“Do not lose time,” cried the old woman, “we may be followed, and retaken.”
Still Jane hesitated. She cast another look towards the doorway, and the idea crossed her, that from that very outlet she should be led to execution. A deadly chill pervaded her frame, – and her feet seemed nailed to the ground. Seeing her irresolution, Cicely threw herself on her knees before her, and implored her to make an effort. Jane advanced a step, and then paused. After remaining a moment in deep abstraction, she turned to Cicely, and said, – .
“Child, I thank you for your zeal, but I feel it is useless. Though I may escape from the Tower, I cannot escape my fate.” Cicely, however, renewed her entreaties, and seconded by Chomondeley she at length prevailed. Pursuing the same course which Gunnora had taken on the night she was brought to the Tower by Simon Renard, they at length arrived at the shed at the further side of the moat.
“You are now safe,” said Gunnora. “Hasten to Sion House, and if my plan does not fail, your husband shall join you there before many hours have passed.”
So saying, she departed. Jane and her attendants crossed Tower Hill, from which she turned to gaze at the scene of her greatness, indistinctly visible in the gloom – and so agonizing were the thoughts occasioned by the sight that she burst into tears. As soon as she had recovered from her paroxysm of grief, they proceeded to the river side, where they fortunately procured a boat, and were rowed towards Sion House.
XVII. – IN WHAT MANNER JANE WAS BROUGHT BACK TO THE TOWER OF LONDON
Gunnora Braose kept her word. Before daybreak, Lord Guilford Dudley joined his afflicted consort. Their meeting was passionate and sad. As Jane ardently returned her husband’s fond embrace, she cried – “Oh, my dear lord, that we had never been deluded by the false glitter, of greatness to quit this calm retreat! Oh that we may be permitted to pass the remainder of our days here!”
“I have not yet abandoned all hopes of the throne,” replied Dudley. “Our fortunes may be retrieved.”
“Never,” returned Jane, gravely – “never so far as I am concerned. Were the crown to be again offered to me – were I assured I could retain it, I would not accept it. No, Dudley, the dream of ambition is over; and I am fully sensible of the error I have committed.”
“As you please, my queen, for I will still term you so,” rejoined Dudley – “but if my father is in arms, I will join him, and we will make one last effort for the prize, and regain it, or perish in the attempt.”
“Your wild ambition will lead you to the scaffold – and will conduct me there, also,” replied Jane. “If we could not hold the power when it was in our own hands – how can you hope to regain it?”
“It is not lost – I will not believe it, till I am certified under my father’s own hand that he has abandoned the enterprise,” rejoined Dudley. “You know him not, Jane. With five thousand men at his command – nay, with a fifth of that number, he is more than a match for all his enemies. We shall yet live to see him master of the Tower – of this rebellious city, we shall yet see our foes led to the scaffold. And if I see the traitors, Renard, Pembroke and Arundel, conducted thither I will excuse Fortune all her malice.”
“Heaven forgive them their treason as I forgive them!” exclaimed Jane. “But I fear their enmity will not be satisfied till they have brought us to the block to which you would doom them.”
“This is not a season for reproaches, Jane,” said Dudley, coldly; “but if you had not trusted that false traitor, Renard, – if you had not listened to his pernicious counsels, – if you had not refused my suit for the crown, and urged my father to undertake the expedition against Mary, – all had been well. You had been queen – and I king.”
“Your reproaches are deserved, Dudley,” replied Jane, “and you cannot blame me more severely than I blame myself. Nevertheless, had I acceded to your desires, – had I raised you to the sovereignty, – had I turned a deaf ear to Renard’s counsel, and not suffered myself to be duped by his allies Arundel and Pembroke, – had I retained your father in the Tower, – my reign would not have been of much longer duration.”
“I do not understand you, madam,” said Lord Guilford, sternly.
“To be plain, then,” replied Jane, – “for disguise is useless now – I am satisfied that your father aimed at the crown himself, – that I was merely placed on the throne to prepare it for him, – and that when the time arrived, he would have removed me.”
“Jane!” exclaimed her husband, furiously.
“Have patience, dear Dudley!” she rejoined. “I say not this to rouse your anger, or to breed further misunderstanding between us. Heaven knows we have misery enough to endure without adding to it. I say it to reconcile you to your lot. I say it to check the spirit of ambition which I find is yet smouldering within your bosom. I say it to prevent your joining in any fresh attempt with your father, which will assuredly end in the destruction of both.”
“But you have brought a charge so foul against him, madam,” cried her husband, “that as his son, I am bound to tell you you are grievously in error.”
“Dudley,” replied Jane, firmly, “I have proofs that the Duke poisoned my cousin, King Edward. I have proofs also, that he would have poisoned me.”
“It is false,” cried her husband, furiously – “it is a vile calumny fabricated by his enemies. You have been imposed upon.”
“Not so, my lord,” cried Gunnora Braose, who had been an unseen listener to the conversation. “It is no calumny. The royal Edward was poisoned by me at your ‘father’s instigation. And you and your consort would have shared the same fate.”
“False hag! thou liest,” cried Lord Guilford.
“Read that,” replied Gunnora, placing a document in his hands. “It is my order in the Duke’s own writing. Do you credit me now.”
Dudley hastily cast his eyes over the scroll. His countenance fell, and the paper dropped from his grasp.
“And now hear my news,” continued the old woman, with a smile of exultation. “Your father has proclaimed Queen Mary at Cambridge.”
“Impossible!” cried Dudley.
“I tell you it is true,” replied Gunnora – “a messenger arrived at midnight with the tidings, and it was during the confusion created by the intelligence that I contrived to effect your escape. The Earl of Arundel is despatched to arrest him, and, ere to-morrow night, he will be lodged within the Tower. Yes,” she continued with a ferocious laugh – “I shall see him placed in the same dungeon in which he lodged my foster-son, the great Duke of Somerset. I shall see his head stricken off by the same axe, and upon the same scaffold, and I shall die content.”
“Horrible!” cried Jane. “Leave us, wretched woman. Your presence adds to my affliction.”
“I will leave you, dear lady,” replied Gunnora – “but though absent from you, I will not fail to watch over you. I have powerful friends within the Tower, and if any ill be designed you, I will give you timely warning. Farewell!”
A miserable and anxious day was passed by Jane and her husband. Lord Guilford would fain have departed with Chol-mondeley to join his father at Cambridge, but suffered himself to be dissuaded from the rash undertaking, by the tears and entreaties of his consort. As to Cicely and her lover, their sympathies were so strongly excited for the distresses of Jane, that the happiness they would otherwise have experienced in each other’s society, was wholly destroyed. At night, as the little party were assembled, Gunnora Braose again made her appearance, and her countenance bespoke that some new danger was at hand.
“What ill tidings do you bring?” cried Dudley, starting to his feet.
“Fly!” exclaimed Gunnora. “You have not a moment to lose. Simon Renard has discovered your retreat, and Lord Clinton, with a body of men, is hastening hither to convey you to the Tower. Fly!”
“Whither?” exclaimed Lord Guilford. “Whither shall we fly?”
“It is useless, my dear lord,” replied Jane, calmly, “to contend further. I resign myself to the hands of Providence, and I counsel you to do the same.”
“Come then with me, Cholmondeley,” cried Dudley, snatching up his cloak, and girding on his sword, “we will to horse at once, and join my father at Cambridge. If he has a handful of men left we can yet make a gallant defence.”
“The Duke is arrested, and on his way to the Tower,” said Gunnora.
“Ha!” exclaimed Dudley, “when did this occur?”
“Yesterday,” replied the old woman. “He was taken within his chamber by my grandson, Gilbert Pot, who has received a hundred pounds in lands, and the degree of an esquire, for the deed. He submitted himself to the Earl of Arundel, and his deportment was as abject as it formerly was arrogant. When he saw the Earl, he fell on his knees, and desired him to have pity on him for the love of God. ‘Consider.’ he said, ‘I have done nothing but by the order of you and the whole Council.’ Then the Earl of Arundel replied, ‘I am sent hither by the Queen’s majesty, and in her name I arrest you.’ ‘And I obey it, my lord.’ answered the Duke. ‘I beseech you use mercy towards me, knowing the case as it is.’ ‘My lord,’ rejoined the Earl, ‘you should have sought mercy sooner. I must do according to my commandment. You are my prisoner!’ And he committed him in charge to my grandson and others of the guard.”
“How learnt you this?” inquired Lord Guilford.
“From a messenger who has just arrived at the Tower,” replied the old woman – “and this is the last act of the great Duke of Northumberland. We shall soon see how he comports himself on the scaffold.”
“Begone,” cried Jane, “and do not stay here to deride our misery.”.
“I am not come hither to deride it,” replied the old woman, “but to warn you.”
“I thank you for your solicitude,” replied Jane – “but, it is needless. Retire all of you, I entreat, and leave me with my husband.”
Her injunctions were immediately complied with, and her attendants withdrew. The unfortunate pair were not, however, allowed much time for conversation. Before they had been many minutes alone, the door was burst open, and a troop of armed men headed by Lord Clinton, the lieutenant of the Tower, rushed in.
“I am aware of your errand, my lord,” said Jane; “you are come to convey me to the Tower. I am ready to attend you.”
“It is well,” replied Lord Clinton. “If you have any preparations to make, you shall have time for them.”
“I have none, my lord,” she replied.
“Nor I,” replied Lord Guilford.
“My sole request is, that I may take one female attendant with me,” said Jane, pointing to Cicely.
“I am sorry I cannot comply with the request,” answered Lord Clinton, “but my orders are peremptory.”
“Will my esquire be permitted to accompany me?” inquired Dudley.
“If he chooses to incur the risk of so doing, assuredly,” replied Clinton. “But he will go into captivity.”
“I will follow my Lord Guilford to death,” cried Cholmondeley.
“You are a faithful esquire, indeed!” observed Lord Clinton, with a slight sneer.
While this was passing, Cicely hastily threw a surcoat of velvet over her mistress’s shoulders, to protect her from the night air, and then prostrating herself before her, clasped her hand, and bedewed it with tears.
“Rise, child,” said Jane, raising her and embracing her – “Farewell! may you be speedily united to your lover, and may your life be happier than that of your unfortunate mistress!”
“My barge awaits you at the stairs,” observed Lord Clinton.
“We will follow you, my lord,” said Dudley.
Leaning upon Cicely, Jane, who was scarcely able to support herself, was placed in the stern of the boat. Her husband took his seat near her, and two men-at-arms, with drawn swords, were stationed as a guard on either side of them. Bidding a hasty adieu to the weeping Cicely, Cholmondeley sprang into the boat, and was followed by Clinton, who immediately gave the signal to the rowers. Cicely lingered till the bark disappeared, and as two halberdiers bearing torches were placed in the fore part of the vessel, she was enabled to track its course far down the river. When the last glimmer of light vanished, her heart died within her, and she returned to indulge her grief in solitude.
Meanwhile, the boat with its unhappy occupants pursued a rapid course. The tide being in their favour they shortly reached London, and as they swept past Durham House – whence, only twelve days ago, she had proceeded in so much pomp to the Tower – Jane’s feelings became too poignant almost for endurance. The whole pageant rose before her in all its splendour. Again she heard the roar of the cannon announcing her departure. Again she beheld the brilliant crowd of proud nobles, gaily-dressed cavaliers, lovely and high-born dames, grave prelates, judges and ambassadors. Again she beheld the river glistening with golden craft. Again she heard the ominous words of Gunnora, ‘Go not to the Tower!’ Again she beheld the fierce lightning flash, again heard the loud thunder roll – and she felt she had received a deep and awful warning. These thoughts affected her so powerfully, that she sank half fainting on her husband’s shoulder.
In this state she continued till they had shot London Bridge, and the first object upon which her gaze rested, when she opened her eyes, was the Tower.
Here again other harrowing recollections arose. How different was the present, from her former entrance into the fortress! Then a deafening roar of ordnance welcomed her. Then all she passed saluted her as Queen. Then drawbridges were lowered, gates opened, and each vied with the other to show her homage. Then a thousand guards attended her. Then allegiance was sworn – fidelity vowed – but how kept? Now all was changed. She was brought a prisoner to the scene of her former grandeur, unattended, unnoted.
Striving to banish these reflections, which, in spite of her efforts, obtruded themselves upon her, she strained her gaze to discover through the gloom the White Towrer, but could discern nothing but a sombre mass like a thunder-cloud. St. Thomas’s, or Traitor’s Tower was, however, plainly distinguishable, as several armed men carrying flambeaux were stationed on its summit.
The boat was now challenged by the sentinels – merely as a matter of form, for its arrival was expected, – and almost before the answer could be returned by those on board, a wicket, composed of immense beams of wood, was opened, and the boat shot beneath the gloomy arch. Never had Jane experienced a feeling of such horror as now assailed her – and if she had been crossing the fabled Styx she could not have felt greater dread. Her blood seemed congealed within her veins as she gazed around. The lurid light of the torches fell upon the black dismal arch – upon the slimy walls, and upon the yet blacker tide. Nothing was heard but the sullen ripple of the water, for the men had ceased rowing, and the boat impelled by their former efforts soon struck against the steps. The shock recalled Jane to consciousness. Several armed figures bearing torches were now seen to descend the steps. The customary form of delivering the warrant, and receiving an acknowledgement for the bodies of the prisoners being gone through, Lord Clinton, who stood upon the lowest step, requested Jane to disembark. Summoning all her resolution, she arose, and giving her hand to the officer, who stood with a drawn sword beside her, was assisted by him and a warder to land. Lord Clinton received her as she set foot on the step. By his aid she slowly ascended the damp and slippery steps, at the summit of which, two personages were standing, whom she instantly recognised as Renard and De Noailles. The former regarded her with a smile of triumph, and said in a tone of bitter mockery as she passed him – “So – Epiphany is over. The Twelfth Day Queen has played her part.”
“My lord,” said Jane, turning disdainfully from him to Lord Clinton – “will it please you to conduct me to my lodging?”
“What he! warders,” cried Lord Clinton, addressing the gigantic brethren who were standing near – “Conduct Lady Jane Dudley to Master Partridge’s dwelling till her chamber within the Brick Tower is prepared. Lord Guilford Dudley must be taken to the Beauchamp Tower.”
“Are we to be separated?” cried Jane.
“Such are the Queen’s commands,” replied Lord Clinton, in a tone of deep commiseration.
“The Queen’s!” exclaimed Jane.
“Ay! the Queen’s!” repeated Renard. “Queen Mary of England, whom Heaven long preserve!”
THUS FAR THE FIRST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF THE TOWER OF LONDON
BOOK THE SECOND
I. – OF THE ARRIVAL OF QUEEN MARY IN LONDON; OF HER ENTRANCE INTO THE TOWER; AND OF HER RECEPTION OF THE PRISONERS ON THE GREEN
MARY made her public entry into the city of London, on the 3d of August, 1553. The most magnificent preparations were made for her arrival, and as the procession of the usurper – for such Jane was now universally termed, – to the Tower, had been remarkable for its pomp and splendour, it was determined, on the present occasion, to surpass it. The Queen’s entrance was arranged to take place at Aldgate, and the streets along which she was to pass were covered with fine gravel from thence to the Tower, and railed on either side. Within the rails stood the crafts of the city, in the dresses of their order; and at certain intervals were stationed the officers of the guard and their attendants, arrayed in velvet and silk, and having great staves in their hands to keep off the crowd.
Hung with rich arras, tapestry, carpets, and, in some instances, with cloths of tissue gold and velvet, the houses presented a gorgeous appearance. Every window was filled with richly-attired dames, while the roofs, walls, gables, and steeples, were crowded with curious spectators. The tower of the old church of Saint Botolph, the ancient walls of the city, westward as far as Bishopgate, and eastward to the Tower postern, were thronged with beholders. Every available position had its occupant. St. Catherine Coleman’s in Fenchurch Street – for it was decided that the royal train was to make a slight detour – Saint Dennis Backchurch; Saint Benedict’s; All Hallows, Lombard Street; in short, every church, as well as every other structure, was covered.
The Queen, who had passed the previous night at Bow, set forth at noon, and in less than an hour afterwards, loud acclamations, and still louder discharges of ordnance, announced her approach. The day was as magnificent as the spectacle – the sky was deep and cloudless, and the sun shone upon countless hosts of bright and happy faces. At the bars without Aldgate, on the Whitechapel road, Queen Mary was met by the Princess Elizabeth, accompanied by a large cavalcade of knights and dames. An affectionate greeting passed between the royal sisters, who had not met since the death of Edward, and the usurpation of Jane, by which both their claims to the throne had been set aside. But it was noted by those who closely observed them, that Mary’s manner grew more grave as Elizabeth rode by her side. The Queen was mounted upon a beautiful milk-white palfrey, caparisoned in crimson velvet, fringed with golden thread. She was habited in a robe of violet-coloured velvet, furred with powdered ermine, and wore upon her head a caul of cloth of tinsel set with pearls, and above this a massive circlet of gold covered with gems of inestimable value. Though a contrary opinion is generally entertained, Mary was not without some pretension to beauty. Her figure was short and slight, but well proportioned; her complexion rosy and delicate; and her eyes bright and piercing, though, perhaps, too stern in their expression. Her mouth was small, with thin compressed lips, which gave an austere and morose character to an otherwise-pleasing face. If she had not the commanding port of her father, Henry the Eighth, nor the proud beauty of her mother, Catherine of Arragon, she inherited sufficient majesty and grace from them to well fit her for her lofty station.
No one has suffered more from misrepresentation than this queen. Not only have her failings been exaggerated, and ill qualities, which she did not possess, attributed to her, but the virtues that undoubtedly belonged to her, have been denied her. A portrait, perhaps too flatteringly coloured, has been left of her by Michele, but still it is nearer the truth than the darker presentations with which we are more familiar. “As to the more important qualities of her mind, with a few trifling exceptions, (in which, to speak the truth, she is like other women, since besides being hasty and somewhat resentful, she is rather more parsimonious and miserly than is fitting a munificent and liberal sovereign,) she has in other respects no notable imperfection, and in some things she is without equal; for not only she is endowed with a spirit beyond other women who are naturally timid, but is so courageous and resolute that no adversity nor danger ever caused her to betray symptoms of pusillanimity. On the contrary, she has ever preserved a greatness of mind and dignity that is admirable, knowing as well what is due to the rank she holds as the wisest of her councillors, so that in her conduct and proceedings during the whole of her life, it cannot be denied she has always proved herself to be the offspring of a truly royal stock. Of her humility, piety, and observance of religious duties, it is unnecessary to speak, since they are well known, and have been proved by sufferings little short of martyrdom; so that we may truly say of her with the Cardinal, that amidst the darkness and obscurity which overshadowed this kingdom, she remained like a faint flame strongly agitated by winds which strove to extinguish it, but always kept alive by her innocence and true faith, in order that she might one day shine to the world, as she now does.” Other equally strong testimonies to her piety and virtue might be adduced. By Camden she is termed a “lady never sufficiently to be praised for her sanctity, charity, and liberality.” And by Bishop Godwin – “a woman truly pious, benign, and of most chaste manners, and to be lauded, if you do not regard her failure in religion.” It was this “failure in religion” which has darkened her in the eyes of her Protestant posterity. With so many good qualities it is to be lamented that they were overshadowed by bigotry.
If Mary did not possess the profound learning of Lady Jane Grey, she possessed more than ordinary mental acquirements. A perfect mistress of Latin, French, Spanish and Italian, she conversed in the latter language with fluency. She had extraordinary powers of eloquence when roused by any great emotion, and having a clear logical understanding, was well fitted for argument. Her courage was undaunted; and she possessed much of the firmness of character – obstinacy it might perhaps be termed, of her father. In the graceful accomplishment of the dance, she excelled, and was passionately fond of music, playing with skill on three instruments, the virginals, the regals, and the lute. She was fond of equestrian exercise, and would often indulge in the chace. She revived all the old sports and games which had been banished as savouring of mummery by the votaries of the reformed faith. One of her sins in their eyes was a fondness for rich apparel. In the previous reign female attire was remarkable for its simplicity. She introduced costly stuffs, sumptuous dresses, and French fashions.
In personal attractions the Princess Elizabeth far surpassed her sister. She was then in the bloom of youth, and though she could scarcely be termed positively beautiful, she had a very striking appearance, being tall, portly, with bright blue eyes, and exquisitely formed hands, which she took great pains to display.
As soon as Elizabeth had taken her place behind the Queen, the procession set forward. The first part of the cavalcade consisted of gentlemen clad in doublets of blue velvet, with sleeves of orange and red, mounted on chargers trapped with close housings of blue sarsenet powdered with white crosses. After them rode esquires and knights, according to their degree, two and two, well mounted, and richly apparelled in cloth of gold, silver, or embroidered velvet, “fresh and goodlie to behold.” Then came the trumpeters, with silken pennons fluttering from their clarions, who did their devoir gallantly. Then a litter covered with cloth of gold, drawn by richly-caparisoned horses, and filled by sumptuously-apparelled dames. Then an immense retinue of nobles, knights, and gentlemen, with their attendants, all dressed in velvets, satins, taffeties, and damask of all colours, and of every device and fashion – there being no lack of cloths of tissue, gold, silver, embroidery, or goldsmith’s work. Then came forty high-born damsels mounted on steeds, trapped with red velvet, arrayed in gowns and kirtles of the same material. Then followed two other litters covered with red satin. Then came the Queen’s body guard of archers, clothed in scarlet, bound with black velvet, bearing on their doublets a rose woven in gold, under which was an imperial crown. Then came the judges; then the doctors; then the bishops; then the council; and, lastly, the knights of the Bath in their robes.
Before the Queen rode six lords, bare-headed, four of whom carried golden maces. Foremost amongst these rode the Earls of Pembroke and Arundel, bearing the arms and crown. They were clothed in robes of tissue, embroidered with roses of fine gold, and each was girt with a baldrick of massive gold. Their steeds were trapped in burnt silver, drawn over with cords of green silk and gold, the edges of their apparel being fretted with gold and damask. The Queen’s attire has been already described. She was attended by six lacqueys habited in vests of gold, and by a female attendant in a grotesque attire, whom she retained as her jester, and who was known among her household by the designation of Jane the Fool. The Princess Elizabeth followed, after whom came a numerous guard of archers and arquebussiers. The retinue was closed by the train of the ambassadors, Noailles and Renard. A loud discharge of ordnance announced the Queen’s arrival at Aldgate. This was immediately answered by the Tower guns, and a tremendous and deafening shout rent the air. Mary appeared greatly affected by this exhibition of joy, and as she passed under the ancient gate which brought her into the city, and beheld the multitudes assembled to receive her, and heard their shouts of welcome, she was for a moment overcome by her feelings. But she speedily recovered herself, and acknowledged the stunning cries with a graceful inclination of her person.
Upon a stage on the left, immediately within the gate, stood a large assemblage of children, attired like wealthy merchants, one of whom – who represented the famous Whittington – pronounced an oration to the Queen, to which she vouchsafed a gracious reply. Before this stage was drawn up a little phalanx, called the “Nine children of honour.” These youths were clothed in velvet, powdered with flowers-de-luce, and were mounted on great coursers, each of which had embroidered on its housing a scutcheon of the Queen’s title – as of England, France, Gascony, Guienne, Normandy, Anjou, Cornwall, Wales and Ireland. As soon as the oration was ended, the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Sheriffs, and their officers and attendants, rode forth to welcome the Queen to the city. The Lord Mayor was clothed in a gown of crimson velvet, decorated with the collar of SS., and carried the mace. He took his place before the Earl of Arundel, and after some little delay the cavalcade was again set in motion. First marched the different civic crafts, with bands of minstrelsy and banners; then the children who had descended from the stage; then the nine youths of honour; then the city guard; and then the Queen’s cavalcade as before described.
Mary was everywhere received with the loudest demonstrations of joy. Prayers, wishes, welcomings, and vociferations attended her progress. Nothing was heard but “God save your highness – God send you a long and happy reign.” To these cries, whenever she could make herself heard, the Queen rejoined, “God save you, all my people. I thank you with all my heart.” Gorgeous pageants were prepared at every corner. The conduits ran wine. The crosses and standards in the city wore newly painted and burnished. The bells pealed, and loud-voiced cannon roared. Triumphal arches covered with flowers, and adorned with banners, targets, and rich stuffs, crossed the streets. Largesse was showered among the crowd with a liberal hand, and it was evident that Mary’s advent was hailed on all hands as the harbinger of prosperity. The train proceeded along Fenchurch Street, where was a “marvellous cunning’ pageant, representing the fountain of Helicon, made by the merchants of the Stillyard; the fountain ran abundantly-racked Rhenish wine till night.” At the corner of Gracechurch Street there was another pageant, raised to a great height, on the summit of which were four pictures; above these stood an angel robed in green, with a trumpet to its mouth, which was sounded at the Queen’s approach, to the “great marvelling of many ignorant persons.” Here she was harangued by the Recorder; after which the Chamberlain presented her with a purse of cloth of gold, containing a thousand marks. The purse she graciously received, but the money she distributed among the assemblage. At the corner of Gracechurch Street another stage was erected. It was filled with the loveliest damsels that could be found, with their hair loosened and floating over their shoulders, and carrying large branches of white wax. This was by far the prettiest spectacle she had witnessed, and elicited Mary’s particular approbation. Her attention, however, was immediately afterwards attracted to the adjoining stage, which was filled with Romish priests in rich copes, with crosses and censers of silver, which they waved as the Queen approached, while an aged prelate advanced to pronounce a solemn benediction upon her. Mary immediately dismounted, and received it on her knees. This action was witnessed with some dislike by the multitude, and but few shouts were raised as she again mounted her palfrey. But it was soon forgotten, and the same cheers that had hitherto attended her accompanied her to the Tower. Traversing East-cheap, which presented fresh crowds, and offered fresh pageants to her view, she entered Tower Street, where she was welcomed by larger throngs than before, and with greater enthusiasm than ever. In this way she reached Tower Hill, where a magnificent spectacle burst upon her.