted conscience
always our friends ; if the protestation of faith
and hope to be washed by the same Saviour and
the like mercies that Mary Magdalen was, be
signs and demonstrations of a blessed penitent,
then I will tell you that this poor broken woman
went d cruce ad gloriam, and now enjoys the
presence of her and our Redeemer. Her body
being taken down by her brother, one Norton,
servant to the prince, was, in a coach, conveyed
to St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, where, in the even
ing of the same day, she had an honest and a

THE HAYMARKET. 39
decent burial." Another of her admirers has
celebrated the beautiful murderess in some lines
but little known, in which, if the sentiment is
misplaced, the verses at least have considerable
merit. " The roses on her lovely cheek were dead ;
The earth's pale colour had all overspread
Her sometime lively look ; and cruel Death,
Coming untimely with his wintry breath,
Blasted the fruit, which, cherry-like, in show,
Upon her dainty lips did whilom grow.
O how the cruel cord did misbecome
Her comely neck ! and yet by law's just doom
Had been her death. Those locks, like golden thread.
That used in youth to enshrine her globe-like head,
Hung careless down ; and that delightful limb,
Her snow-white nimble hand, that used to trim
Those tresses up, now spitefully did tear
And rend the same ; nor did she now forbear
To beat the breast of more than lily white.
Which sometime was the bed of sweet delight.
From those two springs where joy did whilom dwell.
Grief's pearly drops upon her pale cheek fell."
The celebrated John Lacy, the dancing-master,
the soldier, the actor, and the dramatic writer —
the man of varied fortunes and of varied talents,
— sleeps in the burial-ground of St. Martin's. In
the days when our sovereigns mingled with their
people ; when they connected themselves with
their amusements and patronised the stage, so
delighted was Charles the Second with Lacy's

40 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
theatrical performances that he caused his picture
to be taken in three different characters. This
picture was at Windsor within the last few years,
and is doubtless still in existence. Near the grave
of Lacy is that of Nell Gwynn, — one who acted,
and laughed, and coquetted on the boards of the
same theatre, and who charmed the same audi
ence. Her remains were brought here from her
house in Pall Mall, and her funeral sermon was
preached by Doctor Tenison, Vicar of St. Martin's,
and afterward Archbishop of Canterbury. In his
discourse he spoke almost enthusiastically of her
charities, her benevolence, her sincere repentance,
and pious end. The encomiums which he heaped
on the frail but repentant actress were afterward
maliciously dwelt upon to the queen of William
the Third, but the reply of Mary was creditable to
her heart. " I have heard as much," she said. " It
is a sign that the poor unfortunate woman died
penitent ; for if I can read a man's heart through
his looks, had she not made a pious and Christian
end, the doctor would never have been induced to
speak well of her." To the ringers of St. Mar
tin's-in-the-Fields Nell Gwynn bequeathed a small
sum annually, which they still continue to enjoy.
Probably she may have wished that their merry
chimes should peal over her grave when she was
no more ; but few have listened to their exhila
rating sounds as they burst forth on a summer
evening, without thinking of the merry days and

THE HAYMARKET. 41
the checkered fortunes of the kind-hearted and
charitable Nell Gwynne.
In the vaults under the church lie the remains
of the well-known dramatic writer, Mrs. Centlivre,
whose history is quite as extraordinary, and even
more romantic than that of Nell Gwynn ; and in
the churchyard, after a life of misery and pri
vation, was buried another celebrated dramatic
writer, George Farquhar, the author of the
"Beaux' Stratagem." He died before he had
completed his thirtieth year, and it is difiicult to
pass by St. Martin's churchyard without reflect
ing on the melancholy end of one so gifted and
so young. "Dear Bob" (was his last letter to
Wilks, and perhaps the last he ever wrote), "I
have not anything to leave thee to perpetuate my
memory, but two helpless girls; look upon them
sometimes, and think of him that was, to the last
moment of his life, thine, George Farquhar." It
is but due to Wilks to record that he punctually
obeyed the dying injunctions of his unfortunate
friend. At St. Martin's-in-the-Fields was buried Sir
Winston Churchill, formerly of some note as a
historian, but now principally remembered from
his having been the father of the great Duke
of Marlborough. In the days of his wealth and
grandeur, it might have been expected that his
fortunate and illustrious son would have raised
some monument to his father's memory ; but un-

42 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
fortunately it was not in the nature of the Duke
of Marlborough to spend a guinea unnecessarily,
even though demanded by common decency and
prompted by filial affection. Lastly, in the church
yard rest the remains of the great sculptor, Rou-
biliac, who died in 1762, and whose remains
were followed to the grave by Hogarth and Sir
Joshua Reynolds.
From the fact of the greater number of the
children of Charles the First having been born at
the neighbouring palace of Whitehall, it might
have been expected that their births would have
been registered at the parish church of St. Mar
tin's. With one single exception, however, this is
not the case. There is no doubt that the king
invariably gave orders for the usual insertion in
the parish register, and that he sent a sum of
money for the purpose. The persons, however,
whom he entrusted with the payment are said to
have appropriated the money to their own use.
Soho Square, which we readily reach by way of
Prince's Street and Wardour Street, was com
menced in the reign of Charles the Second, and
was originally called King's Square. "The Duke
of Monmouth," says Pennant, " lived in the centre
house facing the statue. Originally, the square
was called, in honour of him, Monmouth Square,
and afterward changed to that of King's Square.
I have a tradition that, on his death, the admirers
of that unfortunate man changed it to Soho, being

THE HAYMARKET. 43
the word of the day at the field of Sedgemoor."
That the ill-fated Duke of Monmouth resided on
the spot mentioned by Pennant there can be no
question ; and, as regards the popular fiction that
Soho Square derived its name from the watch
word at the battle of Sedgemoor, it is remarkable
that every subsequent historian of London should
have followed his authority. It is sufficient, how
ever, to upset the " tradition " of Pennant, to re
mark that in the " Present State of England,"
published in 1683, more than four years before
the battle of Sedgemoor, the London residence of
the Duke of Monmouth is distinctly stated to be
Soho Square.
In addition to the Duke of Monmouth, Soho
Square, as late as the last century, contained
the London residences of the Bellasyses, Earls of
Fauconberg, and the Howards, Earls of Carlisle.
The last of the Fauconberg family who resided in
Soho Square was Mary Cromwell, third daughter
of the great Protector, and wife of Thomas, first
Earl of Fauconberg. At the back of the east side
of the square are still retained the names of Fau
conberg Street and Fauconberg Mews, denoting
that Fauconberg House must have stood in the
immediate vicinity.
At what period the Howards deserted Carlisle
House in Soho Square, we have no record. How
ever, in the middle of the last century, we find it
occupied by the famous Mrs. Cornely, whose pub-

44 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
lie balls, masquerades, and admirable suppers at
tracted to her assemblies all the rank and beauty
of the day. Carlisle House stood at the northeast
corner of the square.
The well-known admiral. Sir Cloudesley Shovel,
lived in what has been notorious in our time as
the " White House," on the east side of Soho
Square. After his melancholy death, his body,
having been thrown on shore on the island of
Scilly, was brought from thence to his house in
London, and subsequently was conveyed from
Soho Square with considerable state to West
minster Abbey. In 1726, we find the celebrated
Spanish minister, Ripperda, living with great
splendour in Soho Square ; and lastly, at Nos. 20
and 21, formerly one house, lived Sir Joseph Banks.
With the exception of Gerard Street, the streets
in the neighbourhood of Soho Square present no
particular feature of interest. Dean Street and
Compton Street derive their names from Bishop
Compton, then dean of St. Paul's, who at one
period held the living of St. Ann's Soho ; and
Monmouth Street, as is well known, is indebted
for its name to the unfortunate d'Ae. This street
is now principally celebrated a^ an emporium for
worn-out articles of wearing apparel, a purpose to
which it has been adapted for at least the last
century. Gay says in his " Trivia : "
" Shall the huge mutton smoke upon your boards ?
Such Newgate's copious market best affords ;

THE HAYMARKET. 45
Wouldst thou with mighty beef augment thy meal ?
Seek Leadenhall : St. James's sends thee veal !
Thames Street gives cheeses ; Covent Garden fruits ;
Moorfields old books; and Monmouth Street old suits."
In Wardour Street lived the great sculptor,
Flaxman, but Gerard Street is especially endeared
to us as containing the house in which Dryden
lived and died. In his dedication of " Don Sebas
tian " to Lord Leicester, he speaks of himself
as " a poor inhabitant of his lordship's suburbs,
whose best prospect is on the garden of Leicester
House ; " and in a letter to Elmes Steward, he
writes : " My house is the fifth door on the left
hand, coming from Newport Street." From Ma
lone we learn that the house so consecrated by
genius is No. 43, and we learn still further from
Spence, on the authority of Pope, that the apart
ment in which the great poet " used most com
monly to write " was in the ground-room next the
street. The extraordinary and disgraceful scene
which took place at this house, on the occasion of
Dryden's funeral, is too well known to require a
repetition of the particulars.
There are other interesting associations attached
to Gerard Street. Here Edmund Burke lived for
many years; from this street, in 1777, we find
Hannah More dating her letters ; and here, in
1764, at the sign of the "Turk's Head," Doctor
Johnson and Sir Joshua Reynolds founded the
celebrated "Literary Club." Besides these two

46 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
illustrious men, here used to assemble Burke,
Bennet Langton, Topham Beauclerk, Oliver Gold
smith, George Colman, Garrick, Sir William Jones,
Boswell, Charles James Fox, George Steevens,
Gibbon, Adam Smith, the Wartons, Richard Brins
ley Sheridan, Sir Joseph Banks, William Wynd
ham, Malone, and other celebrated persons. The
club continued to be held at the Turk's Head
till 1783, when their landlord died, and the
house was shortly afterward shut up. They then
removed to "Prince's" in Sackville Street, and
subsequently to " Baxter's," afterward "Thomas's "
in Dover Street. In 1792 they removed to Pars-
loe's, in St. James's Street; and in 1799 to the
Thatched House in the same street, where the
club still continues to be held.
Gerard Street derives its name from its having
been erected on the site of the house and gardens
of Charles Gerard, first Earl of Macclesfield, so
distinguished for his loyalty to Charles the First,
and for his gallantry during the civil wars. Pen
nant says : " The profligate Lord Mohun lived in
this street, and was brought there after he was
killed in the duel with the Duke of Hamilton. I
have heard that his good lady was vastly displeased
at the bloody corpse being flung upon the best
bed." Pennant seems to have been in ignorance
that Lord Mohun's "good lady" was the grand
daughter of the gallant Earl of Macclesfield, and
that the circumstance of the second earl bequeath-

THE HAYMARKET. 47
ing to Lord Mohun the greater portion of his estates
led to his unfortunate lawsuit and duel with the
Duke of Hamilton, in which both lost their lives
in November, 171 2. Pennant, moreover, is wrong
in his assertion, that Lord Mohun's " bloody
corpse " was carried to his house in Gerard Street,
inasmuch as, at the time of his death, he was un
questionably residing in Great Marlborough Street.
From the circumstance of Lord Mohun having
resided at one period in Gerard Street, it is reason
able to presume that the site on which it now
stands was part of the property bequeathed to him
by the Earl of Macclesfield. Previous to its falling
into the hands of the Gerards, this ground was
walled in by order of Henry, Prince of Wales, son
of James the First, for the purpose of being used
for " the exercise of arms."
In Newport Market, within a short distance of
Gerard Street, was the chapel of the famous
Orator Henley, whom Pope has immortalised in
the " Dunciad : "
" High on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shone
Henley's gilt tub, and Flecknoe's Irish throne."
And again :
" Imbrowned with native bronze, lo ! Henley stands,
Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands.
How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue !
How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung !
Still break the benches, Henley, with thy strain.
While Sherlock, Howe, and Gibson, preach in vain."

48 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Oxford Street, which was built at different peri
ods during the last century, was originally called
the "road to Oxford." As regards historical or
literary associations, this street, though perhaps
the largest in Europe, is singularly deficient in
interest, and the few objects or names of any
importance with which it is connected may be
summed up in a few words.
Not the least interesting spot is the once fash
ionable place of amusement, the " Pantheon," now
converted into the purposes of a bazaar. The
original building was erected in 1771, after a
design by Wyatt, and was opened to the public,
as a kind of "town Ranelagh," on the 27th of
January, 1772. "Near two thousand persons,"
we are told, "of the highest rank and fashion
assembled on this occasion to admire the splendid
structure, which contained fourteen rooms, exclu
sive of the Rotunda." Boswell mentions his visit
ing it with Doctor Johnson shortly after it was
opened. "We walked," he says, "to the Pan
theon. The first view of it did not strike us as
much as Ranelagh, of which he said, the coup dceil
was the finest thing he had ever seen. However,
as Johnson said, we saw the Pantheon in a time
of mourning, when there was a dull uniformity;
whereas we had seen Ranelagh when the view was
enlivened with a gay profusion of colours." The
original building was burnt down, and, being re
built on a smaller scale, was again used for

THE HAYMARKET. 49
masquerades and concerts, but being deserted by
persons of fashion, it remained closed for sev
eral years, when it was converted to its present
purpose. At No. 64 Wells Street, Oxford Street, within
a short distance from Berners Street, lived at one
time Dr. James Beattie, the author of " The Min
strel." Newman Street, a little to the east, is
also interesting from having contained the resi
dence of several eminent artists, by which class of
persons it has long been colonised. Among the
most distinguished persons who have lived here
may be mentioned West, the painter, and the
younger Bacon, the sculptor.
Running parallel with Newman Street is Rath
bone Place, apparently, in former days, a favourite
resort of the Scottish nobility and gentry, for we
find it, at different times, the place of residence of
the unfortunate Lords Lovat, Balmerino, and Kil
marnock, who suffered on the scaffold for their
share in the rebellion of 1745. In Han way Street,
close by, is a public-house, known as the "Blue
Posts," which was kept by the once celebrated
chess-player, Sturges, the author of a treatise on
the game ; and, lastly, in Tottenham Court Road
stands the tabernacle built by the famous preacher,
George Whitefield, in 1756.

CHAPTER IL
COVENT GARDEN.
Covent Garden Market— " Old Hummums " — St. Paul's Covent
Garden — Russell Street and Its Coffee-houses — Bow,
James, King, Rose, Bedford, and Henrietta Streets — Maiden
Lane — Southampton and Tavistock Streets.
CovENT Garden, or rather Convent Garden,
derives its name from occupying the site of what
was anciently a vast garden, belonging to the
Abbey and Convent of Westminster, and which
extended as far west as St. Martin's Church. Be
hind the houses on the north side of York Street,
stone coffins and other relics of the dead have from
time to time been discovered, which would lead
us to presume that on this spot was the cemetery
of the ancient monks. After the dissolution of
the monasteries. Convent Garden was bestowed by
Edward the Sixth on his uncle, the great Protector,
Edward, Duke of Somerset, and on his attainder
was transferred to John, Earl of Bedford. It is
almost needless to remark that from this family,
in whom the valuable property, once the site of
the fair gardens of the monks of Westminster, is
still vested, Bedford Street, Bedfordbury, Russell
Street, and Tavistock Street derive their names.
so

COVENT GARDEN. 51
It appears by a plan of London, printed in 1560,
that Covent Garden was then an open area sur
rounded by meadows and lanes, with the exception
of the south side, where it was bounded by the
gardens of Bedford House. A market appears
to have been first established here in 1634, about
which time Francis, fourth Earl of Bedford, em
ployed Inigo Jones to erect the present piazzas
on the north and east sides. It was originally in
tended to continue them around the whole square ;
and, indeed, it appears by a print of Hollar's now
before me, that the piazza formerly extended along
the east side, where the " Hummums " now stand ;
this part, however, was burnt down, not many years
after its erection. At the close of the seventeenth
century we find the 'prentices of London resort
ing here to play at cricket under the porticos, and
from Gay's "Trivia" we learn that, at a some
what later period, the manly game of foot-ball used
to be played in the area where the market now
stands :
" Where Covent Garden's famous temple stands,
That boasts the work of Jones' immortal hands ;
Here oft my course I bend, when lo ! from far
I spy the furies of the foot-ball war ;
The 'prentice quits his shop to join the crew,
Increasing crowds the flying game pursue," etc.
To those who are intimate with, and delight
in, the literary history of their country ; to those
to whom the haunts of departed genius are as

52 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
hallowed ground, there is no spot in London
replete with associations of such deep interest as
Covent Garden and the streets with which it is
intersected. It is remarkable that Sir Peter Lely,
Sir Godfrey Kneller, and the celebrated landscape
painter, Richard Wilson, should have been occu
pants, at different times, of the same apartments,
on the north side|0f Covent Garden. In 17 16, I
find Nicholas Rowe, the dramatic poet, dating his
letters from Covent Garden, and close by lived
Thomas Southern, the author of "Oroonoko" and
of the " Fatal Marriage." Oldys tells us in his
MS. notes to Langbaine : " I remember him a
grave and venerable old gentleman. He lived near
Covent Garden, and used often to frequent the
evening prayers there, always neat and decently
dressed, commonly in black, with his silver sword
and silver locks ; but latterly, it seems, he resided
at Westminster." In Covent Garden died, in 1702,
John Zachary Kneller, the elder brother of Sir
Godfrey, and himself a painter of some merit.
The " Old Hummums," Covent Garden, was
the scene of what Doctor Johnson called the " best
accredited ghost-story" he had ever heard. The
person, whose ghost was supposed to have appeared
here, was Ford, a relation of Johnson's, and said
to be the riotous parson of Hogarth's " Midnight
Modern Conversation." The story, as related by
Johnson to Boswell, is as follows : " A waiter at
the Hummums, in which Ford died, had been

COVENT GARDEN. 53
absent for some time, and returned, not knowing
that Ford was dead. Going down to the cellar,
according to the story, he met him ; going down
again, he met him a second time. When he came
up, he asked some of the people of the house
what Ford could be doing there. They told
him Ford was dead. The waiter took a fever, in
which he lay for some time. When he recovered,
he said he had a message to deliver to some
women from Ford ; but he was not to tell what or
to whom. He walked out ; he was followed, but
somewhere about St. Paul's they lost him. He
came back, and said he had delivered the message,
and the women exclaimed, 'Then we are all un
done.' Doctor Pallet, who was a credulous man,
inquired into the truth of this story, and he said
the evidence was irresistible." Doctor Johnson
further informs us that Mrs. Johnson went to the
Hummums, on purpose to inquire into the truth
of this strange story, and came away perfectly
satisfied that there was no imposition.
The large house, now Evans's Hotel, at the
northwest corner of Covent Garden, was originally
the residence of Admiral Russell, afterward Earl
of Orford, celebrated for his brilliant victory over
the French off La Hogue in 1692. It afterward
became the residence of the Lords Archer, of
whom the last baron died in 1778.
We find Covent Garden the scene of more than
one adventure in the works of Congreve and Field-

54 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ing, and its hotels and taverns, more especially,
continued to be the resort of wits, poets, actors,
and men of fashion for nearly two centuries. The
" Piazza " hotel was the favourite retreat of Rich
ard Brinsley Sheridan, and of the men of wit and
rank with whom he associated ; and in the parlour
of the "Bedford" met the shilling-rubber club of
which Fielding, Hogarth, Goldsmith, and Church
ill were members. It was at one of their meetings
at the " Bedford " that the quarrel took place
between Hogarth and Churchill, which induced
the latter to satirise his friend, and the former
to retaliate with his unrivalled pencil. The
" Epistle to Hogarth " is comparatively forgotten,
but Churchill will still live as " Bruin," when his
verse shall have passed into oblivion.
Unquestionably the most interesting spot in
Covent Garden is the church, dedicated to St.
Paul. Few perhaps there are, who are in the
habit of passing by this heavy-looking building,
who are aware that, with the exception of West
minster Abbey, it contains the remains of more
men of genius and celebrity than any other church
in London. We search in vain, however, for any
memorials to the illustrious dead ; indeed, with
the exception of a small tablet to the memory of
Macklin, the actor, there is not a monument within
the walls of the church to point out the name
or the resting-place of a single person of genius or
celebrity.

COVENT GARDEN. 55
St. Paul's, Covent Garden, was built by Inigo
Jones, at the expense of the Earl of Bedford.
According to Horace Walpole, who speaks on the
authority of Speaker Onslow, the earl sent for the
great architect, and, telling him that he required
a chapel for the parishioners who resided on his
property, added that he intended to put himself
to no considerable expense. "In fact," he said,
"I would not have it much better than a barn."
"Then," said Inigo Jones, "you shall have the
handsomest barn in England." The truth of this
story has sometimes been called in question, but
we believe without sufficient reason. The building
has occasionally found its admirers, but most per
sons probably will agree with Walpole, who tells us
he could see no beauty in it. " The barn-roof over
the portico," he says, " strikes my eye with as little
idea of dignity or beauty as it could do if it covered
nothing but a barn." In 1795, only seven years
after it had been restored at an expense of £11,-
000, the interior of the church — including the
monuments to the dead and the entire woodwork
— was destroyed by fire. It was shortly after
ward, however, restored at the expense of the
parishioners. We will now proceed to name a few of the more
remarkable persons whose remains lie either in
the church or churchyard of St. Paul's, Covent
Garden. In the churchyard was buried the cele
brated favourite of James the First, Robert Carr,

56 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Earl of Somerset, the union of whose daughter
with William, first Duke of Bedford, doubtless led
to his being interred on this, the property of the
Russells. We stand, too, on the ground which
covers the dust of Sir Peter Lely. His monu
ment, which was of white marble, and which
was destroyed by the fire of 1795, was adorned
with a bust of the great artist, between two
cupids, and was ornamented with fruit, foliage,
and other devices. The inscription alone has
been preserved.
In the vaults of the church lies the body of
the handsome and gallant William Wycherley, the
author of the "Plain Dealer," whose beauty of
person and graceful address no less endeared him
to the ladies, than his conversation and wit ren
dered him acceptable to Charles the Second and
his gay courtiers. Here, too, either in the church
or churchyard, rest the remains of another eminent
dramatic writer, Thomas Southern.
Let us pause for a moment on the grave of
Samuel Butler, the author of " Hudibras." Fortu
nately, Anthony Wood has enabled us to point
out the spot where rest the remains of the most
humorous of poets. " This Sam. Butler," he says,
" who was a boon and witty companion, especially
among the company he knew well, died of a con
sumption, 2 sth of September, 1680, and was, ac
cording to his desire, buried six foot deep in the
yard belonging to the Church of St. Paul, in Covent

COVENT GARDEN. 57
Garden, within the liberty of Westminster, viz., at
the west end of the said yard, on the north side,
and under the wall of the church, and under that
wall which parts the yard from the common high
way." ' He was buried, we are told, at the ex
pense of "his good friend," Mr. Longueville, of
the Temple. According to the authors of the
" Biographia Britannica," " That gentleman would
fain have buried him in Westminster Abbey, and
spoke, with that view, to several persons, who had
been his admirers, offering to pay his part ; but
none of them would contribute, whereupon Mr.
Longueville buried him very privately at St. Paul's,
Covent Garden, himself, and seven or eight more,
following him to the grave." The monument to
the memory of Butler, in Westminster Abbey,
was erected at the expense of a meritorious citi
zen of London, Alderman Barber. Subsequently
some persons, unknown to fame, erected a monu
ment to the memory of the poet, in the churchyard
in which he was interred, but I could not discover
that any trace of it now remains. The inscription
' Aubrey, however, who followed Butler's remains to the
grave, places the burial-place of the poet at the east end,
and not the west, of the north side of the churchyard. " He
died of a consumption," says Aubrey, " Sept. 25 (A. D. 1680, 70
circiter), and was buried 27th, according to his own appoint
ment in the churchyard of Covent Garden ; sc. in the north part
next the church at the east end. His feet touch the wall. His
grave, two yards distant from the pilaster of the dore (by his de
sire), six foot deepe. About twenty-five of his old acquaintance
at his funerall, I myself being one."

58 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
on the latter possessed but little merit, but it at
least informs us that —
" A few plain men, to pomp and pride unknown.
O'er a poor bard have raised this humble stone," etc.
Adverting to the London churches in general,
we shall perceive, in our future rambles over the
metropolis, that it is not in St. Paul's, Covent
Garden, alone that the wise, the witty, and the
gifted moulder without a memorial, and conse
quently that the resting-place of their hallowed
remains is left to be pointed out in such ephemeral
pages as are now presented to the reader. From
the government of our country, — differing widely
in taste and policy from that of every other coun
try in Europe, — genius has little to expect in its
lifetime, and has still less hope of being honoured
with a tribute after death. We are still, however,
sanguine enough to believe that, from individual
liberality, from individual respect for the illustrious
dead, or, it may be, from a romantic and enthusi
astic admiration for departed genius, there may be
persons forthcoming, ready to take their share in
raising memorials, however simple, in the various
London churches to the memory of the children
of genius, — and most of them were the children of
misfortune, — whose resting-places are at present
unrecorded and, comparatively speaking, unknown.
Who is there has not been interested in the
history of John Taylor, the " water-poet," and yet

COVENT GARDEN. 59
we search through the churchyard of St. Paul's,
Covent Garden, in which he sleeps, and there is no
record of his grave. Here was buried by torch
light, Wilks, the great actor of the reign of King
William and of Queen Anne. Here, too, was car
ried to his last home in the churchyard — followed
to the grave by the most eminent persons of his
profession — the most gifted of comic actors, the
" Lord Ogleby " and the " Sir Peter Teazle " of the
last century, Thomas King. There is, however,
no monument to his memory, neither is there a
record of the resting-place of Doctor Wolcot, the
memorable Peter Pindar, who sleeps beneath the
floor of the vestry-room. The admirable actor,
Charles Macklin, has been more fortunate, for the
affection of his survivors has raised a tribute to
his genius. He was buried under a vault in the
chancel. On the 26th of November, 1788, he was
representing at Covent Garden Theatre the part
of Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant, in his own comedy
of " The Man of the World," when he felt himself
suddenly overtaken by disease, and his memory
failed him. He had strength of mind enough,
however, to address himself to the audience ; and,
in a painful farewell, he told them that, unless he
felt himself more capable of administering to their
amusement, he should never again present himself
before them. Six months afterward, he reap
peared on the stage for his own benefit, in the
character of Shylock, but his memory again failed

6o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
him, and another actor was called upon to continue
the part. Disease, however, though it drove him
from the stage, and deprived him of the excite
ment he had derived from his favourite pursuit,
appears to have had no effect in shortening his
life. He survived till the nth of July, 1797,
when he died at the age, it is said, of 107.
Either in the vaults of the church, or in the
churchyard, rest the remains of more than one
other actor or actress of celebrity. In the church
yard lie the remains of "Joe Haines," and of the
admirable actress, Mrs. Davenport ; and in one
corner sleep Michael Kelly, Edwin, and Estcourt.
Nor are these the only remarkable persons who
are interred in the precincts of St. Paul's, Covent
Garden. Doctor Arne, the celebrated musical
composer, and John Zachary Kneller, the brother
of the great artist, were buried within the walls of
the church ; and either in the church or church
yard lie the remains of the well-known Sir Robert
Strange, the engraver.
The names of the streets in the vicinity of
Covent Garden bespeak, within a few years, the
date of their erection. King Street, Charles
Street, and Henrietta Street derive their names
from King Charles the First and his queen, Hen
rietta Maria ; as also do James Street and York
Street, from James, Duke of York ; and Catherine
Street, from the consort of Charles the Second.
Bedford Street, Russell Street, and Tavistock

COVENT GARDEN. 6l
Street derive their names from the noble family
on whose property they were built. We will now
endeavour tp extract as much interest as possible
from a ramble through these gloomy but inter
esting streets.
In Russell Street, running from Covent Garden
toward Drury Lane Theatre, were situated three
of the most celebrated and once fashionable coffee
houses in London, " Button's," " Will's," and
"Tom's." Will's coffee-house, so conspicuous in
the literary history of a former age, stood on the
north side of Russell Street. Here used to as
semble the wits and men of fashion of the reign
of William the Third, and of the earlier part of
the reign of Queen Anne ; and here, for many
years, the immortal Dryden sat and was reveren
tially listened to as the great oracle of the place.
" It was Dryden," says Spence, on the authority
of Pope, " who made Will's coffee-house the great
resort for the wits of his time." In the winter,
we are told, his acknowledged place of honour
was by the fireside, and in summer his chair was
removed to the corner of the balcony on the first
floor, overlooking the street. This was in the
days when men of fashion were somewhat better
informed than they are in our own time ; when
discussions on literature and the drama were the
agreeable topic of every-day conversation, and sup
plied the vacuum in society which is now supplied
by French novels and an Italian opera. In any

62 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
literary dispute, the great poet was invariably made
the referee ; those who were unknown to fame
never dreamed of being admitted to the principal
table at which Dryden presided ; and the young
men of rank and fashion, we are told, considered
it the highest honour to be allowed to take a pinch
out of his snuff-box. It was to Will's, that Pope,
then a mere child (for he could not have completed
his twelfth year), induced his friends to carry him
in order to feast his eyes with the sight of the
great poet, in whose path of fame and genius
he was destined hereafter so worthily to follow.
" Tantum Virgilium vidit." " Who does not wish,"
says Doctor Johnson, "that Dryden could have
known the value of the homage that was paid him,
and foreseen the greatness of his young admirer } "
Pope himself became afterward a constant fre
quenter of Will's, though it was not till the illus
trious Dryden was no more. " He had now," says
Doctor Johnson, "declared himself a poet; and
thinking himself entitled to a poetical conversa
tion, began at seventeen to frequent Will's, a
coffee-house on the north side of Russell Street,
in Covent Garden, where the wits of that time
used to assemble, and where Dryden had, when
he lived, been accustomed to preside."
Another frequenter of Will's, Dean Lockyer,
has left us an interesting account of Dryden, as
he appeared at his favourite coffee-house. "I
was about seventeen," he says, "when I first

COVENT GARDEN. 63
came up to town, and was an odd-looking boy,
with short rough hair, and that sort of awkward
ness which one always brings up at first out of
the country with one. However, in spite of my
bashfulness and appearance, I used now and
then to thrust myself into Will's to have the
pleasure of seeing the most celebrated wits of
that time, who then resorted thither. The sec
ond time that ever I was there Mr. Dryden was
speaking of his own things, as he frequently did,
especially of such as had been lately published.
' If anything of mine is good,' says he, ' it is " Mac
Flecnoe ; " and I value myself the more upon
it, as it is the first piece of ridicule written in
heroics.' On hearing this, I plucked up my
spirits so far as to say, in a voice but just loud
enough to be heard, ' that " Mac Flecnoe " was
a very fine poem, but that I had not imagined it
to be the first that was ever writ that way.' On
this Dryden turned short upon me, as surprised
at my interposing ; asked me how long I had been
a dabbler in poetry ; and added, with a smile,
' Pray, sir, what is it that you did imagine to have
been writ so before ? ' I named Boileau's ' Lutrin,'
and Tassoni's ' Secchia Rapita,' which I had read,
and knew Dryden had borrowed some strokes
from each. ' 'Tis true,' said Dryden, ' I had for
gotten them.' A little after, Dryden went out,
and in going spoke to me again, and desired me
to come and see him the next day. I was highly

64 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
delighted with the invitation, went to see him ac
cordingly, and was well acquainted with him ever
after as long as he lived."
Button's coffee-house stood also in Russell
Street, on the south side, about two doors from
Covent Garden Market. Here assembled Pope,
Swift, Addison, Garth, Arbuthnot, Steele, Am
brose Phillips, and all the most celebrated men
of the Augustan age of England. Button's,
as is well known, was the favourite resort of
Addison. According to Spence, on the authority
of Pope, Button was an old servant of Addison,
who, after the death of Dryden, had influence
enough to transfer the wits from Will's to the
house of his prot6g6. Doctor Johnson has entered
further into particulars. "Button," he says, "had
been a servant in the Countess of Warwick's
family, who, under the patronage of Addison,
kept a coffee-house on the south side of Russell
Street, about two doors from Covent Garden.
Here it was that the wits of that time used to
assemble. It is said that when Addison had suf
fered any vexation from the countess, he with
drew the company from Button's house. From
the coffee-house he went again to a tavern, where
he often sat late, and drank too much wine."
"Addison," says Pope, "usually studied all the
morning, then met his party at Button's, dined
there, and stayed for five or six hours, and some
times far into the night. I was of the company

COVENT GARDEN. 65 '
for about a year, but found it too much for me.
It hurt my health, and so I quitted it."
It was at Button's, according to Pope, that
Addison took him aside, "after their long cold
ness, to explain the circumstances under which
he had patronised Tickell's translation of the
Iliad in opposition to that of Pope ; but the par
ticulars of their misunderstanding are too well
known to require repetition. It was here, too, that
Ambrose Phillips hung the rod over the seat which
was usually occupied by Pope. Phillips, while a
young student at St. John's College, Cambridge,
had published his " Six Pastorals," the intrinsic
merit of which is said to have excited the jealousy
of Pope, who certainly lashed them severely and
with great humour in the " Guardian." It was
under these circumstances that Phillips suspended
the rod over Pope's seat at Button's. The insult
fell harmless on the great poet, who retaliated by
his well-known lines in the " Prologue to the
Satires : "
" The bard whom pilfered pastorals renown.
Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown.
Just writes to make his barrenness appear,
And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year."
After the death of Addison, Button's fell into
disrepute, and a few years afterward it is known
that Addison's old servant was receiving relief
from the parish of St. Paul's, Covent Garden.

66 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
In the "Guardian," Button's coffee-house is
spoken of as being " over against Tom's in Covent
Garden." This house (No. 17 Russell Street),
memorable from the days of Queen Anne to the
reign of George the Third, is still standing. In
the preface to a work entitled " Descriptive Par
ticulars of English Coronation Medals," the au
thor, Mr. Till, thus writes : " The room in which
I conduct my business, as a coin dealer, is that
which, in 1 764, — by a general subscription among
nearly seven hundred of the nobility, foreign min
isters, gentry, and geniuses of the age, — became
the card-room and place of meeting for many
of the now illustrious dead, till 1768, when a vol
untary subscription among its members induced
Mr. Haines, the proprietor, to take in the next
room westward as a coffee-room ; and the whole
floor, en suite, was converted into card and con
versation rooms. Here assembled Doctor John
son, Garrick, Murphy, Doctor Dodd, Doctor
Goldsmith, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Foote, Moody,
Count Bruhl, Sir Philip Francis, George Colman,
the elder, the Dukes of Northumberland and
Montague, Lord Rodney, George Steevens, War
ner, and many others, all of whom have long
since passed to that 'bourne from whence no
traveller returns.' "
In connection with Russell Street, Covent Gar
den, there is a very curious passage in Gibbon's
"Memoirs of His Life and Writings," in which

COVENT GARDEN. 67
the great historian, then a student of Magda
len College, Oxford, describes the circumstances
attending his abjuration of the Protestant faith.
They were still the days when, in the words of
Blackstone, " where a person is reconciled to the
See of Rome, or procures others to be reconciled,
the offence amounts to high treason." There
were other laws, too, which condemned the priest
to perpetual banishment, and transferred the pros
elyte's estate to his nearest relation. The visit,
therefore, to Russell Street was one of danger,
and was paid with great secrecy. " In my last
excursion to London," says Gibbon, " I addressed
myself to Mr. Lewis, a Roman Catholic book
seller in Russell Street, Covent Garden, who rec
ommended me to a priest, of whose name and
order I am at present ignorant. In our first inter
view he soon discovered that persuasion was need
less. After sounding the motives and merits of
my conversion, he consented to admit me into the
pale of the Church ; and at his feet, on the 8th
of June, 1753, I solemnly, though privately, ab
jured the errors of heresy. The seduction of
an English youth of family and fortune was an
act of as much danger as glory ; but he bravely
overlooked the danger, of which I was not then
sufficiently informed. An elaborate controversial
epistle, approved by my direction and addressed
to my father, announced and justified the step
which I had taken. My father was neither a

68 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
bigot nor a philosopher ; but his affection de
plored the loss of an only son ; and his good
sense was astonished at my strange departure
from the religion of my country. In the first
sally of passion he divulged a secret which pru
dence might have suppressed, and the gates of
Magdalen College were for ever shut against my
return." At No. 8 Russell Street, now the "Caledo
nian Coffee-house," lived the well-known "Tom
Davies," the bookseller and actor. To the admir
ers of Doctor Johnson, and especially of Boswell's
inimitable biography, this house will always be
interesting as that which witnessed the introduc
tion of these two remarkable men to each other.'
Boswell, it seems, had more than once been disap
pointed in his eager desire to be introduced to
Doctor Johnson, but at length fortune threw him
in the way of the great mammoth of literature.
" At last," says Boswell, and with Boswell the day
was one indeed notanda cretd, " on Monday, the
1 6th of May, when I was sitting in Mr. Davies's
back parlour, after having drunk tea with him
and Mrs. Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into
the shop ; and Mr. Davies having perceived him
through the glass door in the room in which we
' " No. 8," says Boswell, " the very place where I was fortu
nate enough to be introduced to the illustrious subject of this
work, deserves to be particularly marked. I never pass by it
without feeling reverence and regret."

COVENT GARDEN. 69
were sitting, advancing toward us, he rumoured
his awful approach to me somewhat in the man
ner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he
addresses Hamlet on the appearance of his father's
ghost, — ' Look, my lord, it comes.' I found that
I had a very perfect idea of Johnson's figure from
the portrait of him painted by Sir Joshua Rey
nolds, soon after he had published his ' Diction
ary,' in the attitude of sitting in his easy chair
in deep meditation. Mr. Davies mentioned my
name, and respectfully introduced me to him. I
was much agitated ; and, recollecting his prejudice
against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I
said to Davies, ' Don't tell where I come from.'
' From Scotland,' cried Davies, roguishly. ' Mr.
Johnson,' said I, ' I do, indeed, come from Scot
land, but I cannot help it.' I am willing to flatter
myself that I meant this as light pleasantry, to
soothe and conciliate him, and not as a humiliat
ing abasement at the expense of my country. But,
however that might be, this speech was somewhat
unlucky, for, with that quickness of wit for which
he was remarkable, he seized the expression, ' come
from Scotland,' which I used in the sense of being
of that country ; and, as if I had said that I had
come away from it, or left it, retorted, ' That, sir,
I find, is what a good many of your country can
not help.' This stroke stunned me a good deal ;
and, when we had sat down, I felt myself not a
little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might

70 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
come next. He then addressed himself to Davies.
' What do you think of Garrick ? He has refused
me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because
he knows the house will be full, and that an order
will be worth three shillings ! ' Eager to take any
opening to get into conversation with him, I ven
tured to say, ' Oh, sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick
would grudge such a trifle to you.' ' Sir,' said he,
with a stern look, ' I have known David Garrick
longer than you have done, and I know no right
you have to talk to me on the subject ! ' Perhaps
I deserved this check ; for it was rather presump
tuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any
doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his
old acquaintance and pupil. I now felt myself
much mortified, and began to think that the hope
which I had long indulged of obtaining his ac
quaintance was blasted. And, in truth, had not
my ardour been uncommonly strong, and my reso
lution uncommonly persevering, so rough a recep
tion might have deterred me for ever from making
any further attempts." Boswell, however, " sat
out " the great man, satisfied that, though there
was a roughness in his manner, there was no
innate ill-nature in his composition. " Davies,"
he says, " followed me to the door, and when I
complained to him a little of the hard blows which
the great man had given me, he kindly took upon
him to console me by saying, ' Don't be uneasy ;
I can see he likes you very well.' " Like Boswell,

COVENT GARDEN. 7 1
the author has ever felt that No. 8 Russell Street
deserves to be "particularly marked," and seldom
has he passed through this street without glancing
his eye through the window to where stood Tom
Davies's back parlour, in which commenced that
intimacy to which we are indebted for the most
charming and instructive biographical work which
exists in the literature of any country.
From Russell Street we pass into Bow Street,
once one of the most fashionable streets in Lon
don. Dryden writes :
" I've had to-day a dozen billet-doux.
From fops, and wits, and cits, and Bow Street beaux."
In this street was born, on the 5 th of Decem
ber, 1 66 1, the great minister, Robert Harley, Earl
of Oxford ; here the celebrated sculptor, Grinling
Gibbons, died on the 3d of August, 1721 ; and
here also was the shop of the famous publisher,
Jacob Tonson.
Another remarkable person who was an inhab
itant of this street was William Wycherley, and
here it was that the great dramatic poet was
visited in his sickness by King Charles the
Second, who seems to have taken a great delight
in his society. " Mr. Wycherley," we are told,
"happened to fall sick at his lodgings in Bow
Street, Covent Garden, during which period the
king did him the honour to visit him. Find
ing his body extremely weakened, and his spirits

72 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
miserably shattered, he commanded him, as soon
as he should be able to take a journey, to go
to the south of France, believing that the air of
Montpelier would contribute to restore him as
much as anything, and assured him, at the same
time, that, as soon as he was capable of taking the
journey, he would order him five hundred pounds
to defray the charges of it. Mr. Wycherley accord
ingly went to France, and having spent the winter
there, returned to England in the spring, entirely
restored to his former vigour, both of body and
mind." It was immediately after his return from Mont
pelier that Wycherley met with his well-known
adventure with the young and beautiful Countess
of Drogheda. " He went down to Tunbridge," we
are told, "either to take the benefit of the waters,
or the diversions of the place ; when, walking one
day upon the Wells' Walk with his friend, Mr.
Fairbeard, of Gray's Inn, just as he came up to
the bookseller's shop, the Countess of Drogheda,'
a young widow, rich, noble, and beautiful, came
to the bookseller, and inquired for the 'Plain
Dealer.' ' Madam,' says Mr. Fairbeard, ' since
you are for the "Plain Dealer," there he is
for you ; ' pushing Mr. Wycherley toward her.
'Yes,' says Mr. Wycherley, 'this lady can bear
plain dealing, for she appears to be so accom-
¦ Letitia Isabella, daughter of John Robartes, Earl of Radnor,
and widow of Charles, second Earl of Drogheda.

COVENT GARDEN. 73
plish ed that what would be a compliment to
others, spoken to her would be plain dealing.'
' No, truly, sir,' said the countess, ' I am not
without my faults any more than the rest of my
sex, but, notwithstanding, I love plain dealing, and
am never more fond of it than when it tells me of
them.' 'Then, madam,' says Mr. Fairbeard, 'you
and the " Plain Dealer " seem designed by Heaven
for each other.' In short, Mr. Wycherley walked
with the countess upon the walks, waited upon her
home, visited her daily at her lodgings while she
continued at Tunbridge, and at her apartments in
Hatton Garden after she went to London, where
in a little time he got her consent to marry her."
It is almost needless to add that the jealous
disposition of Lady Drogheda rendered their
marriage almost as unhappy a one as was that
of Wycherley's contemporary, Addison, with the
Countess of Warwick.
At the Cock Tavern, in Bow Street, — a favour
ite resort of men of fashion in the days of Charles
the Second, — took place, in 1633, the disreputable
frolic, in which the accomplished Charles Sackville,
Earl of Dorset, then Lord Buckhurst,
" The best good man, with the worst-natured muse,"
Sir Charles Sedley, the poet, and Sir Thomas Ogle,
were the actors. The story is much too indecent
for repetition ; and so enraged was the populace
at the nature of the frolic that they endeavoured

74 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
to break open the tavern doors, and, in the riot
which ensued, Lord Buckhurst and his companions
nearly lost their lives. They were carried before
the Court of Common Pleas, where a heavy fine
was inflicted upon them, the penalty imposed on
Sir Charles Sedley being five hundred pounds.
When placed at the bar, Sir Robert Hyde, the
lord chief justice, in commenting upon the of
fence, inquired sarcastically of Sedley if he had
ever read the " Complete Gentleman." " I be
lieve," was the reply, " that I have read more
books than your lordship." Sedley and his fellow
culprits employed Killegrew and another courtier
to intercede with the king for a mitigation of their
fine. Instead, however, of exerting themselves in
the cause of their friends, they are said to have
begged the amount for their own use, and actually
to have extorted it to the last penny.
In Bow Street lived the eminent and eccentric
physician. Dr. John Radcliffe, now principally re
membered as the founder of the Radcliffe Library
at Oxford. He is one of those men of whose his
tory the little we know is so full of interest that
it leaves us deeply to regret that we can discover
no more. One anecdote connected with his resi
dence in Bow Street is well known. The garden
of his house adjoined that of Sir Godfrey Kneller,
behind the piazza, in Covent Garden, and, being
intimate friends, they agreed that a doorway
should be broken through the wall, to admit of

COVENT GARDEN. 75
their enjoying a free intercourse with each other.
Some misunderstanding, however, having arisen
between them, Kneller sent a message to Rad
cliffe that he intended to close up the door. " Tell
him," said the witty physician, "that he may do
anything with it but paint it." Sir Godfrey's reply
to the messenger was equally pointed. " Tell Doc
tor Radcliffe," he said, "with my compliments,
that I will take anything from him but his
physic." Doctor Radcliffe, on his first establishing him
self in London, appears to have fixed upon Bow
Street as his residence, as being then one of the
most fashionable streets of the metropolis. How
little suited, however, he was, to be a courtier ;
how little fitted to pander to the sickly fancies of
princes and fine ladies, is proved by the manner
in which he conducted himself, on two different
occasions, when summoned into the sick-chambers
of William the Third and Queen Anne. A year
or two before his death. King William sent for
Radcliffe, and, among other symptoms of disease,
mentioned that, while his body was becoming
emaciated, his legs had swollen far beyond their
natural size. Radcliffe made the necessary ex
amination. " I would not," he said, " have your
Majesty's two legs for your three kingdoms."
King William never forgave him for this unsea
sonable speech, and though he continued to make
use of Radcliffe's prescriptions till within three

76 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
days of his death, he could never again be per
suaded to admit him into his presence. His
speech to Queen Anne showed a no less want of
reverence for a crowned head. A messenger
arriving at his residence, with the intelligence
that the queen, then Princess of Denmark, was
alarmingly ill, he not only delayed obeying the
summons till after a considerable interval had
elapsed, but on being admitted into the presence
of the royal sufferer, treated her malady with
undisguised scorn. " She has only the vapours,"
he said, and added, with a characteristic oath,
" She is as well as any woman breathing, if she
could only be persuaded to believe it." His im
prudence, however, sealed his fate as a courtier.
On his next appearance at court, he was stopped
by an officer in the antechamber, and informed
that the princess had no longer any occasion for
his services. However, in the last illness of
Prince George of Denmark, the queen's affec
tion for her husband so far overcame the indig
nation which she felt at the conduct of her former
medical attendant, that she ordered him to be
immediately summoned. When she herself, too,
lay on her death-bed, he was also sent for to
attend her. The summons was disobeyed, and
the circumstance aroused a general and indig
nant outcry against the eccentric physician.
Radcliffe pleaded indisposition, and, after a full
investigation of such evidence as has been handed

COVENT GARDEN. TJ
down to us, we cannot but come to the conclusion
that this was the true cause which detained him
from the bedside of his expiring sovereign. In
one of his letters he writes : " I know the nature
of attending crowned heads in their last moments
too well to be fond of waiting upon them, without
being sent for by a proper authority. You have
heard of pardons being signed for physicians,
before a sovereign's demise ; however, ill as I
was, I would have gone to the queen in a
horse-litter, had either her Majesty, or those in
commission, next to her, commanded me so to do."
We may be accused, perhaps, in our notice of
Bow Street and Doctor Radcliffe, of having en
tered too much into extraneous matter, but the
wit and eccentricities of a remarkable man —
especially of one whose name is perhaps but little
familiar to the general reader — tempted us into
a passing digression. We would willingly relate
further anecdotes of Doctor Radcliffe, and espe
cially his witty retorts to Madame D'Orsley, which
are familiar alone to those who delight in old books,
and which formed the subject of a Latin poem, in
the " Anthologia." They might, however, offend
the morbid prudery of the present age, — an age
in which, by some strange anomaly, it is a stigma
not to have read Shakespeare, and yet a crime to
have read Fielding ; an age in which, by some still
stranger anomaly, the daily newspapers, with all
their gross details of debauchery and incest, are

78 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
laid freely before the young and uninitiated, while
it is a crime to insert, in a book, a witty — and
that which time, perhaps, has rendered a classical
¦ — anecdote, to which our grandmothers listened
with delight, and which they repeated without a
blush. Before taking our leave of Bow Street, let us
mention that it was apparently in this street that
the celebrated Prince Eugene dined with Doctor
Radcliffe. The entertainment which the physician
provided for the hero was plain beef and a pud
ding. The prince thanked him for the compli
ment. " You have considered me," he said, " not
as a courtier, but as a soldier."
Of James Street, which runs out of Covent
Garden, parallel with Bow Street, nothing remark
able is known, except that David Garrick resided
here in 1747, the year in which the great actor
became manager of Drury Lane, and when the
theatre opened with the celebrated prologue of
Doctor Johnson. In the General Advertiser for
the 7th of April, 1747, is the following advertise
ment : " Mr. Garrick hopes the gentlemen and
ladies who had taken places for his benefit, the
1 6th of last month, will excuse his deferring it to
the 30th of this, his illness not permitting him
to have it sooner. Tickets and places to be had
at Mr. Garrick's lodgings in James Street, Covent
Garden, and of Mr. Page, at the stage door of the
theatre."

COVENT GARDEN. 79
King Street leads from Covent Garden into St.
Martin's Lane. Here, at the house of their father,
who kept an upholsterer's shop, called the "Two
Crowns and Cushions," were born the celebrated
Dr. Thomas Arne, the composer, and his sister,
Mrs. Cibber. But the most interesting spot is
Rose Street, a small and wretched-looking street,
at the northwest of King Street. Here Samuel
Butler, the author of " Hudibras," lived for many
years, and here he is supposed to have died ; here,
apparently, stood the Rose Tavern, at which the
famous "Treason Club" was held in 1688 ; and
here the celebrated bookseller, Edmund Curll, had
his shop, the sign of which was "Pope's Head."
But the circumstance which has rendered Rose
Street classic ground is the fact of its having
been the spot where Dryden received his memo
rable cudgelling. The " Essay on Satire " had
recently been published, in which, besides being
accused of cowardice, there was every indignity
offered to the Earl of Rochester, which could
reflect on his character as a wit, a rake, or a poet :
" He, while he mischief means to all mankind.
Himself alone the ill effects does find ;
False are his words, affected is his wit.
So often he does aim, so seldom hit ;
To every face he cringes while he speaks,
But when the back is turned, the head he breaks :
Mean in each action, lewd in every limb,
Manners themselves are mischievous in him ;

8o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
A proof that chance alone makes every creature,
A very Killegrew without good-nature."
And again :
" Falsely he falls into some dangerous noose.
And then as meanly labours to get loose ;
A life so infamous is better quitting,
Spent in base injury and low submitting.
I'd like to have left out his poetry.
Forgot by all almost as well as me.
Sometimes he has some humour ; never wit,
And if it rarely, — very rarely, — hit,
'Tis under so much nasty rubbish laid,
To find it out's the cinderwoman's trade,
Who for the wretched remnants of a fire,
Must toil all day in ashes and in mire."
The " Essay on Satire " was supposed to be the
joint production of Dryden /and of John Sheffield,
Earl of Mulgrave, afterward Duke of Buckingham.
There can be little doubt, however, that, with the
exception of a few clumsy lines, Dryden was the
author of the whole poem. According, indeed, to
Dean Lockyer, the duke merely made a few altera
tions in the poem, and these were, generally speak
ing, for the worse. At all events, Rochester chose
to look upon Dryden as the author, and, adopting
a mode of revenge which was not uncommon in
the days of Charles the Second, he hired some
ruffians, who waylaid the great poet in Rose Street
(on his way from Will's Coffee-house to his own
house in Gerard Street), and inflicted on him a
severe personal chastisement.

COVENT GARDEN. 8 1
The name of Dryden occurs in connection with
another fracas, which took place in Covent Garden
in the days of Charles the Second. The principals
in the quarrel were Sir H. Bellasyse and another
courtier, Thomas Porter, and the circumstances,
as related by Pepys, throw a curious light on the
manners of the time. " They two dined yesterday
at Sir Robert Carr's, where it seems people do
drink high, all that come. It happened that these
two, the greatest friends in the world, were talking
together, and Sir H. Bellasyse talked a little louder
than ordinary to Tom Porter, giving of him some
advice. Some of the company standing by said,
'What are they quarrelling, that they talk so
high ? ' Sir H. Bellasyse hearing it, said, ' No,' says
he, ' I would have you know that I never quarrel,
but I strike ; and take that as a rule of mine.'
'How,' says Tom Porter, 'strike.'' I would I
could see the man in England that durst give
me a blow.' With that. Sir H. Bellasyse did give
him a box of the ear ; and so they were going
to fight there, but were hindered. And by and by
Tom Porter went out, and meeting Dryden, the
poet, told him of the business, and that he was
resolved to fight Sir H. Bellasyse presently ; for he
knew that, if he did not, they should be friends
to-morrow, and then the blow would rest upon
him, which he would prevent ; and desired Dryden
to let him have his boy to bring him notice which
way Sir H. Bellasyse goes. By and by he is in-

82 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
formed that Sir H. Bellasyse's coach was coming ;
so Tom Porter went down out of the coffee-house,
where he stayed for the tidings, and stopped the
coach, and bade Sir H. Bellasyse come out. ' Why,'
says H. Bellasyse, 'you will not hurt me coming
out, will you .'' ' ' No,' says Tom Porter. So out
he went, and both drew ; and H. Bellasyse having
drawn, and flung away his scabbard, Tom Porter
asked him whether he was ready. The other
answering him he was, they fell to fight, some of
their acquaintance by. They wounded one another,
and Bellasyse so much that it is feared he will die ;
and, finding himself severely wounded, he called
to Tom Porter, and kissed him, and bade him shift
for himself; 'for,' says he, 'Tom, thou hast hurt
me, but I will make shift to stand upon my legs
till thou mayest withdraw, and the world will not
take notice of you, for I would not have thee
troubled for what thou hast done.' And so,
whether he did fly or not I cannot tell ; but Tom
Porter showed H. Bellasyse that he was wounded,
too, and they are both ill, but Sir H. Bellasyse to
fear of life." Bellasyse survived his wounds only
ten days.
At the west end of King Street is Bedford
Street, which connects this part of Covent Gar
den with the Strand. Whyte, in his " Miscellanea
Nova," relates an anecdote connected with this
street, which throws a light on the well-known
personal peculiarities of Doctor Johnson. " Mrs.

COVENT GARDEN. 83
Sheridan," he says, " at one time lived in Bedford
Street, opposite Henrietta Street, which ranges
with the south side of Covent Garden, so that the
prospect lies open the whole way, free of interrup
tion. We were standing together in the drawing-
room, expecting Johnson, who was to dine there.
Mr. Sheridan asked me, ? Could I see the length
of the garden.'' 'No, sir.' 'Take your opera-
glass, Johnson is coming, you may know him by
his gait.' I perceived him at a good distance,
working along with a peculiar solemnity of de
portment, and an awkward sort of measured step.
At that time the broad flagging at each side of
the streets was not universally adopted, and stone
posts were in fashion, to prevent the annoyance
of carriages. Upon every post, as he passed
along, I could observe he deliberately laid his
hand ; but missing one of them when he had got
at some distance, he seemed suddenly to recollect
himself, and immediately returning back, carefully
performed the accustomed ceremony, and resumed
his former course, not omitting one till he gained
the crossing. This, Mr. Sheridan assured me,
however odd it may appear, was his constant prac
tice ; but why or wherefore he could not inform
me." "Sir Joshua Reynolds," says Boswell, "has
observed Johnson to go a good way about, rather
than pass a particular alley in Leicester Fields ;
but this Sir Joshua imputed to his having had
some disagreeable recollection associated with it."

84 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Running parallel with King Street, to the south
of Covent Garden, is Henrietta Street. It was
from a house in this street that the beautiful
Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, and the other
fair and high-born women who canvassed for
Charles James Fox, used to watch the humours
of the Westminster election. Pitt writes to Wil-
berforce on the 8th of April, 1784 : " Westminster
goes on well, in spite of the Duchess of Devon
shire and the other women of the people ; but
when the poll will close is uncertain." Hannah
More, as appears from the date of her letters,
resided at one period in Henrietta Street, and in
one of them we find an amusing account of an
adventure which she met with during the West
minster election. To one of her sisters she writes :
" I had like to have got into a fine scrape the
other night. I was going to pass the evening
at Mrs. Coles's, in Lincoln's Inn Fields. I went
in a chair. They carried me through Covent
Garden. A number of people, as I went along,
desired the men not to go through the garden, as
there were a hundred armed men, who suspected
every chair-man belonged to Brookes' s and would
fall upon us. In spite of my entreaties the men
would have persisted, but a stranger, out of human
ity, made them set me down, and the shrieks of
the wounded, for there was a terrible battle,
intimidated the chair-men, who were at last pre
vailed upon to carry me another way. A vast

COVENT GARDEN. 85
number of people followed me, crying out, • It is
Mrs. Fox ; none but Mr. Fox's wife would dare to
come into Covent Garden in a chair ; she is going
to canvass in the dark ! ' Though not a little fright
ened, I laughed heartily at this, but shall stir out
no more in a chair for some time."
In Henrietta Street was the shop of the mounte
bank almanac-maker. Partridge, and here at one
period resided the charming actress, Mrs. Clive.
Here, too, died a poet, formerly of some celebrity,
Paul Whitehead. As a poet he has ceased to be
read, and almost to be remembered ; but those who
are curious in literary history still remember him
as having been the social companion of Frederick,
Prince of Wales, as one whose poetical squibs
had a considerable influence over the politics of
the day, and as one of the mysterious brother
hood who assembled at Medmenham Abbey, and
whose sensual orgies were afterward in revenge
exposed by Wilkes, when prosecuted on account
of his " Essay on Woman." By his last will, Paul
Whitehead bequeathed his heart, enclosed in a
marble urn, to his friend. Lord Le Despencer,
with a request that it might be placed in his lord
ship's mausoleum at High Wycombe. The fantas
tic wish was complied with, but what has since
become of the heart and the urn we know not.
Between Covent Garden and the Strand, run
ning parallel with Henrietta Street, is Maiden
Lane, which, according to Mr. D'Israeli, takes its

86 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
name from an image of the Virgin, which for
merly stood here. It was here that Voltaire
resided during his visit to England in 1727, and,
as appears by one of his letters to Swift, dated
the 14th of December in that year, the sign of the
house in which he lodged was the "White Pe
ruke." In this street also are the once famous
" Cyder Cellars," now, we believe, frequented prin
cipally by those who delight in late hours, ribaldry,
and song, but formerly the favourite resort of no
less remarkable men than Porson and Parr.
At the eastern end of Maiden Lane is South
ampton Street, once the residence of the charm
ing actress, Mrs. Oldfield ; and adjoining it is
Exeter Street, where Doctor Johnson, unfriended
and almost penniless, first took up his abode when
he arrived in London, in 1737, with David Garrick.
" His first lodgings," says Boswell, " were at the
house of Mr. Norris, in Exeter Street, adjoining
Catherine Street, in the Strand. 'I dined,' said
he, ' very well for eightpence, with very good com
pany, at the Pine Apple, in New Street, just by.
Several of them had travelled. They expected
to meet every day, but did not know one another's
names. It used to cost the rest a shilling, for
they drank wine ; but I had a cut of meat for six
pence and bread for a penny, and gave the waiter
a penny, so that I was quite well served, nay,
better than the rest, for they gave the waiter
nothing. ' " " Painful as it is to relate," says

COVENT GARDEN. 87
Cumberland, " I have heard Doctor Johnson assert
that he subsisted himself for a considerable space
of time upon the scanty pittance of fourpence
halfpenny per day."
The last of the streets which we shall mention,
in immediate connection with Covent Garden, is
Tavistock Street, which is almost a continuation
of Maiden Lane. At the southeastern corner of
this street lived the unfortunate Miss Ray, the
beautiful mistress of Lord Sandwich, who was
shot by her lover, the Rev. James Hackman,
on the 7th of April, 1779. Hackman had been
formerly a lieutenant in the 68th regiment of foot,
and, while in command of a recruiting party at
Huntingdon, had been invited to Lord Hunting
don's seat at Hinchinbrooke, where he fell vio
lently in love with his future victim. Failing
in his repeated endeavours to prevail upon her
to become his wife, he determined, while under
the influence of maddening jealousy, to put an
end to her life and his own. Accordingly, having
posted himself under the piazza of Covent Garden,
as she was quitting the theatre, he discharged the
contents of a pistol at her head, and immediately
afterward fired another pistol at himself. The
following account of the transaction appeared in
one of the journals of the succeeding day : " Last
night the following melancholy fate terminated
the existence of the beautiful, the favoured, and
yet the unfortunate Miss Ray. As she was step-

88 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ping into her carriage from Covent Garden, a
clergyman, whose name we hear is Hackman,
came up and lodged the contents of a pistol in
her head, which done he instantly shot himself,
and they fell together. They were carried into
the Shakespeare and the ablest assistance called
for, but Miss Ray expired in a few minutes. The
desperate assassin still lives to account for the
horrid act, and, it is hoped, to suffer for it, his
wound being on the temple, and supposed not to be
dangerous. An express was instantly sent for Lord
Sandwich. He came about twelve o'clock in the
most lamentable agonies, and expressed a sorrow
that certainly did infinite honour to his feelings."
The Morning Post of the following day (April
the 9th) contains further particulars connected
with this celebrated tragedy. " On Wednesday
night Miss Ray was coming out of the playhouse,
accompanied by Signora Galli, and a gentleman
who had politely offered to see her to her carriage,
when she was followed by the resolute assassin
who committed the act. He stepped up to her
just as she had her foot on the step of the coach,
pulled her by her sleeve, which occasioned her
to turn around, when, without the smallest pre
vious menace or address, he put a pistol to her
forehead, and shot her instantly dead. He then
fired another at himself, which, however, did not
prove equally effectual. The ball grazed upon
the upper part of the head, but did not penetrate

COVENT GARDEN. 89
sufficiently to produce any fatal effect ; he fell,
however, and so firmly was he bent upon the
entire completion of the fatal business he had
meditated, that he was found beating his head
with the utmost violence with the butt-end of the
pistol by Mr. Mahon, apothecary, of Covent Gar
den, who wrenched the instrument from his hand.
He was carried to the Shakespeare tavern, where
his wound was dressed. The body of the lovely
victim was likewise carried to the same place."
Hackman was tried for murder on the 17th of
April, and, being found guilty, was hanged a few
days afterward at Tyburn. Miss Ray was origi
nally a milliner's apprentice in St. George's Court,
St. John's Lane, Clerkenwell ; and Hackman, at
the time when he deprived her of life, was resid
ing in Craven Street, in the Strand. Next door
to Miss Ray, in Tavistock Street, lived Macklin,
the actor.
To give an account of Covent Garden Theatre
would amount to little less than a history of the
stage during upwards of a century. It is sufficient
to observe, that the original theatre was built
in 1733 ; that it was rebuilt in 1787, enlarged in
1792, and on the night of the 20th September,
1808, was burnt to the ground, when upwards of
;^ 107,000 worth of property is said to have been
destroyed. The present theatre, which rose rapidly
on its ruins, was opened on the i8th of Septem
ber, 1809.

CHAPTER IIL
DRURY LANE AND CONTIGUOUS STREETS.
Drury Lane — Drury House — Wych Street — Drury Lane
Theatre — Long Acre — Phoenix Alley — Queen Street —
Lincoln's Inn Fields — Portugal Street — Duke Street — St.
Giles's Church and Churchyard.
Drury Lane derives its name from having
been built nearly on the site of Drury House,
the residence of the once powerful family of the
Drurys. "It is singular," says Pennant, "that
this lane, of later times so notorious for intrigues,
should derive its title from a family name, which,
in the language of Chaucer, had an amorous
signification :
" ' Of bataille and of chevalrie.
Of ladies love and druerie,
Anon I wool you tell.' "
Drury House, which stood where Craven Build
ings and the Olympic Theatre now stand, is said
to have been built by the gallant and courtly Sir
William Drury, — Lord Deputy of Ireland in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth and a Knight of the
Garter, — who was killed in a duel with Sir John
90

DRURY LANE. 91
Burroughs, on account of a quarrel between them
on an absurd question of precedency. He was
succeeded by his son. Sir Robert Drury, in whose
lifetime the celebrated Doctor Donne found a wel
come refuge in Drury House during the days of
his poverty. Here, too, it was, that the unfortu
nate Earl of Essex and his friends met secretly to
plan the rash conspiracy, which ended in as fatal
a catastrophe. Some time after the death of Sir Robert Drury
this property came into the possession of William,
Lord Craven, the gay courtier of the reign of
James the Second, the hero of the "tremendous
breach of Creutznach," and the presumed husband
of the charming Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia.
Lord Craven pulled down the old mansion of the
Drurys, and built on its site a large brick pile, in
which we find the Queen of Bohemia residing
shortly after the restoration of her brother, Charles
the Second. Part of Craven House was taken
down in 1723, but the remaining portion contin
ued to be used as an inn till the commencement
of the present century, when, with other buildings,
it was pulled down to make room for the Olympic
Theatre. Pennant tells us that, in searching after
old Craven House, he discovered a public-house,
the sign of which was a head of the Queen of
Bohemia, Lord Craven's " admired mistress," which
proved its identity. Within little more than half
a century, there was to be seen, in the court in

92 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Craven Buildings, a fresco painting of Lord Craven,
seated, in full armour, on a white horse, with a
truncheon in his hand.
In the reign of Charles the Secopd, we find
Drury Lane one of the most fashionable situations
in London. Besides Craven House, here stood
Clare House, the residence of the Earl of Clare,
and Anglesea House, the residence of the Earl of
Anglesea. In Craven Buildings lived, at different
periods, the celebrated actresses, Mrs. Bracegirdle
and Mrs. Pritchard.
In Drury Lane lived Anne Clarges, who be
came the mistress, and afterward the wife, of the
celebrated George Monk, Duke of Albemarle.
" Monk," says Lord Clarendon, in his " History
of the Rebellion," "was cursed, after a long fa
miliarity, to marry a woman of the lowest extrac
tion, the least wit, and less beauty." Clarendon
afterward speaks of her as a " woman with nothing
feminine about her but her make ; " and Burnet
styles her a " ravenous, mean, and contemptible
creature, who thought of nothing but getting and
spending." She was the daughter of a blacksmith,
who lived in Drury Lane, and was bred a milliner.
"When Monk was a prisoner in the Tower," says
Aubrey, " his sempstress, Anne Clarges, a black
smith's daughter, was kind to him in a double
capacity. It must be remembered that he was
then in want, and that she assisted him. Here
she was got with child. She was not at all hand-

DRURY LANE. 93
some, nor cleanly. Her mother was one of the
five women barbers, and a woman of ill-fame. A
ballad was made on her and the other four; the
burden of it was :
" ' Did you ever hear the like,
Or ever hear the fame,
Of five women barbers,
Who lived in Drury Lane.' "
In a curious memoir, in the British Museum, of
one Mul-Sack, a noted highwayman, I found the
following notice of these ladies : " There were five
noted Amazons in Drury Lane, who were called
women shavers, and whose actions were then talked
of about town, till being apprehended for a riot, and
one or two of them severely punished, the rest fled
to Barbadoes." The author of the " Memoir of
Mul-Sack" mentions a brutal and disgusting act
of cruelty which was perpetrated by these wretches
on another woman, the particulars of which are too
gross for publication, but which sufficiently attest
how detestable was the character of the "five
women shavers" of Drury Lane.
Drury Lane was one of the first places in Lon
don which was visited by that terrible calamity,
the great plague, in 1665. Pepys mentions his
being at "the coffee-house" on the 24th of May,
when he says all the conversation was "of the
plague growing upon us in this town, and of rem
edies against it, some saying one thing, and some

94 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
another." On the 7th of June, which he speaks
of as " the hottest day that ever I felt in my life,"
he says in his " Diary : " " This day, much against
my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three
houses marked with a red cross upon the doors,
and ' Lord have mercy upon us ' writ there." Two
years afterward, when Pepys was passing through
Drury Lane, on his way to Westminster, the
street presented a very different appearance. It
was on May-day, 1667, and the passage in his
" Diary " shows that the beautiful and warm
hearted Nell Gwynn was at this period an inhab
itant of Drury Lane. "To Westminster, in the
way, many milkmaids, with their garlands upon
their pails, dancing with a fiddler before them ;
and saw pretty Nelly stand at her lodging's
door, in Drury Lane, in her smock sleeves and
bodice, looking upon one ; she seemed a mighty
pretty creature."
After Drury Lane had ceased to bear the fash
ionable reputation which it enjoyed in the seven
teenth century, it became in the reign of Queen
Anne, and up to a much later period, notorious as
a colony for those unfortunate offshoots of genius,
who may perhaps be best designated as " poor
authors." In the wittiest satirical poem of modern
times, the "Epistle to Doctor Arbuthnot," Pope,
speaking of the disagreeable manner in which he
was pestered by authors to read their MSS.,
writes :

DRURY LANE. 95
" I sit with sad civility ; I read
With honest anguish, and an aching head ;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears.
This saving counsel, ' Keep your piece nine years.'
' Nine years ! ' cries he, who high in Drury Lane,
Lulled by soft zephyrs through the window-pane.
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends,
Obliged by hunger, and request of friends," etc.
Goldsmith also writes, in his " Description of
an Author's Bedchamber," by which was probably
intended his own :
" Where the Red Lion staring o'er the way.
Invites each passing stranger that can pay ;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane ;
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretched beneath a rug ;
A window, patched with paper, lent a ray.
That dimly showed the state in which he lay," etc.
In Wych Street, corrupted from Witch Street,
— a continuation of Drury Lane, running into the
Strand, — is New Inn, an inn of Chancery, under
the government of the Middle Temple. It was
anciently a common inn or hostelry, known by the
sign of the " Blessed Virgin," and, in the reign of
Richard the Third, was obtained from Sir John
Fineux, Lord Chief Justice of England, for the
rent of six pounds a year. It is principally inter
esting from Sir Thomas More having studied here
before he became a member of Lincoln's Inn. On
the south side of Wych Street is Lyon's Inn, which

96 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
dates as far back as the reign of Henry the Fifth,
and which is said to have been also anciently a
common inn for travellers, with the sign of the
Lion. Drury Lane Theatre — from its numerous clas
sical associations, from its antiquity as a place of
public amusement, from the memory of the emi
nent actors and actresses who have "fretted their
hour" upon its stage, and from its scenic repre
sentations having excited, for more than two cen
turies, the tears or the laughter of the gay, the
gallant, the beautiful, and the learned — will
always be regarded as a most interesting spot.
The present theatre stands on the site of a play
house which appears to have been erected here in
the reign of Queen Elizabeth, under the name of
the Phoenix, and which was destroyed by the mob
in 1 617, and the stage property torn to pieces.
It had originally been a cockpit, and from these
names Phoenix Alley, on the southeast side of
Long Acre, and Cockpit Alley, in Great Wyld
Street, apparently derive their designations. In
the reign of James the First, the actors at the
Phoenix were called the queen's servants, till the
death of Anne of Denmark, when they were
called the Lady Elizabeth's servants, from the
Princess Elizabeth, afterward Queen of Bohemia.
On the marriage of Charles the First with Henri
etta Maria, in 1625, they resumed their old name
of the queen's servants.

DRURY LANE. 97
Of the character of the performances, and the
names of the plays which were acted on the
boards of the Phoenix, we have no record till
1629, when Shirley's comedy of the "Wedding"
— a play of considerable merit, and which has
since twice been' revived — is recorded to have
been represented there.' This was followed, in
1633, by Massinger's admirable play, the "New
Way to Pay Old Debts." The fashionable fanati
cism, which prevailed during the Commonwealth,
closed the doors of the PhoenLx, and it was not till
1658 that it was reopened by Sir William Daven-
ant, with such pieces, chiefly consisting of decla
mation and music, as were calculated to suit the
yielding, but still fastidious prudery of the age.
At the restoration of Charles the Second, the
revolution which took place in manners was
scarcely less remarkable than that which had
been effected in politics, and the Phoenix, or, as it
was still indifferently styled, the Cockpit, was
taken possession of by a meritorious bookseller, of
the name of Rhodes, who acted there with two
of his apprentices, afterward the celebrated Better-
ton and Kynaston. Not long afterward, the well-
known Thomas Killegrew had influence enough
' Such is the fact usually stated in the accounts of Drury
Lane Theatre, but I find Webster's tragedy of the " White
Devil," acted by the " queen's servants " at the Phoenix, as early
as 161 2. The curious in such matters would probably, on in
vestigation, discover many other plays, of merit and celebrity,
acted here at this early period.

98 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
with his easy sovereign to obtain a patent for
opening a royal theatre, the actors at which- —
and the name is still familiar to us on the playbills
of the present day — were designated "his Maj
esty's servants." At the same time. Sir William
Davenant obtained a patent to open another
theatre, under the name of the " Duke of York's
Company," while that of Killegrew was distin
guished as the "King's."
The two rival companies being thus formed,
Davenant, with Rhodes, Betterton, and Kynaston,
established himself, in the first instance, at the
Phoenix, from whence he removed, in 1662, to the
new-built theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and sub
sequently, in 1 67 1, to a far more magnificent one
in Dorset Garden, probably where the old play
house in Safisbury Court had formerly stood. In
the meantime, Killegrew, with the king's company,
had established himself at the Red Bull, in St.
John's Street, where he continued but a short
time, when he removed to Gibbon's Tennis Court,
near Clare Market. This theatre, however, being
but ill adapted to theatrical representations, he
erected a more convenient one on the site of
the old Phoenix, which was opened on the Sth
of April, 1663, with Beaumont and Fletcher's
comedy of the " Humorous Lieutenant." From
this period, the Phoenix — with continued success,
though with diminished talent — has continued
to be familiarly known as Drury Lane Theatre to

DRURY LANE. 99
the present time. " About ten of the king's com
pany," says Colley Cibber, "were on the royal
household establishment, having each ten yards
of scarlet cloth, with a proper quantity of lace,
allowed them for liveries ; and in their warrants
from the lord chamberlain were styled gentlemen
of the great chamber. Whether the like appoint
ments were extended to the duke's company, I am
not certain."
We must not omit to mention that it was at
the theatre in Drury Lane that Charles the
Second first became enamoured of Nell Gwynn,
when she appeared in the character of Valeria, in
Dryden's tragedy of " Tyrannic Love." Dryden,
it is said, selected her for this character, from
the circumstance of its being necessary that she
should die on the stage, in order to admit of her
speaking his lively epilogue :
" O poet, damned dull poet ! who could prove
So senseless, to make Nelly die for love ?
Nay, what's yet worse, to kill me in the prime
Of Easter-term, in tart and cheesecake-time ! "
The great poet had been partial to the beautiful
actress from the commencement of her career,
and is said to have composed this particular epi
logue — and, indeed, at other times, to have
selected her for particularly striking parts — in
order that she might attract the notice of Charles.
Pepys, although a married man, had no objection

100 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
to being admitted into the dressing-rooms of the
actresses, at the " King's House " in Drury Lane.
Here it was that he was first introduced to Nell
Gwynn behind the scenes, after she had been
acting Caslia, in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of
the " Humorous Lieutenant." Speaking of an
other actress of some celebrity, he says, " Knipp
took us all in, and introduced us to Nelly, a most
pretty woman, who acted the great part of Cselia
to-day, very fine, and did it very well. I kissed
her, and so did my wife, and a mighty pretty
soul she is." On a subsequent occasion Pepys
writes : " After dinner, with my wife, to the
king's house, to see the ' Maiden Queen,' a
new play of Dryden's, mightily commended for
the regularity of it, and the strain and wit, and
the truth ; for there is a comical part done by
Nell, which is Florimel, that I never can hope
ever to see the like done again by man or woman.
The king and Duke of York were at the play.
So great performance of a comical part was never,
I believe, in the world before as Nell do this, both
as a mad girl, then most and best of all when she
comes in like a young gallant ; and hath the
motions and carriage of a spark, the most that
ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I
confess, admire her."
The new theatre lasted but a short time, being
burnt to the ground, with fifty or sixty of the ad
joining houses, in the month of January, 1672. It

DRURY LANE. Id
was rebuilt after a plan by Sir Christopher Wren,
and reopened, with a prologue and epilogue by
Dryden, on the 26th of March, 1674. In 1741,
having fallen into a ruinous state, it was almost
entirely rebuilt, and again, in 1 794, every vestige
of Wren's building was rased to the ground, and a
theatre, somewhat larger than the present one,
was erected on its site. This building was entirely
destroyed by the fire which took place on the
24th of February, 1809. The present theatre
was commenced in 18 11, and, on the loth of
October, 1812, it was opened to the public, with
the well-known poetical address of Lord Byron.
From Drury Lane let us stroll into Long Acre,
certainly not the least interesting ground which
we have yet traversed. In the reign of Edward
the Sixth, this spot consisted of a large field,
styled indifferently the Seven Acres, or the Long
Acre, and was granted, together with Covent
Garden, to John, Earl of Bedford. It was some
times styled the Elms, from a row of trees which
grew upon it, and was first built upon in the reign
of Charles the First.
In a "cellar" in Long Acre, lived, at one
period, in a miserable state of destitution, one of
the sweetest of lyrical poets, the once gay and
gallant Richard Lovelace, the favourite of courts,
and the darling of the Muses and the ladies. " He
was accounted," says Anthony Wood, " the most
amiable and beautiful person that ever eye beheld ;

I02 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
a person also of minute modesty, virtue, and
courtly deportment, which made him, especially
when he retired to the great city, much admired
and adored by the female sex." Faithful to his
unfortunate sovereign, Charles the First, he was
committed to the Gatehouse by the House of
Commons, for his boldness in presenting a petition
from the county of Kent, in which they prayed the
House to settle the government, and restore the
king to his rights.
Anthony Wood tells us that it was during his
imprisonment in the Gatehouse that Lovelace
composed his beautiful verses, "To Althea from
Prison : " " Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage ;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free, —
Angels alone, that soar above.
Enjoy such liberty."
Lovelace spent his fortune in the royal cause,
and it was not till all further hope of assisting his
sovereign was at an end that he went over to the
Continent and raised a regiment for the French
king. He was wounded at Dunkirk, and it was
long believed in England that he had died of his
wounds. It was under this false impression that
Miss Lucy Sacheverel, a young and beautiful girl.

DRURY LANE. 103
the Lucasta of his poetry, gave her hand to
another. The poet some time afterward returned
to England, and was again imprisoned tUl the
death of Charles the First. When he obtained
his release, liberty could scarcely have been a
boon to him, for, according to Wood, he found
himself in the most miserable state of destitution.
He died in 1658, in "a very mean lodging," in
Gunpowder Alley, near Shoe Lane, Holborn.
" In yon dark alley, where the wintry day
Sheds through the dingy pane its sickliest ray ;
Where childhood's merry laughter never sounds.
But crime skulks forth, and penury abounds ;
There, racked with anguish on his tattered bed,
Young, gifted Lovelace drooped his dying head !
How changed from him, who poured in happier days
His courtly verse in fair Althea's praise ;
Or, doomed to share his captive monarch's fate,
Sang just as sweetly through his prison grate;
The courtier, soldier, poet; he who threw
O'er pleasure's flowery path a brighter hue ;
He who eclipsed the titled and the vain,
In royal Henrietta's laughing train ;
Whose graceful form, and whose enchanting song,
Woke the warm wish in that enamoured throng;
The world caressing, by the world carest,
The star of genius sparkling on his breast ;
First in the foray, lightest in the dance.
Lord of the song, of pleasure, and the lance ;
Now, with no friend to close his glazing eye.
But left in want and solitude to die ;
By strangers' hands his feverish wants supplied,
Each loved one absent, and each prayer denied.

104 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
And where is she who roused his early lay ?
The young, the gay, the lovely, — where are they?
Where are the laughing queen and courtly train,
Who hung enamoured on the poet's strain ?
Some share their murdered monarch's bloody tomb,
And some in want and exile mourn their doom ;
Nor deem what anguish marks the mournful end.
Of him they loved, the poet and the friend ! "
-/. H. J.
In Phoenix Alley, Long Acre, the celebrated
John Taylor, the "Water Poet," kept his public-
house during the days of the civU wars and the
Commonwealth. Adored by the poor, and by
those of his own station in life, he was not
unfrequently visited by persons of high rank, who
came to amuse themselves either with the oddities
of genius, or with his really instructive and enter
taining conversation. Though displayed in a dif
ferent manner, his veneration for the unfortunate
house of Stuart was not less deep than that of his
courtly contemporary, Richard Lovelace. After
the execution of Charles the First, he had courage
enough to change the sign of his house for that of
the "Mourning Crown," till the offence which it
gave to the ruling powers compelled him to re
move it. He then hung up his own picture, to
which he affixed the following lines :
" There's many a king's head hanged up for a sign.
And many a saint's head, too, — then why not mine ? "
Every one remembers the rebuke which Doctor
Johnson gave to Boswell, when, after the former

DRURY LANE. 105
had repeated to the company after dinner, in his
" forcible melodious manner," the concluding lines
of the " Dunciad," Boswell, perhaps somewhat flip
pantly, observed that the poem was far too fine
for such a subject, — ^ " a poem on what ? " " Why,
on dunces," said Johrison. " It was worth while
being a dunce then : ah, sir, hadst thou lived in
those days ! but it is not worth whUe being a
dunce now, when there are no wits." Among
those to whom it was "worth whUe" to live in
the days of Pope, and whom he has immortalised
in the " Dunciad," was Edward Ward, a volumi
nous but now forgotten poet, in Hudibrastic verse,
who, at one period of his life, like Taylor, the
Water Poet, kept a house of entertainment in
Long Acre. He is twice honoured by a mention
in the " Dunciad : "
" Not sail with Ward to ape-and-monkey climes.
Where vile Mundungus trucks for viler rhymes ! "
And again :
" As thick as bees o'er vernal blossoms fly,
As thick as eggs at Ward in pillory."
Ward is, perhaps, best known as the author of
the " London Spy." In the notes to the " Dunciad "
he is mentioned as the mere keeper of a " public-
house," but he is known to have been a man of
original humour ; his ale was famous, and his par
lour was especially frequented by persons of the

I06 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
high church party. He subsequently kept a public-
house in Moorfields.
We have already mentioned the names of three
poets as connected with Long Acre ; but we
must not forget that of Matthew Prior, whose
name is associated, though somewhat disreputably,
with this particular spot. To the world in general.
Prior is sufficiently familiar as the friend and cor
respondent of Pope, Swift, Bolingbroke, all the
wits and statesmen of the Augustah age of Eng
land ; as having written familiar verses on the
Duchess of Queensberry ; as being the author of
poems whose merit has continued to render them
popular even in our own times ; as the secret
negotiator of the famous Treaty of Utrecht, and
afterward as the accredited ambassador from the
court of England to that of Versailles. But when
we are admitted behind the scenes, when we search
into the secret history of the poet and politician,
it is not a little curious to find him hurrying from
the society of Pope, and Swift, and St. John, to
enjoy unrestrained freedom with a common soldier
and his wife, in Long Acre. " I have been as
sured," says the younger Richardson, "that hav
ing spent the evening with Oxford, Bolingbroke,
Pope, and Swift, Prior would go and smoke a pipe,
and drink a bottle of ale, with a common soldier
and his wife, in Long Acre, before he went to
bed." The wife of the soldier, here alluded to,
has been supposed to be the original of the Chloe

DRURY LANE. 107
of Prior's poetry ; at all events the latter was one
of the lowest caste of society. " His Chloe," says
Doctor Johnson, " was probably sometimes ideal,
but the woman with whom he cohabited was a
despicable drab of the lowest species. One of his
wenches, perhaps Chloe, whUe he was absent from
his house, stole his plate, and ran away ; as was
related by a woman who had been his servant."
"Prior," said Pope to Spence, " used to bury him
self for whole days and nights together with a
poor mean creature, and often drank hard. He
left most of his effects to the poor woman he kept
company with, his Chloe. Everybody knows what
a wretch she was. I think she had been a little
ale-house keeper's wife." Such is the connection
of Prior with Long Acre !
Long Acre and Drury Lane were the first
streets which were visited by the giant pestilence
which devastated London in 1665. According to
Defoe, in his "History of the Plague," the first
victim was a person who had been infected by a
parcel of sUks from Holland, which were opened
in the house in which he died. " At the latter
end of November, or the beginning of December,
1664," writes Defoe, " two men, said to be French
men, died of the plague in Long Acre, or rather
at the upper end of Drury Lane. The family they
were in endeavoured to conceal it as much as
possible ; but, as it had gotten some vent in the
discourse of the neighbourhood, the secretaries of

I08 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
State got knowledge of it. And concerning them
selves to inquire about it, in order to be certain
of the truth, two physicians and a surgeon were
ordered to go to the house and make inspection.
This they did ; and finding evident tokens of the
sickness upon both the bodies that were dead,
they gave their opinions publicly, that they died
of the plague. The people showed a great con
cern at this, and began to be alarmed all over the
town, and the more, because in the last week in
December, 1664, another man died in the same
house, and of the same distemper."
Long Acre leads us into Queen Street, which
was built in the reign of Charles the First, and
derives its name from his consort, Henrietta Maria.
Like Drury Lane, it was once one of the most
fashionable streets in London. In the reign of
Charles the First here stood Paulet House, the
residence of the Marquis of Winchester, and Con
way and Rivers House, the residences of the Earls
of Conway and Rivers. Here, too, stood the house,
in which he died in 1776, of the once celebrated
George Digby, Earl of Bristol, with whose incon
sistencies of character Walpole has amused him
self in his " Royal and Noble Authors." " His
life," says Walpole, "was one of contradiction.
He wrote against popery and embraced it ; he was
a zealous opposer of the court, and a sacrifice for
it ; was conscientiously converted in the midst of
his prosecution of Lord Strafford, and was most

DRURY LANE. 1 09
unconscientiously a prosecutor of Lord Clarendon.
With great parts, he always hurt himself and his
friends ; with romantic bravery, he was always an
unsuccessful commander. He spoke for the Test
Act, though a Roman Catholic, and addicted
himself to astrology, on the birthday of true
philosophy." But Lord Bristol is now, perhaps, principally re
membered from his connection with the " M^moires
du Comte de Grammont." It was in his house in
Queen Street, apparently, that he gave his luxu
rious parties to Charles the Second, and, with the
addition of the seductive charms of his two beauti
ful relations, the Misses Brook, one of them after
ward the celebrated Lady Denham, sought to wean
the merry monarch from the alluring influence of
Lady Castlemaine and the grave counsels of Lord
Clarendon. "The Earl of Bristol," says Count
Hamilton, " ever restless and ambitious, had put in
practice every art to possess himself of the king's
favour. He knew that love and pleasure had
entire possession of a master, whom he himself gov
erned in defiance of the chancellor ; thus he was
continually giving entertainments at his house, and
luxury and elegance seemed to rival each other in
those nocturnal feasts, which always led to other
enjoyments. The two Misses Brook, his relations,
were always of those parties ; they were both
formed by nature to excite love in others, as well
as to be susceptible of it themselves ; they were

no MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
just what the king wanted. The earl, from this
commencement, was beginning to entertain a good
opinion of his project ; but Lady Castlemaine, who
had recently gained entire possession of the king's
heart, was not in a humour, at that time, to share
it with another, as she did very indiscreetly after
ward with Miss Stewart. As soon, therefore, as
she received intimation of these secret practices,
under pretence of attending the king in his parties,
she entirely disconcerted them, so that the earl
was obliged to lay aside his projects, and Miss
Brook to discontinue her advances." From Eve
lyn we learn that Lord Bristol's house in Queen
Street consisted of seven rooms on a floor, with a
long gallery and gardens, and that it was furnished
with "rich hangings of the kings."
But a far more remarkable nobleman, whose
residence in Queen Street has thrown a deep
interest over the spot, was the chivalrous and
eccentric Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury.
It was in this house, probably, that "one fair day
in the summer, his casement being open toward
the south, the sun shining clear, and no wind
stirring," he took his famous philosophical work,
^^ De Veritate" in his hand, and, kneeling down,
prayed solemnly to the Supreme Being to grant
him some sign from heaven which was to justify
him either in the publication or suppression of the
work. Although his book was professedly written
against revealed religion, and the existence of

DRURY LANE. m
miracles, such is human vanity, that Lord Herbert
imagined that the divine will had been communi
cated in a miraculous manner to himself.
"He no sooner," he says, "had offered up his
prayer, than, 'in the serenest sky that ever he
saw,' a gentle noise came from the heavens, which
so comforted and cheered him that he regarded
it as the sign he had prayed for, and resolved to
print his work. And this, he adds, ' strange how
ever it may seem, I profess before the eternal
God is true.' "
Lord Herbert, though a disbeliever in Christian
ity, was at least a conscientious Deist. Aubrey
tells us that he had prayers twice a day in his
house, and that on Sundays his chaplain preached
a sermon. His house in Queen Street witnessed
the dying scene of the gallant courtier and un
believing phUosopher. In his last illness, when he
was aware that his end was fast approaching, he
expressed a wish that Archbishop Usher might
be sent for to attend him. When it was proposed
to him to receive the sacrament, he said, indiffer
ently, that if there was good in anything it was in
that, and at all events it could do him no harm.
Under these circumstances the primate refused to
administer it, for which he was afterward much
blamed. Lord Herbert died serenely. Shortly
before he breathed his last, he inquired the hour,
and on receiving a reply, " An hour hence,"
he said, " I shall depart." He then turned his

112 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
face to the opposite side, and shortly afterward
expired. There are some other remarkable names which
throw an interest over Queen Street. Here, at
one period, lived Sir Godfrey Kneller; here resided
John Hoole, the translator of Tasso ; and lastly,
at Coachmaker's Hall in this street met the Prot
estant Association, which led to the famous riots
fomented by Lord George Gordon in 1780.
On entering Lincoln's Inn Fields from Queen
Street, the corner house, built by the Marquis of
Powis in 1686, is interesting as having been the
residence of the well-known minister, the Duke of
Newcastle. Lincoln's Inn derives its name from
having been the site of the palace or Inne, as it
was styled in the olden time, of Henry de Lacy,
third and last Earl of Lincoln, the powerful and
accomplished soldier and statesman in the reign
of Edward the First. His house and gardens
stood on the site of the present law-buUdings, the
ground of which, recently deserted by the Domin
icans, or Black Friars, had been conferred on him
by his royal master. It was here that the great
earl breathed his last, in 1 3 1 2, " at his mansion-
house, called Lincoln's Inn, in the suburbs of
London, which he himself had erected in that
place, where the Blackfriars' habitation anciently
stood." His eloquent dying admonition to his
son-in-law, the Earl of Lancaster, whom he sum
moned to his bedside, is well known. " Seest

DRURY LANE. 113
thou," he said, " the Church of England, hereto
fore honourable and free, enslaved by Romish and
the king's unjust oppression ? Seest thou the
common people impoverished by tributes and
taxes, and from the condition of freemen reduced
to servitude .-' Seest thou the nobility, formerly
venerable through Christendom, vilified by aliens
in their own native country ? I therefore charge
thee, in the name of Christ, to stand up like a
man, for the honour of God, and his Church, and
the redemption of thy country, associating thyself
to that valiant, noble, and prudent person [Guy],
Earl of Warwick, who is so judicious in counsel
and mature in judgment. Fear not thy opposers,
who shall contest against thee in the truth ; and
if thou pursuest this my advice, thou shalt gain
eternal heaven."
After the death of the Earl of Lincoln, his
palace, together with some adjoining land which
had belonged to the Bishops of Chester, passed
into the hands of a society of lawyers, who, re
taining the name of Lincoln Inne, founded here
the present famous Inn of Court. The site of the
ancient palace of the Bishops of Chichester was,
within the last few years, pointed out by some
houses known as Chichester Rents. In point of
architecture, the present buildings possess but
little merit. The chapel, which was buUt by Inigo
Jones, is altogether unworthy of that great archi
tect, and shows how little capable he was of appre-

114 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
dating, or excelling in, the Gothic style. The
most interesting object is the fine old gateway
which faces Chancery Lane, which was built about
the year 15 17, almost entirely at the expense of
Sir Thomas Lovell, formerly a member of the
society of Lincoln's Inn, and afterward a Knight
of the Garter, and treasurer of the household to
Henry the Seventh. The arms of the De Lacys
and the Lovells still adorn the ancient gateway.
But if Lincoln's Inn is wanting in architectural
beauty, the spot is at least deeply interesting as
associated with the history of some of our greatest
statesmen and lawyers. As we stroll along, how
many illustrious persons occur to us, who have
crossed and recrossed its time-honoured courts, —
the witty, and ill-fated Sir Thomas More ; the
great Bacon, from whose title Verulam Buildings
derive their name ; Coke, Hale, and Thurlow ; the
courtly Mansfield, —
" Equal the injured to defend,
To charm the mistress or to fix the friend,
He with a hundred arts refined." — Pope.
And, lastly, Camden, Erskine, Canning, Reginald
Heber, and many other persons, whose names
have been rendered celebrated in our own time.
We would wUlingly give an account of the
famous masks, revels, and christenings, of which
Lincoln's Inn was constantly the scene from the
reign of Elizabeth to that of Charles the Second,

DRURY LANE. 115
— the days of the Yule wood, of boars' heads,
and barons of beef, when the Lord of Misrule
and the King of the Cockneys performed their
fantastic fooleries, and when, in the words of
Justice Shallow, —
" 'Twas merry in hall,
When beards wag all," etc.
Such descriptions, however, appertain rather to a
history of ancient manners and customs, than to
such a work as the present. As late as 1661, we
find King Charles the Second, accompanied by
the Duke of Ormond, Lord Clarendon, and other
celebrated men, attending the Christmas revels in
Lincoln's Inn.
One of the most interesting names connected
with the old court of law is that of Ben Jonson.
" His mother," says Aubrey, " after his father's
death, married a bricklayer, and 'tis generally said
that he wrought some time with his father-in-law,
and particularly on the garden wall of Lincoln's
Inn, next to Chancery Lane, and that a bencher
walking through, and hearing him repeat some
Greek verses out of Homer, discoursed with him,
and finding him to have a wit extraordinary, gave
him some exhibition to maintain him at Trinity
College, in Cambridge."
The learned and celebrated Puritan, William
Prynne, was a member of, and apparently a resi
dent in Lincoln's Inn at the time when he pub-

II 6 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
lished his well-known " Histrio-Mastix," which sent
him twice to the pillory, with the additional inflic
tion of losing an ear on each occasion. When he
was subsequently branded on each cheek with the
letters S. L. (seditious libeller), for his virulent
production, " News from Ipswich," he must, indeed,
have presented a very uncouth appearance. When
Charles the First was compelled to succumb to his
Parliament, Prynne was released from his imprison
ment in the island of Jersey, and was readmitted
a member of Lincoln's Inn, from which society he
had been expelled for writing the " Histrio-Mastix."
He died at his chambers here, on the 24th of
October, 1669, and lies buried in the chapel of the
society. In his chambers in Lincoln's Inn died a no less
remarkable man, John Thurloe, secretary to Oliver
Cromwell, secretary of state during the Protector
ate, and the trusted friend of the Protector. His
chambers were in the great court leading out of
Chancery Lane, formerly called the Gatehouse
Court, but now Old BuUdings. His rooms are
known to have been those numbered 24, in the
south angle of the court, and are the chambers on
the left hand, on the ground floor. These rooms
were the scene of a singular passage in the secret
history of Oliver Cromwell. One night the Pro
tector came privately to Thurloe's chambers, and
had proceeded to some lengths in disclosing an
affair of the utmost secrecy and importance, when.

DRURY LANE. I17
for the first time, he perceived a clerk asleep at
his desk. This person was Mr. Morland (after
ward Sir Samuel Morland), the famous mechanist,
not unknown as a statesman, and at whose house
in Lambeth Charles the Second passed the first
night of his restoration with Mrs. Palmer, after
ward the celebrated Duchess of Cleveland. Crom
well, apprehensive that his conversation had been
overheard, drew his dagger, and would have
despatched the slumberer on the spot, had not
Thurloe, with some difficulty, prevented him, as
suring him that his intended victim was unques
tionably asleep, since, to his own knowledge, he
had been sitting up two nights together. The
nature of the secret interview between Cromwell
and Thurloe subsequently transpired, and was no
less than a design to inveigle Charles the Second,
then an exile at Bruges, and his young brothers,
the Dukes of York and Gloucester, into the Pro
tector's power. It had been treacherously inti
mated to them, through the agency of Sir Richard
WUlis, that if, on a stated day, they would land on
the coast of Sussex, they would be received by a
body of five hundred men, which would be aug
mented the following morning by two thousand
horse. Had they fallen into the snare, it seems
that all three would have been shot immediately
on reaching the shore. Morland, however, had
not been asleep, as was supposed by Thurloe and
Cromwell, and through his means the king and

Il8 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
his brothers were made acquainted with the design
against their lives.'
Lincoln's Inn Fields were laid out in the early
part of the reign of Charles the First, by Inigo
Jones, and are said to cover nearly the same num
ber of square feet as the great pyramid of Egypt.
On the south side of the square, formerly called
Portugal Row, died, in 1666, Sir John Glynne, the
celebrated chief justice in the reign of Charles
the First. Here also stood Lindsey House, the
seat of the Earls of Lindsey, and afterward of
their descendants, the Dukes of Ancaster, built
after a design of the great architect ; and on this
side also were the residences of the celebrated
chancellor, Lord Erskine, and the still more cel
ebrated Lord Mansfield. Lastly, in 1670, Nell
Gwynn was residing in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and
here, on the 8th of May, she was delivered of her
eldest son, Charles Beauclerk, first Duke of St.
Albans. But unquestionably the most interesting event
connected with Lincoln's Inn is the death of the
high-minded Lord Russell, who was executed in
the centre of the square, on the rst of July, 1683.
We will reserve the particulars of his memorable
fate to our notices of the Tower of London. Here
also, under circumstances of peculiar cruelty, were
executed Chidiock Titchbourne and others of that
' This story is corroborated by an anecdote related by Thurloe
himself.

DRURY LANE. 1 19
devoted and romantic band of conspirators who
perished for their attachment to the cause of the
unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Roman
Catholic religion. The story of their melancholy
fate wUl also be found in our notices of the Tower.
Portugal Street, which runs parallel with the
south side of Lincoln's Inn Fields, derives its
name from the queen of Charles the Second, and
is the site of the theatre, styled the "Duke's
Theatre," in compliment to the Duke of York,
and also to distinguish it from the king's company,
whom we have mentioned as performing at the
Cockpit, or Phoenix, in Drury Lane. This thea
tre was buUt after a design by Sir Christopher
Wren, and was opened under a patent granted to
Sir William Davenant, with the play of the " Siege
of Rhodes," in the spring of 1662, Sir William
transferring his company here from the theatre in
Rutland Court, near the Charter House. On the
night of its opening it was honoured by the pres
ence of Charles the Second and his gay court,
being the first occasion on which the king had
visited a theatre since his restoration. The Duke's
Theatre is conspicuous as having been the first
playhouse where scenes were introduced and regu
larly used ; and, if I remember right, where women
first appeared on the boards, female characters,
previous to the Restoration, having been invaria
bly performed by youths in female attire. The
only exception appears to have been in the theat-

120 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
fical representations at court, in which we find-
Henrietta Maria, and other ladies of high rank,
performing in the exquisite masks of Ben Jon
son. It was, indeed, for his allusion, in the
" Histrio-Mastix," to the impropriety of the queen
exhibiting herself in theatrical representations that
Prynne was exposed on the pUlory, and lost his
ears. Charles the Second, who delighted in theatrical
exhibitions, was a constant visitor at the Duke's
Theatre, and when Davenant's play of " Love and
Honour " was first acted here, he presented Bet
terton with his splendid coronation suit, in which
the actor performed the character of Alonzo. The
Duke of York followed the king's example by
giving the suit which he had worn on the same
occasion to Haines, who acted the part of Prince
Prospero, whUe the Earl of Oxford gave his to
Joseph Price, who supported the character of
Lionel, son to the Duke of Parma.
Kynaston, who performed for some time at the
Duke's Theatre, was one of the handsomest men
of his day, and, before it was the custom to admit
the presence of women on the stage, was generally
selected, from the exceeding delicacy of his fea
tures, for the personification of female characters.
In connection with this circumstance, an amusing
anecdote is related. Charles the Second, happen
ing one evening to enter the theatre rather earlier
than usual, found the actors unprepared to com-

DRURY LANE. 12 1
mence the performances. A messenger was dfe-
patched to inquire the reason of the delay, on
which the manager presented himself before the
royal box. Believing, from his knowledge of the
king's character, that the best excuse would be
the true one, he plainly told his Majesty that the
queen (Kynaston) was not yet shaved. Charles,
with his usual good humour, was amused at the
excuse, which entertained him till the performances
commenced. Later in life we are surprised to
read of the "lion-like majesty" of Kynaston in
Don Sebastian, and of his representation of a
tyrant being " truly terrible."
Charles appears to have visited Killegrew's The
atre, in Drury Lane, quite as frequently as he
attended the performance at the Duke's Thea
tre. The principal performers at the former
were Mohun, Hart, Lacy, and Nell Gwynn. Of
Mohun and Hart he said, on seeing them act to
gether in the same part, that " Mohun (or Moon,
as it was pronounced) was like the sun, and Hart
like the moon." But Lacy was the especial fa
vourite of the merry monarch. So delighted was
he with his acting that he caused his picture to be
taken in three different characters, — Teague, in
"The Committee," Scruple, in "The Cheats," and
Galliard, in "The Variety."
Twelve years after the erection of the Duke's
Theatre, it being found inconveniently small, the
company removed to the well-known playhouse in

122 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Dorset Gardens. Though deserted for a time,
the theatre in Portugal Street was subsequently
more than once thrown open to the public with
considerable success. The celebrated Betterton
formed a company here from 1695 to 1704, when
he transferred his patent to Sir John Vanbrugh,
who, a few years afterward, removed to a more
spacious theatre which he erected in the Hay
market. In 1 7 14 it was again opened by Rich, —
a name famUiar to those who delight in the annals
of the stage, — who continued here tUl 1733, when
he removed his company to the theatre which he
founded in Covent Garden under the patent which
had been granted by Charles the Second to Sir
William Davenant. Thus was this little playhouse
the parent tree of the celebrated theatres which
branched off and took root in Covent Garden and
the Haymarket. In 1735 it was for the last time
opened by Gifford, the proprietor of the theatre in
Goodman's Fields, who acted here with indifferent
success till 1737, when the house was for ever
closed as a theatre. After a dreadful fire which
took place on the 17th of September, 1809, in
Bear Yard, or, as it was formerly styled. Little
Lincoln's Inn Fields, some interesting remains of
the old theatre were discovered. The front ap
pears to have faced Clare Market. The site is
now occupied by a pottery and china warehouse.
We must not forget to mention that the cele
brated Sir WUliam Davenant had apartments in

DRURY LANE. 123
the theatre in Portugal Street, in which he breathed
his last on the 17th of AprU, 1668. It was in
this street, also, that Macklin, the actor, killed a
brother performer, Hallam, in May, 1735, an event
which he survived sixty-two years. The dispute
arose on the subject of a wig, which Hallam had
worn in Fabian's play of "Trick for Trick," and
which Macklin claimed as his property. High
words arose between them, and, in a moment of
passion, the latter struck his brother actor a blow
in the eye, the effects of which sent him to his
grave. Macklin was brought to trial for the offence,
but there being no evidence that the injury was
premeditated, he was acquitted.
Close to Portugal Street is Clare Market, which
takes its name from having been in the immediate
neighbourhood of the residence of John, Earl of
Clare, whom we find residing here "in the most
princely manner" in 1657. The site was origi
nally called Clement's Inn Fields, and was first
buUt upon in 1640 by one Thomas York, who
obtained a license for the purpose from Charles
the First. Clare Market, obscure and filthy as the
locality now is, was in former days a fashionable
locality. The Bull Head Tavern we find especially
mentioned as an aristocratic house of entertain
ment. When the failure of a speculation in which
he had embarked involved the eccentric physician.
Doctor Radcliffe, in a heavy pecuniary loss, it was
while " drinking " at the Bull Head Tavern " with

124 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
several persons of the first rank " that he received
the disagreeable tidings. It was in Clare Market
that Orator Henley, whose buffooneries we have
already referred to, was at one period in the habit
of delivering his lectures.
The last street which we shall mention in con
nection with Lincoln's Inn is Duke Street, which
derives its name, apparently, from James, Duke
of York. To those who take an interest in the
infirmities and calamities of genius this spot wUl
always be remarkable as having witnessed the
dying scene of the friendless and Ul-fated dra
matic poet, Nathaniel Lee. Oldys tells us, in his
MS. notes to Langbaine : " Lee was returning one
night from the Bear and Harrow in Butcher Row
(near Temple Bar), through Clare Market to his
lodgings in Duke Street, overladen with wine,
when he fell down on the ground, as some say ;
according to others, on a bulk, and was killed or
stifled in the snow." He died young, about the
year 1691 or 1692.
Opposite to the Roman Catholic chapel, which
narrowly escaped the fury of the mob during the
Protestant riots of 1780, were the lodgings, in
early life, of the celebrated Benjamin Franklin.
The great philosopher and statesman worked close
by, as a journeyman printer, in Great Wyld Street.
He himself tells us : "I worked at first as a press
man, conceiving that I had need of bodily exer
cise, to which I had been accustomed in America,

DRURY LANE. 125
where the printers work alternately as compositors
and at the press. I drank nothing but water ; the
other workmen, to the number of fifty, were great
drinkers of beer. I carried, occasionally, a large
form of letters in each hand up and down stairs,
whUe the rest employed both hands to carry one.
They were surprised to see by this, and many
other examples, that the ' American aquatic,' as
they used to call me, was stronger than those that
drank porter. The beer-boy had sufficient employ
ment during the day in serving that house alone.
My example," adds this great man, " prevaUed with
several of them to renounce their abominable
practice of bread and cheese with beer, and they
procured, like me, from a neighbouring house, a
good basin of warm gruel, in which was a small
slice of butter, with toasted bread and nutmeg.
This was a much better bi^eakfast, which did not
cost more than a pint of beer, namely, three half
pence, and at the same time preserved the head
clearer. Those who continued to gorge themselves
with beer often lost their credit with the publican
from neglecting to pay their score."
In 1766, when the great philosopher again
visited London to plead the cause of his country
men at the bar of the House of Commons, he
paid a visit to the printing establishment in Great
Wyld Street, in which, forty years before, he had
laboured as a humble journeyman. Walking up
to the press which had been his accustomed sta-

126 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
tion, he entered familiarly into conversation with
two workmen who were employed at it, and, send
ing for some liquor to regale them with, related
to them the particulars of his early career. The
press, some years since, was purchased by Messrs.
Cox, the printers, and sent by some Americans
across the Atlantic, to be preserved in Franklin's
native city, as a relic of the Ulustrious phUosopher.
From Lincoln's Inn, a short walk leads us
to the populous district of St. GUes, once the
retired village of St. GUes's-in-the-Fields. The
ground on which the church now stands was
formerly the site of a hospital for lepers, founded,
about the year in 7, by MatUda, wife of Henry
the First. To this hospital a small chapel was
attached, which was resorted to by the inhabitants
of the scattered cottages in the neighbourhood.
It was in front of this hospital that the unfor
tunate and high-minded martyr. Sir John Old
castle, Lord Cobham, was so cruelly put to death,
in the reign of Henry the Fifth, for professing
the tenets of Wyckliffe. Having been suspended
from a gibbet, by a chain fastened around his body,
a fire was lighted beneath him, and he was slowly
burnt to death.
It is necessary to observe that, at this period,
the spot we have mentioned was the common
place of execution. About the year 141 3, it being
thought expedient to remove the gallows from so
crowded a district as Smithfield, they were re-

DRURY LANE. 127
erected at the north end of the garden wall of
St. GUes, near the junction of High Street and
Crown Street. This was certainly a place for
executing criminals as late as the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, when Ballard, Babington, and some
others of the gallant youths who conspired to
place Mary, Queen of Scots, on the throne, and
to restore the Roman Catholic religion, suffered
death at this spot. When the gallows were after
ward moved farther to the westward, it became
a melancholy custom for malefactors, on their way
to execution, to be allowed to stop a few minutes
opposite St. Giles's Church, when a large goblet
of ale — the famous St. GUes's Bowl — was of
fered to them as the last refreshment they were
to receive in this life. The gallows at Tyburn,
it is almost needless to remark, stood nearly at
the end of Park Lane, which appears to have
been used as a place of execution as early as the
middle of the twelfth century. When we read,
however, of a criminal being executed at Tyburn,
we are not as a matter of course to presume that
it was at this particular spot. The gallows were
unquestionably shifted at different periods to dif
ferent places, and the name of Tyburn appears
to have been given for the time being to each
distinct spot.
The present St. GUes's Church was rebuilt by
Flitcroft in 1735, and does great credit to the
taste of that architect. The exterior, which is of

128 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Portland stone, is plain and striking ; the steeple
is peculiarly light and graceful ; and the interior is
a happy combination of elegance and simplicity.
The great fault of the artist is in the small size
of the doors, which gives a certain poverty of
appearance to the rest of the building.
But the principal interest which attaches to St.
Giles's Church is the number of celebrated per
sons whose remains are interred here. In the
churchyard, near the south side of the church, —
as Anthony Wood informs us in his "Athenae
Oxonienses," — rests the honoured dust of George
Chapman, the poet, the friend and companion
of Shakespeare, Spenser, Daniel, and Marlowe,
but principally remembered by his translation of
Homer, which is stUl read and appreciated, not
withstanding the more modern versions of Pope
and Cowper. He lived to the advanced age of
seventy-seven, and, according to Wood, was a per
son of reverend aspect, religious and temperate.
He was the intimate and beloved friend of the
great architect, Inigo Jones, who erected a monu
ment over his grave.
Chapman died in the neighbourhood of St.
GUes's Church, as did also the celebrated dra
matic poet, James Shirley. The end of the latter
was a painful one. He had previously resided in
Fleet Street, when the great fire of 1666 burnt
his house to the ground, and compelled him to
seek refuge in some lodgings in St. Giles's-in-the-

DRURY LANE. 129
Fields. Deeply affected, either by the loss of his
property, or by the sublime and terrible sight
which he had just witnessed, he survived his
change of residence scarcely twenty-four hours.
Overcome by the same melancholy events, and
by the loss of a beloved husband, his wife ex
pired the same day, and both were buried in the
same grave in St. Giles's churchyard.
It is remarkable how many of the devoted ad
herents of the unfortunate house of Stuart rest
in the church or churchyard of St. GUes. Shir
ley himself, in the civU wars, had followed his
patron, the Duke of Newcastle, to the field ; but,
on the decline of the royal cause, had returned to
London, where, in order to obtain a livelihood, he
set up a school in Whitefriars. Here, too, sleeps
another author, the celebrated controversialist. Sir
Roger L' Estrange, who defended the cause of
Charles the First, with equal zeal, both with his
sword and his pen. In the middle pillar, on the
north side of the church, may be seen the follow
ing brief inscription :
" Sir Roger L'Estrange, Knt.
Born 17th of December, 1616,
Dyed nth of December, 1704,
Anno JEtatis suae, 87."
Alluding to his well-known faUings, the queen
of WUliam the Third is said to have composed the
following anagram, if so it may be called, on his
name.

I30 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Roger L'Estrange,
Lying Strange Roger.
In the church of St. GUes lies the body of the
gallant Philip Stanhope, first Earl of Chesterfield,
who took up arms for Charles the First, and
suffered imprisonment for his loyalty. His monu
ment in the old church, we are told, was orna
mented by "enrichments of seraphims, coronets,
cartouches, etc." In the old church was also a
monument to another gallant cavalier who lies
buried here, on which was the following inscrip
tion : " This monument was erected. Anno 1 670,
in memory of the Honourable John, Lord Bel
lasyse, Baron Worlaby, second son of Thomas,
Lord Viscount Fauconberg ; who, for his loyalty,
prudence, and courage, was promoted to several
commands of great trust by their Majesties, King
Charles the First and Second, viz.. Having raised
six regiments of horse and foot in the late civil
wars, he commanded a tertia in his Majesty's
armies at the battles of Edgehill, Newbury, and
Naseby, and the sieges of Reading and Bristol.
Afterward being made Governor of York, and
commander-in-chief of all his Majesty's forces in
Yorkshire, he fought the battle of Selby with
the Lord Fairfax, and being Governor of Newark,
valiantly defended that garrison against the Eng
lish and Scotch armies, till his Majesty came in
person to the Scotch quarters, and commanded
the surrender of it ; at which time he also had

DRURY LANE. 1 31
the honour of being general of the king's horse-
guards." The inscription then proceeds to in
scribe the names of his three wives and their
respective progeny, in whose history the reader
perhaps would take but little interest. One of
the benefactors to the poor of the parish, as ap
peared by an inscription on a marble tablet in
the old church, was the Honourable Robert Ber
tie, — son of Robert Bertie, Earl of Lindsey,
Lord High Chamberlain and Lord High Admiral
of England, — who was appointed general of
the king's forces at the breaking out of the
civil war, and who fell at the battle of Edgehill in
1642. But we have not yet concluded our notices of
the loyalists whose remains rest in St. GUes's
Church, or in its precincts. In the churchyard,
near the southeast corner of the church, may be
seen an interesting monument to the trusty and
noble-minded Richard Pendrell, who was so in
strumental in effecting the escape of Charles the
Second after the battle of Worcester. Richard
was the woodman of Hobbal Grange, near Bos-
cobel, whose "noggon coarse shirt," and green
suit and leathern doublet, Charles put on at White
Ladies for the purpose of effecting his romantic
escape ; who, when Lord Wilmot cropped the
king's hair with a common knife, refused to burn
it, and kept it as a memorial of his sovereign ; who
conducted Charles on his stealthy and dangerous

132 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
expedition by night from White Ladies to Madely ;
and who subsequently, with his noble-minded
brothers, led the king in safety to Lord Wilmot '
at Moseley. Richard Pendrell was not forgotten
at the Restoration. A pension was settled on
him, as well as on his brothers, and it is remark
able that, though more than one of their descend
ants are residing as subjects under the republican
government of America, they stUl continue to
enjoy the advantages of their ancestral loyalty.
Richard Pendrell — "trusty Dick," as he was
styled — died on the Sth of February, 167 1, and
was buried, as we have already mentioned, in St.
GUes's churchyard. The inscription on his tomb
is as follows : " Here lyeth Richard Pendrell, pre
server and conductor of his Sacred Majesty King
Charles the Second of Great Britain, after his
escape from Worcester Fight, in the year 165 1,
who died February 8, 1671.
" Here, passenger, here's shrouded in his hearse,
Unparalleled Pendrell through the universe.
Like when the eastern star from heaven gave light,
To three tost kings ; so he in such dark night
To Britain's monarch, tossed by adverse war,
On earth appeared a second eastern star.
A pole astern in her rebellious main,
A pilot to her royal sovereign.
Now to triumph in Heaven's eternal sphere,
He's hence advanced for his just steerage here ;
Whilst Albion's chronicles, with matchless fame,
Embalm the story of great Pendrell's name."

DRURY LANE. 133
The present monument to the memory of Richard
Pendrell, in St. Giles's churchyard, is said to
have been erected at the expense of Charles the
Second, and George the Second has had the credit
of having restored it. The latter fact, however,
from the absence of all romance in his character,
and that indifference to all matters of taste and
feeling which has, generally speaking, been the
characteristic of his famUy, may be perhaps doubted.
The author was assured, on a recent visit to the
spot, that the descendants of the Pendrells stUl
continue to select St. Giles's churchyard for their
burial-place. Among other devoted adherents of the house of
Stuart, I was not a little surprised and pleased to
find that the staunch loyalist, Mrs. Cotton, the
mistress of Boscobel (Domina de Boscobel, as she
is styled in the inscription on her tomb), was
buried in St. Giles's Church. As the inscription
is interesting we will give it at length : " Huic juxta
dormit prcenobilis Heroina Fr. Cotton, Vid., Dom
ina de Boscobel (loco ob Regem. conservatum. cele-
bri), serenissimce Regina d privatioribus cubiculis
Foemina, vitce innocentia, morum suavitate, pietate
in Deum, charitate in proximum plani admirabilis.
Animam placide efflavit die sept. Novemb. Anno
Dom., 16'/'/, .^tat. suce, 6j." Presuming d priva
tioribus cubiculis fcemina to mean a lady of the
privy chamber, the following is a translation of
the inscription : " Near to this spot sleeps the

134 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
right noble lady of honour, Frances Cotton, widow.
Lady of Boscobel (a place celebrated on account
of the king having been preserved there), a lady of
the privy chamber to the most serene queen,
eminent for the innocency of her life, the sweet
ness of her manners, and her piety toward God.
She calmly breathed forth her soul on the 7th of
November, 1677, at the age of 63."
In St. GUes's Church lies buried the ill-fated
Charles Radcliffe, by legitimate descent Earl of
Derwentwater, who was executed in 1746 for his
share in the rebellions of 1715 and 1745. Here,
too, previous to their removal to the burial-place
of his ancestors at DUstone, in Northumberland,
rested the remains of his elder brother, the young
Earl of Derwentwater, who was beheaded for his
loyalty to the Stuarts, in 17 16. From this church
his body was carried by stealth to DUstone, where
it was interred in the chapel by the side of his
father. According to Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd,
"a little porch before the farmhouse of White-
smocks is pointed out as the exact spot where
the earl's remains rested, avoiding Durham."
Every one remembers the beautiful lines in the
plaintive Jacobite lament, " Derwentwater's Good
Night : " " Albeit that here in London town
It is my fate to die,
O, carry me to Northumberland,
In my father's grave to lie !

DRURY LANE. 1 35
There chaunt my solemn requiem
In Hexham's holy towers ;
And let six maids of fair Tynedale
Scatter my grave with flowers."
The grave levels all distinctions and all ranks,
and together mingle in many memorable instances
the dust of the royalist and the republican, of
the just and the unjust, of the oppressor and the
oppressed. Widely differing in character and prin
ciples from the royalists, whose names we have
recorded, was the witty and celebrated poet and
incorruptible patriot, Andrew Marvell, who lies
buried in the church of St. GUes. It was to the
credit of Charles the Second that, notwithstanding
Marvell, in his seat in Parliament, had invariably
and virulently opposed the measures of the court,
and had personally attacked the vices of the king
in his satires, Charles had generosity enough to
forgive his enemy, and was alike able to appreciate
his genius and delight in his society. How much
one would like to know the site of the house in
the Strand — and perhaps the house itself may
still exist — in which Marvell spent his last days
in penury and privation, at a time when the slight
est departure from his political principles would
have crowned him with the wealth which he
wanted, and the honours which he despised ! It
was at the very time when his poverty compelled
him to borrow a sovereign from a friend, in order
to purchase the necessaries of life, that the poet

136 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
one day went forth from his wretched lodging in
the Strand to the splendid palace at Whitehall,
for the purpose of passing the evening with the
merry monarch and his gay courtiers. Of the
events and conversation of the evening we have
no record. The next day, however, while the poet
was busily employed at his studies, the door of
his apartment, " up two pair of stairs," suddenly
opened, and the lord treasurer. Lord Danby, made
his appearance. Marvell was much surprised at
the unexpected visit, and expressed his opinion
that the lord treasurer must have mistaken his
way. "No," said the other, "not now that I have
found Mr. Marvell." He then endeavoured, by
offering him a lucrative place under the govern
ment, and by every argument and persuasion, to
entice the patriot over to the court ; but Marvell,
proud in his poverty and integrity, turned a deaf
ear to his solicitations. "My lord," he said, "I
cannot in honour accept your offer ; if I did I must
either be ungrateful to the king by subsequently
voting against him, or else false to my country in
succumbing to the measures of the court. The
sole favour which I have to ask of his Majesty is,
that he will believe me as dutiful a subject as any
which he has, and that I am acting far more advan
tageously for his true interests by rejecting his
offers than I should do by accepting them." Find
ing him inflexible. Lord Danby delicately alluded
to his necessities, and pressed him to receive a

DRURY LANE. 137
thousand pounds as a free gift from his sovereign
and as a personal compliment to his talents. This
was under the rule of the Stuarts, when our mon
archs were in the habit of appreciating and associ
ating with genius. James the First had patronised
every man of learning ; Charles the First was the
friend of all the poets ; and Charles the Second,
among many other acts of generosity which proved
his appreciation of genius, is known to have pre
sented Dryden with a sum of money, and to have
sent Wycherley five hundred pounds to enable
him to recover his health in the south of France.
There seems, therefore, the less reason to account
for Marvell rejecting the flattering gift of his sov
ereign. He was firm, however, against this addi
tional temptation ; and yet it was immediately after
Lord Danby had left him that, we are told, he sent
to a friend to borrow a guinea. He died on the
1 6th of August, 1678, and ten years after his
death the town of Kingston-upon-Hull, which
he had so long and faithfully represented in Par
liament, collected a sum of money to erect a
monument over his grave in the church of St.
Giles's-in-the-Fields. The same prejudice which
induced Spratt, Dean of Westminster (a church
man whose fortune had been made by being
admitted to the profligate parties of Charles the
Second), to deny Milton a burial-place in West
minster Abbey, and which, in our own time, influ
enced another Dean of Westminster to reject

138 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Thorwaldsen's fine monumental effigy of Lord
Byron, also induced the Rector of St. GUes's of
his day to exclude both monument and inscription
to the incorruptible and pure-minded Andrew
Marvell !
The most conspicuous monument in St. GUes's
Church is a recumbent figure of Lady Frances
Kniveton, daughter of Alice, Duchess of Dudley,
and granddaughter of the celebrated favourite of
Queen Ehzabeth, Robert, Earl of Leicester. The
story of her descent is a remarkable one. After
the tragical death of his beautiful wife. Amy Rob-
sart, Leicester married Douglas, daughter of WUl
iam, Lord Howard, of Effingham, and widow of
John, Lord Sheffield, whose life he is also said
to have attempted by poison. Fearing that this
second marriage might prejudice him in the eyes
of his royal mistress. Queen Elizabeth, he affected
to deny the legitimacy of his second marriage,
and in his will styles his only offspring, his " base
son." This son, the celebrated Sir Robert Dudley,
became the husband of Alice Leigh, daughter of
Sir Thomas Leigh, Bart., afterward Duchess of
Dudley. His reputation has not yet faded. Emi
nent from his martial achievements and his discov
eries in the West Indies, — distinguished by his
lofty stature and graceful person, the most adroit
horseman and the most successful in the tilt-
yard, — he united with these accomplishments

DRURY LANE. 1 39
the highest reputation as a navigator, an architect,
a physician, a mathematician, and a chemist.' Dis
gusted with his own country, from the repeated
faUures which had attended his attempts to estab
lish his legitimacy, he repaired to the court of the
Emperor Ferdinand the Second, whither the fame
of his accomplishments had preceded him, and by
that sovereign was elevated to the rank of duke,
on which he assumed his famUy title of Duke
of Northumberland. " But it was the house of
Medici," says Horace Walpole, "those patrons of
learning and talent, who fostered this enterprising
spirit, and who were amply rewarded for their
munificence by his projecting the free port of
Leghorn." Like his father, the splendid favourite. Sir
Robert appears to have entertained some strange
notions respecting the marriage state, and, on his
departure to join the court of the emperor, he
repudiated his legitimate wife, Alice Leigh, and
took with him, as the companion of his adventures.
Miss Southwell, daughter of Sir Robert Southwell,
of Wood Rising in the county of Norfolk, by whom
he had several children. To this lady, previous
to his departure, he gave his hand at the altar.

' The accomplishment which, in the eyes of modem sports
men, will render the name of Sir Robert Dudley principally
deserving of being recorded, is the fact, as old Anthony Wood
informs us, that " he was the first of all that taught a dog to sit
in order to catch partridges."

140 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
affirming that, by the canon law, his marriage with
Alice Leigh was Ulegal, inasmuch as she had ad
mitted him to her favours in the lifetime of his
first wife. Miss Cavendish, daughter of the cele
brated navigator, Thomas Cavendish.
Whatever truth there may be in the stigma cast
on the character of Alice Leigh in her unmarried
days, — and it does not detract from the interest
with which we regard her monument, — it is certain
that Charles the First fully admitted the claims of
her husband to be considered the legitimate son
of the celebrated favourite, and also the legality
of her own marriage, by creating her Duchess of
Dudley. To this dignity she was advanced, by
letters patent, on the 23d of May, 1644, ^nd doubt
less the title of Northumberland would have been
substituted, but for the offence which it might
have given to one of the most zealous and power
ful supporters of the unfortunate king, Algernon
Percy, the tenth earl who had succeeded to that
ancient title. Frail as she may possibly have been
in early youth, the Duchess of Dudley was after
ward distinguished for her virtues and munificent
charities. She died on the 2 2d of January, 1670,
at the age of ninety, and was buried at Stoneleigh,
in Warwickshire, where a monument was erected
to her memory. Her London residence was in the
immediate neighbourhood of St. GUes's Church.
One of the most remarkable persons whose
remains lie in St. Giles's Church is Lord Her-

DRURY LANE. 141
bert of Cherbury, but there is no memorial of his
resting-place, neither can I find that a monument
was ever erected to his memory. He was buried
in the chancel of the church on the 5 th of August,
1648. Lastly, in this interesting church lies buried
the great sculptor, John Flaxman, whose remains
were carried to the grave on the 15th of December,
1826, attended by the president and council of the
Royal Academy. Allan Cunningham relates an
interesting circumstance connected with the death
of this celebrated artist. "The winter," he says,
"had set in, and, as he was never a very early
mover, a stranger found him rising one morning,
when he called about nine o'clock. ' Sir,' said
the visitant, presenting a book as he spoke, 'this
work was sent to me by the author, an Italian
artist, to present to you, and at the same time to
apologise for its extraordinary dedication. In truth,
sir, it was so generally believed throughout Italy
that you were dead, that my friend determined to
show the world how much he esteemed your genius,
and having this book ready for publication, he has
inscribed it " Al Ombra di Flaxman." No sooner
was the book published than the story of your
death was contradicted, and the author, affected
by his mistake, which, nevertheless, he rejoices at,
begs you will receive his work and his apology.'
Flaxman smUed, and accepted the volume with
unaffected modesty, and mentioned the circum
stance as curious to his own family, and some of

142 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
his friends." This circumstance took place on the
2d of December, when the great artist was appar
ently in excellent health and spirits. The next
day he was suddenly taken ill with a cold, and,
five days after the visit of the stranger, he was no
more. His epitaph tells us that, "his mortal life
having been a constant preparation for a blessed
immortality, his angelic spirit returned to the
Divine Giver on the 7th of December, 1826, in
the seventy-second year of his age."

CHAPTER IV.
CHARING CROSS AND WHITEHALL.
Statue of Charles the First — Execution of General Harrison
and Hugh Peters — Anecdotes of Lord Rochester and
Richard Savage — Old Royal Mews — Cockspur and War
wick Streets — Scotland Yard — Attempt to Assassinate
Lord Herbert — Sir John Denham — Wallingford House —
Dukes of Buckingham — Admiralty.
At Charing Cross, observed Doctor Johnson,
flows the full tide of human existence. At this
distance of time, the imagination does not easily
reconcile itself to contemplate the period, when
the site of the present populous and animated spot
was occupied by a shady and retired grove, in the
midst of which stood a hermitage and a fair chapel
dedicated to St. Catherine. And yet, in 1261, we
find William de Radnor, Bishop of Llandaff, re
questing permission of his sovereign, Henry the
Third, to take up his abode in the cloister of his
hermitage at Charing during his occasional visits
to London. Whether, at this period, the ground
on which Charing Cross now stands belonged to
the king, or to the See of Llandaff, there is some
doubt. 143

144 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Here, as late as the days of Charles the First,
stood one of those beautiful architectural memo
rials raised by Edward the First, in 1296, to the
memory of his beloved consort, Eleanor of Castile.
This one and the others were buUt after designs
by Cavalini, and were erected, as is well known, on
each spot where her remains rested in their pas
sage from Horneby, in Lincolnshire, where she
died, to their last home in Westminster Abbey.
Anciently the small vUlage of Charing stood in
the open country between the cities of London
and Westminster, and it has been conjectured,
with much ingenuity, that it derived its name
from the cross dedicated to la chhre reine. Un
fortunately, however, we find from the petition of
William de Radnor, as above quoted, that the
name of Charing existed thirty-five years before
the death of the devoted princess to whose mem
ory the cross was erected. During the civil
troubles in the reign of Charles the First, this
interesting memorial of a past age was unfor
tunately regarded by the fanatics as a relic of
popish superstition, and in a moment of religious
frenzy was rased to the ground by an Uliterate
rabble. Nearly on the site where the cross anciently
stood is the equestrian statue of King Charles the
First, which was cast in 1633, by Le Soeur, for
the Earl of Arundel. A curious anecdote is related
connected with this beautiful work of art. Previ-

w.-^t. .>••-. -iri., ';'^'-i
|.^^' "^

CHARING CROSS. 145
OUS to the period fixed upon for its erection, it
was seized by the Parliament, who ordered it to
be sold and broken into pieces. According to M.
d'Archenoltz, it was purchased by one John River,
a brazier, who carefully concealed the statue in
hopes of better times, and who subsequently real
ised a considerable sum of money by selling a
variety of small household articles in bronze, which
he professed to have manufactured out of the
mutilated man and horse. By the royalists they
are said to have been eagerly bought out of affec
tion to their martyred sovereign, and by the rebels
as a memorial of their triumph. After the Resto
ration, River is said to have exhumed the statue,
and to have returned it uninjured to the govern
ment ; and, in 1678, it was erected at Charing
Cross, on its present pedestal, the work of Grinling
Gibbons. It appears by the parish books that,
during the interregnum, the statue was preserved
in the vaults of St. Paul's Church, Covent Garden.
Charing Cross is replete with historical and lit
erary associations. It was here that the fight took
place, in the days of Queen Mary, between Sir
Thomas Wyatt and the Earl of Pembroke, — a
conflict on which the Marquis of Northampton,
Sir Nicholas Penn, and other courtiers, are de
scribed as quietly gazing from the leads of St.
James's Palace ; while so loud were the screams
of women and children that they were heard at
the top of the White Tower, and "the great

146 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
shot was well discerned there out of St. James's
Fields." It was in " Hartshorn Lane, near Charing
Cross," situated on the south side of the Strand,
to the east of Northumberland House, that the
father and mother of Ben Jonson lived, when, as
we have already mentioned, the future dramatist
was sent to take his daUy lessons in St. Martin's
Church ; and it was at Charing Cross that a stUl
greater man than Ben Jonson once resided, — the
immortal John Milton. He lived, we are told, for
some weeks, in some lodgings "at one Thomson's,
next door to the Bull Head Tavern, Charing Cross,
opening into Spring Gardens." '
MUton had ceased to live in this neighbourhood,
and had himself become blind and a fugitive, when
those turbulent men with whom he had been asso
ciated in the days of their prosperity — the sur
viving regicides who had brought Charles the
First to the block — were dragged on hurdles
to expiate their daring crime at Charing Cross.
The scene of their execution appears to have been
nearly on the spot where the statue of their mur
dered sovereign now stands, and consequently in
sight of the Banqueting-house at Whitehall, from
the windows of which Charles had walked forth
' It was during his residence at Charing Cross that Milton
wrote his "Johannis Philippi Angli Responsio ad Apologiam
anonymi cujusdam Tenebrionis pro Rege et Populo Anglicano
infantissimam."

CHARING CROSS. 147
to the scaffold. Of those who suffered on this
occasion, the two principal malefactors were the
celebrated General Harrison and the fanatic
preacher, Hugh Peters, who met their fate, at
tended by all those frightful circumstances of
terror and barbarity, which the law anciently
denounced on those who were condemned for
the crime of high treason.
Actuated by a sincere, though blind and intoler
ant bigotry, they died true to the principles which
they had so daringly advocated. Harrison met his
fate with the confidence of a Christian, and with
the stoicism of an ancient Roman. As he was
passing on his sledge to the scene of execution he
appeared extremely cheerful, and called out several
times on the way, " I go to suffer for the most
glorious cause that ever was in the world." Some
one in the crowd asking him, in derision, " Where
is your good old cause now ? " he smiled, and,
placing his hand upon his heart, observed, " Here
it is, and I am going to seal it with my blood."
When he came in sight of the gallows, he is de
scribed as transported with joy, and when his ser
vant asked him how he felt, "Never," he said,
"better in my life." When he was taken off the
sledge, the hangman asked him to forgive him.
" I do forgive thee," he said, " with all my heart.
Alas ! poor man, thou dost it ignorantly ; the
Lord grant that this sin may not be laid to thy
charge." He then gave the executioner what

148 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
money he had, and, having affectionately em
braced his faithful servant, mounted the ladder
with a serene countenance. During a speech
which he addressed to the assembled multitude,
he happened to overhear some remarks made by
the crowd that his hands and legs trembled.
" Gentlemen," he said, " by reason of some scoff
ing that I do hear, I judge that some do think I
am afraid to die, by the shaking I have in my
hands and knees : I tell you, no ; but it is by
reason of much blood I have lost in the wars, and
many wounds I have received in my body, which
causes this shaking and weakness in my nerves ; I
have had it these twelve years ; I speak this to
the praise and glory of God ; he hath carried me
above the fear of death ; and I value not my life,
because I go to my Father, and am sure I shall
take it up again." He was then hanged ; and,
being cut down from the gallows while yet alive,
his bowels were torn out and thrown into the fire,
and his body quartered.
Pepys was present at the execution. In his
diary of the 13th of October, 1660, he observes :
"I went out to Charing Cross to see Major-Gen-
eral Harrison hanged, drawn, and quartered, which
was done there ; he looked as cheerful as any man
could be in that condition. He was presently cut
down, and his head and heart shown to the people,
at which there were great shouts of joy. It is said,
that he said he was sure to come shortly, at the

CHARING CROSS. 149
right hand of Christ, to judge them that now
judged him, and that his wife do expect his coming
again. Thus it was my chance to see the king
beheaded at Whitehall, and to see the first blood
shed in revenge for the king at Charing Cross."
Three days after the execution of the mUitary
enthusiast, Harrison, Hugh Peters followed him
to the scaffold at Charing Cross, and met his
death, accompanied by the same terrible parapher
nalia. According to Bishop Burnet, he had been
"a very vicious man," and a sermon which he
preached in Newgate, the day after his trial,
shows that at this period he was afflicted by the
reproaches of conscience and great despondency
of mind. " He was the man of all of them," says
Burnet, "that was the most sunk in his spirit,
and could not in any sort bear his punishment.
He had neither the honesty to repent, nor the
strength of mind to suffer for it as the rest did.
He was observed all the while to be drinking
some cordial liquors to keep him from fainting."
He suffered on the same scaffold with Cook, the
lawyer who had conducted the prosecution against
Charles the First. On Cook's hurdle was actually
placed the severed head of Harrison, with the
livid countenance turned toward him ; but the
circumstances attending the execution of Peters
were even more harrowing. He was placed within
the rails of the scaffold, where he was compelled
to witness the dying agonies and the disembowel-

150 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ling of his friend. It was during this awful scene,
that — as if by some peculiar dispensation of
Providence — courage and constancy were re
stored to him, and he met his fate with a decency,
a meekness, and a courage which would have
done credit to a martyr. To one who loaded him
with opprobrious epithets, as a rebel and a reg
icide, " Friend," he said, " you do not well to
trample upon a dying man ; you are greatly mis
taken ; I had nothing to do in the death of the
king." One other anecdote connected with his
dying scene is interesting and even touching. On
his way to the gallows, recognising a friend in
whose kind offices he could confide, he beckoned
him toward his hurdle. Drawing forth a piece of
gold, he bent it, and desired him to carry it to
his daughter, at the same time naming the place
where she lodged. "Take it to her," he said, "as
a token from me, and let her know that my heart
is as full of comfort as it can be ; and that before
this piece shall come to her hands, I shall be with
God in glory." When he was upon the ladder,
he observed to the sheriff, " Sir, you have butch
ered one of the servants of God before my eyes,
and have forced me to see it, in order to terrify
and discourage me, but God has permitted it for
my support and encouragement." The last ex
pression which was observed on his countenance
was a smile. Like Harrison, he addressed a
speech to the surrounding multitude, but from the

CHARING CROSS. 151
weakness of his voice and the execrations of the
crowd, much that he said was inaudible.
From such inflammable enthusiasts as General
Harrison and Hugh Peters, we turn with pleasure
to brighter names and better men, or, at all events,
to safer members of society. Near Charing Cross
died, in 1677, Dr. Isaac Barrow, the eminent
mathematician and divine. There is something
very pleasing in the admiration expressed by Doc
tor Pope for the memory of departed worth and
genius, and in the gratification which he feels at
having formed the acquaintance of so celebrated
a man, even though at the close of his valuable
career. "The last time he was in London," says
Doctor Pope, " he went to Knightsbridge to give
the Bishop of Salisbury a visit. I cannot express
the rapture of joy I was in, having, as I thought,
so near a prospect of his charming and instructive
conversation ; I fancied it would be a heaven upon
earth, for he was immensely rich in learning, and
very liberal and communicative of it, delighting in
nothing more than to impart to others, if they
desired it, whatever he had attained by much time
and study. Some few days after he came to
Knightsbridge, and sat down to dinner, but I
observed he did not eat. Whereupon I asked him
how it was with him ; he answered that he had a
slight indisposition hanging upon him, with which
he had struggled two or three days, and that he
hoped by fasting and opium to get it off, as he had

152 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
removed another and more dangerous sickness at
Constantinople some years before. But these
remedies availed him not ; his malady proved an
inward, malignant, and insuperable fever, of which
he died. May 24, 1677, in the forty-seventh year
of his age, in mean lodgings, at a sadler's near
Charing Cross ; an old, low, ill-built house, which
he had used for several years ; for though his condi
tion was much better by his obtaining the master
ship of Trinity College, yet that had no bad
influence on his morals ; he still continued the
same humble person, and could not be prevailed
upon to take more reputable lodgings." In 1685-6
we find William Penn, the great legislator of
Pennsylvania, dating his letters from " Charing
Cross." There are few persons who are curious in liter
ary biography, who are not aware of the circum
stances under which Sir William Davenant lost
his nose in Axe Yard. Some years after his loss,
we are told, he was passing " along the Mews, at
Charing Cross, when he was followed by a beggar-
woman, who prayed God to preserve his eyesight.
Davenant, who had nothing the matter with his
eyes, inquired, with some curiosity, what on earth
could induce her to pray for his eyesight, for, he
said, 'I am not purblind as yet.' 'No, your hon
our,' she said, 'but if ever you should be, I was
thinking you would have no place to hang your
spectacles on.' "

CHARING CROSS. 153
Charing Cross was still an Ul-lighted and half-
populated spot, when, in the days of Charles the
Second, it was the scene of the forcible abduction
of Elizabeth Mallet — celebrated as la trist e hM-
tikre of De Grammont — by the famous and profli
gate Earl of Rochester. She was the daughter
of John Mallet, Esq., of Enmere, in Somersetshire,
and was possessed of a fortune of ;^2,5oo a year,
a large portion in the days of Charles the Second.
One evening she had been supping at Whitehall
with the beautiful Miss Stewart, afterward Duch
ess of Richmond, and was returning home with
her grandfather. Lord Haly, when their coach was
suddenly arrested at Charing Cross. In a moment
they were surrounded by a number of men, on
foot and horseback, who forcibly carried the lady
to another coach, in which she found herself hur
ried along by six horses, with the companionship
of two strange females. A pursuit was immedi
ately instituted, and, not far from Uxbridge, Roch
ester was discovered skulking by himself, and,
having been conducted to London, was committed
to the Tower. Charles subsequently interested
himself on behalf of his witty favourite, and the
lady having been induced to forgive the outrage,
after a short delay they were married, and she
became the mother of his children.
The mention of Lord Rochester recalls the
name of a kindred genius and profligate, the un
fortunate poet, Richard Savage, whose well-known

154 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
adventure at Charing Cross nearly cost him his
life on the scaffold. " Mr. Savage," says Doctor
Johnson, "accidentally meeting two gentlemen,
his acquaintances, whose names were Merchant
and Gregory, he went with them to a neighbour
ing coffee-house, and sat drinking tUl it was
late, it being in no time of Mr. Savage's life any
part of his character to be the first of the com
pany that desired to separate. He would wUl
ingly have gone to bed in the same house, but
there was not room for the whole company, and
therefore they agreed to ramble about the streets
and divert themselves with such amusements as
should offer themselves tUl morning. In this
walk they happened unluckily to discover a light
in Johnson's coffee-house, near Charing Cross, and
therefore went in. Merchant with some rudeness
demanded a room, and was told that there was a
good fire in the next parlour, which the company
were about to leave, being then paying their reck
oning. Merchant, not satisfied with this answer,
rushed into the room, and was followed by his
companions. He then petulantly placed himself
between the company and the fire, and soon after
kicked down the table. This produced a quarrel ;
swords were drawn on both sides, and one, Mr.
James Sinclair, was kUled. Savage, having like
wise wounded a maid that held him, forced his
way with Merchant out of the house ; but being
intimidated and confused, without resolution either

CHARING CROSS. 155
to fly or stay, they were taken in a back court by
one of the company, and some soldiers whom he
had called to his assistance. Being secured and
guarded that night , they were in the morning
carried before three justices, who committed them
to the Gatehouse, from whence, upon the death
of Mr. Sinclair, which happened the same day,
they were removed in the night to Newgate,
where they were, however, treated with some
distinction, exempt from the ignominy of chains,
and confined, not among the common criminals,
but in the press-yard." Several witnesses swore
positively that it was at the hands of Savage that
Sinclair received his death-wound, and conse
quently at his trial the jury brought him in guilty
of murder. As is well known, every attempt was
made by his unnatural mother, the Countess of
Macclesfield, to prevent the royal mercy being
extended toward him, but fortunately the kind
and strenuous exertions of Lady Hertford, Lord
Tyrconnel, and his charming friend, Mrs. Oldfield,
the actress, counteracted her designs, and on the
9th of March, 1728, the unfortunate poet received
the king's pardon.
On the site of the present National Gallery, on
the north side of Charing Cross, stood, within the
last few years, the Royal Mews. Here, as early
as the reign of Richard the Second, were kept the
king's hawks, at which period we find the accom
plished Sir Simon Burley, Knight of the Garter,

156 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
holding the appointment of keeper of the royal
falcons at the Meuse, near Charing Cross. At
length, in 1537, the king's stables at Bloomsbury,
then called Lomesbury, having been destroyed by
fire, Henry the Eighth directed the falcons to be
removed from Charing Cross ; and from this reign
to that of George the Fourth, it continued to be
the site of the royal stables. In the reign of
Richard the Second, we find the great poet,
Geoffrey Chaucer, holding the appointment of
clerk of the works at the King's Mews at Charing
Cross, and here it was that Cornet Joyce, who
seized the person of Charles the First at Holmby,
was imprisoned some years afterward by order of
Oliver Cromwell.
Till within the last few years. Charing Cross
was one of the usual places for exposing offenders
on the pillory. Here Titus Oates underwent this
punishment for his infamous perjuries, as did also,
at a later period. Parsons, the author of the well-
known imposition, "The Cock Lane Ghost."
On the southeast side of Charing Cross is Cock
spur Street. Here stUl remains the British Coffee
House, which appears to have been the favourite
resort of many of the unfortunate Jacobite gentle
men who suffered for their share in the romantic
enterprise of 1745 ; and here Boswell mentions his
dining with Doctor Johnson in 1772. "We spent
a very agreeable day," he says, " though I recol
lect but little of what passed." There may be

CHARING CROSS. 157
some persons to whom it may possibly be interest
ing to be informed that O'Brien, the " Irish giant,"
breathed his last in Cockspur Street.
Out of this street runs Warwick Street, at the
western extremity of which formerly stood War
wick House, where the lamented Princess Char
lotte resided with a small household, close to the
residence of her father, the Prince of Wales, at
Carlton House. It was at the further end of
Warwick Street that this interesting heroine
of imaginary grievances entered the hackney-
coach, in which she eloped from the protection
of her father, and proceeded to the residence of
her mother, the Princess of Wales, in Connaught
Place. The event is now nearly forgotten, but
those who remember its occurrence will not
easily forget the extraordinary sensation which it
created. If we are to place any credit in tradition, Oliver
Cromwell resided nearly on the spot where Drum-
mond's Bank now stands. MUton, too, must have
resided close by, for we are expressly told that his
house in Charing Cross overlooked the Spring
Gardens. As we descend toward Whitehall, a small court
may be discovered on the east side of the street,
between Nos. 1 3 and 1 5, in which formerly stood
the celebrated " Rummers' Tavern," the resort of
the wits and the courtiers of the days of Charles
the Second. Not many years since, the " Rum-

158 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
mers' " was converted into a house of very in
different repute, and is now used as a printing
establishment. This spot wUl always be con
sidered interesting as connected with the fortunes
of Matthew Prior, the poet. " Prior," says Bishop
Burnet, " had been taken a boy out of a tavern, by
the Earl of Dorset, who accidentally found him
reading Horace ; and he, being very generous, gave
him an education in literature." This is an il
liberal statement of the bishop's, coloured by party
prejudice, and Burnet probably knew as much
when he penned it. The fact is, that Prior's
father, a respectable citizen, happening to die when
his son was extremely young, committed the boy
to the care of his uncle, who was then the land
lord of the " Rummers' " tavern. That the uncle
was true to his trust is proved by his having sent
the future poet to Westminster School, under the
care of the learned Doctor Busby. It was at this
period that the famous Earl of Dorset —
" The best good man, with the worst-natured muse " —
happened to dine at the " Rummers' " with a
select party of men of rank and talent, when a
dispute arose respecting the meaning of a passage
in one of the odes of Horace. In the heat of the
discussion, one of the party exclaimed, " I am much
mistaken if there is not a young lad in the house
who will set us all right." Prior was immediately
sent for, and gave his interpretation of the dis-

CHARING CROSS. 159
puted passage with so much modesty and good
sense, that Lord Dorset removed him from the
tavern, and subsequently caused him to be entered
at St. John's College, Cambridge, where he de
frayed a portion of the expenses of his edu
cation. Prior, in his " Epistle to Fleetwood Shepherd,"
one of the boon companions of Charles the Second,
writes :
" My uncle, rest his soul ! while living,
Might have contrived me ways of thriving ;
Taught me with cider to replenish
My vats, or ebbing tide of Rhenish ;
So, when for hock, I draw pricked white-wine,
Swear 't had the flavour, and was right wine."
As late as the 14th of October, 1685, we find
the annual feast of the nobility and gentry, re
siding in the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields,
held at the tavern kept by Samuel Prior, the uncle
of the poet.
The house No. 30 Whitehall, now a military
and naval bookseller's, may be noticed as having
been inhabited by Thomson, the author of the
" Seasons." His apartments were on the first
floor, and in these rooms he is said to have com
posed his " Summer."
Some doors lower down the street, and on the
same side, is a large archway leading into Scot
land Yard, the latter a spot of much historical
interest. It derives its name from a palace which

l6o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
was buUt here by King Edgar for the reception of
Kenneth the Third, King of Scotland, when the
latter paid his annual visits to London to swear
fealty for his kingdom. By degrees, according to
Stow, it grew into a magnificent palace, and was
set apart as the regular residence of the Scottish
monarchs, on the occasion of their humiliating
journeys to the southern metropolis to do homage
for the fiefs which they held under the English
Crown. The last notice which we have of this
palace is in the reign of Henry the Eighth, when
his sister, Margaret, widow of James the Fifth of
Scotland, made it her residence after the death
of her husband. It was shortly afterward demol
ished. When Milton, in 1650, was appointed Latin
secretary under the Commonwealth, we find him,
in order to be nearer the scene of his official
duties, residing in " an apartment which had been
prepared for him " in Scotland Yard. The great
poet, who appears to have been fond of change of
scene, had recently removed from High Holborn
to his temporary lodgings opening into Spring
Gardens, and from thence to Scotland Yard.
Here, in 1712, died the well-known Beau Fielding,
the " Orlando the Fair " of The Tatler, whose
curious career has already been noticed in our
memoir of Pall Mall ; and, lastly, " at his house in
Scotland Yard," died, in 1726, Sir John Vanbrugh,
the architect and dramatic writer.

CHARING CROSS. i6l
It was at the entrance into Scotland Yard that
Sir John Ayres lay in wait with his retainers, in
the reign of James the First, to assassinate Lord
Herbert of Cherbury ; and it was in the open
street, opposite, that the bloody encounter took
place between them, of which Lord Herbert has
given us so graphic an account in his " Life of
Himself." Infuriated by the conviction that Lord
Herbert had won his wife's affections and corrupted
her virtue, — which, however, the latter solemnly
asserts was not the fact, — Sir John Ayres deter
mined at all hazards to take away the life of the
destroyer of his peace. The account which Lord
Herbert gives of this extraordinary affair throws a
curious light on the manners of the period : " Com
ing one day into her chamber," he says, " I saw
her through the curtains lying upon her bed with
a wax candle in one hand, and a picture in the
other. I coming thereupon somewhat boldly to
her, she blew out the candle and hid the picture
from me ; myself thereupon being curious to know
what that was she held in her hand, got the candle
to be lighted again, by means whereof I found it
to be my picture she looked upon with more
earnestness and passion than I could have easily
believed, especially since myself was not engaged
in any affection toward her. I would wUlingly
have omitted this passage, but that it was the
beginning of a bloody history which followed ;
howsoever I must before the eternal God declare

l62 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
her honour. Sir John Ayres, finding he could
take no advantage against me, in a treacherous
way resolved to assassinate me in this manner.
Hearing I was to come to Whitehall on horseback
with two lackeys only, he attended my coming
back in a place called Scotland Yard, at the hither
end of Whitehall, as you come to it from the
Strand, hiding himself here with four men armed
on purpose to kill me. I took horse at Whitehall
Gate, and passing by that place, he being armed
with a sword and dagger, without giving me so
much as the least warning, ran at me furiously,
but, instead of me, wounded my horse in the
brisket, as far as his sword could enter for the
bone. My horse hereupon starting aside, he ran
him again in the shoulder, which, though it made
the horse more timorous, yet gave me time to draw'
my sword. His men thereupon encompassed me.
and wounded my horse in three places more.
This made my horse kick and fling in that manner
as his men durst not come near me, which advan
tage I took to strike at Sir John Ayres with all my
force, but he warded the blow both with his sword
and dagger. Instead of doing him harm, I broke
my sword with a foot of the hUt ; hereupon some
passenger that knew me, and observing my horse
bleeding in so many places, and so many men
assaulting me, and my sword broken, called out to
me several times, ' Ride away, ride away ; ' but I,
scorning a base flight upon what term soever.

CHARING CROSS. 163
instead thereof alighted as well as I could from
my horse.
" I had no sooner put my foot upon the ground
but Sir John Ayres, pursuing me, made at my
horse again, which the horse perceiving, pressed
me on the side I alighted, in that manner that he
threw me down, so that I remained flat upon the
ground, only one foot hanging in the stirrup, with
that piece of a sword in my right hand. Sir John
Ayres hereupon ran about the horse, and was
thrusting his sword into me, when I, finding my
self in this danger, did, with both my arms reach
ing at his legs, pull them toward me till he fell
backwards on his head. One of my footmen,
hereupon, who was a little Shropshire boy, freed
my foot out of the stirrup; the other, which was a
great fellow, having run away as soon as he saw
the first assault. This gave me time to get upon
my legs and to put myself in the best posture I
could with that poor remnant of a weapon. Sir
John Ayres by this time likewise was got up,
standing betwixt me and some part of Whitehall,
with two men on each side of him, and his brother
behind him, with at least twenty or thirty persons
of his friends or attendants of the Earl of Suffolk.
Observing thus a body of men standing in oppo
sition against me, though to speak truly I saw no
swords drawn but by Sir John Ayres and his men,
I ran violently against Sir John Ayres ; but he,
knowing my sword had no point, held his sword

1 64 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and dagger over his head, as believing I could
strike rather than thrust ; which I no sooner per
ceived but I put a home thrust to the middle of
his breast, that I threw him down with so much
force that his head fell first to the ground and his
heels upwards.
" His men hereupon assaulted me, when one
Mr. Mausel, a Glamorganshire gentleman, finding
so many set against me alone, closed with one
of them ; a Scotch gentleman, also closing with
another, took him off also. All I could well do
to those who remained was to ward their thrusts,
which I did with that resolution that I got ground
upon them. Sir John Ayres was now got up a
third time, when I, making toward him with inten
tion to close, thinking that there was otherwise no
safety for me, put by a thrust of his with my left
hand, and so coming within him, received a stab
with his dagger on my right side, which ran down
my ribs as far as my hip ; which I feeling, did
with my right elbow force his hand, together with
the hUt of the dagger, so near the upper part of
my right side, that I made him leave hold. The
dagger now sticking in me. Sir Henry Cary, after
ward Earl of Falkland and Lord Deputy of Ire
land, finding the dagger thus in my body, snatched
it out. This whUe I being closed with Sir John
Ayres, hurt him on the head, and threw him down
a third time ; when, kneeling on the ground and
bestriding him, I struck at him as hard as I could

CHARING CROSS. 165
with my piece of a sword, and wounded him in
four several places, and did almost cut off his left
hand. His two men this while struck at me, but
it pleased God even miraculously to defend me ;
for when I lifted up my sword to strike at Sir
John Ayres, I bore off their blows half a dozen
times. His friends now finding him in this danger,
took him by the head and shoulders, and drew him
from betwixt my legs, and carried him along with
them through Whitehall, at the stairs whereof he
took boat. Sir Herbert Croft (as he told me after
ward) met him upon the water, vomiting all the
way, which I believe was caused by the violence
of the first thrust I gave him. His servants,
brother, and friends being now retired also, I
remained master of the place and his weapons,
having first wrested his dagger from him, and
afterward struck his sword out of his hand. This
being done, I retired to a friend's house in the
Strand, where I sent for a surgeon, who, searching
my wound on the right side, and, finding it not
mortal, cured me in the space of some ten days,
during which time I received many noble visits
and messages from some of the best in the
kingdom." It appears, by an old plan of the palace of
Whitehall, printed in the days of Charles the
Second, that the house adjoining the entrance to
Scotland Yard (now occupied by a chemist and
the offices of a raUway company) was formerly the

1 66 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
residence of Sir John Denham, the poet, who held
the appointment of surveyor of the works in the
reign of the "merry monarch." ' This house was
the scene of one of the most curious passages
in the romance of real life. Sir John Denham —
then considerably advanced in years, and, as he
is described in De Grammont's memoirs, an " old
and limping man " — had united himself to Miss
Brook, a lively and beautiful girl, and niece of
George Digby, second Earl of Bristol. On her
first appearance at the court of Charles the Sec
ond — an unmarried maiden of eighteen — she cap
tivated the affections, such as they were, of the
Duke of York, afterward James the Second, who,
on her marriage with the aged and sarcastic poet,
redoubled his attentions to the flattered beauty.
It was in an age when everybody made love.
Pepys informs us that the duke used to follow
the young bride up and down the presence-cham
ber at Whitehall " like a dog ; " and he adds : " The
Duke of York is wholly given up to his new mis
tress, my Lady Denham, going at noonday with
all his gentlemen to visit her in Scotland Yard ;
she declaring she will not be his mistress, as Mrs.
Price, to go up and down the privy stairs ; Mr.
Brouncker, it seems, was the pimp to bring it
about." According to Count HamUton, in his
' The front of this house, facing Whitehall, has been modern
ised; but a glance at the back part of it, which looks into
Scotland Yard, will suificiently prove its antiquity.

CHARING CROSS. 167
"M^moires de Comte Grammont," the duke was
not left long to complain of the obduracy of his
beautiful mistress. " She suffered him," he says,
" to entertain hopes which a thousand considera
tions had prevented her holding out to him before
her marriage ; " and he adds : " It was soon brought
to a conclusion, for where both parties are sincere
in a negotiation, no time is lost in cavUling." Th'e
termination of this profligate intrigue was indeed
a tragical one. Sir John Denham (who had long
been distinguished for his biting sarcasms against
the marriage state, but who had been vain enough
to exempt himself from the general doom, when he
united himself to a young and giddy wife) was so
afflicted by the intelligence of her fraUty that
it produced a temporary aberration of intellect.
In a paroxysm of jealousy he is said to have
administered poison to the partner of his bed, but
with what truth it is now impossible to ascertain.
It is certain, however, that three contemporary
writers, Aubrey, Count Hamilton, and Pepys, affirm
that her death was produced by unfair means.
The latter inserts in his "Diary" of the loth of
November, 1666 : "I hear that my Lady Denham
is exceedingly sick, even to death, and that she
says, and everybody else discourses, that she is
poisoned." Count Hamilton, moreover, unhesitat
ingly lays her untimely death at the door of her
implacable husband. " As no person," he says,
" entertained any doubt of his having poisoned her.

l68 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the populace of his neighbourhood threatened to
tear him in pieces as soon as he should come
abroad ; but he shut himself up to bewail her
death, untU their fury was appeased by a magnif
icent funeral, at which he distributed four times
as much burnt wine as had ever been drunk at
any funeral in England." Twenty-one years after
ward, in March, 1688, Sir John Denham himself
breathed his last at " his office near Whitehall,"
the scene of his wife's fraUty and untimely end.
In Whitehall, as is proved by an ancient print,
Oliver Cromwell had a house previous to his ag
grandisement ; and here also lived Gay, the poet,
before he was received into the family of the
Duke and Duchess of Queensberry.
Opposite to the house which we have mentioned
as the residence of Sir John Denham, is the Ad
miralty. It stands nearly on the site of Walling
ford House, which was built in the reign of James
the First, by William Knollys, Viscount Walling
ford, created, on the i8th of August, 1626, Earl
of Bunbury. Wallingford House is connected
with many historical associations. Here, in 1632,
"of a disease as strange and horrible as her
depravity," and of which Arthur Wilson has left
us such disgusting particulars,' is said to have
' We mention the fact of the Countess of Essex having died
at Wallingford House entirely on the authority of Mr. Croker,
who quotes as his authority, Wilson. On turning, however, to
Wilson, we merely find the loathsome details of her last moments

CHARING CROSS. 169
died Frances Howard, the beautiful and depraved
Countess of Essex. It was at this period in the
possession of her brother-in-law. Lord Wallingford.
From Lord Wallingford it passed to the magnifi
cent favourite, George VUliers, Duke of Bucking
ham. Here, on two different occasions, we find
Bassompierre paying him a visit, and here was
born, in January, 1627, his son, George Villiers,
the second and witty duke.
It was at Wallingford House that the Lord
Keeper WUliams found the great favourite lying
on a couch overwhelmed with grief, at that crisis
of his fortunes when the Spanish ambassador,
Iniosa, had half-persuaded the imbecile James
that his beloved " Steenie " was engaged in a plot
against his life. When Buckingham had last met
his sovereign, James had turned to him reproach
fully, and said : " Ah, Steenie, Steenie, wilt thou
kUl me I " Shortly afterward, the old king took
coach for Windsor, and Buckingham, as usual,
was proceeding to accompany him, and, indeed,
referred to in the text. By an order of the Privy Council, dated
Whitehall, i8th January, 1622, it is ordered as " his Majesty's
gracious pleasure and command, that the Earl of Somerset and
his lady do repair either to Grays or Cowsham (Caversham),
the Lord WaUingford's houses in the county of Oxon, and re
main confined to one or either of the said houses, and within
three miles compass of the same, until further order be given by
his Majesty." Mr. Croker probably may have read that Lady
Essex was confined for life to one of Lord Wallingford's houses,
and may thus have been led to infer that she died at the London
residence of that nobleman, Wallingford House.

170 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
had set his foot on the step of the coach, when
James invented some excuse for leaving him
behind. According to Bishop Hacket, the fa
vourite burst into tears. It was immediately
afterward that the lord keeper visited him at
Wallingford House, and found him in the state of
distress we have mentioned. By the lord keeper's
advice, Buckingham immediately repaired to Wind
sor, and by his respectful and affectionate demean
our and his extraordinary personal influence over
the king he eventually contrived to make his
peace. As Wallingford House was the scene of Buck
ingham's triumphs, so was it the scene of his
funeral obsequies. From hence, in darkness and
in stealth, his body was conveyed to Westminster
Abbey. According to Stow, the murdered re
mains of the duke, after his assassination by Fel
ton, were brought to Wallingford House, while,
on the other hand, Frankland asserts that they
were conveyed to York House in the Strand.
Stow, however, as usual, is in the right, for we
find the point set at rest by a contemporary
writer, Mr. Meade, in a letter to Sir Martin Stute-
viUe: "Notwithstanding," he says, "that Satur
day was se'nnight, all the heralds were consulting
with my lord treasurer to project as great a fu
neral for the duke as ever any subject of England
had : nevertheless, last night, at twelve of the
clock, his funeral was solemnised in as poor and

CHARING CROSS. 171
confused a manner as hath been seen, marching
from Wallingford House over against Whitehall
to Westminster Abbey ; there not being above
one hundred mourners, who attended upon an
empty coffin borne upon six men's shoulders,
the duke's corpse itself being interred yesterday,
as if it had been doubted the people in their mad
ness might have surprised it. But to prevent
all disorder, the train-bands kept a guard on both
sides of the way all along, from Wallingford
House to Westminster Church, beating up their
drums loud, and carrying their pikes and muskets
upon their shoulders as in a march, not trailing
them at their heels, as is usual at a mourning.
As soon as the coffin was entered the church,
they came all away, without giving any volley of
shot at all. And this was the obscure catastrophe
of that great man." '
After the decapitation of Charles the First,
' After this corroborative evidence, it is curious to find Mr.
Croker conjecturing to which of the duke's London residences
(Wallingford House or York House) the remains of the power
ful favourite were conveyed after his assassination. Mr. Croker
seems to imply a doubt, on the authority of Howell, whether
Wallingford House was ever the settled residence of the Duke
of Buckingham. We have seen Bassompierre, however, visiting
him there in 1626 ; we have seen that his son and successor was
born there the following year; we have seen the Lord Keeper
Williams visiting him there about the same period, and the next
year we find it the depository of his remains, previous to their
interment in Westminster Abbey. These facts seem sufiiciently
to prove that Wallingford House was the " settled residence " of
Buckingham.

172 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Wallingford House appears to have fallen, with
other appanages of the Crown, and of the aris
tocracy, into the hands of the Commonwealth.
From the roof of this house Archbishop Usher,
then residing with the Countess of Peterborough,
was prevailed upon to take a last look at his
beloved master, Charles the First, when he was
led forth to the scaffold in front of the Banqueting-
hall at Whitehall. He sunk back, we are told,
in horror at the sight, and was carried in a swoon
to his apartments. Subsequently we find Wal
lingford House the residence of the celebrated
General Fleetwood, and it was in his apartments,
in 1659, that the councU of general officers —
styled the Cabal of Wallingford House — voted
their adhesion to the "good old cause," and the
necessity of entrusting the whole military power
of the kingdom to a single individual. Their
machinations, as is well known, led to the dissolu
tion of the Parliament, and consequently to the
deposition of Richard Cromwell.
On the Restoration, Wallingford House returned
into the possession of the Villiers family, and was
the occasional residence of George VUliers, the
second and witty Duke of Buckingham. It was
here, at the wish of the duke, that the body of
Cowley, the poet, lay in state on the way from
Chertsey to Westminster, and from its portals
flowed the long funeral procession of peers and
poets who followed the remains of the Ulustrious

CHARING CROSS. 1 73
poet to his last home.' It was a singular com
pliment to the memory of Cowley, that Charles
the Second should have observed of him, on
hearing of his death, that " he had left no better
man behind him in England," and that a still
more profligate man, the Duke of Buckingham,
should have followed him to the grave, and sub
sequently have raised a monument over his re
mains. Buckingham Court, a narrow passage
which runs by the side of the present Admiralty,
is all that remains to point out the site of what
was once the princely residence of the ducal
house of VUliers.
In the present Admiralty there is little that is
interesting in its local associations, and nothing
that is pleasing in its architecture. The office
was originally situated in Duke Street, West
minster, as we find from " Pepys's Memoirs," but
in the reign of WUliam the Third was removed
to Whitehall. The present ponderous pile was
buUt by Ripley, in the reign of George the
Second, and some years afterward, the screen
which partially veils it from the street, and which
has sometimes had its admirers, was raised by one
of two brothers of the name of Adams, whose
names are now principally remembered from their
' " Honorifica pompi elatus ex sedibus Buckinghamianis, viris
illustribus omnium ordinum exequias celebrantibus, sepultus est
die M. Augusti, Anno Domini, 1667." — Doctor Sprafs inscrip
tion on Cowley's monument, in Westminster Abbey.

174 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
having been the architects of the Adelphi. There
are those, however, to whom the Admiralty will
always be an object of interest, from the reflection
that under the portal which leads to its gloomy
and cobwebbed hall have passed, without an ex
ception, the many celebrated naval heroes who
within the last century have thrown an unfading
lustre on the annals of their country. It was
from hence that Lord Anson departed on his voy
age to circumnavigate the world, — that famous
voyage varied by hurricanes, pestilence, and splen
did conquests, when half his followers were
carried off by the scurvy at one time, and the
capture of Manila galleons and the plunder of
Mexican cities enriched them at another. Here
Cook took leave of his employers to discover new
regions, and, as it proved, to lose his valuable life
on the savage shore of Owhyhee. Here Lord
Rodney received the latest orders which enabled
him to sweep away the French fleet in the Car
ibbean seas, and from hence Lord Nelson de
parted to reap immortal laurels, which were too
dearly earned when he fell in the hour of victory
at Trafalgar. The Board-room, too, of the Ad
miralty is interesting, both from the beautiful
carvings of Grinling Gibbons, which decorate its
walls, as well as from its having listened to the
eloquence of the many celebrated men who have
sat at its board, from the strong sense of Earl St.
Vincent, to the sparkling wit of Charles Fox. At

CHARING CROSS. 175
his apartments here, when first lord of the Ad
miralty, died, in 1733, the celebrated Admiral
Byng, the first Lord Torrington, and in the
Board-room of the Admiralty was signed, twenty-
four years afterward, the death-warrant of his
gallant and ill-fated son. Admiral John Byng,
who was shot at Portsmouth, in 1757. Lastly,
it may be mentioned that in the room to the
left, as we enter from the hall, the body of Lord
Nelson lay in state previous to its interment in
St. Paul's.

CHAPTER V.
THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL.
By Whom Originally BuUt — The Residence of Cardinal Wol
sey, Henry the Eighth, Edward the Sixth, Queen Elizabeth,
and James the First — Banqueting-house — Whitehall, the
Residence of Charles the First, Cromwell, James the Second,
and Queen Mary.
Although the ancient palace of Whitehall has
been almost entirely swept away, there stUl re
main sufficient traces of the old building to enable
us to link the present with the past ; nor is it easy
to pass unmoved over ground which is associated
with so many historical events and romantic inci
dents. " How cold and dull the wanderer's footsteps fall.
Where stood thy glittering chambers, proud Whitehall !
Where is the pile the haughty churchmen reared ?
Where are the classic halls by time endeared ?
Mark, where the dark meandering waters lave
These time-worn steps, descending to the grave.
Here kings embarked with all their rich array.
Girt with the young, the beautiful, the gay ;
And pleasure bade the gilded vessel glide.
And music float upon the laughing tide.
176

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 177
Now, while I stand upon the cold damp stone,
The river's mournful ripple sounds alone ;
No more I see the gorgeous train pass by ;
No more, proud pile ! thy splendours meet my eye ;
No more thy gardens, sloping to the Thames,
Are filled with high-born men and courtly dames ;
Changed is the spot where beauty twined her bowers.
Where fountains sparkled midst a waste of flowers ;
Where, rapt in thought, great Cromwell loved to rove.
And Henry walked with Boleyn in the grove.'' — J.H.J.
The Cockpit partially exists in the present
Treasury ; and the beautiful Banqueting-house
still remains, from the windows of which Charles
the First passed to the scaffold. The TUt Yard
recalls the time when the open space, which still
retains its ancient name, was alive with armed
warriors, and streaming pennons, and glittering
heralds ; and when waving plumes and brilliant
eyes looked down from galleries covered with cloth
of gold on the stirring scene below. Lastly, the
Privy Gardens stUl point out the site of verdant
lawns and shady labyrinths, where Wolsey dis
cussed affairs of state with Cromwell ; where
Henry toyed with the delicate hand of Anne
Boleyn ; and where Charles the Second gazed on
the dazzling beauty of the Duchess of Cleveland,
or laid his head in soft dalliance on the lap of la
belle Stuart.
Among the few on whom the mantle of taste
has descended in this methodical and unromantic

178 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
age, there is one I would recall who has often
wandered with me through these deserted scenes
of departed splendour ; when, with the plan of the
ancient palace in our mind's eye, we have fancied
back the days when the song and the dance were
heard in its lighted chambers, tracing the individ
ual scenes of its ancient splendour and hospitality,
from its gay saloons and gorgeous galleries, to its
crowded butteries and spacious wine-cellars, —
those days when silken pages sauntered in its
courts, and stately warders lounged at its royal
thresholds. Such scenes have long since passed
away, and with them nearly all of the ancient
spirit of chivalry, hospitality, and romance.
Whitehall Palace was originally built by Hubert
de Burgh, Earl of Kent, that proud and powerful
noble, who, in the days of King John, stood by
the side of his royal master on the famous field of
Runnymede, and who, in the following reign, was
dragged an ignominous traitor to the Tower. He
bequeathed it to the Convent of the Black Friars
in Holborn, in whose church his body was hon
ourably interred. By this religious order, it was
transferred, in 1248, to Walter de Grey, Arch
bishop of York, and from this period till the fall
of Cardinal Wolsey it continued to be the London
residence of the prelates of that see, and from
thence derived the name of York House.
York House appears to have been almost en
tirely rebuUt by Wolsey. Here the Cardinal-Arch-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 179
bishop resided during many years, in a style of
regal splendour, which has seldom been surpassed
even by the most magnificent of our monarchs.
According to Storer, in his " Metrical Life of
Wolsey," —
" Where fruitful Thames salutes the learned shores
Was this grave prelate and the muses placed.
And by those waves he builded had before
A royal house with learned muses graced.
But by his death imperfect and defaced."
Here Wolsey entertained the learned, the witty,
the beautiful, and the gay, and here he accumu
lated his vast libraries and exquisite picture-gal
leries. The walls of his apartments were covered
with hangings of cloth of gold and tissue, and his
tables with velvets, satins, and damasks of various
hues. The great gallery is described as a scene
of unparalleled magnificence ; and in two other
apartments, known as the Gilt and Council Cham
bers, two large tables were covered with articles of
plate of solid gold, many of them studded with
pearls and precious stones.
The household of this haughty churchman con
sisted of eight hundred persons, many of whom
were knights and noblemen. Among them we
find the Earl of Derby and the young Lord Percy,
the heir of the great Northumberland famUy, who
was subsequently compelled to quit the famUy
of the lord cardinal for winning the affections of
Anne Boleyn. It would fill pages to transcribe

l8o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the description which Cavendish, Fiddes, and others
give of the splendid hospitality of Wolsey, and the
multitude of dependents whom he maintained at
Whitehall. The numbers who were employed in
his kitchens, and who were feasted at his board,
— his heralds, physicians, secretaries, and cof
ferers ; his marshals, purveyors, gentlemen ushers,
and "counsellors learned in the law;" his clerks
of the check, of the hanaper, and of the wax ; the
chaplains who attended him at his meals, and
the deans and choristers who ministered in his
chapel, — comprise such a list of attendants and
retainers as no modern court in Europe could
surpass. " Of gentlemen ushers," says Stow,
"he had twelve daUy waiters, besides one in
the privy chamber, and of gentlemen waiters
in his privy chamber he had six ; of lords, nine
or ten, who had each of them two men allowed to
wait upon them, except the Earl of Derby, who
always was allowed five men. Then had he of
gentlemen cup-bearers, carvers, servers, both
of the privy chamber and of the great cham
ber, with gentlemen and daily waiters, forty per
sons ; of yeomen ushers, six ; of grooms in his
chamber, eight ; of yeomen in his chamber, forty-
five daily. He also had almsmen, sometimes
more in number than at other times."
These numerous retainers were clad in the most
magnificent liveries, and even the master-cook of
the cardinal was dressed in velvet and satin, and

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. l8l
¦wore a chain of gold around his neck. Wolsey
himself, whenever he was seen in public, appeared
with extraordinary splendour. His cardinal's robe
was of the finest satin, and of the richest scarlet
dye, and over his shoulders he wore a tippet of
costly sable. He was the first clergyman in Eng
land who wore sUk and gold, and this, not only on
his person, but on his saddles and the trappings
of his horses. His cardinal's hat was borne before
him by a person of rank ; and even in the king's
chapel it was always placed upon the altar. Wol
sey, as a priest, rode on a mule, the trappings of
which were of crimson velvet, and the stirrups of
silver gilt ; whUe his attendants, consisting of gen
tlemen and pursuivants-at-arms, were mounted on
horses admirably trained and gorgeously capari
soned. Two priests, " the tallest and most comely
he could find," immediately preceded him, carrying
ponderous silver crosses ; the one, the symbol of
his being a cardinal, and the other appertaining
to his dignity as Archbishop of York.
" Alas ! how silent and how sad the spot.
Each glory vanished, and each pomp forgot !
Yet still imagination loves to trace
Where Wolsey triumphed in his pride of place,
Recalls the churchman and his liveried train.
The great, the wise, the haughty, and the vain !
The silken thousands feasted at his board,
The ermined prelate, and the gartered lord ;
The glittering banquet, and the regal state,
The great within, the suppliants at his gate ;

1 82 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
When Wolsey shared a more than monarch's power.
And reigned the mighty despot of an hour.
Calmly he sleeps in Leicester's cloistered aisle,
Above a people's hate, a tyrant's smile ;
Proclaiming from the tomb the ill that springs.
For those who build upon the faith of kings."
- 7- H. J.
Cavendish, in his life of Wolsey, has given us
an account of an entertainment given by the
great cardinal at Whitehall, which is not only
curious as throwing a light on the pastimes and
manners of the sixteenth century, but is doubly
interesting from its being the occasion on which
Shakespeare introduces the first love scene between
Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn. " The ban
quets," says Cavendish, " were set forth with masks
and mummeries in so gorgeous a sort and costly
manner that it was heaven to behold. There wanted
no dames or damsels meet or apt to dance with
the maskers, or to garnish the place for the time,
with other goodly desports. Then was there all
kind of music and harmony set forth, with excel
lent voices both of men and chUdren. I have seen
the king suddenly come in thither in a mask, with
a dozen of other maskers, all in garments like
shepherds, made of fine cloth of gold, and fine
crimson satin paned, and caps of the same ; their
hair and beards either of fine gold wire, or else of
silver, and some being of black sUk ; having six
teen torch-bearers besides their drums, and other

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 183
persons attending upon them with visors, and
clothed all in satin of the same colours. And at
his coming, and before he came into the hall, ye
shall understand that he came by water to the
water-gate without any noise ; where, against
his coming, were laid charged many cannon,
and at his landing they were all shot off, which
made such a rumble in the air that it was like
thunder. It made all the noblemen, ladies, and
gentlemen to muse what it should mean coming
so suddenly, they sitting quietly at a solemn
banquet. " First, ye shall perceive that the tables were set
in the chamber of presence, banquet-wise covered,
my lord cardinal sitting under the cloth of estate,
and there having his service all alone ; and then
was there set a lady and a nobleman, or a gentle
man and gentlewoman, throughout all the tables in
the chambers on the one side, which were made and
joined as it were but one table. All which order
and device was done and devised by the Lord
Sands, lord chamberlain to the king ; and also by
Sir Henry GuUford, comptroller to the king. Then
immediately after this great shot of guns, the car
dinal desired the lord chamberlain and comptroller
to look what this sudden shot should mean, as
though he knew nothing of the matter. They,
thereupon looking out of the windows into the
Thames, returned again, and showed him that it
seemed to them there should be some noblemen

1 84 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and strangers arrived at his bridge, as ambassa
dors from some foreign prince. ' With that,' quoth
the cardinal, ' I shall desire you, because ye can
speak French, to take the pains to go down into
the hall to encounter and to receive them accord
ing to their estates, and to conduct them into this
chamber, where they shall see us, and all these
.noble personages, sitting merrily at our banquet,
desiring them to sit down with us, and to take part
of our fare and pastime.' Then they went incon
tinent down into the hall, where they received
them with twenty new torches, and conveyed them
into the chamber with such a number of drums
and fifes as I have seldom seen together at one
time in any mask. At their arrival into the cham
ber, two and two together, they went directly be
fore the cardinal where he sat, saluting him very
reverently, to whom the lord chamberlain for them
said, ' Sir, forasmuch as they are strangers, and
can speak no English, they have desired to declare
unto your Grace thus : They having understanding
of this your triumphant banquet, where was assem
bled such a number of excellent fair dames, could
do no less, under the supportation of your good
grace, but to repair hither to view as well their
incomparable beauty, as for to accompany them at
mumchance, and then after to dance with them,
and to have of them acquaintance. And, sir, they
furthermore require of your Grace license to ac
complish the cause of their repair.' To whom

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 185
the cardinal answered 'that he was very well
contented they should do so.'
"Then the maskers went first and saluted all
the dames as they sat, and then returned to the
most worthiest, and there opened a cup full of
gold, with crowns and other pieces of coin, to
whom they set diverse pieces to cast at. Thus,
in this manner perusing all the ladies and gentle
women, and to some they lost, and of some they
won. And this done, they returned unto the car
dinal with great reverence, pouring down all the
crowns in the cup, which was about two hundred
crowns. 'At all .' ' quoth the cardinal, and so
cast the dice, and won them all at a cast, whereat
was great joy made. Then quoth the cardinal to
my lord chamberlain, ' I pray you,' quoth he, 'show
them that it seemeth me that there should be
among them some noble man, whom I suppose to
be much more worthy to sit and occupy this place
and room than I, to whom I would most gladly,
if I knew him, surrender my place according to
my duty.' Then spake my lord chamberlain unto
them in French, declaring my lord cardinal's mind,
and they rounding him again in the ear, my lord
chamberlain said to my lord cardinal, ' Sir, they
confess,' quoth he, ' that among them there is
such a noble personage, whom, if your Grace can
appoint him from the others, he is contented to
disclose himself, and to accept your place most
worthUy.' With that the cardinal, taking a good

l86 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
advisement among them, at the last quoth he,
' Me seemeth the gentleman with the black beard
should be even he.' And with that he arose out
his chair, and offered the same to the gentle
man in the black beard, with his cap in his
hand. " The person to whom he offered then his chair
was Sir Edward Neville, a comely knight, of a
goodly personage, that much more resembled the
king's person in that mask than any other. The
king, hearing and perceiving the cardinal so de
ceived in his estimation and choice, could not for
bear laughing, but plucked down his visor, and
Master NevUle's also, and dashed out with such
a pleasant countenance and cheer, that all noble
estates there assembled, seeing the king to be
there amongst them, rejoiced very much. The
cardinal eftsoons desired his Highness to take
the place of estate ; to whom the king answered
that he would go first and shift his apparel ; and
so departed, and went straight into my lord's bed
chamber, where was a great fire, made and pre
pared for him, and there new-apparelled him with
rich and princely garments. And in the time of
the king's absence, the dishes of the banquet were
clean taken up, and the tables spread again with
new and sweet perfumed cloths ; every man sitting
still until the king and his maskers came in among
them again, every man being newly apparelled.
Then the king took his seat under the cloth of

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 187
estate, commanding no man to remove, but sit
stUl, as they did before. Then in came a new
banquet before the king's Majesty, and to all the
rest through the tables, wherein, I suppose, were
seiiyed two hundred dishes, or above, of wondrous
costly meats and devices subtlely devised. Thus
passed they forth the whole night with banqueting,
dancing, and other triumphant devices, to the great
comfort of the king, and pleasant regard of the
nobUity there assembled."
If Whitehall possessed no other feature of his
torical interest, the site of the ancient palace would
be sufficiently endeared to us from the single cir
cumstance of Shakespeare having fixed there the
principal scenes of his magnificent play of " Henry
the Eighth." It is, indeed, not a little interesting
to find how closely one of the finest scenes in the
play, as portrayed by the immortal dramatist,
coincides with the account of Cavendish, even in
its minutest detaUs ; and yet " Henry the Eighth "
was acted as early as 1603, and Cavendish's " Life
of Wolsey" was not published till 1641. It is
impossible to resist transcribing an extract from
the parallel scene in Shakespeare.
" Scene 4. — The Presence Chamber in York Place.
A small table under a state canopy for the Cardinal, a
longer table for the guests. Enter at one door Anne
Boleyn, and divers Lords, Ladies, and Gentle
women, as guests; at another door enter Sir Henry
Guildford.

l88 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes ye all : This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you : none here, he hopes.
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad : he would have all as merry
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome,
Can make good people. — O, my lord, you are tardy.
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir Thomas
Lovell.
The thought of this fair company
Clapped wings to me.
Chamb. You are young. Sir Harry Guildford.
Sands. By my life,
They are a sweet society of fair ones.
Chamb. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit ? Sir Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this :
His grace is entering. — Nay, you must not freeze ;
Two women placed together makes cold weather :
My Lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking ;
Pray sit between these ladies.
Sands. By my faith.
And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.
Seats himself between Anne Boleyn and another lady.
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ;
I had it from my father.
Anne. Was he mad, sir ?
Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too ;
But he would bite none : just as I do now,
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her.]
Chamb. Well said, my lord.
So, now you are fairly seated : — Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 189
Enter Cardinal Wolsey attended; and takes his state.
Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests ; that noble lady,
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry,
Is not my friend : This, to confirm my welcome ;
And to you all good health.
[Drum and trumpets within : Chambers discharged."]
What warlike voice.
And to what end is this ? nay, ladies, fear not ;
By all the laws of war you are privileged.
Serv. A noble troop of strangers ;
For so they seem ; have left their barge and landed ;
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.
Wol. Good Lord Chamberlain,
Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French
tongue ; ¦
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them : — Some attend him.
Enter the King, and twelve others, as maskers, habited like
shepherds, with sixteen torch-bearers ; ushered by the
Lord Chamberlain. They pass directly before the Car
dinal, and gracefully salute him.
Wol. A noble company ! what are their pleasures ?
Chamb. Because they speak no English, thus they prayed
To tell your grace ; — that having heard by fame
Of this so noble and so fair assembly
This night to meet here, they could do no less,
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty.
But leave their flocks ; and under your fair conduct,
Crave leave to view the ladies, and entreat
An hour of revels with them.
Wol. Say, Lord Chamberlain,

I90 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
They have done my poor house grace; for which I
pray them
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures.
[Ladies chosen for the dance. The King chooses Anne
Boleyn.]
K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touched ! O beauty.
Till now I never knew thee.
Wol My lord, —
Chamb. Your Grace?
Wol. Pray tell them thus much for me :
There should be one amongst them, by his person.
More worthy this place than myself ; to whom
If I but knew him, with my love and duty
I would surrender it.
Chamb. I will, my lord.
[Chamb. ^o«j to the company, and returns.]
Wol. What say they ?
Chamb. Such a one, they all confess.
There is, indeed ; which they would have your grace
Find out, and he will take it.
Wol. Let me see then, [Comes from his state.]
By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; — Here I'll make
My royal choice.
K. Hen. You have found him, Cardinal; [Unmasking.]
You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord :
You are a churchman, or I'll tell you. Cardinal,
I should judge now unhappily.
Wol. I am glad
Your Grace is grown so pleasant.
K. Hen. My Lord Chamberlain,
Pr'ythee, come hither : What fair lady's that ?
Chamb. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Boleyn's
daughter.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 191
The Viscount Rochford, one of her highness' women.
K. Hen. By Heaven she is a dainty one. — Sweetheart,
I were unmannerly, to take you out.
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round.
Wol. Sir Thomas Lovel, is the banquet ready
r the privy chamber?
Lov. Yes, my lord.
Wol. Your Grace,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
K. Hen. I fear too much.
Wol. There's fresher air, my lord.
In the next chamber.
K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. Sweet partner,
I must not yet forsake you : — Let's be merry ;
Good my lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure
To lead them once again ; and then let's dream
Who's best in favour. — Let the music knock it.
[Exeunt with trumpets.] "
After the star of Wolsey's grandeur had set, it
was in his gorgeous apartments at York House
that the Duke of Suffolk waited on him to require
his resignation of the Great Seal ; and here it was
that the great cardinal bade farewell — "a long
farewell " — to all his greatness. Having directed
that a careful inventory should be taken of his
valuable plate and costly stores, — the whole of
which he ordered to be delivered over to the king,
— " he took barge at his privy stairs, and so went
by water to Putney," on his way to Esher. In
December, 1529, he surrendered his palace into

192 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the hands of his royal master, shortly after which
the name of York House was prohibited, and that
of Whitehall substituted in its stead. In the play
of " Henry the Eighth," where the coronation of
Anne Boleyn is described, we find :
"So she parted.
And with the same full state paced back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.
1st. Gent. Sir,
You must no more call it York-place — that is past :
For, since the Cardinal fell, that title's lost ;
'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall.
3d. Gent. I know it ;
But 'tis so lately altered, that the old name
Is fresh about me." — Act 4, Scene I,
After the disgrace of Wolsey, Henry seems to
have lost no time in occupying the palace of his
discarded favourite, for, in November the same
year, we find him giving audience at Whitehall to
a deputation from the House of Commons, and
here, on the 6th of December following, he con
ferred earldoms on the Viscounts Rochford and
Fitzwalter, and Lord Hastings.
" Change we the scene ! a brighter throng is there ;
See Henry's throne usurps his favourite's chair ;
No more the pomp of Papal Rome we trace ;
The jewelled courtier fills the churchman's place;
And beauty's peerless form and glorious eye,
Shine in the gilded hall and gallery high ;
And music pours her soft delicious strains,
And love looks blest, and age forgets its pains ;
And youth and beauty mingle in the dance.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 193
Exchange the mutual vow, and melting glance.
But see, with flashing eyes and angry mien,
In lonely state sits Henry's injured queen !
See youthful Mary, destined bride of France,
Half pleased, half angry, blush at Brandon's glance;
See Cromwell muse on Wolsey's closing hour,
Nor deems how near his own descent from power;
While Surrey breathes his own impassioned line,
In gentle dalliance to his Geraldine.
But mark, in yonder rich recess apart,
Where Henry woos the lady of his heart !
Deaf to his consort's claims, — all sacred ties, —
He looks for love in Boleyn's azure eyes ;
Toys with her small white hand, allays her fears.
And pleads his suit to no unwilling ears ;
While she, the envy of that glittering ring.
Blushes to hear the praises of her king.
Ill-fated Boleyn ! when thy childhood strayed
Through Hever's primrose walks and hawthorn glade ;
When swelled thy rich notes in thine own loved bowers.
With one solicitude, thy birds and flowers ;
Or, when young Percy, seated by thy side,
Took thy soft hand, and claimed thee as his bride ;
Snatched his first kiss, and breathed th' enamoured vow,
Or circled flowery chaplets for thy brow ;
Were not thy thoughts more calm, thy heart more blest,
Than when a monarch clasped thee to his breast ?
Fair transient plaything for a tyrant's lust.
How soon shall foes and rivals breed mistrust !
Possession cloys, satiety begins,
And venial faults are blackened into sins.
See : darkly lower the gathering clouds of fate,
Gleams the sharp axe, and yawns the Traitor's Gate;
And Boleyn's latest look and dying moan.
Reproach the charms that raised her to a throne."
-J.H.J,

194 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
At Whitehall, on the 25th of January, 1533,
Henry was married to the Ul-fated Anne Boleyn.
On that day, according to Stow, "King Henry
privately married the Lady Anne Boleyn, in his
closet, at Whitehall, being St. Paul's Day." Early
in the morning, it seems. Doctor Lee, one of the
royal chaplains, and afterward Bishop of Lichfield
and Coventry, was sent for to perform mass in
the king's closet, where he found, with the king,
Anne Boleyn and her train-bearer, Mrs. Savage,
afterward Lady Berkeley, and two of the grooms
of the bedchamber. According to Lord Herbert
of Cherbury, Archbishop Cranmer assisted at the
ceremony. Henry made great additions to Whitehall. Hav
ing purchased and enclosed the ground now
known as St. James's Park, he raised a tennis-
court, cockpit, and bowling-green, on the site of
the present Treasury and the public offices adjoin
ing. He built also a splendid gallery overlooking
the TUt Yard, on the site of a part of the present
Horse Guards and Dover House. These buUdings,
Henry connected with the old palace, by a mag
nificent gateway and arch, — from the designs of
Holbein, — which spanned the street immediately
below the present Banqueting-house.' From the
' " To Holbein," says Pennant, " was owing the most beauti
ful gate at Whitehall, built with bricks of two colours, glazed,
and disposed in a tesselated fashion. The top, as well as that
of an elegant tower on each side, was embattled. On each

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 195
gallery above mentioned, both Henry and his
daughter, Elizabeth, were accustomed to view the
jousts and tournaments in the TUt Yard below ;
and from its windows, in May, 1539, when the
invasion was threatened by the Catholic potentates
of Europe, Henry reviewed the fifteen thousand
armed citizens, consisting of gunners, pikemen,
archers, and billmen, whose appearance Holinshed
describes as presenting so splendid a sight. Hol
bein's beautiful gate was removed in 1750, for
the purpose of widening the street. It was the
intention of WUliam, Duke of Cumberland, the
son of George the Second, to rebuUd it at the top
of the long walk, at Windsor, but for some reason
the design was never put into execution.
Whatever may have been the vices or the crimes
of Henry the Eighth, he has at least the merit of
having been a munificent patron of the arts. He
himself united the qualities of a scholar, a musician,
an architect, and a poet. His collection of pic
tures, at Whitehall, was the foundation of the
front were four busts, in baked clay, in proper colours, which
resisted to the last every attack of the weather: possibly the
artificial stone revived in this century. These, I have been
lately informed, are preserved in a private hand. This charming
structure fell a sacrifice to conveniency within my memory ; as did
another in 1723, built at the same time, but of far inferior beauty.
The last blocked up the road to King Street, and was called
King's Gate. Henry built it as a passage to the park, tennis-
court, bowling-green, the Cockpit, and Tilting Yard ; for he was
extremely fond of athletic exercises ; they suited his strength and
his temper."

196 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
famous gallery formed by Prince Henry and his
brother, Charles the First ; both Raffael and
Titian were invited by him to England, and Hol
bein had apartments at Whitehall, and was en
gaged, by an annual salary of two hundred florins,
to decorate the interior of the palace. At White
hall, Henry closed his selfish career of profligacy,
rapine, and crime. Here he signed his will on
the 30th of December, 1547, and here, on the
28th of January following, he died. He had
become more fretful and impatient as his disease
increased, and, as many persons had suffered as
traitors during his reign, for foretelling the king's
death, it was long before any one could be found
who would inform him of his condition. At length
Sir Anthony Denny was bold enough to undertake
the task, and exhorted him to prepare for the fate
which awaited him. Henry expressed his resigna
tion, and desired that Cranmer might be sent for,
but before the arrival of the archbishop he was
speechless. He still, however, retained his senses,
for when Cranmer desired him to give some sign
of his dying in the faith of Christ, he pressed the
prelate's hand, almost immediately after which he
expired. During the brief reign of the studious and ac
complished Edward the Sixth, Whitehall presented
a very different aspect to what it had worn in the
days of his father. In the Privy Gardens, so
recently filled with the beauty and chivalry of the

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 197
land. Bishop Latimer was to be seen preaching,
in a raised pulpit, to the young king and a devout
audience ; while the silent hours of the night,
which Henry had devoted to revelry and the
dance, were passed by his successor in study,
meditation, and prayer.
" It is the hush of night ! the moonbeams fall
On flower and fount, on turret and on hall ;
And all is still and silent ; save at times
Toll the far midnight melancholy chimes.
While slowly pacing o'er the echoing ground.
The sentry takes his solitary round.
A single lamp in yonder turret gleams.
Far o'er the Thames its trembling halo streams.
There sits the sceptred boy, the student king !
For him no joys the dance or banquet bring.
Though youth, wealth, honour, lineage, are his own.
And more than earthly beauty, and a throne ;
For him in vain the flatterer spreads his net.
Or beauty lures with eyes of luscious jet.
His mind is fixed on nobler thoughts than these.
On loftier studies which instruct and please.
Immersed in holy or in classic lore.
His ermine lies neglected on the floor ;
Above the joys that fade, the tastes that cloy,
For genius' fatal gift is thine, fair boy ;
And fell disease on that pale brow I trace,
And burns consumption's hectic on thy face.
But hovering angels smile on virtue's friend.
And smooth thy path, young Edward, to thine end ;
Well pleased the blameless sufEerer lays him down,
And yields an earthly for a heavenly crown."
-J.H.J.

1 98 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
During the reign of Queen Mary, we discover
little or no interest connected with Whitehall.
We find her residing here, however, shortly after
her accession, and from hence her coronation pro
cession passed by water to Westminster, her sister
Elizabeth bearing the crown before her.
In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Whitehall re
sumed its ancient glory. Immediately after the
death of her sister, we find her taking up her resi
dence here ; and here she kept the first Christmas
after her accession. The last time, apparently,
that she had passed a night within its walls was
when ' she had been led here a prisoner for her
presumed share in Sir Thomas Wyatt's conspiracy.
Here it was that she received the startling tidings
that she was to be incarcerated in the Tower, and
from hence she was led, on Palm Sunday, 1554, to
the private water-entrance of the palace, where a
boat was in waiting to convey her to the fatal
fortress, within the walls of which the axe had
fallen on the neck of her unfortunate mother,
Anne Boleyn.
After the accession of Elizabeth, Whitehall be
came the scene of her pastimes and diversions,
and here she surrounded herself with those emi
nent statesmen, scholars, and poets, whose names
have thrown so much lustre on her reign.
'- Lo ! where Eliza holds her stately court,
Genius, the muses, and the loves resort.
Queen of the lion mien ! I see thee stand,

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 199
Girt with the high-born magnates of the land !
Warriors and bards, the statesman and the sage,
The master-spirits of a giant-age.
There leans the bard who sang by Avon's tide ;
There frown the chiefs who quenched the Armada's pride ;
There glitters courtly Walsingham ; and there
Young Essex sits in dalliance with the fair.
See great Eliza, throned in purple state,
With reverend Burleigh hold the close debate ;
Or now with Bacon speak of Nature's stores.
With Raleigh rove on India's palmy shores ;
Now glide with Hatton through the stately dance,
Now throw on Leicester's form a tenderer glance ;
Leicester whose words, in Windsor's shady grove,
Had dared to breathe the honeyed tale of love.
But time and grief have wrought their change : proud queen,
I mark thy drooping eye, thine altered mien ;
Long years have ploughed their furrows on thy face.
And dimmed thine awful charms and boasted grace ;
Where are thy days of mirth, thy nights of ease ?
Lo ! flattery cloys, and pleasures cease to please ;
Stretched on her splendid solitary bed,
The fretful monarch clasps her throbbing head ;
Peevish she turns from Burieigh's soothing tone.
Loathing herself, she dreads to be alone ;
While conscience, piercing with its scorpion fang.
Provokes the dreary thought, the cankering pang.
Through each long day, with anxious gaze is scanned
A small bright ring that ghtters on her hand ;
Dear sad memorial of a tenderer hour,
When love and Essex proved their dangerous power.
Essex, thine own loved Essex, — where is he ?
Nay, frown not, lady, 'twas thine own decree.
Nor start thus wildly from thy feverish bed ;
'Twas only fancy drew that severed head !

200 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Less peace for her who lives than him who dies ;
Calm in his crimsoned shroud the loved-one lies :
What if his fiery soul, his rival's hate,
And woman's treacherous friendship, sealed his fate,
'Twas thine, the great prerogative to save,
And yet thou doom'dst him to an early grave ;
Doom'dst him to curse thee with his latest breath ;
The cold stern author of his bloody death." —J.H.J.
It was in the great gallery, buUt by her father,
that Elizabeth received the deputation from Parlia
ment, when they presented themselves humbly
and respectfully " to move her Grace to marriage,"
and from hence she proceeded in procession, in
1559-60, to meet her first Parliament. "On
Wednesday, January 25th," says Holinshed, "the
Parliament began, the queen's Majesty riding in
her Parliament robes, from her palace of White
hall to the Abbey Church of Westminster, with
the lords spiritual and temporal attending her,
likewise in their Parliament robes."
Elizabeth, like her father, took an especial de
light in the Tilt Yard. Here, in 1581, when the
commissioners arrived in England to treat con
cerning the projected marriage between the queen
and the Due d' Anjou, Elizabeth entertained her
illustrious guests with the most magnificent tour
nament which had perhaps ever been held in
England. She herself was seated in the gallery
overlooking the Tilt Yard, which, says Holinshed,
" was called, and not without reason, the castle or

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 201
fortress of perfect Beauty." Among the defenders
of the castle of Beauty we find the queen's devoted
champion. Sir Henry Lee, the gallant Knight of
the Garter, who had made a vow to present himself
armed at the Tilt Yard at Whitehall on the 27th
of November, annually, tUl he should be disabled
by age.
The challengers, who personated the four foster-
children of Desire, were the Earl of Arundel,
the Lord Windsor, Sir P. Sidney, and Sir Fulke
Greville. This " amorous foolery," as it is styled by Pen
nant, commenced with the challengers summon
ing the fortress to surrender in a "delectable
song," commencing with the following verses :
" Yield, yield, O yield, you that this fort do hold,
Which seated is in spotless Honour's field ;
Desire's great force, no forces can withhold.
Then to Desire's desire, O yield, O yield !
Yield, yield, O yield; — trust not to beauty's pride;
Fairness, though fair, is but a feeble shield ;
When strong Desire, which Virtue's love doth guide.
Claims but to gain his due ; — yield, yield, O yield ! "
The fortress stUl refusing to surrender, " two
cannon were fired off, one with sweet powder, and
the other with sweet water ; and after there were
store of pretty scaling-ladders, and then the foot
men threw flowers and such fancies against the
walls, with all such devices as might seem shot
from Desire." Suddenly, whUe this pleasant siege

202 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
was being carried on, the defenders of Beauty, clad
in sumptuous apparel, entered the lists, and, attack
ing the challengers and their partisans, a regular
" tourneie " took place, in which Sir Henry Lee
"brake his six staves," and many others "jousted
right valiantly," tUl twUight separated the combat
ants. "These courtly triumphs," as they are
described by Holinshed, " set forth with the most
costlie braverie and gallantness," were continued
the following day, and concluded with a fantastic
pageant, in which the challengers made their sub
mission to the queen, and expressed their sense
of their own " degeneracy and unworthyness in
making Violence accompany Desire."
" Here, where I stand, when chivalry was young,
The courser neighed, the clattering armour rung ;
Here stood the lists ; the crimson pennon streamed,
And bright the helm and flashing falchion gleamed.
Here stood the herald in his glittering garb.
Here pawed the earth the warrior's foaming barb ;
With visors closed, their lances in the rest.
Their white plumes waving from each iron crest.
See, with fierce speed, the rival knights advance.
Deal the rude blow, or break the pointed lance;
While, from the silken galleries above.
Fair ladies flung their anxious looks of love.''
— /. H. J
Elizabeth retained her taste for these buffoon
eries to the close of her long life. When she was
in her sixty-seventh year, and when her heart was
professedly in the bloody tomb of her beloved

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 203
Essex, we find her attending a mask given by
Lord Cobham at Blackfriars, on the occasion of
Lord Herbert's marriage with a daughter of the
Earl of Shrewsbury. Lord Herbert was one of
her handsome favourites of the TUt Yard.
" The Herberts, every Cockpit-day,
Do carry away.
The gold and glory of the day."
In the course of the evening she was " wooed
to dance " by a mask who personated Affection.
" Affection ! " she exclaimed, bitterly. " Affec
tion is false ! " And yet we find the royal harri
dan — whom Hentzner describes at this period as
having a wrinkled face, little eyes, hooked nose,
and black teeth — actually rising up and dancing.
In another letter, written about the same time,
we find, "Her Majesty is very well. This day
she appoints to see a Frenchman do feats in the
Conduit Court. To-morrow she hath commanded
the bears, the bull, and the ape to be baited in
the TUt Yard ; upon Wednesday she wUl have
solemn dancing." Such was the extraordinary
old woman, who could admirably direct the affairs
of a great monarchy at one moment, and attend
a bull-bait or dance a minuet the next ; she who
could sign the death of a sister queen, or of a
beloved favourite, with the same pen with which
she had previously translated a play of Euripides,
or an oration of Isocrates.

204 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Hentzner, the German traveller, who visited
England at the close of the reign of Elizabeth,
has left us an account of Whitehall, which he
styles a palace " truly royal." The royal library,
he says, was well stored with Greek, Latin, Italian,
and French books, and among the rest was a little
French work, upon parchment, written in Eliza
beth's own hand, and addressed to her father.'
Hentzner's further description of Whitehall is
chiefly confined to a catalogue of curiosities to
be seen in the various apartments. They con
sist principally of embroidered quilts, silver cabi
nets containing writing materials, the passion of
our Saviour, in painted glass, a chest containing
the queen's jewelry, a piece of clockwork, sur
mounted by an Ethiopian riding on a rhinoceros,
and other fantastic articles, the names of which
are not worth transcribing.
It was from the orchard at Whitehall, where
they had assembled after the breath quitted the
body of Elizabeth, that the lords of the council
despatched a messenger to James the First, to
acquaint him of his accession to the English
throne. At the same time he was proclaimed by
Sir Robert CecU in front of the palace. He
arrived at Whitehall on the 7th of May, 1603, and,
' " To the most high, puissant, and redoubted Prince, Henry
VIII. of the name. King of England, France, and Ireland, De
fender of the Faith ; Elizabeth, his most humble daughter,
health and obedience."

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 205
on the 22d, we find him conferring the honour of
knighthood in the garden of the palace on the
principal law officers, his gentlemen ushers, and
others. Among the former was the too celebrated
Lord Bacon.
The tastes and amusements which were intro
duced at Whitehall by the Scottish monarch dif
fered widely from the chivalrous pastimes and
amusements which had distinguished the court of
his predecessor. "The king," says Sir Anthony
Weldon, "would come forth after supper to see
pastimes and fooleries, in which Sir Edward Zouch,
Sir George Goring, and Sir John Finett were the
chief and master fools ; and surely this fooling got
them more than any other's wisdom, far above
them in desert. Zouch' s part was to sing bawdy
songs and tell bawdy tales, Finett to compose these
songs. Then were a set of fiddlers brought up on
purpose for this fooling ; and Goring was master
of the game for fooleries, sometimes presenting
David Droman and Archee Armstrong on the
back of the other fools, to tilt one at the other,
tUl they fell together by the ears ; sometimes the
property was presented by them in antic dances.
But Sir J. Millisent, who was never known before,
was commended for notable fooluig, and so was,
indeed, the best extemporary fool of them all."
These buffooneries, however, were in a great
degree redeemed by the taste of the king's con
sort, Anne of Denmark, under whose patronage

206 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
were introduced and represented those magnifi
cent masks, many of them the productions of
Ben Jonson, which, we are told, made " the nights
more costly than the days." We may, hereafter,
have to allude to these gorgeous entertainments.
During the reign of James the First, there
occurred more than one incident which throws
an additional interest over the ancient palace of
Whitehall. Here, in January, 1604-5, when only
four years of age, the unfortunate Charles the
First was created Duke of York and made a
Knight of the Bath with great solemnity. A
sword was girded on the side of the royal infant,
a coronet of gold was placed on his head, and a
golden verge in his hand. "There was a public
dinner," writes Sir Dudley Carleton, " in the great
chamber, where there was one table for the duke
and his earls assistants, another for his fellow
Knights of the Bath. At night we had the
queen's mask in the Banqueting-house, or rather
her pageant. There was a great engine at the
lower end of the room which had motion, and
in it were the images of sea-horses, with other
terrible fishes, which were ridden by Moors. The
indecorum was, that there was all fish and no
water. At the farther end was a great shell, in
the form of a shallop, wherein were four seats.
In the lowest sat the queen, with my Lady Bed
ford ; in the rest were placed my Ladies Suffolk,
Derby, Rich, Effingham, Ann Herbert, Susan

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 207
Herbert, Elizabeth Howard, Walsingham, and
BevU. Their appearance was rich, but too light
and courtesan-like for such great ones." The
pageant was succeeded by a ball, at which the
queen was "taken out" by the Spanish ambas
sador, and concluded with a magnificent banquet.
It may be mentioned that Ben Jonson' s "Mask
of Blackness " was performed on this occasion,
the queen and her ladies having their faces and
hands painted to represent Ethiopians. The ex
pense of the entertainment amounted to three
thousand pounds.
The marriage, which took place at Whitehall
in October in 1604, between Philip Herbert, Earl
of Montgomery, — the "memorable simpleton" of
Horace Walpole, — and Lady Susan Vere, daugh
ter of Edward, seventeenth Earl of Oxford, pre
sents a still more curious picture of the manners
of a past age. The bride was led to church by
Henry, Prince of Wales, and the Duke of Hol-
stein, and the king himself gave her away to his
unworthy favourite. So lovely, we are told, did
she look in her tresses and jewels and bridal array,
that the king observed, "were he unmarried, he
would keep her himself," a great compliment
from James, who was, generally speaking, no very
ardent admirer of female beauty. The marriage
ceremony was followed by a splendid banquet, and
terminated by as magnificent a mask. "There
was no small loss that night," says Sir Dudley

208 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Carleton, " of chains and jewels, and many great
ladies were made shorter by the skirts. The
presents of plate and other things, given by the
noblemen, were valued at .;^2,500 ; but that which
made it a good marriage was a gift of the king's
of ;^SOO land for the bride's jointure. They were
lodged in the council-chamber, where the king,
in his shirt and nightgown, gave them a reveille-
matin before they were up, and spent a good time
in or upon the bed. No ceremony was omitted
of bride-cakes, points, garters, and gloves, which
have been ever since the livery of the court ; and
at night there was sewing into the sheet, casting
off the bride's left hose, and many other pretty
sorceries." It was to the king's bedchamber at Whitehall
that Guy Fawkes was dragged, bound hand and
foot, after his apprehension by Sir Thomas Kne-
vett, at the door of the cellar beneath the House
of Lords. Here he was examined by the timid
James and his astonished councillors, and not
withstanding the frightful nature of his projected
crime, retained the bearing of a gentleman and a
soldier, even with the rack and the gibbet staring
him in the face. He met the taunts of the lords
of the council with scorn, and retorted their in
quisitive glances with looks of defiance. When
asked by one of the numerous Scottish favourites
of James what he had intended to have done with
so many barrels of gunpowder, " One of my ob-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 209
jects," he replied, contemptuously, "was to blow
Scotchmen back into Scotland." He unhesita
tingly admitted his crime, and added that, had
he been within the doors of the cellar at the time,
he would have blown himself up and those who
arrested him without the least scruple. From
Whitehall he was conveyed to the Tower, and on
the 31st of January, 1606, was executed, with
three of his associates, in Old Palace Yard,
Westminster. Six months afterward, on the occasion of the
arrival in England of the queen's brother. Chris
tian, King of Denmark, we find the Gunpowder
Plot apparently forgotten, and Whitehall again
the scene of the most magnificent pageants and
banquets. " I will now in good sooth," writes Sir
John Harrington, " declare unto you, who wUl not
blab, that the gunpowder fright has gone out of all
our heads, and we are going on hereabouts as if
the devil was contriving every man to blow up
himself by wild riot, excess, and devastation of
time and temperance." In the " Nugse Antiquae "
wUl be found a very entertaining and graphic
description of one of the entertainments given to
the Danish monarch.
On the 1 2th of June, 16 10, the lamented Prince
Henry was created Prince of Wales, at Whitehall.
The ceremony occasioned a succession of balls,
banquets, and pageants, which lasted three days.
On the first day was a most magnificent banquet ;

2IO MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
on the second, there was exhibited " a most glori
ous maske," which continued till "within half an
hour of the sun's rising ; " and on the third day
was a grand " tUting-match, a gallant sea-fight,
and many rare and excellent fireworks, which
were seen by almost a million of people."
But Whitehall is endeared to us by a still
more interesting personage, the amiable Eliza
beth, Queen of Bohemia, daughter of James the
First. Here she passed her happy childhood, and
here, "in flower of youth and beauty's pride," she
was affianced to her future husband, Frederick the
Fifth, Count Palatine of the Rhine, " cupbearer "
of the empire, and afterward King of Bohemia.
The ceremony, both of her Jiangailles and of her
espousals, was solemnised with a greater outlay of
wealth than has perhaps been ever squandered
on any similar ceremonials either before or since.
The expense of the dresses and jewels, lavished on
the ladies who attended her, amounted to ;^3,9i4 ;
the fitting up of her bridal chamber cost ;£3,023 ;
and the expenses of the fireworks exhibited in
the gardens of Whitehall and on the banks of the
Thames amounted to £y,6oo. I have now the
items of the total expenditure before me, and they
amount to as much as ;!^93,278.
Elizabeth was affianced to the elector palatine
on the 27th of December, 161 2, in the Banqueting-
house of Whitehall. The palsgrave, as he was
then styled, was led in first, attended by Prince

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 211
Charles and several of the nobility, and clad in a
black velvet cloak, adorned with gold lace. Then
followed the princess, in a black velvet gown,
" sem^ of crosslets, or quaterfoUs, silver, and a
small feather on her head, attended with ladies."
Shortly afterward entered the king, who having
seated himself under the canopy of state, the pals
grave and the princess stepped forward, and stood
together on a rich Turkey carpet. Sir Thomas
Lake then formally read in French, from the book
of Common Prayer, " I, Frederick, take thee, Eliza
beth, to my wedded wife," which was repeated by
the palsgrave verbatim. The same words having
been repeated by the princess, the Archbishop of
Canterbury pronounced the benediction. It may
be remarked that the marriage was asked by the
publication of common banns in the Chapel Royal.
It is also curious to find the royal bride and bride
groom habited on this joyous occasion in black.
The fact, however, is, that Henry, Prince of Wales,
— lamented by every one except his own father, —
had died scarcely more than seven weeks previ
ously; and James, partly perhaps jealous of the
popularity of his deceased son, and partly from
motives of convenience, had thus indecently hur
ried on the espousals of his daughter.
The marriage ceremony was finally performed
at Whitehall, on the 14th of February, 16 14. We
have an account of this gorgeous ceremony from
the pen of Sir John Finett, the master of the

212 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ceremonies, who minutely describes the splendid
dresses, and the "draughts of Ippocras" out of
golden bowls. "The bravery," he says, "and
riches of that day were incomparable; gold and
silver, laid upon lords',' ladies', and gentlewomen's
backs, was the poorest burthen, pearls and costly
embroideries being the commonest wear." The
jewels worn by the royal famUy are said to have
been worth nearly a mUlion of money ; according
to common report, the dress worn by the Lady
Wotton " cost fifty pound the yard the embroid
ering;" and Lord Montague presented his two
daughters with fifteen hundred pounds to provide
themselves with suitable apparel. With the ex
ception of the three lord chief justices, no person
was admitted to view the ceremony under the rank
of a baron.
At Whitehall was solemnised on the 26th of
December, 16 13, with scarcely less magnificence,
the marriage of Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset, the
unworthy favourite of James the First, with Fran
ces Howard, the beautiful murderess and adulter
ess.' Notwithstanding her previous marriage with
' It was at a splendid tournament in the Tilt Yard at White
hall that Robert Carr first attracted the notice of James the
First. On this occasion Carr had been selected by Lord Hay to
present the shield and device of the latter to the king. As he
rode up the lists, his horse became unmanageable, and threw him
before the king's face. James, struck with the beauty of his per
son, and concerned at the severity of his accident, — for his leg
had been broken by the fall, — gave directions that he should be

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 21 3
the young Earl of Essex, afterward the celebrated
Parliamentary general, she had the effrontery to
appear at the altar with the white dress and flow
ing tresses of a virgin. The marriage ceremony
was performed by the Bishop of Bath and Wells,
in the presence of the king and queen, and the
principal nobUity. " Whitehall," says Coke, " was
too narrow to contain the triumphs of this mar
riage, and they must be extended into the city."
Notwithstanding the shameful notoriety which at
tached to the amours of this profiigate couple, the
city of London was subservient enough to pander
to the wishes of the court, by celebrating the nup
tials with almost a greater parade than had previ
ously been exhibited in the presence of peers and
bishops at Whitehall. On the 4th of January,
nine days after the marriage, we find the bride
and bridegroom, attended by the Duke of Lennox,
the lord chamberlain, and a numerous train of the
nobUity, proceeding in great state to the city. A
magnificent entertainment awaited them in Mer
chant Taylors' Hall ; the music struck up joyously
conveyed to the palace, and carefully attended by the royal sur
geons. As soon as the tilting was over, the king paid him a visit.
He returned the next day, and, indeed, as long as the confinement
lasted, was daily in the habit of passing an hour or two in the
chamber of the fortunate invalid. On his recovery, for which
James was exceedingly impatient, he was knighted and made a
gentleman of the bedchamber. On the subsequent rapid prog
ress which he made in the royal favour there is no reason to
expatiate.

214 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
as they entered ; speeches of congratulation were
offered to them, and the lord mayor and aldermen
came forward in their scarlet gowns to do honour
to the king's favourite and his bride. In the pride
of regal favour, they were conducted to a sump
tuous banquet, where they were waited upon by
deputations from the twelve companies. After
supper, there were plays, masks, and dancing,
and, late at night, the rejoicings were concluded
with a second banquet. At three o'clock in the
morning, the favourite and his beautiful bride
returned to their nuptial chamber at Whitehall.
How widely different was the closing scene of
this favoured pair ! Within a little more than
two years these two envied and glittering beings
were the inmates of a prison ! Deprived of for
tune, flattery, and the pomp of circumstance, they
were dragged as murderers to the bar of a crim
inal tribunal, and narrowly escaped suffering by
the hands of the common executioner.
The present Banqueting-house was built in this
reign. It is but a small part of a glorious edifice,
projected by Inigo Jones ; but still it is sufficient
to explain to us how magnificent would have been
the entire building, of which this admired relic was
intended to be but an insignificant portion. The
designs for this beautiful pile are well known. It
was intended to have extended to no less than
1,150 feet on the banks of the Thames, and to
the same distance in front of the present street

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 21 5
of Whitehall. Its completion, however, was pre
vented, partly by the extravagance of James the
First, but principally by the misfortunes which
befell his Ul-fated son. The Banqueting-house
was commenced in 1619, and was finished, in
about two years, at the expense of ^^ 17,000. But
for the interruption of the civU wars, it is said
to have been the intention of Charles the First to
have engaged Van Dyck to decorate its walls with
scenes connected with the history of the Order of
the Garter. The expense was computed at ;^8o,-
000. Such a buUding, decorated by such an art
ist, would indeed have been the glory of Europe.'
This splendid room, the scene of the drivelling
amusements of James the First, and of the magnif
icent masks of Ben Jonson, — where Charles the
First so often dined in state with Henrietta Maria,
where Cromwell entertained a puritanical Parlia
ment, and where Charles the Second so often led
out a fair lady to dance the gay " Coranto,'' —
is now converted into a chapel. The dais, on which
the second Charles so often debauched, is converted
' It is curious to find how small were the wages of the great
artist, Inigo Jones, during the period he was employed in the
renovation of Whitehall. His allowance was only 8s. ^d. a day
as surveyor, with £ifi a year for house rent, the maintenance of
a clerk, and other occasional expenses. The masonry of the
Banqueting-house was executed by Nicholas Stone, a famous
statuary in the reign of James the First, who died on the 24th of
August, 1647. His allowance, when employed at Whitehall, was
"4J. \od. the day."

2l6 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
into an altar, and a pulpit hides the spot from which
his unfortunate father passed to the scaffold. The
ceiling of the Banqueting-house was painted by
Rubens at the cost of ;£3,ooo, and represents, in
nine compartments, the apotheosis of James the
First. In the centre is conspicuous the besotted
face of the English Solomon, surrounded by vari
ous pagan deities, and other allegorical figures,
consisting of Mars, Commerce, and the Fine Arts.
On the accession of Charles the First, the
court of Whitehall presented a union of magnifi
cence and decorum, and such a treasury of all
that is exquisite in sculpture and painting, as has
never been surpassed by any court in Europe.
Walpole observes : " During the prosperous state
of the king's affairs, the pleasures of the court
were carried on with much taste and magnificence.
Poetry, painting, music, and architecture were all
called in to make them rational amusements ; and
I have no doubt but the celebrated festivals of
Louis the Fourteenth were copied from the shows
exhibited at Whitehall, in its time the most polite
court in Europe. Ben Jonson was the laureate ;
Inigo Jones, the inventor of the decorations ;
Laniere and Ferabosco composed the symphonies ;
the king, the queen, and the young nobUity
danced in the interludes." To the names men
tioned by Walpole, we may add those of MUton,
Fletcher, Carew, and Selden. The " Masque of
Comus," written by the former, and the beauti-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 217
ful scenic decorations and contrivances of the
latter, may afford some conception of the rational
amusements of the court of Charles. Even Mar
shal Bassompierre, perhaps the most refined and
fastidious man in Europe, has done full justice to
the elegant and dignified character of the court
of Whitehall at this period. Speaking of his state
introduction to Charles and Henrietta Maria, he
says : " I found the king raised on a stage two
steps, the queen and he on two chairs, who rose
the first bow I made them on coming in. The
company was magnificent, and the order ex
quisite." The magnificent masks which were represented
at Whitehall, under the auspices of Charles, wUl
be remembered as long as Milton, Ben Jon
son, Fletcher, and Inigo Jones shall continue
to be classic names. Mr. D'Israeli informs
us : " The fullest account I have foimd of one
of these entertainments, which at once show the
curiosity of the scenical machinery, and the fancy
of the poet, the richness of the crimson habits of
the gentlemen, and the white dresses, the white
herons' plumes, and jewelled head-dresses and
ropes of pearl of the ladies, was a manuscript
letter of the time, with which I supplied the
editor of 'Jonson,' who has preserved the narra
tive in his ' Memoirs ' of that poet." " Such were
the magnificent entertainments," says Mr. Gif
ford, in his introduction to Massinger's works.

2l8 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" which, though modern refinement may affect to
despise them, modern splendour never reached
even in thought."
During the earlier period of the reign of
Charles, these splendid entertainments took place
in the present Banqueting-house, but the king,
dreading that the numerous lights might injure
the many choice pictures which decorated the
walls, caused a buUding, of light construction,
to be erected purposely for the representation of
his favourite masks. In a letter of the period,
we find : " The Masking House is nearly ready,
and ;^ 1,400 is appointed for the charge of a
Masque at Twelfth Night." This building was
the " Boarded Masque House," which the Parlia
ment ordered to be pulled down, in 1645.
The following passage, written in the succeed
ing reign, enables us to form a tolerable notion
of the splendid hospitality exercised by Charles,
at Whitehall. "There were daily in his court
eighty -six tables, well furnished each meal;
whereof the king's table had twenty-eight dishes ;
the queen's, twenty-four; four other tables, six
teen dishes each ; three other, ten dishes ; twelve
other, seven dishes ; seventeen other, five dishes ;
three other, four ; thirty-two had three ; and thir
teen had each two ; in all about five hundred
dishes each meal, with bread, beer, wine, and all
other things necessary. There was spent yearly
in the king's house, of gross meat, fifteen hun-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 219
dred oxen ; seven thousand sheep ; twelve hundred
calves ; three hundred porkers ; four hundred
young beefs ; six thousand eight hundred lambs ;
three hundred flitches of bacon, and twenty-six
boars. Also one hundred and forty dozen of
geese ; two hundred and fifty dozen of capons ;
four hundred and seventy dozen of hens ; seven
hundred and fifty dozen of pullets ; fourteen hun
dred and seventy dozen of chickens ; for bread,
three hundred and sixty-four thousand bushels of
wheat ; and for drink, six hundred tons of wine
and seventeen hundred tons of beer ; together
with fish and fowl, fruit and spice, proportionably.
This prodigious plenty in the king's court caused
foreigners to put a higher value upon the king,
and was much for the honour of the kingdom.
The king's servants, being men of quality, by his
Majesty's special order, went to Westminster
Hall, in term-time, to invite gentlemen to eat of
the king's viands, and, in Parliament-time, to
invite the Parliament men thereto."
Charles the First is one of the very few of our
monarchs to whom the arts may be considered as
under an obligation. The price of pictures, we
are told, rose to double their value, in consequence
of the competition between Charles and PhUip the
Fourth of Spain, another royal collector. Through
the agency of Rubens, the celebrated cartoons of
Raffael were transferred from Flanders to Eng
land ; and, at the cost of .^^ 18,000, Charles pur-

220 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
chased the entire cabinet of the Duke of Mantua,
considered the finest in Europe. In the collection
at Whitehall alone (and it must not be forgotten
that the king had eighteen other palaces ' ) were
twenty-eight pictures by Titian, eleven by Correg-
gio, sixteen by Julio Romano, nine by Raffael,
four by Guido, and seven by Parregiano, besides
many exquisite works by Rubens and Van Dyck.
To the blind zeal and besotted ignorance of a
puritanical Parliament we owe the dispersion of
this glorious collection. Such pictures and statues
as they chose to style superstitious were ordered
to be destroyed, and the rest to be sold. The
inventory, which was entrusted to the most igno
rant appraisers, took a year in drawing up, and
the collection three years in selling. Thus, to the
disgrace of civUisation, were dispersed, mutUated,
or destroyed the splendid effects, the gems and
antiquities, the costly statue-galleries, the unique
cabinet of Charles the First, the delight of his
leisure hours, and the envy of Europe !
It was to Whitehall that Charles conducted his
young and beautiful bride after the consummation
of their nuptials, at Canterbury, on the i6th of
June, 1625. But as Whitehall was the scene of
his bridal pleasures, so did it witness the last
agony of the unfortunate monarch. It was here
' Granger incidentally, mentions the number of the king's
palaces as twenty-four, Including the old Scottish palaces they
probably may have amounted to even more than this number.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 221
that he was insulted by the brutal soldiery ; here
he spent so many melancholy hours in the course
of his tedious trial ; and here it was that he passed
from the walls of his own Banqueting-house to a
bloody death.
" Silent and sad, the sacred spot we tread,
Where fell, unhappy Charles ! thy severed head :
By all the graces, all the arts bemoaned.
With thee triumphant, and with thee dethroned ;
Here flew thy moments of domestic bliss.
Here soared thy thoughts to higher worlds than this ;
Here, while thine infants prattled in thine arms.
Strayed thy fond glance to Henrietta's charms ;
Here, too, when faction reared her rampant band,
And foul rebellion revelled through the land ;
Here, in the ancient palace of thy race.
Triumphant treason fixed thy dungeon-place ;
Here, where each spot recalled thy days of power,
Thy bridal rapture, and thy social hour ;
Here broke the rabble soldier on thy rest,
With paltry insults and the ribald jest ;
Here, o'er the infant offspring of thy care.
Fell thy last tear, and rose thy dying prayer ;
How fondly gazing, as the closing door
Hid the young forms thou must behold no more ;
Then did thy last, thy tenderest feeling stray,
To her, thy queen, thy loved one, far away.
But lo ! they come, in melancholy state.
Ill-fated king ! to bear thee to thy fate ;
Frown the mailed sentries at thy palace doors.
And line its courts and gilded corridors ;
The crowd is gathered, and the axe prepared.
Fixed is the block, the headsman's arm is bared.
Yet, 'midst the horrors of that awful scene.

222 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
No terror shook thy calm majestic mien:
Though gazing thousands wept thine hour of woe.
And shrunk appalled, or cursed the hovering blow ;
Thine was that inward peace which can illume.
The last dark pangs which marshal to the tomb ;
Thine was the heaven-lit smile, the wish resigned.
The even pulse, th' unconquerable mind ;
The blissful visions of a soul forgiven.
That tastes the joys before it mounts to Heaven ! "
-J.H.J
"Every night," says Hume, "the king slept
sound as usual, though the noise of workmen
employed in framing the scaffold, and other prepa
rations for his execution, continually resounded in
his ears." This description is graphic, but it is
not true ; inasmuch as it is well known that the
king passed the night previous to his execution at
St. James's Palace. From thence, on the fatal
morning, he passed on foot through the park,
between an avenue of soldiers, to Whitehall ; and
being conducted along the gallery, — which at
that time ran across the street, and connected the
royal buUdings in the park with the opposite
part of the palace, — he was led to the bed
chamber which he had occupied in the days of
his prosperity. This apartment appears to have
overlooked the river, and consequently was at a
considerable distance from the scene of his execu
tion. It adjoined the private stairs leading to
the river, and was subsequently occupied by the
queen of Charles the Second.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 223
The scaffolding having only been commenced
the preceding evening, and not having been com
pleted, the unfortunate monarch was allowed a
considerable time for prayer. While he was stUl
engaged at his devotions, some pushing members
of the puritan clergy knocked at the door of his
apartment, and offered to assist him in preparing
for his fate. He told them, calmly, that they had
so often prayed against him, they should never
pray with him in his agony ; but, he added, he
should be grateful if they would remember him
in their prayers. As soon as he had finished his
devotions, " Now," he says, "let the rogues come;
I have forgiven them, and am prepared for all I
am to undergo." When Colonel Hacker gave the
last signal at the door of his apartment. Bishop
Juxon, his spiritual adviser, and his faithful attend
ant, Herbert, fell on their knees before him and
wept ; the king gave them his hand to kiss, and
Juxon being an old man, he kindly assisted him to
rise. To Colonel Tomlinson, a republican officer,
who had shown him every attention consistent
with his duty to his employers, he presented his
gold toothpick case, and requested him to attend
him to the last. Then, desiring that the door
might be opened, and telling Hacker he was pre
pared to foUow him, he passed, with a cheerful
countenance, through an avenue of guards which
lined the once splendid galleries, to the scaffold.
Much doubt has existed in regard to the exact

224 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
spot at Whitehall on which Charles was beheaded.
"The king," says Pennant, "was conducted from
his bedchamber along the galleries and the Ban
queting-house, through the wall, in which a pas
sage was broken, to his last earthly stage. This
passage stUl remains, at the north end of the
room, and is at present the door to a small addi
tional buUding of late date." Mr. Croker falls
into the same error as Pennant. " It is generally
supposed," he says, "that Charles was beheaded
on a scaffold erected in the front of the Banquet
ing-house. This is, I believe, a mistake. The
street in the front of the Banqueting-house did
not then exist." The fact, however, is that not
only was there a street in front of Whitehall,
running under Holbein's famous gateway, but it
was then, as it is now, the only thoroughfare
between the cities of London and Westminster.
Moreover, not only does every ancient print of
the king's execution represent him as having been
beheaded in front of the Banqueting-house, and
not at the end, but the warrant for the execution
expressly lays down that the execution shall take
place "in the open street before Whitehall." The
fact is that Charles, agreeably with the terms of
the warrant, was executed immediately in front of
the Banqueting-house, passing through a passage
broken in the wall, which passage was exactly in
the centre of the building, between the upper and
lower windows. Herbert, who attended his un-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 225
fortunate master in his last moments, informs
us : " The king was led along all the galleries
and Banqueting-house, and there was a passage
broken through the wall, by which the king
passed unto the scaffold." The reason for break
ing through the wall is obvious. Had Charles
passed through one of the lower windows, the
scaffold must necessarily have been so low that it
would have been on a level with the heads of the
people, a circumstance, for many evident reasons,
to be carefully avoided ; whUe, on the other hand,
had he passed through one of the upper windows,
the height would have been so great that no one
could have witnessed the scene except those who
were immediately on the scaffold. Without, how
ever, continuing the digression, it is perhaps suffi
cient to observe that, at the renovation of the
Banqueting-house a few years since, a fact was
made apparent, which I imagine will be considered
as setting the question at rest. Having curiosity
enough to visit the interior of the buUding, — the
walls of which were then laid bare, — a space was
pointed out to me, between the upper and lower
centre windows, of about seven feet in height and
four in breadth, the bricks of which presented a
broken and jagged appearance, and the brick- work
introduced was evidently of a different date from
that of the rest of the building. There can be
little doubt that it was through this passage that
Charles walked to the fatal stage. Indeed, when

226 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
we consider how conclusive is the evidence that
the execution took place in front of the Banqueting-
house, and how improbable it is that such sofid
and beautiful masonry should have been disturbed
and broken through for any other purpose, we
shall perhaps be pardoned for looking upon it as
setting the question for ever at rest.
The king passed to the fatal scaffold with a
cheerful countenance and with a firm, undaunted
step. In the words of one who differed widely
from him in all religious and political opinions :
" While round the armed bands
Did clasp their bloody hands.
He nothing common did or mean.
After that memorable scene ;
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try ;
Nor called the gods, with vulgar spite.
To vindicate his helpless right ;
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed."
Charles was attended to the scaffold by Bishop
Juxon, and by two of the gentlemen of his bed
chamber, Harrington and Herbert. The stage was
covered with black cloth ; in the centre of it lay
the block, with the axe resting on it ; and close
by, the king's coffin, lined with black velvet. The
scaffold was surrounded by a large body of soldiers,
both foot and horse, and beyond them was a vast
multitude of human beings, who came to witness

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 227
the memorable scene. To the last Charles appeared
cheerful, resigned, and even happy. Having put on
a satin cap, he inquired of one of the two execu
tioners, both of whom were in masks, if his hair
were in the way. The men requested him to push
it under his cap. As he was doing so, with the
assistance of the bishop and of the executioner, he
turned to the former, and said, "I have a good
cause, and a gracious God on my side." "There
is but one stage more," replied the bishop, "it will
carry you from earth to heaven ; and there you
will find a great deal of cordial joy and comfort."
To which the king responded, " I go from a cor
ruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no dis
turbance can be, no disturbance in the world."
Then again inquiring of the executioner, " Is my
hail well .' " he took off his cloak and George, and,
delivering the latter to the bishop, exclaimed with
a marked emphasis, " Remember ! " To the exe
cutioner, he said, " I shall say but short prayers,
and when I thrust out my hands — " Looking
at the block, he said, " You must set it fast." The
executioner replied that it was fast. The king
remarked that it might have been higher. Being
told that it could not have been higher, he said,
" When I put out my hands this way — " In the
meantime, having divested himself of his doubtlet,
he again put on his cloak. Then lifting up his
hands and eyes to heaven, and repeating a few
words which were inaudible to the bystanders.

228 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
he knelt down and laid his head upon the
block. The executioner stooping to put his hair under
his cap, the king, thinking he was about to strike,
bid him wait for the sign. After a short pause he
stretched out his hand, and the executioner at one
blow severed his head from his body. The head
was immediately lifted up by the other headsman
and exhibited to the people. "Behold," he ex
claimed, "the head of a traitor." The dismal and
almost universal groan which burst forth at that
moment from the dense population around was
never forgotten by those who heard it. The multi
tude, however, were allowed but a short interval
for reflecting on the scene they had witnessed,
for almost immediately a party of cavalry rode
rapidly from Charing Cross to King Street, and
another from King Street to Charing Cross, for
the purpose of dispersing the people ; and within
a few minutes, with the exception of tbe scaf
fold and its bloody paraphernalia, Whitehall pre
sented but the ordinary appearance of every day.
" But thou, dark man ! by whose relentless doom
The martyred monarch found a bloody tomb ;
What dost thou here within these regal walls.
Where every glance thy daring crime recalls ?
Here, where thy victim's latest tear was shed?
Here, in the silent chamber of the dead,
Why sit'st thou, brooding, mournful, and alone
Thou dark usurper of the Tudor's throne ?

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 229
Why does thy heart no proud content avow ?
There sits no triumph on thy lordly brow;
Whence was the pang that iron frame that shook ?
Whence was that sudden start, the haggard look ?
Can airy trifles shake that giant mind ?
The rustUng tapestry, the moaning wind?
Yes ! round thy feverish couch and tortured brain.
Avenging conscience groups her shadowy train ;
Brings the pale phantoms of the good and brave.
By thee condemned to many a headless grave;
The waking agony, the nightly fear.
Thy daughter's curses ringing in thine ear ;
The dread of death that seeks for lengthened days.
By craven arts which ill the end repays ;
The secret armour, and the trebled guard.
Each foe suspected, from each friend debarred ;
The mean intelligence, the watchful eye,
The ready poniard, and the hireling spy ;
Thy soul a torment, and thy life a lie."
-/. H. J
On the i6th of December, 1653, Oliver Crom
well was solemnly installed Lord Protector of the
Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ire
land. He occupied at this period apartments
in the Cockpit, on the site of the present Treasury,
from whence, after a " seeking of the Lord," he
proceeded — surrounded by his body guard, and
preceded by the barons of the exchequer, the judges
in their robes, and the lord mayor, aldermen, and
recorder, in their scarlet gowns — to Westminster
Hall, where the ceremony of installation was per
formed with great magnificence. On the return

230 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
of the procession, Cromwell was immediately pre
ceded by the lord mayor, bearing the sword of
maintenance. They again assembled in the Ban
queting-house, from whence, after an exhortation
by Nicholas Lockyer, Cromwell's puritan chaplain,
and afterward Provost of Eton, they dispersed to
their respective homes.
From this period we find the Protector receiving
the House of Commons, and the congratulations
of foreign ambassadors, in the Banqueting-house
at Whitehall, and on the 14th of April, 1654, he
formally took up his abode in the regal palace of
the Stuarts, and apparently in the same apartments
which had been occupied by the ill-fated Charles.
In the public journals of the day there is more
than one notice of the removal of the Protector
and his family to the stately apartments of White
hall. "April 14, 1654. His Highness, the Lord
Protector, with his lady and family, this day dined
at Whitehall, whither his Highness and family
are removed, and did this night lie there, and
do there continue." And again in the Weekly In
telligencer, " The privy lodgings for his High
ness, the Lord Protector, in Whitehall, are now
in readiness, as also the lodgings for his Lady
Protectress ; and likewise the privy kitchen, and
other kitchens, butteries, and offices ; and it is
conceived the whole family wiU be settled there
before Easter. The tables for diet prepared are
these :

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 23 1
A table for his Highness. A table for the gentlemen.
A table for the Protectress. A table for coachmen, grooms,
A table for chaplains and and other domestic servants.
strangers. A table for inferiors, or sub-
A table for the steward and servants.
gentlemen. A few days afterward we find the Protector giv
ing a sumptuous entertainment at his new abode.
"April 27, 1654. The lords ambassadors of the
United Provinces this day dined with his High
ness, the Lord Protector, at Whitehall, and the
lords of the council, with some colonels and
other gentlemen, at two tables in the same room ;
and the lords ambassadors, the lord president, and
the Lord Lisle, at the same table with his High
ness ; and twenty gentlemen were taken into his
Highness's life-guard of foot, who carried up the
meat, and many gentlemen attended ; and after
dinner there was a banquet. The coats of the
guards are gray cloth, with black velvet collars,
and silver trace and trimming."
Notwithstanding his professed godliness, Crom
well showed but little disinclination to surround
himself with the trappings of monarchy and the
paraphernalia of a court. Sir GUbert Pickering
was appointed his lord chamberlain, and his
son-in-law, Claypole, master of the horse. His
processions were attended by heralds and pursui
vants-at-arms, and, at his second installation in
Westminster Hall, we find his former simple

232 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
dress of black velvet exchanged for robes of
purple lined with ermine. Evelyn, who visited
Whitehall in 1656, observes: "I ventured to go
to Whitehall, where of many years I had not been,
and found it very glorious and well furnished."
If the entertainments given by Cromwell, at
Whitehall, were wanting in taste and refinement,
they were at least characterised by a profuse and
generous hospitality. Every Monday he kept an
open table for all the officers of his army who
had attained the rank of captain, besides a smaller
table, every day of the week, for such officers as
came accidentally to court. "With these," says
Heath, " he seemed to disport himself, taking off
his drink freely, and opening himself every way to
the most free famUiarity." More than once in the
Banqueting-house at Whitehall, — beneath that fa
mous roof which had witnessed alike the refined
amusements of Charles and his latest agony, — we
find him entertaining, in a body, the Commons
of England, many of whom, like himself, had
set their signatures to the death-warrant of their
royal master. Heath mentions the Parliament
being " gaudily entertained " by him in the Ban
queting-house, in 1656, having previously attended
a sermon in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster ;
and Burton more than once records these liberal
entertainments. In February, 1657, he writes:
" Mr. Speaker acquainted the House that his
Highness hath invited all the members of the

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 233
House to dine with his Highness on Friday
next (being the day of public thanksgiving) in
the Banqueting-house at Whitehall." It would
save much trouble if invitations in our time could
be delivered in a simUar summary manner.
We must not conclude our notices of the court
of Cromwell, at Whitehall, without giving a brief
account of a remarkable entertainment which took
place in the present Banqueting-house, — a build
ing endeared to us by so many historical associ
ations. The buffooneries of the great Protector
— -his thorough enjoyment of a practical joke, his
delight in flinging napkins at the ladies, and cush
ions at his dragoons — are well known. At the
entertainment to which we allude, whUe the sweet
meats were being served, a lady who was enceinte,
and who happened to be a spectator, requested
Colonel Pride, who was seated at the same table
with Cromwell, to give her some candied apricots,
for which she had conceived a longing. The gal
lant colonel, we are told, " instantly threw into her
apron a conserve of wet sweetmeat with both his
hands, and stained it all over ; when, as if it had
been the sign, Oliver catches up his napkin and
throws it at Pride ; he at him again, while all
the table were engaged at the scuffle ; the noise
whereof made the members rise before the sweet
meats were set down, and believing dinner was
done, go to this pastime of gambols, and be spec
tators of his Highness's frolics. Were it worth a

234 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
description, I would give the reader a just and
particular account of that Arab festival, as it was
solemnised in the Banqueting-house at White
hall." SimUar frolics are recorded as having taken
place at the nuptial banquets of the Protector's
daughters, Mrs. Claypole and Mrs. Rich.
At Whitehall, on the 6th of April, 1657, Crom
well refused the crown of Great Britain, which
was formally tendered to him by the assembled
Commons of the realm. Here also, on the 3d of
September, the following year, — on the anniver
sary of his great victories of Worcester and Dun
bar, and on the day which he had always regarded
as the luckiest of his life, — the mighty usurper
breathed his last. The fearful tempest, which
howled around his death-bed, was listened to
with superstitious awe by those who were aware
of the great extremity of this extraordinary man.
Ships were dashed against the shore ; houses
were swept from their foundations ; trees were
uprooted in vast numbers, and especially those
in St. James's Park, almost under the windows
where the Protector lay expiring.
That Cromwell died imbued with the religious
enthusiasm which he had professed in his lifetime
there can be no doubt. He was constantly seen
absorbed in his devotions, and such was his fanat
icism, and so confident was he of being received
among the saints in heaven, that, to use the words
of Hume, " he assumed more the character of a

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 235
mediator, interceding for his people, than that of
a criminal, whose atrocious violation of social
duty had, from every tribunal, human and divine,
merited the severest vengeance." If, at times,
any doubt was entertained by him as to the
real state of his soul, and the efficacy of those
illusions of eternal happiness with which he so
fondly flattered himself, it seems to have been dis
persed by the assurances of the fanatical preachers
who attended him. Of Godwin, a popular divine,
he inquired earnestly whether a person who had
once been in a state of grace could again fall
from it and suffer the reprobation awarded to the
damned. On being assured that such was impossi
ble, "Then am I safe," he exclaimed, "for I am
sure that once I was in a state of grace." In
his last extremity, when paroxysm was succeeding
paroxysm, and when it was too evident that the
hours of the Protector were numbered, a deputa
tion from the councU of state waited at his bed
side to know his will with regard to his successor.
His senses, however, were nearly gone, nor had
he strength enough to express his wishes. Some
one, however, named his son Richard, at which he
is said to have shown sufficient signs of approba
tion to justify the subsequent measures taken by
the councU.
Richard Cromwell was immediately installed as
Lord Protector in the room of his father, and took
up his abode in the palace of Whitehall. His rule,

236 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
it is needless to remark, was of short duration ;
nor is it necessary to enter into the circumstances
which led to the downfall of this singular person
age. For some time before he quitted Whitehall
his creditors had become pressing and even inso
lent. According to Heath, within a day or two
after he had resigned the Protectorship, instead
of his guards, Whitehall was besieged by half the
bailiffs of Westminster, who" were actually armed
with writs against the unfortunate Richard.
At the restoration of Charles the Second,
Whitehall presented a very different appearance
to what it had worn under what Voltaire styles
la sombre administration de Cromwell. Never,
perhaps, in the social history of any country,
has there been effected so sudden a revolution
in fashion, — for such in fact it was, — from the
black doublets and the long sallow faces of
the Puritans, to the dainty coxcombry and the
open and unblushing profligacy which were
the immediate characteristics of the restoration
of Charles the Second. In the same apartments
— in which a few months before were held solemn
"exhortations" and "seekings of the Lord" — we
turn, as it were, by the shifting of a magic lantern,
to such scenes as Buckingham buUding houses of
cards to amuse la belle Stuart, or Rochester slip
ping indecent lampoons into the pockets of his
good-humoured sovereign. Let us turn only, and
it is a task equally amusing and instructive, from

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 237
the "Parliamentary Diary" of Burton and the
public journals under the rule of Cromwell, to
the gossiping pages of Pepys and Count Hamil
ton, and we shall be readily struck with the
extraordinary change.
With Cromwell died, — not, indeed, the spirit
of puritanism, for it stUl continues to throw a
blight on our religious institutions, to deprive the
hard-worked labourer of his day of rest, and to
drive him from manly and harmless amusements
on the Sabbath day, to the debaucheries of an
ale-house, — but with Cromwell died the fashion
able assumption of sanctity and sour faces, the
straining after theatrical effect, and the affectation
of conventional costume. Whether, indeed, for
better or for worse, Whitehall, at the Restoration,
wore a very different appearance to what it had
presented in the days of the Protectorate. In
lieu of puritan chaplains with hypocritical faces
and Geneva frills ; in lieu of sanctified members
of Parliament with long cloaks and steeple-crowned
hats, we find yeomen of the guard in bright cos
tumes, and pages in silken attire, again sauntering
through its ancient courts ; once more were seen
gallant cavaliers, and fair ladies with flowing
tresses and scarlet plumes, riding laughingly forth
from under its heavy portals ; again the love-song
was heard by moonlight in the shady labyrinths
of Privy Gardens ; music and the dance once more
resounded in the lighted galleries ; and here the

238 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
merry monarch sauntered among his witty court
iers, and toyed with his languishing and beautiful
mistresses, as gay, as thoughtless, and as uncon
cerned as if the blood of his father had never
dimmed the axe of the common executioner within
a few feet of him, or as if he himself had never
been driven forth by a mighty revolution to be a
wanderer on the face of the earth.
" Awake the dance, the revel and the song.
Light the gay hall for pleasure's laughing throng!
Young, gifted Charles ! when bounteous Heaven restored
Thy father's sceptre to its graceless lord ;
Could not thy heart be tempted to retrace
Th' ancestral sorrows of thy fated race;
These stones ensanguined with a father's gore.
Thy friends who died on many a foreign shore ?
Could not their fate one serious thought impress ?
Could not thine own long exUe and distress
One tear of pious gratitude impart.
Or wring reflection from that rebel heart?
No ! fill the bowl to beauty's sparkling eyes ;
' Live while we live,' the frolic monarch cries;
Away with thought in joy's delicious hours.
Of love and mirth, of melody and flowers !
Lo ! on the ear voluptuous music falls,
The lamps are flashing on the mirrored walls ;
How rich the odours, and how gay the rooms
With sparkling jewels and with waving plumes !
Bright names that live in history's page we trace,
Hyde's mournful look, and Monmouth's angel face ;
Portsmouth's dark eye, and Cleveland's haughty charms
That chained a monarch to her snowy arms ;
There royal Catherine checks the jealous tear.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 239
While pleads her lord in beauty's flattered ear ;
There gleams the star on graceful Villiers's breast,
Here the grouped courtiers laugh at Wilmot's jest:
There glittering heaps of tempting gold entice
The wealthy fool to chance the dangerous dice ;
Here floats young beauty through the graceful dance.
Feigns the fond sigh, or throws the wanton glance ;
There the soft love-song, to yon group apart.
Steals with delicious sweetness o'er the heart ;
The easy monarch glides from fair to fair,
Hints the warm wish, or breathes the amorous prayer ;
Such the gay scene the joyous night displays,
But mark the change to-morrow's sun surveys !
The song is hushed, the revellers are fled.
The monarch sleeps upon his funeral bed ;
Coldly it yawns, yon vault's sepulchral gloom ;
There are no lords-in-waiting in the tomb !
No sorrowing friend, no weeping child is there,
No loved-one sobbing with dishevelled hair :
All, whom his bounty fed, his grandeur won,
Have flown to worship at the rising sun.
Of all who courted, pandered, cringed, or sued,
Pleasure's gay swarm, or Flattery's hollow brood ;
One heart alone, within her widowed bower,
Mourns with convulsive sobs their parting hour ;
The only friend who watched his closing scene,
His injured spouse, his own neglected Queen ! "
-J H.J.
Charles the Second returned to Whitehall on his
birthday, the 29th of May, 1660. In St. George's
Fields, Southwark, he was met by the lord mayor
and aldermen in their scarlet gowns, and, being con
ducted by them under a rich canopy, was regaled
with a magnificent banquet. From Southwark to

240 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Whitehall, the streets through which he passed
were hung on each side with tapestry ; bands of
music were stationed at appointed places; the
train-bands of the city, in rich dresses, lined the
way, and the conduits flowed with excellent wine.
Charles entered the palace of his ancestors amidst
the roar of cannon and the acclamations of thou
sands. At night the sky was illumined with
bonfires and fireworks, and the people were
regaled with a profusion of wine and food. Late
at night Charles went in stealth from Whitehall
to the house of Sir Samuel Morland, at Lambeth,
where he passed the first night of his almost mir
aculous restoration with Mrs. Palmer, afterward
the celebrated Duchess of Cleveland.
In the pages of Pepys and De Grammont will
be found many amusing particulars connected
with the history of Whitehall in the days of the
merry monarch. Pepys, in particular, has be
queathed us a very graphic account of a court
entertainment which he witnessed in the old
palace. "The room," he says, "where the ball
was to be was crammed with fine ladies, the
greatest of the court. By and by comes the king
and queen, the duke and duchess (of York), and
all the great ones ; and, after seating themselves,
the king takes out the Duchess of York, and the
duke the Duchess of Buckingham ; the Duke of
Monmouth my Lady Castlemaine, and so other-
lords, other ladies, and they danced the brantle.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 241
After that, the king led a lady a single coranto ;
and then the rest of the lords, one after another,
other ladies ; very noble it was, and great pleas
ure to see. Then to country dances ; the king
leading the first, which he called for ; which was,
says he, 'Cuckolds all awry,' the old dance of
England. Of the ladies that danced, the Duke
of Monmouth's mistress, and my Lady Castlemaine,
and a daughter of Sir Harry de Vic's were the
best. The manner was, when the king dances,
all the ladies in the room, and the queen herself,
stand. And indeed he dances rarely, and much
better than the Duke of York."
From the pen of the same amusing writer we
have a charming description of the return of a
court party from a ride, at which Charles and his
queen were present, and at which la belle Stuart.
afterward Duchess of Richmond, presents the
most prominent figure. "I followed them," says
Pepys, "into Whitehall, and into the queen's
presence, where all the ladies walked, talking and
fiddling with their hats and feathers, and chang
ing and trying one another's by one another's
heads, and laughing. But it was the finest sight
to me, considering their great beauty and dress,
that ever I did see in all my life. But, above all.
Miss Stuart, in this dress, with her hat cocked
and red plume, with her sweet eye, little Roman
nose, and excellent taille, is now the greatest
beauty I ever saw, I think, in my life." On horse-

242 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
back. Miss Stuart is said to have looked exquisitely
beautiful. It was this charm which captivated
George HamUton, when he presented her with
his heart and one of "the prettiest horses in
England." Such charms as those of la belle Stuart could
not f aU to captivate the amorous monarch. " The
king," writes Pepys, in 1663, "is now besotted
with Miss Stuart, getting her into corners; and
wUl be with her half an hour together, kissing her,
to the observation of all the world ; and she now
stays by herself, and expects it, as my Lady Castle
maine did use to do." The feeling of Charles for
Miss Stuart seems to have approached nearer to
what may be termed love than any other of his
libertine attachments. It seems that the young
maid of honour was constantly detained by the
Duchess of Cleveland to pass the night in her
apartment, and as it was the daily practice of
Charles to visit his mistress before she arose, he
constantly found them in bed together. Miss
Stuart, however, had sense enough to prefer a sub
stantial match to a splendid intrigue, and therefore
readUy listened to an offer of marriage, which she
received from Charles Stuart, fourth Duke of Rich
mond. The remaining scenes of the drama are
laid at Whitehall. The Duchess of Cleveland, it
seems, furious at seeing her influence over her
royal lover eclipsed by a younger rival, determined
to enlighten Charles as to the inconstancy of his

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 243
new mistress. Accordingly, one night, in the
course of a stormy interview, the duchess bitterly
taunted him with being the dupe of his rival, and
the laughing-stock of the court. " Miss Stuart,"
she said, jeeringly, " had doubtless dismissed him
from her apartment, on the ground of affected
indisposition, or some pretended scruples of deli
cacy ; but," she added, " he had only to return to
her chamber, and he would find his happy rival,
the Duke of Richmond, occupying his place."
While Charles was hesitating how to act, the
duchess took him by the hand, and led him toward
the spot. " Chiffinch," says De Grammont, " be
ing in her interest. Miss Stuart could have no
warning of the visit. Miss Stuart's chamber was
in the middle of a little gallery, which led, through
a private door, from the king's apartments to
those of his mistresses. The Duchess of Cleve
land wished him good night as he entered her
rival's chamber, and retired in order to wait the
issue of the adventure." It was near midnight.
The king, in his way, was met by Miss Stuart's
waiting-maid, who attempted to oppose his entrance,
telling him her mistress had been UI and had only
just fallen asleep, but Charles insisted on forcing
his way into the apartment. " He found Miss
Stuart in bed," says De Grammont, " but far from
being asleep ; the Duke of Richmond was seated
at her pillow, and in all probabUity was less inclined
to sleep than herself. The confusion of the one

244 MEMORIALS OF LONDON. '
party, and the rage of the other, were such as may
be easily imagined on such an occasion. The king,
who of all men was the most mild and gentle,
expressed his resentment to the Duke of Richmond
in such terms as he had never before made use of.
The duke was speechless and almost petrified ; he
saw his master and his king justly irritated. The
first transports which rage inspires on such occa
sions are dangerous ; Miss Stuart's window was very
convenient for a sudden revenge, the Thames flow
ing close beneath it ; he cast his eyes upon it, and
seeing those of the king more inflamed with indig
nation than he thought his nature capable of, he
made a profound bow, and retired without reply
ing a single word to the torrent of reproaches
and menaces that was poured upon him." The
duke retired from court, but shortly afterward
returned privately, and carried off his beautiful
prize. On a stormy night, in March, 1667, Miss
Stuart eloped from her apartments at Whitehall,
and joined the duke at a small inn in Westminster.
They then fled on horseback into Surrey, where
they were married the following morning by the
duke's chaplain. According to Bishop Burnet,
nothing could exceed the violence of the king's
rage on hearing of his mistress's flight. Within
twelve months, however, the good-humoured mon
arch was reconcUed to her as well as her husband ;
and it is said that, from this period, not only had
Charles no reason to complain of her want of com-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 245
plaisance, but that he was once so intoxicated at a
party at Lord Townshend's as to boast to the Duke
of Richmond of the favours which the duchess had
conferred on him.
It was through the " little gallery " (which we
have mentioned as leading by a " private door "
from the king's apartments to those of the ladies
of the palace) that Charies was one day passing,
whqn he heard the voice of Miss Howard singing
a popular satirical song, in which his famUiar so
briquet of " Old Rowley " was not very reveren
tially introduced. After satisfying his curiosity
for a few moments, he mischievously tapped at
the door of her apartment. Miss Howard in
quired who was there. " Only old Rowley," was
his good-humoured reply.
According to Evelyn, the apartments of the
Duchess of Portsmouth, — another mistress of
Charles, — at Whitehall, had ten times the " rich
ness and glory" of the queen's. An account of
a morning visit which the phUosopher paid to
them in 1683, in company with the king, is amus
ingly detaUed in his diary. " Following his Maj
esty," he says, "through the gallery, I went
with the few who attended him into the Duchess
of Portsmouth's dressing-room within her bed
chamber, where she was in her morning loose
garment, her maids combing her, newly out of
bed, his Majesty and the gallants standing about
her ; but that which engaged my curiosity was

246 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the rich and splendid furniture of this woman's
apartments, now twice or thrice pulled down and
rebuilt to satisfy her prodigal and expensive
pleasures, while her Majesty's does not exceed
some gentlemen's wives, in furniture and accom
modation. Here I saw the new fabric of French
tapestry, for design, tenderness of work, and
incomparable imitation of the best paintings, be
yond anything I had ever beheld. Then, for
Japan cabinets, screens, pendule clocks, great
vases of wrought plate, tables, stands, chimney
furniture, sconces, branches, braseras, etc., all of
massive silver, and out of number, besides some
of his Majesty's best paintings."
According to Pennant, the celebrated Nell
Gwynn, "not having the honour to be on the
queen's establishment," had no apartments at
WhitehaU. This, however, I presume to be a
double error. That Nell Gwynn, strange as it may
appear; was one of the ladies of the privy cham
ber to Catherine of Braganza is proved beyond
a doubt by the books in the lord chamberlain's
office ; ' and that she had apartments at White
hall in her official capacity appears to be no less
certain. Anthony Wood, speaking of the king's
convivial parties, says : " They met either in the
lodgings of Louisa, Duchess of Portsmouth, or
in those of Chiffinch, near the back stairs, or in
the apartment of Eleanor Gwynn, or that of
' She was sworn into the post in 1675.

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 247
Baptist May; but he losing his credit, Chiffinch
had the greatest trust amongst them." Occa
sionally these agreeable supper-parties took place
in the apartment of Miss Kirk, one of the maids
of honour to the queen. The company seems to
have generally consisted of the Duke of Rich
mond, Lord Taaffe, — the admirer and apparently
the seducer of Miss Kirk, — Miss Stuart, the
Count de Grammont, and, for the sake of appear
ances, the governess of the maids of honour.
In the days of Charles the Second, the old
palace of Whitehall was of vast size and magnifi
cence. " It extended," says Pennant, " along the
river, and in front along the present Parliament
and Whitehall Street, as far as Scotland Yard,
and on the other side of those streets to the
turning into Spring Gardens beyond the Admi
ralty, looking into St. James's Park. The merry
king, his queen, his royal brother. Prince Rupert,
the Duke of Monmouth, and all the great officers,
and all the courtly train, had their lodgings within
these walls ; and all the royal famUy had their
different offices, such as kitchens, cellars, pan
tries, spiceries, cyder-house, bake-house, wash-
yards, coal-yards, and slaughter-houses." The
source from which Pennant drew this sketch of
the old palace is from the interesting plan taken
by John Fisher in 1680, and engraved by Virtue
in 1757. This plan is now before me, and it is
not a little interesting to be able to fix the iden-

248 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
tical spot inhabited by the Chiffinches and the
KUlegrews, by the wrong-headed Prince Rupert,
and by the right-minded Duke of Ormond. Here,
on the site of the present Treasury, overlooking
the park, lived the celebrated George Monk,
Duke of Albemarle ; and here, overlooking the
street, on the site of the Board of Trade, lived
the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth.
The public stairs, or water entrance to the pal
ace, still remain on the spot where they existed in
the days of Wolsey. The private stairs, however,
which were used by royalty alone, no longer exist,
though the arch of the portal still remains in the
wall adjoining Fife House. With how many in
teresting events and recollections is this spot
identified ! Through this arch Wolsey passed
when he took his long farewell of human great
ness, when, embarking on board his barge for
Esher, he fixed his mournful glance for the last
time on the princely palace which was to be his
no more. Here Henry the Eighth so often em
barked amidst fair dames and gallant men, on his
magnificent water progresses to Greenwich and
Richmond ; down its steps his daughter Mary
descended on her way to her coronation in West
minster Abbey; here Elizabeth was handed into
her barge by the courtly Leicester or the ill-fated
Essex ; under its portal Charles the First passed
with his beautiful bride to their nuptial apartments ;
and here, in after years, he descended between an

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 249
avenue of soldiers on his way to his trial in West
minster Hall. Here Charles the Second must
have often departed on his midnight frolics, and
here his brother descended in darkness and in
stealth, on the night that he fled an exile to a
foreign shore.
Immediately to the east of the private water
entrance to the palace were the apartments of
Catherine of Braganza, which had been previously
occupied by Charles the First and Cromwell ; and
immediately to the west were those of Charles the
Second, both looking on the Thames. By the
plan of the palace we have just referred to, we find
that the king's apartments joined those of the
maids of honour, as described by De Grammont ;
and the " little gallery " into which they opened is
plainly perceptible. Adjoining the water entrance
and the back stairs, we trace the apartment of
WUliam Chiffinch, — the mdefatigable panderer to
the pleasures, and the depositary of the secrets, of
the voluptuous Charles, — whose name has been
immortalised by Sir Walter Scott.
In a scarce and curious little work, published in
the reign of Charles the Second, the author ob
serves : " To describe all particularities relating
to this royal seat would be too tedious. There is
a most magnificent and stately banqueting-house,
buUt by King James, and the delicate privy gar
den was lately enlarged toward the south, with a
pond of an oval form, supplied with water from

250 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Hyde Park, where you may see the water shoot, or
forced up to a great height from the surface of the
pond, and, by its winding fall, delights the eye and
the ear with its pretty murmur."
Charles the Second breathed his last at White
haU on the 6th of February, 1685, after a short
Ulness, and not without suspicion of having been
poisoned. Evelyn, in a passage written on the
night of the king's death, has left us a very strUcing
description of Whitehall, as he beheld it only on
the Sunday preceding. " I can never forget," he
says, "the inexpressible luxury and profaneness,
gaming, dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forget
fulness of God (it being Sunday evening), which
this day se'night I was witness of ; the king sitting
and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleve
land, and Mazarin, etc., a French boy singing love
songs in that glorious gallery, whilst about twenty
of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons
were at basset around a large table, a bank of at
least ;£2,ooo in gold before them, upon which two
gentlemen who were with me made reflections
with astonishment. Six days after was all in the
dust ! " A short time before his death Charies
gave his keys to his brother James, who is de
scribed as kneeling by his bedside and in tears.
He recommended to his care and protection all
his natural chUdren, except the Duke of Mon
mouth, who had deeply offended him. He begged
him also to be kind to the Duchess of Cleveland,

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 25 1
and especially to the Duchess of Portsmouth ;
and he added, " Do not let Nelly starve." In
his last moments he received the sacrament of
extreme unction from a Roman Catholic priest.
Father Huddleston, who had assisted him in his
flight after the battle of Worcester, and who was
brought privately into the king's bedchamber by
the back stairs.
The priest was introduced into the sick-chamber
by James the Second, who is described as kneeling,
deeply affected, by the bedside of his dying brother.
Notwithstanding their dissimilarity of character,
the scene which parted the two brothers for the
last time appears to have been deeply affecting.
From the pen of the Reverend Francis Roper,
chaplain to the Bishop of Ely, who was admitted
to the sick-chamber of the merry monarch, we
have an interesting account of what passed on the
occasion. " He often in extremity of pain," says
Roper, " would say he suffered, but thanked God
he did so, and that he suffered patiently. He
every now and then would seem to wish for death,
and beg the pardon of the standers-by, and those
that were employed about him, that he gave so
much trouble ; that he hoped the work was almost
over. He was weary of this world ; he had enough
of it, and was going to a better. There was so
much affection and tenderness expressed between
the two royal brothers, the one upon the bed, the
other almost drowned in tears upon his knees, and

252 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
kissing of his dying brother's hand, as could not
but extremely move the standers-by." Such was
the scene which passed in the death-chamber of
Charles the Second at Whitehall. On the follow
ing day James received the congratulations of his
council, and was formaUy proclaimed at the gates
of the palace, and in other places. According to
the prejudiced account of Burnet, the proclamation
was read in solemn sUence. "There were no
tears," he says, " for the last king, and no shouts
for the present one." Welwood and Doctor Cal-
amy, however, have left us a very different account
of the manner in which James's accession was
hailed by the people.
On the eve of that memorable revolution, when
the bigotry and misconduct of the misguided James
was gradually bringing about the change which
deprived him of the sovereignty of three kingdoms,
it was at Whitehall that he first received the tid
ings of the projected invasion of his dominions by
the Prince of Orange, and that he sUently and
sullenly awaited his fate. Here, too, it was that
the last of the male line of the Stuarts, who
reigned over these realms, took his farewell of
human greatness.
It was not unnatural, perhaps, that it should be
long before James could believe that the vast naval
armament, which was preparing by his own cousin
and son-in-law in the ports of Holland, was in
tended to wage war against himself. When the

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 253
nature of the Prince of Orange's intentions became
at length but too evident, he is said to have turned
deadly pale, and the despatch which brought the
tidings fell unconsciously to the ground. Among
other evidences of the disquietude displayed by the
unfortunate monarch, previous to the landing of
his Dutch son-in-law, was the fact of his causing
a weathercock, of no ordinary dimensions, to be
erected immediately opposite his private apart
ments, on the roof of the Banqueting-house at
Whitehall. It was intended to give him mo
mentary notice of the state of the wind, whether
favourable or not to the approach of the Dutch
fleet to the English ports. The weathercock may
still be seen at the north end of the Banqueting-
house, and is rendered the more remarkable from
its being transversely ornamented with a cross,
the symbol of that religion, his devotion to which
proved so fatal to his posterity as well as to him
self. The anxiety which prevailed as to the
shifting of the wind was not confined to the king
himself, but, according as it happened to blow from
the east or from the west, was styled the popish or
the Protestant wind: This circumstance is alluded
to in the well-known political ballad of LUlibullero :
" Oh, but why does he stay behind ?
By my soul 'tis a Protestant wind ! "
At length it became positively known that the
Prince of Orange had landed on the shores of Eng-

254 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
land, and was advancing toward the metropolis.
It was then ¦ — betrayed by the friends who ought
to have been most devoted to him, deserted by his
army, shunned by the summer crew of parasites
and flatterers who had buzzed about him in his
prosperity, abandoned at his utmost need by his
own connections, and even by his favourite daugh
ter, the Princess Anne of Denmark — that the
broken-hearted monarch came to the resolution of
effecting his escape to the Continent. His first
thought, however, was for his young wife, Mary
of Modena, and for his infant heir, afterward invid
iously known as the " Pretender ; " and their flight
is not the least romantic incident in the history
of Whitehall.
The particulars are as follow. On the evening
of the 6th December, 1688, the king, without pre
viously communicating his intentions to the queen,
sent for the Count de Lauzun, the well-known
favourite of Louis the Fourteenth, and desired him
to make instant preparations for her departure ; he
then retired harassed and miserable to bed. Every
thing having been duly prepared, at the appointed
hour the Count de Lauzun, accompanied by M.
de St. Victor, proceeded to the king's apart
ment, and informed him of the steps they had
taken. James instantly rose from his bed, and
proceeded to awake the queen, who, being unex
pectedly made aware of the plan which was laid
for her sudden departure, threw herself at her hus-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 255
band's feet, and, in a passion of grief, implored
him to allow her to remain and share the dangers
which surrounded him. James, however, was in
flexible, and gave orders that the two nurses of the
prince should be awakened. When the infant was
brought into the room, the feelings of the father
overcame his usual coldness, and, tenderly embrac
ing his chUd, he gave the most particular injunc
tions to the Count de Lauzun to watch carefully
over his charge.
It was now between three and four o'clock in
the morning, in the most inclement season of the
year, when the queen, carrying her infant in her
arms, stole in disguise down the back stairs at
Whitehall, to the private water entrance leading
to the Thames. The fugitives seem to have been
in great dread that the cries of the royal infant
would attract the attention of the guards ; fortu
nately, however, it slept, equally unconscious of
the inclemency of the elements, and of the change
which was taking place in its own fortunes. At
the foot of the stairs an open boat was in readi
ness, in which, in almost total darkness, with the
discomforts of a high wind, a heavy rain, and the
Thames being unusually tempestuous and swollen,
the unfortunate queen and her attendants crossed
the river to Lambeth. A coach had been hired,
but by some accident it was delayed. " During the
time that she was kept waiting," says Dalrymple,
" she took shelter under the walls of an old church

256 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
at Lambeth, turning her eyes streaming with tears,
sometimes upon the pi^ince, unconscious of the
miseries which attend upon royalty, and who upon
that account raised the greater compassion in her
breast, and sometimes at the innumerable lights
of the city, amidst the glimmerings of which she in
vain explored the palace in which her husband was
left, and started at every sound she heard from
thence." WhUe in this disagreeable situation, the
fugitives had a narrow escape from discovery.
" The queen," says Father Orleans, " waiting in
the rain under the church wall for a coach, the
curiosity of a man, who happened to come out of
a neighbouring inn with a light, gave considerable
cause of alarm. He was making toward the spot
where she was standing, when Riva, one of her
attendants, suddenly rushed forward and jostled
him, so that they both fell into the mire. It was a
happy diversion, as the stranger believing it to be
the result of accident, they both apologised, and
so the matter ended." From Lambeth, the queen
proceeded by land to Gravesend, where a vessel
was waiting for her, in which, after a safe and
expeditious voyage, she arrived at Calais about
four o'clock on the following afternoon.
It was not long after the flight of the queen
that the ground opposite Whitehall very nearly
became the scene of a sanguinary encounter.
The general commanding the royal guards was
the celebrated Lord Craven, who had figured as

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 257
the gay and accomplished courtier in the reign of
James the First ; who, in the field of battle, had
frequently dared death in the cause of his sov
ereign, and who, amidst the horrors of the great
plague, had braved it with equal cheerfulness in
the cause of humanity. Though now approach
ing his eightieth year, he still retained the com
mand of the royal guards, in which capacity he
continued to perform his mUitary duties with the
same zeal and alacrity as when, in the vigour of
his youth, and under the influence of an honour
able ambition, he had fought under the Ulustrious
banner of the great Gustavus Adolphus.
One more duty was stUl left for the gallant old
soldier to perform. Ascertaining that the Dutch
troops had entered London, he assembled his men
before the palace of Whitehall, and, placing him
self at their head, prepared to die in defence of
his legitimate sovereign. The minds of men were
eagerly alive to the result, when, about eleven
o'clock at night, the sound of the approaching
Dutch was plainly perceptible. Learning that
Lord Craven was prepared to receive them, they
marched through St. James's Park in order of
battle, their matches lighted, and their drums
beating. In the midst, however, of the general
suspense and trepidation. Lord' Craven received
positive orders from James to retire from his
post, — a sentence which seems to have been
as reluctantly obeyed by his humblest foUower as

258 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
by the veteran hero himself. It must, indeed,
have been a bitter blow to the old soldier; nor
would it be easy to analyse the feelings of that
good and gallant man, when, drawing off the noble
troops whose fine discipline and gallant appear
ance constituted the pride and pleasure of his
existence, he left the threshold of his sovereign,
and the palace of the ancient monarchs of his
native country, to be insulted by the sight of a
Dutch burgher-guard standing as sentries at its
gates. The moment had now arrived when the unfor
tunate James found it imperative to consult his
own safety. Accordingly, on the night previous
to his flight, he communicated his determination to
the Duke of Northumberland, the lord in wait
ing, desiring him on his allegiance to keep it a
profound secret, till the necessity for conceal
ment should no longer exist. On the following
morning, the nth of December, about three
o'clock, the king withdrew from Whitehall by the
private water entrance to the palace, and entered
a boat which was in waiting for him.
The next morning the king's antechamber at
Whitehall was thronged as usual by the officers
of state, the gentlemen of his household, and
others who were in the habit of attending his
levee, and their surprise was excessive, when, on
the door of the bedchamber being thrown open,
instead of the king, the Duke of Northumberland

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 259
made his appearance, and informed them of his
Majesty's flight. Having performed this last act
of kindness for his sovereign, the duke, who was
a natural son of Charles the Second, immediately
placed himself at the head of his regiment of
guards, and declared for the Prince of Orange.
James, in the meantime, had proceeded as far
as Feversham, where he was boarded by a boat,
containing thirty-six armed men, who, ignorant
of his rank and mistaking him for a fugitive
Roman Catholic priest, detained and ill-treated
him in the most shameful manner. During the
progress of these events, the Prince of Orange
had advanced as far as Windsor, and as it was un
questionably his interest that James should quit
the kingdom, he was naturally annoyed and dis
concerted at the king's progress having been
arrested. The prince immediately despatched a
messenger to his persecuted father-in-law, desir
ing him on no account to proceed nearer to
London than Rochester. The despatch, however,
arrived too late, for James was already far ad
vanced on his way to London, and at night his
return to the metropolis was hailed by the ring
ing of bells, the blazing of bonfires, and every
manifestation of popular delight. Reresby, a con
temporary writer, mentions the " loud huzzas "
which were heard as the king passed through the
city, and Father Orleans also observes : " This was
a day of triumph ; no man ever remembered to

26o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
have seen the like ; ringing of bells, bonfires, and
all the solemnities that are usually exhibited to
testify joy, were practised on this occasion."
But when James for the last time reentered
the ancient palace of Whitehall, he found its gor
geous chambers almost deserted. Gratifying as
must have been the evidences of reviving loyalty
which were even now ringing in his ear, they
proved of no substantial advantage to the fallen
monarch. The herd of sycophants and time-
servers had already gone to worship the rising
sun. He was approached but by few persons of
distinction, and had the mortification of seeing
Dutch sentries doing duty beneath his windows.
James was in bed at Whitehall, and was probably
but little inclined to sleep, when, about midnight,
his privacy was broken in upon by Lords Halifax,
Shrewsbury, and Delamere, who informed him that
he must quit London the next morning. For the
purpose of being near the seacoast, he requested
that he might be allowed to make Rochester his
residence, and, as it suited the views of his adver
saries, his request was readily granted. He was
conveyed down the river, attended by a Dutch
guard, on a very tempestuous night, not without
danger from the elements as well as from man.
He remained at Rochester tUl the 23d of Decem
ber, when, on another dark and stormy night, he
proceeded with his natural son, the Duke of Ber
wick, and two other faithful followers, in a small

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 26 1
boat down the river Medway, and about midnight
reached a saUing vessel, which was expecting him
near the fort at Sheerness. After encountering
much adverse and boisterous weather, the fugi
tives, on Christmas Day, 1688, arrived safely at
Ambleteuse, in Picardy.
It was not many days after the expulsion of
James that his daughter. Queen Mary, installed
herself, with the most indecent feelings of exulta
tion and joy, in the very apartments which had so
recently witnessed the sorrows and the flight of her
Ul-fated father. The scene is described by the
Duchess of Marlborough, in her " Account of Her
Own Conduct." Speaking of the queen's want of
feeling, she says : " Of this she seemed to me
to give an unquestionable proof the first day she
came to Whitehall. She ran about it, looking into
every closet and conveniency, and turning up the
quUts upon the bed, as people do when they come
to an inn, and with no sort of concern in her ap
pearance, — behaviour which, though at that time I
was extremely caressed by her, I thought very
strange and unbecoming ; for whatever necessity
there was of deposing King James, he was still her
father, who had so lately been driven from that
chamber and that bed ; and if she felt no tender
ness, I thought she should stUl have looked grave,
or even pensively sad, at so melancholy a reverse
of his fortune."
Had the truth of this picture rested entirely on

262 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the prejudiced authority of so virulent a partisan
as the Duchess of Marlborough, we might be in
clined to regard it as exaggerated and malicious.
But the description which Evelyn gives of Mary's
behaviour, on her first arrival, sufficiently estab
lishes the veracity of the duchess. "She came,"
he says, "into Whitehall, laughing and jolly, as to
a wedding, so as to seem quite transported. She
arose early the next morning, and, in her undress,
as it was reported, before her women were up,
went about from room to room to see the conve
nience of Whitehall ; lay in the same bed and apart
ments where the late queen lay, and within a night
or two sat down to play at basset, as the queen,
her predecessor, used to do." Even her panegyrist.
Bishop Burnet, admits that he could not witness
the queen's unseemly levity without censure.
Whitehall, convenient and even picturesque as
was its situation, magnificent as were its princely
chambers, and suited to all the purposes of a court,
was never the fixed residence of the phlegmatic
usurper. King William. I cannot discover, indeed,
that he ever passed a night within its walls. Prob
ably its apartments — and they had witnessed his
courtship in the gay time of the merry monarch —
were too intimately associated with the dark and
melancholy annals of a past dynasty, and with the
misfortunes of a race whom he had been so in
strumental in driving into misery and exile. He
took up his abode in the distant and Dutch-looking

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 263
palace of Kensington, where he lived to bemoan
the desolation of his domestic hearth, and to curse
the ingratitude of the people whom he had saved
from bigotry and slavery ; where he drank brandy
in secret, and where he died. Whitehall may be
said to have ceased to exist with the house of
Stuart. In 1697, nearly the whole of this mag
nificent structure, which contained upwards of a
thousand apartments, was consumed by fire.
In wandering over the site of Whitehall, once
the scene of so much splendour and of so many
interesting historical events, the antiquarian and
the lover of the past will find but little that es
caped the great fire of 1697. The Banqueting-
house, the rooms occupied by Oliver Cromwell,
forming part of the present Exchequer Office,
the old water entrance, and probably some of the
apartments of the Treasury, are all, we believe,
that remain of the ancient palace.
On the site of the present Treasury and part of
the Board of Trade stood, as has already been
mentioned, the famous Cockpit, the spot where
our sovereigns gazed complacently on the cruel
sports which were the delight of a past age, where
afterward arose the celebrated structure where the
ministers of Queen Anne transacted the affairs of
the realm, and which, though considerably changed
and altered, has continued, from that day to the
present, to be the Treasury of Great Britain.
Several of the old offices were taken down in

264 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
1733, in order to erect the present building which
faces the parade in the park, the expense of which
was estimated at ;£9,ooo.
The Cockpit, once a portion of the ancient
palace, is associated with many illustrious names.
Here were the apartments of George Monk, Duke
of Albemarle, and here that celebrated man
breathed his last. After his death, they were
conferred by Charles the Second on his own
niece, the Princess Anne of Denmark, afterward
Queen Anne. From hence it was, on the ap
proach of the Prince of Orange to London, in
1688, that she fled at midnight down the back
stairs in "her nightgown and slippers," with only
the Duchess of Marlborough for her companion,
to join the deadly enemies of her unfortunate
father. A few years afterward, the harsh conduct
of King WUliam, and of her sister. Queen Mary,
compelled her to quit the Cockpit under very dif
ferent circumstances. Lord Dartmouth, speaking
of the compulsory removal of the princess from
Whitehall, observes : " She was carried in a sedan
to Sion, being then with chUd, without any guard
or decent attendance, where she miscarried, and
all people forbid waiting ; which was complied with
by everybody but the Duke of Somerset, whose
house she was in, and Lord Rochester, who was
her uncle." The princess subsequently removed
to Berkeley House, Piccadilly, where she remained
till the death of her sister, when she became rec-

THE OLD PALACE OF WHITEHALL. 265
oncUed to King WUliam, and probably returned to
her old apartments at the Cockpit.
In 1708, we find the Treasury spoken of as being
" kept at the Cockpit near WhitehaU." Here,
during the reign of Queen Anne, was the office
of the celebrated Godolphin, and of the no less
celebrated Harley, Earl of Oxford. Here, in full
councU, Guiscard made his attempt on the life of
Harley ; here the assassin himself fell pierced with
many wounds, of which he afterward died in New
gate ; and, lastly, here it was that Bishop Atterbury
underwent his memorable examination before the
Privy Council, previous to his committal to the
Tower. From Dodsley we learn that, as late as
1 76 1, the Treasury retained its ancient name of
the Cockpit.

CHAPTER VI.
THE THAMES AT LONDON.
The Thames in Ancient Times — Thames by Moonlight — Old
Palace of Whitehall — Northumberland, York, Durham,
Salisbury, Worcester, and Somerset Houses — Temple Gar
den — Alsatia — BiideweU — Baynard's Castle — Queenhithe
— Bankside — Water Processions.
Let us take boat at Whitehall Stairs and pass
down the river to the Tower, noting, as we glide
along, a few of the more remarkable places asso
ciated with the history of the past. Let us recall
to mind the time when the Thames was the great
thoroughfare, the " silent highway," as it has been
styled, between London and Westminster ; when
its banks were adorned with a succession of stately
palaces and fair gardens ; when it was crowded
with gilded barges covered with silken awnings,
and with a thousand wherries freighted with hooded
churchmen, and grave merchants, and laughing
beauty, in all the ghttering or fantastic costume
of a past age. " Heave and how, rumbelow,"
was the ancient chorus of the London watermen
in the days of the Plantagenets, and, as late as the
266

the THAMES. 267
reign of Charles the First, we find this peculiar
race stUl famous for keeping time to their oars
with some characteristic song.
" Row the boat, Norman, row to thy leaman,"
was the first line of a song composed by the Lon
don watermen in honour of John Norman, Lord
Mayor of London in the reign of Henry the Sixth,
who, in 1454, first introduced the custom of the
lord mayor proceeding, on state occasions, by water
from London to Westminster instead of on horse
back. To the philosopher, the Thames, as it presents
itself in our own time, with its immense com
merce, its crowded navigation, its magnificent
bridges, its busy wharves, and its forest of masts
at London Bridge, presents matter of reflection of
deep and varied interest. Such reflections may
be indulged even when we are jostled along the
crowded bridges ; and even the smoke from ten
thousand furnaces and manufactories, which usu
ally obscures the mid-day in London, may furnish
additional food for meditation, as evincing the
wealth of the mighty city. But to the poet, the
painter, and the lover of past history, it is not at
such a time that the Thames wears its most invit
ing aspect. Those only, indeed, have witnessed it
in its full perfection, who have stood, on a summer
morning, on one of its glorious bridges, when the
inhabitants of the vast human hive are asleep, and

268 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
when every object is rendered distinct, and pictur
esque, and beautiful, from the meanest wharf to
the magnficent dome of St. Paul's, with its golden
cross glittering in the early sunrise.
But I confess that to me it is on a moonlight
night that the Thames at London wears its fairest
aspect. If the reader has any taste for what is
beautiful in nature or in art ; if, like the author,
he is sometimes willing to forget the turmoil of
the present to live in the sUent world of the past,
let him, on a fair night, pass from the noisy streets
of Westminster into Dean's Yard, and thence into
the still and solemn cloisters of the old abbey.
There, standing on the tombs of mitred abbots and
nameless monks, with the massive walls and but
tresses of the venerable cathedral steeped in the
moonlight, and with all its innumerable associations
crowding on his mind, he will witness a scene of
almost unequalled interest and beauty. Let him
then take boat at Westminster Bridge. He will
hear no sound but the splash of his own oars ; he
will see the light reflected in long lines of radiance
from the different bridges ; he will call to mind the
many gorgeous processions, or the many illustrious
prisoners who were led along the same " sUent
highway" to their dungeons in the Tower, and
their pUlow on the block ; he wUl rest on his oars
at each remembered spot of interest or beauty,
and at midnight he wUl hear the iron tongues
of a thousand clocks answering each other over

THE THAMES. 269
the sleeping city, and, far louder than the rest, the
solemn and deep-toned knell of St. Paul's. The
days have gone by when the oar of the London
waterman was entangled in the stems of the water-
lily; when, as described by Paulus Jovius in 1552,
the river "abounded in swans, swimming in flocks;"
or when, as mentioned in the Spectator, " ten sail
of apricot boats " were seen landing their cargoes
at Strand Bridge, having previously taken in melons
at Nine Elms. But though the Thames at London
may have lost much as regards the picturesque,
there still remains much to charm and interest us,
and the lapse of time has at least had the effect of
adding to its thousand historical associations.
In proceeding by water from Westminster to
the Tower, the first spot of interest which we pass
is the site of the old palace of Whitehall, with its
traces of the ancient water entrance, where our
monarchs were accustomed to embark in all their
splendour and triumph, from the days of Henry
the Eighth to those of the last of the Stuarts.
Farther on are the gardens of Northumberland
House, which formerly extended to the water ;
and adjoining them, Hungerford Market points
out the site of the London residence of the pow
erful famUy of the Hungerfords of Fairleigh, in
WUtshire, whose mansion was pulled down by Sir
Edward Hungerford, in the reign of Charles the
Second. A little beyond Hungerford Market
stood York House, formerly the inn, or residence,

270 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
of the Bishops of Norwich, and afterward of the
Archbishops of York. Here lived the celebrated
Lord Chancellor Egerton, and here the great
Bacon was born ; here, also, in the days of his
magnificence, lived the great favourite, George
Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, and from its beauti
ful gateway, — the work of Inigo Jones, — which
is StUl an ornament to the river, he must often
have passed to his sumptuous barge, in all the
pomp and pride of human greatness.
Close to York House stood Durham House, the
residence of the Bishops of Durham, now occupied
by Durham Yard and the Adelphi. In July, 1258,
at a time when the treachery and insincerity of
Henry the Third, the exactions with which he op
pressed his unfortunate subjects, and his contempt
of all solemn obligations, threatened to draw down
on him the judgments of Heaven and the anathe
mas of the Church, we find the misguided monarch
entering his barge at Westminster Stairs, and
passing down the river toward the Tower. He
had proceeded only a short distance, when the sky
became obscured, and so violent a storm of thun
der and lightning followed, that Henry, who was
at all times terrified by any conflict of the ele
ments, ordered the rowers to put him on shore.
The. barge was nearly opposite Durham House,
which was then occupied by Simon de Montfort,
Earl of Leicester, who had married the king's
sister, and who was at the head of the associated

THE THAMES. 27I
barons, with whom Henry was then on the worst
terms. The earl, perceiving the approach of the
royal barge, hastened to receive the king on his
landing, and, after respectfully saluting him, en
deavoured to dispel his fears. " Your Majesty,"
he said, "should not be afraid, since the tempest
is over." At these words, the king's countenance
put on a severe expression, and he exclaimed,
passionately : " Above measure I dread thunder
and lightning ; but, by the head of God, I am in
more terror of thee than of all the thunder and
lightning in the world."
Next to Durham House stood Salisbury House,
built by Robert CecU, Earl of Salisbury, in the
reign of James the First ; and adjoining it stood
Worcester House, the site of which is now covered
with Beaufort Buildings. Farther on, extending
as far as Waterloo Bridge, stood the magnificent
palace of the Savoy, — the residence of the great
Plantagenets, Dukes of Lancaster, the place of
captivity of John, King of France, who was taken
prisoner at the battle of Poictiers, and which
was devoted by Wat Tyler to the flames in 1381,
from the hatred which he bore to its owner the
celebrated John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster.
Somerset House, which stands on the site of
the famous palace erected by the Protector, Duke
of Somerset, recalls a host of interesting associa
tions. Beyond it stood Bath's Inn, the residence
of the Bishops of Bath and Wells, till the reign of

272 MEMORIALS OF LONDON,
Edward the Sixth. It afterward became the prop
erty of the celebrated high-admiral. Lord Thomas
Seymour, and was one of the scenes of his "in
decent dalliance" with the Princess Elizabeth,
during the lifetime of her sister. Queen Mary.
Subsequently it became the residence of the
Howards, Earls of Arundel and Dukes of Norfolk,
whose titles are stUl preserved in Arundel Stairs
and Surrey Stairs.
Between the site of Arundel House and the
Temple, " Essex Stairs " points out the spot
where stood the garden or water entrance to
Essex House, once the residence of the ill-fated
favourite of Queen Elizabeth, and the scene of
his conspiracy against his royal mistress. The
Temple Garden — whether we people it in im
agination with the Knights Templars of the olden
time, or with the many learned and peaceful men
who have since sauntered beneath its green avenues
— is a spot especially interesting. Here it is, in his
play of " Henry the Sixth," that Shakespeare places
the scene between Richard Plantagenet and the
Earl of Somerset, when, in hot blood, they quitted
the Temple Hall for the secluded garden, and
where the contention took place which, in the
subsequent bloody quarrel between the rival
houses of York and Lancaster, gave rise to the
party distinctions of the White and Red Rose.
" Within the Temple Hall we were too loud !
The garden here is more convenient.

THE THAMES, 273
Plan. Let him that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth.
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
Warwick. I love no colours ; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Suffolk. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset ;
And say withal, I think he held the right."
It indeed led to a contest, which
"... dyed the white rose in a bloody red."
Adjoining the Temple was Alsatia, the place of
refuge for the outcasts of society in the reigns
of Elizabeth and James the First, now, perhaps,
principally familiar to the reader from Scott's
admirable romance, the " Fortunes of Nigel."
Immediately to the east stood the church and
convent of the Carmelites, or White Friars, — a
name preserved, within the last century, in
" Whitefriars Stairs," — and close to it is the site
of Dorset House, formerly the residence of the
Bishops of Salisbury, and afterward inhabited by
the celebrated Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset.
Here he composed his tragedy of " Porrex and
Ferrex," which was performed before Queen
Elizabeth at Whitehall, and here more than one
of his successors, a race of warriors and poets,
breathed their last.

274 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
We next pass by the site of Bridewell, a formid
able castle in the days of WUliam the Conquerer,
and the favourite palace of our early Norman
sovereigns. Its walls were formerly washed by
the clear waters of the Fleet River, — a name
afterward degraded into the Fleet Ditch, — which
Pope has immortalised in his "Dunciad," and
which, from its having been converted into an
underground sewer, is now only to be seen where
it pours its black waters into the Thames, near
the foot of Blackfriars Bridge. Pope says, alluding
to the " Dunces : "
" By Bridewell all descend
(As morning prayer and flagellation end).
To where Fleet-ditch, with disemboguing streams,
Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames,
The king of dykes ! than whom no sluice of mud
With deeper sable blots the silver flood."
When London was anciently a fortified city, the
great wall ran along the Fleet Ditch, extending to
the river nearly where Blackfriars Bridge now
stands. Within the walls stood the great house
of the Dominicans, or Black Friars, a spot famous
in the history of our country ; and immediately to
the east of the bridge is the site of Baynard's
Castle, which takes its name from Baynard, a fol
lower of WUliam the Conqueror, who died in the
reign of William Rufus. This spot is also en
deared to us from being associated with the pages

THE THAMES. 275
of Shakespeare, and with some of the most inter
esting passages in the history of our country.
But, as regards these, and other sites of past splen
dour to which we have alluded in our progress
down the river, — as we may have to dwell more
fully on their local histories in our future rambles
through the streets of London, — we must not too
much anticipate the interest which remains to be
dwelt upon elsewhere.
Proceeding in our progress down the river, we
pass under the shadow of the great cathedral of
St. Paul's. At its foot is Queenhithe, or Queen's
Harbour, — anciently called Edred's-hithe, — the
spot where vessels discharged their cargoes as
early as the days of the Saxons. We find it royal
property in the time of King Stephen, who be
stowed it on William de Ypres, who, in his turn,
conferred it on the convent of the Holy Trinity,
" within Aldgate." In the reign of Henry the Third
it again came into the possession of the Crown ;
the vessels which brought corn from the Cinque
Ports were compelled to land their cargoes here ;
and apparently, from the harbour dues being con
ferred on the queen, it obtained its name of Ripa
RegincB, or Queen's Wharf.
On the opposite, or southern, bank — between
Blackfriars Bridge and Southwark Bridge — is
Bankside. Here was the Globe Theatre immor
talised as the spot where Shakespeare trod the
stage ; here was the celebrated " Paris Garden ; "

276 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
here stood the circuses for " bowll-bayting " and
" beare-baytynge," where Queen Elizabeth enter
tained the French ambassadors, with the baiting
of wUd beasts ; here stood the Falcon Tavern, the
daily resort of Shakespeare and his dramatic com
panions, — the " Folken Ine " as it is styled in the
ancient plans of Bankside ; and here also, between
Southwark Bridge and London Bridge, were the
" pike ponds " which supplied our monarchs with
fresh-water fish, and adjoining them the park and
palace of the Bishops of Winchester.
The history of old London Bridge we shall re
serve for our notices of Southwark and its inter
esting locality. But, before landing at the Tower,
let us pause to mention one or two incidents which
throw a charm over the old river.
In the reign of Edward the Third, when that
warlike monarch was holding his court at West
minster, and when his captive, King John, of
France, was residing in the palace of the Savoy,
we frequently find the latter proceeding by water
to pay private visits to the English monarch. " He
went," says Froissart, "as often as he pleased,
privately by water, to visit King Edward at his
palace of Westminster."
In the succeeding reign, it was on the occasion
of one of the royal processions of Richard the
Second on the Thames that the monarch espied
Gower the poet passing by in his wherry, and,
summoning him on board the royal barge, entered

THE THAMES. 277
familiarly into conversation with him, and com
manded him to
" Make a book after his hest."
The result was the production of the " Confessio
Amantis," in which the poet, in a simple but
graphic manner, thus describes his interview with
his sovereign :
" As it befel upon a tide.
As thing which should then betide ;
In Thames, when it was flowing.
As I by boat came rowing.
So as fortune her time set.
My liege lord perchance I met,
And so befel, as I came nigh,
Out of rdy boat, when he me sygh ;
He bade me come into his barge ;
And when I was with him at large.
Among other things he said
He hath this charge upon me laid,
And made me do my business,
That to his high worthiness
Some new thing^ I should book.
That he himself might look,
After the form of my writing.
And thus upon his commanding,
My heart is well the more glad
To write so as he me bade."
A few years afterward, in the reign of Henry
the Sixth, we find the Thames connected with the
troubles of the unfortunate Eleanor Cobham, wife
of Humphrey Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester,.

278 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
She was accused (with one Bullinbrooke, " a priest
very expert in the art of necromancy," and Margery
Goudmain, commonly called the Witch of Eye)
of conspiring against the king's life, with the ob
ject of elevating the Duke of Gloucester to the
throne. The accusation set forth that she, " Elea
nor, Lady Cobham, Duchess of Gloucester, to bring
her husband to the crown, had procured and con
trived with the said persons to make an image
of wax like unto the king; which image they
dealt so with by their devUish incantations and
sorceries that, as the image consumed by little
and little, the king's person should so daily decay,
till he was brought to his end."
That the duchess tampered with the necroman
cers there can be no doubt. One of the charges
brought against her was administering love po
tions to her husband " to make him love her ; "
the truth of which she admitted, though she posi
tively denied having conspired against the life
of the king. Bullinbrooke was hung, drawn, and
quartered, and the Witch of Eye was burnt.
The duchess escaped with performing penance,
and suffering imprisonment for life. On three
different occasions she was compeUed to walk
through Fleet Street, and other places, with her
head uncovered, and with a taper of two pounds
weight in her hand, which she offered at the high
altar of St. Paul's Cathedral. On each of these
occasions the unfortunate lady was brought from

THE THAMES. 279
Westminster to the city by water. On the 1 3th
of November, 1440, she was landed at the Temple
Stairs ; on the isth at the Old Swan Stairs, close
to London Bridge, and on the 17th at Queenhithe.
It is remarkable that, notwithstanding the lapse of
more than four hundred years, the three " stairs "
we have just mentioned should be still in exist
ence, with the same names by which they were
distinguished in the reign of Henry the Sixth.
When Henry the Seventh consented to the
coronation of his young wife, — the Princess
Elizabeth, daughter of Edward the Fourth, that
"gentle, beautiful, and fruitful lady," as she is
styled by Lord Bacon, — she was conducted by
water from the palace at Greenwich to West
minster with extraordinary magnificence, being
attended by "barges freshly furnished with ban
ners and streamers of sUk." The fair young
queen was crowned in Westminster Abbey, in
the presence of her cold-blooded husband, by
Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, on Sunday,
the 25th of November, 1487. Ive, in his account
of the " Coronacion of Queene Elizabeth," de
scribes her passage by water from Greenwich,
thus affording us a very curious picture of a royal
procession in the fifteenth century. " She was
royally apparelled," he says, "and accompanied
with my lady, the king's mother, and by many
other great estates, both lords and ladies, richly
besene, came forward to the coronation ; and at

280 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
their coming forth from Greenwich by water there
was attending upon her there the mayor, sheriffs,
and aldermen of the city, and diverse and many
worshipful commoners, chosen out of every craft,
in their liveries, in barges freshly furnished with
banners and streamers of sUk, richly beaten with
the arms and badges of their crafts ; and espe
cially a barge called the bachelor's barge, wherein
were many gentlemanly pageants, well and curi
ously devised to do her Highness sport and
pleasure with."
1 It was while passing down the river in his
sumptuous barge, in 1521, that the powerful sub
ject, Edward Bohun, Duke of Buckingham, the
lineal descendant of Edward the Third, and
the victim of his arch-enemy. Cardinal Wolsey,
was arrested on the Thames by the captain of
the king's guard. Sir Henry Marney, and carried
through the Traitor's Gate to the Tower. From
hence, on the day of his trial, he was conveyed by
water to Westminster Hall with all the ceremony
due to his high position as a prince of the blood
royal, and the most powerful nobleman in the
realm. Before night the scene had changed,
and when he reentered his barge at Westmin
ster Stairs it was as a condemned criminal. The
vessel was furnished with a carpet and cushions
befitting his high rank, but he declined taking
the seat which he had previously occupied. To
Sir Thomas Lovell, Constable of the Tower, he

THE THAMES. 28 1
said, "When I came to Westminster I was lord
high constable and Duke of Buckingham, but now
— poor Edward Bohun ! " He was landed at the
Temple Stairs, where, with the fatal axe carried
before him, he was conducted through the city to
the Tower on foot, as a " cast man." A few days
afterward, amidst the tears and lamentations of a
vast concourse of people, he perished by the hands
of the headsman on Tower Plill.
It was not long before Cardinal Wolsey shared
the fallen fortunes of his victim, the Duke of
Buckingham. In the pages of the chroniclers
of the period, we find more than one graphic
picture of the great churchman, as he occasion
ally appeared in his gorgeous progresses on the
Thames ; more especially when the famous con
clave was sitting in the great hall at Blackfriars to
decide on the divorce between Henry the Eighth
and his injured and high-minded queen, Catherine
of Aragon. At this eventful crisis in the life of
the voluptuous tyrant, we find the great cardinal
constantly passing to and fro in his barge, from
the court at Blackfriars to the palace of Bridewell,
in order to communicate, from time to time, to the
irritated monarch — love-sick with the charms of
Anne Boleyn — the result of the day's proceed
ings. On one occasion, we find the cardinal clos
eted for several hours with his royal master, whom
he seems to have quitted in the worst of humours.
On reentering his barge, the companion of the

282 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
cardinal was the Bishop of Carlisle, who, wiping,
as we are told by Cavendish, the perspiration from
his face, hazarded the trite observation that it was
a "very hot day." "Yes," said the cardinal, pith
ily, " and if you had been as weU chafed as I have
been within this hour, you would say it was very
hot." On the occasion of the nuptials of Henry the
Eighth and Anne of Cleves, in 1540, the king and
his bride proceeded by water from Greenwich to
Westminster in great state. " On the fourth of
February," says Holinshed, "the king and queen
removed to Westminster by water, on whom the
lord mayor and his brethren, with twelve of
the chief companies of the city, all in barges
gorgeously garnished with banners, pennons, and
targets, richly covered, and furnished with instru
ments sweetly sounding, gave their attendance ;
and, by the way, all the ships shot off, and like
wise from the Tower, a great peal of ordnance
went off hastily."
A few years before, when Henry the Eighth
declared his marriage with Anne Boleyn, the young
queen was conducted "by all the crafts of Lon
don," from Greenwich to the Tower. The scene
is described by the old chroniclers with great
spirit. There were "trumpets," we are told,
"shawms, and other divers instruments, all the
way playing and making great melody." "The
lord mayor's state barge," says Mr. Tytler, "led

THE THAMES. 283
the way, adorned by flags and pennons hung with
rich tapestries, and ornamented on the outside
with scutcheons of metal, suspended on cloth of
gold and sUver. It was preceded by a wafter, or
flat vessel, full of ordnance, on the deck of which
a dragon pranced about furiously, twisting his tail
and belching out wildfire. The mayor's was fol
lowed by fifty other barges belonging to the trades
and merchant-companies, all sumptuously decked
with sUk and arras, and having bands of music on
board. On his lordship's left hand was seen a
raft with an artificial mountain, having on its sum
mit a wheel of gold, whereon was perched a white
falcon crowned and surrounded by garlands of
white and red roses. This was the queen's de
vice, and on the mountain sat virgins who sang
and played sweetly. This civic cavalcade rowed
down to Greenwich, where Anne appeared habited
in cloth of gold, and, entering her barge, accom
panied by her suite of ladies and gentlewomen, set
forward to the Tower. Around her were many
noblemen, — the Duke of Suffolk, the Marquis of
Dorset, her father, the Eari of Wiltshire, with the
Earls of Arundel, Derby, Rutland, Worcester, and
others, all in their private barges. She thus rowed
to the Tower, amidst the shouts of the people and
peals of ordnance from the ships which were an
chored close in shore. On arriving at the fortress
she was received by the lord chamberlain, and
brought to the king, who met her at the postern,

284 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and kissed her. She then turned to the mayor,
and, having gracefully thanked him and the citi
zens for the honour they had done her, entered
the Tower." Less than three years afterward the
young and beautiful queen was reconducted over
the same " sUent highway," and landed a miserable
prisoner at the Traitor's Gate of the Tower !
In the reign of Queen Elizabeth the Thames
again became the scene of many a royal proces
sion, when the regal barge was followed by attend
ant vessels freighted with the household guards
and bands of musicians. It was on the occasion
of one of her progresses on the Thames that Sir
Walter Raleigh, from his prison window in the
Tower, caught a glimpse of his royal mistress as
she was landing at Blackfriars. Arthur Gorges
writes to Cecil, in 1592: "Upon a report of her
Majesty being at Sir George Carew's, Sir Walter
Raleigh, having gazed and sighed a long time at
his study window, from whence he might discern
the barges and boats about the Blackfriars' Stairs,
suddenly broke out into a great distemper, and
swore that his enemies had on purpose brought
her Majesty thither to break his gall in sunder
with Tantalus's torment, that when she went away
he might see death before his eyes, and many such
like conceits. And, as a man transported with
passion, he swore to Sir George Carew that he
would disguise himself, and get into a pair of oars,
to ease his mind but with a sight of the queen."

THE THAMES. 285
In the following reign, on the occasion of the
marriage of the interesting Elizabeth, daughter of
James the First, with the elector palatine, the
Thames at Whitehall was the scene of extraordi
nary splendour and rejoicings. Win wood tells us,
in his " Memorials," that the fireworks alone, which
were exhibited in the gardens of Whitehall on the
banks of the Thames, cost nearly eight thousand
pounds. Among those who took a share in the
pageant, and who subsequently presented a mask
at court, were the members of the Inner Temple
and of Gray's Inn. " These maskers," we are
told, "with their whole train in ah triumphant
manner and good order, took barge at Winchester
Stairs, about seven of the clock that night, and
rowed to Whitehall against the tide. The chief
maskers went in the king's barge royally adorned,
and plenteously furnished with a great number of
great wax lights, that they alone made a glorious
show ; other gentlemen went in the prince's barge,
and certain other went in other fair barges, and
were led by two admirals. Besides all these, they
had four lusty, warlike galleys to convoy and at
tend them, each barge and galley being replen
ished with store of torchlights, made so rare and
brave a show upon the water, as the like was never
seen upon the Thames."
On the occasion of the marriage of Charles the
First and Henrietta Maria, the Thames at London
once more presented a stirring and splendid scene.

286 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
The king had met his young bride at Dover ; the
marriage was consummated the same night at
Canterbury, and on the i6th of June, 1625, Charles
arrived with his bride in the capital. They had
embarked on board the royal barge at Gravesend,
from whence, attended by several of the magnifi
cent vessels of the nobility, they proceeded up
the river in regal state. From London Bridge to
Whitehall the procession resembled a triumph.
Thousands of vessels crowded the Thames ; every
lighter and barge was filled with spectators, and
the banks appeared a moving mass of population.
The guns roared from the Tower, as well as from
the various ships in the neighbourhood, while the
populace, notwithstanding the plague raged around
them, and the rain feU in torrents, vied with each
other in the clamour of their gratulations. The
king and queen were each dressed in green. The
windows of the barge, notwithstanding the pelting
rain, were kept open, Henrietta frequently acknowl
edging the shouts of the populace by gracefully
waving her hand. It was observed that her head
already reached the king's shoulder, and that she
was young enough to grow taller.
In the " Strafford Letters" wiU be found more
than one interesting notice of the unfortunate
Archbishop Laud passing between his episcopal
palace at Lambeth and the palace of Whitehall.
In one of his letters to the Earl of Strafford,
speaking of the state of his health, he regrets

THE THAMES. 287
that, in consequence of his elevation to the See
of Canterbury, he has only to glide across the
river in his barge, when summoned either to the
court or the Star Chamber ; whereas, when Bishop
of London, there were five miles of rough road
between the palace of Fulham and Whitehall,
the jolting over which in his coach he describes
as having been extremely beneficial to his health.
In our notices of Whitehall we have mentioned
the particulars of the flight of the Ul-fated James
the Second by night, when he was compelled to
leave his kingdom and his palace to the tender
mercies of his Dutch son-in-law. The boat which
lay in wait for him at the private water entrance
to the palace was rowed by only two watermen,
and the only companions of his flight were Sir
Edward Hales and two trustworthy servants.
The misguided king had contrived to obtain pos
session of the Great Seal, and, as he passed down
the river, he let it fall into the water. The cir
cumstance possibly occasioned some temporary
inconvenience, but the instrument was shortly
afterward recovered by a fisherman, and restored
to the government.
We have mentioned also the stormy passage
across the water to Lambeth, of the young and
interesting Mary of Modena ; when, with her infant
slumbering in her arms, she passed silently and
stealthUy down the private staircase at Whitehall,
and blessing the howling of the wind and the rag-

288 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ing of the waters, because they drowned the cries
of her infant, stepped into the boat which was to
convey her on her first stage from the inhospitable
country of which she had seen but little, and which
she had so little reason to leave with regret. With
these notices we wUl quit our memoir of the
Thames. Under the rule of our Dutch and
German monarchs, we find it connected with
scarcely an incident of the sHghtest interest ; in
deed its romance appears to have expired with the
flight and fallen dynasty of the Ul-fated Stuarts.

CHAPTER vn,
THE TOWER.
Description of the Fortress — Its Principal Bulwarks — Tower
Chapel — Traitor's Gate — Kings Who Built, Enlarged, and
Lived in It — Distinguished Prisoners Whose Misfortunes
or Crimes Have Thrown a Deep Interest over Its Dungeons.
Associated with almost every great and every
tragic event in the history of our country, there is
no buUding in Europe, which, to an Englishman,
is replete with feelings and recollections of such
deep and varied interest as the Tower of London.
Who is there, indeed, whose philosophy is so rigid,
or whose heart is so dead to every sentiment of
poetry and romance, as to be able to pass without
deep emotion through its dreary courts, every stone
of which, could it speak, would chronicle some
fearful crime, or some melancholy tale of suffer
ing and distress ! Whether, indeed, we recall the
time when the Roman sentinel looked down from
its ramparts on the quiet waters below; whether
we identify ourselves with the period when it was
the proud palace of our Norman sovereigns, diver
sified with terraced walks and verdant labyrinths ;
whether we conjure up the shadows of the head-
289

290 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
less and illustrious dead who have expiated here
their patriotism or their crimes ; whether we recall
the foul murders which have been perpetrated
in its fearful dungeons, the screams of tortured
guUt, or the sUent sufferings of innocence and
beauty, this memorable pile cannot fail to awaken
a train of thought and reflection to which no pen
could do justice.
But, before we proceed to touch on the many
heart-stirring events with which the Tower is as
sociated, it is necessary to give a brief description
of the ancient fortress itself.
The fact of a Roman fortress having existed on
the site of the present Tower of London has occa
sionally been called in question, but we believe
without reason ; nor would we willingly deprive
it of one of its most interesting associations. That
the White Tower, or, as it was formerly styled,
Caesar's Tower,' was originally founded by Julius
Caesar is unquestionably a fiction, the Roman
emperor never having advanced so far as London
' Shakespeare more than once designates it as Caesar's Tower.
In " Richard the Second," Act v. Sc. i, we find :
" This is the way
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected Tower."
And, again, in " Richard the Third," Act iii. Sc. i :
" Prince. Did Julius Csesar build that place, my Lord ?
Gloster. He did, my gracious Prince, begin that place ;
Which, since, succeeding ages have reedified.
Prince. Is it upon record ? Or else reported
Successively from age to age, he built it ?
Buckingham. Upon record, my gracious Lord."

THE TOWER. 291
in either of his expeditions. On the other hand,
that the Romans had a fortification here, and
indeed a mint, at a later period, there can be little
doubt. That the Keep or White Tower is the most
ancient part of the present fortress there can also
be no question. It was erected, about the year
1078, by WiUiam the Conqueror, the architect
being the celebrated Gundulph, Bishop of Roches
ter, who also built Rochester Castle. In the fol
lowing reign, William Rufus surrounded the Tower
with a stone wall, and his successor, Henry the
First, made several important additions. Fitzste-
phen, who wrote about the year 1 1 80, informs us :
" London hath on the east part a Tower Palatine,
very large and very strong, whose court and walls
rise up from a deep foundation ; the mortar is
tempered with the blood of beasts." ' When Fitz-
stephen penned these lines, little did he imagine
how symbolical were the materials, which cemented
the walls of the Conqueror, of the bloody scenes
which were destined hereafter to be enacted in its
secret dungeons.
" Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame.
By many a foul and midnight murder fed ! "
The principal entrance to the Tower is by three
gates to the west, one within the other. The
' " Arcem palatinam maximam et f ortissimam, cuj us areae
muri a fundamento profundissimo exsurgunt, cemento cum san
guine animaUum temperato."

292 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
first of these opens into a small court, on the right
of which is the Lions' Tower, where the royal
menagerie was formerly kept ; the second opens
to a stone bridge built over the moat ; and at the
farther end is the third gate, which is defended
by a portcullis, and is otherwise much stronger
than the others, and where for centuries the
principal guard of the Tower, consisting of soldiers
and warders, has always been stationed.
There stUl exists a curious and ancient cere
mony connected with the opening and closing of
the Tower gates. In the morning, the yeoman-
porter, attended by a sergeant's guard, proceeds to
the governor's house, where the keys of the for
tress are delivered to him. From hence he pro
ceeds to open the three gates, and as the keys pass
and repass, the soldiers on duty lower their arms.
The yeoman-porter then returns to the innermost
gate and calls on the warders in waiting to take in
Queen Victoria's keys, on which the gate is opened,
and the keys are lodged in the warder's hall till
night-time. At the closing of the gates, the same
formalities are used as in the morning. As soon as
the gates are shut, the yeoman-porter, followed by a
sergeant's guard, proceeds to the main guard, who
are all under arms, with the officer upon duty at
their head. The usual challenge from the main
guard is, "Who comes here.?" to which the yeo
man-porter answers, "The Keys." The challenger
returns, " Pass, Keys." As they pass, the main

THE TOWER. 293
guard lower their arms, on which the yeoman-por
ter exclaims, " God save Queen Victoria ! " and the
guards answer, with loud voices, "Amen." The
yeoman-porter then proceeds with his guard to
the governor's house, where the keys are lodged
for the night.
The principal bulwarks in the Tower of London
are the White, or Caesar's Tower, the Bell Tower,
the Beauchamp, or Cobham Tower, the Devereux
Tower, the Bowyer's Tower, the Jewel Tower, the
Broad Arrow Tower, the Salt Tower, the Record,
or Wakefield Tower, and the Bloody Tower. Some
other towers might be mentioned of ancient date,
many of which may have been the dark scenes of
torture and death, but it is not known that any
particular interest is attached to them. The site
of those we have mentioned, and of which we are
about to give a brief account, may be traced by
a curious plan of the Tower, taken from a survey
made in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. By a doc
ument, drawn up in 1641, showing the manner
in which the different buildings are appropriated,
it appears that as many as eleven towers were
used as " prison lodgings."
We have already mentioned that the White
Tower, or Keep, is the most ancient part of the
fortress. This fine building is of a quadrangular
form. The walls are of vast thickness ; and at
each of its four angles is a lofty turret, one of
which was formerly used by the learned Flam-

294 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
stead as an observatory. Besides its antiquity,
the White Tower is especially an object of interest
as having been formerly an integral part of the
ancient palace of the Kings of England. Its
chapel, its hall, and its council-chamber stUl re
main. In addition to some capacious vaults beneath
its foundations, the White Tower consists of three
stories, each of which has its particular interest.
The ground, or basement story, consists of three
apartments, two of which are of considerable size,
while the third is not a little remarkable from the
peculiarity of its vaulted roof, and the appearance
which it presents of great antiquity. That these
gloomy chambers were for centuries used as prisons
there can be little doubt. Here, in the reign of
Queen Mary, were imprisoned several unfortunate
persons who were implicated in Sir Thomas Wyatt's
rebellion, and here, if we are to place any credit in
tradition. Sir Walter Raleigh composed his " His
tory of the World." These interesting rooms, on
the walls of which the inscriptions left by more
than one unhappy criminal may still be traced, are
now, to the disgrace of the government, used as
store-rooms for arms, and a magazine for gun
powder. The second story in the White Tower, besides
two other apartments, consists of the beautiful
chapel dedicated to St. John the Evangelist, which
rises to the roof of the Tower. It was here that
our sovereigns and their households for centuries

THE TOWER. 295
offered up their devotions. Formerly, through
many a reign, it was redecorated and rebeautified
with religious care and at regal expense ; but it
has been left to the present tasteless age to con
vert it into an emporium for dirty records and
musty parchments. Such is the fate, in the nine
teenth century, of the most interesting and perfect
specimen of the Norman style of architecture in
England I
In the uppermost story of the White Tower,
the apartments are far loftier and more imposing,
and also have all the appearance of being of an
ancient date. The largest of them, the roof of
which consists of vast beams of timber supported
by massive pillars of wood, is deeply interest
ing, as being, according to tradition, the famous
council-chamber where our sovereigns sat at de
bate when they held their court in the regal
fortress. Here it was that Richard the Second,
clad in all the appurtenances of royalty, and sur
rounded by "dukes, prelates, earls, and barons,"
took his crown from his devoted head and delivered
it to the usurper Bolingbroke. Here occurred
that striking scene at the council-table, when the
Protector Gloucester bared his shrivelled arm,
and when, striking his hand upon the table, the
guard rushed in and hurried the unfortunate Hast
ings to the block ; and lastly, here it was that
Anne Boleyn stood, serene and beautiful, before
her judges, on that memorable occasion when

296 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
every cheek was blanched and every eye was wet
but her own. And yet, shame on the age, this
apartment, also, has been converted into a Record
Office! The private apartments of the palace, where
for nearly five hundred years the sovereigns of
England experienced their joys, their sorrows, or
their bridal pleasures, were situated at the south
east angle of the fortress, having an immediate
communication with the chapel and the state
rooms in the White Tower. The bedchamber
and the private closet of the sovereign were in
the Lanthorn Tower, of which no vestige now
remains, but which formerly adjoined the great
gallery, and overlooked the private garden of the
palace. It may be interesting to bear the locality
in the mind's eye, as hereafter we shall find them
the scene of more than one historical or roman
tic incident, in the annals of the Tower.
Immediately on the left hand, after entering
the fortress, is the Bell Tower, which derives its
name from containing the alarm bell of the gar
rison. Here was confined the pious and venerable
John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, for refusing to
take the oath of supremacy to Henry the Eighth,
and from hence he was led forth to the scaffold
on Tower HUl. The apartment in which he was
imprisoned was probably the gloomy and vaulted
room on the basement floor. His dungeon is de
scribed as miserable in the extreme ; and here he

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THE TOWER. 297
was allowed to remain, though in his eightieth
year, with no covering but rags, and these scarcely
sufficient to hide his nakedness. Over a chimney-
piece, in an apartment adjoining the Bell Tower,
has recently been discovered the following inter
esting inscription :
" Upon the twenty daye of June, in the yere of
our Lord a thousande five hundred three score and
five, was the right honourable countes of Lennox
Grace commettede prysoner to thys lodgynge
for the marreage of her sonne. My Lord Henry
Darnle and the Queue of Scotland. Here is their
names that do wayte upon her noble Grace in
thys place. M. Elizh. Hussey, M. Jane Baily, M.
Elizh. Chamberlain, M. Robert Partington, Edward
Cuffin, anno Domini, 1566."
According to tradition, it was in the Bell Tower
that Queen Elizabeth was lodged when she was
committed to the Tower by her sister. Queen
Mary. This, however, could not have been the
case, as we are expressly told that her prison
adjoined the queen's garden, where, when her
health began to suffer from close confinement,
she was occasionally allowed to take the air. The
Bell Tower has long formed a part of the lodg
ings of the Lieutenant of the Tower, now the
residence of the lieutenant-governor. This lat
ter buUding was erected in the reign of Henry
the Eighth, and contains little that is interesting,
• with the exception of an apartment on the second

298 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
floor, in which Guy Fawkes, and the other con
spirators concerned in the Gunpowder Plot, under
went their examination. A bust of James the
First, as well as a marble monument in the waU,
— giving an account of the conspiracy, in Latin,
and the names of the conspirators and the examin
ing commissioners, — are still preserved in the
apartment. The Beauchamp or Cobham Tower appears to
have been erected about the reign of King John,
and is highly interesting, as having been appar
ently the principal state prison in the fortress,
and the spot where the most Ulustrious criminals
were probably immured. In the reign of Henry
the Eighth it was known as the Beauchamp
Tower; but in consequence of some of the Cob-
hams having been confined there for their share in
Sir Thomas Wyatt's rebellion, it afterward became
more familiarly known as the Cobham Tower.
The principal apartment, which is of large size,
is on the first floor, with two small cells adjoining
it, in which, probably, the prisoners were secured
for the night. It is difficult to enter this interest
ing apartment without feelings of deep emotion.
The walls are literally covered with inscriptions,
engraved by the hands of a succession of unhappy
prisoners, — some of them bearing names familiar
to us by their misfortunes and violent deaths,
others breathing the purest piety, others bewail
ing in some touching sentence their miserable lot.

THE TOWER. 299
For instance, let us take the following inscription
by Charles BaUly, a young man who involved him
self in the ruined fortunes of Mary, Queen of
Scots :
" Principittm sapientice timor Dei, I.H.S. X.P.S.
Be friend to one. Be enemye to none. Anno D.,
1 571, 10 Sept. The most unhappy man in the
world is he that is not pacient in adversities ; for
men are not kiUed with the adversities they have ;
but with the impatience which they suffer.
" Tout vient apoient, quy peult attendre. Gli
sospiri ne son testimoni veri dell' angoscia mia.
JEt. 29. Charies BaiUy."
Again, how touching is the following inscrip
tion, the original of which is in Italian ! " Since
fortune hath chosen that my hope should go to
the wind to complain, I wish the time were de
stroyed, my planet being ever sad and unpro-
pitious. WUliam Tyrrel, 1 541."
Over the fireplace is an inscription, in his own
hand, by the unfortunate Philip, Earl of Arundel,
who languished here for many years, till he was
released by death on the 19th of November, 1595.
The inscription is as follows :
" Quanto plus afflictionis pro Christo in hoc smculo,
tant 0 plus glories cum Christo infuturo. Arundell,
June 22, 1587.
" Gloria et honore eum coronasti, Domine,
In Memoria eterna erit Justus.
At ... "

300 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Lastly, on the site of the fireplace is a well-
executed piece of sculpture, by John Dudley, Earl
of Warwick (eldest son of John, Duke of Northum
berland), who was imprisoned for his share in the
rash attempt to place the crown on the head of his
sister-in-law. Lady Jane Grey. His name, in the
spelling of the age, is encircled by a border of oak-
sprigs, roses, and other flowers, and above it is
his family badge of the lion and bear and ragged
staff. There is also an inscription of four lines
in verse, part of which is obliterated. The earl
was afterward arraigned for high treason in West
minster Hall, and, together with his father and
the Marquis of Northampton, was condemned to
death, but died shortly afterward in the Tower.
The word Jane on the walls of the principal
apartment in the Beauchamp Tower, has occasion
ally excited great attention, as being supposed to
be the autograph of the beautiful and accomplished
Lady Jane Grey. From her sex, however, her
high rank, and her near relationship to the queen,
it is far more likely that she was imprisoned either
in the royal apartments, or in the private residence
of the lieutenant of the Tower ; though, on the
other hand, the name may not impossibly have
been engraved either by her husband. Lord GuUd-
ford Dudley, a fellow prisoner in the Tower with
his brother, the Earl of Warwick, or by some other
affectionate relative or adherent. The following
couplet is known to have been written by Lady

THE TOWER. 30 1
Jane Grey on the wall of the apartment in which
she was confined, but unfortunately no trace of
it can now be discovered :
" Non aliena putes homini quae obtingere possunt,
Sors hodierna mihi, eras erit ilia tibi."
The Beauchamp Tower, like every other inter
esting part of the ancient fortress, has been con
verted to a strange purpose. That famous apart
ment, the walls of which formerly listened to the
dying prayers and groans of many an illustrious
criminal, is now condemned to the unseemly uses
and resounds to the boisterous joviality of a mess-
room. There seems but little prospect of better
times ; let us, however, hope and pray that a gov
ernment may yet spring up with sufficient taste
and liberality to erect a proper repository for our
public records ; to clear the fine old towers of the
present lumber ; to restore them, internally as
well as externally, to their ancient architecture;
and to gratify not only our own countrymen,
but men of taste and feeling of all countries, by
admission to those time-honoured apartments,
which, in point of historical and romantic inter
est, are not to be surpassed by any building in
Europe. The Devereux, or, as it was anciently called,
the Develin Tower, is situated at the northwest
angle of the fortress, and seems for centuries to
have been set apart as a state prison, the appear-

302 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ance of which, with its massive walls, its gloomy
cells, and iron gratings, it still partially retains.
It bears its present name from having been the
prison of Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, the Ul-
fated favourite of Queen Elizabeth. It has every
appearance of being of a much earlier date than
the Beauchamp Tower.
The Bowyer's Tower derives its name from
having been formerly the residence of the master
and provider of the king's bows. Of this tower
the only remains are the basement story, which
consists of a vaulted and gloomy apartment, the
walls of which also are of great thickness. Ac
cording to tradition, it was in this dismal cham
ber that George, Duke of Clarence, was drowned
in a butt of Malmsey.
The Jewel Tower, or, as it was styled in the
days of Queen Elizabeth, the Martin Tower, fianks
the northeast angle of the Tower. It derives its
name from having been long the repository of the
regalia, which were formerly kept in a small buUd
ing on the south side of the White Tower. It was
here that Blood made his famous attempt to steal
the crown. Of this ancient tower also little is
left but the basement floor, the roof of which is
vaulted and groined in the elegant style of archi
tecture that prevailed in the reign of Henry the
Third. It was formerly one of the principal prison
lodgings in the Tower, and, tUl modern alterations
barbarously swept them away, some interesting

THE TOWER. 303
inscriptions, left by unfortunate prisoners, were
to be traced on its walls.
The Broad Arrow Tower, which consists of two
stories, appears to be of the same date as the
Beauchamp Tower, and also formed one of the
ancient prisons of the fortress. The most inter
esting part is the basement floor, which consists
of a dismal chamber, and a stUl more dismal cell
about six feet long and about four feet wide. On
the walls are still to be traced some interesting
inscriptions, engraved by the guilty, the penitent,
or the oppressed.
The Salt Tower, a small circular tower, formerly
adjoined the east end of what was called the king's
gallery, and probably formed an integral part of
the ancient palace. The ground floor consists
of a vaulted dungeon connected by a small spiral
staircase of stone with the upper chamber. On
the walls of the former there stUl exist many mel
ancholy memorials of those who languished within
this gloomy prison house.
The Record Tower, formerly known as the Hall
Tower, and sometimes as the Wakefield Tower, is
a large circular buUding, the lower part of which
is apparently of the reign of William Rufus, and,
with the exception of the White Tower, is unques
tionably the most ancient part of the fortress. In
this tower, from the reign of Henry the Eighth,
and probably from a stUl earlier period, the ancient
records of the kingdom have been preserved. If

304 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
we are to place any faith in tradition, it was in the
fine and lofty chamber on the second story that
the "meek usurper," Henry the Sixth, met with
his untimely end.
We might mention several other towers which
anciently formed a part of the bulwarks of the
royal fortress, but either all remains of them have
passed away, or they possess no particular inter
est. We wUl content ourselves, therefore, with
noticing not the least remarkable one, — the
Bloody Tower.
The Bloody Tower, formerly called the Garden
Tower, is situated close to the Record Tower, and,
from the style of architecture, appears to have
been built about the reign of Edward the Third.
This tower derives its chief interest from the pop
ular belief that exists, that in one of its gloomy
chambers Edward the Fifth and his infant
brother, Richard, Duke of York, were smothered
by order of their inhuman uncle, Richard, Duke
of Gloucester ; and from this circumstance it has
been said to derive its name of the Bloody Tower.
In the reign of Charies the Second, some work
men who were employed in the Tower discovered
the bones of two youths, corresponding in size
with the two chUdren of Edward the Fourth, and
it has generally been supposed that the spot where
they were found was beneath the basement story
of the Bloody Tower. This, however, is not the
case, the real spot where they were discovered

THE TOWER. 305
being at the foot of an ancient staircase on the
south side of the White Tower. There are many
circumstances, indeed, which lead us to question
whether the popular story of the murder of the
young princes is not altogether an idle fiction ;
but even admitting the fact that they met with an
untimely end, there is no reason to imagine that
the Bloody Tower was the scene of the tragedy.
There is every reason, indeed, to believe that the
supposition is the mere invention of more recent
times. It was not tUl the latter end of the
reign of Queen Elizabeth that the Bloody Tower
received its present name, and as Mr. BaUey con
jectures, in his history of the Tower of London, it
is far more likely to have been so called from hav
ing been the scene of one of the many "foul and
midnight murders" which disgraced the sixteenth
century, and not improbably from the tragical end
of Henry, Earl of Northumberland, who destroyed
himself in the Tower, in 1585, but whose death
was popularly attributed to the hand of the mid
night assassin.
Perhaps the most interesting spot in the ancient
fortress is the "Tower Chapel," erected in the
reign of Edward the First, and not inappropriately
dedicated to St. Peter ad Vincula. Who is there
that has ever entered that narrow portal, through
which so many of the headless dead have been
carried in their bloody shrouds to their last home,
without feelings of the deepest emotion .¦" How

306 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
many high hopes, what turbulent passions, what
fair forms, rest calmly beneath our feet !
" After life's fitful fever they sleep well ! "
Here for a time rested the headless trunk of Sir
Thomas More, and here lie the remains of the
amiable and undaunted martyr, John Fisher, Bishop
of Rochester. In front of the altar sleep the two
Ul-fated wives of Henry the Eighth, the gentle and
beautiful Anne Boleyn, and the no less beautiful
adulteress, Catherine Howard ; and between them
— in the same grave with his turbulent and ambi
tious brother. Lord Seymour, of Sudley, and side
by side with his powerful rival, John Dudley, Duke
of Northumberland — sleeps the great Protector,
Duke of Somerset.
Not far off rest the headless remains of George,
Lord Rochford, who was involved in the fate of
his innocent sister, Anne Boleyn ; and here also
lies the wise and powerful minister of Henry the
Eighth, Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex. It is
singular that in no history have I been able to
trace the burial-place of the gifted and Ul-fated
Lady Jane Grey, or of her ambitious father, Henry
Grey, Duke of Suffolk, who was executed a few
days after his accomplished daughter. As it is
certain, however, that her young husband. Lord
Guildford Dudley, who was beheaded on the
same day with her, was interred in the Tower
Chapel, it is not improbable that Lady Jane

THE TOWER. 307
and her turbulent father were lajd in the same
grave. In the afternoon of the day on which death
terminated his dreadful sufferings, was committed,
almost stealthily, to the earth, in the Tower
Chapel, the remains of the accomplished courtier
and poet. Sir Thomas Overbury, the victim of the
subtle poisons administered to him in his dungeon
in the Tower by the agents of Frances, Countess
of Essex. Here lies the mutilated corpse of
Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, the ill-fated
favourite of Queen Elizabeth ; and, under the com
munion-table, reposes one no less gifted and ambi
tious, the unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth.
Lastly, here lie buried more than one of the gal
lant and devoted men who lost their lives in the
cause of the ill-fated Stuarts. Here repose, in
one grave, the intrepid Lord Balmerino, the gay
and handsome Lord KUmarnock, and the arch-
traitor, Simon, Lord Lovat.
" Pitied by gentle minds Kilmarnock died,
The brave, Balmerino, were on thy side."
Some years since, on removing the pavement of
the chapel, their coffin-plates were discovered, and
are now preserved in the building. They bear the
foUowing inscriptions :
" Arthurus
Dominus de Balmerino
DecoUatus 18? die Augusti 1746.
jEtatis su£e sS"?."

308 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" Willielmus
Comes de Kilmarnock
DecoUatus i8° die Augusti 1746.
iEtatis suae 42°."
" Simon Dominus
Frazer de Lovat
Decollat. Aprs, g^ 1747.
^tat. suae 80."
In the days when our sovereigns and their
households performed their orisons in the Tower
Chapel, we find it constantly rebeautified and
redecorated by successive monarchs. It then
contained rich stalls for the king and queen ;
and there were two chancels, one dedicated to the
Holy Virgin, and the other to St. Peter. It was
adorned with a fine cross and with pictures and
statues of saints; its two altars were profusely
ornamented, and the windows filled with beauti
ful stained glass. Its appearance, alas ! has been
sadly changed for the worse. It is now deformed
by modern pews, and in vain do we search for any
trace of the magnificence of the past. But that
which principally disappoints us, on entering the
Tower Chapel, is the absence of all memorials to
the Ulustrious dead who sleep beneath our feet,
and whose misfortunes have been famUiar to us
from our childhood. Not a single one is to be
found I We still hope, however, that the time
may come when this interesting spot wUl be
thrown open to the public, and that some memo-

THE TOWER. 309
rial wUl be raised, however simple, to point out the
names of those who rest below, and the spot where
they severally lie.
But though the resting-places of the headless
dead remain unrecorded, there is more than one
interesting memorial to persons more fortunate or
less ambitious, who died peaceably in their quiet
homes. There is a fine monument to Sir Richard
Blount, and his son. Sir Michael, and another to
Sir Richard Cholmondely, who fought under the
Earl of Surrey at Flodden Field. All three, in
their respective lifetimes, held the appointment of
lieutenant of the Tower. But the monument to
which we turn with the greatest interest is a small
tablet of stone in the floor, at the upper end of
the nave, to the memory of Talbot Edwards, the
old man who was gagged and stabbed by the ruf
fian Blood, when the latter made his famous
attempt to seize the crown jewels. " Here lieth
y^ body of Talbot Edwards, gent., late keeper of
his Ma'y'^ Regaha, who dyed y= 30* of September,
1674, aged 80 yeares and 9 moneths." The old
man lived to see himself neglected, and his assaU-
ant pensioned !
The open space in front of the chapel is scarcely
less interesting than the chapel itself. When the
rage of the Protector, Richard, Duke of Gloucester,
sent the unfortunate Lord Hastings from the coun-
cU-table to the block, " without time for confession
or repentance," it was here that he was hurried

310 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
by the guard, and beheaded on a "log of timber,"
which his executioners found conveniently at hand.
Here the lovely Anne Boleyn submitted her slen
der neck to the stroke of the executioner ; here
the no less beautiful Queen Catherine Howard
was beheaded, together with the unprincipled
Lady Rochford, the confidante of her amours ;
and here perished the pious and gentle Lady Jane
Grey. Lastly, it was here that the Earl of Essex,
the ill-fated favourite of Queen Elizabeth, sub
mitted serenely and piously to his fate. In the
" yard belonging to the chapel " also lie buried
Sir Francis Weston, Henry Norris, and WUliam
Brereton, the three reputed lovers of Anne Boleyn,
who were involved in her ruin, and who were be
headed a few days before her, on Tower HUl.
Before we proceed to notice some of the more
distinguished prisoners, whose misfortunes or
whose crimes have thrown so dark and deep an
interest over the dungeons of the Tower, let us
pause for a moment at the famous Traitor's
Gate. As we look down upon that gloomy water
entrance, what a crowd of melancholy recollec
tions rushes to our minds 1 How many Ulustrious
persons, who wantoned so lately in the full pride
of pomp and power, have been hurried through
this dark passage, never more to return ! How
often, when its dripping walls have received the
armed barge, and have echoed back the last mel
ancholy splash of the advancing oars, has the

THE TOWER. 311
increasing darkness sent the colour from the
cheek of the prisoner, and struck terror into his
heart ! Within the last year or two, the ancient
wooden gates, blackened by age and the action of
the water, have been removed from the Traitor's
Gate. Whether they have been converted into
fire-wood, or turned to some baser purpose, we
know not, but we do know that, in any other
country but England, they would have been relig
iously preserved as a priceless and most interesting
relic of the past.
The first person who is recorded to have been
committed a prisoner to the Tower was the famous
soldier-prelate, Ralph Flambard, Bishop of Durham,
whose extortions and oppressions rendered him so
unpopular as minister and first favourite of WUl
iam Rufus. Uniting in his own person the ap
pointments of high treasurer, justiciary, and Bishop
of Durham, he fell at once, on the accession of
Henry the First, from the highest position which
could be held by a subject to be an inmate of a
prison. Here he continued to lead that life of
revelry and intemperance which had distinguished
him in the days of his greatness. At length, we
are told, his friends having contrived to convey a
rope to him in a flagon of wine, he let himself
down from the tower in which he was imprisoned,
and, with the exception of a few bruises, reached
the ground uninjured. He subsequently managed
to reach the court of Robert of Normandy, whom

312 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
he afterward assisted in his fruitless endeavours to
obtain possession of the English throne.
It is not tUl the succeeding reign of King Ste
phen, that we have any positive evidence of the
Tower having been a royal residence. It is cer
tain, however, that this monarch was residing here
in 1 140, when, according to WUliam of Malmes
bury, he kept his court in the Tower, during
Whitsuntide, with great magnificence. In this
reign we find the custody of the Tower conferred
on Geffrey de MandevUle, Earl of Essex, grand
son of the powerful Geffrey de MandevUle, who
had accompanied the Conqueror to England. De
MandevUle proved a traitor to his master, and
retained the fortress for the Empress Maude ; nor
was it till he was arrested and made prisoner at
St. Albans, in 1 143, that the Tower again came
into the possession of King Stephen.
During the reign of Henry the Second we find
but little interest connected with the Tower, nor
is it ascertained that he ever kept his court here.
It may be mentioned, however, that in the early
period of this reign it was in the custody of the
celebrated Thomas a Becket.
When Richard the First departed for the Holy
Land, in 11 89, he conferred the important post of
custodian of the Tower on his chancellor, Long
champ, Bishop of Ely. Foreseeing, perhaps, the
opposition which he was likely to encounter in his
career of haughtiness and oppression, the bishop

THE TOWER. 313
raised around the fortress an " embattled wall of
stone," far stronger than that of WUliam Rufus,
and surrounded the whole with a "broade and
deepe ditch." At length his repeated acts of vio
lence and extortion having completely incensed the
nation, a convocation of barons and prelates was
summoned by the king's brother. Prince John, to
meet at Reading, with the view of concerting
measures for opposing the regent in his tyran
nical career. The result was, that he was for
mally cited to appear before them, on the Monday
following, at London Bridge. Instead of obeying
the summons he hastened to the Tower, where he
shut himself up with his retainers, and prepared
to stand the siege with which he was threatened.
However, finding himself environed by a powerful
army, and foreseeing that resistance was of little
avaU, he appeared at night on the walls of the
eastern part of the fortress, and held a parley with
the principal nobles who headed the conspiracy.
His safety having been guaranteed to him, with
permission to retire to the Continent, he consented
to surrender the Tower, which was immediately
entered by Prince John and his followers. The
charge of the fortress was forthwith conferred on
the Archbishop of Rouen, in whose custody it
remained till the return of King Richard from
the East.
King John appears to have frequently held his
court at the Tower, and, following the example of

314 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
his predecessors, that unhappy monarch added con
siderably to the strength of the fortress. It under
went a siege by the barons in 12 15, and when the
Magna Charta was signed at Runnymede, in that
year, we find it stUl in the possession of the king.
One of the stipulations of the charter was the
surrender of the Tower of London to the barons,
tUl the king should have fulfilled the articles of
agreement which he had signed with his people,
and accordingly it was delivered in trust to the
Archbishop of Canterbury.
Henry the Third not only added considerably to
the strength of the Tower, but it was also to his
taste for the fine arts that his successors were
indebted for that internal comfort and magnifi
cence which continued to render this palatial for
tress a suitable residence for the sovereigns of
England, even as late as the reign of James the,
First. As a specimen of the architectural taste
of Henry the Third, we may mention the beautiful
chapel erected under his auspices in the White
Tower. In the records of the period are numerous
entries of the sums spent by Henry in beautifying
and strengthening the Tower; comprising the
cost of statues and paintings, of which, unfor
tunately, no relic remains to us. It is especiaUy
directed that the king's chamber of state shall
be decorated with paintings from the story of
Antiochus. As the Tower was the spot where Henry passed

THE TOWER. 315
the happy days of his minority, so also was it the
scene of more than one of his fierce struggles with
his imperious barons, and of more than one event
ful incident in his checkered career. Here it was
that his sister Isabel was kept in restraint tUl her
marriage with the Emperor Frederick, in 1235 ;
here the unfortunate king sought for safety during
his contest with his powerful nobles ; here, at one
period, we find him retreating in the dead of night,
and at another presiding over festivals of gorgeous
magnificence; and, lastly, here it was that he
signed those humiliating conditions, which deliv
ered over, not only the Tower of London, but
every other fortress in the kingdom, to the custody
of the barons. From this period the Tower re
mained in the possession of that domineering fac
tion, till, at the battle of Evesham, the success of
the king's gallant son, afterward Edward the First,
restored the royal authority.
During this reign we find more than one person
of distinction a prisoner in the Tower. Here,
in 1232, to the very fortress of which he had
recently been the dreaded governor, was committed
that powerful baron and distinguished soldier and
statesman, Hubert de Burgh, Earl of Kent. The
valuable services which he had rendered to King
Richard and King John, and even to Henry him
self, deserved a very different requital. In 1209
we find him sent abroad to negotiate a treaty
of marriage between King John and a princess of

3X6 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Portugal, and two years afterward he was made
chamberlain of the king's household. Warden of
the Marches of Wales, Sheriff of CornwaU, and
Governor of the Castles of Launceston and Dover.
The following year he was sent on an embassy to
France to demand restitution of the Duchy of
Normandy, and in 12 15 he was one of the com
missioners who treated with the barons, at Runny
mede, on the occasion of the signing of the Magna
Charta. As a soldier, his services were no less
eminent than as a statesman. In 12 16, when
Louis, the French Dauphin, invaded England at
the invitation of the rebels, we find him success
fully defending the Castle of Dover against a
powerful force, although the garrison consisted
only of his own servants and a hundred and forty
soldiers. Again, a short time afterward, when a
large fleet, under the conduct of the celebrated
Eustace the Monk, was approaching the shores of
Kent, with supplies from France, the earl set saU
from Dover, and, though having only eight ships
under his command, dispersed the enemy, and took
captive and beheaded their leader. At the death
of King John, De Burgh hastened to serve his
young sovereign, Henry the Third, with the same
zeal and alacrity with which he had served his late
master ; nor at first had he any reason to complain
that his services were rewarded with a niggard
hand. The accession of honours, indeed, which
yearly flowed in to him ; the variety of appoint-

THE TOWER. 317
ments which he held under the Crown ; and his
numerous castles and vast wealth, almost exceed
belief. In 12 19, on the death of WUliam Marshall,
Earl of Pembroke, he was appointed guardian of
the king and kingdom ; the following year he
married Margaret, sister of the King of Scotland ;
and, in 1228, was created Earl of Kent, and ap
pointed Chief Justiciary of England for life ; lastly,
in 123 1, he was made Chief Justiciary of Ireland
and Constable of the Castles of Odiham and
Windsor, and of the Tower of London. Such an
accumulation of dignities and honours could not
fail to raise him many enemies. By degrees they
contrived to undermine him in the favour of his
sovereign, and, in 1232, he was deprived of all his
honours, appointments, and estates, and compelled
to seek refuge in the sanctuary of Merton Priory,
in Surrey. From hence his enemies followed him
to a residence of the Bishop of London, in Essex,
where, under a promise of protection, he had taken
up his residence. Hearing that an armed force
was approaching to seize his person, he repaired to
an adjoining chapel, and when his enemies entered
he was found standing before the altar with the
cross and host in his hands. These were immedi
ately wrested from him ; he was dragged from the
sanctuary, and, with every circumstance of igno
miny, was carried, with his legs tied, on a wretched
jade to the Tower. It would occupy many pages
to follow the subsequent miserable fortunes of this

3l8 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
once powerful minister. The treatment which he
experienced in the Tower, where he was loaded
with chains, and exposed to every indignity which
the malice of his enemies could devise ; his resto
ration to the sanctuary in Essex, occasioned by the
Bishop of London threatening excommunication
to all those who had dared to violate the sacred
privileges of the Church ; the solitary nights which
he spent at the altar, deprived of food and of all
intercourse with his kind ; the starvation which
eventually compelled him to deliver himself up to
his enemies ; his reimprisonment in the Tower ;
the cruelties to which he was subsequently exposed
in the dungeons of Devizes Castle ; his romantic
escape ; the attempts which were again made to
starve him to death when he sought refuge before
the high altar of the Church of St. John, at
Devizes ; and, lastly, his being carried in safety
to the borders of Wales by a band of devoted
friends, — all these incidents partake rather of the
character of romance than of a matter-of-fact his
tory of real life. De Burgh subsequently leagued
himself with those nobles who took up arms to
redress the wrongs of their country, and, being
included in the general amnesty at Gloucester,
was restored to a great portion of his estates. He
died in 1243, and was buried in the Church of the
Friars Preachers, in London.
Another unfortunate prisoner in the Tower
about this period was Griffin, eldest son of Llew-

THE TOWER. 319
ellin. Prince of Wales. Deprived of his birth
right, and delivered up to the King of England
by the treachery of his younger brother, he passed
four miserable years a prisoner in the fortress of
his hereditary foe. At length, having found
means to elude the vigilance of his keepers, the
unfortunate prince contrived to form a rope of
the clothes and furniture of. his bed, which he
made fast to the battlements of the turret in
which he was confined. In the dead of night he
made the perilous trial. In his descent, however,
the rope broke, and the next morning he was
discovered a lifeless corpse, with his head and
neck crushed beneath his shoulders.
The last prisoner of any celebrity who was con
fined to the Tower in the reign of Henry the
Third was William Marish, or de Marescis, who,
though descended from a long line of ancestors,
was content to establish himself as the chief of
a band of daring freebooters in the Isle of Lundy,
where he continued to be long an object of terror
to the inhabitants of the western coast of Eng
land. At length, notwithstanding the strength of
his island stronghold, having been overpowered
and taken, he was confined with four or five of
his most formidable associates in the Tower,
where he was loaded with irons and committed
to the securest dungeon. His fate was such as
he must have anticipated. Having been hanged,
and his body disembowelled, his quarters were

320 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
sent to be exposed in the four principal cities of
the kingdom.
It was in accordance with the martial tastes of
Edward the First to add considerably to the
strength of the Tower. He greatly enlarged the
moat, and threw up fresh outworks, especially
toward the western entrance ; and, indeed, since
his time, but little has been added to the mUitary
defences of the celebrated fortress. One would
wish to be able to identify the Tower with the
personal history of the " mighty victor," but it
would seem that he seldom held his court within
its walls. Nevertheless, the history of the Tower
in this reign is not devoid of interest. Here it
was, when the unfortunate Jews were accused of
adulterating the coin of the realm, that six hun
dred were huddled together at one time, of whom
two hundred and eighty were hung in London
alone. Here, too, the conquest of Wales, and
the subjection of Scotland, conducted many a
noble and knightly prisoner ; here the timid Baliol
wept over his faUen greatness, and here lan
guished the flower of Scottish chivalry, compris
ing the Earls of Athol, Ross, and Monteith,
Comyn of Badenoch, Richard Syward, John Fitz-
Geffrey, Andrew de Moravia, John de Inch Mar
tin, David Fitz-Patric de Graham, Alexander de
Meners, and Nicholas Randolf, all of whom had
been eminently distinguished for the valour with
which they had fought the battles of their country.

THE TOWER. 321
Lastly, here it was that the glorious patriot, WUl
iam Wallace, was led a prisoner in 1305. In
the dungeons of the Tower he breathed his last
prayer for the land which had given him birth ;
and under its portals he was led forth, tied to a
horse's tail, to expiate on the common gallows his
only offence, namely, a generous ardour to revenge
the wrongs of his country. This iUustrious man
was executed with all the accompaniments of
horror which were peculiar to a semi-barbarous
age, and which have only been omitted within the
last century. His body was removed from the
gallows before life was extinct ; his bowels were
taken out and burnt ; his head was set on London
Bridge, and his quarters sent to Scotlan.! to
arouse the tears and curses of his affectionate
countrymen. His gallant companion in arms,
the dauntless Sir Simon Frazer, suffered the same
fate, and had his head affixed next to that of
Wallace on London Bridge. Many other brave
men were led forth from the Tower to suffer for
the same cause, and among them the Earl of
Athol, whose royal descent proved of no avaU,
and who underwent his doom under circumstances
of peculiar cruelty.
In tracing the history of the Tower at this
period, we find other very curious evidence of
Edward's arbitrary power. While the victorious
monarch was absent in Scotland, in 1303, his
treasury in Westminster Abbey was broken into.

322 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and robbed of the large sum, it is said, of one
hundred thousand pounds. Edward immediately
committed the whole of the sacred establishment
— consisting of the abbot, the monks, and their
servants — • to the Tower of London. They were
subsequently tried and acquitted, nor does it
appear that the real perpetrators of the robbery
were ever discovered. To the Tower also, in this
reign, — when their vice and enormities led to the
breaking up of their establishments in 1 307, —
were committed the Grand Master of the Knights
Templars, and all the members of their powerful
order south of the Tweed.
The ill-fated Edward the Second appears to
hav-" occasionally kept his court in the Tower.
Here his queen gave birth to her eldest daughter,
from this circumstance styled Joan of the Tower,
and here we find him more than once taking
refuge when threatened by the fury of his exasper
ated subjects. After the murder of the king, his
young son, Edward the Third, was kept closely
watched here by his mother. Queen Isabel, and
her paramour. Lord Mortimer. It was soon evi
dent, however, that the fiery spirit? of Edward the
First had descended unabated to his young
grandson. By his orders, Mortimer was sud
denly arrested in Nottingham Castle, and, with
his two sons, was loaded with chains and thrust
into the darkest dungeons of the Tower. Here
the unworthy favourite lingered for some time.

THE TOWER. 323
till he was led forth to the gallows on Tower
HUl. With Edward the Third the Tower appears to
have been a favourite residence, and during his
reign it is connected with some of the proudest
events in our history. Here, after his great and
brUliant victories in France and Scotland, were
conducted as prisoners the chivalry of both those
countries, including the French and Scottish mon
archs, who both of them suffered captivity in the
Tower. The first prisoner of importance in this
reign appears to have been the gallant John, Earl
of Murray, one of the most devoted supporters of
the Scottish throne, who was taken prisoner in
1336. In those days the liberation of a prisoner
of high rank was procurable only by the payment
of a large ransom, and accordingly, when the earl
was delivered by Edward to the possession of the
Earl of Salisbury, the latter received written per
mission to "do with him as most for his advan
tage." Being unable to pay the large ransom
required for his freedom, Murray remained in the
Tower for as long as four years, when, singularly
enough, on Salisbury's being made prisoner in
France, he was exchanged, on the intercession of
the King of Scotland, for his former keeper.
The year 1346 witnessed the surrender to the
victorious arms of Edward of the important town
of Caen in Normandy, "a goodly town," we are
told, " full of drapery and other merchandise, and

324 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
rich burgesses, and noble ladies and damsels, and
fair churches, and one of the fairest castles in
aU Normandy." Here were captured the Count
d'Eu, Constable of France, and the Count de
TankervUle, who, with many of the most influen
tial citizens, were brought to England ; and, hav
ing been conducted in triumph through London,
were lodged in the Tower.
The same year the eyes of the citizens of Lon
don were regaled with the sight of a far more
splendid triumph, and the royal fortress became
the prison of stUl more illustrious captives. At
the battle of Neville's Cross, near Durham, there
feU into the hands of the English the Scottish
sovereign, David Bruce, as well as the Earls of
Fife, Monteith, Wigton, and Carrick, the Lord
Douglas, and fifty other powerful chieftains, all
of whom were ordered to be sent as prisoners
to the Tower. They were conducted thither by
an escort of twenty thousand men. The Scottish
monarch, mounted on a lofty black charger, was
a conspicuous object in the procession. On his
entrance into the city, he was met by the different
companies clad in their respective liveries, and,
with every show and circumstance of honour, was
conducted through the crowded streets to the
gates of the Tower, where he was formally and
respectfully delivered over to the custody of Sir
John Darcy, the constable of the fortress. The
unfortunate monarch remained a prisoner in Eng-

THE TOWER.

325

land for as many as eleven years, when he was
ransomed for the vast sum of one hundred thou
sand marks. Many of his gallant companions in
arms also suffered long confinements, and the
Earls of Fife and Monteith, in consequence of
their having previously performed fealty to Ed
ward, were sentenced to death. The former owed
his escape to his affinity to the royal blood, but
Monteith was hung and quartered agreeably to
his sentence, and his head was exposed on Tower
HiU. Other and more brilliant successes foUowed the
victory of Neville's Cross. In 1347 — after a
siege of nearly eleven months, during which they
had suffered every possible kind of misery and
privation — the city of Calais surrendered to the
victorious arms of Edward. Finding it impossible
to hold out any longer, its brave defenders, fol
lowed by the principal burgesses, proceeded one
by one, and bareheaded, to the camp of the Eng
lish monarch ; the former with their swords trans-
versed, and the latter with a rope in each hand,
to denote that their lives were at the disposal of
the victor, either to hang or spare them. Edward,
moved with compassion at their melancholy con
dition, not only saved their lives, but immediately
ordered food to be sent into the town to re
lieve the hunger of their suffering fellow citizens.
These brave men must have presented an interest
ing spectacle, as — headed by their valiant leader.

326 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
John de Vienne, a knight of Burgundy — they
were led through the streets of London on their
way to the Tower. The same year was conducted
to the Tower the celebrated Charles de Blois, who
so long and valiantly asserted, on the field of
battle, his claims to the dukedom of Brittany. He
continued a prisoner for nine years, when he ob
tained his release on the payment of a large ran
som. He fell at the battle of Auray, in 1364,
whUe still maintaining his pretensions to the
ducal throne.
The splendid victory of Poictiers, in 1357, filled
the Tower with stUl more Ulustrious captives.
The triumphant entry of Edward the Black Prince
into London, in that year, must have presented a
scene of striking magnificence to which no de
scription could do justice. The principal captives
who graced his triumph consisted of John, King
of France, his son PhUip, four other princes, eight
earls, and many others of the chief nobUity of
France. Conspicuous in the cavalcade was the
French king, clad in royal robes, and mounted on
a beautiful mUk-white charger, whUe by his side,
in plain attire, rode the Black Prince on a small
black palfrey. The French king, on his first arri
val, was confined in the Savoy, where, we are told,
he " kept his house a long season, and was fre
quently visited by the king and queen, who made
him great feast and cheer." During the subse
quent absence, however, of Edward in France, in

THE TOWER. 327
1359, it was thought necessary to remove the
French king to a place of greater security, and
he was accordingly conducted to the Tower, where
he had at least the advantage of having his cap
tivity lightened by the society of many of the
most illustrious and high-born of his own country
men. "To be more sure of them," says Frois
sart, "the French king was set in the Tower of
London, and his young son with him, and much
of his pleasure and sport restrained, for he was
then straitlier kept than he was before." The
French king remained a prisoner till the follow
ing year, when the treaty of Bretigny restored
him to his country and his throne.
It remains to notice only two other prisoners of
distinction who were committed to the Tower in
the reign of Edward the Third. These were WUl
iam de Thorp, chief justice of the Common Pleas,
who had been condemned to death for bribery and
corruption, and the young, graceful, and gallant
Valeran, Earl of St. Paul, who had been taken
prisoner in a skirmish near Lyques, in 1375. The
former narrowly escaped an ignominious death on
the scaffold. St. Paul was more fortunate. After
a long confinement in the Tower, he was removed
to the "fayre castell of Wynsore," where the
Princess of Wales, and her daughter, the Lady
Maude, "the fayrest ladye in all Englande," were
then residing. St. Paul and the Lady Maude some
times met at " daunsynge and caroUyng," and the

328 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
consequence was that an attachment sprung up
between them, v/hich subsequently ended in their
union. The history of the Tower, during the reign of
Richard the Second, presents matter of interest
widely different from that which had characterised
it during the reign of his warlike predecessor.
Here, at one time, we find the unfortunate mon
arch residing in great magnificence, and at another
flying here for refuge from his turbulent nobles.
From under its portals he sallied forth, clad in
white robes and in regal state, to the ceremony
of his coronation ; here he formally resigned his
kingdom to the usurper Bolingbroke ; and lastly,
here it was that his murdered corpse was brought,
previous to its exposure and burial.
The coronation of the young and ill-fated king
was solemnised with great magnificence. A few
days before the ceremony took place, Richard pro
ceeded from the palace of Richmond to the Tower,
where he remained till the appointed day, the 15th
of July, 1377. He then issued forth from the
Tower, " clad in white garments," and accompanied
by the principal nobles ; Sir Simon Burleigh hold
ing the sword of state before him, and Sir Nicholas
Bond, on foot, leading the king's horse by the
bridle, for he was then only in his eleventh year.
In the open space before the Tower, he was greeted
by an immense assemblage of nobles and knights,
together with the lord mayor, sheriffs, and alder-

THE TOWER. 329
men of London, in their scarlet robes, who formed
themselves into procession, and thus accompanied
the young king to Westminster. "The noise of
trumpets and other instruments," says Holinshed,
"was marvellous. The city was adorned in all
sorts most rich. The water conduits ran with
wine for the space of three hours together. In
the upper end of Cheape was a certain castle
made with four towers, out of the which castle, on
two sides of it, there ran forth wine abundantly.
In the towers were placed four beautiful virgins,
of stature and age like to the king, apparelled in
white vestures, in every tower one, who blew in
the king's face, at his approaching near to them,
leaves of gold ; and as he approached also, they
threw on him and his horse florins of gold coun
terfeit. When he was come before the castle,
they took cups of gold, and filling them with wine
at the spouts of the castle, presented the same to
the king and to his nobles. On the top of the
castle, betwixt the four towers, stood a golden
angel, holding a crown in his hands, which was
so contrived that, when the king came, he bowed
down and offered to him the crown. But to speak
of all the pageants and shows which the citizens
had caused to be made and set forth in honour of
their new king, it were superfluous ; every one in
their quarters striving to surmount the other, and
so with great triumphing of citizens, and joy of
the lords and noblemen, he was conveyed unto his

330 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
palace at Westminster, where he rested for the
night." Among the prisoners of the Tower, during this
reign, we discover many Ulustrious names. In
1386, when the powerful confederacy under the
king's uncles, the Dukes of York and Gloucester,
had reduced the unfortunate monarch to the last
extremity, we find many of his personal friends and
advisers committed to the dungeons of that very
fortress, in the saloons of which they had so re
cently been welcomed as the cherished guests of
their sovereign. Among these was the gallant and
accomplished Sir Simon Burleigh, who had been
selected by the Black Prince to be the companion
and adviser of his son, whUe Richard was still a
boy. In vain did the queen fall on her knees
before the inexorable Gloucester, and with floods
of tears implore him to save the life of one so
honoured and beloved. He was sentenced to be
drawn, hung, and quartered, but in consideration
of his being a Knight of the Garter, the sentence
was afterward changed to beheading, which was
accordingly carried into effect on Tower HUl.
" To write of his shameful death," says Froissart,
" right sore displeaseth me ; for when I was young
I found him a noble knight, sage and wise ; yet no
excuse could be heard, and he was brought out to
the Tower, and beheaded like a traitor. God have
mercy on his soul ! "
The unfortunate Richard was subsequently ena-

THE TOWER. 331
bled to avenge the death of his faithful adviser.
On the breaking up of the confederacy, its leaders
fell into the hands of the king. The Duke of
Gloucester perished in a mysterious manner in the
castle at Calais, and the Earls of Arundel and
Warwick, Lord Cobham, and Sir John Cheyney
were committed prisoners to the Tower. The life
of Warwick was spared, and his sentence com
muted to banishment in the Isle of Man. Arundel
was less fortunate. That turbulent and once
powerful nobleman was condemned to be drawn,
hung, and quartered ; but in consideration of his
high rank the king commuted his sentence to the
axe and the block. On the very day of his con
demnation he was led from Westminster to Tower
HUl, with his hands tied ignominiously behind him,
and there, without being allowed a moment for
prayer, was hurried into eternity. Among the
spectators the unfortunate earl happened to ob
serve his own son-in-law, the Earl of Nottingham,
and his nephew, the Earl of Kent. Turning re
proachfully to them, he said : " It would have
more beseemed you, my lords, to have been absent
on this occasion ; but the time wUl come when as
many wUl marvel at your misfortunes as do at
mine at this time."
During the memorable rebelHon of Wat Tyler,
we find King Richard taking refuge in the Tower
with about six hundred of the principal nobles
and churchmen in the realm. The fortress was

332 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
invested by an infuriated rabble, who are described
by Froissart as yelling and shouting "as though all
the devylles of hell had been amonge them." The
Savoy — the magnificent palace of the Duke of
Lancaster — was pUlaged, and the Temple, and sev
eral houses of the wealthy merchants and others,
shared the same fate. At length, all supplies be
ing cut off, the king consented to grant the rebels
a conference at MUe End. Accordingly, at the
appointed time, Richard, having previously heard
mass in the Tower, was proceeding to quit the
fortress, when a body of the rebels forced their
way in, and committed the most atrocious barbar
ities. Simon Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury,
the chanceUor, Sir Robert Hales, the treasurer, the
king's confessor, and others, were dragged from
the chapel, where they had taken refuge, and put
to the sword. Stow, speaking of the murder of
the archbishop, observes : " There lay his body
unburied (on Tower Hill), all that Friday and the
morrow till the afternoon, none daring to deliver
his body to sepulture ; his head these wicked took,
and naUing thereon his hood, they fixed it on a
pole, and set it on London Bridge, in place where
before stood the head of Sir John Minstarworth."
Other atrocities were committed by the exasper
ated mob. They not only burst open and pUlaged
the royal apartments, but entering the chamber
of the queen's mother, treated her with the most
wanton cruelty. The sequel of the story is well

THE TOWER. 333
known. The king met the rebels at Smithfield,
when the gallant Lord Mayor of London, Sir WUl
iam Walworth, struck their daring leader, Wat
Tyler, to the ground, and thus sent dismay into
the hearts of his followers. Wat Tyler was
shortly afterward executed, and the head of the
archbishop having been taken down from London
Bridge, that of the rebel chief was set up in its
place. In 1389 we find King Richard holding a most
magnificent tournament in the Tower, at which
many of the most celebrated knights of France
and Germany presented themselves. On the first
day, called the feast of challenge, " there issued,"
says Froissart, " out of the Tower of London, first,
threescore coursers apparelled for the jousts, and
on every one an esquire of honour riding a soft
pace ; and then issued out threescore ladies of
honour mounted on fair palfreys, riding on the
one side, richly apparelled ; and every lady led a
knight with a cheque of silver, which knights were
apparelled to joust ; and thus they came riding
along the streets of London with great number of
trumpets and other minstrelsy, and so came to
Smithfield, where the king and queen and many
ladies and demoiselles were ready in chambers
richly adorned to see the jousts." At night, we
are told, " there was goodly dancing in the queen's
lodging, in the presence of the king and his
uncles, and other barons of England, and ladies

334 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and demoiselles, continuing till it was day, which
was time for every person to draw to their lodg
ings." In 1396 King Richard was united to his
second wife, Isabel, daughter of Charles the Sixth
of France. On her arrival in England she
was conducted to the Tower, and from thence
proceeded in great state to her coronation at
Westminster. It was to the apartments in the Tower which
had witnessed his bridal pleasures, that the ill-
fated Richard was brought a prisoner at the close
of his reign, and here he formally abdicated his
throne in favour of Henry, Duke of Lancaster.
The scene, as described by Froissart, is striking in
the extreme. On the appointed day, he says, " the
Duke of Lancaster, accompanied with lords, dukes,
prelates, earls, barons, and knights, and with the
notablest men in London, and of other good
towns, rode to the Tower, and there alighted.
Then King Richard was brought into the hall,
appareUed like a king in his robes of estate, his
sceptre in his hand, and his crown on his head.
Then he stood up alone, not holden nor stayed by
any man, and said, aloud, ' I have been King of
England, Duke of Aquitaine, and lord of Ireland
above twenty-two years, which signory, royalty,
sceptre, crown, and heritage I clearly resign here
to my cousin, Henry of Lancaster ; and I desire
him here in this open presence, in entering on
the same possession, to take this sceptre ; ' and so

THE TOWER. 335
delivered it to the duke, who took it. Then King
Richard took his crown from his head with both
his hands, and set it before him, and ,said, ' Fair
cousin, Henry, Duke of Lancaster, I give and
deliver you this crown, wherewith I was crowned
King of England, and therewith all the right
thereto depending.' " The unfortunate monarch
was shortly afterward removed to the castle of
Leeds in Kent, and thence to Pomfret Castle,
where he met with his mysterious and untimely
end. His body was conveyed to London, and lay
one night in the Tower previous to its interment
in Westminster Abbey.
The only other prisoner of importance who
appears to have been confined in the Tower dur
ing the reign of Richard the Second was the great
poet, Chaucer. Here it was that he composed his
prose work, " The Testament of Love ; " following
the example of Boethius, who under similar cir
cumstances wrote his famous work, the " Conso
lations of PhUosophy." Chaucer appears to have
been liberated about the year 1389.
The history of the Tower during the reign of
Henry the Fourth presents but few incidents
of particular interest. The usurper, however,
unquestionably resided here in the early period
of his reign, and from hence issued forth in
magnificent state to his coronation in Westmin
ster Abbey. He was attended on this occasion by
his eldest son. Prince Henry, six dukes, six earis.

336 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
eighteen barons, and nine hundred knights and
esquires. The king himself, who was clad in a
short tunic of cloth of gold, with the garter on his
left leg, rode on a white courser with his head
uncovered ; all the streets through which he
passed being hung with tapestry and arras, and
the conduits flowing with wine. The number of
horsemen who formed the cavalcade is said to
have amounted to no less than six thousand.
The discovery of the conspiracy, which was
formed at Oxford for taking away the king's life,
led to the arrest and execution of some of the first
nobles in the kingdom. The Earls of Kent and
Salisbury were put to death at Cirencester; the
Earl of Gloucester and Lord Lumley shared
the same fate at Bristol, and Sir Thomas Blount
and nine and twenty other knights and esquires
at Oxford. Many other were committed to the
Tower, among whom were the Earl of Huntingdon,
Thomas Merks, Bishop of Carlisle, Sir John Shel
ley, and Magdalen, King Richard's chaplain. The
Earl of Huntingdon, who was King Henry's
brother-in-law, was captured near his own castle
at Pleshey, and, having been condemned, was exe
cuted after an imprisonment of only five days, and
his head fixed on London Bridge. The sacred
office held by the Bishop of Carlisle probably
saved his life. This was the gallant and noble-
minded churchman, who, almost alone, had stood
forward as the champion of his friendless and

THE TOWER. 337
unfortunate sovereign. King Richard, and with
the most undaunted courage had opposed those
infamous proceedings which led to the deposition
of Richard, and subsequently deluged the country
with so much of its noblest blood. From the
Tower the bishop was discharged to the custody
of the Abbot of Westminster, where he shortly
afterward died. Magdalen, the king's chaplain,
was not so fortunate. Having been conveyed to
the Tower, he was sentenced to death without
a trial, and having been hanged, drawn, and quar
tered, his head was placed among the many ghastly
visages with which London Bridge was at this
period disfigured.
Two other prisoners in the Tower, in this reign,
were Griffin, son of the celebrated Owen Glen-
dower, and the young and accomplished James
the First of Scotland. The latter, in the lifetime
of his father. King Robert the First, was on his
way to be educated m France, when he was cap
tured at sea, and committed by order of King
Henry to the Tower. After suffering an imprison
ment of nearly eighteen years, he contracted his
romantic marriage with Lady Jane Beaufort, daugh
ter of the Earl of Somerset, and cousin of Henry
the Sixth. The young king shortly afterward
obtained his release, and returned to Scotland,
where his subsequent eventful history is well
known. During the glorious reign of Henry the Fifth,

338 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the Tower appears to have been but rarely used
as a regal residence ; and yet, though there is little
to identify it with the personal history of the vic
tor of Agincourt, there is much that is interesting
connected with it at this period. Here, at the first
dawn of the Reformation, on account of his relig
ious principles, was imprisoned the brave and
virtuous Lord Cobham. Having been found guilty
at his trial, he was sentenced to be hanged and
burnt as an obstinate heretic and traitor. In the
meantime, however, he found means to escape
from the Tower, and, notwithstanding the great
exertions which were made, and the vast rewards
which were offered for his apprehension, he con
tinued for nearly four years to elude the vigilance
of his enemies. At last, in December, 141 7, this
excellent man was taken prisoner by Lord Powis
on the borders of Wales, and was conducted to his
former dungeon in the Tower. A short time after
ward, having resisted every endeavour which was
made to induce him to recant his^errors, his origi
nal sentence was carried relentlessly into execution.
Having been drawn from the Tower to St. GUes's-
in-the-Fields, he was hanged by the middle with a
chain, and a fire being lighted under him, he was
slowly burnt to death.
The victory gained by Henry the Fifth at Agin
court, in 141 5, and his other glorious successes
in France, were the means of fiUing the Tower
with many prisoners of high rank. Here were

THE TOWER. 339
imprisoned the Duke of Orleans, father of Louis
the Twelfth of France, the Duke de Bourbon,
Louis, Earl de Vend6me, Marshal Boucicaut,
and the Count d'Eu, all of whom had been taken
prisoners on the field of Agincourt. They each
remained in captivity for many years, Henry
thinking it so essential to the interests of his
country that they should be kept in safe custody
that, with his latest breath, he enjoined his brother,
the Duke of Bedford, to turn a deaf ear to any
overtures which might be made for their release
tUl his young son should at least have obtained his
majority. The Duke de Bourbon and Marshal
Boucicaut died in captivity ; the Earl de Ven-
d6me obtained his release from the Tower in
1423, and was placed under the custody of Sir
John Cornwall; and, in 1435, the Count d'Eu was
also released, and given in charge to the Earl of
Morton. The Duke of Orleans remained a pris
oner in England till 1440, when he was released
on the payment of a ransom amounting to .£50,-
000. During his captivity in this country, he
solaced himself with writing his volume of poems
entitled "Poieses de Charles Due d'Orleans,"
more than one of which he is said to have com
posed in the Tower of London.
Many of the Scottish nobUity, including the
Earl of Crawford, Alexander Lord Gordon, Will
iam Lord Ruthven, William Lord Aberdalgy,
James Lord Calder, Walter Lord Dirleton, and

340 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
William Lord Abernethy, were also confined in
the Tower, in this reign. These persons had been
given up as hostages for the payment of ;:^40,ooo,
which sum was demanded for the expenses of
King James's entertainment and maintenance whUe
a prisoner in England. Some of the Scotch noble
men were afterward exchanged for others of their
countrymen, who were sent to fill their places,
whUe others were less fortunate, and continued in
captivity for many years.
During the sanguinary struggle between the
houses of York and Lancaster, we find the Tower
associated with many events of stirring interest.
With the fortunes of the ill-fated Henry the Sixth
its history is particularly connected, that monarch
having been frequently its inmate, sometimes as a
monarch, and sometimes as a miserable captive.
On the breaking out of Cade's rebellion, in
1450, and the defeat of Sir Humphrey Stafford by
the rebels, near Seven Oaks, a strong garrison
was placed in the Tower, under the command of
Lord Scales, and, in order to appease the popular
fury. Lord Say was committed a prisoner within its
walls. That unfortunate nobleman, being some
time afterward imprudently taken before the judges
at Guildhall, was seized by an infuriated mob, and,
having been dragged to Cheapside, was inhumanly
butchered by the people. Elated by success.
Cade and his followers proceeded to lay siege to
the Tower, where the Archbishop of Canterbury,

THE TOWER. 341
the chancellor, and several other persons of high
rank had taken refuge. For some time the city
continued to be a frightful scene of plunder,
cruelty, and rapine ; nor was it tUl, at the sugges
tion of the Bishop of Winchester, a general pardon
under the great seal was promised to all offenders,
that tranquUUty was restored to the affrighted
metropolis. Cade, however, was excepted from
the general amnesty, and shortly afterward suf
fered the penalty of his cruelty and his crimes.
In 1460 we find Lord Scales besieged in the
Tower by the Earl of Salisbury, Lord Cobham,
and Sir John Wenlock. The fortress continued
to hold out till King Henry was made prisoner
the following year, when Lord Scales, in endeav
ouring to effect his escape by water, was taken
prisoner and slain. The various successes and
reverses which attended the arms of the opposing
factions of York and Lancaster, and the circum
stances which raised Edward the Fourth to the
throne, are well known. Having escaped from
the fatal conflict of Hexham, the unfortunate
Henry wandered for some time in disguise on the
borders of Scotland, tUl, being delivered over to
his enemies, he was ignominiously conducted to
one of the prisons of that fortress, in the regal
halls of which he had formerly reigned, the envied
and all-powerful lord. Here the weak monarch
remained till 147 1, when the revolution, effected
by the Earl of Warwick, forced King Edward into

342 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
a temporary exUe, and for a brief period restored
Henry to his rights. He was immediately removed
from the solitary rooms in which he was confined
to the royal apartments, where he was shortly
afterward waited upon in great state by the Duke
of Clarence, the Earls of Warwick and Shrews
bury, Lord Stanley, and other noblemen of high
rank. Thence, clad in a long robe of blue velvet,
and with the crown on his head, he proceeded in
solemn state to St. Paul's, where, amidst the hollow
shouts of the fickle populace, he returned thanks
for his extraordinary deliverance from the power
of his enemies.
But a fresh storm was brooding over the head
of the Ul-fated monarch. Edward shortly after
ward returned from his brief exUe, and, after a
series of events as extraordinary as they were
rapid, succeeded in regaining a throne which pre
viously he had almost as rapidly lost. Henry
once more fell into the hands of his enemies,
and had the misery inflicted on him of being a
compulsory witness of the fatal battle of Barnet,
and of the slaughter of his faithful followers and
friends. After the battle, which was fought on
Easter Sunday, 147 1, King Henry was brought
back to his old prison, in the Tower, where he
was committed to the charge of Anthony Wyd-
vUe, Earl Rivers. In the meantime, the usurper
marched his forces to give battle to the devoted
and dauntless Queen Margaret, who with her

THE TOWER. 343
young son, Edward, had recently landed at Wey
mouth from France. The opposing armies en
countered each other on the field of Tewkesbury,
and the result is well known. Young Edward
was taken prisoner and inhumanly put to death,
and on the 21st of May, 1471, King Edward
returned to the capital in triumph. A few days
afterward the unfortunate Henry was found dead
in the Tower.
Shortly after the battle of Tewkesbury, the
noble-minded Margaret — whom the tragic events
of a few days had rendered chUdless and husband-
less — was discovered in a small convent in Wor
cestershire, and from thence was conducted to a
miserable prison in the Tower. In the mind of
this extraordinary woman, with what painful rec
ollections must the gloomy fortress have been
associated ! She remained here a prisoner till
1475, when, in accordance with the treaty of Pic-
quigni, she obtained her release on the payment
of ^50,000.
Among the remarkable persons confined in the
Tower, in the reign of King Henry, is said to
have been Owen Tudor, grandfather to King
Henry the Seventh. Here also was imprisoned
William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, the prime
minister and declared favourite of Margaret of
Anjou. His name is now principally remembered
from its connection with the loss of many of the
splendid territorial acquisitions which England

344 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
had won from her hereditary foe, and especially
from the discomfiture which he received from
Joan d'Arc, beneath the walls of Orleans. On
the eleventh day of the siege, the maid — arrayed
in her mUitary costume, and displaying her con
secrated banner — descended into the fosse, at
the head of the assaUing force. In the heat of
the fray she received a blow on the head from
a stone, which struck her to the ground, and for a
moment deprived her of her senses. She soon,
however, recovered herself, and was again fore
most in the assault. Fortune decided against
the English, and Suffolk fell into the hands of the
enemy. The person who took him prisoner was
one Renaud, a Frenchman, of whom he inquired,
before he surrendered himself, whether he was a
gentleman. The reply being satisfactory, he again
demanded whether he was a knight. Renaud re
plying that he had not yet attained that honour,
" Then," replied Suffolk, " I will make you one,"
and, dubbing him a knight with his sword, imme
diately surrendered himself as his prisoner. It
was more than twenty years afterward that the
Duke of Suffolk fell a victim to the popular clam
our, which attributed to his tyranny and injustice
every misfortune which had befallen England dur
ing the unfortunate reign of the imbecUe Henry.
He was doubtless a bad man and a bad minis
ter, but he was devoid neither of moral nor per
sonal courage. Sensible of the odium which he

THE TOWER. 345
had incurred, and aware that articles of impeach
ment were preparing against him in the House of
Commons, Suffolk acted the part of a bold man,
and, rising in his seat in the House of Lords,
endeavoured to overawe his enemies by the un
daunted manner in which he asserted his own
innocence, and insisted on the claims which his
services and those of his family had entailed on
the gratitude of the public. The Commons of
England, however, were not to be diverted from
their purpose, and, on the 28th of January, 145 1,
the powerful minister was committed to the Tower.
On the 9th of March following, he was brought
from thence to the bar of the House of Lords.
He denied the being guilty of the crimes of which
he was charged, but submitted to the king's mercy.
It was expected that his condemnation would im
mediately have followed, but, to the surprise of
all men, the king, doubtless at the instigation of
Queen Margaret, took the law into his own hands,
and, dispensing with the formalities of a trial, ban
ished him the kingdom for five years. The hatred
of the people, however, was not so easily to be
pacified. On his passage from Dover to Calais,
he was seized by a vessel belonging to the Duke
of Exeter, and, being carried back to Dover, was
beheaded with a rusty sword, on the side of a
long-boat, and his body, having been stripped of
his "gown of russet, and his doublet of velvet
maUed," was thrown on the sands of Dover.

346 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
The only other prisoners of importance, in this
reign, were Edmund, Duke of Somerset, who suc
ceeded to the power and unpopularity of the Duke
of Suffolk, and who was kUled in the first bat
tle of St. Albans ; Lord Dudley, who had been
wounded and taken prisoner at the battle of Blore-
heath ; John De Vere, twelfth Eari of Oxford, and
his eldest son. Lord Aubrey De Vere ; and George
Nevil, Archbishop of York, chancellor of the king
dom, and brother of the Earl of Warwick, the
king-maker. The Earl of Oxford and his heir
expiated their attachment to the house of Lancas
ter on the scaffold, but the others had the good
fortune to escape with their lives.
The handsome and amorous usurper, Edward
the Fourth, frequently kept his gay court at the
Tower. It was from hence, on the 29th of June,
146 1, that he rode forth in great magnificence to
his coronation in Westminster Abbey, the Knights
of the Bath preceding him, arrayed, we are told,
"in blue gowns, with hoods and tokens of white
silk upon their shoulders." It was here, also, in
1465, that Edward conducted his fair and interest
ing queen, Elizabeth Wydvile, after their romantic
union had been announced to the world. This
lady was the daughter of a private gentleman,
Sir Richard Wydvile, whom Jaqueline of Luxem
bourg, Duchess of Bedford, — sacrificing her pride
to her affections, — had allowed to claim her hand
at the altar. Their daughter — the destined sue-

THE TOWER. 347
cessor of the haughty Margaret of Anjou on
the throne of the Plantagenets — had married Sir
John Gray of Groby, who died gallantly fighting
for Henry the Sixth at the second battle of St.
Albans, and whose estates had consequently been
confiscated by the usurper. Left a young, beau
tiful, but impoverished widow, the Lady Elizabeth
Gray was residing in comparative seclusion with
her mother, the Duchess of Bedford, when King
Edward, being on a hunting expedition in the
neighbourhood, happened to pay an accidental
visit to the house. " As the occasion," says Hume,
" seemed favourable for obtaining some grace from
the gallant monarch, the young widow flung her
self at his feet, and with many tears entreated
him to take pity on her impoverished and dis
tressed children. The sight of so much beauty in
affliction strongly affected the amorous Edward ;
love stole insensibly into his heart under the guise
of compassion ; and her sorrow, so becoming a
virtuous maiden, made his esteem and regard
quickly correspond to his affection. He raised
her from the ground with assurances of favour ;
he found his passion increase every moment by
the conversation of the amiable object ; and he
was soon reduced, in his turn, to the posture and
style of a suppliant at the feet of Elizabeth."
The idol of the young and gay of both sexes, —
a young king, withal, eminently handsome in his
person and insinuating in his address, — it might

348 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
have been supposed, with these advantages, that
Edward would have found little difficulty in ob
taining access to the bedchamber of the beautiful
widow, without previously passing through the
church. But whether conscious of her power
over the amorous monarch, or whether actuated
by a virtuous indignation, the object of his pas
sion turned a deaf ear to every importunity which
flowed from dishonourable love. " She obstinately
refused to gratify his passion,'' says Hume, " and
all the endearments, caresses, and importunities
of the young and amiable Edward proved fruitless
against her rigid and inflexible virtue. His pas
sion, irritated by opposition, and increased by his
veneration for such honourable sentiments, carried
him at last beyond all bounds of reason ; and he
offered to share his throne, as well as his heart,
with the woman whose beauty of person and dig
nity of character seemed so well to entitle her to
both." The marriage of Edward and Elizabeth Wydvile
was privately celebrated at Grafton, and shortly
afterward Edward carried his bride in triumph to
the Tower, from whence, on Whitsun-eve, 1465,
she was conducted in state to Westminster Ab
bey, where she was crowned by the Archbishop
of Canterbury.
Before quitting the history of the Tower in the
reign of Edward the Fourth, we must recall one
of the most remarkable tragedies which has ever

THE TOWER. 349
afforded the ground-work for romance, — the ex
ecution of the Ul-fated George, Duke of Clar
ence, the son-in-law of the king-maker Warwick,
and the brother of the reigning monarch. Who is
there, who has ever visited the Tower of London,
whose imagination has not identified its gloomy
walls with glorious imageries of Shakespeare ?
Who is there who has not longed to be able to
point out the dungeon, where "false, fleeting,
perjured Clarence " dreamed his last frightful
dream, when he awoke from his troubled and
fitful slumbers to start at the pale faces of the
remorseless murderers, who were waiting to bear
him to his doom ? The night-scene in the dun
geon, between the unfortunate Clarence and Sir
Robert Brakenbury, the lieutenant of the Tower,
is one of those magnificent passages in poetry,
which make the earliest and deepest impressions
on our imaginations, and continue to be remem
bered and quoted to the last.
" Brak. What was your dream, my lord, I pray you, tell
me ?
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy :
And in my company, my brother Gloster,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches ; thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we paced along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

350 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling.
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard.
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown !
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears !
What sights of ugly death within my eyes !
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ;
A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl ;
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems.
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep.
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death.
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ?
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wandering air :
But smothered it within my panting bulk.
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony ?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life ;
O, then began the tempest of my soul !
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud, — ' What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? '
And so he vanished. Then came wandering by

THE TOWER. 351
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood ; and he shrieked out aloud,
' Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjured Clar
ence, —
That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury ;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments ! '
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell ;
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you t
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done those things, —
That now give evidence against my soul, —
For Edward's sake ; — and, see, how he requites me !
O God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee.
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds.
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone ;
O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! "
The motives which induced King Edward to
sign the death-warrant of his own brother wUl
probably ever continue to be a mystery. Clar
ence, fickle in character, and imprudent in speech,
had formerly joined his father-in-law, the Earl of
Warwick, in his confederacy against the king.
But they had long since been reconcUed ; all un
kindness seemed to have been forgotten ; the
royal brothers had fought side by side at the
battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury, and their in
terests were to all appearance the same. But

352 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
whatever may have been the foUies or the crimes
of the misguided Clarence, his enemies, headed
by the king himself, — who was probably urged
on by his younger brother, the Duke of Glouces
ter, — were evidently determined on his death.
On the 1 6th of January, 1478, he was committed
to the Tower, and in the course of the same
month was brought to trial, on charges of high
treason, at the bar of the House of Lords.
With suborned witnesses, and a Parliament, in
those days, slavishly devoted to the wishes of
the reigning sovereign, it may readUy be im
agined that the doom of Clarence was fixed.
Edward himself pleaded in person against his
unfortunate brother ; he was found guilty by the
peers, and both houses petitioned the king to
consent to his execution. The only favour which
Edward showed his brother was giving him the
choice of the manner of his death. Clarence ac
cordingly expressed the whimsical wish of being
drowned in a butt of Malmsey, which was pri
vately carried into effect in the Tower on the
1 8th of February. The fate of Clarence has been
connected with a prophecy, which was current
at the period, that the king's son would be
murdered by a person, the initial of whose name
was G, and as the Christian name of the duke
was George, and as his violent and unsteady char
acter was but too well known, public opinion, it
is said, fixed upon him as the future murderer

THE TOWER. 353
of his nephew. Even, however, in the ignorant
and superstitious days of Edward the Fourth, it is
difficult to beheve that so idle a tale could have
sealed the fate of a prince of the blood. Hume,
however, has condescended to give it a place in
his " History of England," and Shakespeare has
immortalised it in his play of " Richard the Third."
He makes Richard say in his opening soliloquy :
" Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams.
To set my brother Clarence, and the king.
In deadly hate the one against the other :
And if King Edward be as true and just.
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous.
This day should Clarence safely be mewed up ;
About a prophecy, which says — that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer should be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul ! here Clarence comes."
It seems far more probable, however, that the
prophecy is the invention of a later period,
founded on the reputed murder of King Ed
ward's chUdren by the Duke of Gloucester.
King Edward died on the 9th of April, 1483,
and the same day his young son, Edward the
Fifth, then in his thirteenth year, was proclaimed
his successor. He was then residing in the Castle
of Ludlow, on the borders of Wales, under the
guardianship of his maternal uncle, Anthony Wyd-
vUe, Earl Rivers, a nobleman equally distinguished
for his literary accomplishments and his chivalrous

354 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
gallantry on the field of battle. The breath had
no sooner quitted the body of the late king, than
the Duke of Gloucester commenced playing that
subtle part for which his talents and unprincipled
character alike fitted him, and which has been
rendered famous both in the pages of history and
romance. He was then absent in the north of
England, but no sooner did he receive intelligence
of his brother's death, than he addressed letters,
teeming with expressions of unalterable allegiance
and affection, to his young nephew. Moreover,
he was one of the first to swear fealty to him,
and, placing his large retinue in mourning, he
advanced to do homage to the new king at North
ampton. In the evening, over the social board,
the Duke of Gloucester and Earl Rivers pledged
themselves in the wine-cup ; mirth and joviality
resounded in the festive chamber, and when they
parted at night, it was with every appearance of
cordiality and good fellowship. But the next day,
as Rivers was entering the town of Stony Strat
ford, he was suddenly arrested by orders of the
Duke of Gloucester, and conveyed with Lord
Grey, Sir Thomas Vaughan, and Sir Richard
Hawse to Pomfret Castle, in front of which he
was shortly afterward beheaded, without trial,
and without the slightest means of vindicating his
character. Such was the end of that gallant and
accomplished man, — the ornament of the age
in which he lived, — who had worsted the Bastard

THE TOWER. 355
of Burgundy in the most famous tournament of
that chivalrous period, and of whom Walpole elo
quently says : " Though Caxton knew none like to
the Erie of Worcester, and thought that all learn
ing in the nobUity perished with Tiptoft, yet there
flourished, about the same period, a noble person
(Anthony, Earl Rivers) by no means inferior to
him in learning and politeness ; in birth his equal,
by alliance his superior, and in pUgrimages more
abundant." The father and brother of Earl Rivers
had both previously lost their heads during the
memorable contentions between the houses of
York and Lancaster.
There were opposed at this period, between the
Duke of Gloucester and the sovereign power, the
numerous progeny of King Edward the Fourth,
and the two chUdren of his elder brother, the Duke
of Clarence ; but to the inordinate ambition of this
extraordinary man, these were but slight obstacles.
The appointment of the duke to the high office of
Protector, the flight of the affrighted queen-
mother with her younger son, the Duke of York,
to the sanctuary at Westminster, and the insid
ious means by which she was induced to deliver
up her beloved chUd to his future murderer, are
well known. On the 13th of April, 1483, the
young king, attended by the Dukes of Gloucester
and Buckingham, made his entry into London
with great magnificence, and, after passing a
few nights in the palace of the Bishop of London,

356 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
was conducted to his last earthly resting-place in
the Tower, where he was shortly afterward joined
by his infant brother, the Duke of York.
The 23d of June was fixed upon as the day of
the king's coronation, and every preparation was
made for the important ceremony. But on the
13th there took place that memorable councU at
the Tower, which the genius of Shakespeare has
rendered so famUiar to every one. At the head
of the table sat the Protector, and among the
principal persons present were the Archbishop of
York, the Bishop of Ely, Lord Hastings, and
Lord Stanley. The subjects in discussion were
the precedents and formalities to be adopted at
the coronation of the young king. Richard, with
that perfect and almost demoniacal command over
his feelings and countenance, which was one of
his most remarkable characteristics, was appar
ently in the highest spirits and most jovial humour.
Among other subjects, he jested with the Bishop
of Ely on the excellence and early growth of his
strawberries, which the latter reared at his rural
episcopal palace at Holborn.
" My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries in your garden there ;
I do beseech you, send for some."
The bishop immediately despatched a servant
for the strawberries. The scene which followed
is well known. The duke, on pretence of busi-

THE TOWER. 357
ness, left the councU-chamber for a few minutes,
and on his return appeared with a countenance
in which rage, hatred, and determined vengeance
were forcibly marked. After sitting awhUe in
awful silence, and biting his lips with real or pre
tended anger, "What," he exclaimed, stamping
his foot, " are they worthy of, that compassed and
imagined his destruction, who was so nearly re
lated to the king, and was entrusted with the
administration of government .'' " Hastings, who
was chamberlain to the young king, and whose
devoted and affectionate attachment to the son of
his late master had brought him under the ban
of the Protector, immediately replied, " Surely,
my lord, they are worthy to be punished as
traitors, whosoever they be." The rage of the
Protector increased at these words. "Those
traitors," he said, openly accusing the queen-
mother, "are the sorceress, my brother's wife,
and his mistress, Jane Shore; see how by their
witchcraft they have wasted my body." "There
with," says Sir Thomas More, "he turned up his
doublet sleeve to the elbow of his left arm, where
he showed a wearish withered arm and small, as
it was never other, and thereupon every man's
mind misgave them, well perceiving that this
matter was no quarrel ; for they wist that the
queen was too wise to go about any such folly."
Those who were seated at the council-table,
knowing that the Protector's arm had been shriv-

358 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
elled from his infancy, looked at each other with
terror and amazement. Hastings, however, re
plied, " Certainly, my lord, if they have so heinously
done, they be worthy of heinous punishment."
" And do you reply to me," exclaimed the Protec
tor, " with your ifs and your ands .'' You are the
chief abettor of that witch Shore ; you are your
self a traitor, and I swear by St. Paul that I will
not dine before your head be brought me." He
then struck the table with his hand ; the guard
rushed in ; in the struggle Lord Stanley, either
by design or accident, received a severe blow on
the head with a pole-axe, and Lord Hastings was
hurried a prisoner from the apartment. Immedi
ately afterward, "without time for confession or
repentance," he was beheaded on a log of timber
on the green before the chapel.
" Glouc. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve.
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft ; and that have prevailed
Upon my body with their hellish charms ?
Hast. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this noble presence
To doom the offenders : Whosoe'er they be,
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
Glouc. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.
Look how I am bewitched ; behold mine arm
Is, like a blasted sapling, withered up :
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch.
Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord, —

THE TOWER. 359
Glouc. If ! thou protector of this damned strumpet,
Talk'st thou to me of ifs ? — Thou art a traitor : —
Off with his head : — now, by St. Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see the same. —
Lovel and Catesby, look that it be done ;
The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me."
Immediately afterward, Jane Shore, the beauti
ful mistress of the late king, was committed to
prison on charges of sorcery. This celebrated
lady had been married in eariy youth to a wealthy
citizen of London. Her own wishes, however,
had not been consulted in the match, and the
sight of a young, handsome, and gallant monarch
languishing at her feet proved a temptation too
powerful to resist. She yielded to his importuni
ties, and long continued to be the beloved mistress
of the amorous Edward. All her contemporaries
bear witness to her charming address, her extraordi
nary accomplishments, her ready wit, her goodness
of heart, and the surpassing beauty of her person.
Moreover, the influence which she exercised over
her royal paramour was employed in rewarding
merit and relieving the distressed. " Proper she
was and fair," says Sir Thomas More; "nothing
in her body you would have changed, unless you
would have wished her somewhat higher. Yet
delighted not men so much in her beauty as in
her pleasant behaviour ; for a proper wit she had,
and could both read well and write ; merry in
company ; ready and quick of answer ; neither

360 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
mute nor full of babble ; sometimes taunting with
out displeasure, and not without disport. The
king would say he had three concubines who in
three diverse properties diversely excelled : one
the merriest, another the ugliest, and the third
the holiest in the realm. The first was Jane
Shore, in whom he therefore took especial pleas
ure ; for many he had, but her he loved ; and his
favour, to say the truth, she never abused to any
man's hurt, but to many a man's comfort and re
lief. Where the king took displeasure she would
mitigate and appease his mind ; where men were
out of favour she would bring them to his grace ;
for many that had highly offended she obtained
pardon ; of great forfeitures she got men remis
sion." FaUing in his object of convicting her
of sorcery and witchcraft, the Protector delivered
her over to the tender mercies of the spiritual
court, where she was formally tried for lewdness
and adultery. Sentence was passed on her by the
Bishop of London, and this delicate, idolised, and
warm-hearted woman — on whose bosom the head
of the all-powerful Edward had so recently reposed,
and whose favour had so lately been abjectly courted
by the most powerful nobles in the land — was
condemned to do public penance at the cathedral
of St. Paul's, walking barefooted, in a white sheet,
and with a torch in her hand, through a line of
gazing spectators. She bore her part, however,
with a decent dignity and a becoming grace of

THE TOWER. 36 1
manner, which, with the remembrance of her
many virtues, drew tears from the eyes of many,
and won for her the respect of all.
" Submissive, sad, and lowly was her look ;
A burning taper in her hand she bore.
And on her shoulders, carelessly confused.
In loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung ;
Her streaming eyes bent ever on the earth,
Except when, in some bitter pang of sorrow,
To Heaven she seemed in fervent zeal to raise.
And beg that mercy man denied her here."
She obtained her liberty after the full perform
ance of her painful penance, and lived to an ad
vanced age, poor, friendless, and —
« Forgotten at her utmost need.
By those her former bounty fed."
"She lived," says Hume, "not only to feel the
bitterness of shame imposed on her by a tyrant,
but to experience in old age and poverty the in
gratitude of those courtiers who had long solicited
her friendship, and been protected by her credit.
No one among the great multitudes whom she had
obliged had the humanity to bring her consolation
or relief; she languished out her life in solitude
and indigence, and, amidst a court inured to the
most atrocious crimes, the frailties of this woman
justified all violations of friendship toward her, and
all neglect of former obligations." " She now,"
in the graphic language of Sir Thomas More,

362 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" beggeth of many living who at this day would
have themselves begged if she had never been."
Granger tells us that the Duchess of Montagu had
a lock of Jane Shore's hair, which looked as if it
had been powdered with gold dust. It is some
what remarkable that the only three known por
traits of the beautiful concubine of King Edward
should have been preserved in collegiate founda
tions, — one at King's College, Cambridge ; an
other at Eton College ; while the third, some years
since, was in the possession of Doctor Peckard, of
Madalen College, Cambridge.
On the 25th of June, 1483, two days after
the execution of Hastings and the arrest of Jane
Shore, Richard was waited upon at Baynard's
Castle, by his creature, the Duke of Buckingham,
the Lord Mayor of London, and a body of the
citizens, who, having previously been suborned by
the Protector's agents, clamorously insisted on his
investing himself with the supreme power. Being
informed that the people were assembled in the
court below, he pretended an utter ignorance of
their purpose, and it was only with great appar
ent reluctance that he could be induced to admit
their leaders to an audience. Being brought into
his presence, Buckingham informed him that the
people were unanimously resolved to have him for
their sovereign ; to which the Protector replied,
with all seeming humUity, that no inducement
could make him swerve from his allegiance to his

THE TOWER; 363
royal nephew, and he strongly recommended all
present to follow his example. Being informed,
however, that the nation were resolved to with
hold their fealty from the young king, and Buck
ingham adding that if he (the Protector) refused
the proffered dignity, they would be compelled to
look out for a sovereign elsewhere, he pretended
to yield reluctantly to their arguments and remon
strances. On the following day he was proclaimed
with the title of King Richard the Third, and
with the usual formalities.
" Glouc. Alas, why should you heap those cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty : —
I do beseech you take it not amiss ;
I cannot, nor I will not yield to you.
Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal.
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart.
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kindred.
And equally, indeed, to all estates, —
Yet know, whether you accept our suit or no.
Your brother's son shall never reign our king ;
But we will plant some other in your throne.
To the disgrace and downfall of your house,
And, in this resolution, here we leave you ; —
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens^
Cat. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit ;
If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
Glouc. Will you enforce me to a world of cares ?
Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone.

364 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
But penetrable to your kind entreaties. [Exit Catesby.]
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
Reenter Buckingham and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage grave men, —
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burden, whether I will or no, —
I must have patience to endure the load ;
And if black scandal or foul-faced reproach.
Attend the sequel of your imposition.
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me ;
For God he knows, and you may partly see.
How far I am from the desire of this.
Mayor. God bless your grace ! we see it, and will say it.
Glouc. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
Buck. Then I salute you, with this royal title, —
Long live King Richard, England's worthy king ! "
Such is the best authenticated account of the
immediate circumstances which raised the Duke
of Gloucester to the throne. When we consider,
however, not only the peaceful manner in which
he was allowed to take possession of it, but also
that the proudest nobles of the land immediately
hastened to do homage to him, — and, moreover,
that his coronation, which took place twelve days
afterward, was graced by an unusually large at
tendance of the peers of the realm, — it is difficult
to believe that the party which raised him to the
sovereign power consisted merely of a band of
hungry courtiers and paid citizens, with the addi-

THE TOWER. 365
tion of the capricious mob who shouted at his
heels. On the 6th of July the Protector passed under
the time-honoured portals of the Tower, and pro
ceeded with great pomp through the streets of
London to Westminster Abbey to his coronation.
In the procession were as many as three dukes,
nine earls, and twenty-two barons, besides a large
assemblage of knights and esquires. Amongst
the most conspicuous in the gorgeous cavalcade
was the Protector's creature, the Duke of Buck
ingham. The appearance of Richard, as described
by the chronicler Hall, must have been striking
in the extreme. His robes were of blue velvet,
richly embroidered with gold, and the trappings
and caparisons of his horse were supported by
footmen in rich and costly dresses, "in such
solemn fashion that all men much regarded it."
Singular as it may appear, it is not a little ques
tionable whether the youthful and deposed mon
arch, Edward the Fifth, was not compelled to
play a part in the coronation procession of his
unnatural uncle.'
• That preparations were made for his attending the corona
tion of the usurper is proved beyond a doubt by the wardrobe
account for the year 1483. Among the charges is one for "the
Lord Edward, son of the late king, Edward the Fourth, for his
apparel and array, that is to say, a short gown made of two
yards and three-quarters of crimson cloth of gold, lined with two
yards and three-quarters of black velvet ; a long gown made of
six yards and a half of crimson cloth of gold, hned with six yards

366 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Shortly after his coronation King Richard pro
ceeded on a progress through the midland counties
as far as York, and it was during his absence
from the metropolis that he is said to have im
agined, and caused to be carried into effect, that
memorable tragedy, the murder of his two neph
ews in the Tower. The dramatic account of Sir
Thomas More, who wrote about twenty-five years
after the presumed catastrophe, is that which has
been followed by our principal historians. " King
Richard," he says, "after his coronation, taking
his way to Gloucester, devised, as he rode, to fulfil
that thing which he had before intended. Where
upon he sent John Grene, whom he specially
trusted, to Sir Robert Brakenbury, constable of
the Tower, with a letter and credence also, that
the same Sir Robert in any wise should put the
two chUdren to death. This John Grene did his
errand to Brakenbury, kneeling before our Lady
in the Tower, who plainly answered that he would
never put them to death to die therefore.
" With that answer Grene returned, recounting
the same to King Richard at Warwick, yet on his
journey ; wherewith he took much displeasure,
and that same night said to a page of his, ' Ah !
of green damask; a short gown made of two yards of purple
velvet, lined with two yards of green damask ; a doublet and
stomacher, made of two yards of black satin ; a bonnet of purple
velvet ; nine horse harness and nine saddlehousings of blue vel
vet, gilt spurs, with many other rich articles, and magnificent
apparel for his henchmen and pages."

THE TOWER. 367
whom shall a man trust ? They that I have
brought up myself ; they that I thought would
have mostly served me, even those faU, and at my
commandment will do nothing for me.' ' Sir,'
quoth the page, 'there lieth one in the paUet
chamber without, that, to do your Grace pleasure,
the thing were right hard that he would refuse ; '
meaning by this Sir James Tyrrell, who was a man
of goodly personage, and, for the gifts of nature,
worthy to have served a better prince, if he had
well served God ; and by grace obtained as much
truth and good-wUl as he had strength and wit.
Whereupon the king rose and came out into the
pallet chamber, 'where he found Sir James Tyrrell
in bed with Sir Thomas Tyrrell, of person like,
and brethren in blood, but nothing of him in con
ditions. Then said the king unto them, merrily,
' What, sirs, be ye in bed so soon ? ' and calling
Sir James Tyrrell up, brake to him secretly his
mind in this mischievous matter, in which he
found him to his purpose nothing strange. Where
fore on the morrow he sent him to Brakenbury
with a letter, by which he was commanded to
deliver to Sir James all the keys of the Tower for
a night, to the end that he might there accom
plish the king's pleasure in such things as he had
given him in commandment."
According to the further account of Sir Thomas
More, ever since the usurpation of Richard, the
young king and his infant brother, the Duke of

368 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
York, had been deprived of all the appurtenances
of royalty ; they were kept in close confinement,
their accustomed attendants were removed from
about their persons, and their places supplied by
one who bore the sobriquet of Black Will, and
by four other persons, who it may be supposed
were of dark and suspicious character. From this
period the young brothers are described as cling
ing to each other, as if in the vain hope of finding
succour in each other's embraces, neglecting their
dress, and anticipating with chUdish horror the
dark doom which awaited them. "The prince,"
says Sir Thomas More, "never tied his points,
nor anything thought of himself,' but with that
young babe his brother, lingered in thought and
heaviness till the traitorous deed delivered them
from their wretchedness."
The project of smothering the young princes
in their bed — to prevent as much as possible any
ocular evidence of their having met with a violent
death — is said to have originated with Sir James
Tyrrell, who associated with himself one Slater,
and two other ruffians of the names of Miles
Forest and John Dighton, the latter a " big, broad,
square, and strong knave." The hour fixed upon
for the perpetration of the crime was midnight,
when the inmates of the Tower were wrapped in
sleep. "Then," says Sir Thomas More, "this
Miles Forest and John Dighton came into the
chamber, and suddenly wrapped them up amongst

THE TOWER. 369
the clothes, keeping down by force the feather
bed and pillows hard upon their mouths, that
within awhile they smothered and stifled them,
and their breaths failing, they gave up to God
their innocent souls into the joys of heaven, leav
ing to their tormentors their bodies dead in bed.
After which the wretches laid them out upon the
bed, and fetched Tyrrell to see them, and when
he was satisfied of their death, he caused the
murderers to bury them at the stair-foot, deep in
the ground, under a great heap of stones." Who
does not remember the soliloquy of Sir James
Tyrrell in the fourth act of "King Richard the
Third .' "
" The tyrannous and bloody act is done ;
The most arch-deed of piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery.
Albeit they were fleshed villains, bloody dogs.
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion.
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes ; —
Thus, thus, quoth Forest, girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms ;
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kissed each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay ;
Which once, quoth Forest, almost changed my mind ;
But, O, the devil, — there the villain stopped ;
When Dighton thus told on, — We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,

370 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed, —
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse.
They could not speak ; and so I left them both,
To bear this tidings to the bloody king."
After the perpetration of the crime. Sir James
Tyrrell is said to have ridden in furious haste to
King Richard, to whom he communicated "all
the manner of the murder." Richard, we are
told, thanked him for the zeal which he had dis
played in his service, and complimented him on
the manner in which he had accomplished his
task. However, he is said to have betrayed a
strange displeasure at the indecent manner in
which his nephews had been committed to the
earth, and to have given directions to disinter
their bodies, and to remove them to consecrated
ground. "Whereupon," says Sir Thomas More,
"a priest of Sir Robert Brakenbury's took them
up and buried them in such secrecy as, by the
occasion of his death, which was shortly after, no
one knew it." This is a curious passage, when
we remember that, in the days of Charles the
Second, when there was occasion to disturb the
earth at "the stair-foot," — the spot which is men
tioned as the original site of their interment, —
there were found the remains of two human beings,
which are stated to have exactly corresponded with
the age of the murdered princes. They were re
moved, by order of King Charles, to Henry the
Seventh's Chapel at Westminster, where a marble

THE TOWER. 371
monument stUl points out the spot where they
lie. In describing the particulars of the presumed
murder of the children of Edward the Fourth in
the Tower, it wUl be seen that we have fol
lowed, almost verbatim, the account given by an
almost contemporary writer. Sir Thomas More, —
a graphic picture, which, for more than three
centuries, has drawn the tear from childhood, and
formed the subject of many a plaintive ballad ;
which Shakespeare has improved upon in his im
mortal drama ; which has long been borrowed
by the pencU of the artist and the pen of the
writer of romance ; and, lastly, which, till within
the last few years, has been implicitly followed
by the graver historian. Whether, however, such
a tragedy was ever acted in the Tower, is quite
another question. That the young princes were
put to death in the manner related by Sir Thomas
More, there is no little reason to disbelieve. All
that is known with certainty, is the fact that they
were alive, and were inmates of the Tower, at the
period of Richard's accession, and that they were
never afterward satisfactorUy proved to be in ex
istence. But whether they fell by the hand of
the assassin, or whether they wore out a miserable
existence in the dungeons of the Tower ; whether
they were removed to the Continent and were
transferred to the safe keeping of some foreign
power ; or whether the young king was the only

372 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
victim, and his brother, the Duke of York, was
in reality the accomplished and unfortunate Perkin
Warbeck; wiU probably ever continue to be a
mystery. The different arguments for and against
the supposititious murder of the young princes
would form a curious groundwork for discussion,
into which, however, it is neither the province of
this work nor the inclination of the author to
enter. On the 22d of August, 1485, King Richard
expired on the famous field of Bosworth, and, the
same day, the crown which he wore in the battle,
having been found among the spoils, was placed
by Sir William Stanley on the head of his rival,
the Earl of Richmond. The ceremony of King
Henry's coronation, in consequence of the sweating
sickness raging violently in London, was delayed
a few weeks, when he was solemnly crowned by
Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury,
by the title of King Henry the Seventh.
During this reign we find the king, like his
predecessors, occasionally maintaining his court,
and holding tournaments, at the Tower. With
his young queen, also, — Elizabeth of York, sister
of the unfortunate Edward the Fifth, — the Tower
seems to have been a favourite residence. Hither
this amiable princess was conducted by water from
Greenwich, in great state, on the eve of her
coronation, and on her landing was received by
the king and the principal nobility and officers of

THE TOWER. 373
state, who conducted her to the royal apartments.
The following day, the 25th of November, 1487,
• — " royally apparelled, and accompanied by my
ladye, the king's mother, and many other great
estates, both lords and ladies," — she came forth
to her coronation. The houses, in the streets
through which she passed on her way to West
minster Abbey, were hung, some with arras and
tapestry, and others with cloth of gold, velvet,
and sUk. Between the Tower and St. Paul's were
arrayed the different companies of the city of
London in their rich and showy liveries, and " in
diverse places were ordained singing chUdren, some
arrayed like angels, and others like virgins, to sing
sweet songs as her Grace passed by." And through
the gay and crowded streets — the central object
of attraction in a brilliant cavalcade, consisting of
the noblest and fairest of the land — passed Eliza
beth of York to her coronation. Her habit of
white cloth of gold rendered her especially con
spicuous ; her long fair hair flowed loosely down
her back, and on her head was a coronet of gold
glittering with precious stones. The populace,
as she passed, haUed with the loudest acclamations
the young and interesting princess, whose marriage
with their selfish and cold-hearted sovereign had
united the two great houses of York and Lan
caster, and had thus arrested that tide of misery,
blood, and desolation which had so long devastated
the land.

374 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
The Tower was the scene of Elizabeth's death.
On the 2d of February, 1503, she was brought to
bed here of a daughter, whose birth she survived
only a few days.
There were two prisoners in the Tower in the
reign of Henry the Seventh, to each of whose his
tories a deep interest attaches itself. These were
Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, son of the
ill-fated Duke of Clarence, and the accomplished
and no less Ul-fated Perkin Warbeck.
Jealous of any rival near his throne, one of the
first acts of King Henry, on being exalted to the
supreme power, had been to immure the Earl of
Warwick in the Tower. Without having com
mitted — without even being accused of — a single
crime, this unfortunate prince, the last male heir
of the great race of the Plantagenets, — gifted in
all probability with the hereditary gallantry of his
famUy, and panting for the pleasures and enjoy
ments natural to his age, — was sacrificed to the
jealousy of a cold-blooded tyrant ; and those years
which are generaUy considered to be the most
precious were condemned to be passed in a miser
able imprisonment. Here he remained tiU the
year 1499, when the gates of the Tower opened
to receive a no less remarkable prisoner, Perkin
Warbeck. The two youths, who were not im
probably closely allied in blood, having found
means to confer with each other in secret, con
trived a plan for escaping from the gloomy fortress.

THE TOWER. 375
Their project, however, unfortunately transpired,
and the Earl of Warwick, whose only offence was
a natural longing for life and liberty, was brought
to his trial on the 21st of November, before the
Earl of Oxford, High Steward of England. He
was condemned to death, and on the 28th of the
same month was beheaded on Tower HiU. Even
in that distant age, when fearful and mysterious
crimes and the shedding of royal and Ulustrious
blood were things of ordinary occurrence, the
open crime committed by the jealous tyrant was
regarded with universal detestation. His excuse
was that his ally, Ferdinand of Aragon, had
scrupled to give his daughter Catherine in mar
riage to Arthur, Prince of Wales, as long as one
of the male line of the Plantagenets should sur
vive to dispute the succession. The apology was
worthy of the man !
From the Eari of Warwick we turn to the stUl
more extraordinary fortunes of Perkin Warbeck.
According to the account of those who denied his
claims, this person was the son of one Osbeck, or
Warbeck, a renegade Jew of Tournay, and sub
sequently a citizen of London, whose wealth hav
ing introduced him to the notice of Edward the
Fourth, that easy and affable monarch consented
to stand godfather to his son. The account, how
ever, given by Perkin Warbeck and his partisans
was widely different. They boldly asserted that
he was Richard, Duke of York, youngest son of

376 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
King Edward ; that he had contrived to elude the
murderous intentions of Richard the Third, as well
as the watchful jealousy of Henry the Seventh,
and that he was in fact their rightful and legiti
mate sovereign. That the young claimant to the
throne bore an extraordinary personal resemblance
to Edward the Fourth, and, moreover, that at the
time of Henry's accession a strong rumour was
prevalent that one at least of the late king's sons
had escaped from the Tower, and was still living,
are facts which cannot be called in question.
Whether, however, Perkin Warbeck was in reality
the younger son of King Edward ; whether, as
some have conjectured, he was merely the Ulegiti-
mate offspring of that monarch ; or whether, after
all, he was in fact only a daring impostor, are
questions admitting of more arguments and dis
quisition than we have here space to enter into.
Young, handsome in his person, and eminently
graceful and courtly in his address ; the master,
moreover, of several languages, and gifted with
accomplishments far beyond the age in which he
lived, no one could be more admirably qualified
for the conspicuous part which he was destined to
play. The story of his romantic claims, his resem
blance to the features of Edward the Fourth, and
the fame of his many accomplishments at length
reached the ears of Margaret, Duchess of Bur
gundy, sister of the late king, who was induced to
invite him to her court. It was not, however, till

THE TOWER. 377
after she had caused his strange claims and pre
vious history to be searchingly scrutinised that
the princess was induced openly to acknowledge
him as her nephew. "Diverse and sundry times,"
we are told, " in open audience and solemn pres
ence, he was made to declare and show by what
means he was preserved from death and destruc
tion ; in what countries he had wandered and
sought friendship ; and finally, by what chance of
fortune he came to her court and presence." The
duchess, having at length expressed herself per
fectly satisfied of his identity, joyfully embraced
him as her lost nephew, and openly declared him
to be the last heir of the Plantagenets, and the
legitimate sovereign of England. She usually ad
dressed him as the " White Rose of England ; "
she assigned him a guard of thirty halberdiers,
with liveries of " murrey and blue ; " and con
ferred on him an income befitting his presumed
rank. The fact of the adventurer's claims having been
acknowledged by the Duchess of Burgundy, as
well as the fame which had gone abroad of his
own merits and accomplishments, could not faU to
create a considerable sensation in England. Nor
was it with the common people alone that his
romantic tale found credence. Men of the high
est rank and consequence, including Lord Fitz
walter, Sir Simon Mountfort, Sir Thomas Thwaites,
and even the lord chamberlain. Sir WUliam Stan-

378 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ley, entered into a secret correspondence with him.
Encouraged by these circumstances, and by the
increasing unpopularity of Henry the Seventh,
Perkin Warbeck, assisted by pecuniary loans from
his friends, enlisted a well-appointed body of men,
to whom he added a number of adventurers of all
nations, and with this force determined to invade
England, and to dispute the possession of the
throne with King Henry. Accordingly, in the
month of July, 1495, he set sail, and with little
difficulty effected a landing. The gentlemen of
Kent, however, were prepared to receive him,
and after a skirmish, in which he lost a hun
dred and fifty men, he reembarked his force, and
steered toward Scotland.
His reception by the Scottish monarch, James
the Fourth, was as favourable and flattering as
his fondest wishes could have anticipated ; and
this was afterward improved upon by the adven
turer himself, whose agreeable conversation and
insinuating address entirely won for him the affec
tions of James. The Scottish monarch publicly
acknowledged him to be the legitimate sovereign
of England, and, as a proof of his sincerity, con
ferred on him in marriage a beautiful and virtuous
lady, related to the blood royal of Scotland, the
Lady Catherine Gordon, daughter of the Marquis
of Huntley.
Assisted by James, who parted with his plate
and other valuables to afford the adventurer the

THE TOWER. 379
means of equipping an army, Perkin Warbeck
made an irruption into England. The moment,
however, soon arrived when it was no longer in the
power of the Scottish monarch to assist his favour
ite. Without the means of carrying on a long and
expensive war, and, moreover, hearing that a large
army was marching northward to give him battle,
James, though with great reluctance, signed a
treaty of peace with the English king, leaving the
unfortunate Perkin Warbeck to try his fortunes
in some other quarter. He accordingly retired in
the first instance to Cork, where he received ah
invitation from the Cornish rebels which induced
him to pass over to the coast of England. He
soon found himself at the head of seven thousand
men, with which force he proceeded to lay siege
to Exeter. Desertion, however, and discontent
soon began to take place among his ill-paid and
ill-appointed followers, and, at the threatened ap
proach of the King of England with a large force,
he was compelled to raise the siege and to seek
safety in flight. He found an asylum in the sanc
tuary of Beaulieu, in the New Forest, but some
time afterward, on receiving a promise of the
king's pardon, he surrendered himself into the
hands of his enemies, and was conducted in a kind
of mock triumph to London. The persons who
had charge of him had received the strictest orders
never to quit his person. By some means, how
ever, he contrived to effect his escape, and threw

38o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
himself on the protection of the prior of Sheen, in
Surrey. He again fell into the power of Henry,
and was compelled to sit in the stocks a whole
day, before the entrance to Westminster Hall.
From this period he remained a close prisoner in
the Tower, tUl the faUure of his attempt to escape
from that fortress with the young Earl of Warwick.
He was then brought to trial on charges of high
treason, and, being found guUty, was hanged at
Tyburn, on the 23d of November, 1499. His
young and interesting widow. Lady Catherine
Gordon, received great kindness from Henry's
queen, who placed her near her person, and con
ferred on her a pension which was continued to
her in the following reign.
The only other prisoner of importance who was
confined in the Tower, in this reign, was the lord
chamberlain. Sir WUliam Stanley, he who had
fought by the side of his ungrateful sovereign on
the field of Bosworth, and had placed the crown
on the head of the usurper in the hour of victory.
The only crime of which he proved to have been
guUty was his having said in confidence to Sir
Robert Clifford that, if he was sure that Perkin
Warbeck was the son of King Edward, he would
never bear arms against him. Accordingly, he
was formally impeached before the mercUess and
cold-blooded Henry, who was then holding his
court in the Tower, of having favoured the pre
tensions of the adventurer. On the 15 th of Feb-

THE TOWER. 381
ruary, 1495, he was brought to trial, and, having
been found guUty, was beheaded on Tower Hill.
The history of the Tower, during the ensuing
reign of Henry the Eighth, is full of interest.
Here were confined, preparatory to a bloody death,
that rich and powerful nobleman, Edward, Duke
of Buckingham ; the wise and witty Sir Thomas
More ; the upright minister, Cromwell, Earl of
Essex ; the gentle and beautiful Anne Boleyn ;
the fair and lascivious Catherine Howard ; the
meek martyr, Anne Askew ; and the young and
gallant Earl of Surrey, the darling of beauty and
of the Muses.
It was here that Henry the Eighth passed, in
comparative privacy, the days which elapsed be
tween the death of his father and his interment
in Westminster Abbey. It was here, also, that he
conducted his young queen, Catherine of Aragon,
from Greenwich, and here he passed with her a
few days previous to their gorgeous coronation at
Westminster. According to the account of the
old chronicler. Hall, it must have far exceeded in
magnificence all former similar ceremonials. The
procession, after issuing from the Tower, passed
through a long hne of streets, the houses of which,
as was customary on such occasions, were hung
with silk, tapestry, and damask. First rode, in
rich dresses, two gentlemen on horseback, bearing
the colours of the provinces of Guienne and Nor
mandy. Then came two other gentlemen, carry-

382 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ing the king's hat and cloak ; while immediately
before Henry rode Sir Thomas Brandon, master
of the horse, in a magnificent habit of tissue, orna
mented with roses of gold. The king, who rode
bareheaded, was conspicuous above the rest in a
tunic of raised gold and a robe of crimson velvet.
" His placard," we are told, " was set with diamonds,
rubies, emeralds, and pearls, and his bawdrick, or
belt, with great rubies ; the trappings of his horse
were of damask and gold, with a deep border of
ermine ; the knights and esquires of his body were
clad in crimson velvet, and all the gentlemen, and
other of his chapel, and his officers and household
servants, in scarlet." Immediately behind the
king came the queen, in a chariot or litter drawn
by two white palfreys. She was habited in a
dress of white embroidered satin, and on her head
was a coronet set with precious stones, from under
neath which her hair, "beautiful and goodly to
behold," fell in long tresses down her back. A
few years afterward, this fair and envied princess
became a divorced and degraded woman, and her
rival and maid of honour, Anne Boleyn, was led
forth to her coronation, from under the same por
tal at the Tower, with circumstances of even
greater magnificence than those which had graced
the triumph of her predecessor.
The first illustrious victim to the jealousy of
Henry the Eighth was Edward, Duke of Bucking
ham, Knight of the Garter and Lord High Chan-

THE TOWER. 383
cellor of England, at whose attainder and execution
sank for ever the splendour, the princely honours,
and vast wealth of the ancient and renowned fam
ily of the Staffords. The duke was nearly related
to the blood royal, being descended from Anne,
eldest daughter of Thomas of Woodstock, young
est son of King Edward the Third. To this cir
cumstance, and also to his having rashly incurred
the hostility of Cardinal Wolsey, may be attrib
uted the downfall of this wealthy and powerful
nobleman. The duke, on some occasion of cere
mony, is said to have held a basin to the king,
which his Majesty had no sooner used than Wol
sey dipped his fingers into it. This circumstance
was so offensive to the proud blood of Bucking
ham that he emptied the contents of the basin on
the floor, part of the water falling on the rich
dress of the cardinal. From this moment, Wolsey
is said to have determined on the duke's ruin.
Some time afterward he was arrested on charges
of high treason, and on the 13th of May, 1521,
was conveyed by water from the Tower to West
minster Hall, where he was solemnly tried before
his peers, the Duke of Norfolk presiding as lord
high steward on the occasion. Having been found
guilty, and the awful sentence awarded for the
crime of high treason having been passed upon
him, he addressed the lord high steward in an able
and affecting speech. " My Lord of Norfolk," he
concluded, "you have said as a traitor should be

384 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
said unto ; but I was never one ; yet, my lords, I
nothing malign for what you have done to me,
and may the eternal God forgive you my death, as
I do. I shall never sue to the king for life ; how-
beit, he is a gracious prince, and more grace may
come from him than I desire. I beseech you, my
lords, and all my fellows, to pray for me."
We have already mentioned that, after his con
demnation, the duke was reconducted to the barge
in which he had been conveyed to his trial, and
which was fitted up with carpets and cushions
befitting the high rank of the prisoner. He
refused, however, to make use of them, and took
his seat elsewhere. To Sir Thomas Lovell he
said, "When I came to Westminster I was lord
high constable and Duke of Buckingham, but now,
poor Edward Bohun."
" Sir Nich. Vaux. Prepare there,
The duke is coming; see, the barge be ready;
And fit it with such furniture, as suits
The greatness of his person.
Buck. Nay, Sir Nicholas,
Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable.
And Duke of Buckingham: now, poor Edward Bohun:
Yet I am richer than my base accusers.
That never knew what truth meant : I now seal it;
And with that blood will one day make them groan for't."
— King Henry VIIL, Act ii. Scene I.
The duke landed at the Temple Stairs, from
whence he was led to the Tower, through the

THE TOWER. 385
city, on foot, the fatal axe being carried before
him. Four days afterward, on the 17th of May,
this powerful nobleman was beheaded, in pursu
ance of his sentence, on Tower HUl. He died
calmly, and amidst the tears of the populace, to
whom his popular manners and princely mode of
living had greatly endeared him. When Charles
the Fifth was informed of his death, he is said to
have observed, in aUusion to the meanness of
Wolsey's origin, " that a butcher's dog had killed
the finest buck in England." It is remarkable,
within the short space of one hundred and twenty
years, how many of the ancient and chivalrous
family of the Staffords perished by violent
deaths! Edward Stafford, the sixth baron, was
killed at the battle of Shrewsbury ; Humphrey,
the seventh baron, at the battle of Northampton ;
and his son, Humphrey, Earl of Stafford, at the
battle of St. Albans ; Henry Stafford, Duke of
Buckingham, was beheaded in the market-place
at Salisbury, and his son, the subject of the
present notice, on Tower HiU. The office of
lord high constable, which the duke inherited
from the Bohuns, Earls of Hereford, was for
feited by his attainder, and has never since been
revived in England.
Let us now turn to the closing scene of the
wise and accomplished chanceUor, Sir Thomas
More, who was committed to the Tower, in
1534, for refusing to take the oath of supremacy

386 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
to Henry the Eighth. His equanimity, both dur
ing his long imprisonment and on the scaffold,
never forsook him. On his landing at the
Traitor's Gate, the porter, according to an an
cient custom, demanded his "uppermost gar
ment " as his fee ; on which Sir Thomas pre
sented him with his hat, telling him that was
his " uppermost garment," and that he wished it
was of more value. During his imprisonment in
the Tower, he was frequently visited by the lord
chancellor, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk,
and other members of the Privy Council, who
used every argument to persuade him to take
the oath of supremacy, but no inducement could
prevail upon him to purchase existence at the
expense of his conscience. Accordingly, he was
brought to his trial at the bar of the Court of
King's Bench, and, as trials for high treason in
those days were little more than formalities, he
was found guUty by the jury, and was sentenced to
be hanged, drawn, and quartered, and his head fixed
on a pole on London Bridge. This sentence, the
king — who appears to have borne as much affec
tion for Sir Thomas More as it was in his nature
to entertain for any one — afterward changed of
his own accord to beheading. On the return
of Sir Thomas More to the Tower, a severer
trial than that which he had lately undergone
awaited him. As he was being led through the
gates of the fortress, his favourite daughter, Mrs.

THE TOWER. 387
Roper (a lady who is said to have united the
genius of her father with all the softer accom
plishments of her sex), burst through the guards,
and, throwing her arms around her father's neck,
bathed him with her tears. It was not without
force that the officers were able to remove her ;
but, before he was out of sight, she again broke
from them, and once more throwing herself into
her father's arms, the same distressing scene was
acted over again. " Oh, my father, oh, my father ! "
were the only words to which her grief enabled
her to give utterance. But even at this painful
moment — when even the guards who surrounded
him are said to have shed tears — Sir Thomas still
retained his wonted calmness and self-possession.
He alone, whatever were his secret feelings, ap
peared unmoved. In the centre of the armed
circle, he gave his daughter his solemn blessing;
reminding her that, if he suffered innocently, it
was by the will of God, that it was her duty to
resign herself to his will and pleasure ; and lastly,
he enjoined her to pray for mercy on his soul.
He was reconducted to his solitary dungeon,
where, even with the prospect of a painful and
violent death immediately before his eyes, his
cheerfulness never forsook him, and he even con
tinued to jest on the scaffold. Early on the morn
ing of the 6th of July, 1535, he was unexpectedly
visited by Sir Thomas Pope, who informed him
that it was the will of the king and councU that

388 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
his execution should take place before nine o'clock
on that very day. His reply was touchingly calm
and dignified. " For your good tidings," he said,
" I heartUy thank you. I have always been much
bounden to the king's kindness for the benefits
and honours he hath from time to time heaped
upon me ; but I am more so for his having put me
into this place, where I have had convenient time
to have remembrance of my end ; and that it
pleaseth his Highness so shortly to rid me from
the miseries of this wretched world." As he was
being led forth from the Tower, a woman in the
crowd reproached him with having detained some
deeds while he was in power. " Good woman," he
said, " have patience but a little while, for the king
is so gracious to me that, within this half-hour, he
wUl discharge me of all my business, and help thee
himself." While he was in the act of mounting
the scaffold, he said to some one near him,
" Friend, help me up, and when I come down
again let me shift for myself." The executioner
begging his forgiveness, " I forgive thee," be said,
" but you wUl never get any credit for beheading
me ; my neck is so short." Then laying his head
upon the block, be desired the executioner to wait
till he had put his beard aside ; "for that," he said,
"never committed treason."
Thus perished on Tower Hill, in his fifty -third
year, this great ornament of his age and country.
His remains were, in the first instance, buried in

THE TOWER. 389
the chapel of the Tower, but were afterward re
moved to the south side of the chancel of Chelsea
Church. His head was fixed on a pole on London
Bridge, where it remained for fourteen days, when
his beloved daughter contrived to obtain possession
of it. She preserved it in a leaden box till the day
of her death, when, agreeably with her own wish, it
was placed in her arms, and interred with her in
the family vault of the Ropers, in St. Dunstan's
Church, Canterbury.
A fellow prisoner of Sir Thomas More in the
Tower was John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, a
devout and learned prelate, who was also committed
for refusing to admit the king's supremacy in the
Church. Notwithstanding his advanced age, for he
had attained his eightieth year, he was thrust into
a cold and gloomy dungeon, where he was allowed
no covering but rags, which were scarcely sufficient
to cover his nakedness. He was in this miserable
condition when the Pope conferred on him the
high dignity of cardinal. Before the purple, how
ever, could reach England, the venerable prelate
was no more. On the 17th of June, 1535, he was
tried and condemned, and on the 2 2d of the same
month was led forth to his execution. On the
morning of his death he dressed himself with un
usual care, and calmly laid his head upon the block,
repeating fervently the Te Deum.
The same year, the unfortunate queen, Anne
Boleyn, was committed a prisoner to the gloomy

390 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
fortress of the Tower. Less than three years be
fore, she had issued forth to her coronation from
•under the portals of that very building, amidst the
roar of cannon and the acclamations of the popu
lace, the centre of a glittering cavalcade of gallant
men and beautiful women, the envied of thousands,
and the observed of all observers.
" Then high-born men were proud to wait ;
And beauty watched to imitate
Her gentle voice and lovely mien ;
And gather from her air and gait
The graces of their queen :
Then, had her eye in sorrow wept,
A thousand warriors forth had leapt ;
A thousand swords had sheathless shone.
And made her quarrel all their own.
Now, — what is she ? and what are they ?
Can she command ? or these obey ?
All silent and unheeding now.
With downcast eyes, and knitting brow.
And folded arms, and freezing air,
And lips that scarce their scorn forbear.
Her knights and dames, — her court is there."
She had then been attended by mitred abbots,
and by bishops, and barons, and earls, and mar
quises ; by Knights of the Bath in their " violet
gowns with hoods purfelled with minever ; " by
judges in their scarlet robes, and peers arrayed in
crimson velvet ; whUe she herself, young, beautiful,
and joyous, followed in a fair chariot, drawn by
four milk-white palfreys, her long hair flowing from

THE TOWER. 391
under the diamond coronet which encircled her
head, and her canopy of cloth of gold supported
by the choicest knights of a chivalrous age. The
scene was now changed, and when, pale, friendless,
and affrighted, she passed a prisoner through the
Traitor's Gate, — the famous water entrance to
the Tower, — it was to quit it but once more to
pass to her trial, and thence to the scaffold.
The question of the guilt or innocence of Anne
Boleyn, we are not called upon to discuss. Natu
rally of a gay, lively, and unsuspicious disposition ;
vain of her own surpassing loveliness, and naturally
fond of admiration ; accustomed, moreover, by her
early education in France, to the freedom and lev
ities which were forbidden by the strict recere-
monials of the court of England, — and prompted
by a natural flow of spirits to throw off the tram
mels of royalty, and to associate famUiarly with
those who had formerly been her chosen intimates,
— it was not to be wondered that she should occa
sionally have forgotten the exalted station she had
been called upon to fill, and that, in some unguarded
moments, she should have been betrayed into free
doms and familiarities, of which, however innocent
in themselves, her enemies afterward avaUed them
selves to effect her ruin and death. That she was
ever the adulteress, however, which her unfeeling
husband affected to believe her, and much more
that she was guilty of the incestuous crime with
her own brother. Lord Rochford, with which she

392 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
was so confidently charged, we believe to be entirely
and utterly false.
One can almost imagine the scene of the famous
tournament at Greenwich, on May-day, 1535, when
the handkerchief of the lovely queen fell from her
silken balcony into the area below. Whether the
circumstance was intentional, or whether it was
accidental, Henry chose to interpret it as an act
of gallantry to one of her presumed paramours,
and, inflamed by his new passion for Jane Sey
mour, determined on the ruin of his beautiful
queen. He immediately quitted the gay scene,
accompanied by only six attendants, and, on his
return to the palace at Westminster, gave orders
for the arrest of the queen's brother. Lord Roch
ford, Henry Norris, WUliam Brereton, and Sir
Francis Weston, three officers of his own house
hold, and Mark Smeaton, a musician, — all of
whom were accused of having shared the queen's
favours, and who were forthwith committed to the
Tower. The next day the queen was arrested by the
Duke of Norfolk and other lords, and, on her way
to the Tower by water, was informed of the charges
brought against her, which she earnestly and sol
emnly declared to be false. Amazed by so strange
and sudden a vicissitude in her fortunes, as she
passed through the gloomy Traitor's Gate, she
became deeply affected, and, on reaching the land
ing, fell down on her knees, passionately renewed

'^J^ffjTJ' V

THE TOWER. 393
her protestations of innocence, and shortly after
ward fell into violent hysterics. As she hoped
God to help her, she said, she was not guUty of
the crime laid to her charge.
There is extant part of a letter from Sir WiUiam
Kingston, constable of the Tower, who was placed
as a sort of spy over the words and actions of the
unfortunate queen, which affords a very interest
ing picture of her miserable condition on her first
admission to the Tower. To Secretary Cromwell
he writes : " Upon my Lord of Norfolk, and the
king's councU, departing from the Tower, I went
before the queen into her lodging, and she said
unto me, ' Mr. Kingston, shall I go into a dun
geon .¦" ' ' No, madam, you shall go into your
lodging that you lay in at your coronation.' ' It
is too good for me,' she said ; 'Jesus have mercy
on me,' and kneeled down, weeping apace, and in
the same sorrow fell into a great laughing, which
she hath done several times since. And then she
desired me to move the king's highness, that she
might have the sacrament in the closet by her
chamber, that she might pray for mercy ; for ' I
am as clear,' she said, 'from the company of man,
as to sin, as I am clear from you, and am the king's
true wedded wife.' And then she said, ' Mr. Kings
ton, do you know wherefore I am here .' ' and I
said, ' Nay ; ' and then she asked me, ' When saw
you the king .' ' and I said, ' I saw him not since I
saw him yesterday in the Tilt Yard.' And then said

394 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
she, ' Mr. Kingston, I pray you to tell me where
my father is .¦• ' and I told her I saw him before
dinner in the court. 'And where is my sweet
brother ? ' And I said I left him at York Place
(Whitehall), and so I did. 'I hear say,' said she,
' that I shall be accused with three men, and I can
say no more than nay, without I should open my
body,' and therewith opened her gown. Then she
said, ' Mr. Kingston, shall I die without justice ? '
And I said, 'The poorest subject the king hath,
hath justice ; ' and therewith she laughed. All this
saying was y ester-night."
There is another remarkable passage in this in
teresting letter, which shows that, even in her own
bedchamber, the unfortunate queen had a secret
spy upon her actions. " I was commanded," writes
Kingston, "to charge the gentlewomen that at
tended upon the queen that they should have no
communication with her, unless my wife were
present ; and so I did it, notwithstanding it can
not be so, for my Lady Boleyn and Mistress Cofyn
lie on the queen's pallet, and I and my wife at the
door without ; so that they must needs talk that
be within. But I have everything told me by
Mistress Cofyn that she thinks meet for me to
know." It was at this period that Anne Boleyn addressed
that touching and beautiful letter to her heartless
lord, which, as a literary composition, is far supe
rior in elegance to the style of the age in which she

THE TOWER. 395
lived. The last paragraph, in which, forgetting
her own misfortunes, she eloquently intercedes for
those innocent persons who had become involved
in her ruined fortunes, is one which never fades
from the memory. "My last and only request
shaU be, that myself only may bear the burden of
your Grace's displeasure, and that it may not
touch the innocent souls of those four gentlemen,
who, as I understand, are lUsewise in strait impris
onment for my sake. If ever I have found favour
in your sight, if ever the name of Anne Boleyn
hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me ob
tain this request ; and I wUl so leave off troubling
your Grace any further, with mine earnest prayers
to the Trinity to have your Grace in his good
keeping, and to direct you in all your actions.
From my doleful prison in the Tower, this 6th
of May. Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,
Anne Boleyn."
On the 1 2th of May, Norris, Weston, Brereton,
and Smeaton underwent their trial in Westminster
Hall. Norris, who was a personal favourite of
the king, was offered his life, on condition that
he should confess himself guilty and accuse the
queen. He was too generous, however, to save
his own life at the expense of that of another, and
retorted indignantly that in his conscience he be
lieved her to be an innocent woman, and that, for
his own part, he would rather die a thousand deaths
than calumniate a guUtless person. Smeaton, on

396 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the other hand, displayed a contemptible attach
ment to life, and though his averment obtained no
credit, he confidently affirmed that he had been
admitted to a criminal correspondence with the
queen. The queen's own voluntary statement,
with regard to her intercourse with this miserable
musician, there is every reason to believe deserv
ing of credit. He had never, she said, been in her
chamber but twice, when he played upon the harp
sichord, but she admitted that he once had the
confidence to tell her that " a look sufficed him."
Smeaton's meanness, however, availed him nothing,
and he was executed with the rest.
Three days after the condemnation of her pre
sumed lovers, the queen aiid her brother. Lord
Rochford, were brought to trial in the great hall
of the Tower. The jury which tried them con
sisted of the Duke of Suffolk, the Marquis of
Exeter, the Earl of Arundel, and twenty-three
other peers ; their uncle, the Duke of Norfolk,
presiding as lord high steward. The defenceless
queen had by this time regained her calmness and
self-possession, and when she appeared before the
court, attended by her ladies, she wore an aspect
of dignified royalty and injured innocence which
the beholders were little likely to forget. There
were few, who witnessed that memorable scene in
the Tower, who did not depart to their own homes
with a firm and full conviction of the innocence of
the persecuted queen. The frightful accusation

THE TOWER. 397
of incest was fully entered into, but the proofs
appear to have amounted to little more than that
Rochford, before some company, had been seen to
lean over the bed of his sister. In those days,
however, the will of the sovereign readily decided
the fate of his victim, and, accordingly, the fair
and innocent queen was sentenced to be either
burned or beheaded, according to the king's pleas
ure. The dreadful words were no sooner uttered,
than she arose in the midst of her female attend
ants, and gave utterance to a most touching
asseveration of her innocence. Had the verdict
of her judges, she said, been given according to
the expectation of the bystanders, she must inevi
tably have been acquitted ; but there were those
among them, she added, — and she seems espe
cially to have alluded to the king's brother-in-law,
the Duke of Suffolk, — who, " applying themselves
to the king's humour," were determined on effect
ing her ruin. " O Father ! O Creator ! " she ex
claimed, fervently ; " thou who art the way, the
truth, and the life, thou knowest that I have not
deserved this death!" TiU within two days of
her execution, the unhappy queen appears to have
been buoyed up with expectations that her life
would be spared. On the i Sth of May, however,
sentence of death was passed on her ; on the 1 7th,
Lord Rochford, Norris, Brereton, and Weston
were beheaded on Tower Hill, and, on the 19th,
she herself was led forth to execution. On the

398 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
1 6th, the day after her condemnation, Kingston
writes : " I desire to know the king's pleasure
touching the queen, as well for her confessor, as
for the preparation of scaffolds and other neces
saries, concerning which the king's grace showed
me that my Lord of Canterbury should be her con
fessor, and he was here this day with the queen ;
but not in that matter. Sir, the time is short,
for the king supposes the gentlemen do die to
morrow. I have told my Lord Rochford that he
must be in readiness to-morrow to suffer execution,
and so he accepts it very well, and will do his best
to be ready. Sir, I shall desire you, that we may
here know the king's pleasure, as shortly as may be,
that we may prepare for the same, which is neces
sary ; for we here have no man to do execution.
Yet the queen said this day at dinner that she
should go to Hanover, and is in hope of life ; and
thus fare you well. — WUliam Kingston."
The execution of her brother, and the prepara
tions which were making for her own death, at
length convinced the unhappy queen that she had
no mercy to expect from her relentless husband,
and she prepared herself to die with exemplary
piety and resignation. Kingston, a few hours
before her execution, writes to Secretary Crom
well : " The queen sent for me, and at my coming
she said, ' Mr. Kingston, I hear say, I shall not
die before noon, and I am very sorry, therefore,
for I thought to be dead now, and past my pain.'

THE TOWER. 399
I told her it should be no pain, it was so subtle.
Then she said, ' I have heard say the executioner
is very good, and I have a little neck ; ' and put
ting her hands about it laughed heartUy. I have
seen many men, and also women executed, and
that they have been in great sorrow, but, to my
knowledge, this lady has much joy and pleasure in
death. Her almoner is continually with her, and
has been since two of the clock after midnight."
On the night before her execution, Anne, for
the last time, sent a message to her husband, pro
testing her innocence, and acknowledging the
many favours she had formerly received at his
hands. From a private gentlewoman, she said,
he had raised her to be a marchioness, and from
a marchioness to be a queen ; and, since he could
raise her no higher, he was now sending her to
be a saint in heaven. Lastly, she solemnly
recommended her infant daughter, Elizabeth, to
his paternal care.
All strangers having been commanded to quit
the Tower, about noon she was led forth to the
scaffold, which was erected on the green in front
of the chapel. Among the persons who had been
summoned to be present were the Dukes of Suf
folk and Richmond, and the lord mayor, sheriffs,
and aldermen of London. Her step was firm and
graceful ; her countenance serene and cheerful ; and
it was remarked that she had never looked more
beautiful than she did in that awful hour. Her

400 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
beauty and gentleness nearly unmanned the execu
tioner. The ladies who attended her clung to her
in paroxysms of grief, and there was no one
present who was not deeply affected by the touch
ing solemnity of the scene. Anne alone appeared
cheerful and unmoved. She kindly endeavoured
to soothe the grief of her attendants, to each of
whom she presented some token of her affection
ate regard. Then, after addressing a few words to
the bystanders, — in which she acknowledged the
bounties she had received from the king, and
desired the prayers of those around her, — she
knelt down, and, having passed a short time in
prayer, she laid her head upon the block as resign
edly as if it had been her pillow, and submitted to
the blow of the executioner. This person had
been brought from Calais, it being supposed that
he was more expert than any in England. Very
little regard was shown to the queen's remains.
They were placed in a common elm chest, which
had been used for holding arrows, and were in
terred, without ceremony, among the many head
less dead in the chapel of the Tower. There is a
mound in Richmond Park, in the garden of the
lodge occupied by Lord John Russell, on which,
it is said. King Henry stood to watch the bursting
of the rocket, which had been agreed upon as
the signal to announce to him that his injured
queen was no more. The next day he married
her rival, Jane Seymour.

THE TOWER. 401
The foUowing year. Lord Thomas Howard,
youngest son of the Duke of Norfolk, was com
mitted to the Tower for forming a clandestine
marriage with the king's niece. Lady Margaret
Douglas. He died of grief in the fortress, after a
short imprisonment, when his widow, who had
been his fellow prisoner, obtained her liberty.
In 1540, the powerful and high-minded Thomas
Cromwell, Earl of Essex, was disgraced by the
ungrateful master whom he had served so long
and faithfully, and was committed a friendless and
forsaken prisoner to the Tower. On the morning
of the loth of June, after passing through an ante
chamber lined with cringing courtiers and hungry
supplicants, he had taken his seat at the council-
table as keeper of the privy seal, lord chamber
lain, master of the wards, and a Knight of the
Garter. The same day he was suddenly arrested
at that very table by the Duke of Norfolk, and
hurried to the Tower. On the 29th he was tried
and condemned, ostensibly on some ridiculous
charges of high treason ; but his real crimes, as is
well known, were his having brought about the
marriage with Anne of Cleves, whom Henry, after
their first interview, had declared to be a "great
Flanders mare," and afterward his opposing the
king's marriage with his new passion, Catherine
Howard. From the Tower the fallen minister addressed
more than one pathetic letter to his royal master.

402 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
"written," to use his own language, "with the
quaking hand and most sorrowful heart of a most
sorrowful subject." One of these letters con
cludes : "I, a most woful prisoner, am ready to
take the death when it shall please God and your
Majesty; and yet the fraU flesh inciteth me con
tinually to call to your Grace for mercy and grace
for mine offences. And thus Christ save, preserve,
and keep you. Written at the Tower, this Wednes
day, the last of June, with the heavy heart and
the trembling hand of your Highness's most heavy
and most miserable prisoner, and poor slave,
Thomas Cromwell." And a little below he adds :
" Most gracious prince, I cry for mercy, mercy,
mercy ! "
One of these heartrending appeals the tyrant
caused to be thrice read over to him, and was so
affected at the recital as to shed tears. The argu
ments, however, of Cromwell's deadly enemy, the
Duke of Norfolk, and the king's headstrong pas
sion for Catherine Howard, overcame his lingering
affection for his old and faithful servant, and on
the 28th of July Cromwell was led from the Tower
to the fatal scaffold on the adjoining hill, where he
died pious and resigned.
On the 8th of August, 1 540, eleven days after
the death of Cromwell, Henry was united to Cath
erine Howard, niece of the Duke of Norfolk, the
best beloved, and not the least beautiful, of his
numerous wives. Fascinated by her youth, her

THE TOWER. 403
loveliness, her agreeable conversation, and insinu
ating address, the sixteen months which elapsed
between the period of their marriage and the dis
covery of the frailty of his young wife were per
haps the happiest of Henry's life. He made no
secret of his excessive attachment, and on one
occasion publicly returned thanks to Heaven, in
the Chapel Royal, for the fehcity which their union
had procured for him, the Bishop of Lincoln hav
ing composed an especial prayer for the occasion.
At length, however, rumours of the queen's
infidelity, and especially of criminal conduct be
fore marriage, became whispered abroad, and to
Archbishop Cranmer was committed the invidious
and perilous task of communicating to the unsus
pecting monarch the fact that he had been de
ceived in his beautiful queen. Had Cranmer failed
in his proofs, his head, as well as those of others,
would doubtless have paid the penalty. At first,
so confident was Henry of his wife's purity that
he positively refused to give the least credit to
the information. But at length, when undoubted
proofs of her criminality were laid before him, he
became so deeply affected that he continued for
a long time speechless, and at last burst into tears.
The necessary investigations having been made
in different quarters, the queen was conveyed in
the first instance to Sion, where she underwent
an examination before the Archbishop of Canter
bury, her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, and other

404 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
lords. About the same time. Lady Rochford ^ —
the confidante of her amours — and three gentle
men, Mannoc, Derham, and Culpepper, on whom
she was accused of having conferred her favours,
were committed to prison. In the presence of
the examining lords she made a full confession
of her criminality with Derham before marriage,
but strenuously denied that she had since been
unfaithful to the king's bed, a statement the truth
of which she subsequently insisted upon no less
vehemently to Doctor White, afterward Bishop of
Winchester, when he conferred with her as her
spiritual adviser immediately before her execution.
We are naturally inclined to give credit to the
solemnity of a dying declaration. But when we
remember the fact that Derham, who had been
her paramour before marriage, was afterward ap
pointed to a place about her person, and, more
over, that Culpepper, during a recent progress
which she had made with the king, had been
admitted into her bedchamber at eleven o'clock at
night, and had remained there till four o'clock the
next morning, can we wonder that her judges
should have refused to give credence to her story .¦"
From Sion the young queen was conducted in
as private a manner as possible to the Tower.
Thither also were committed, as accessories of her
crime, her grandmother, the old Duchess of Nor
folk, her unprincipled confidante. Lady Rochford,
her uncle, Lord WiUiam Howard, the Countess of

THE TOWER. 405
Bridgewater, and some other persons of inferior
rank. About the same time Derham and Cul
pepper were tried and hung at Tyburn ; and, on
the nth of January, 1542, acts of attainders were
passed against the queen and Lady Rochford for
high treason.
On the 1 1 th of February the young queen
and her favourite were executed together on the
green before the Tower Chapel. " Since my writ
ing to you on Sunday last," says an eye-witness,
" I saw the queen and Lady Rochford suffer within
the Tower the day following ; whose souls, I doubt
not, be with God, for they made the most godly
and Christian end that ever was heard tell of, I
think, since the world's creation ; uttering their
lively faith in the blood of Christ only, with won
derful patience and constancy to the death ; and
with goodly words and steadfast countenances
they desired all Christian people to take regard
unto their worthy and just punishment with death
for their offences, and against God heinously from
their youth upwards, in breaking all bis command
ments. Wherefore, they being justly condemned,
as they said, by the laws of the realm and the
Parliament, to die, required the people, I say, to
take example at them for amendment of their
ungodly lives, and gladly to obey the king in all
things ; for whose preservation they did heartily
pray, and willed all people so to do, commending
their souls to God, and earnestly calling for mercy

406 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
upon him." The world looked upon the execu
tion of Lady Rochford as a judgment from heaven,
for it was through her evidence that Queen Anne
Boleyn and her own husband. Lord Rochford,
had been brought to the block. Shortly after the
queen's death the Duchess of Norfolk, and most
of the others who had been condemned for mis
prision of treason, received the king's pardon.
Lord William Howard, however, was allowed to
linger on in the Tower, where he died a few
months after the execution of his sister.
A lady of a very different character was Anne
Askew, one of the early sufferers in the cause
of the Reformed religion. She was the daughter
of Sir WUliam Askew, of Kelsay, in Lincolnshire,
and at the time that she was committed to the
Tower, and was subjected to the frightful agonies
of the rack, was only in her twenty-sixth year.
She had been previously condemned to death at
Guildhall, and had listened undauntedly to the
dreadful sentence passed upon her, that she
should be burnt alive at the stake. There stUl,
however, remained the terrors of the rack ; and,
as the Duchess of Suffolk and the Countesses of
Sussex and Hertford and other ladies were sup
posed to have imbibed the same religious opinions,
her persecutors determined, by agonies and terrors,
to force her to a confession. She remained true,
however, to her religion and to friendship to the
last. On arriving at the Tower she was thrust

THE TOWER. 407
into a miserable dungeon, where we have the evi
dence, not only of Fox, but also her own written
statement, that Sir Richard Rich, a Privy Coun
sellor, and Sir Thomas Wriothesley, the chancellor,
actually put their hands to the rack, and assisted
in the frightful work of torturing the noble-minded
girl. " Rich," she says, in her unvarnished narra
tive, " came to me with one of the council, charg
ing me, upon my obedience, to show unto them
if I knew any man or woman of my sect ? My
answer was, that I knew none. They asked me
of my Lady Suffolk, my Lady of Sussex, my Lady
of Hertford, my Lady Denny, and my Lady Fitz-
williams. I said, if I should pronounce anything
against them that I were not able to prove it.
Then they put me on the rack, because I con
fessed no ladies or gentlewomen to be of my opin
ion, and thereon they kept me a long time. And
because I lay still and did not cry, my lord
chancellor and Mr. Rich took pain to rack me
with their own hands, till I was well-nigh dead.
Then the lieutenant (of the Tower) caused me to
be loosed from the rack. Incontinently I swooned,
and then they recovered me again. After that I
sat two long hours reasoning with my lord chan
cellor upon the bare floor, whereas he, with many
flattering words, persuaded me to leave my opin
ions. But my Lord God — and I thank kis ever
lasting goodness — gave me grace to persevere,
and wiU do, I hope, to the end."

408 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Her prayer was not breathed in vain. When
she was led to the flames, her limbs were so man
gled and disjointed that it was only with the assist
ance of two sergeants that she was able to stand.
Yet, Strype informs us, that one who visited her
in the Tower, a few hours before her execution,
was so struck with the sweet serenity of her coun
tenance, that he compared it to that of St. Stephen,
"as it had been that of an angel." She was burnt
to death at Smithfield, in the presence of the Duke
of Norfolk, the Earl of Bedford, the lord chan
ceUor, and others, on the i6th of July, 1546. At
the last moment, immediately before the torch was
put to the fagots, a paper was presented to her
containing the king's pardon, on condition that she
would recant her errors. She refused, however,
not only to have the document read, but even to
look at it. " Whereupon," says Ballard, " the lord
mayor commanded it to be put in the fire, and cried
with a loud voice. Fiat Justitia ; and, fire being
put to the fagots, she surrendered up her pious
soul to God in the midst of the flames."
The last persons who were committed to the
Tower in this reign, on whose history and misfor
tune we shall dwell at any length, were Thomas,
Duke of Norfolk, and his accomplished and ill-fated
son, Henry, Earl of Surrey. To the former ven
erable nobleman, the king, as well as his country,
lay under deep obligations for his long and valuable
services. In his youth he had signalised himself

THE TOWER. 409
in more than one naval enterprise ; he had fought
the foremost and the bravest on the famous field
of Flodden ; as Lord Deputy of Ireland his con
duct had gained the approbation of all men ; he
had suppressed a dangerous insurrection in the
north ; on the king's advance to Boulogne, in
1544, he had commanded the vanguard of the
army ; and, moreover, he had more than once
vanquished the Scots on their own territory,
"with a destruction," says Buchanan, "which
equally leveUed the turreted castle of the baron
and the straw-built hut of the peasant." Allied
to the blood royal by his descent from the ancient
family of the Mowbrays ; still more closely allied
to it by his marriage with a daughter of Edward
the Fourth, and by his two nieces, Catherine
Howard and Anne Boleyn, having been succes
sively Queens of England, universally regarded,
moreover, as the head of the powerful Roman
Catholic party in England ; — we cannot be sur
prised, from the knowledge which we possess of
Henry's character, that, when the tyrant had
become old, peevish, and sickly, he should have
regarded the power and popularity of the Duke of
Norfolk with suspicion and dread. Accordingly,
in the month of December, 1546, the duke was
suddenly arrested and committed to the Tower.
To the ambassadors abroad it was given out that
the duke and his son. Lord Surrey, had conspired
to take on them the government during the king's

410 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
life, and, after his death, to secure the person of
the prince. One of the principal charges, however,
appears to have been that the duke had quar
tered the arms of Edward the Confessor, which his
ancestors had long borne before him, and which
he himself had often worn in the king's presence.
On the 14th of January, 1547, the House of Peers,
without examining the prisoner, without trial or
evidence, passed a bill of attainder against the
duke. This infamous bill was immediately ap
proved by the obsequious Commons, and, having
received the royal assent by commissioners, the
duke's execution was ordered to take place on
the morning of the 29th of January.
The gay, the gallant, and handsome Earl of
Surrey — the soldier, the scholar, the courtier, and
the poet — was committed to the Tower at the
same time with his venerable father. Not being
a peer of the realm, he was ordered to be tried
before a common jury at the GuUdhall, where he
was arrainged on the 13th of January. His answers
to the questions put to him were remarkable for
their judgment and acuteness, and his defence was
eloquent, dignified, and spirited. When one of the
witnessses, who were confronted with him, repeated
a conversation in which he stated that he had
braved the earl with an insolent retort, "I put it
to the jury," said the noble prisoner, "whether
it is probable that any man should address such a
speech to the Earl of Surrey and he not strike

THE TOWER. 411
him ? " Notwithstanding his able defence, he was
found guUty of high treason, and was carried back
to the Tower, with the edge of the fatal axe turned
toward him. Six days afterward, on the 19th of
January, he was beheaded on Tower HUl.
The Duke of Norfolk was more fortunate than
his accomplished son. His sentence was to have
been carried into effect on the 29th of January,
but, on the very day previously, Henry, whose
health had been long failing him, providentially
breathed his last. The duke, who survived tiU the
reign of Queen Mary, lived to preside at the trial
of his powerful rival, John Dudley, Duke of North
umberland, and, when upwards of eighty years of
age, appeared in arms at the suppression of Wyatt's
rebellion. It is remarkable that he should have
lived in the reigns of eight sovereigns.
We have been able to dwell on the misfortunes
of only a few of the numerous prisoners who were
denizens of the Tower during the reign of Henry
the Eighth. In those days, its gloomy dungeons
appear to have been but seldom tenantless. Dur
ing the religious persecutions which prevaUed in
the reign of Henry, they were crowded with hun
dreds of human beings who were stigmatised with
the name of heretics ; and almost daily its vaulted
chambers and passages echoed back the shrieks
extorted by the frightful tortures of the rack.
Here, in this reign, were committed prisoners
the Earls of CasUlis and Glencairn, and many of

412 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the most powerful of the Scottish nobility, who
had been taken prisoners at the battle of Sol-
way; and again, in 1537, after the suppression of
the insurrections in the north, the dungeons of the
Tower were peopled with a host of prisoners, of
whom Lord Darcy was beheaded on Tower Hill,
Lord Hussey at Lincoln, and Sir Robert Con
stable was hung in chains at Hull ; numerous
others, including the abbots of Fontaine, Ryval,
and Jervaux, were taken from the Tower to be
executed at Tyburn. Here were imprisoned the
two unworthy favourites of Henry the Seventh, Sir
Richard Epsom and Edmund Dudley, both of
whom were beheaded on Tower Hill ; and here
also, at a later period, were confined the Marquis
of Exeter, Henry Pole, Lord Montague, Sir Ed
ward Neville, brother of Lord Abergavenny, and
Sir Nicholas Carew, all of whom, having been con
demned to death for carrying on a treasonable
correspondence with Cardinal Pole, fell by the axe
of the executioner on the adjoining hill. Lastly,
the singular fate of Arthur Plantagenet, Viscount
Lisle, demands a passing notice. This nobleman,
an illegitimate son of King Edward the Fourth,
had been committed to the fortress on suspicion
of being engaged in a conspiracy to deliver over
the town of Calais, of which he was the governor,
to the French. His innocence, however, being
afterward clearly proved, Henry sent his secre
tary. Sir Thomas Wriothesley, with a present of

THE TOWER. 413
a diamond ring to the prisoner, as a token that
he was restored to favour and to life. The com
munication had a different effect from what was
intended. So overpowered was Lord Lisle by the
joyful tidings, and the suddenness of the commu
nication, that he was seized with convulsions, of
which he expired the same night.
Henry the, Eighth, as we have already men
tioned, died on the 28th of January, 1547, and
two days afterward his son and successor, Edward
the Sixth, then in his tenth year, was conducted
with great parade to the Tower, amidst the roar of
cannon and the acclamations of the populace. The
next day the royal child was placed on a throne
in the chamber of presence, where the principal
nobility knelt to him and kissed his hand. Here,
a few days afterward, he was knighted by his
maternal uncle, the Protector Somerset, and from
hence he was conducted in great state, on the
20th of February, to his coronation in West
minster Abbey.
The first prisoner of importance who was com
mitted to the Tower, after the accession of the
young king, was his own uncle, Thomas, Lord
Seymour, of Sudley, Lord High Admiral of Eng
land. This celebrated person was no less con
spicuous from his high courage, his commanding
figure, his graceful manners, and his success with
the fair sex, than for his arrogance to his equals,
his implacable animosities, and his insatiable ambi-

414 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
tion. By his insinuating address he had contrived
to win the affections of Henry's widow, Catherine
Parr, to whom he was married so soon after the
king's death that, had she borne a living chUd, it
would have been difficult to identify its father.
The queen died shortly afterward in chUdbed,
when Lord Seymour had the boldness to fix his
views on the king's sister, the young Princess
Elizabeth. That he succeeded in insinuating him
self into her good graces, and that some familiari
ties of a rather delicate nature passed between the
lord high admiral and the young princess, there
can be no question. At one time we find him
romping with her in the garden at Hanworth, and
" cutting her gown into a hundred pieces ; " while
on another occasion we discover him entering her
chamber before she had risen, when, we are told,
"she ran out of her bed to her maidens, and
then went behind the curtains of her bed." But
with Lord Seymour love was only a secondary
consideration. Aware that his brother, the Pro
tector, would never consent to his marriage with
the princess, he entered into a dark and deep-laid
plot, the principal objects of which were to sup
plant his brother in the Protectorship, and to ob
tain possession of the king's person and affections.
It could only have been from a stern and
melancholy necessity that a man so amiable as
the Protector could have been induced to sanction
those violent measures against his own brother.

THE TOWER. 415
which subsequently led that daring intriguer to
the block. Having previously deprived him of the
office of high admiral, the Protector, on the 19th
of January, 1549, signed a warrant for committing
him to the Tower. In vain Lord Seymour pleaded
to be brought to an open trial. On the 26th
of February the bUl for his attainder passed the
House of Lords ; on the 4th of March it was rati
fied, with only a few dissentient voices, by the
House of Commons, and on the following day
the young king gave his assent to the execution
of his own uncle, and the Protector signed the
death-warrant of his own brother. Of the manner
in which Lord Seymour demeaned himself in his
last moments, but few particulars have been handed
down to us. At his own request he was attended
by the celebrated Bishop Latimer, who informs us,
in one of his sermons, that the lord admiral died
" very dangerously, irksomely, horribly." He was
beheaded on a scaffold on Tower HUl, on the 20th
of March, 1549.
The ruin of the Protector — brought about by
his turbulent and ambitious rival, John Dudley,
Duke of Northumberland — followed shortly after
that of his brother. On the 6th of October, 1551,
Lord St. John, president of the council, the Duke
of Northumberland, the Earls of Southampton and
Arundel, and five other members of the Privy
CouncU, met at Ely House, Holborn, and, after
attributing to him every misfortune which had be-

4l6 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
fallen the nation, came to the bold determination
of acting independent of his authority. These
astounding tidings no sooner reached the ears of
the Protector than he removed the young king
from Hampton Court to Windsor, and, by arming
his friends and retainers, showed how resolved he
was to defend himself to the last. Great, how
ever, and deserved as was his popularity with the
lower classes, the Protector found, to his grief and
consternation, that scarcely a single person of rank
was prepared to rise in his favour. It was evi
dent, therefore, that his doom was fixed. On the
1 7th of October he was sent to the Tower with
several of his friends and adherents, and on the
1st of December following, was brought to trial
before a solemn assemblage of peers in West
minster HaU, the Marquis of Winchester sitting
as lord high steward. The charges on which he
was arraigned were high treason and felony ; the
former accusing him of having projected to seize
the king's person, and to raise insurrections in the
north, and the latter of having meditated the arrest
of the Duke of Northumberland, a recent act of
Parliament having declared it to be felony to
conspire against a Privy CouncUlor.
At his trial, Somerset demeaned himself with
great dignity ; and so satisfactory was his defence
that the peers acquitted him of the charge of
treason, though they brought him in guilty of the
felony. So beloved was he by the people, that

THE TOWER. 417
when the verdict of acquittal was announced to
the multitude who surrounded Westminster Hall,
they raised so loud a shout of exultation that it
was heard at Charing Cross. Their joy, how
ever, was suddenly damped when they learned
that he had been found guilty of the felony,
and condemned to death.
From Westminster, Somerset was conducted by
water to London Bridge, and from thence, escorted
by a strong guard, through the streets to his
former apartment in the Tower. His execution
was fixed for the 22d of January, and accord
ingly, on that day, the Ul-fated Protector, lately
so envied and so powerful, was led forth to the
scaffold on Tower Hill. He ascended the fatal
stage with a firm step and cheerful countenance,
and, kneeling down and lifting up his hands, com
mended his soul to God. He then addressed him
self to the multitude, and had proceeded at some
length in his speech when an incident occurred
which might have put to the test the courage
and composure of the bravest. Suddenly, Sir
Anthony Brown was seen riding toward the scaf
fold, at which the people raised a loud cry of
joy, and, throwing up their caps, shouted : " A
pardon, a pardon, God save the king ! " The
mistake, however, was soon discovered, on which
the duke, without the least discomposure, waved
his hand to the people to obtain their sUence, and
calmly continued his harangue.

4l8 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Having concluded, he again knelt down to his
devotions, and then, once more rising up, took an
affectionate leave of the sheriffs and the lieuten
ant of the Tower, and presented the executioner
with some money. Having untied his shirt-strings,
he again knelt down in the straw, and the execu
tioner having turned down his collar, he himself
covered his face with his handkerchief. To the
last, his countenance appeared unmoved by the
fear of death, and it was observed that, if anything,
his cheeks had more colour in them than usual.
Having laid his head upon the block, he repeated
three times, " Lord Jesus, save me ! " and, just as
he was uttering it for the third time, the axe fell
and separated his head from his body. His re
mains were placed in a coffin, and having been
carried back to the Tower, were interred between
the bodies of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard.
Thus died the great Protector, Edward, the Duke
of Somerset ! After the axe fell, many of the
crowd rushed on the scaffold, and dipping their
handkerchiefs in his blood, preserved them as pre
cious relics. Some years afterward, when his
rival, the Duke of Northumberland, was carried
a prisoner through the streets to the Tower,
many persons crowded round him, and shaking
their bloody handkerchiefs in his face, up
braided him with his cruelty to their favourite
duke. We have already mentioned that more than one

THE TOWER. 419
of the Protector's friends and partisans were com
mitted with him to the Tower. Of these, the Earl
of Arundel, Lords Grey and Paget, and others
escaped with an imprisonment of more or less dura
tion ; but Sir Ralph Vane, a brave and veteran sol
dier. Sir Michael Stanhope, a relation of Somerset,
Sir Thomas Arundel, and Sir Miles Partridge
were less fortunate. All four were executed on the
same day, the 26th of February, on Tower HUl ;
Arundel and Stanhope by the axe, and Vane and
Partridge on the common gibbet. Sir Ralph Vane
died deeply lamented. He had fought gallantly on
many fields of battle, and, at his trial, had con
ducted his defence with great ability. When
pressed to petition for his life, he refused to make
the required submission. "The wars," he said,
" have now ended, and the coward and the coura
geous are alike esteemed."
Edward the Sixth expired at Greenwich, on the
6th of July, 1553, in the sixteenth year of his age.
Shortly before his decease, he was prevaUed upon
by the Duke of Northumberland, to deprive his
sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, of the succession,
and to bequeath his crown to the Lady Jane
Grey, who had married the duke's fourth son.
Lord Guildford Dudley, and who was great-grand
daughter of Henry the Seventh, by the marriage
of Mary, daughter of that monarch, to Charles,
Duke of Suffolk. This measure, immediately after
the king's death, was confirmed by the Privy

420 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Council and the several judges ; Sir James Hale
alone refusing to give his assent.
The breath had no sooner quitted the king's
body, than Northumberland, accompanied by the
Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Pembroke, and others
of the nobility, proceeded to Sion House, where
Lady Jane was then residing, and where they
did homage to her as their sovereign. Imme
diately afterward she was proclaimed Queen of
England with the usual solemnities, and, on the
9th of July, was conducted in state to the royal
apartments in the Tower. Her reign, it is almost
needless to remark, was as brief as its honours
were distasteful to her.
Mary, the rightful successor, was at this period
residing at Framlingham Castle, in Suffolk, where
so many of the nobility and gentry flocked to her
with mUitary reinforcements, that it soon became
evident, even to the aspiring Northumberland, that
all hope of retaining the crown on the head of his
daughter-in-law was at an end. In particular
he was affected by the coldness of the people.
"Many," he said to Lord Grey, "come to look at
us, but I find no one cries, ' God speed you ! ' "
Deserted by his friends and followers, he was
arrested by the Earl of Arundel on the 25 th of
July, and forthwith committed to the Tower. At
the same time were seized, and sent to the same
fortress, his three sons, the Earl of Warwick and
Lords Ambrose and Henry Dudley; his brother.

THE TOWER. 42 1
Sir Andrew Dudley, the Earl of Huntingdon, Lord
Hastings, Sir Thomas Palmer, Sir Henry and Sir
John Gates, and Doctor Sandys ; the latter of
whom had preached a sermon at Cambridge in
favour of the Lady Jane. Two days afterward,
the Duke of Suffolk, Lady Jane Grey, and her
husband. Lord Guildford Dudley, were committed
to the Tower.
It was customary, in those times, for the kings
of England to pass the first days after their suc
cession in the royal fortress, and accordingly, on
the 3d of August, we find Queen Mary conducted
thither with great state and magnificence. She
continued to reside there till after the funeral
of her brother. King Edward, on which occasion,
though she permitted him to be buried according
to the rites of the Protestant faith, she caused a
solemn requiem to be offered up for his soul in her
chapel in the Tower. In October following, we
find her holding her court in the royal fortress,
and it was from hence, on the ist of that month,
that she proceeded in great state to her coronation
in Westminster Abbey.
One of the first steps of Mary, on entering the
Tower, had been to release the Duke of Norfolk,
who had remained a prisoner there since the death
of Henry the Eighth. She restored to liberty also
the Duchess of Somerset, widow of the Protector ;
the celebrated Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester;
Tunstal, Bishop of Durham ; and other prisoners

422 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
of less note. Their places, however, were merely
vacated to make room for fresh captives ; indeed,
during this short reign, there seems scarcely a day
that the Tower did not open its gates to admit
some new victim, or that it did not send forth
some miserable wretch, either to the axe or to the
stake. The first persons who suffered were the turbu
lent and ambitious Duke of Northumberland, and
his partisans. Sir Thomas Palmer and Sir John
Gates. The duke was condemned to death by his
peers on the i8th of August, and on the 2 ist all
three were executed on Tower Hill.
Notwithstanding Northumberland's established
reputation for courage, the manner in which he
encountered his reverse of fortunes, and looked
death in the face, was widely different from the
quiet fortitude and pious resignation which, under
similar melancholy circumstances, had distinguished
his rival and victim, the Duke of Somerset. When
his enemy, the Earl of Arundel, arrested him at
Cambridge, he fell on his knees before that noble
man, and in the most abject manner implored him
to intercede for his life. Again, on the day before
his execution, we find him addressing the following
appeal to the eari : " Honourable lord, and in this
my distress, my especial refuge, most woful was
the news I received this evening by Mr. Lieuten
ant, that I must prepare myself against to-morrow
to receive my deadly stroke. Alas ! my good

THE TOWER. 423
lord, is my crime so heinous, as no redemption
but my blood can wash away the spots thereof .-•
An old proverb there is, and it- is most true, that
a living dog is better than a dead lion. Oh I that
it would please her good Grace to give me life,
yea, the life of a dog, if I might but live and kiss
her feet, and spend both life and all in her honour
able service, as I have done the best part already
under her worthy brother and most glorious father.
Oh ! that her mercy were such as she would con
sider how little profit my dead and dismembered
body can bring her, but how great and glorious
an hour it wUl be in all posterities, when the
report shall be that so gracious and mighty a
queen had granted life to so miserable and peni
tent an object. Your honourable usage and prom
ise to me, since these my troubles, have made me
bold to challenge this kindness at your hands.
Pardon me if I have done amiss therein, and spare
not, I pray, your bended knees for me in this
distress. The God of heaven, it may be, will
requite it one day on you or yours, and if my life
be lengthened by your mediation, and my good
lord chancellor's (to whom I have also sent my
blurred letters), I will ever owe it to be spent at
your honourable feet. Oh! my good lord, re
member how sweet life is, and how bitter the
contrary. Spare not your speech and pains, for
God, I hope, hath not shut out all hopes of com
fort from me in that gracious, princely, and woman-

424 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
like heart, but that, as the doleful news of death
hath wounded to death both my soul and body, so
the comfortable news of life shall be as a new
resurrection to my woful heart. But if no remedy
can be found, either by imprisonment, confiscation,
banishment, and the like, I can say no more but
God grant me patience to endure, and a heart to
forgive the whole world. Once your fellow and
loving companion, but now worthy of no name
but wretchedness and misery. — J. D."
The duke, together with Sir Thomas Palmer and
Sir John Gates, were beheaded on Tower Hill, in
the presence of an immense assemblage of people.
At his execution, he confessed the justice of his
sentence, and professing himself a firm believer in
tbe " old religion," he told the multitude that they
would have no tranquillity till they returned to the
faith of their ancestors. Having concluded his
speech, he "put off his gown of swan-coloured
damask," and then laying his head on the block,
he covered his eyes, and submitted to the stroke of
the executioner. According to Fox, the martyrol-
ogist, the duke was at heart a Protestant, but had
been promised his life, even though his head should
be on the block, on condition that he attended
mass, and publicly avowed himself a Roman Cath
olic. The story, however, requires confirmation.
It was certainly to the credit of Queen Mary
that, notwithstanding the numerous persons who
were implicated in the late dangerous insurrection.

THE TOWER. 425
only three persons — Northumberland, Palmer, and
Gates — were marked out for destruction. It was
not till Sir Thomas Wyatt's rebellion seemed to
require increased severity, that the queen signed
the death-warrants of Lady Jane Grey, Lord
GuUdford Dudley, and the Duke of Suffolk.
Replete as is the Tower with historical associa
tions of deep interest, there is no story connected
with it half so affecting as that of the young, the
lovely, and ill-fated Lady Jane Grey, — a story
which, Fox tells, when he was writing it in his
" Book of Martyrs," caused tears to burst from his
eyes. Distinguished as much by the sweetness of
her disposition and her unaffected piety, as by her
high birth, her deep learning, her playful wit,
her surpassing loveliness, and her extraordinary
female accomplishments, the Lady Jane, to the
age of eighteen, had lived a life of comparative
seclusion, dividing her time between the enjoy
ments which her passion for literature afforded
her in her own closet, and the quiet pleasures and
amusements of social life. We have the authority
of her tutor, Aylmer, and also of Queen Eliza
beth's tutor, Ascham, that she was a perfect mis
tress of the Greek, Latin, French, and Italian
languages, and was also acquainted with the
Hebrew, Chaldee, and Arabic. She played on
several musical instruments, which she occasion
ally accompanied with her voice, and she also
wrote a beautiful hand, and excelled in various

426 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
kinds of needlework. And all these virtues and
accomplishments were "bounded within the nar
row circle of eighteen ! " Ascham on one occa
sion found her reading Plato, when all the rest of
the famUy were hunting in the park. " Before I
went into Germany," he says, " I came to Broad-
gate, in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that
noble lady, the Lady Jane Grey, to whom I was
exceeding much beholden. Her parents, the duke
and duchess, and all the household, gentlemen and
gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found
her in her chamber reading the ' Phsedon ' of Plato,
in Greek, and that with as much delight as some
gentlemen would read a merry tale in Boccaccio.
After salutation and duty done, with some other
talk, I asked her why she should lose such pastime
in the park. Smiling, she answered me, ' All their
sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure
I find in Plato.' However Ulustrious she was by
fortune," adds Ascham, "and by royal extraction,
these bore no proportion to the accomplishments
of her mind, adorned with the doctrine of Plato,
and the eloquence of Demosthenes."
To one so gentle and so retiring, so passion
ately attached to literature and the arts, the
glitter of a crown and the frivolities of a court
could offer but slight charms. Accordingly, when
she was waited upon, at Sion, by her father and
father-in-law, the Dukes of Suffolk and Northum
berland, and was hailed by them as Queen of Eng-

THE TOWER. 427
land, she expressed the greatest reluctance to quit
a private station, and the happy circle of which she
was the idol ; and it was only with the greatest
difficulty that she was at last induced to yield to
their urgent entreaties. The story of her short
reign of ten days is well known. On the 27th of
July, 1553, she was sent back a prisoner to that
fortress, which she had so lately entered as an
envied queen; and on the 13th of November, —
together with her husband. Lord GuUdford Dud
ley, Archbishop Cranmer, and Lords Ambrose and
Henry Dudley, — she was escorted from the Tower
by a guard of four hundred men, to take her trial
at GuUdhall, for high treason. As she stood at
the bar, on that solemn occasion, her youth and
loveliness, and the fame which had gone abroad
of her extraordinary learning and the sweetness of
her disposition, rendered her the object of univer
sal pity. Throughout the long and tedious day,
her voice never faltered, neither did her counte
nance change ; and even while she listened to the
awful sentence which doomed her to a cruel and
untimely death, although every other eye was
moist in that crowded assembly, the roses never
for a moment faded from her cheeks.
It has been already mentioned that Sir Thomas
Wyatt's insurrection sealed the fate of Lady Jane
Grey. On the 5th of February, 1554, Fecken-
ham, the queen's confessor, was admitted into
Lady Jane's apartment at the Tower, and informed

428 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
her that she must be prepared to die the following
day. Professing a tender zeal for the welfare of
her soul, he used every argument to induce her to
renounce the Reformed religion ; and subsequently
obtained for her a respite of three days, during
which period he constantly insisted on intruding
himself on her privacy, and harassing her with
religious disputations. Lady Jane, however, re
mained constant to the faith in which she had been
educated. At their last interview in the Tower,
Feckenham, alluding to the improbability of their
meeting in another world, observed, " Madam, I am
sorry for you ; for I am now sure that we shall
never meet." " It is true, sir," replied the gentle
disputant, " we shall never meet, except God turn
your heart ; for I am assured, unless you repent
and turn to God, you are in a sad and desperate
case ; and I pray God, of his infinite mercy, to
send you his holy spirit ; for he has given you his
great gift of utterance, if it please him also to
open the eyes of your heart."
The short space of time which remained to her
in this world, was passed by the Lady Jane in pre
paring herself for death, and in writing some tender
letters to those who were near and dear to her.
To her father she wrote affectionately, forgiving
him for the share which he had in bringing her to
the block, and fervently recommending him to the
care of the Almighty. " My death," she concludes,
" although to you it may seem woful, yet to me

THE TOWER. 429
there is nothing that can be more welcome, than
from this vale of misery to aspire to that heavenly
throne of all joy and pleasure, with my Christ and
Saviour ; in whose steadfast faith (if it be lawful
for the daughter so to write to the father), the
Lord that hath hitherto strengthened you, so con
tinue to keep you, that at the last we may meet in
heaven." A short time before her death, the
lieutenant of the Tower, who appears to have
taken a deep interest in his beautiful prisoner,
approached her with the touching request, that
she would write a short sentence in his manual of
devotions by which he might remember her. She
accordingly took up her pen, and addressed to him,
"as a friend," a solemn admonition, in which she
advised him of the importance of religion, and con
jured him so to live, that by death he might inherit
eternal life ; the short homily concluded : " As the
preacher sayeth, there is a time to be born, and a
time to die ; and the day of death is better than
the day of our birth. Your's, as the Lord knoweth,
as a friend, Jane Dudley." About the same time,
whUe her handmaidens were weeping in an adjoin
ing apartment, she took up a Greek Testament,
and, in the Greek language, wrote an affectionate
letter in the blank pages to her sister Lady Cath
erine, which she enjoined one of her attendants to
deliver, with the book, to the beloved person to
whom it was addressed. This interesting relic
is said to be stUl in existence.

430 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
It had been originally intended that Lady Jane
and her husband. Lord GuUdford Dudley, should
be executed together on the same scaffold on
Tower Hill ; but the Privy CouncU, dreading that
the murderous death of two persons, so young
and innocent, would inconveniently excite the
compassion of the multitude, determined that
Lady Jane should be executed within the precincts
of the Tower. Lord Guildford, on hearing that
they were to die separately, expressed a strong
desire to be allowed a last interview with his
young wife. Lady Jane, however, fearing that
the scene might unnerve them both, had strength
of mind enough to refuse his last request. " Tell
him," she said, touchingly, "that our separation is
but momentary, and that we shall soon meet in
heaven, where our love wiU know no interruption,
and where our joys and felicities will be for ever
and ever."
Lord GuUdford, a gallant youth of eighteen,
was the first led forth to execution. One would
willingly be able to point out the window in the
Tower, at which the Lady Jane stood and waved
her hand as a parting adieu to her young hus
band as he passed to the scaffold on Tower HUl ;
the window on which the latter fixed his last
look of unalterable affection. At the outer gate
he shook hands affectionately with Sir Anthony
Brown and others, and having requested their
prayers, proceeded with a modest dignity to the

THE TOWER. 431
scaffold. Having ascended the fatal steps, he
prayed, for a short time, calmly and fervently,
and then as calmly laid his head upon the
block. It must have been a trying interval, between
the moment in which Lady Jane fixed her eyes
for the last time on her beloved husband, and
that on which she herself was summoned to her
fate. It is not improbable that she dreaded lest
the frightful apparatus of the scaffold might have
unnerved his step or blanched his cheek, for when
she was told with what serenity he had met his
fate, " Oh, GuUdford, Guildford ! " she exclaimed,
"the ante-repast is not so bitter that thou hast
tasted, and which I shall soon taste, as to make
my flesh tremble ; it is nothing compared to the
feast of which we shall partake this day in heaven."
The fact is a painful one to contemplate, that,
as she was standing at the window, the cart
bearing the headless body of her husband passed
by. Almost at the same moment. Sir John Gage,
the lieutenant of the Tower, came to summon
her to the scaffold. She rose cheerfully from her
seat, and presenting him with her hand, was led
by him to the green in front of the chapel, the
spot on which Anne Boleyn and Catherine How
ard had previously bared their slender necks to
the executioner. Even on the scaffold, she was
stUl persecuted by Feckenham, the Roman Catho-

432 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
lie confessor of Queen Mary. This person appears
to have been the only divine who was permitted
to attend her, and his indecent importunities were
almost enough to ruffle the angelic patience of
the meek sufferer. " God wUl requite you, good
sir," she said, "for your humanity, though your
discourses give me more uneasiness than all the
terrors of my approaching death."
Having addressed a short speech to the people,
and concluded her devotions, she submitted her
self to her female attendants, who proceeded to
unrobe her. " Her gloves and handkerchief," says
Fox, " she gave to her maiden. Mistress Ellen,
and her book to Master Bridges, the lieutenant's
brother-in-law ; and, as she began to untie her
gown, the executioner attempted to assist her, but
she requested him to let her alone, and turned to
her two gentlewomen, who helped her off there
with, giving her a fair handkerchief to bind about
her eyes." The executioner then knelt down
and asked her forgiveness, which she cheerfully
granted. After this, with a steady and serene
countenance, she knelt down on the straw, and
tied over her eyes the handkerchief which her
ladies had given her. She then stretched out
her hands toward the block, but not feeling it,
she exclaimed, " What shall I do .' Where is it,
where is it ? " One of the bystanders having
directed her toward it, she calmly laid her neck
upon it, and, whUe fervently pronouncing the

THE TOWER. 433
words, " Lord, into thy hands I commend my
spirit," the executioner at one blow severed her
head from her body.
On the 17th of February, five days after his
daughter's death, the Duke of Suffolk was ar
raigned before his peers for high treason in West
minster Hall. Having been found guilty, he was
reconducted to the Tower, and, on the 21st, was
led forth to execution. As his rashness and ambi
tion had been the cause of so much bloodshed, and
especially as it had occasioned the untimely end
of his beautiful daughter, he met with but little
commiseration. On the scaffold he addressed the
multitude in a few words, in which he acknowl
edged the justice of his punishment, repudiated
the "trumpery" of the old religion, acknowledged
himself a sincere member of the Protestant faith,
and concluded by beseeching the bystanders to
pray to God to receive his soul. Then, kneeling
down, and devoutly lifting up his hands and eyes
to heaven, he repeated the psalm, " Miserere mei,
Domine." Among the last words which he uttered
were those which his daughter had used on a like
melancholy occasion, "Lord, into thy hands I
commend my spirit." The executioner kneeling
down to request his forgiveness, "God forgive
thee," he said, " as I do ; and when thou doest
thine office, I pray thee do it quickly, and God
have mercy on thee." Then, having repeated the
Lord's Prayer, he tied a handkerchief over his

434 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
eyes, and calling upon Christ for mercy, submitted
himself to the stroke of the executioner.
Sir Thomas Wyatt, whose rash enterprise had
proved so fatal to Lady Jane Grey and her hus
band, having been captured by Sir Maurice Berke
ley, near Temple Bar, was sent a prisoner to the
Tower. From thence he was conducted to his
trial at Westminster, where, having pleaded guilty
to the charge of high treason, he was sentenced
to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. This sentence
was afterward commuted to decapitation, which
was accordingly carried into effect on Tower Hill,
on the nth of AprU, 1554; and his body having
been dismembered, his head was stuck on a gal
lows on Hay Hill, near Berkeley Square, and his
quarters exposed in different parts of the metropo
lis. The suppression of Wyatt's rebellion filled
the Tower with a crowd of miserable prisoners,
and it is frightful to think of the horrors which
foUowed. In two days alone, — the 14th and
15 th of February, — as many as fifty of the rebels
were hanged. Altogether four hundred persons
are computed to have suffered death, while four
hundred more, having been led before the queen
with halters around their necks, had the good for
tune to be dismissed with a pardon. Among the
less fortunate was the Duke of Suffolk's brother.
Lord Thomas Grey, who was beheaded on the
27th of April on Tower HUl.
Among those whom Wyatt's treason very nearly

THE TOWER. 435
involved in his ruin was the Princess Elizabeth,
the future sovereign of England. After his con
demnation, Wyatt, in hopes of saving his life, had
given some information which went far to implicate
her in his crime, though he afterward retracted his
accusation, and, with his dying breath and on his
bended knees, solemnly asserted the innocence of
the young princess. Wyatt's original accusation,
however, was sufficient to serve the purpose of her
unfeeling sister, and accordingly Elizabeth was
committed to the Tower. On the night of her
arrest, she was in bed, at her house at Ashridge,
in Hertfordshire, when her chamber was indecently
entered by Sir Richard Southwell and two mes
sengers from the Privy Council, who, with great
rudeness, acquainted her with the nature of their
errand. The princess was naturally indignant at
this unwarrantable intrusion, and inquired if their
orders were so peremptory that they could not wait
tUl the next morning .-" Their reply was, that their
orders were from the queen, who had commanded
them to use no delay, and therefore, " they must
take her with them whether quick or dead." All
the indulgence which she could obtain, was per
mission to remain at Ashridge tUl the next morn
ing, when she was placed in a litter and conveyed,
with as much expedition as possible, to Whitehall,
where she found herself placed under close cus
tody. Elizabeth had remained about a fortnight at

436 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Whitehall, when, to her surprise and consterna
tion, she was informed that it was the queen's
pleasure that she should be removed to the Tower,
till such time as her guUt or innocence should be
satisfactorily established. The idea of being incar
cerated in that gloomy fortress, — which, within
the last few years, had been crimsoned with the
blood of so many persons of royal descent, and
where her own unoffending mother had suffered
by the axe of the executioner, — struck the prin
cess, lion-hearted as she was, with dismay. She
immediately addressed a pathetic letter to her
sister, in which she solemnly protested her inno
cence, and implored that any other place might be
substituted as the scene of her imprisonment.
Mary, however, turned a deaf ear to her entreaties ;
and accordingly, on Palm Sunday, when the great
mass of the population were attending divine
service, she was conducted to the water entrance
of the palace, where a barge was in readiness to
receive her. How often, in after days, — when,
surrounded by tbe pomp and pageantry of power,
she was handed down those steps by tbe courtly
Leicester or her beloved Essex, — must she have
recalled the time when she descended them, a
friendless and neglected maiden, on her way to a
prison, and in all probabUity to an untimely grave.
During her passage down the river, she preserved
her usual serenity tUl she perceived the barge
nearing the Traitor's Gate, — that fatal entrance.

THE TOWER. 437
through which so few, who had once entered it as
prisoners, had been ever known to return. Her
courage for a moment deserted her, and she ex
pressed a wish to be landed at some other spot,
which, however, was coldly refused. But fear soon
gave way to indignation at the unworthy treatment
to which she was subjected ; and when one of the
lords who attended her, offered his cloak to protect
her from the rain, she not only scornfully rejected
it, but, we are told, "put it back with her hand,
with a good dash." As soon as she had set her
foot on the landing-place, " Here landeth," she
said, "as true a subject, being a prisoner, as ever
landed at these stairs ; and before thee, O God, I
speak it, having none other friends than thee ! "
On entering the fortress, she sat down on a stone,
either to meditate or to rest herself. The lieu
tenant of the Tower reminding her that it rained,
and pressing her to rise, "Better," she said, "to
sit here than in a worse place ; for God knoweth
whither you will bring me."
During the time that the high-spirited princess
remained a prisoner in the Tower, she was sub
jected to every kind of harshness and indignity.
Her privacy was constantly intruded upon by the
queen's priests and confessors, who wearied her
with vain importunities to forsake her religion ;
during a whole month she was not allowed to quit
her apartment, and when, at length, on her health
failing her, she was permitted to take the air in

438 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the queen's garden, she was invariably attended
by the lieutenant of the Tower, and a guard. Even
a child, only four years old, who was in the habit
of bringing her flowers, underwent a strict exami
nation, on suspicion of its being the channel of
communication between the princess and the Earl
of Devonshire.
Among the illustrious prisoners who were con
fined in the Tower during the reign of Queen Mary,
we must not forget to mention the celebrated mar
tyrs, Archbishop Cranmer and Bishops Ridley and
Latimer, who were for some months incarcerated
here, the fortress being so crowded with prisoners,
that it was found necessary to confine the prelates
together in one room. Among other hardships to
which they were subjected, we find Bishop Latimer,
though a very old man, refused a fire, even when
the frost was on the ground. He bore his misfor
tunes, however, not only with patience, but with
cheerfulness. " Master Lieutenant," he said, on
one occasion, "I suppose you expect me to be
burnt, but unless you let me have some fire, I am
likely to deceive your expectations, for I shall most
probably die of the cold." Another remark, which
he made to his fellow sufferer. Bishop Ridley, whUe
the fagots were being pUed around them, has been
rendered famous in history : " Be of good comfort.
Master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this
day light such a candle, by God's grace, in Eng
land, as I trust shall never be put out." From

THE TOWER. 439
the Tower, the three prelates were removed to
Oxford, where these dauntless champions of the
Reformation suffered martyrdom in the flames.
To enumerate the different prisoners, with whom
religious persecution and two successive insurrec
tions crowded the dungeons of the Tower during
the brief reign of Queen Mary, would occupy more
space than we are able to devote to the subject.
Numbers there were who fell, almost daily, either
on the gibbet or by the axe. Beyond the mere
fact, however, of their misfortunes or their crimes,
their death or their liberation, there is scarcely
an individual whose story presents any feature of
particular interest.
Queen Mary died on the 17th of November,
1558, and, to the great joy of the Protestant por
tion of her subjects, Elizabeth was immediately
proclaimed queen, at Westminster, the Royal
Exchange, and other places in the metropolis.
She was at Hatfield when her sister's death was
announced to her, and from thence she proceeded,
after a delay of a few days, to the capital, passing
through successive crowds of people, who every
where greeted her with enthusiastic shouts of
congratulation and joy. The first night was passed
by her at the Charter House, and from thence
she proceeded to the Tower. "On her entrance
into the Tower," says Hume, "she could not
forbear reflecting on the great difference between
her present fortune and that which a few years

440 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
before had attended her, when she was conducted
to that place as a prisoner, and lay there exposed
to all the bigoted malignity of her enemies. She
fell on her knees, and expressed her thanks to
Heaven for the deliverance which the Almighty
had granted her from her bloody persecutors ;
a deliverance, she said, no less miraculous than
that which Daniel had received from the den of
lions." Elizabeth continued to keep her court in the
Tower till the commencement of the month of
December, when she removed to Somerset House,
where she remained till her sister's remains were
consigned to the ground. She again returned to
the Tower by water on the I2th of January, and
passed there the three days which preceded her
coronation. On the day appointed for the cere
mony, she issued forth from the portals of the
Tower, — a young queen of twenty-five, — in the
midst of a gorgeous procession. Magnificently
attired, she was seated in an open chariot, superbly
gUt, and of curious workmanship. Before her
went pursuivants and heralds, drums and trum
pets ; surrounding her were " goodly and beautiful
ladies, richly appointed ; " and behind her foUowed
Knights of the Garter and peers of the realm,
arrayed in the gorgeous apparel of the age. And
thus, " most honourably accompanied," she passed
under a succession of triumphal arches, along
streets hung with tapestry and damask, and

THE TOWER. 441
through avenues of the city companies, clad in
their gaudy liveries of scarlet and rich furs ;
arrested at one moment in Fenchurch Street by
a beautiful chUd addressing her in a befitting
oration, pausing at another time to witness a
"goodly pageant," in Gracechurch Street ; stopped
at CornhUl by a representation of the Cardinal
Virtues trampling on Ignorance and Superstition ;
in Fleet Street by a living model of Deborah sitting
in " Parliament robes " under a palm-tree, prophesy
ing the restoration of the house of Israel ; and
lastly, at Temple Bar, by a stalwart citizen, repre
senting the Giant Gogmagog, — one of the Penates
of GuUdhall, — who held in his hand a scroll in
Latin verse, explaining what the bewUdered queen
might or might not have seen during her fantastic
progress. And thus, through this medley of
absurdities, — sharing with Gogmagog and the
Cardinal Virtues the applauses of the populace, —
passed the Virgin Queen to her coronation in
Westminster Abbey.
Whatever may have been the faults of Queen
Elizabeth, the talent which she displayed in ruling
the destinies of a great country has never been
called in question. An anecdote is related of
Edmund WaUer, the poet, that, on one occasion
when he was alone with James the Second in his
private closet, that monarch pointed out a portrait
to him, and inquired his opinion of it. " My eyes
are dim. Sir," he said, " and I know not who it is ;

442 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
but it reminds me, from its likeness, to one of the
greatest princesses in the world." James inquir
ing of whom he alluded. Waller replied that he
meant Queen Elizabeth. " I wonder," said the
king, "that you should think so, but I must con
fess she had a wise council." "And pray. Sir,"
retorted Waller, " did you ever know a fool choose
a wise one .¦' " But illustrious as was the reign of
Elizabeth, and happy as she was in the choice
of her ministers, it may be doubted whether her
heart was more feminine, or her disposition more
generous, than those of her detested predecessor.
Not even the unprincipled murderer, Richard the
Third ; not even her grandfather, the crafty and
cold-blooded Henry the Seventh, were more jealous
of rivals near their throne, or persecuted them
with more deliberate cruelty. Her treatment of
Mary, Queen of Scots, and her persecution of Lady
Catherine Grey and Lady Arabella Stuart, must
ever remain dark stains on her character.
Lady Catherine Grey was the second daughter
of the late Duke of Suffolk, and it is not improb
able that she was as accomplished as she was
beautiful, for it was to her that her sister. Lady
Jane, sent her Greek Testament on the eve of her
execution, with an affectionate letter written in
the same language. Lady Catherine had won the
affections of Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford,
eldest son of the late Duke of Somerset, and the
attachment being mutual, they were privately mar-

THE TOWER. 443
ried about the year 1560. Although the great-
granddaughter of Henry the Seventh, she was
not so nearly related to the sovereign as to render
the marriage illegal without the royal assent.
The jealousy of Elizabeth, however, was painfully
excited : she committed Lord Hertford and his
young wife to separate prisons in the Tower, and
was not the less enraged, when she was informed,
shortly afterward, that Lady Catherine had been
delivered of a chUd in the royal fortress.
Eager to behold and embrace the mother of his
infant, Hertford subsequently found means to bribe
his keepers, who occasionally allowed the lovers to
meet in private. The result of these interviews
was the birth of a second chUd ; a circumstance
which inflamed the anger of Elizabeth beyond all
bounds. Warner, the lieutenant of the Tower, was
dismissed from his situation, and Hertford, being
summoned before the Star Chamber, was sentenced
to pay a fine of fifteen thousand pounds : five
thousand for having corrupted a virgin of the royal
blood in the queen's palace, the same sum for
having broken prison, and five thousand more
for having repeated his intercourse. The husband
and wife never afterward met again. Lady Cath
erine died in the Tower, on the 26th of January,
1567, and Lord Hertford was not, released till he
had paid the large sum imposed upon him, and
had suffered an imprisonment of nine years.
The first person of high rank who died on the

444 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
scaffold in the reign of Elizabeth, was Thomas
Howard, fourth Duke of Norfolk, who paid the
penalty of his attachment to Mary, Queen of Scots,
and of his having leagued himself with the desper
ate fortunes of that ill-fated princess. Distin
guished by his high birth and princely fortune,
affable, generous, and benevolent, the Duke of
Norfolk was, at this period, the most popular as
well as the most powerful nobleman in England.
Endowed with many virtues, and by nature and
education impressed with a strong sense of the
duties of religion, he united with these qualities
a daring ambition, and a no slight tincture of
romance. At the period when he formed the
project of espousing the beautiful queen, and re
storing her to her throne, he was stUl in the prime
of life, having only completed his thirty-third
year. It was improbable that the duke's designs should
long elude the vigUance of Elizabeth and her min
isters, and the queen, who unquestionably enter
tained feelings of personal regard for him, more
than once gave him a friendly hint that his designs
were suspected, and of the danger in which he
stood. "Take heed," was, on one occasion, her
significant expression to him, " on what pillow you
lay your head." At length, less equivocal infor
mation having reached the queen's ministers, it
was thought requisite to arrest the duke and to
send him to the Tower. After certain preliminary

THE TOWER. 445
examinations, on the i6th of January, 1572, he
was brought to trial before an assemblage of
twenty-six peers in Westminster Hall. The charges
on which he was tried were for entering into a
treasonable conspiracy to depose and take away the
queen's life; for projecting a marriage with the
Queen of Scots, who pretended to be the rightful
Queen of England ; for assisting the Earls of
Northumberland and Westmoreland with money
during their recent rebellion ; and, lastly, for pro
posing to bring a foreign army into England, and
craving aid from the Pope, the King of Spain, and
the Duke of Alva, in order to set the Queen of
Scots at liberty, and to restore the popish religion
in England. At the conclusion of the proceedings,
the duke was asked by the lord high steward if
he had anything to add in his defence, to which he
replied, calmly, " I confide in the equity of the
laws." The peers withdrew for a short time, and,
on their return into Westminster Hall, brought in
an unanimous verdict of "guUty," when the lord
high steward pronounced sentence of death on
him with the usual formalities. The duke listened
with a calm dignity to the fearful words. " Sen
tence," he said, " has been passed upon me as upon
a traitor, and I have none to trust to but God and
the queen. I am excluded from aU society, but I
hope soon to enjoy the society of heaven. I shall
fit myself to die. Only this one thing I crave,
that the queen wUl be kind to my poor chUdren

446 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and servants, and will take care that my debts be
paid." From the moment on which sentence was passed
on him, the conduct and demeanour of the duke
presented a touching picture of manly fortitude
and Christian resignation. From his prison in the
Tower he addressed the most affectionate letters
to each of his chUdren, in which he pointed out to
them how vain and transitory was human life,
admonishing them of the social duties which they
had to fulfil, and the temptations which they ought
to shun, and pointing out to them that a constant
perusal of the Scriptures, and a strict observance
of their sacred ordinations, formed the only true
road to happiness both in this world and in the
next. Whether the queen were really moved by feel
ings of friendship and commiseration toward the
unfortunate duke, or whether she wished that
the world should construe her hesitation in sign
ing his death-warrant to the feminine compassion-
ateness of her disposition, it was not tUl four
months after Norfolk's trial that she finally de
cided on sending him to the block. But this
coquetry with justice and human happiness was
no favour to her unhappy victim. Twice, we are
told, she signed the warrant for his execution, and
twice revoked the fatal sentence ; and thus twice
did the gallant and high-minded Norfolk taste the
bitterness, and pass through the valley of death ;

THE TOWER. 447
thus twice, after he had composed himself to die,
and had bidden farewell to all who were near and
dear to him on earth, was he in vain recalled to
the remembrance that life had stUl its sweetness,
and that the terrors of the grave might be stUl far
off. His doom, however, was at length fixed, and on
the 2d of June, with a firm step and a serene
countenance, surrounded by a vast crowd of gaz
ing spectators, he ascended the fatal scaffold on
Tower Hill. In his last speech, though he ac
knowledged the justice of the sentence by which
he died, he solemnly disclaimed any disloyal inten
tions against the queen's person or government.
His composure never for a moment deserted him.
Having concluded his speech, and having affec
tionately embraced his gallant associate. Sir Henry
Leigh, he whispered a few words to his spiritual
adviser. Doctor Nowel, Dean of St. Paul's, who
repeated their purport to the bystanders. "The
duke," he said, " wishes you all to pray to God to
have mercy on him, and withal to keep sUence,
that his mind may not be disturbed." One of the
attendants offering him a handkerchief to bandage
his eyes, he refused it, observing in an uncon
cerned manner, " I am not in the least afraid of
death." He then knelt down to his devotions,
and quietly laying his neck on the block, the
executioner at one stroke severed his head from
his body.

448 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Whatever difference there may have been be
tween the policy and dispositions of Queen Mary
and her sister Elizabeth, it is certain that the
Tower was seldom less crowded with prisoners
during the reign of the "Virgin Queen," than
it had been under the rule of her predecessor.
Here, in 1572, was imprisoned, on account of his
devotion to the cause of the unfortunate Queen
of Scots, the high-minded John Leslie, Bishop of
Ross ; and, at the same time, several persons were
committed, and two hanged, for a conspiracy to
rescue the Duke of Norfolk. In 1581, numbers
were incarcerated in the Tower on account of
their religious opinions, and the same year, the
learned theologian, John Stubbs, was committed
for writing and publishing a pamphlet against
the Queen's marriage with the Duke of Anjou.
Having been found guilty at his trial, he was
dragged through the streets to the market-place
at Westminster, where his right hand was cut
off by the executioner, William Page, the printer
of the work, sharing the same fate.
The persons on whom the greatest cruelty was
practised during the reign of Elizabeth, were the
Jesuits and other missionary priests, whose whole
lives and energies were devoted to the interests
of their Church, and who flocked into England
with the enthusiastic hope of rebuilding the
ancient faith, or, at least, in the full confidence
of obtaining a crown of martyrdom, in the event

THE TOWER. 449
of their faUing in the attempt. The barbarities
which were practised upon these unfortunate
men were such as have left an indelible stain
upon the reign of Elizabeth. It was an age when
puritanism was approaching the zenith of its
bigotry, and when even the most enlightened
Protestants were inclined to show little mercy
to the agents of that cruel and domineering
religion, who, in the last reign, had sent so many
of their nearest and dearest relatives to the dun
geon, the rack, or the flames. So inhuman, in
deed, were the cruelties practised on the Roman
Catholic priests within the walls of the Tower,
that, in order to stifle the almost universal feel
ing of indignation and abhorrence, the govern
ment of Elizabeth were compelled to publish an
apologetical circular in defence of their measures.
Throughout the reign of Elizabeth we find a
fresh tide of unfortunate prisoners constantly
flowing into the Tower. In 1583, John Somer-
ville, a gentleman of Elstow, in Warwickshire,
and his father-in-law, Edward Arden, of an ancient
family in Leicestershire, were sent to the Tower
on suspicion of plotting against the queen's life,
and, having been found guilty at their trial, were
hanged, disembowelled, and quartered at Smith-
field, agreeably with the terms of their sentence.
The following year, we find five more missionary
priests hanged for receiving holy orders from the
Church of Rome beyond the seas ; and, shortly

450 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
afterward, Francis Throckmorton, who had been
found guilty of carrying on a treasonable corre
spondence with Mary, Queen of Scots, having
been previously racked, was led forth from the
Tower to Tyburn, where he was hanged, disem
bowelled, and quartered.
A prisoner of a different character was Henry
Percy, Earl of Northumberland, brother of Thomas,
the seventh earl, who had been beheaded at an
early period of the queen's reign for raising a re
bellion in the north. The former earl, who was
a zealous Roman Catholic, was committed to the
Tower in 1584, on a strong suspicion of favouring
the cause of the Queen of Scots. The dread of
death was less strong in his mind than the pros
pect of bringing ruin on his family, which must
inevitably have followed his attainder ; and, ac
cordingly, he determined to anticipate by suicide
the fate which would otherwise have awaited him.
Alluding to the queen, he was heard to observe :
"The bitch at least shall not have my estate."
Accordingly, shortly afterward, the earl was found
dead in his bed in the Tower, the door of his
apartment being locked on the inside, and a pis
tol lying by his bedside. He had shot himself
through the heart.
Among other persons of importance who were
prisoners in the Tower in this reign, may be men
tioned the unfortunate Earl of Essex, to whose
fate we shall hereafter have to refer ; William

THE TOWER. 451
Parry, a lawyer of great eminence and learning,
who suffered in 1585, in Old Palace Yard, for
conspiring against the queen's life ; Secretary
Davison, whom his cold-blooded mistress, Eliza
beth, condemned to a long and cruel imprison
ment, on the unjust accusation that he had
hurried on the execution of the Queen of Scots ;
and, lastly, the gallant soldier and accomplished
statesmen and courtier. Sir John Perrot, ¦ — pre
sumed to be a natural son of King Henry the
Eighth, and, consequently, half-brother to Queen
Elizabeth, — who was committed to the Tower on
charges of high treason, in 1592.
That Sir John Perrot was at one period a great
favourite with Elizabeth, is proved by the follow
ing anecdote, which is curiously illustrative of the
manners of the time. In 15 71, being then Presi
dent of Munster, he was recalled from Ireland to
take command of a squadron which lay in the
Thames, and which was intended to act against
the King of Spain. Previous to his departure,
his barge — " attended by fifty men in orange
cloaks, many of them gentlemen of birth and
quality " — happened to pass by the palace at
Greenwich, where the queen was holding her
court. Sir John, we are told, bidding the rowers
stop, " sent one of his gentlemen ashore with a
diamond, as a token unto his mistress, Blanche
Parry, wUling him to tell her, that a diamond,
coming unlooked for, did always bring good luck

452 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
with it. The queen, hearing of this, sent Sir
John Perrot a fair jewel hanged by a white cy
press, signifying withal, that so long as he wore
that for her sake, she did believe, with God's
help, he should have no harm. Which message
and jewel Sir John Perrot received joyfully, and
he returned answer unto the queen, that he would
wear that for his sovereign's sake, and doubted
not, with God's favour, to restore her ships in
safety, and either to bring the Spaniards as
prisoners, or else to sink them in the seas. So,
as Sir John Perrot passed by in his barge, the
queen looked out at a window, shaking her fan,
and put out her hand toward him, who, making a
low obeisance, put the scarf and jewel about his
neck, which the queen had sent him."
At his trial Sir John Perrot was found guUty
and condemned to death. His sentence having
once passed, he declared that he was now reckless
of life : " My name and blood," he said, " are cor
rupted, and woe be to me that am the first of my
house and name that ever was attainted or sus
pected." On being brought back to the Tower,
he exclaimed in a passion of rage, to the lieuten
ant, and with many oaths, " What ! wUl the queen
suffer her brother to be offered up as a sacrifice to
the envy of his strutting adversaries ? " Elizabeth,
however, seems from the first to have been fully
convinced of his innocence, and, when pressed to
sign his death-warrant, she positively refused her

THE TOWER. 453
assent. Nevertheless, she allowed him to remain
in the Tower, where he died, — as was supposed,
of a broken heart, — in September, 1 592, a few
months after his trial.
Not the least interesting prisoners in the Tower
in the reign of Elizabeth were that accomplished
and enthusiastic band of youths — ¦ headed by An
thony Babington — who, united by the ties of a
tender if not sublime friendship, had devoted them
selves to the cause of the beautiful Queen of Scots,
and had sworn either to restore her to liberty or
to perish in the attempt. Their designs, however,
were soon discovered by the subtle Walsingham,
and, in 1586, they were arrested and sent to the
Tower. The appearance presented by these noble-
minded youths at the bar of justice is described in
a very interesting paper by Mr. D'Israeli, in his
" Curiosities of Literature." "When this roman
tic band of friends," he says, "were called on for
their defence, the most pathetic instances of do
mestic affection appeared. One had engaged in
this plot solely to try to save his friend, for he
had no hopes of it, nor any wish for its success ;
he had observed to his friend that the haughty
and ambitious mind of Anthony Babington would
be the destruction of himself and his friends ;
nevertheless, he was willing to die with them.
Another, to withdraw if possible one of those
noble youths from the conspiracy, although he had
broken up housekeeping, said, to employ his own

454 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
language, 'I called back my servants again to
gether and began to keep house again more freshly
than ever I did, only because I was weary to see
Tom Salisbury's straggling, and wUling to keep
him about home.' Having attempted to secrete
his friend, this gentleman observed, ' I am con
demned because I suffered Salisbury to escape
when I knew he was one of the conspirators. My
case is hard and lamentable : either to betray my
friend, whom I love as myself, and to discover
Thomas Salisbury, the best man in my country, or
else to break my allegiance to my sovereign, and
to undo myself and my posterity for ever.' What
ever the political casuist may determine on this
case, the social being carries his own manual in
the heart. The principle of the greatest of repub
lics was to suffer nothing to exist in competition
with its own ambition ; but the Roman history is
a history without fathers and brothers ! Another
of the conspirators replied, ' For flying away with
my friend, I fulfilled the part of a friend.' When
the judge observed that, to perform his friendship,
he had broken his allegiance to his sovereign, he
bowed his head and confessed, 'Therein I have
offended.' Another, when asked why he had fled
into the woods, where he was discovered among
some of the conspirators, proudly or tenderly re
plied, ' For company.' "
The appearance of the gallant youths excited a
deep commiseration in a crowded court, and the

THE TOWER. 455
judge himself showed how affected he was at
the fate which awaited so noble-minded a band.
The principal promoter of the conspiracy had
been the celebrated Jesuit priest, John Ballard,
whose crafty and insidious arguments had origi
nally wrought on the enthusiastic mind of Anthony
Babington. He now stood at the bar by the side
of the Ul-fated youths whom he had entrapped
into his net. During the trial, the judge, turn
ing toward him, exclaimed, " Oh, Ballard, Ballard !
what hast thou done .¦• A company of brave youths,
otherwise adorned with good gifts, by thy induce
ment hast thou brought to their utter destruction
and confusion." Ballard himself appears to have
been deeply affected with remorse at the sight of
the wreck he had made. He wished, he said,
that all the blame could rest on him if, by the
shedding of his blood, he could save Babington's
life. "When the sentence of condemnation had
passed," proceeds Mr. D'Israeli, "there broke
forth from among this noble band that spirit of
honour, which surely had never been witnessed
at the bar among so many criminals. Their great
minds seem to have reconciled them to the most
barbarous of deaths ; but as their estates as traitors
might be forfeited to the queen, their sole anxiety
was now for their families and their creditors.
One, in the most pathetic terms, recommends to
her Majesty's protection a beloved wife ; another

456 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
a destitute sister ; but not among the least urgent
of their supplications was one that their creditors
might not be injured by their untimely end. The
statement of their affairs is curious and simple.
' If mercy be not to be had,' exclaimed one, ' I be
seech you, my good lords, this : I owe some sums
of money, but not very much, and I have more
owing to me ; I beseech that my debts may be
paid with that which is owing to me.' Another
prayed for a pardon ; the judge complimented him
that ' he was one who might have done good ser
vice to his country,' but declares that he cannot
obtain it. ' Then,' said the prisoner, ' I beseech
that six angels, which such an one hath of mine,
may be delivered to my brother to pay my debts.'
' How much are thy debts .¦' ' demanded the judge.
He answered, ' The same six angels will discharge
them.' "
Of these illustrious youths, fourteen, besides
the Jesuit Ballard, suffered the last penalty of
the law. Their names were : Anthony Babing
ton, Edward Windsor, brother of Lord Windsor,
Thomas Salisbury, Charles Tilney, Chidiock
Tichburn, Edward Abington, Robert Gage,
John Travers, John Charnock, John Jones,
John Savage, R. BarnweU, Henry Dun, and
Jerome Bellarmine. "That nothing,'' says Mr.
D'Israeli, "might be wanting to complete the
catastrophe of their sad story, our sympathy
must accompany them to their tragical end, and

THE TOWER. 457
to their last words. BaUard was the first exe
cuted, and snatched alive from the gallows to
be embowelled : Babington looked on with an
undaunted countenance, steadUy gazing on that
variety of tortures, which he himself was in a
moment to pass through ; the others averted their
faces, fervently praying. When the executioner
began his tremendous work on Babington, the
spirit of this haughty and heroic man cried out
amidst the agony, ' Farce mihi, Domine Jesu ! '
There were two days of execution ; it was on the
first that the noblest of these youths suffered;
and the pity which such criminals Jiad excited
among the spectators evidently weakened the
sense of their political crime; the solemnity, not
the barbarity, of the punishment, affects the popu
lace with right feelings. Elizabeth, an enlightened
politician, commanded that, on the second day, the
odious part of the sentence should not commence
tUl after death."
The following pathetic copy of verses was com
posed by one of the conspirators, Chidiock Tich
burn, in the Tower, the night before his execution
in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
" My prime of youth is but a frost of cares.
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain.
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my goods is but vain hope of gain.
The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun.
And now I live, and now my life is done.

458 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" My spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung.
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green,
My youth is past, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen ;
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
" I sought for death, and found it in the womb,
I looked for life, and yet it was a shade,
I trod the ground, and knew it was my tomb.
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The glass is full, and yet my glass is run ;
And now I live, and now my life is done ! "
On the 9th of February, 1601, the Traitor's
Gate opened to receive, as a prisoner, the young
and accomplished Robert Devereux, Eari of Essex.
The story of this ill-fated favourite, his popularity,
his taste for literature, the beauty of his person,
and his graceful accomplishments, his chivalrous
gallantry on the field of Zutphen, beneath the
walls of Rouen, and against the Spaniards in
the new world, his military failures in Ire
land, the indignation of the queen, his sudden
appearance in her bedchamber, spurred, booted,
and muddy, her fitful returns of passionate affec
tion, her sending him dainties at one moment and
signing his death-warrant the next, — all these cir
cumstances are too famUiar with every one to
require repetition.
The result of the rash attempt of Essex to stir
up the citizens of London was such as his friends

THE TOWER. 459
ought to have anticipated, and was such as his
enemies wished. On the 19th of February, he
was brought from the Tower, with his friend, the
Earl of Southampton, to Westminster Hall, and,
having been found guUty of high treason, the lord
high .steward passed on them the solemn sentence
of the law. Southampton, in a modest and becom
ing speech, which excited general compassion and
admiration, admitted his crime, which he attributed
in a great degree to his affection for his friend ; he
had never harboured a thought, he said, against
the queen's person, and he earnestly entreated the
peers to intercede with her Majesty on his behalf.
The speech of Essex was of a different character.
His principal consideration seems to have been for
his friend, on whose behalf he implored the peers
to intercede with the queen. For himself, he said,
he valued not life ; all his desire was to quit the
world with the conscience of a true Christian and
of a loyal subject ; he was loath, indeed, that he
should be represented to the queen as one who
despised her clemency, but, at the same time, he
believed he should make no cringing submissions
for his life. He then begged pardon of certain
lords whom he had offended, requested that he
might be allowed to receive the holy sacrament
before he suffered, and prayed that a particular
clergyman, whom he named, might be allowed to
attend him in his last moments.
In the interval which elapsed between the con-

46o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
demnation and death of her favourite, the mind of
Elizabeth underwent a severe and bitter conflict
between resentment and affection, compassion and
pride. On the one hand she naturally revolted
from sacrificing one whom she had so tenderly
loved ; whUe on the other, the arguments of his
enemies, indignation at his refusing to sue for
pardon, and, moreover, his own voluntary obser
vation in the Tower, that she would never know
safety while he lived, went far to overcome the
softer and better feelings of her nature. More
than once she signed the warrant for his execu
tion ; more than once her tenderness returned ;
and more than once she countermanded his death.
But her pride could not long withstand his con
tinued obstinacy ; the warrant for his execution
was at last delivered into the hands of the secre
tary of state, and the 25 th of February was fixed
upon as the fatal day.
By his own wish Essex was executed in as
private a manner as possible, within the walls of
the Tower, the scaffold having been erected in the
open space in front of the chapel. Around it
were assembled the Earls of Cumberland and
Hertford, Viscount Howard of Bindon, Lord How
ard of Walden, Lord Darcy of Chiche, Lord Comp
ton, the aldermen of London, and several knights
and gentlemen. From the day of his condemnation,
Essex had prepared himself for death with gre^t de-
voutness, and he now appeared on the scaffold as

THE TOWER. 461
one who had no care in this world, and who looked
forward to eternal happiness in the next. He ap
peared on the scaffold, attended by three divines,
dressed in a gown of wrought velvet, a black satin
suit, a black felt hat, and a small ruff around his
neck. Immediately after he had ascended the
fatal stage, he took off his hat, and addressed
himself to the multitude. He had been guilty,
he said, in his youth of many and great sins, for
which, through the merits of his Saviour, he had
most ardently prayed for pardon. He acknowl
edged the justice of the sentence by which he
died, but denied that he had ever intended any
violence against the queen's person, for whom he
prayed for long life and happiness ; he thanked
God that he had never been led astray by any
papistical or atheistical doctrines, but that he had
ever fixed his hopes of salvation solely on the
merits of his Redeemer. Lastly he prayed God
to fortify him against the terrors of death, and
called upon the bystanders to pray for the welfare
of his soul.
Then the executioner asking his forgiveness,
which he cheerfully granted, he took off his gown
and ruff, and kneeling down before the block, and
lifting up his eyes to heaven, prayed fervently
for some minutes ; repeating the Lord's Prayer,
the Apostles' Creed, and the first verses of the
fifty-first psalm. He then laid his neck upon the
block, and, while in the act of giving utterance

462 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
to some pious ejaculations, the axe of the execu
tioner fell. The first blow deprived him of sense
and motion, but it was not till the third stroke
had descended that his head was severed from
his body.
Among those whom the rash enterprise of
Essex involved in his fall, and who were fellow
prisoners with him in the Tower, were the Earl
of Southampton, already mentioned, the Earl of
Rutland, the Lords Sands, Cromwell, and Mont-
eagle, Sir Henry Bromley, Sir Charles Danvers,
Sir Christopher Blunt, Sir Gilley Merrick, and
Henry Cuffe. Of these, persons only the four
last suffered on the scaffold. Sir Charles Danvers
and Sir Christopher Blunt were beheaded on
Tower Hill, where they met their fate with great
fortitude and composure. Merrick and Cuffe were
hanged and quartered at Tyburn, and died no less
resolutely than their companions.
We wUl conclude our notices of the Tower in
the reign of Elizabeth with the description given
of it by the German traveller, Paul Hentzner, who
visited England in 1 598. " Upon entering the
Tower of London, we were obliged to leave our
swords at the gate, and deliver them to the guard.
When we were introduced we were shown above
an hundred pieces of arms belonging to the Crown,
made of gold, sUver, and sUk ; several saddles
covered with velvet of different colours ; and an
immense quantity of bed furniture, such as cano-

THE TOWER. 463
pies and the like, some of them richly ornamented
with pearl ; some royal dresses, so extremely mag
nificent as to raise any one's admiration at the
sums they must have cost. We were next led to
the armoury, in which are these particularities :
spears out of which you may shoot ; shields that
will give fire four times ; a great many rich hal
berds commonly called partisans, with which the
guard defend the royal person in battle ; some
lances covered with red and green velvet, and the
suit of armour of King Henry the Eighth ; many
very beautiful arms, as well for men as for horse-
fights ; the lance of Charles Brandon, Duke of
Suffolk, three spans thick ; two pieces of cannon
— the one fires three, the other seven balls at
a time ; two others made of wood, wbich the Eng
lish had at the siege of Boulogne in France — and
by this stratagem, without which they could not
have succeeded, they struck a terror as at the
appearance of artillery, and the town surrendered
upon articles ; nineteen cannons of a thicker
make than ordinary, and, in a room apart, thirty-
six of a smaller ; other cannons for chain-shot,
and balls proper to bring down masts of ships ;
and crossbows, and bows and arrows, of which,
to this day, the English make use in their exer
cises. But who can relate all that is to be seen
here .¦• Eight or nine men, employed by the year,
are scarce sufficient to keep all the arms bright.
" The mint for coining money is in the Tower.

464 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
It is to be noted that, when any of the nobUity
are sent hither, on the charge of high crimes,
punishable with death, such as murder, etc., they
seldom or never recover their liberty. Here was
beheaded Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry the
Eighth, and lies buried in the chapel, but without
any inscription ; and Queen Elizabeth was kept
prisoner here by her sister. Queen Mary, at whose
death she was enlarged, and by right called to
the throne. On coming out of the Tower, we
were led to a smaU house close by, where are
kept a variety of creatures, viz., three lionesses,
one lion of great size, called Edward the Sixth,
from his having been born in that reign ; a tiger,
a lynx, a wolf exceedingly old ; this is a very
scarce animal in England, so that their sheep and
cattle stray about in great numbers without any
danger, though without anybody to keep them.
There is besides a porcupine and an eagle ; all
these creatures are kept in a remote place, fitted
up for the purpose, with wooden lattices, at the
queen's expense."
James the First, after his arrival from Scotland,
kept his court for a short time in the Tower.
From hence, accompanied by his queen and
Henry, Prince of Wales, he proceeded in great
state to Westminster, preparatory to the opening
of his first Parliament; and, during bis lifetime,
we find him more than once paying visits to the
ancient fortress, for the purpose of witnessing the

THE TOWER. 465
combats of the wUd beasts who were kept in the
royal menagerie.
In July, 1603, about four months after the
king's accession, Henry Brooke, Lord Cobham,
Thomas, Lord Grey of WUton, and the celebrated
Sir Walter Raleigh, and others, were committed
prisoners to the Tower, on charges of attempting
to restore the Roman Catholic religion, and to
place the Lady Arabella Stuart on the throne. All
three were tried and condemned to death. George
Brooke, a brother of Lord Cobham, and two
priests were executed for their share in the con
spiracy ; while Lords Grey and Cobham, after hav
ing been cruelly subjected to all the terrors of
death, were reprieved at the last moment, after
they had addressed themselves to the multitude,
and were preparing themselves for the stroke of
the executioner. Both were remanded back to the
Tower. Lord Cobham, sometime afterward, ob
tained his release, but his estates having been
confiscated, he lived in extreme poverty till 1619,
when he ended his unprofitable career. Lord Grey,
a man of high promise and noble spirit, died a pris
oner in 1 61 7.
The fate of the Ulustrious Sir Walter Raleigh,
that bright ornament of the age in which he lived,
is more familiar to the reader. Having remained
a prisoner in the Tower upward of twelve years,
during which period he composed his " History of
the World," he obtained his release in 1615, on

466 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
payment of a considerable sum to the celebrated
favourite, George VUliers, Duke of Buckingham.
His subsequent unfortunate expedition to Guiana,
his recommittal to the Tower, and the infamous
manner in which he was condemned to death for a
crime of which he had been found guilty fifteen
years before, and for which he may be said to have
been virtually pardoned, are facts which are too
well known to require repetition.
On the 29th of October, 1618, this great and
accomplished man was conducted from the Tower
to Old Palace Yard, Westminster, which had been
fixed upon as the scene of his execution. " Sir
Walter Raleigh," says Doctor Townson, Dean of
Westminster, who attended him in his last mo
ments, " was the most fearless of death that ever
was known ; and the most resolute and confident,
yet with reverence and conscience. After he had
received the communion in the morning, he was
very cheerful and merry, and hoped, as he said, to
persuade the world that he died an innocent man.
He was very cheerful that morning he died, eat his
breakfast heartUy, and took tobacco, making no
more of his death than if he had been to take a
journey ; and he left a great impression on the
minds of those who beheld him." Though suffer
ing from the effects of recent indisposition, he
ascended the fatal stage with a resolute step
and a serene countenance. Turning to the Lords
Arundel and Northampton, and some other persons

THE TOWER. 467
who were on the scaffold, he said, " I thank God
heartily that he hath brought me into the light to
die, and hath not suffered me to die in the dark
prison in the Tower, where I have suffered a great
deal of misery and cruel sickness. And I thank
God that my fever hath not taken me at this time,
as I prayed God it might not, that I might clear
myself of some accusations unjustly laid to my
charge, and leave behind me the testimony of a
true heart, both to my king and country." He
then addressed himself to the multitude, and con
cluded a long defence of his public conduct, with
an earnest entreaty that they would join him in his
prayers to Heaven, that his many sins might be
forgiven him, and that his soul might be received
into everlasting life.
Having concluded his speech. Sir Walter distrib
uted his hat, some money, and other articles,
among the persons who were in attendance on
him. Then, having taken a last farewell of Lord
Arundel, he turned to the executioner, and desired
to be shown the axe. The man, however, still
keeping it concealed, " Prithee," he said, "let me
see it ; dost thou think I am afraid of' it ? " Hav
ing felt its edge, he said, smUingly, to the sheriff,
" This is a sharp medicine ; but it is a physician
for all diseases." Having once more entreated
the multitude to pray for him, to turned to the
executioner, who, having requested his forgiveness,
inquired which way he would prefer lying upon

468 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the block. " So that the heart be right," he re
plied, " it is no matter which way the head lies."
Then, kneeling down, with his face toward the
east, he gave the signal which he had agreed upon
with the executioner, and at two blows his head
was severed from his body.
In 1605, the dungeons of the Tower were filled
with the conspirators who were engaged in the
atrocious Gunpowder Plot. The principal actors in
the intended tragedy were Thomas Winter, Guy
Fawkes, and Robert Keyes, gentlemen ; Thomas
Bates, yeoman ; Robert Winter, Esq. ; John Grant,
Esq. ; Ambrose Rookwood, Esq. ; and the hand
some and accomplished courtier. Sir Everard
Digby, father of the celebrated Sir Kenelm
Digby. Their trial took place on the 27th of
January, 1606, and, on the Thursday following.
Sir Everard Digby, Robert Winter, Grant, and
Bates were drawn on hurdles to the west end of
St. Paul's churchyard, where they were hanged,
and having been cut down before they were dead,
their bowels were taken out and burnt before
their eyes, and they were then quartered and
beheaded. Anthony Wood relates an extraordi
nary circumstance, as being generally believed at
the time, that when the executioner plucked out
the heart of Sir Everard Digby, and, according to
custom, held it up saying, " Here is the heart of a
traitor," Sir Everard made answer, " Thou liest ! "
On the day following the execution of their asso-

THE TOWER. 469
ciates, Thomas Winter, Rookwood, Keyes, and
Guy Fawkes suffered the same fate in the Old
Palace Yard, Westminster.
Among others committed to the Tower, as hav
ing been concerned in the Gunpowder Plot, were
that stout old philosopher, Henry Percy, Earl of
Northumberland, Henry, Lord Mordaunt, Edward,
Lord Stourton, and three Jesuit priests. Fathers
Garnet, Oldcorn, and Gerrard. Northumberland
was fined thirty thousand pounds, and continued a
prisoner in the Tower nearly sixteen years ; Lords
Mordaunt and Stourton were both heavUy fined,
and remanded to the Tower during the king's
pleasure ; Garnet was dragged on a hurdle to the
front of St. Paul's, where he was hanged and
quartered ; and Father Oldcorn, after having been
five times tortured on the rack, shared the same
fate at Worcester. Father Gerrard was also sub
jected to the most excruciating agonies which
cruelty could invent ; but he was more fortunate
than his comrades, for by some means he con
trived to escape from the Tower, and, after remain
ing in concealment in England a short time, made
his way to Rome, where he died.
The name of the Lady Arabella Stuart recalls a
tale of sorrow, which has drawn tears from the
eyes of thousands. This fair and gentle lady —
as celebrated for her accomplishments as for her
misfortunes — was first cousin to James the First,
being the daughter of Charles Stuart, fifth Earl of

470 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Lennox, brother to Henry, Lord Darnley, the
king's father. To Queen Elizabeth, her near aUi
ance to the throne had rendered her no less an
object of jealousy than she had now become to
James ; she had been prevented accepting more
than one eligible offer of marriage ; and, indeed,
from her childhood she had been little more than
a prisoner at large. At last, her affections fell on
Sir WUliam Seymour, afterward Marquis of Hert
ford, and Duke of Somerset, that gallant man
who afterward became so celebrated for his loyalty
and devotion to the unfortunate Charles the First.
The attachment of the lovers could not long escape
the jealous eye of James, and, in 1609, they were
summoned before the Privy Council, and severely
reprimanded. But neither the reprimand, nor the
terrors of the Star Chamber, had any effect on the
lovers, and a short time afterward they were pri
vately married. The fact soon transpired ; they
were immediately arrested ; Seymour was sent to
the Tower, and Lady Arabella to the house of Sir
Thomas Parry, at Lambeth, from whence she was
afterward removed to Highgate, where she was
placed under the charge of Sir James Croft.
The lovers, however, found means to correspond,
and in due time concerted a plan for their escape,
almost as wild as it was romantic. Having con
trived that a vessel should be in waiting for them
in the Thames, on the appointed day, Seymour,
leaving his servant in his bed to prevent suspicion,

THE TOWER. 47 1
disguised himself in a black wig and a pair of black
whiskers, and, following a cart that had been di
rected to bring fire-wood to his apartment, walked,
without being questioned, out of the western en
trance of the Tower. A boat was in waiting for
him at the Tower wharf, in which he rowed to the
part of the river where he expected to meet his
bride ; but, finding that she had saUed without
him, he hired another vessel, for forty pounds, to
convey him to Calais, where he eventuaUy arrived
in safety.In the meantime, the Lady Arabella, having
" drawn over her petticoats a pair of large French-
fashioned hose, putting on a man's doublet, a pe
ruke which covered her hair, a hat, black cloak,
russet boots with red tops, and a rapier by her
side," contrived to elude the vigilance of her keep
ers, and, attended by a Mr. Markham, set out from
Highgate on her romantic expedition. " She had
proceeded only a mUe and a half," says Mr. D'Is
raeli, in his "Curiosities of Literature," "when they
stopped at a poor inn, where one of her confeder
ates was waiting with horses, yet she was so sick
and faint that the ostler who held her stirrup
observed, that 'the gentleman could hardly hold
out to London.' She recruited her spirits by
riding ; the blood mantled in her face ; and at six
o'clock she reached Blackwall, where a boat and
servants were waiting. The watermen were at
first ordered to Woolwich ; there they were desired

472 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
to push on to Gravesend ; then to TUbury, where,
complaining of fatigue, they landed to refresh
themselves ; but, tempted by their freight, reached
Lee. At the break of morn, they discovered a
French vessel riding there to receive the lady ;
but, as Seymour had not yet arrived, Arabella was
desirous to lie at anchor for her lord, conscious
that he would not fail to keep his appointment.
If, indeed, he had been prevented in his escape,
she herself cared not to preserve the freedom she
now possessed ; but her attendants, aware of the
danger of being overtaken by a king's ship, over
ruled her wishes, and hoisted saU. Alone and
mournful on the seas," adds Mr. D'Israeli, "im
ploring her attendants to linger for her Seymour,
she strained her sight to the point of the horizon
for some speck which might give a hope of the
approach of the boat freighted with aU her love.
Alas ! never more was Arabella to cast a single
look on her lover and her husband ! "
She was overtaken by a fast-sailing vessel, which
had been sent in pursuit of the fugitives, and,
having been reconducted to London, was imme
diately sent to the Tower. Here she wore out a
miserable existence, describing herself, in one of
her letters, as "the most sorrowful creature liv
ing," and is even said to have ended her days in
madness. " Where London's towers their turrets show.
So stately by the Thames's side,

THE TOWER. 473
Fair Arabella, child of woe.
For many a day had sat and sighed.
And as she heard the waves arise.
And as she heard the bleak winds roar,
As fast did heave her heartfelt sighs.
And still so fast her tears did pour."
Lady Arabella died in the Tower on the 27th
of September, 161 5, about four years after her
unsuccessful attempt to escape.
Of the many "foul and midnight murders"
which have been committed within the Tower,
there have been none more foul and atrocious than
that of the accomplished courtier and poet. Sir
Thomas Overbury. The story of his tragical fate
is well known. He had long been the intimate
friend and confidant of the celebrated favourite,
Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset, whom he had been
accustomed to direct in all his actions ; composing
his despatches to the king, and even his love-letters
to his mistresses. Their friendship continued un
impaired till the weak favourite fixed his affections
on the beautiful and abandoned Frances Howard,
Countess of Essex, whom he determined to make
his wife. Foreseeing the misery which such a
marriage must entail on his friend, and personaUy
detesting the young countess, Overbury, who was
naturally of a haughty and overbearing disposition,
presumed, in the strongest terms, to malign the
character of Lady Essex, whom, Weldon informs
us, he styled a "strumpet, and her mother and

474 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
brother, bawds." He pointed out to Somerset the
ruinous course which he was pursuing; he told
him that, by marrying such a woman, instead of
happiness, he would only entail on himself the
ridicule of the world ; and lastly, he loudly threat
ened to separate himself for ever from the earl and
his interests, if he persisted in prosecuting so dis
graceful an affair. Irritated at what he considered
the insolence of an inferior, and urged on by the
implacable hatred of Lady Essex, who was deter
mined to revenge herself by Overbury' s death,
Somerset found means to have his friend com
mitted to the Tower.
Some days previously, Somerset had procured
the appointment of one of his own creatures. Sir
Jervis Elways, to be lieutenant of the Tower ;
and now, leaguing himself with his abandoned wife,
and her uncle, the Earl of Northampton, he entered
into the atrocious project of poisoning his former
friend. The inferior agents in this horrible trans
action were Sir Thomas Monson, two men of the
names of Weston and Franklin, and the well-
known Mrs. Turner, who provided the poisons.
These were inserted by Monson in every article
of food which was sent to Overbury's table, and
sometimes, it appears, the dishes were sent by
Somerset himself. His death is said to have been
finally accomplished by a poisoned clyster ; though,
according to other accounts, the ruffians, perceiv
ing an eruption breaking out over his body, and

THE TOWER. 475
fearing lest the symptoms might lead to detection,
released him from his sufferings by smothering
him in his bed. His body, which is described as
being covered with sores and ulcers, was then
wrapped in a sheet, and the same afternoon, with
out the attendance of a relative or friend, was
committed by his murderers to the earth, in the
Tower Chapel.
Sir Thomas Overbury died on the 15 th of Sep
tember, 1 61 3, and, a little more than two years
afterward, Somerset and his countess were com
mitted to the same prison in which their unfortu
nate victim had breathed his last.
The accomplices of their crime. Sir Jervis El
ways, Weston, Franklin, and Mrs. Turner, were
shortly afterward condemned and executed ; but it
was not tUl several months had elapsed that the
two principal criminals were brought to trial.
The countess was tried by her peers, in West
minster Hall, on the 25th of May, 1616, and
Somerset on the following day. Both were found
guilty, and sentenced to be hanged like common
criminals. After their condemnation, they were
reconducted to the Tower, where they remained
tUl the month of January, 1622, when they were
released from confinement, and their lives were
respited at the king's pleasure.
Among other persons of rank who were com
mitted to the Tower in the reign of James the
First were Gervase, Lord Clifton ; Sir Thomas

476 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
and Lady Lake ; the Earl and Countess of Suffolk,
the father and mother of the Countess of Somerset ;
the great Lord Bacon ; and the scarcely less cele
brated Sir Edward Coke.
Lord Clifton was committed on the 17th of
December, 161 7, for threatening the life of the
lord keeper, and shortly afterward put an end
to his existence ; Sir Thomas Lake and his lady
were imprisoned, in February, 16 19, for accusing
the Countess of Exeter of witchcraft and incest ;
and the Earl and Countess of Suffolk were com
mitted the same year for bribery and corruption.
Another prisoner of note was Thomas, twentieth
Earl of Arundel, a proud and overbearing noble
man, whom Clarendon describes as affecting the
character of a man of learning, though extremely
illiterate, and thinking "no part of history so con
siderable as what related to his own famUy." His
committal to the Tower arose out of a violent dis
pute which he had with Lord Spencer in the House
of Lords. The particulars are curious, as showing
the character of the man. Lord Spencer happened,
during a debate, to mention some transactions in
which both their ancestors had been mutually
engaged. " My lord," interrupted Arundel, con
temptuously, " when these things were doing, your
ancestors were keeping sheep." " When my ances
tors were keeping sheep," retorted Lord Spencer,
"your ancestors, my lord, were plotting treason."
The altercation now became so violent that the

THE TOWER. 477
House interfered, and Arundel refusing to apolo
gise, the lords committed him to the Tower for
his refractory conduct.
It does not appear that the unfortunate Charles
the First was ever a resident in the Tower.
Almost from the period of the Norman conquest
it had been the custom of the Kings of England
to pass the night previous to their coronation in
the royal fortress, and from thence to proceed in
great state to Westminster. At the accession of
James, in consequence of the violence with which
the plague was raging in London, this ancient cus
tom was omitted, and again, at the accession of
Charles the First, it was dispensed with for the
same melancholy reason.
Although but little blood was shed on the scaf
fold during the reign of Charles, the political
troubles of that disastrous period led to numerous
persons, chiefly members of Parliament, being
imprisoned in the Tower ; but to enumerate them
would amount to little more than inserting a dry
catalogue of names. Among the most distin
guished were the celebrated patriots, Selden, Hol-
lis, and Sir John Elliot ; John Felton, the assassin
of the Duke of Buckingham ; the infamous Mervin,
Earl of Castlehaven, better known as Lord Audley,
who was executed on Tower HUl on the 14th of
May, 163 1 ; the famous Puritan, WiUiam Prynne;
Thomas Wentworth, the great Earl of Strafford ;
Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury ; and the " mem-

478 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
orable simpleton," PhUip, Earl of Pembroke. Of
these persons, only four died on the scaffold.
Not the least remarkable of these persons was
the fanatical assassin, John Felton. The circum
stances which — -
" Gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife " —
are well known. Having purchased a common
knife at a cutler's shop, on Tower HUl, Felton
proceeded to Portsmouth, where Buckingham was
then preparing for his second expedition to Ro
chelle. Having contrived to obtain entrance to
the duke's residence, — a house stUl standing
in the High Street at Portsmouth, — the assassin
posted himself in a passage, adjoining the room
in which his victim was at breakfast with his suite,
and, at the moment when the duke was passing
under some hangings leading to the passage, he
stabbed him to the heart. Felton afterward re
marked to those about him that, at the moment
when he struck the blow, he felt as if he had the
" force of forty men " in him ; and he added the
curious fact, that, as his arm descended, he re
peated the words, " God have mercy on thy soul."
He was almost immediately arrested, and conveyed,
under a strong guard, to the Tower.
Though a man distinguished among his asso
ciates for his determined character and undaunted
courage, Felton, as his end approached, humbled
himself in so penitential a manner as to cause

THE TOWER. 479
great annoyance to the thousands who had here
tofore almost worshipped him as a hero and a
martyr. On his way to the Tower, he was fol
lowed by vast crowds, whom he earnestly entreated
to pray for him. At his trial he expressed great
contrition for his crime. When the knife, with
which he had stabbed his victim, was produced in
court, he shed tears ; and when asked why sen
tence of death should not be passed upon him, he
held up the hand which had committed the deed,
requesting that it might first be cut off, and that
he might then suffer death in any manner the
court might think fit. He sent a message to the
widowed duchess, earnestly entreating her forgive
ness, which she kindly granted ; and he further
requested that, on the scaffold, he might be
clothed in sackcloth, with ashes on his head, and
a halter around his neck, as tokens of his unwor
thiness and sincere penitence. Notwithstanding
these signs of weakness, — if such they may be
properly called, — Felton's constitutional courage
never forsook him, and it was remarked by Philip,
Earl of Pembroke, who attended his examinations,
that he had never seen valour and piety "more
temperately mixed " in the same person. He was
hanged at Tyburn, from whence his body was
removed to Portsmouth, where it remained sus
pended for a considerable time in chains.
On the 22d of March, 1641, the famous trial
scene of Thomas Wentworth, the great Earl of

48o MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Strafford, commenced in Westminster Hall. The
trial lasted seventeen days, and on each day the
earl was brought from the Tower to Westminster
by water, attended by six barges, and guarded by a
hundred soldiers. Charles, however sorrowfully
and reluctantly, having been compelled to sign the
death-warrant of his faithful servant, the accom
plished and high-minded Strafford prepared him
self to die with the piety of a Christian and the
dignity becoming his high character. Shortly be
fore his execution, he addressed an affectionate
letter of advice to his young son, and another
very beautiful epistle to his secretary, GuUdford
Slingsby. He had expressed a strong wish to be
allowed a last interview with one for whom he had
long entertained an affectionate regard, the vener
able Archbishop Laud, who was at this period a
fellow prisoner with him in the Tower. This re
quest, however, having been barbarously refused,
Strafford sent a message to the archbishop, desir
ing him to remember him in his prayers, and re
questing, when he should pass to his execution on
the following morning, that Laud would present
himself at his grated window, in order that they
might have the melancholy satisfaction of bidding
each other a last farewell. Accordingly, the next
morning, having been informed that Strafford was
approaching, the archbishop — who was suffering
severely from Ulness and the infirmities of old age,
— was with some difficulty supported to the win-

THE TOWER. 48 1
dow, where these two great men looked at each
other for the last time. Strafford requested the
prayers and blessing of the archbishop, on which
the venerable prelate lifted up his trembling hands
to heaven, and solemnly blessed and prayed for
his friend. A moment afterward, overcome with
grief and natural infirmity, he sank to the ground.
On recovering himself, he expressed much concern
lest his weakness should be attributed to dread of
his own approaching death. " I hope," he said,
" by God's assistance, and through mine own inno
cency, that when I come to my own execution
I shall show the world how much more sensible
I am of my Lord Strafford's loss than I am of my
own." In the meantime, Strafford passed from the
Tower to the adjoining hUl, less with the air of a
condemned criminal than that of a general at the
head of his army. When the lieutenant of the
Tower recommended him to make use of a coach,
lest he should be torn in pieces by the people,
"No, Mr. Lieutenant," he said, "I dare look
death in the face, and, I trust, the people, too."
On the scaffold he made a brief speech, in which
he asserted that never at any moment had he
entertained a thought opposed to the welfare
either of the king or people ; that he bore malice
against no man ; that he sincerely forgave his
enemies ; and that he died firm in the true faith
of the Church of England. Then, having shaken

482 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
hands affectionately with the Archbishop of
Armagh, the Earl of Cleveland, and with his
brother. Sir George Wentworth, and others who
attended him, he knelt down by the side of his
chaplain, and remained praying for about half an
hour. Having risen up again, he beckoned his
brother toward him, and charged him with his
blessing, and some touching messages, to his wife
and young chUdren. " One stroke more," he said,
" will make my wife husbandless, my dear children
fatherless, my poor servants masterless, and wUl
separate me from my dear brothers and all my
friends ; but let God be to you and to them all
in aU."
The earl then took off his doublet. " I thank
God," he said, " that I am no more afraid of death,
but as cheerfully put off my doublet at this time
as ever I did when I went to bed." Having put
on a white cap, he thrust his hair underneath it
with his own hands. Then, having forgiven the
executioner, he knelt down at the block, the arch
bishop being on one side of him, and another
clergyman on the other, the latter clasping the
earl's hands in his while they prayed. Having
concluded his devotions, he told the executioner
that he would first make a trial of the block by
laying his head upon it, but that he was not to
strike till he should give him the signal by stretch
ing out his hands. Shortly afterward, placing his
head a second time upon the block, he gave the

THE TOWER. 483
appointed signal, when, at one blow, his head was
severed from his body.
Thus, on the 12th of May, 1641, at the age of
forty-eight, perished the great Lord Strafford;
and on the lOth of January, 1645, the venerable
Archbishop Laud was led forth from the Tower
amidst the brutal revUings of the populace, to
suffer upon the same spot which had witnessed
the death of his friend. The old man prepared
himself to die with exemplary piety and fortitude.
When the appointed day was announced to him,
"No one," he said, "can be more ready to send
me out of life than I am to go." The night pre
vious to his death was passed by him in a sound
sleep, and when he was awakened by the lieuten
ant of the Tower on the following morning, it was
remarked that his countenance exhibited the same
freshness of colour which it had ever worn. He
ascended the scaffold with a serene and even
cheerful countenance, and, after delivering a brief
speech, turned calmly to the executioner, and,
presenting him with some money, desired him to
do his work quickly. Kneeling down, he repeated
a short prayer, and then, laying his head on the
block, and giving the appointed signal to the exe
cutioner by repeating the words, " Lord, receive
my soul," the axe fell, and severed his head from
his body by a single stroke.
When the sovereignty of the Commons of Eng
land sprung up from the ruined fortunes of Charles

484 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the First, we find them, in their turn, exercising
the most despotic power, and filling the dungeons
of the Tower with the devoted adherents of the
Ul-fated king. Among the most distinguished we
find Sir John Hotham and his gallant son. Captain
Hotham ; Sir Alexander Carew ; the venerable
Lord Montague of Boughton ; the Earl of Berk
shire ; Sir William Morton, the gallant defender
of Sudeley Castle ; Colonel Monk, afterward so
celebrated as the Duke of Albemarle ; the Mar
quis of Winchester, captured at the surrender of
Basing House ; the Earl of Cleveland ; Sir Lewis
Dives ; James, Duke of Hamilton ; the gay and
gallant Earl of Holland ; the profligate George
Goring, Earl of Norwich ; the high-minded Lord
Capel ; Sir Richard Gurney, Sir John Gayne, and
Sir Abraham Reynardson, successively lord mayors
of London ; Lords Beauchamp, Bellases, and Chan
dos ; Edward, Lord Howard of Esrick ; the Earls
of Crawford, Lauderdale, Kelly, and Rothes, taken
at the battle of Worcester ; the famous Scottish
general. General Lesley ; and the celebrated Ed
ward, Marquis of Worcester. We have selected
only a few of the most distinguished from a long
and melancholy list of devoted loyalists, all of
whom suffered more or less by fine or imprison
ment, by the ruin of their families, and the deso
lation of their domestic hearths.
Of the gallant names, too, which we have men
tioned, not a few expiated their loyalty on the

THE TOWER. 485
scaffold. Among the first who suffered were Sir
John Hotham and his son. Captain Hotham, for a
design to deliver up the town of Hull to the king.
The son died fearlessly and piously ; but the father,
attached to life, and buoyed up to the last with the
hopes of pardon, submitted himself to the stroke
of the executioner, not only with the greatest
reluctance, but evidently depressed by a mental
agony which rendered the tragedy pitiable in the
extreme. These "two unhappy gentlemen," as
Lord Clarendon styles them, were both beheaded
on Tower HUl in 1644, and about the same time
Sir Alexander Carew, governor of St. Nicholas
Island, near Plymouth, having returned to his alle
giance to his legitimate sovereign, suffered a like
fate on the same spot.
The next victims were the leaders of the Irish
rebellion. Lord Macquire and Colonel M'Mahon,
who were brought from Dublin to be inmates of
the Tower. These are among the few persons of
whose escape from the fortress there is any record.
Having contrived to cut through the door of their
apartment, they reached the Tower ditch, which
they easily swam, and for some time remained
concealed in the house of the agent of the French
government. Their retreat, however, was at last
discovered, and they were hanged and quartered
at Tyburn, conformably with the terms of their
sentence. A far more interesting prisoner in the Tower

486 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
was the high-minded Lord Capel, of whose attempt
to escape from its gloomy walls Lord Clarendon
has left us so graphic an account. " Having a cord
and all things conveyed necessary to him, he let
himself down out of the window of his chamber in
the night over the wall of the Tower, having been
directed through what part, of the ditch he might
be best able to wade. Whether he found the
right place, or whether there was no safer place,
he found the water and the mud so deep that, if
he had not been by the head taller than other
men, he must have perished, since the water came
up to his chin. But it pleased God that he got at
last to the other side, where his friends expected
him, and carried him to a chamber in the Temple.
After two or three days, a friend whom he trusted
much, and who deserved to be trusted, conceiving
that he might be more secure in a place to which
there was less resort, had provided a lodging for
him in a private house in Lambeth Marsh ; and
calling upon him in an evening when it was dark,
to go thither, they chose rather to take any boat
they found ready at the Temple Stairs than to
trust one of that people with the secret ; and it
was so late that there was only one boat left there.
In that the Lord Capel (as well disguised as he
thought necessary) and his friend put themselves,
and bid the waterman to row them to Lambeth.
Whether in their passage thither the other gentle
man called him ' My lord,' as was confidently

THE TOWER. 487
reported, or the waterman had any jealousy by
observing what he thought was a disguise, when
they were landed the wicked waterman undis
cerned followed them till he saw into what house
they went, and then went to an officer and de
manded ' what he would give him to bring him to
the place where the Lord Capel lay ; ' and the
officer promising to give him ten pounds, he led
him presently to the house, where that excellent
person was seized upon, and the next day carried
to the Tower."
There were two other persons of high hope and
exalted rank who were conveyed from the Tower
by the same guard, who were executed on the
same scaffold with Lord Capel. These were James,
Duke of HamUton, the attached friend of his ill-
fated sovereign, and the gay and handsome Henry
Rich, Earl of Holland, the favourite of two mon
archs, and the darling of the fair sex. They were
executed on the 9th of March, 1649, less than six
weeks after the murder of the king, on a platform
which had been erected in New Palace Yard, im
mediately in front of the entrance of Westminster
•Hall ; but the story of their tragical fate more
properly belongs to the account of the spot on
which they died.
During the administration of Oliver Cromwell,
the intrigues of the Fifth-monarchists, and the fre
quent attempts against the life and government of
the Protector, kept the Tower constantly tenanted

488 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
with prisoners. From hence, in 1654, the young
fanatic. Sir John Gerrard, and the famous school
master. Vowel, were led forth to their fate, — the
one to be beheaded on Tower HUl, and the other
to be hanged at Tyburn. It was here, too, that
the daring assassin, MUes Syndercombe, was found
so mysteriously dead in his bed ; and from hence
the amiable divine. Doctor Hewett, and the gal
lant cavalier. Sir Henry Slingsby, were dragged
mercilessly to their execution. Lastly, during the
administration of Cromwell, we find the witty and
profligate George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham,
" That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim,''
a denizen of the Tower ; and here, also, was com
mitted — on suspicion of" her being a secret agent
of her royal lover, Charles the Second — the
famous Lucy Walters, one of the earliest, and
perhaps the most beautiful, of the mistresses of
the merry monarch, and the mother of the unfor
tunate Duke of Monmouth.
Charles the Second appears to have been the
last of our sovereigns who have passed a night in
the Tower. Adopting the ancient usage of the
Kings of England, on the 22d of April, 166 1, —
the eve of his coronation, — he embarked at White
hall, and passing from thence by water to the
Tower, he proceeded the next morning with a
magnificent procession to Westminster Abbey.
At the commencement of his reign, the Tower,

THE TOWER. 489
as might naturally be expected, was crowded with
a host of regicides. Fifth-monarchy men, and other
political and religious enthusiasts. Among them
we find several of the most prominent actors in
the late disastrous times. Here were imprisoned
the crafty visionary. Sir Henry Vane ; the sturdy
enthusiast. General Harrison ; the witty and im
pious Henry Marten ; Edmund Ludlow ; the brutal
solicitor-general, John Cook, who conducted the
prosecution against Charles the First ; Colonel
Daniel Axtell, who commanded the guard on the
occasion, and who forced the soldiers to shout for
" justice and execution ; " Colonel Francis Hacker,
who commanded the guard on the scaffold ; Cap
tain William Hewlet, accused of having been the
masked executioner ; and lastly, the heartless fa
natical preacher, Hugh Peters. Sir Henry Vane
was beheaded on Tower HUl ; Harrison, Cook,
Axtell, Hacker, and Hugh Peters were hanged,
drawn, and quartered ; Henry Marten died in Chep
stow Castle, after an imprisonment of twenty
years ; and Edmund Ludlow in exUe in Switzer
land, nearly half a century after he had put his
pen to the death-warrant of his king. Of the fate
of Hewlet we are ignorant, but he was unquestion
ably not the individual who decapitated the king.
In addition to the persons we have mentioned,
we find the names of several others who sat in
judgment on their sovereign, and who approved
the sentence which condemned him to the block.

490 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
Of these. Colonel Adrian Scrope, Colonel John
Jones, Colonel John Okey, Colonel John Bark-
stead, Gregory Clement, Miles Corbet, and Thomas
Corbet were condemned to death, and were hanged,
drawn,'and quartered, in pursuance of the terms of
their sentence.
Unquestionably the two most interesting pris
oners in the Tower, during the reign of Charles
the Second, were the high-minded friends, William,
Lord Russell, and Algernon Sidney. The circum
stances which led them to the block are familiar
to every one. Lord Russell was the first who
suffered. On the 13th of July, 1683, he was
arraigned for high treason at the bar of the Old
Bailey, and, having been found guilty, was sen
tenced to death. In vain did his afflicted wife
throw herself at the king's feet ; in vain did she
implore that the services and merits of her father,
the good Earl of Southampton, might plead as
some atonement for the errors of her husband.
Charles remained inexorable, and Lord Russell
prepared himself for the last stroke, with a dignity
and resolution becoming the high character which
he had ever sustained for piety and virtue.
His last parting with his wife was a severe trial,
but that noble-minded woman had collected all
her strength for the occasion, and by her own
strengthened the resolution of her unfortunate
lord. As he turned from her, " Now," he said,
" the bitterness of death is past." When his friend.

THE TOWER. 491
Lord Cavendish, proposed to change clothes with
him, and to remain in the Tower in his room, he
refused to avaU himself of a chance of escape,
which might entail danger on one he loved.
Again, when the Duke of Monmouth offered to
surrender himself, in hopes that by this means
he might save his friend's life, " No," he said, " it
will be of no advantage to me to have my friends
die with me." He continued serene, and even
cheerful, to the last. The day before his execu
tion, being seized with a bleeding at the nose, he
observed to Bishop Burnet, " I shall not let blood
to divert this distemper ; that will be done to
morrow." Shortly before the sheriffs made their
appearance to conduct him to the scaffold, he
wound up his watch. " Now," he said, " I have
done with time, and must think henceforth of
eternity." The execution of Lord Russell took place on
the 2 1st of July, eight days after his condemna
tion. The scaffold on which he suffered was
erected in Lincoln's Inn Fields, whither he was
conducted from the Tower through great crowds
of people, who deeply commiserated his fate. Hav
ing concluded his devotions, he undressed himself,
and, without the least change of countenance,
placed his neck upon the block, when, at two
strokes, the executioner severed his head from his
body. Algernon Sidney was brought to the Tower on

492 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
the 2 1st of November, and, on the 7th of Decem
ber following, was beheaded on a scaffold erected
on Tower Hill. The virtuous and unbending re
publican passed to the fatal stage on foot ; declin
ing the attendance even of a single friend, and
accompanied only, "for decency," by two footmen
of his brother, the Earl of Leicester, who walked
behind him. He ascended the scaffold with a firm
step, a haughty look, and erect posture, as one
who came rather to command than to suffer.
" Englishmen wept not for him," says Dalrymple,
" as they had done for Lord Russell ; their pulses
beat high, their hearts swelled, they felt an unusual
grandeur and elevation of mind, whilst they looked
upon him." When asked by one of the sheriffs
if it was his intention to harangue the people, " I
have made my peace with God," he said, "and
have nothing to say to man." A moment after
ward, he added, " I am ready to die, and wUl give
you no further trouble." His last prayer was for
the "good old cause." Instead of endeavouring to
prolong existence by protracted prayers and lin
gering farewells, he hurried over the melancholy
preparations, and, hastening toward the block, as
if impatient to die, submitted himself to the stroke
of the executioner.
Not the least remarkable event connected with
the history of the Tower, in the reign of Charles
the Second, was the mysterious and tragical end of
Arthur Capel, Earl of Essex, a nobleman pos-

THE TOWER. 493
sessed of high attainments, of great personal cour
age, and of many amiable qualities. He had been
committed to the Tower for his presumed share
in the famous Rye House Plot, but, in the course
of Lord Russell's trial, intelligence was received
in court that the earl had been discovered with
his throat cut by a razor. There existed a strong
suspicion that he had been murdered. Notwith
standing, however, some suspicious circumstances,
there seems to be little doubt that the earl was
the author of his own death. He is known to
have been of a hypochondriacal temperament,
and, as he had notoriously expressed himself an
advocate for suicide, it is far more reasonable to
presume that he laid violent hands on himself,
than that the court should have connived at so
foul and unnecessary a crime. Charies, indeed,
is said to have been deeply affected when the
tragical story was communicated to him. Allud
ing to the execution of the earl's father, the
great Lord Capel, "My Lord Essex," he said,
"need not have despaired of mercy, for I owed
him a life."
Probably no person ever paid so many visits to
the Tower as a prisoner as the profligate and ver
satile George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. We
have already seen him imprisoned as a state crimi
nal during the administration of Cromwell, and it
is remarkable that, during the reign of Charles
the Second, he was committed to the Tower no

494 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
less than four different times. The first occasion
was in 1666, on account of a quarrel which he
had,, in the House of Lords, with Lord Ossory,
eldest son of the Duke of Ormond, whom he first
insulted with his unlicensed wit, and whom he
afterward showed a considerable disinclination to
meet in the field. A short time afterward the
duke was committed for a disgraceful squabble
which he had with the Marquis of Dorchester,
during a conference which took place between the
Houses of Lords and Commons, on which occa
sion we find him knocking off the marquis's hat
and pulling aside his periwig. Again, in 1667, he
was imprisoned in the Tower for "treasonable
and seditious practices ; " but Charles was too
fond of the society of his favourite to allow him
to remain long in prison, and, accordingly, three
months afterward, we find him again taking his
seat at the council board, — " In the ring
Of mimic statesmen and their merry king."
Lastly, the frolic duke was recommitted to the
Tower, the same year, for using unconstitutional
language during a debate of great importance in
the House of Lords.
On the latter occasion was committed to the
Tower, together with the duke, the turbulent and
factious incendiary, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl
of Shaftesbury, whom Dryden, in his "Absalom

THE TOWER. 495
and Achitophel," has damned to everlasting fame.
Buckingham, on making a proper submission, was
released from confinement ; but Shaftesbury, de
sirous of being regarded as a political martyr, chose
to remain refractory, and consequently remained
a prisoner for nearly a year. As the gay duke,
on being liberated from his uncomfortable lodg
ings, was passing under the windows of Shaftes
bury's apartments in the Tower, the stubborn earl
looked out wistfully. " What," he said, " are you
going to leave us ? " "Why, yes," replied Buck
ingham, " such giddy-headed fellows as I am can
never stay long in one place."
The name of George VUliers recalls that of
another prisoner as gay, as witty, and as unprin
cipled, — John WUmot, Earl of Rochester. He
was committed about the year 1669 for the forci
ble abduction of Elizabeth Mallett, la triste hdri-
tikre of De Grammont, whom he afterward married,
and who became the mother of his chUdren.
During the brief reign of James the Second,
the prisoners in the Tower of the greatest note
were James, Duke of Monmouth, the seven bish
ops, and the brutal chancellor, George, Lord
Jefferies. After the fatal battle of Sedgemoor, the
unfortunate Monmouth, having changed clothes
with a peasant, wandered about the country dur
ing two miserable days and nights, when he was
at last discovered in a dry ditch near Holbridge,
in Dorsetshire, with some peas, his whole stock of

496 MEMORIALS OF LONDON,
provisions, in one pocket, and the George and Gar
ter in the other. When discovered, he trembled
violently and burst into tears. From the spot
where he was discovered, Monmouth was con
ducted by a strong guard of militia to Winchester,
and thence to Vauxhall, where he was received
by Lord Oxford's regiment, who brought him by
water to Whitehall, whence, the same evening, he
was carried to the Tower. For some days after
his arrest his fears are described as distressing in
the extreme. The gay and gaUant Monmouth,
who had so often gained renown on the field of
battle, was unable to anticipate without shrinking
the terrors of the scaffold.
As his end drew near, however, he roused him
self from his despondency, and prepared for the
last stroke with a fortitude becoming his natural
character. On the day before his execution, his
wronged and amiable duchess expressed a strong
desire to be admitted to a last interview with him
in the Tower. He complied with her request ;
but his heart was with another, the Lady Hen
rietta Wentworth, granddaughter and sole heiress
of Thomas, Earl of Cleveland, and afterward Bar
oness Wentworth in her own right. Lady Hen
rietta returned his affection, and died a few months
after her Ul-fated lover, of a broken heart. Mon
mouth had always affected to regard her as his
wife in the eyes of God ; affirming that his almost
infantine marriage with his duchess, in which he

THE TOWER. 497
had no choice, had absolved him from unpalatable
ties. According to Evelyn, Monmouth received his
duchess with much coldness. This, however, does
not appear to have been the case. We have the
authority of an eye-witness, that " he gave her the
kindest character that could be, begged her pardon
for his many faUings and offences to her, and
prayed her to continue her kindness and care to
her poor chUdren. At this Expression she fell
down on her knees, with her eyes full of tears,
and begged him to pardon her if ever she had
done anything to offend and displease him ; and
embracing his knees, fell into a swoon, out of
which they had much ado to raise her up in a
good whUe after. A little before, his children
were brought to him, all crying about him ; but
he acquitted himself of these last adieus with
much composure, showing nothing of weakness
or unmanliness."
It may be remarked that, on the day on which
the news of Monmouth's defeat reached London,
the duchess was herself most unjustly sent to the
Tower with her two young sons. Her imprison
ment, however, must have been a brief one, for
we are assured of the singular fact that, on the
morning of her husband's execution, the king
invited himself to breakfast with her, which he
could scarcely have done had she been a prisoner
in the Tower.

498 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" She had known adversity,
Though born in such a high degree ;
In pride of power, and beauty's bloom.
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb."
— Lay of the Last Minstrel.
On the night before his execution Monmouth
was attended by the Bishops of Ely, and Bath and
Wells, who prayed with him, and watched whUe
he slept ; and on the fatal morning he was also
visited by the pious Tenison, afterward Arch
bishop of Canterbury, who has left us an inter
esting account of their interview. About ten
o'clock, accompanied by the two bishops, Mon
mouth was conducted through an avenue of
soldiers to Tower HUl. He mounted the scaffold
without the least apparent fear, and amidst the
tears of the populace, of whom he was the idol.
To these he addressed a brief farewell. After
observing that he died in the faith of the Church
of England, he turned to the subject nearest his
heart, and spoke of his paramour. She was a
person, he said, of great honour and virtue, " a
religious godly lady." ^ The bishops reminded him
of the sin of adultery. "No," he replied, "for
these two years last past I have lived in no sin
that I know of ; I have wronged no person, and
I am sure when I die I shall go to God ; there
fore, I do not fear death, which you may see in my
face." The bishops then commenced praying for
him, and he knelt down and joined them ; they

THE TOWER. 499
concluded with a short prayer for the king, on
which he hesitated a moment, but at length said
Amen. To the Lady Henrietta he sent his ring, watch,
and toothpick case, and to the executioner he
gave six guineas ; entrusting four more to a by
stander, with injunctions to deliver them to the
headsman, in the event of his performing his task
with adroitness. While he was undressing him
self the bishops continued to exhort him with
pious ejaculations. "God," they said, "accept
your repentance ; God accept your imperfect re
pentance ; God accept your general repentance ! "
Then, having refused to have his eyes bandaged,
he knelt down, and, laying his head upon the
block, gave the appointed signal. The execu
tioner, however, either from dismay or pity, struck
so feeble a blow that Monmouth, to the horror of
the spectators, raised his head from the block,
and looked him, as if reproachfully, in the face ;
nor was it tUl after the fifth blow that the exe
cutioner completed his bloody work. The duke's
head having been sewn to the body, his remains
were placed in a coffin, covered with black velvet,
and conveyed in a hearse to the Tower Chapel.
On the occasion of the imprisonment of the
seven bishops, on the Sth of June, 1688, the land
ing-place at the Tower presented a remarkable
scene. They were conducted thither by water,
and as they passed down the river, a great part

500 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
of the population, inflamed by religious zeal and
trembling for their civil liberties, flowed to the
water's edge to behold the affecting spectacle.
With loud acclamations they extolled the con
stancy and courage of the venerable champions
of their religion, who, in their turn, with a lowly
and submissive deportment, exhorted the people
to remain true to their loyalty, to fear God, and
honour the king. As they neared the Tower
many people waded into the water to obtain a
share of their benedictions, and on landing, even
the soldiers, partaking of the universal enthusiasm,
flung themselves on their knees before the fathers
of their Church, and craved the blessing of those
criminals whom they were appointed to guard.
On entering the Tower the bishops immediately
proceeded to attend evening service in the chapel,
and it was remarked how apposite was a passage
in the second lesson to their peculiar position.
(2 Cor. vi.) " Giving no offence in anything, that
the ministry be not blamed : but in all things
approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in
much patience, in afflictions, in distresses, in im
prisonments," etc.
On the 1 2th of December following. Lord Chan
cellor Jefferies, that memorable ruffian who united
the cruelty of Caligula with the buffooneries of a
Grimaldi, was committed a prisoner to the Tower.
About the time that King James fled from White
hall he disguised himself in the habit of a common

THE TOWER. 501
saUor, and took up his abode in a small house at
Wapping. It was generally supposed that he had
accompanied the king in his flight ; but one day,
as he was looking out of his window with a sea
man's cap on, he was recognised by a clerk in
Chancery, who immediately gave such information
as led to his arrest. On his way to the lord
mayor it was with the greatest difficulty that the
mob could be prevented from tearing him to
pieces. The effect which his presence produced
on the lord mayor was very different. So im
pressed was he with terror at having to sit in
judgment over the dreaded and inhuman chan
cellor, that during the examination he was seized
with a fit of apoplexy, of which he shortly after
ward died. Either overcome by his misfortunes,
or wUling to drown the memory of his crimes,
Jefferies, while a prisoner in the Tower, addicted
himself more than ever to intemperate drinking ;
and this circumstance, added to the blows and
bruises which he had received from the mob,
shortly afterward threw him into a fever, of which
he died. The warrant for his burial in the Tower
Chapel is endorsed, " George, Lord Jefferies, died
19th April, 1689, thirty-five minutes past four in
the moming."
The principal prisoners in the Tower, in the
reign of WUliam the Third, were the well-known
Arthur Herbert, Eari of Torrington, committed in
1 690, for his conduct in the action with the French

502 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
fleet off Beechy Head ; Richard, Viscount Preston,
condemned to death for high treason, but subse
quently pardoned ; John, afterward the celebrated
Duke of Marlborough ; Charles, Lord Mohun ;
and the gallant and lamented Sir John Fenwick.
It is remarkable that Lord Mohun was twice
committed for murder during this reign. The first
occasion was in 1692, for the murder of the cele
brated actor, William Mountford, — the beautiful
actress, Mrs. Bracegirdle, being the origin of the
quarrel. He was again committed, in 1699, with
Edward, Earl of Warwick, for the murder of
Richard Coote, Esq., but on both occasions was
acquitted at his trial. He subsequently fought
his famous duel with James, Duke of Hamilton,
in Hyde Park, in 171 2, on which occasion both
combatants were slain.
Sir John Fenwick, having been found guUty of
high treason, was beheaded on Tower Hill, on the
28th of January, 1697. He died much lamented
for his manly qualities, and it was affirmed that,
in signing the warrant for his execution. King
William was influenced by feelings of personal
hostUity and dislike. That a feeling of mutual
ill-wUl existed between the king and Fenwick
there can be no doubt. It seems to have origi
nated in a severe reprimand, which Fenwick re
ceived from William, then Prince of Orange, at the
siege of Maestricht, which the former repaid by
seizing every opportunity of loading the prince

THE TOWER. 503
with abuse. So violent, indeed, were his invec
tives, that WUliam once observed, that "had he
been a private person, he must have cut Sir John's
throat." Much, however, as we may lament the
melancholy fate of a brave man, there can be
little question, that, in signing the death-warrant
of Sir John Fenwick, WUliam merely followed the
strict line marked out for him by both policy and
justice. During the reign of Queen Anne, the Tower
presents but slight features of interest. Compara
tively but few persons were imprisoned here dur
ing her reign, and of these. Sir Robert Walpole —
committed in 171 2, "for high breach of trust and
notorious corruption " — is the only individual
whose name is familiar to us in history. That he
was innocent of the charges preferred against him
there can be but little doubt ; whUe the esteem
and admiration with which his own party contin
ued to regard him, must have gone far to soften
the rigour of imprisonment. So crowded was his
apartment in the Tower by persons of the first
rank and distinction, that it is said to have far
more resembled a splendid levee than the prison
of a proscribed man. Among his constant visitors
were the great Duke of Marlborough and his
beautiful duchess ; the celebrated ministers. Lords
Godolphin, Somers, and Sunderland ; and the fa
mous Pulteney, — then his most intimate friend,
but afterward his bitterest enemy. The apart-

504 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
ment occupied by Walpole in the Tower was
subsequently inhabited by the once celebrated
poet, George Granville, Lord Lansdown, when, in
17 15, that nobleman suffered imprisonment for
his attachment to the house of Stuart. Walpole
had written his name on the window, and the cir
cumstance being pointed out to Lord Lansdown,
he inscribed beneath it the following lines :
" Good unexpected, evil unforeseen.
Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene.
Some, raised aloft, come tumbling down amain,
And fall so hard, they bound and rise again."
In June, 171 5, shortly after the accession of
George the First, Robert Harley, Eari of Oxford,
was arrested for high treason, and committed to
the Tower, whither he was followed by large
crowds of people, who showed how deeply they
sympathised with the altered fortunes of the once
powerful statesman. He remained in prison about
two years, when, on his own petition, he was
brought to trial before the House of Peers, and
was unanimously acquitted. A fellow prisoner
with the Earl of Oxford in the Tower was the
eloquent and accomplished statesman. Sir William
Wyndham, who was committed in August, 171 5,
for his supposed intrigues on behalf of the house
of Stuart. He was never brought to trial, and
obtained his release after a short imprisonment.
The suppression of the Scottish insurrection, in

THE TOWER. 505
171 5, crowded the Tower with several gallant and
unfortunate prisoners. Among these were James
Radcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater; WUliam Max
well, Earl of Nithsdale ; Robert Dalziel, Earl of
Carnwath ; George Seton, Earl of Wintoun ; WUl
iam Gordon, Viscount Kenmure; William Wid-
drington. Lord Widdrington ; and WUliam Murray,
Lord Nairn. Of these devoted adherents to the
house of Stuart, two only, the Earl of Derwent
water and Lord Kenmure, suffered on the scaffold.
The Earl of Nithsdale contrived to escape from
the Tower in female attire, and Lord Wintoun, by
sawing through the bars of his prison and induc
ing his keepers to connive in his flight. Lord
Nairn was respited and subsequently pardoned,
and the Earl of Carnwath and Lord Widdrington
were released by the Act of Grace in 171 7.
The Earl of Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure
were executed on the same scaffold, on the 24th
of February, 17 16. The gallant Derwentwater
was the first who suffered. About ten o'clock in
the morning he was brought in a coach from the
Tower to the Transport Office on Tower Hill.
After remaining there a short time, he was led
through an avenue of soldiers to the scaffold,
which was erected directly opposite, and was en
tirely covered with black. As he ascended the
fatal steps, he was observed to turn pale, but his
voice remained firm, and he preserved his natural
composure. Having passed about a quarter of

506 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
an hour in prayer, he read aloud a paper to the
bystanders, in which he professed the most un
shaken loyalty to the Chevalier St. George, whom
alone he acknowledged as his lawful sovereign.
He then closely examined the block, and finding
a rough place on it, he desired the executioner
to chip it off with his axe. This being done, he
took off his coat and waistcoat, and told the
executioner, who knelt down to receive his for
giveness, that he would find something in the
pockets to reward him for his trouble. Having
first of all lain down and fitted his neck to the
block, he repeated a short prayer, after which he
told the executioner that the sign he should give
him to strike would be by repeating three times
the words, " Lord Jesus receive my soul ! " and
by stretching out his arms. He then once more
fitted his neck to the block, and having given the
appointed signal, the executioner performed his
office at a single blow.
The virtuous and amiable Lord Kenmure was
then brought on the scaffold, attended by his son,
a few friends, and two clergymen of the Church
of England. He mounted the steps with great
firmness, and advancing to one side of the scaf
fold, passed some time in devotion, in which he
was heard to pray audibly for the exiled prince
in whose cause he suffered. Having concluded
his devotions, he presented the executioner with
some money, telling him he should give him no

THE TOWER. 507
sign, but that, when he had lain down, he was to
strike whenever he thought fit. He then knelt
down, and having passed a few moments in in
ward devotion, placed his neck upon the block
with his arms clasped tightly around it, when the
executioner, seizing his opportunity, raised his
axe, and at two blows severed his head from his
body. On the 24th of August, 1722, the celebrated
Francis Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, was com
mitted to the Tower, where he was subjected to
a series of privations and oppression, which were
disgraceful to the ministry which authorised them,
but which he endured with the piety of a Chris
tian, and the dignity of a phUosopher.
" How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour ;
How shines his soul unconquered in the Tower."
He remained in the Tower tUl the i8th of June,
1723, on which day he was conducted on board
the Aldborough, man-of-war, and bade farewell
for ever to his native country. The bishop
died in exile in Paris on the 15 th of February,
1731- We would wiUingly dwell on the melancholy
fate of the " rebel lords " who were committed
to the Tower after the fatal battle of CuUoden,
but their stories are so familiar to every one,
that a repetition would scarcely be considered
excusable. The old Marquis of TuUibardine —

508 MEMORIALS OF LONDON.
" High-minded Moray, the exiled, the dear ! " —
died in the Tower a few months after his com
mittal, and Lord Kilmarnock and the intrepid
Lord Balmerino were beheaded on Tower HUl on
the 1 8th of August.
Charles Radcliffe, brother of the unfortunate
Earl of Derwentwater, was decapitated on the
same spot, on the Sth of December following ;
and lastly, the hoary traitor, Lord Lovat, — - after
a hearty meal, and with a jest on his lips, — laid
down his life on the scaffold on Tower Hill, on
the 7th of AprU, 1747. The only other prisoner
of note, in the reign of George the Second, was
Laurence, fourth Earl Ferrers, who was hanged
at Tyburn, on the 5 th of May, 1760, for killing
his steward, Mr. Johnson.
As we approach nearer to more humane and
civUised times, the annals of the Tower naturally
present fewer incidents of stirring or romantic in
terest. Nevertheless, during the reigns of George
the Third and Fourth, we find the Tower contain
ing more than one prisoner whose name history
has rendered famUiar to us. Here, in 1762, the
celebrated John Wilkes was committed for his
libel on the king in the forty-fifth number of
the North Briton ; Lord George Gordon was sent
to the Tower, in 1780, as the principal author of
the Protestant riots ; Home Tooke, and his sedi
tious associates, in 1794; Arthur O'Connor, and

THE TOWER. S09
Others, for high treason, in 1798; Sir Francis
Burdett, forthe same offence, in 18 10; and lastly,
here were confined, in 1 820, Arthur Thistlewood
and the other actors in the notorious Cato Street
conspiracy.

THE END

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