Have you ever heard of the Dogs' Home? It is for all the poor lost dogs that the policemen find in the streets of London. Once upon a time there was a very naughty little dog called Scamp; he had long pepper-and-salt hair, and very short legs, and he did not think it was fun to go with the children of the house he lived in for their walk in the Park: he wanted something more exciting, so he waited until they were not looking, and then scampered off after another big dog he saw in the distance. The big dog was very friendly, and began to play and run about, and Scamp went after him as fast as his little short legs would go; and by-and-by he grew tired, and lay down, panting, on the pavement, and the big dog went away home. Then Scamp saw a cat coming very slowly across the street to the little strip of grass that was surrounded by a railing on the other side, and if there was one thing he hated it was cats—nasty, cowardly,furry things! So he banged up suddenly, and the cat went off like a shot, and Scamp after her; but when he had chased her for quite a long time, she ran up a tree, and he could only stand and bark. A greengrocer's boy pretended to bark too, and teased him; so he grew cross, and thought he would go home. But he discovered all at once that he did not know where home was, or even in which direction; and he ran a little in one direction and a little in another, and then set off running at full speed, with his long tail down between his legs. A woman called to him and tried to stop him, but he only dodged her and ran faster, until he came to a wide street full of shops, and here people walking about, and carriages and cabs driving past, and he got quite bewildered; and then, just when he was in despair, a policeman caught hold of him and looked for his collar. Now, the silly little dog had not got his collar on. Ethel had taken it off that morning to rub up his name and address, and make them look nice and bright, and when she wanted to put it on again, he had raced round the room and played, and would not let her catch him until the governess had called out that it was lesson-time; so Ethel had gone down, leaving the collar lying on the table, and after lesson-time hadforgotten all about it. So the big policeman did not know to whom the dog belonged or where to take him. Scamp was too well-mannered a little dog to bite, but he tried to get down when the policeman took him up and struggled hard. The policeman only laughed, and patted his head. 'No, no, my fine fellow,' he said good-naturedly; 'there'll be someone looking for you, or I'm much mistaken, and I must do my best to let them find you.' So he took him to a police-station near, and very soon Scamp was sent down with a shivering little fox-terrier to the Dogs' Home at Battersea.
He did not understand that it was his only chance of getting home; for Ethel and Jack's father would know about the home, and send there to see if he were there first of all. And he thought that the people at the Dogs' Home were going to keep him all his life, and he did not like the idea at all. For many dogs it would have been a comfortable place. There were nice little kennels and good beds of hay, and plenty of drinking water and clean good biscuit to eat, and little yards to run about in; but Scamp was not happy. He was accustomed to live in the house and sleep on the chairs, and be petted and made a fuss with, and nobody took any notice of him here. He was veryhungry, though, so he tried to eat a little of the dog-biscuit; but in the middle he suddenly thought of Ethel and Jack and how he loved them, and that he should never find them again, and he stopped eating because a great lump seemed to stick in his throat, and he went and sat down in a corner of the yard, just a heap of gray hair and unhappiness. Presently a man came and patted him and spoke kindly to him, but he took no notice. He thought how often he had been cross when Ethel had hurt him in combing his hair, though she had only been trying to make him look nice, and how sulky he had been many times when she wanted to play with him; and he thought if only he could get back he would be so good. All the bad things he had done in his life came into his mind as he sat in the yard. He remembered that, when he was only a puppy, about a year ago, he had worried one of Ethel's dolls, and she had cried, and he had licked her face and tried to tell her he was sorry, and she had flung her arms round him, and said: 'Never mind, dear good old Scamp! I love you more than all the dolls, and I know you didn't mean it.' How good she was always! He loved her better than Jack, though she did tease him. She had often dressed himup in her dolls' clothes and made him lie upside down in her arms in a very uncomfortable position, while she pretended he was a baby.
He had killed a canary once, and once—it was very sad, and he did not quite know how it had happened—he had got on to the sideboard and eaten the cold beef while everyone was out at church on Sunday morning. The beef had been left there uncovered, and he was very hungry, and it smelt so good. He had climbed on to a chair and sniffed at it, and got a little nearer and nearer, and all the time he knew quite well he was doing wrong. And at last he jumped up and began to eat great juicy mouthfuls of it. Oh, how good it was! And he pulled it this way and that, and the cloth on the sideboard had got all crumpled up, and suddenly down went a dish of beetroot with a smash, and all the rich red juice streamed over the cloth and on to the carpet. He was frightened then, and turned to run away; but his broad, flat paws had got into the beetroot juice, and he left great marks all across the cloth. He heard the latchkey in the front-door just at that moment, and he ran upstairs and hid under Ethel's bed. Then the family came in, and he heard their cry of dismay, and Ethel called for him; but he only hid deeper under thebed. And then she came into the room, and said quite quietly, as if she knew he was there, though she never looked under the bed: 'Oh, Scamp! how could you?' And his broad tail went thump, thump against the floor. So he was dragged out and whipped, and he felt very much ashamed of himself.
Oh dear! if he could only get back to them all he would never do such naughty things again!
In the morning two or three other dogs were put into his yard, and though he wouldn't speak to them at all, and was too miserable to play, he heard what they said. One of them had been here before, and he explained that all the well-bred dogs, the good ones, were kept for a certain time to allow their people to come and find them, and if at the end of that time no one came for them they were sold; but the mongrels and little dogs that were of no value—well, it was very curious what happened to them. They went to sleep in a nice warm place like a drawer, but they never woke up again. They did not suffer at all, and it was all arranged very kindly. 'And of course,' said the dog who was speaking, 'it is quite right there should be some distinction between me and a mongrel!' She was very proud of herself, beinga King Charles's spaniel, with soft brown and white hair and hanging ears and large goggle eyes. She came up to talk to Scamp after awhile; but he would not say anything to her, for his heart was sore within him. Yet what he had heard gave him some hope. All that day he sat with his face pressed close to the wires of the yard, watching, watching for his own people. Why did they not come? They must have known he would be there. Once two ladies came past—gentle, kind ladies of the sort to which he was accustomed—and he sat up and begged. 'Oh, look at that dear doggie!' cried one. 'We couldn't choose a nicer one; let us have him.' But when they inquired about him they found that Scamp was not for sale just yet.
Then toward evening, when it was growing dusk, he suddenly heard a voice that made his heart leap, and he jumped up and whined with excitement, and Ethel cried: 'Oh, father, there he is! Don't you hear him?' And he was let out, and she went down on her knees to kiss and hug him, and he jumped about her so wildly that he nearly knocked her hat off. Surely there was never a happier little dog went home that night than Scamp!
There are homes for cats in London, too; butoften poor cats have a much worse time than dogs. You remember that a great many of the fashionable people only stay in London for the season, and then they shut up their houses and go away into the country for several months. Well, sometimes they are so thoughtless as to leave their poor cats without any food or shelter—they forget about them. But a cat can't live on nothing any more than a dog can. Perhaps poor puss has been out for a walk, and comes back to find the house all shut and silent, and she waits patiently a long time; but no one comes, and the boys in the street throw stones at her. So she runs across to the square, and waits there; but still the door is never opened. If she is lucky and clever at hunting she may catch a little sparrow or find something in the roadway to eat; but as the days go on she gets thinner and thinner, and weaker and weaker, and at last, perhaps, dies of starvation unless some kind person takes the trouble to send her to a cats' home. The cats' homes are much the same as the dogs. If possible the cats are sold, and if not they are quietly and painlessly killed—a much better fate than starving in the streets. Sometimes the rich people do remember their cats, but can't take them away; and so before they go they send themto a cats' home, and pay for them to be kept there until they come back. Puss is then well fed and happy; for a cat makes herself happy anywhere where she is comfortable much more readily than a dog does, and then when the family return for the winter she goes back to her own snug kitchen.
Some dogs who have lived in London all their lives as Scamp did, are used to it, and are happy enough, but it is not a good place for dogs. It is very difficult for them to run about enough, and they can't go out by themselves for fear of getting lost or stolen, so often a dog has a very unhappy time. There are dogs who are so much accustomed to London that they will follow an omnibus if their master is on it, and keep running by the side and looking up and barking. And they do not seem to get at all confused by the many, many omnibuses passing and repassing, but follow the right one all the time. But this is very exceptional. Generally a London life is an unhappy one for any but a very small house-dog.
In one part of Hyde Park there is a dogs' burial-ground, where people can bury their pets. You can see it from the road as you pass, or you can go in and look at it. It is very full. There arenumbers of small stones like little gravestones put to mark the places where many a loved dog lies. Most of the stones are alike—small rounded ones with the dogs' names on them, and some are flat on the ground. There are flowers growing there, and the place is very bright and well cared for. We read here the names of many dogs—Punch, Dinah, Crow, Ruby Heart, Bogey, and Girlie. Strange names for dogs. The stones do not tell us what sort of dogs they were, though that would have been interesting. We can't find one in memory of Scamp, and I'm quite sure if he had died Ethel would have had him buried here, so near the gardens where he often ran and played. So Scamp must be living still. But other sorrowing mistresses have lost their little companions, and the inscriptions show a world of tenderness. We read, 'Alas, poor Zoe! as deeply mourned as ever dog was mourned,' and 'Darling Vic,' 'Snow, a dear friend,' 'Loving little Charlie,' 'Our faithful little friend Wobbles,' 'Jack, most loving and most fondly loved,' and many another. It must have been a happy world for such loved dogs as these.
This is to be a chapter about all sorts of odd things that cannot be fitted in anywhere else. For instance, have any of you heard about the Messenger Boys? If not, I think that will interest you. Someone once formed a scheme of having a number of boys trained to go messages, or take parcels, or do anything that was required in London. And he set up offices all over London, where anyone could get one of these boys and send him on a message by paying his expenses and a small sum also, according to the distance he had to go. At every one of the offices there are a certain number of boys always going and coming. They take the messages in order as they come, and they may get a nice one or a nasty one. If you went into one of these offices and saw the boys sitting on a bench waiting, you would soon see how it works. Some of the boys are playing draughts, some are reading, but all are ready at any minute to go where theyare told. There is a young man in charge of the office, and someone comes in with a message. So he turns to No. 1, a bright, chubby-faced little lad, and says, 'Go to this address and call for a parcel for this lady, whose name is written down, and take the parcel to her house. Be as quick as you can, and you can take a taxi-cab.' Off goes the boy, delighted to get such a nice job, and he feels very important to call up a cab for himself. He knows exactly where to go and how much to pay the cabman, for he has learnt all that before. The next boy is a big, awkward-looking lad, very tall for his age, and the young man laughs a little as he gives him a message: 'You are to call at No. 50 in this street,' he says, 'and the lady will hand over to you two children aged three and four. You are to take them to the Zoo and let them have a good time, and bring them back before six o'clock.'
The big boy makes a face. He does not fancy this idea at all; it is like being a nursemaid, and he thinks how silly he will look with two wee children. And all the other boys are grinning; but he cannot refuse. He is like a soldier, and must do just what he is told. So off he goes and asks for the children. But when he finds he can takethem up in a cab, and that they are dear, bright, happy little things, full of mischief, he begins to enjoy himself, and they spend a lovely afternoon together; and when he brings them back safely, and the mother gives him half a crown for himself in addition to his fee, he feels he has had a good day.
Some time elapses when he has left the office before smart little No. 3 gets anything to do, and then he is told to go to King's Cross Station to meet two schoolboys and see their luggage is safe, and take them across to Charing Cross. When he gets there he finds both the boys are bigger than himself, but they are country boys going to school for the first time, and are very frightened and bewildered, and little No. 3 cheers them up, so that they part quite good friends.
But these are a few of the odd things the boys have to do, and most of their time is spent in taking notes about. You can see them anywhere in London in their neat dark-blue uniforms with silver decorations. Once a gentleman walked into one of the Messenger Boy offices, and said quietly, as if he were saying nothing extraordinary, 'I want a boy to take a note for me to America.'
The man in charge showed no surprise, but onlyasked when the boy was to start. The gentleman said he might go the next day, which would give him time to get his clothes together.
The boy who was next on the list was called Jaggers, and he was a bright, intelligent little lad. He ran home eagerly to ask if his parents would let him go, and having got permission, he went off cheerfully the next day across the Atlantic Ocean to New York. He arrived safely and delivered his message, and then went on to Chicago and Philadelphia, as he had been instructed. He returned in eighteen days, having travelled 8,000 miles, and he found he was quite a hero, and the man who had sent him gave him a medal with a clasp or bar of silver for each place he had gone to. I think many a boy might have been frightened when told to go off to the other side of the world so suddenly.
After Jaggers another boy did an even pluckier thing. His name was Halsey, and he was sent to California, which is on the other side of America, much further than New York, and he had to go right across the continent and find the way all by himself, and he was given no time to get ready as Jaggers was, but started almost immediately. That boy afterwards fought for England in South Africain the Imperial Yeomanry, and is now in a responsible position in the Messenger Service. Another boy was sent to the Sultan of Turkey to take a dog as a present. I think that must have been the most difficult to do of the three things, for the dog might have died on the way, and when the boy got to Turkey he would have the disadvantage of being in a country where a foreign language was spoken. These are exceptional cases, of course, but the boys are still sometimes sent to the Continent with messages. But enough about the Messenger Boys.
There is a sight to be seen in London nearly every evening, and particularly on Saturday evenings, that always seems to me to be most touching, and that is the rows of little children waiting outside the shops for food that is sold cheaply. In great shops which sell food that soon perishes—for instance, fish, or fruit, or bread-stuffs—there is often a certain quantity left over at night that will not be quite fresh in the morning, and so it is sold cheaply, and it is this that the children of the poor come to buy. Some shops almost give it away. On Saturday night, outside a pastry-cook's, there was a row of patient boys and girls, each with a basket or bag, and some had been standing therefor a long time, because it is a case of 'first come, first served,' and no pushing is allowed. As another little child arrived it took up its stand at the end of the row, and waited until the time came for closing the shop. Then each child paid so much—say sixpence—and got a large quantity of bread, and so much cake, and if there was not enough to go round the last ones had to go away without any.
At the fish shops there are different ways of doing this at different shops. At one big shop all the fish that is over after the day's sale is done is put into a large basket—there may be a piece of cod, and several small fish, and some whiting or mackerel—and then each child pays twopence, and the man in the shop deals out the fish as it comes, giving so much to each, without asking what the children want. The poor little bairns watch eagerly until their own turn comes. See that big bit of cod? That would make a Sunday dinner for all of Ellen's people, and Ellen watches it anxiously. There is a very small girl in front of herself, and Ellen nearly cries when she sees the man put it into her bag; but she cheers up again when a whole fish, of what kind she is not quite sure, but still it looks very good, is passed on to her. There is no waiting afterwards. How the little feet run home, andhow the shrill little voices cry, 'Mother, mother! look what I've got!' But it may be also that a disappointed little girl goes away, crying softly, for she came too late, so she had to stand quite at the end of the row, and when her turn came there was nothing left. 'No more to-night,' the shopman said cheerily, and seeing the pale, wistful little face, he added, 'Come in better time another week, little girl.'
The little girl stole away quietly, but when she got to a dark corner she sat down and cried bitterly; it was not so much for the sake of the fish as because she knew she would get a beating from her drunken mother when she went home without it. Yet she could not help it; she had had so much to do that day—work, work, work from morning to night, partly at school, partly at home—and she had run to the fish shop as soon as ever she could, only to find herself too late. Children, there are sad times in the lives of little girls such as these which none of you will ever know.
But, as we have said once or twice, the lives of street children are by no means all darkness; the merry games, the society of other children, and the stir and life of London make up for a great deal.In some of the streets you can see the boys running about on roller skates—bits of wood on tiny wheels, strapped on to their boots. The smooth London pavements are very good for this sport, and the boys skate about, getting wonderfully clever at it, and enjoying themselves immensely. Then they have their tops, which they spin on the pavements or in the roadway among the feet of the people walking, without minding in the least. There are tops all over the streets at some times of the year spinning gaily. The girls have their skipping-ropes, which are apt to be a nuisance to the people who want to walk on the pavements; but sometimes there is a side alley where no one goes, and here the children can skip undisturbed.
One game that seems a great favourite with the children is called 'Hop-scotch,' or 'London Town.' They draw a number of divisions on the pavement with white chalk, and then hop from one to the other kicking a bit of stone along the pavement with their toe; they must send it into the next square at every hop, and they must not put the other foot to the ground until they send it safely into the last division of all, which is Home or London. The little girls get quite clever at this, hopping lightly and daintily. Sometimes theydraw a circle instead of a square, which makes it more difficult to do, but the game is the same.
When the barrel-organ comes round, as it very often does, the children dance; they don't mind that it has travelled in wind and weather for perhaps ten years, and that it has lost all tune it may have had, and only grinds out a horrible noise: they like the noise, and dance up and down holding their little skirts, or twirling one another round in great enjoyment. The streets do not allow of wild, romping games, and it would be dangerous to dash about and try to catch one another, so most of these are games that can be played on the pavement in safety.
The children who live near parks are luckier than those who have only the streets for playgrounds, and these parks are filled with children, especially on Saturday afternoons. There is one called Battersea Park, near the river, where you may sit on a little knoll at one end, and, in summer, as far as you can see there are boys playing cricket. They are so mixed up that it is difficult to tell which ball belongs to which, and often a good hit sends one ball flying into the middle of the next game. Some of them have real wickets, and at one end there is a carefully kept ground where men play; butsome of the little boys have no wickets, and only a bit of wood for a bat. So they get a stick from somewhere and make it stand up in the ground, and then hang one of their shabby little coats round it to make a wicket; but they shout loudly with joy, and enjoy themselves at their game just as much as the bigger boys with real wickets.
A thing you very often see in London, and, indeed, in other towns, too, is a man sitting on the bare stone pavement drawing pictures on the stones with coloured chalks. Sometimes he does them very well, and makes scenes of battles and views of pretty places or ships at sea, but at other times they are hideous and badly drawn. He does this in order that people may give him pennies as they pass. He is not allowed to beg, and if he tried to the policeman would come and take him up; but he doesn't like hard work, so he sits beside his pictures and holds his cap out piteously, and very often people give him pennies in passing, so he makes a living without too much trouble. But unless he is old or crippled, he ought to be doing better work than this. There are always a great many odd men who have no work to do in London; there are some who earn a living by going about in the early morning, when people put their dustbinsout, and picking out anything that they think they can sell—a disgusting trade; others used to watch until they saw a cab with luggage on it, and then they ran after it sometimes for miles and miles, and when it stopped they would offer to carry the boxes upstairs. These men certainly earned their money, for they had to run fast and far, and to carry a box up the flights and flights of stairs in a London house is not an easy task; but, unfortunately, they were generally men who were out of work through their own fault, who had been drunken or idle or rude, and they were not at all pleasant to deal with, and sometimes they made themselves very disagreeable if they didn't get what they considered enough money, and refused to go out of the house until a policeman was fetched. So it is as well perhaps that now this means of extorting money is impossible, for no man could run fast enough to keep up with a taxi-cab.
The barrel-organ man we have already mentioned. He is frequently an Italian, and has a dark-haired woman with him, and she wears a red handkerchief over her hair to make her look more foreign; and they go from house to house grinding out their awful tunes, and they get very well paid, for thepeople in the poorer shops and in the foreign parts of London like the noise, and give them pennies. Sometimes the man has a monkey, which always attracts the children. Other men walk about with barrows selling ice-cream; this is sold at a half-penny a time, and the children lick it out of little glasses and have no spoons: one wonders how often the glasses are washed. But that does not trouble the little street children at all; they follow the ice-cream man in throngs like flies in summer whenever it is hot. Poor little bairns! they have no milk to drink or nice cool rooms to go to, only the hot, dusty street, and they must often be thirsty. Well, all these things you can see in the streets daily, and a great many more. I have not spoken of the 'sandwich' man; that is a funny name, and it means the man is sandwiched between two great boards, which he carries on his front and back. On these are written in large letters the name of a new play, or a restaurant, or anything else to which someone wants to attract attention. These men are paid a very little each day; they are hired a large number together, and walk along by the side of the pavement with their great boards one after another, so the people passing in the street read the boards, and perhaps go to see the play or to dineat the restaurant. The men are bound to keep on walking always together all day, and they very often are ashamed of their work; for they may have been something better than this, for to be a sandwich man is about the lowest work a man can do, but, at any rate, it is earning money honestly, without begging or stealing.
I think I heard someone ask for stories, and there are many stories connected with London, though they are generally rather sad ones. There was once a boy who became Edward V., King of England, who had a sad life and a short one, and though he was a prince and a king I am sure he would much rather have been neither. His father was Edward IV., and he had not become King of England by inheritance, but because he had won the crown by fighting.
Before him Henry VI. was king, and Edward claimed the throne by right of his birth. So they fought, and there was a civil war. You know what that is—a war between people of the same country who take different sides, and it is the worst of all wars. As Edward IV. was Duke of York, his side called themselves Yorkists, and wore a white rose as a badge; and Henry VI.'s side called themselves Lancastrians, and wore a redrose. Edward was very strong and very handsome, and a great many people admired him and fought for him because they thought he would make a fine king. And Henry was weak and feeble; but then he was king already, and his father had been king before him; so a great many people took his side for that reason. While they were still fighting Edward married secretly a beautiful woman, a widow, called Elizabeth Woodville, and soon after this he was so successful that he found he could settle in London and have himself crowned king, while Henry and his wife and son had to fly to Scotland. Then Edward told his great nobles that he was married, and for a time all went on well. Edward and Elizabeth were very happy. They lived in great state, and soon a little daughter was given to them, and they called her Elizabeth. All the time poor Henry and his brave Queen Margaret and his son Edward were hiding away in lonely places. Little did they think then that the time would soon come when it would be proud Edward IV. who had to fly and hide in his turn!
TRAFALGAR SQUARE
After awhile Edward IV. managed to capture Henry, and he put him in prison in the Tower of London, and then, no doubt, he felt he was verysafe. But Edward had a follower called the Earl of Warwick, a very powerful man. And he was angry, because he had wanted the King to marry a sister of the King of France; but the King had not done as he wished, for he had married Elizabeth Woodville. So the Earl of Warwick waited for a good opportunity, and then raised up a disturbance in Yorkshire.
King Edward was frightened when he heard of this, and travelled north to quell the disturbance. And Warwick, who was in the north himself, seized him and made him prisoner. It was very bold of him to make the King prisoner in his own country. Now there were two kings in England both prisoners—Edward in Yorkshire and Henry in London. However, King Edward was not the sort of man to remain in prison long, and he soon escaped, and Warwick had to fly to France. Here he found Queen Margaret, wife of Henry VI., and with her he persuaded the French King to get together a great army to go to England and fight against Edward. This was a surprise for Edward, who had never expected it, and he could not get together enough men to fight against Queen Margaret's army; so he had to fly, and he went over the sea to Holland. But he did not take his Queen with him; he left her in England with herchildren, for by this time she had two other daughters besides Elizabeth, called Cicely and Anne. Poor Queen Elizabeth was in great distress; she did not know where to go or whom she could trust. But she was advised to go to the Sanctuary at Westminster. You have heard of Westminster already, and you remember it is a part of London, and at that time one of the King's palaces was there. There was also a curious place like a strong, dark little castle. It was a safety-place, and if anyone had killed a man or done any wickedness and fled there he was safe; his enemies could not take him out. That was why it was called the Sanctuary, and it was like the cities of refuge in the Bible. It stood quite near to the place where the Abbey stands now, and many hunted people rushed there for safety.
The Sanctuary was very dark, and had hardly any windows, and inside there was a chapel. There was a flat roof, so that anyone who had gone there for safety could climb up to the roof and peep over to see if his enemies were waiting until he came out. It was not the sort of place for a queen, and I should think Elizabeth must have felt very sad and lonely there. Perhaps she had only straw to lie upon instead of a soft bed, and bad food to eatinstead of delicacies, and the darkness must have been terrifying. Every moment she expected to hear the footfalls of a man running with a message to say her husband had been caught or even killed, because, of course, there were no papers or telegraphs; all the news was sent by word of mouth or by messengers. Little Elizabeth was only about six or seven years old, and her sisters were still younger, and they could not have understood why they had to be in that nasty dark place; but perhaps the Queen explained to them something of the reason. It is very odd that little Elizabeth was afterwards Queen of England herself. She married the man who was on the Lancastrian side and claimed to be king when Edward her father and her two brothers were dead, and Henry VI. and his son were dead also, and so the York and Lancaster lines were joined in one.
Now while the Queen and her little daughters were there God sent them some happiness, for a little baby-boy came to them, and he was Edward V. afterwards. He was too little to know anything about his mother's anxiety, and was, I dare say, quite as happy as most babies, and he must have brought some brightness with him for his mother and sisters.
After this Edward IV. took heart again. Perhaps he felt that now he had a son to succeed him he must win back the throne, and he returned to England and fought again, and this time Queen Margaret and her men were quite defeated, and her son was killed. He was an Edward, too, and he was then about eighteen. Now Edward IV. was triumphant, and returned to London, and the very day he came back his enemy Henry VI. died, so there was no one to fight any more just then.
Cannot you imagine what a happy time that would be when Elizabeth showed her husband the new little baby-boy? They christened him Edward after his father, and as he grew up he was always treated like a prince, and everyone knew that one day he would be king after his father. He had a brother also, called Richard, two years younger, and some other sisters younger still, called Katherine and Bridget. Bridget sounds to us now a very queer name for a princess, but it was quite fashionable then. The little boys were very beautiful; they learned to ride and play at games and to shoot, and do all the other things that young nobles in those days were taught. The royal brothers wore fine suits of velvet andsatin, with little daggers at their waists, and their hair grew long on their shoulders. We should think long hair silly for boys now, but it was the fashion then. Even men wore their hair quite long. These boys and their younger sisters, Katherine and Bridget, had always been treated like princes and princesses; they could not remember the time when their father was an outcast and their mother had had to seek shelter in sanctuary. Even the older children would have but a dim recollection of those days of anxiety and gloom, and would think it quite natural that they should be surrounded by pretty things, and that everyone should serve them.
According to a curious custom prevailing at that time, kings sometimes arranged marriages for their children when they were only a few years old, and sometimes even when they were babies. All King Edward's children were engaged to be married before they could speak! It happened, however, that most of these engagements were afterwards broken, but little Richard, who was created Duke of York, was actually married when he was five years old to a little girl called Anne, daughter of the Duke of Norfolk.
Edward and Richard were devoted to each other,and very happy together. Perhaps this was partly because they were so unlike in disposition, for people who are not like each other often agree the best. Edward was a quiet, rather clever boy, and Richard was full of fun and very mischievous. They had a great many uncles and aunts, for their mother had five sisters all married to dukes and earls, and she had brothers as well. Her eldest brother was Earl Rivers, and he was very good to his nephews, and they loved him, and were always glad to see him. The boys had also some step-brothers, their mother's sons by her first marriage, and they liked these older brothers very much. So they had many people who took an interest in them, and I dare say they were a little bit spoilt.
Their father, King Edward, had two brothers younger than himself. One was George, Duke of Clarence, and the other Richard, Duke of Gloucester. The Duke of Clarence was a weak, discontented man, who grumbled continually. The Duke of Gloucester was a hunchback, and he was as deformed in mind as in body; for he was of a malicious disposition, always ready to make mischief, and was so fond of his own way that he would kill anyone who dared to oppose him. He was jealous of Clarence, and so he told tales of himto King Edward; and King Edward believed him, and had Clarence seized and taken to the Tower. Then Gloucester was glad, and went about saying all the things he could think of against Clarence so that he should never again be let out of prison.
At that time the Tower was both a prison and a palace, and the King sometimes stayed there himself; but he lived generally at the palace of Westminster, which stood where the Houses of Parliament stand now. The great hall of this palace is still there, forming a part of the Houses of Parliament, but the rest of the building is very different from what it was in King Edward's time. Then there was a high wall all round the palace, and within it were streets of quaint old houses, with gables and angles, and in them lived the people who had to work for the King and his Court—that is to say, all the carpenters, and blacksmiths, and other work-people. And when the King and the princes went riding through the streets on great occasions, these people used to hang out beautiful pieces of cloth of many colours—red and blue and gold—so that the curious narrow streets looked like fairyland. The great wall was a protection to all the people who lived inside, andmade the palace and houses like a little town by themselves.
One day when young Edward and Richard rode in after they had been playing with the nobles at some sports, they heard that their uncle Clarence was dead. They dared not ask how it was that he, a man in the prime of life, had died so suddenly, for their father looked very stern, and their uncle Richard seemed pretending to be sorry. But the truth was that Clarence had been killed by King Edward's orders, because Richard had made up stories about him, and pretended that he had discovered a plot of Clarence's to dethrone the King and make himself King instead, and, unfortunately, King Edward had believed this wicked lie. No one ever knew exactly how Clarence had been killed, but it was whispered that, as he was a king's son, he had been allowed to choose his own death, and he had chosen to be drowned in a great barrel of wine. This was the beginning of Richard's wickedness, and later he grew worse and worse, for he intended to be king himself some day, and so he deliberately murdered everyone who stood in his way. He had begun with Clarence, who was his elder brother, and who would have been king before him if anything hadhappened to the King and his sons, but he did not stop there.
Prince Edward was only eight years old when this happened, and Richard was six.
Five years more went by, and during that time, though all seemed to be well, there were really plots and schemes everywhere in the palace. The Duke of Gloucester was always creeping about after the handsome King and flattering him, and trying to win his confidence. The King still loved his wife, Queen Elizabeth, and he gave her relations, the Woodvilles, important posts about the Court and showed them favour. And this did not please Gloucester at all, for he hated the Queen, and was jealous of her relations; and so he made up stories against them and told them to the King, as he had done in the case of poor Clarence, but this time the King was not quite so ready to believe him.
But when little Edward was thirteen the King died suddenly, and then the Duke of Gloucester and the Queen's relations both tried to get young Edward into their own hands, for they thought that a boy so young would be easily controlled and made to do as they wished. Edward, who was now King Edward V., loved his mother and all herfamily, and wished to be under the care of his aunts and uncles on her side of the family; so when she told him to go into the country with his uncle, Earl Rivers, and one of his half-brothers, Lord Grey, he went gladly. The Queen had planned this to keep him out of the power of the Duke of Gloucester, whom she feared. But the Duke was too clever a man to be put aside so easily. He had made his brother, the dead King, say before he died that he was to be young Edward's guardian, and on the strength of that he now claimed the young King. Finding, however, that he had already gone to the country, he sent a message to him saying he must come back, and he himself started out for the country to meet him half-way.
You can imagine that Earl Rivers and Lord Grey were anxious when they received that message. But what could they do? If they refused to bring back the little King, the Duke would doubtless raise an army and come against them and compel them to give him up. So they thought the best way would be to pretend to do as Richard wished, but in reality to keep themselves very near to the young King and to guard him from harm. They set out for London, therefore,bringing Edward with them, and the Duke of Gloucester soon met them. He had with him a powerful noble called Lord Hastings, who, though he hated the Queen's relations and was jealous of them, was still an upright, brave man, who would not have hurt a hair of young Edward's head.
When the Duke of Gloucester and Lord Hastings met the other party, they were very polite, and so friendly that Earl Rivers and Lord Grey thought that they must have been mistaken, and that the Duke meant nothing but good; so they foolishly gave up all precautions, and left themselves in the power of the Duke. Then he seized them, and sent them off as prisoners to a strong tower in Yorkshire.
Poor Edward V. was terrified when he heard this, and found that he was alone with his uncle Gloucester, and he fell on his knees and cried—you must remember he was only thirteen—and begged his uncle to release the prisoners. Gloucester tried to comfort him, and assured him that he was only doing what was best for the safety of everyone. He told Edward that these men were bad men, and were plotting against him, and he said that it was for his safety he had seized them; and then he said that he was taking him back toLondon to his mother and brother and sisters, and that when he got there he should be crowned King. Then Edward was a little comforted.
Lord Hastings, however, began to be anxious: he did not like the way in which Richard was getting all the power into his own hands; so though he was no friend of the Queen mother's, he sent her a message to say that he feared the Duke of Gloucester, and she would be wise to go to a place of safety. I expect Gloucester found out about this message, for he always hated Hastings afterwards, and never rested until he had punished him, as you shall hear.
When the Queen received the message she left the palace at Westminster and hurried to the Sanctuary, where she had been once before, and she took all her children with her.
A bishop went to see her there, and he wrote a book about it, so we can tell now just how he found her. She was sitting upon rushes, which in those days were used instead of carpets, and all around her were bags and bundles and furniture, which had been hastily brought across from the palace. The Queen could be more comfortable this time than she had been in the first dark and lonely days, for she had been able to bring some of her ownbelongings to the gloomy Sanctuary. All the children were there except Edward. The eldest girl, Elizabeth, was now seventeen, and must have been a great comfort to her mother; yet, in spite of all this, it was a hard time for all of them, and more so when Richard fell ill. Perhaps it was because he couldn't run about as usual; but they all took great care of him, and presently he began to get better. I must tell you that on the very place where the Sanctuary used to stand is now a large hospital called the Westminster Hospital; and so where little Prince Richard was nursed by his frightened mother more than 400 years ago, other people, and among them children, are now nursed back to health and strength.
To go back to Edward and his uncle. The Duke was still pretending to be a good, kind uncle, and he treated Edward as a king. When they entered London the Lord Mayor and Aldermen came out to meet them. It was a splendid sight. The Lord Mayor was dressed in scarlet, and 500 of the citizens of London were in violet, and Edward himself, a very handsome boy, sat his horse like a king, while his long fair curls fell down over his blue velvet cloak. And the Duke of Gloucester took off his hat and bowed, and said to the LordMayor and Aldermen, 'Behold your Prince and Sovereign Lord!'
Then, as they rode on into the town, he told Edward that he should be crowned in a month. I wonder if Edward believed him? They went first to the Bishop of London's house, and then on to the Tower; but Edward did not feel afraid, because, as I said, the Tower was a palace as well as a prison, and as the palace at Westminster was very old and uncomfortable, it was natural to go to the Tower instead.
Now, the wicked Richard of Gloucester had got one of the little boys into his power; but that was no use unless he could get the other one, for if he killed Edward the people would say Richard, Duke of York, must be king. And he dared not kill either of them while Lord Hastings was alive. So he thought of a plan, and this is what he did. He called a meeting of the great nobles to the Tower to talk about business of State. Lord Hastings came, of course, among the others. At first Richard seemed to be in very good spirits, and laughed and jested; but as the morning went on he grew crosser and crosser, and at last he scowled so much that all the nobles were afraid of him. Then suddenly he stretched out his bare arm, and showedthem that it was shrivelled and old. It had been like that since he was a baby, but now he pretended that it had only happened suddenly, and that it was done by poor Queen Elizabeth, who was then in sanctuary with her children; and he said she was a witch and had bewitched him, and turning quickly to Lord Hastings, he said: 'What should be done to those who did this thing? Ought they not to be killed?'
Lord Hastings knew quite well that the Queen had not done it; but he did not dare to say so, so he answered: 'Ay, my lord,ifthey have done this thing they deserve death.'
Then Richard roared out in a fury: 'Dost thou answer me with "ifs"? By my head! I will not dine until thy head is off!'
And he made a sign to some soldiers he had placed there before, and they rushed forward and carried out poor Lord Hastings on to the little strip of green outside, and there, before anyone could interfere, chopped off his head on a log of wood that lay there. No one dare do anything, for they were all afraid of the Duke of Gloucester; and Hastings suffered simply because he had been loyal to his little King. Richard had no heart to feel sorry for his victims; he just mowed down thepeople who stood between him and his wishes as if they had been daisies.
Now at last he could get his own way, for the two most powerful men who would have opposed him were out of the way: the King's uncle, Rivers, was imprisoned at Pontefract in Yorkshire, and Hastings was dead. So Richard's next idea was to get the little Duke of York and take him to the Tower to his brother, and then he would have everything in his own hands.
Even Richard of Gloucester could not go and drag his little nephew straight out of sanctuary, for the Archbishop would not have allowed it, and all the people would have been horrified at the sacrilege and risen against him; so he sent some men to try to persuade the Queen to give the boy up.
The Archbishop and some nobles went on this errand, and they found Queen Elizabeth sitting in the midst of her children in the dark Sanctuary, and when they told her their reason for coming she said never would she let Richard go. She knew his uncle only wanted him to kill him, and she said of the Duke of Gloucester, 'He hath so tender a zeal unto him that he feareth nothing but that he should escape him,' which showed sheguessed his wicked plans. Besides, she added, the boy had been ill, and he was only a little boy eleven years old, and he was better with his mother than with men in that gloomy Tower. But they told her Edward was lonely and wanted his brother to play with; so she answered that there were many other boys, the sons of nobles, he could play with instead of his little brother, who still was not well enough to play.
It seems dreadful that these men, who must have known the reason why Gloucester wanted his little nephew, should have gone on trying to persuade the poor mother to give him up; but they did, and they said that sanctuary was not meant for children at all, only for people who had done wrong, and this boy had done nothing wrong, so he could not claim the right of sanctuary. Then poor Queen Elizabeth saw that they would take him whatever she said, and she could do no more. So she gave him to the Archbishop, and said he must be responsible for him, and if anything happened to the boy his blood would be on the Archbishop's head. Yet the Archbishop took him.
So Richard kissed his mother and sisters and ran out, and the first person he met was his wicked uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. And Gloucestercaught him up in his arms and kissed him, and pretended to be very fond of him, and took him at once to Edward. The brothers had not seen one another for some time, and Richard cried out with surprise when he found how tall Edward had grown—much taller than himself, and in the joy of meeting at first they were very happy together.
The little boys were kept prisoners in the Tower, and suddenly they heard that all the preparations which had been made for Edward's coronation were going to do for the Duke of Gloucester's, and that he was going to make himself king even while his nephews were alive! Cannot you imagine how angry a high-spirited boy like Edward must have felt? But he could do nothing; he was in prison, and no one helped him. Then came the dreadful news that his two dear friends, his uncle Rivers and Lord Grey, had been beheaded in Yorkshire. And, worse than all, some page came talking, and said before Edward that he believed his uncle was going to have him to walk in his train at the coronation—walk behind his uncle like a page!
Perhaps Edward cried out, and said furious things at this; for if ever the Duke of Gloucester had meant to do it he gave up the idea. Perhaps,also, his idea had been at first just to keep his nephews prisoners without harming them; but now he saw that every year they grew older they would be more dangerous to his plans, and so he resolved on a terrible deed.
He sent for Robert Brackenbury, the keeper of the Tower, and told him plainly that if he would murder the little princes he should be well paid. Brackenbury was a brave man, and he refused boldly, saying he could not do such a wicked thing for all the money in the world. Then Richard said angrily: 'Will no man do what I want?' And a page who was sleeping on a couch near the door to guard it heard, and answered that he knew a man who would do anything the Duke wanted. Richard told him to fetch this man, who was Sir James Tyrrell, and between them they made up their dreadful plot. Tyrrell was to ask Brackenbury to give him the keys of the Tower for one night, and in that night he would see the deed was done. Now Brackenbury could not refuse. He might guess what was going to happen; but if he refused to give the keys his head would be cut off, and the little princes would be killed just the same. So he agreed, and went away sorrowfully.
Then in the dark of the night Sir James Tyrrelltook with him two men—rough, odious men, called Dighton and Probyn, who would have killed anyone for money. One was a gaoler at the Tower, and the other was Tyrrell's own groom, and the three crept up the dark winding stair to the room the boys were sleeping in. Even those rough men were horrified at what they had come to do when they saw those two beautiful boys with their curling golden hair falling on their shoulders and their faces close together, sleeping so sweetly. But they remembered the money they were to have if they succeeded and the anger of wicked Richard if they failed, and they took up great pillows and held them down over the boys' faces until they were smothered. Perhaps the boys did not suffer at all, but just dreamed away into death.
When it was done the men showed the two bodies to Tyrrell, who was waiting, and then, hurrying down the heavy stone staircase, they pulled out some of the great stones at the foot, and buried them there and covered them up with stones. So that no one knew certainly what had become of the princes at the time. But two hundred years after, in doing some repairs, workmen came upon the bones of two boys, just about the sizes of the two little princes, at the foot of the stairs, and sothe secret came out. And now, if you visit the Tower, you can see the very spot where they were buried.
Well, that is the end of the story of Edward V., and perhaps he was no more unhappy dying as an innocent child than if he had lived to be a man and ruled England for many years. But wicked Richard did not enjoy the throne he had gained by so many murders; for he only reigned two years, and then he was conquered by another Henry, a relation of Henry VI., who married Elizabeth, the boys' sister, and they two were the next king and queen.
In the last chapter I spoke about the young nobles who played with the little princes, and of their sports. In this chapter I will try to explain how very different the lives of boys were then from what they are now.
It was the fashion then for the sons of nobles to be taken from their homes when they were about twelve and sent to some other nobleman's house, to be brought up there and educated. These boys were called pages, and there were a great many of them about the Court. At the palace of Westminster especially there would be many, for it was considered a great thing for a boy to be noticed at Court. Every noble who came to see the King would bring with him some of these pages. The life must have been on the whole very pleasant for the boys, but there were many things in it that were disagreeable. For instance, it was one of the duties of the pages to wait at table and to carvethe dishes on the sideboard, and they were taught to be very particular, and always to wash their hands before carving. We are told of one boy that his gentility was so great that he would not wipe his hands like the others, but waved them about in the air until they were dry! I think this must have made them red and rough, which would not be very genteel.
The pages were gaily dressed, with short doublets of velvet and fur, and little daggers, and caps with a feather in them, and often they were much petted by the ladies, and were much spoilt in consequence.
The boys joined in all the sports of the time, and there were many more sports then, when England was a wild country without many towns in it, than there are now. The chase of the wild boar or the wolf was a favourite sport, and stag-hunting was very popular. It was part of the duty of pages to know how to skin and cut up the stag. Can you fancy a refined boy of twelve enjoying that? The pages had to ride with their masters and lead an extra horse if it were wanted, and they were supposed always to be bright and courteous. This training served instead of going to a public school, as boys do at present. As for games, they had as many as the boys of the present time. One wasthe quintain. This was an upright post with two arms at the top, that swung round very easily. Tied to the end of one was a bag of sand and to the other a shield. The boy had to run up and hit the shield, and if he did not get out of the way very fast the bag of sand swung round and hit him on the back. Probably they played this in the courts of the palace, where are now the Houses of Parliament, and where one of the yards is still called New Palace Yard. Other old games of which we know only the names were 'Hoop and Hide,' 'Harry Racket,' 'Hoodwink Play,' 'Loggats,' and 'Stooleballe,' which was like our cricket. These were all very much liked in the days about the time that Edward's sister Elizabeth married Henry VII. and became Queen.
When a boy grew older he ceased to be a page, and became an esquire. Nowadays everyone puts esq., meaning esquire, on letters in an address, but at that time a man had really to be an esquire before he could be called so. He served some knight and rode with him to the wars, or attended him at home. While he had still been a page he had waited on the ladies and played to them on the harp, or read to them while they embroidered; but when he became esquire he very seldom saw theladies, and was taught to consider them almost as far above him as angels. For the next few years he had a great deal to do. He had to dress and undress his master as if he had been a servant. He had to look after his master's horse, and when there was any fighting he had to carry a shield and ride beside his master, ready to die for him if necessary.
Among the games he played indoors were chess and draughts, both of which people still play. One knight had perhaps many squires, and they were all supposed to love him very much, and to be perfectly obedient to him. The young squires had games among themselves, and the squires of two different knights had little contests, each trying to beat the others. The squires were able to run and jump straight on to a horse even when they were covered all over with heavy armour. They danced and turned somersaults, and performed many other exercises to make them strong and agile. Even princes had to be squires before they could be knights, and, if you remember, when Edward the Black Prince was fighting the French at Crecy, he was not then a knight, but was made a knight because he had been so brave on that occasion. He took King John of France prisoner, and broughthim to London to a great castle called the Savoy; and when he had brought him there he did not treat him as a prisoner at all, but himself took the part of a humble squire, and waited on the French King while he had supper. Very few princes would have done that; they would rather have gloried in showing their superiority to their captive. The palace of the Savoy was in London, further down the river than Westminster. It is all gone now except the chapel, where people still go to church on Sundays.
Down beside this part of the river now runs a street with houses and shops on each side, and it is called the Strand. I wonder if you have ever heard of the strand at the seaside? It is an old word, meaning the beach beside water, and the Strand in London reminds us of the time when there was no embankment, but the houses were right on the edge of the water. Great palaces most of them were, where all the haughty nobles with their following of squires lived. They have all gone now, these great palaces, but one gate remains, a very handsome stone gate with steps, and this was the gate of a great palace belonging to the Duke of Buckingham, and here boats could come up so that the Duke could step into one fromhis stairs at the water gate; but when the embankment was made the river was hemmed in, and could not come so far up, and now the gate stands back a long way from the river in the middle of a green garden. The people used the river a great deal then, going by water as we go by land, and the water was covered with gaily-coloured barges and boats.
After being a squire, the next thing was to be a knight. It was not every man who could be a knight. A man must have done some brave deed, or shown himself very faithful, or be the son of a powerful noble, or something of that kind; but when it was decided that a young man might be made a knight, he had to watch his armour alone all night in a church, and pray to be made worthy, and then in the morning he vowed always to help the weak and avenge them, and never to draw back or be afraid, and never to use his sword except for the right. Then the King received him, and he knelt down, and the King gave him a light blow on the shoulder with the flat side of the sword, and this made him a knight and gave him the right to use the title 'Sir' before his name.
The knights used to have games that you and I would think were more like real fighting than play.They put on armour and mounted their horses, and then met to try to knock one another off. These fights were called tournaments, and all the ladies came to watch them as nowadays they go to watch men play at polo or cricket. The chief place in London for tournaments was a place we have been to already, called Smithfield. That is where the meat market is now, and it is still a wide, open square. A great many things happened at Smithfield, and we shall hear of it again before this book is finished.
On the day of a grand tournament everything was made ready very early. There were high wooden seats arranged all round, covered with scarlet or purple cloth, and there were special seats like thrones for the King and Queen; and people came flocking up as if to a fair, dressed in crimson and gold and blue and green, with clothes made of velvet and silk, much brighter than anything we have now, and the men were quite as gay as the ladies. Before the time for the tournament, the knights who were going to take part in it would ride up on their prancing horses; some came from the Tower of London, and there is a street not far from St. Paul's Cathedral still called Knightrider Street, because the knights used to come riding up there to the tournaments at Smithfield.
Cannot you imagine how a young knight's heart would beat when he first took part in a tournament? Perhaps he was just one-and-twenty, and still only a boy in heart, and when he rode into that great open space everyone cheered him, and he saw the ladies rising, sitting on tiers of seats that rose higher and higher, making a beautiful mass of colour, like a bed of flowers; and there was one there who he knew would see him, a girl only seventeen, very sweet and fair and shy, who was among the Queen's maids-of-honour, and the young knight could not see her just then for the crowds of other people there. But he knew that she would be watching, and that he was to fight for her. For the glove he wore fixed on to his helmet was hers: she had given it to him the day before; no one else knew it was hers. But if he fell off his horse and rolled in the mud, that glove would be rolled in the mud too, and then he would be so much ashamed he would never dare to look her in the face again.
So he plucked up his courage, and looked round as if he were not at all nervous, and he saw the man he had to fight come riding toward him, a big strong man on a great black horse. The two knights held up their long lances to salute the King and Queen and ladies, and bowed to eachother. A trumpet sounded, and the two horses rushed toward one another, the lances came against the strong armour with a crash, and the young knight felt a wrench, for his horse was thrown back on its haunches; but it recovered itself and dashed on, passing the other knight, until he wheeled it round and came to meet his opponent again. This time, just as they were going to meet, the horse of the older knight swerved, and his lance, striking crossways, broke in two, and the young knight could easily then have knocked him off his horse. But it was considered disgraceful to strike an unarmed man, so he lowered his lance and rode past without touching him, and all the people cheered. There was one more meeting to be faced, only one, and if he could manage to distinguish himself then, that fair girl would be proud of him, and perhaps smile sweetly when he met her again, and allow him to kiss her hand. The thought so fired the young knight that when his opponent had obtained a new lance and was awaiting him, he came on with such a pace and such a rush that he carried the other man clean out of his saddle, and laid him full length on the ground, where he lay helpless in his heavy armour until his squires ran across the field and raised him up. Then all thepeople shouted wildly, and the young knight rode modestly off the field feeling very happy.
If you saw Smithfield now you would not think such things could ever have happened there, for it is so bare and dull, and it was then so magnificent.
Besides the tournaments, the people of London had many other shows. When Queen Elizabeth was crowned there was a wonderful procession. We all heard a great deal about the coronation of King George V. Well, it is rather interesting to think that about three and a half centuries before, Queen Elizabeth, when crowned, had a grand ceremony, and afterwards made a tour round the city, as the King of England always does to this day after the ceremony has taken place. We have accounts of Elizabeth's procession that tells us exactly what it was like. The Queen went very slowly and stopped very often, and whenever she stopped a child came forward and recited dull verses to her. It must have taken a long time and been rather tiresome. But there were all sorts of beautiful things to look at in the meantime. In one place there was a high wooden scaffolding built up, and on it figures of Henry VII. and his Queen Elizabeth, who was the grandmotherof the real Queen Elizabeth. You remember how Henry VII. married her because she was the sister of Edward V., and so the York and Lancaster sides were joined in one? Well, to show this there sprouted out of the hands of these two wax figures great boughs of roses, red and white mixed together, as a sign that the red and white roses of York and Lancaster were joined. At one place a child came forth and handed Elizabeth a copy of the Bible in English, the first copy that the English people had ever had in their own language; for, you know, the Bible was not written first in English, but in Hebrew and Greek, and up to this time no one had translated it into English. And everywhere children came out of odd places and said curious verses. I have heard one story, though I do not know if it is true, that a little child had been covered all over with gold paint, and was to be let down in a swing to greet the Queen as she passed underneath; and when the time came, and the little gilt child was lowered, it was found to be quite dead, stifled by the gold paint.
That was a sad thing, and I did not want this chapter to be sad, because history is too full of sad things, and tournaments and games ought to be gay.