Produced by Mark C. Orton, D Alexander, Linda McKeown and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net

JOHN AND BETTY'S HISTORY VISIT

BY

MARGARET WILLIAMSON

_ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_

BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Published, March, 1910

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

_All rights reserved_

JOHN AND BETTY'S HISTORY VISIT

Norwood Press

BERWICK & SMITH CO.

Norwood, Mass.

U. S. A.

[Illustration: THEY SUDDENLY SAW THE TREMENDOUS CATHEDRAL LOOMING UP
BEFORE THEM.--_Page 70._]

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER                                                    PAGE

     I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS                                     9

    II. THE FIRST EVENING                                    15

   III. WESTMINSTER ABBEY                                    20

    IV. PENSHURST PLACE: THE HOME OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY       37

     V. THE TOWER OF LONDON                                  50

    VI. ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL AND ITS VICINITY                65

   VII. A SUNDAY NIGHT CHAT                                  83

  VIII. WINDSOR CASTLE, STOKE POGES, AND ETON SCHOOL         94

    IX. MORE ABOUT LONDON                                   107

     X. RICHMOND AND HAMPTON COURT PALACE                   122

    XI. STRATFORD-ON-AVON                                   138

   XII. A DAY IN WARWICKSHIRE                               161

  XIII. WARWICK AND KENILWORTH CASTLES                      181

   XIV. SHERWOOD FOREST AND HADDON HALL                     203

    XV. WINCHESTER, SALISBURY, AND STONEHENGE               222

   XVI. CLOVELLY                                            238

  XVII. ROCHESTER AND CANTERBURY                            251

 XVIII. GOOD-BY TO LONDON                                   273

        INDEX                                               289

ILLUSTRATIONS

 THEY SUDDENLY SAW THE TREMENDOUS CATHEDRAL
   LOOMING UP BEFORE THEM (_Page 70_)             _Frontispiece_

                                                          FACING
                                                           PAGE

 "OH, WHAT'S THIS PLACE? I AM SURE I HAVE SEEN
   PICTURES OF IT!"                                          12

 "DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE QUAINT LITTLE VERSES
   ABOUT 'BOW BELLS'?"                                       16

 "I ONLY WISH I COULD BE A GUARD AND RIDE A HORSE
   LIKE ONE OF THOSE!"                                       20

 "THERE'S THE ABBEY RIGHT AHEAD OF US"                       26

 "WHAT'S THE USE OF HAVING SO MANY DOORS?"                   40

 "THIS SEEMS TO SPEAK OF PEACE, HAPPINESS, AND SAFETY"       44

 "I WANT TO SEE WHO THOSE FELLOWS IN THE FUNNY
   RED UNIFORMS ARE"                                         50

 "THE KING CANNOT PROCEED INTO THE 'CITY' WITHOUT
   BEING FIRST RECEIVED AT TEMPLE BAR BY THE
   LORD MAYOR"                                               68

 "I'D FEEL LIKE 'LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY' GOING
   AROUND WITH THOSE CLOTHES ON!"                            84

 "YOU REMEMBER, DON'T YOU, HAVING THE GUIDE POINT
   OUT LONDON BRIDGE?"                                       88

 THE MOSS-GROWN SAXON PORCH                                  96

 JOHN MILTON LIVED THERE AFTER HE FLED FROM LONDON          106

 "OH, HERE'S THE OLD CORONATION CHAIR, ISN'T IT?"           114

 "EVERY TIME I VISIT THIS PALACE I MARVEL AT THE
   AMOUNT OF HISTORY WITH WHICH IT IS CONNECTED"            136

 "WHY, I DIDN'T SUPPOSE IT WAS AS BIG AS THAT!"             140

 "DID ANNE TRULY LIVE HERE?"                                164

 "THEY KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THEY ARE, AND THAT
   THIS GARDEN WOULDN'T BE COMPLETE WITHOUT
   THEM"                                                    184

 "IT STILL SEEMS ALIVE WITH MEMORIES OF THE FAIR
   DOROTHY VERNON"                                          218

 "THERE STILL REMAINS THE QUESTION OF HOW THESE
   TREMENDOUS STONES WERE BROUGHT HERE"                     236

 ONE OF PLASTER AND THATCH, OVERGROWN WITH ROSES            240

 "YOU'LL FIND NOTHING AT ALL LIKE THIS STRANGE
   LITTLE CLOVELLY"                                         250

 "WILLIAM OF SENS, IN 1184, FINISHED THE BUILDING
   WHICH WE NOW SEE"                                        264

 OLD GENTLEMEN, STOUT LADIES, YOUNG PEOPLE, AND
   SMALL CHILDREN, ALL RIDE IN ENGLAND                      286

JOHN AND BETTY'S HISTORY VISIT

CHAPTER ONE

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Two eager young Americans sat, one on each side of the window of an
English train, speeding towards London. They had landed only that
morning, and everything seemed very strange to them, as they watched
the pretty scenes from the car-window. The lady who had met them at
the steamer, was an old friend of the family, who had often been to
America, and was well known to the children, though they had never
seen her son and daughter, whom they had come to visit. Mrs. Pitt soon
aroused them by saying:--

"Come, John, we are almost there, so please fetch down Betty's wraps
from the rack. Here are your umbrellas; you may take Betty's bag and
I'll take yours. Yes, it is really England, and soon we'll be in
London, where Philip and Barbara are very impatiently waiting to meet
the American friends with whom they have been exchanging letters for
so long. They have been studying history hard, and have learned all
they possibly could about their own country, which they love, and want
you to know, too. They have never seen very much of England, and this
is an excellent chance for them to do some sight-seeing with you. I
think you'll have a jolly time seeing all the strange sights and
customs, and visiting some historic places. Now, you must not expect
to find Philip and Barbara just like your friends at home; English
children dress very differently, and may use some expressions which
you do not exactly understand, but you'll soon become accustomed to
them all. Here we are at Waterloo Station."

As the guard swung open the door, two impatient young people hurried
up to the party.

"Here we are, Mother; did they come?"

John and Betty shyly shook hands with their English friends, but did
not find anything to say, just at first. Mrs. Pitt went to the
luggage-van, to find the children's trunks, and the others followed.

"Aren't the trains funny, John?" said Betty, nervously holding her
brother's hand.

"See, this is the baggage part of the car, but isn't it small!"

"Oh, there are several on each train," explained Philip. "Are your
vans any bigger?"

"There are our trunks, Mrs. Pitt," called John. "I know them by the
C's we pasted on the ends."

"Here, porter, put this luggage on a four-wheeler, please," and Mrs.
Pitt and her charges crowded in, the luggage was piled on top, and
they drove away.

"Do you think you will like London?" asked Barbara of Betty, rather
anxiously.

Betty ventured to answer, "Oh, I think so, only it is very different
from New York."

It certainly was! Great, top-heavy buses swung and lurched past them,
some of them drawn by splendid horses, but still more with motors. The
outsides of the vehicles were covered with all sorts of gay
advertisements and signs, in bright and vivid colors; in this way, and
in their tremendous numbers, they differ from the New York buses on
Fifth Avenue.

"To-night, we will take you out for a ride on top of a bus if you
like, John," said Philip.

John, losing his shyness, began to ask questions, and to give his
opinion of the things he saw.

"I think the buses are great! I shall always choose that seat just
behind the driver, where I can talk to him. He must have fine stories
to tell, doesn't he, Philip? I like the hansoms, too. There really
seem to be more hansoms than anything else in London! Just look,
Betty, at that long row there in the middle of the street! I suppose
they are waiting for passengers. And there's a line of 'taxis,' too.
My, but these streets are crowded! Fifth Avenue isn't in it!"

Philip and Barbara looked at each other and smiled. All the sights
which were so familiar to them, seemed very novel to their American
visitors.

"I suppose it would be just the same to us, if we were to visit New
York," said Barbara. "Those bus-horses, which you admire, do look very
fine at first, but the work is so hard on them, that they only last a
very short time. Their days are about over now, for soon we shall have
only the motor-buses."

[Illustration: "OH, WHAT'S THIS PLACE? I AM SURE I HAVE SEEN PICTURES
OF IT!"--_Page 12_.]

"Oh, what's this place?" cried John excitedly. "I am sure I have seen
pictures of it! Why, Philip, I think you once sent me some
post-cards which showed this!"

"Oh, yes, this is Trafalgar Square," broke in Mrs. Pitt. "People
sometimes call it the center of all London. Here is the celebrated
statue of Lord Nelson--here, in the middle; see all the flower-girls,
with their baskets, around its foot. That large building, with the
pillars, is the National Gallery, where I may take you to see the
pictures. The church near it they call St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.
Yes, it doesn't seem a very appropriate name now, but once it really
was 'in the fields,' it has stood here so long. Do you notice all the
streets leading out from this great square? That way is the direction
of the Strand and Fleet Street; Westminster Abbey is not far away; and
you can see the towers of the Houses of Parliament--just there. You
will soon grow more familiar with all this. Now, we must go this way,
and before long, we shall be at home. I think you'll be glad to rest
after your tiresome journey. This is Regent Street, where many of the
shops are. Aren't they attractive?"

"Yes," said John, "but how very low the buildings are! As far as I can
see they are all of the same height. They are almost all yellow, too,
and with the bright buses the scene is very gay."

They rode along for some time, the silence being often broken by
exclamations and questions. John and Betty could not understand how
people avoided being run over when they all dashed across the street,
right under the very noses of the horses. It was amusing to see people
stumbling up the narrow, winding stairs of the buses, as they jolted
along, and even the signs over the shops attracted some attention.
They wondered if the King and Queen could shop in them all, for so
many bore the words, "Jewelers to T. R. M.," or "Stationers to Their
Royal Majesties." London seemed very large to them on this first
drive--very strange and foreign, and they were glad when the cab drew
up before a big house in a spacious square, and the rest cried, "Here
we are at home!"

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIRST EVENING

The big library at Mrs. Pitt's home was a fascinating place, the two
visitors thought. The ceiling was high, the wainscoting was of dark
wood, and the walls were almost entirely lined with book-cases. John
was delighted with some little steps, which you could push around and
climb up on to reach the highest shelves. This room suggested great
possibilities to both the young visitors, for, as they were to stay
many months, there would certainly be days when it would be too wet to
go out, and they could by no means entirely give up their reading.

As they had felt rather chilly on their bus-ride that evening, the
four young people all came into the library upon their return, and
drew their chairs up to the tiny grate. Betty and John had greatly
enjoyed this new experience, for they had been truly English. Having
jumped aboard while the bus was moving slowly, near the curb, they
had scrambled up the little steps and taken the seats behind the
driver. They had not noticed much about where they were going, for it
had all seemed a jumble of many lights, crowds of people, and noise.
But John had slipped a coin into the driver's hand, and there had been
a steady stream of stories from that moment. London bus-drivers have
plenty to tell, and are not at all loath to tell it--especially after
the encouragement of a tip. John was delighted to hear about the time,
one foggy Christmas Eve, when his friend had "sat for four hours, sir,
without daring to stir, at 'Yde Park Corner." John envied him the
splendid moment when the fog had finally lifted and disclosed the
great mass of traffic, which had been blinded and stalled for so long.

As John stood in front of the fire thinking it all over, he suddenly
exclaimed, "It was fun to hear that driver drop his h's; that was real
Cockney for you!"

Betty looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "Wasn't it supposed
that only people who had been born within the sound of the bells of
old Bow Church could be real Cockneys?"

[Illustration: "DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE QUAINT LITTLE VERSES ABOUT BOW
BELLS?"--_Page 17._]

"That's right, Betty; your history is good," said Mrs. Pitt, who had
just entered; "but John, I must tell you that dropping h's is not
necessarily Cockney. The peculiar pronunciation of vowels is what
characterizes a true Cockney's speech, but many others drop h's--the
people of Shropshire for instance.

"Do you children remember those quaint little verses about Bow Bells?"
continued Mrs. Pitt. "In the days when Dick Whittington was a boy, and
worked at his trade in London, it was the custom to ring Bow Bells as
the signal for the end of the day's work, at eight o'clock in the
evening. One time, the boys found that the clerk was ringing the bells
too late, and indignant at such a thing, they sent the following
verses to him:

     "'Clerke of the Bow Bells,
       With the yellow lockes,
     For thy late ringing,
       Thou shalt have knockes.'

"The frightened man hastened to send this answer to the boys:

     "'Children of Chepe,
       Hold you all stille,
     For you shall have Bow Bells
       Rung at your wille.'"

"That was bright of them," commented John, as he rose to take off his
coat.

Philip and Barbara had long since thrown off their wraps and pulled
their chairs away from the fire, saying how warm they were. Even after
John had dispensed with his coat, Betty sat just as near the tiny
blaze as she could, with her coat still closely buttoned.

"No, thanks; I want to get warm," she answered, when they spoke of it.
"It seems to me that it's very cold here. Don't you ever have bigger
fires?"

As Betty spoke, the little blaze flickered and almost went out.

"I'll shut the window," said Philip. "I remember, now, how cold
Americans always are over here. Mother has told us how frightfully hot
you keep your houses. We don't like that, for we never feel the cold.
Why, just to show you how accustomed to it we English are, let me tell
you what I read the other day. At Oxford University, up to the time of
King Henry VIII, no fires were permitted. Just before going to bed the
poor boys used to go out and run a certain distance, to warm
themselves. Even I shouldn't care for that!"

"Let's make some plans for to-morrow," exclaimed Mrs. Pitt. "What
should you like to see first, Betty?"

"I want to go somewhere on a bus!" was John's prompt answer, at which
everybody laughed except Betty.

"Oh, yes, but let's go to Westminster Abbey just as soon as possible,
John. I've always wanted so much to see it, that I don't believe I can
wait now. Think of all the great people who have been associated with
it," said Betty very earnestly.

"Very well, I quite agree on taking you first to the Abbey," said Mrs.
Pitt. "It is a place of which I could never tire, myself. And strange
to say, I very seldom, if ever, get time to go there, except when I'm
showing it to strangers. Why! It's twenty-five minutes past nine this
very minute, children; you must go to bed at once!"

CHAPTER THREE

WESTMINSTER ABBEY

The first thing that Betty heard the following morning was a gentle
knock upon her bedroom door, and a voice saying, "It's seven o'clock,
and will you have some sticks, Miss?"

"What sticks? What for?" Betty asked sleepily.

They were for a fire, it seemed, and Betty welcomed the idea. She was
soon dressed, and Barbara came to show her the way to the
breakfast-room.

"You can't think how good it does seem not to be thrown about while
dressing, as we were on the steamer! Do you know that I can't help
stepping up high over the door-sills even yet!" laughed Betty, as they
went downstairs together. "Mrs. Moore, the friend of mother's in whose
care we came, you know, told me that I should probably feel the motion
for some time after landing."

[Illustration: "I ONLY WISH I COULD BE A GUARD AND RIDE A HORSE LIKE
ONE OF THOSE!"--_Page 21._]

To the surprise of John and Betty, there was a very hearty breakfast
awaiting them. They had expected the meager tea, toast, and jam, which
some Americans consider to be customary in English homes, because it
is encountered in the hotels.

Early in the morning, the buses were even more crowded than the night
before, and they had some difficulty in finding seats. John placed
himself beside a soldier dressed in a scarlet coat and funny little
round cap held on sidewise by a strap across his chin, with every
intention of starting up a conversation with him; but one glance at
his superior air discouraged the boy from any such attempt. When they
arrived at Trafalgar Square again, they jumped off, and walked down
towards the towers of the Houses of Parliament. In front of the Horse
Guards they stood in admiration of the two mounted sentries, stationed
there.

"Those black horses are great!" cried John. "How fine those fellows do
look sitting there like statues in their scarlet uniforms, and their
shiny helmets with the flying tails to them! I only wish I could be a
Guard, and ride a horse like one of those!"

"Would you rather be a Horse Guard, or a bus-driver, John?" asked
Betty teasingly.

"Sometimes you see dozens of the Guards together; that's a fine
sight!" said Barbara, after the laugh had subsided. "They escort the
King when he goes out in state. Oh, you'll see them often."

That comforted John somewhat, but he could not resist turning around
for several glances towards the gateway where the Guards were.

"Why do they always stand there?" he questioned.

Mrs. Pitt explained that they were organized by Charles II, who needed
all possible protection to enable him to hold the throne after his
exile in foreign lands. After the days of Cromwell, times were very
unsettled, and many disturbances were likely to occur. Hence the duty
of these Guards was probably to keep the peace (the 'prentices and
common people were very hot-headed), and to escort the King, as they
still do.

"Perhaps," she went on, "you don't understand who the 'prentices were.
Long ago it was the custom to apprentice boys to one of the great and
powerful guilds or companies. These were organizations of many
merchants belonging to the same trade; such as shipbuilders,
carpenters, candle-makers, and so forth. Their main object was to see
that the work which was turned out was good. Every man belonged to his
guild; some were for 'common and middling folks,' while kings and
princes were members of others. A great deal of good was done by these
companies, for each, besides aiding and protecting its own members,
usually had some other charity. For instance, the guild at Lincoln fed
yearly as many poor as there were members of the guild; and another
kept a sort of inn for the shelter of poor travelers. The guilds
played an important part in the life of the time. Well, as I was
saying, when a boy had chosen the trade which was to his taste, he
went to the city, and was apprenticed to a member of one of the
guilds, with whom he usually lived. The boys were called 'prentices.
Their life was not an easy one, and yet, it seems to me that they must
have enjoyed it. In those days, there were great tournaments and grand
processions of kings, with hundreds of servants and followers, all
splendidly dressed in brilliant colors. Men wore magnificent clothes
of silks and velvets and cloth-of-gold, with costly jewels, such as
ropes of pearls; and their servants, whose duty it was to go before
their masters on the street, wore suits of livery with the silver
badge of their master. London in those days was a wonderfully busy
place! On board the ships sailing up the river were men in strange
costumes, from foreign lands. The 'prentices would often stop work to
watch a company of Portuguese sailors pass, or a gorgeous procession
of bishops with their retainers; and from this little verse we know
that they did not always return very quickly to their duties. Do you
know this?

     "'When ther any ridings were in Chepe,
     Out of the shoppe thider would he lepe;
     And till that he had all the sight ysein,
     And danced well, he would not come again.'

"There were always processions, too, in winter as well as in summer,
for the people seemed not to mind rain or storm in the least. The boys
had many holidays,--there were frequent pageants, feasts, and
celebrations of all kinds,--and on the whole, I think they must have
been very happy in spite of the long hours of work, don't you?
Another curious custom was the keeping of cudgels in every shop for
the use of the 'prentices, in case of a fight--and I imagine that they
were numerous. Now, come close to me, children, while we cross this
street; there's the Abbey right ahead of us."

As they entered the north transept of Westminster Abbey, the dim
light, in contrast to the sunshine outside, was almost blinding. At
first, all was indistinct except the great rose-window, in the
opposite transept, through which the light strayed in many colors. The
morning service was in progress, so they sat down near the door, and
listened and looked. How beautiful!--how tremendous it all was! Even
John's overflowing spirits were quieted, it was so wonderfully
impressive! The rose-window still stood out clearly against the deep
shadows all about it, but a faint light could now be seen coming in
through the little windows, high up near the roof,--the clerestory
windows, they are called. Betty could see the massive roof, the long
aisles crowded with marble monuments, and the pillars. The canon's
voice was heard intoning in a deep, monotonous key; reading followed,
and then some one sang, in a high, clear voice, which seemed to come
from far away, and yet to fill all the space of the great building.
Betty could not have spoken a word; she was filled with a kind of
wondering awe such as she had never known before.

John, more matter-of-fact, was examining the statues nearest to him.

He touched Betty's arm to attract her attention, and said, "See, there
are lots of statues here, Betty, but I only know the names of William
Pitt and Benjamin Disraeli, 'Twice Prime-Minister.' Do you remember
him? Wonder if William Pitt was an ancestor of our Mrs. Pitt!" he
rambled on, not seeing that his sister took no notice of him.

As for Betty, she scarcely knew that any one had spoken to her. She
seemed to be back in the Middle Ages, and the present had vanished
away.

When the service was ended, they walked about, examining the monuments
as they went.

[Illustration: "THERE'S THE ABBEY RIGHT AHEAD OF US."--_Page 25._]

"This long, broad aisle extending from the main entrance to the choir
is called the nave," explained Mrs. Pitt. "The shorter aisles which
form the crossing are the transepts, and the choir is always the
eastern end of the building, containing the altar. These are facts
which you will want to learn and remember."

"The kings and queens are all buried here, aren't they, Mrs. Pitt?"
questioned John. "Will they put King Edward here, too, when he dies?"

"A great many kings and queens are buried here, though not all," Mrs.
Pitt told them. "The Royal Tombs are there, behind those gates, in the
chapels which surround the choir. We can't go in there unless we take
a guide, and I thought we would wait for another day to visit the
lovely chapel of Henry VII and all the famous tombs. I don't want you
to see too much at one time. No, John, King Edward probably will not
be buried here. Queen Victoria, his mother, lies at a place called
Frogmore, near Windsor, and it is likely that her son will choose that
spot, also. Here's the Poets' Corner, and there is at least one face
which I'm sure you will be glad to see. This is it."

As she spoke, the party stopped in front of the well-known bust of our
poet, Longfellow, which I suppose every American is proud to see.

"So they read 'Hiawatha,' even in England," Betty remarked.

"There are tablets all over the floor, under our feet! Look, I'm
standing on Dickens' grave this very minute! And there's 'Oh, Rare Ben
Jonson,' right there on the wall; I've always heard of that. And
here's Spenser, and Chaucer, and Browning, and Tennyson, very close
together. Oh! It's dreadful! I don't want to step on them! Why,
everybody who ever was anybody seems to be here!" gasped John,
forgetting his grammar in his interest.

"Here are busts of Scott (there's the man for me!), and Burns,
Goldsmith, and Coleridge; I know all these names. Here's a statue of
Shakespeare, though of course he isn't buried here. There's a tablet
to Jenny Lind. Wasn't she a singer? Seems to me I've heard my grandpa
speak of her. And, if here isn't Thackeray's grave--there in the floor
again! Well! Well!"

"Come over here, John, and see this," called Philip, pointing to a
tomb on which was this inscription:

     Thomas Parr of ye county of Salop, born A.D. 1483. He lived
     in the reignes of ten princes, viz.--King Edward IV, King
     Edward V, King Richard III, King Henry VII, King Henry VIII,
     King Edward VI, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James, and
     King Charles; aged 152 years, and was buryed here, 1635.

"Well, that beats them all!" laughed John, who was greatly pleased.

Mrs. Pitt now led the rest into the little chapel of St. Faith, off
the south transept, where they sat down to rest.

"It's the most wonderful place I ever dreamed of!" said Betty quietly,
as though she were talking to herself. "This little chapel is the
quaintest, oldest thing I ever saw! The walls are so dark; that tiny
window up so high, hardly lets in any light at all; and the altar,
with the faded picture, is so strange! I can't believe it is the
twentieth century; the people in the Abbey now don't seem real to me
at all. They look so small and shadowy beside the huge statues of
people of other days! Surely the people the statues represent belong
here, and not we! Why, I feel so far back in history that I shouldn't
be in the least surprised to see Raleigh, or Chaucer, or Queen
Elizabeth, walk into this chapel, right now! I should probably go up
and say 'How do you do?'" she added laughingly.

Betty did not know that any one had heard her talking, but Mrs. Pitt
had been listening, and when Betty was silent, she said:

"Come, let's go out into the sunshine of the cloisters now. I am
really afraid to have Betty stay in here any longer! The first thing
we know, she'll be disappearing into the Middle Ages! She's almost
there now!"

As they went through the low door into the cloisters, she continued,
"I want to explain to you children, that in connection with this
Abbey, as with all, there was for centuries a great monastery; and
that the buildings which we shall see, as well as the cloisters, had
to do with the monks. Henry VIII dissolved all the monasteries in
England, you remember."

The ancient cloisters of Westminster Abbey are deeply interesting and
impressive. They are four arcades built around the square grass-plot,
which was the monks' burial-ground. The fine tracery of the windows is
now much broken, and is crumbling away with age, but its exquisite
carving is still plainly seen. The original pavement yet remains; it
is much worn by the feet of the monks, and is almost covered by
tablets which mark the resting-places of the abbots, as well as of
others. The members of our party were touched, as are all, by the
pathetic simplicity of the epitaph: "Jane Lister, Dear Childe, 1688."
Those four short words suggest a sad story about which one would like
to learn more.

"You must know," said Mrs. Pitt, "that the cloisters were something
besides burial-places. Here the monks spent most of their time, for
this was the center of the life of the monastery. The southern
cloister, over opposite, was the lavatory, and there the monks were
forced to have their heads shaved,--every two weeks in summer, and
every three in winter. These walls were then painted with frescoes,
the floor and benches were covered with rushes or straw, the windows
were partly glazed, and lamps hung from the ceiling. In one of the
cloisters was held a class of novices, taught by a master, and this
was the beginning of Westminster School. I believe the pupils were
allowed to speak only French. How would you like that?"

Adjoining the cloisters are numerous little passageways, with low
arches, which lead into tiny courts dotted with flowers and little
fountains. In the houses about, live the canons of the Abbey and
others connected with the church. Lovely glimpses of sunlight and the
bright colors of flowers are seen at the ends of these dark, ancient
passages.

Westminster School may also be reached from the cloisters. Our party
stood a moment in the doorway of the schoolroom to see the splendid
old hall, with its fine oaken roof. This was once the dormitory of the
monks, but is now taken up with the boys' "forms," or desks, piled
with books. The walls above the wainscoting, and the window-recesses,
are covered with signatures of the scholars,--some of them famous, for
the school was begun as long ago as the time of Henry VIII, who was
the founder. The visitor may see the name of the poet, Dryden, on one
of the desks; he was a pupil there, as were also Sir Christopher Wren,
the architect; Ben Jonson; Southey, the poet; and John and Charles
Wesley.

"What is that iron bar for?" questioned the curious John, pointing to
a long bar which stretches from wall to wall, across the middle of the
room.

"That divides the Upper and Lower Classes," was the prompt reply of
Mrs. Pitt, whose stock of knowledge seemed endless. "At one time, a
curtain was hung over that bar. Don't you know the story which is told
in the 'Spectator Papers,' about the boy who accidentally tore a hole
in this curtain? He was a timid little fellow, and was terrified at
the thought of the punishment which he felt sure would be his. One of
his classmates came to the rescue, saying that he would take the blame
upon himself, which he did. It was years later, when the timid boy had
become a great judge, that the Civil War broke out, and he and his
friend took opposite sides. The kind man who had saved his friend from
punishment was a Royalist, and was captured and imprisoned at Exeter,
where the other man happened to come at the same time, with the
Circuit Court. At the moment when nothing remained but to sentence the
'rebels,' the judge recognized his friend, and by making a very
hurried trip to London, he was able to secure a pardon from Cromwell,
and thus succeeded in saving the man's life."

"That was fine!" said John. "He did pay him back after all, didn't
he? I thought he wasn't going to."

"Now, we will just look into the Chapter House and the old Jerusalem
Chamber, before we go," said Mrs. Pitt, as they left the school.

The Chapter House is a beautiful, eight-sided room, dating from the
thirteenth century. Here the business of the monastery was always
conducted, and at the meetings which came every week, the monks were
allowed to speak freely, and to make complaints, if they wished. Here
also the monks were punished.

"They used to whip them against that central pillar, there," the guard
explained. "Here sat the abbot, opposite the door, and the monks sat
on benches ranged around the room. Parliament met here for many years,
too, its last session in this room being on the day that the great
King Hal died."

The Chapter House has been restored now, and the windows are of modern
stained-glass. In the cases are preserved some valuable documents, the
oldest being a grant of land, made by King Offa, in 785.

To reach the Jerusalem Chamber, it is necessary to go through a part
of the cloisters, and into the court of the Deanery. On one side is
the old abbot's refectory, or dining-hall, where the Westminster
school-boys now dine. John went boldly up the steps and entered. After
a few minutes, he came running out again, exclaiming:

"Nobody stopped me, so I went right in, and looked around. A maid was
setting the tables, and I noticed that she stared at me, but she
didn't say anything, so I stayed. The hall is great! It isn't very
large, but is paneled and hung with portraits. The old tables, a
notice says, are made from wood taken from one of the vessels of the
Spanish Armada. Wonder how they found it and brought it here! I was
just going to ask the maid, when a savage-looking man appeared and
said I had no business there. So I came away. I don't care; I saw it,
anyway!" he added, as they approached the entrance of the Jerusalem
Chamber.

All three sides of this little court were the abbot's lodgings, and
are now the deanery. The Jerusalem Chamber was built about 1376, as a
guest-chamber for the abbot's house.

"The name is curious, isn't it?" remarked Mrs. Pitt. "It probably came
from some tapestries which formerly hung there, representing the
history of Jerusalem. It was in this room, right here in front of the
fireplace, according to tradition, that Henry IV died. A strange dream
had told the King that he would die in Jerusalem, and he was actually
preparing for the journey there, when he was taken very ill, and they
carried him into this room. When he asked where they had brought him,
and the reply was, 'To the Jerusalem Chamber,' he died satisfied. Many
bodies have lain here in state, too,--among them, that of Joseph
Addison, whom they afterwards buried in the Abbey. When we come again,
I will show you his grave. Now, notice the bits of ancient
stained-glass in the windows, and the cedar paneling; except for that,
there is nothing specially noteworthy here."

As they left the Dean's Yard and crossed the open space in front of
the great western towers of the Abbey, John and Betty agreed that if
they could see nothing more in England, they were already repaid for
their long journey across the ocean.

CHAPTER FOUR

PENSHURST PLACE: THE HOME OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

In Charing Cross Station one morning, Mrs. Pitt hurried up to the
"booking-office," as the English call the ticket-office, to "book"
five tickets to Penshurst. While the man was getting her change, she
turned and said to Philip:--

"Please ask that guard who is standing there, on which platform we
shall find the 9.40 train for Penshurst."

Philip did so, and returned with the information that they should go
to Platform 8. So they all mounted the steps and walked over the
foot-bridge which always runs across and above all the tracks, in an
English station. There was a bench on the platform, and they sat down
to await the arrival of the train. About 9.35, five minutes before the
train was to start, John happened to see a train official sauntering
by, and asked him if it was correct that the Penshurst train left from
that platform.

The man stared. "Really, you are quite mistaken," he drawled; "that
train leaves from Platform 2. You had better hurry, you know; you
haven't much time."

John waited for nothing more, but ran to tell the rest, and they all
started for the other end of the station. Up the steep steps again ran
Mrs. Pitt, with the four young people following. Along the bridge they
flew till they reached Platform 2, and then they almost fell down the
steps in their hurry, for the train was already there.

When they were fairly seated in a third-class carriage, John, still
out of breath, exclaimed:--

"Whew! My! I never ran faster in my life, did you, Philip? How the
girls kept up, I don't know! You're a first-class sprinter all right,
Mrs. Pitt! We'd like you on our football team, at home! My, but I'm
hot!"

He paused for breath, and then went on excitedly:

"There was a close call for you! We'd have lost it if I hadn't spoken
to that guard, just in fun! There we were calmly waiting, and all of a
sudden, we took that wild dash across the bridge! It was great! I
hope somebody caught a photograph of us! I'd like to see one! How
stupid of the guard to make that mistake! They never seem to know very
much, anyway. If I ever am a guard, I shall be different; I shall know
things!"

They all had a good laugh over the adventure, and Mrs. Pitt assured
John that when he was a guard, they would all promise to use his
station.

"Don't these trains seem different from ours, Betty?" the future guard
asked of his sister. "It seems so queer to me why they want to take a
perfectly good, long car, and chop it up from side to side, into
little narrow rooms, like this! What's the use of having so many
doors?--one on each side of every 'compartment'! And then, they put
handles only on the outside, so you have to let down the window and
lean away out to open it for yourself, if the guard doesn't happen to
do it for you! We Americans couldn't waste so much time!"

Just then, Betty, who could contain herself no longer, burst out
laughing.

"Why, what in the world's the matter?" cried Barbara.

Betty could only point to a passing train. "It's only the funny
little freight cars!" she finally explained, rather ashamed that she
had let her feelings escape in that way. "They look so silly to us!
They seem about a third the size of the ones at home. Really, these
remind me of a picture in my history-book, of the first train ever run
in America!"

Mrs. Pitt smiled. "Yes, I can imagine just how strange they must seem
to you, for I remember very well how I felt the first time I ever rode
in one of your trains. To me, one of the most interesting things about
visiting a foreign country, is to see the different modes of travel."

"Oh, please understand that I think so, too!" urged Betty. "It was
only that I couldn't help laughing just at first, you see. I wouldn't
have your trains just like ours for anything, and I'm sure that John
wouldn't either."

[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE USE OF HAVING SO MANY DOORS?"--_Page 39._]

"Now," said Mrs. Pitt, "there is a little confession which I feel that
I ought to make. It's about where we are going to-day. Probably most
people would blame me for not taking you to Windsor or Hampton Court,
on your first trip out of town. Both those places are charming, but
I wanted to show you, first of all, this dear little corner of Kent.
All tourists flock to Windsor and Hampton Court, but a great many do
not know about this tiny, out-of-the-way village, with which I fell in
love years ago. Penshurst Place was the home of Sir Philip Sidney, and
is still owned by a member of the same family. You know that Sir
Philip lived in Queen Elizabeth's time, and that his name stands for
the model of a perfect courtier and ideal gentleman. He died when he
was very young--only thirty-two, I think--and he did very little which
you would suppose could have made him so famous. That is, it was
little in comparison with what Raleigh and Drake accomplished, and yet
the name of Sidney ranks with all the rest. It seems to have been more
in the way he did things, than in what he did. Of course, you remember
the story of his death,--that when he was dying, he passed a cup of
water which was brought him, to another dying soldier, saying, 'Thy
need is greater than mine.' Well, to-day we shall see where he was
born and bred,--where Ben Jonson, Edmund Spenser, and Queen Elizabeth
all visited."

They were now riding through Kent, in which county is some of the most
picturesque English scenery. Although it was only the last of April,
the grass was the freshest green, the great trees were in full leaf,
and primroses were beginning to spring up in the fields. They sped
through little villages of thatched-roofed cottages, each with its
tiny garden of gay flowers. There were little crooked lanes, bordered
by high hedges, and wide, shady roads, with tall, stately elms on
either side, and fields where sheep grazed.

"Oh, there's a cottage which looks like Anne Hathaway's!" exclaimed
Betty. "It couldn't be, could it? Anyway, it's real story-book
country!"

They left the train at the little station of Penshurst, two miles from
the village. Behind the building stood a queer, side-seated wagon,
with one stout horse. The driver, when Philip found him, seemed loath
to bestir himself, but was finally persuaded to drive them to the
castle.

Penshurst village proved to be even prettier than those they had seen
from the train. The Lord of Penshurst Place is a very wise,
appreciative man, and he has made a rule that when any cottage in the
village is found to be beyond repair, it shall be replaced by a new
house exactly like the original. In consequence, the houses look
equally old and equally attractive, with their roofs of grayish
thatch, and the second stories leaning protectingly over the lower
windows, overgrown with rose-vines.

Mrs. Pitt went into the tiny post-office to buy their tickets of
admission to the castle, and when she called out that there were also
pretty post-cards to be had, the others quickly followed. Having
chosen their cards, they all walked through the little church-yard,
with its ancient yew trees, and out into a field from which they could
see Penshurst Place itself.

"Why! isn't it a huge place!" cried Barbara. "This is just as new to
Philip and me, you know, Betty, for we have never been here, either."

"How charmingly situated it is!" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt enthusiastically.
"Just a glance at it would tell you that it was never a strong
fortress. Like Raby Castle, another favorite of mine, I believe that
Penshurst never stood a siege. But it is so stately and graceful,
standing in the center of these perfect lawns and groups of noble old
trees! It is a beautiful contrast to the many fortress-castles! This
seems to speak of peace, happiness, and safety."

The castle covers a great deal of ground, and is low and square, with
here and there a turret. A terrace, or broad walk, runs the length of
the front of the building, where the moat formerly was, and the party
crossed this to reach the entrance-way. His Lordship came out just
then, with his dog, and glanced kindly at the eager young people.
Continuing, they crossed a square court, and came to a second gateway,
where a servant met them and conducted them into the old-time
Baronial-hall, dating from the fourteenth century.

"This," announced the guide with tremendous pride, "we believe to be
the only banquet-hall now remaining in England, where the ancient
fireplace in the center of the room still exists. You'll see many fine
halls, but you'll not see another such fireplace."

[Illustration: "THIS SEEMS TO SPEAK OF PEACE, HAPPINESS, AND SAFETY."
_Page 44._]

John went up to investigate, and found that right in the middle of the
vast room was a high hearth, on which some logs were piled. "But
how----?" he was asking, when the guide's explanations flowed on once
more:

"Yes, the smoke went out through a little hole in the roof. This
hall has never been restored, you see. That's the best thing about it,
most people think, lady. Here's the oak paneling, turned gray with
age; there, up on the wall, are the original grotesque figures, carved
in wood; here, are two of the old tables, as old as the hall; and
there's the musicians' gallery, at that end, over the entrance."

Mrs. Pitt was leaning against one of the massive tables, with her eyes
partly closed. "Let's just imagine the grand feasts which have been
held here," she mused. "I can almost see the Lord and Lady, dressed in
purple and scarlet, sitting with their guests at a table across this
end of the room. A board stretches down the length of the hall, and
here sit the inferiors and retainers. A long procession of servants is
winding always around the tables, bearing great roasts, birds,
pasties, and all sorts of goodies, on huge platters, high above their
heads. Up in the gallery here, the musicians are playing loudly and
gayly, and even when they cease the guests do not lack for
entertainment, for the fool, in his dress of rainbow colors, is
continually saying witty things and propounding funny riddles. In such
a place much elegance and ceremony were the necessary accompaniments
of a grand feast. In a book giving instructions for the serving of the
Royal table, is this direction, which always interested me: 'First set
forth mustard with brawn; take your knife in your hand, and cut the
brawn in the dish, as it lieth, and lay on your Sovereign's trencher,
and see that there be mustard.' As you see, they were exceedingly fond
of mustard. Richard Tarleton, an actor of Queen Elizabeth's time, who
was much at Court as jester, is reported as having called mustard 'a
witty scold meeting another scold.'"

The guide was growing impatient, and Mrs. Pitt ceased, saying
reluctantly, "Well, I suppose we must go on."

A servant rang a bell, and soon, down some stairs came a dear little
old lady dressed in stiff black silk, with white apron and cap, and
mitts on her hands. She escorted the party up the stairs, into her
domain.

"Wouldn't you just know to look at her that she had been in the family
all her life?" whispered Barbara to Betty.

First they saw the Ball-room, a stately apartment in which hang three
very valuable chandeliers, which Queen Elizabeth gave to Sir Henry
Sidney. The next room is still called "Queen Elizabeth's Room," for
here that Queen slept when upon a visit to the house. The same
furniture which she used is still in place, as well as some tapestries
made in honor of the visit, by Lady Sidney.

"If Queen Elizabeth slept in that bed," remarked Betty, "she couldn't
have been very tall."

Their guide, taking this as criticism of one of her beloved treasures,
was quick to say:

"It only looks short, because it's so uncommon wide, begging your
pardon, Miss."

"Did that stool belong to anybody?" questioned Barbara, tactfully
changing the subject. "It looks as if it has a history."

"And it has, Miss; that stool was used by the late Queen Victoria (God
bless her!), at her coronation at Westminster Abbey!" and the loyal
old lady patted the black velvet stool respectfully.

The rooms and corridors of the old house are crowded with things of
interest. Sir Philip's helmet is there, and a bit of his
shaving-glass. In a small room called the "Pages' Closet," are
preserved rare specimens of china--Queen Elizabeth's dessert-set, in
green, and Queen Anne's breakfast-set, in blue and white. Betty and
Barbara were deeply interested in Mary Stuart's jewel-case, and they
laughed over a very curious old painting which shows Queen Elizabeth
dancing. The long picture-gallery is lined with portraits--most of
them Sidneys--and among them those of the mother of Sir Philip, and of
his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, for whom he wrote his "Arcadia."

When they again passed through the Ball-room on their way out, they
were shown a little square window on one of the walls, which they had
not noticed before.

"Why! I can see down into the Banquet-hall!" exclaimed Philip, who had
climbed up to look through.

"Yes," said their guide, "in the olden times, the master at the ball
could look through there to see how the servants were behaving, down
in the hall below."

Out on the lawn again, they lingered for a few minutes while Mrs. Pitt
reminded them that there is every reason to believe that under those
very trees Spenser wrote his "Shepherd's Calendar."

Reluctantly they left the castle and walked back to the carriage,
which awaited them in the village.

"If all English castles are as beautiful as Penshurst Place," declared
Betty earnestly, "I can't go back to America until I have seen every
one!"

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TOWER OF LONDON

"I should think they'd call it 'The Towers,' instead of 'The Tower,'"
remarked Betty, surveying the curious, irregular jumble of buildings
before her, as they left the bus.

"That's true," Mrs. Pitt agreed; "but I suppose the name was first
given to the White Tower, which is the oldest part and was built by
William the Conqueror as long ago as 1080. Why did they call it the
White Tower? Well, I believe it was because they whitewashed the walls
in the thirteenth century. Why, what's the matter, John?"

"I want to see who those fellows in the funny red uniforms are," John
called back, as he ran ahead.

[Illustration: "I WANT TO SEE WHO THOSE FELLOWS IN THE FUNNY RED
UNIFORMS ARE."--_Page 50._]

When they reached the entrance, they saw John admiring a group of
these "fellows," who stood just inside the gate. In reality, they are
old soldiers who have served the King well, and are therefore
allowed to be the keepers and guides of the Tower. They bear the
strange name of "beefeaters" (a word grown from the French
"buffetiers"), and are very picturesque in their gorgeous scarlet
uniforms, covered with gilt trimmings and many badges, a style of
costume which these custodians have worn ever since the time of Henry
VIII, and which was designed by the painter, Holbein.

Any one may pay sixpence for a ticket which entitles him to wander
about the precincts of the Tower, and to see the "Crown Jewels," and
the armory, but Mrs. Pitt, being more ambitious for her young friends,
had obtained a permit from the Governor of the Tower. This she
presented to the "beefeater" who stood by the first gateway, after
they had crossed the great empty moat. The old man stepped to a tiny
door behind him, opened it, disclosing a small, winding stair, and
called "Warder! Party, please!"

A venerable "beefeater" with white hair and beard came in answer to
the summons, and bowing politely to the party, immediately started off
with them. They set out along a little, narrow, paved street, lined
by ancient buildings or high walls.

"They do say h'as 'ow the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards Queen, was
h'imprisoned in that room, up there," stated the guide, pointing to a
small window in a wall on their left. "By Queen Mary's h'orders she
was brought in through the Traitor's Gate, there. That was a great
disgrace, you know, Miss," he said to Betty, "for h'all the State
prisoners entered by there, and few of them h'ever again left the
Tower."

Before them some steps led down to a little paved court, and beyond,
under a building, they saw the terrible Traitor's Gate,--a low, gloomy
arch, with great wooden doors. The water formerly came through the
arch and up to the steps, at which the unfortunate prisoners were
landed. As the Princess Elizabeth stepped from the boat, she cried,
"Here landeth as true a subject, being a prisoner, as ever landed at
these stairs; and before Thee, O God, I speak it!"

"Isn't there a proverb, 'A loyal heart may be landed at Traitor's
Gate'?" questioned Mrs. Pitt; and turning to the guide she added,
"Wasn't it right here where we are standing that Margaret Roper
caught sight of her father, Sir Thomas More, after his trial?" As the
guide nodded his assent, she went on, "You all remember Sir Thomas
More, of course,--the great and noble man whom Henry VIII beheaded
because he would not swear allegiance to the King as head of the
Church in England. In those days, an ax was always carried in the boat
with the prisoner, on his return to the Tower, after the trial. If the
head of the ax was turned toward the victim, it was a sign that he was
condemned. It was here, as I said, that Margaret Roper stood with the
crowd, eagerly watching for the first glimpse of her beloved father;
and when he came near and she saw the position of the ax, she broke
away from the soldiers, and flung herself into her father's arms. The
two were so devoted that their story has always seemed an especially
pathetic one to me. I suppose there were many like it, however."

"Indeed there were, lady," returned the guide, quite moved.

Just opposite Traitor's Gate is the Bloody Tower, the most picturesque
bit of the entire fortress. The old portcullis there is known as the
only one in England which is still fit for use. At the side is an
ancient and rusty iron ring, which attracted John's attention so much
that he asked about it.

"Boatmen coming through the Traitor's Gate yonder, used to tie their
boats to that ring," the "beefeater" told them. "That shows you 'ow
much farther h'up the water came in those days. H'in a room over the
gateway of the Bloody Tower there, the Duke of Clarence, h'according
to some, drowned himself in a butt of Malmsey wine; and in h'an
adjoining room, they say that the little Princes were murdered by
h'order of their uncle, the powerful Duke of Gloucester, who stole
their right to the throne. Right 'ere, at the foot of these steps, is
where 'e 'urriedly buried them, h'after 'is men 'ad smothered them."

The children stood gazing at the little window over the gateway, their
eyes big with horror. It did not seem as though such terrible things
could have been done there in that little room, into which the sun now
poured through the tiny window.

Every night at eleven o'clock, the warder on guard at the Bloody
Tower challenges the Chief Warder, who passes bearing the keys. Each
time this conversation follows:--

"Who goes there?"

"Keys."

"Whose keys?"

"King Edward VII's keys."

"Advance King Edward VII's keys, and all's well."

Not until then, may the keys in the Chief Warder's care be allowed to
pass on.

Some steps just beyond lead into the Wakefield Tower, where the "Crown
Jewels" are now kept. The "beefeater" remained below, but Mrs. Pitt
took the young people up into the little round room where the splendid
crowns and other jewels are seen, behind iron bars. After examining
minutely the objects on view, while leaning just as far as possible
over the rail, John burst out with:

"Just look at those huge salt-cellars!" pointing to several very large
gold ones. "I should say that the English must be about as fond of
salt as they are of mustard, to have wanted those great things! Oh, I
don't care for these!" he added. "They are stupid, I think! Imagine
being King Edward, and owning such elegant crowns, scepters, and
things, and then letting them stay way down here at the Tower, where
he can't get at them! What's the use of having them, I'd like to know!
Oh, come on! I've seen enough of these!"

"Wait just a minute, John," interrupted Betty. "See! here's Queen
Victoria's crown, and in it is the ruby that belonged to the Black
Prince, and which Henry V wore in his helmet at Agincourt! Just
think!" with a sigh. "Now I'll go."

"Speaking of crowns," observed Mrs. Pitt, in passing down the stairs,
"have you ever heard about the large emerald which George III wore in
his crown, at his coronation? During the ceremony, it fell out, and
superstitious people regarded it as a bad omen. Their fears were
realized when that sovereign lost something much dearer to him than
any jewel: his American Colonies."

The previously-mentioned White Tower stands in the center of all the
other surrounding buildings. It is large and square, with turrets at
the four corners,--an ideal old fortress. As they approached, the
guide took out some keys and unlocked a door, starting down some
steps into the darkness. "Oh, the dungeons!" gasped Betty, and she and
Barbara shivered a little, as they followed.

Just at the foot they halted, and the guide showed them some round
holes in the floor.

"'Ere's where they fastened down the rack. This 'ere's the Torture
Chamber. You may think that being so near the entrance, the cries of
the victims could be 'eard by the people outside, lady, but these
walls are so thick that there was no possible chance of that. Ah, down
in these parts is where we still see things, ladies!"

"Why, what do you mean?" whispered John, dreading and yet longing to
hear.

Thus encouraged, their guide continued:--

"Once h'every month, it is my turn to watch down 'ere, during the
night. Some of us don't like to admit it, lady, but we h'all dread
that! Many things which 'ave never been written down in 'istory, 'ave
'appened in these 'ere passages and cells! Ah, there are figures glide
around 'ere in the dead o' night, and many's the times I've 'eard
screams, way in the distance, as though somebody was being 'urt! Now,
this way, please, and I'll show you Guy Fawkes's cell,--'im h'as was
the originator of the Gunpowder Plot, and tried to blow up the 'ouses
of Parliament."

They felt their way along the uneven floors, and peered into the
darkness of Guy Fawkes's cell, which was called "Little Ease."

"Just imagine having to stay long in there!" sighed Betty. "Not able
to stand up, lie down, or even sit up straight! Did they make it that
way on purpose, do you think?"

"They certainly did, Miss," declared the guide. "They tried to make
'im confess 'o 'ad associated with 'im in the plot; but 'e wouldn't,
and they finally put 'im on the rack, poor man! A terrible thing was
that rack!"

"Let's come away now," broke in Mrs. Pitt quickly. "I really think we
have all had about enough of this, and there are more cheerful things
to be seen above."

So they threaded their way out to the entrance again, getting whiffs
of damp, disagreeable air from several dark dungeons, and passing
through a number of great apartments stacked with guns. It was a
relief to gain the main part of the building, where other people were,
and plenty of warmth and sunlight. Their spirits rose, and they
laughed and joked while climbing the narrow, spiral stairs.

The large room in which they found themselves was filled with weapons
also, and various relics of the old Tower. It was used as the great
Banqueting-hall when the Tower was the Royal Palace, as well as the
fortress, the State prison, the Mint, the Armory, and the Record
Office. The apartment above this was the Council Chamber. They went
up.

"It was here that Richard II gave up his crown to Henry of Bolingbroke
who became Henry IV, by demand of the people," said Mrs. Pitt.
"Richard was a weak, cruel king, you remember, and was confined in a
distant castle, where he was finally murdered. Suppose we examine some
of this armor now. This suit here belonged to Queen Elizabeth's
favorite, the Earl of Leicester. Notice the initials R. D., which
stand for his name, Robert Dudley. This here was made for Charles I
when he was a boy; and that belonged to Charles Brandon, Duke of
Suffolk; and this, to Henry VIII himself. Aren't they interesting?
Yes, what's that you have found, Barbara?"

The two boys were absorbed in the armor for some time, but Barbara and
Betty liked a figure on horseback, which represents Queen Elizabeth as
she looked when she rode out in state. It is strangely realistic, for
the figure is dressed in a gown of the period said to have belonged to
that Queen.

"Do you suppose that jewels were sewn into the dress where those round
holes are?" asked Betty, gently touching the faded velvet with one
finger.

They all examined the dreadful instruments of torture, some of them
taken from the Armada, and the ghastly headsman's block and mask, and
then they descended the winding stairs again and went into the little
shadowy St. John's Chapel, on the floor with the Banqueting-hall.

"I want you all to remember that this is called the 'most perfect
Norman chapel in England,'" began Mrs. Pitt. "Some day when you have
learned more about architecture, that will mean a great deal to you.
These heavy circular pillars and the horseshoe arches show the ancient
Norman style. It's a quaint place, isn't it? Here Brackenbury, the
Lieutenant of the Tower, was praying one evening when the order came
to him to murder the two little Princes. In this chapel, the Duke of
Northumberland, the aged father of Lady Jane Grey, heard Mass before
he went out to execution. 'Bloody Mary' came here to attend service
upon the death of her brother, Edward VI. Somewhere on the same floor
of this tower, John Baliol, the Scotch King, was imprisoned and lived
for some time in great state. There is (at any rate, there was) a
secret passage between this chapel and the Royal Apartments. I have
read so much about the dreadful conspirators who skulked about the
Tower, and the fearful deeds that were done here, that I can almost
see a man in armor, with drawn sword, lurking behind one of these
pillars!"

Some soldiers in their gay uniforms were parading on Tower Green when
they went out again, and the scene was a merry, bright one.

"How different from the days when the scaffold stood under those
trees!" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt, as they approached the fatal spot. "Here
perished Lady Jane Grey, Anne Boleyn, Katharine Howard, and Queen
Elizabeth's unfortunate favorite, the Earl of Essex. Most of the
victims were beheaded just outside, on Tower Hill. Now, we'll look
into St. Peter's Chapel."

It is a gloomy, unattractive enough little chapel, but there are
buried here many illustrious men and women, whose lives were unjustly
taken by those in power. Here lie the queens who suffered at the
Tower, and, strangely enough, their tombs are mostly unmarked. John
Fisher, the ancient Bishop of Rochester, lies here, and Guildford
Dudley, husband to Lady Jane Grey, the Earl of Arundel, Sir Thomas
More, and many others whose names are forever famous.

Our party visited the little room in the Beauchamp Tower, which so
many examine with intense interest. Many people were imprisoned there,
and the walls are literally covered with signatures, verses,
coats-of-arms, crests, and various devices cut into the stone by the
captives. Perhaps the most famous is the simple word "JANE," said to
have been done by her husband, Guildford Dudley. A secret passage has
been discovered extending around this chamber, and probably spies were
stationed there to watch the prisoners and listen to what they said.

"That's the Brick Tower," said Mrs. Pitt, pointing to it with her
umbrella, as she spoke. "There's where Lady Jane Grey was imprisoned,
and there Sir Walter Raleigh lived during his first stay at the Tower.
It was when he was in the Beauchamp Tower, however, that he burnt part
of his 'History of the World,' the work of many years. It happened in
a curious way! Do you know the story? He was at his window one morning
and witnessed a certain scene which took place in the court beneath.
Later, he talked with a friend who had been a nearer spectator of this
identical scene, and they disagreed entirely as to what passed.
Raleigh was very peculiarly affected by this little incident. He
reasoned that if he could be so much mistaken about something which
had happened under his very eyes, how much more mistaken must he be
about things which occurred centuries before he was born. The
consequence was that he threw the second volume of his manuscript into
the fire, and calmly watched it burn. Think of the loss to us! Poor
Raleigh! He was finally beheaded, and I should think he would have
welcomed it, after so many dreary years of imprisonment. He is buried
in St. Margaret's Church, beside Westminster Abbey, you know."

"Was there a real palace in the Tower?" inquired Betty, while they
retraced their steps under the Bloody Tower and back toward the
entrance. "Isn't there any of it remaining?"

"Yes, there was a palace here once, for royalty lived in the Tower
through the reign of James I. No part of it now exists, however. It
stood over beyond the White Tower, in a part which visitors are not
now allowed to see."

On a hill just outside the Tower, in the center of a large, barren
square, is a little inclosed park with trees and shrubbery. Here stood
the scaffold where almost all of the executions were held. The place
is now green and fruitful, but it is said that on the site of the
scaffold within the Tower, grass cannot be made to grow.

As they walked toward a station of the "Tube," an underground railway,
John suddenly heaved a great sigh of relief and exclaimed:

"Well, I tell you what! I've learned heaps, but I don't want to hear
anything more about executions for a few days! What do you all say?"

CHAPTER SIX

ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL AND ITS VICINITY

When Betty came down to her breakfast the following morning, she found
her plate heaped with letters and fascinating little parcels of
different shapes. For a moment she looked puzzled, then she exclaimed:

"Oh! I know! It's my birthday, and I'm having such a splendid time
sight-seeing, that I had forgotten all about it! How lovely!" as she
glanced again at the presents.

"See, John!" she cried, opening the first package, which had an
American postmark, "see what mother has sent me! It is such a pretty
tan leather cover, with little handles, to put on my Baedeker. You
know I always carry the guidebook, and read about things for Mrs.
Pitt. Now, I can keep the book clean, and besides, people can't
recognize me as an American just from seeing my red book! That's a
fine idea, I think!"

John thought that his sister was not opening the bundles quite fast
enough, so he pounced upon one and unwrapped it for her.

"This long thing is father's gift, Betty. It's an umbrella, of course,
and a fine one! Here's a card which says, 'Knowing that two umbrellas
could never be amiss in England, I send this.' Do you suppose he
guessed that you'd lost yours?"

After the bundles were all opened, the letters hurriedly devoured, and
Betty had at last settled down to eating her cold breakfast, Mrs. Pitt
said:

"I had not decided exactly what we would do to-day, and now I think
I'll let the birthday girl plan. Where will you go, Betty?"

After due consideration, Betty announced that she would choose to
visit St. Paul's Cathedral, and afterwards, by way of contrast, to
have lunch at the Cheshire Cheese.

"What in the world's that?" inquired John.

Mrs. Pitt laughed. "You'll see, for we'll go there, as Betty suggests,
when we have seen St. Paul's. I'm not sure whether you'll care to have
lunch there, but we'll look in, at any rate. It's rather different
from the places where you are accustomed to take your lunch! No, you
must wait, John! I'm not going to tell you any more about it!"

"What a beautiful day!" Betty cried, taking her seat on the bus a
little later. "I do wish it wouldn't always be so windy, though! I
almost lost my hat then!"

"As you stay longer in London, you'll notice that a really clear day
is almost always a very windy one as well. We Londoners have to accept
the two together," Mrs. Pitt told the visitors.

Leaving Trafalgar Square, the bus carried them by Charing Cross
Station, in front of which is a copy of the old Charing Cross. Edward
I, when his queen, Eleanor of Castile, died, put up many crosses in
her memory, each one marking a spot where her body was set down during
its journey to Westminster Abbey for burial. A little farther along,
the bus passed the odd little church of St. Mary-le-Strand, which is
on an "island" in the middle of that wide street and its great busy,
hurrying traffic. It is good to remember that on that very spot, the
maypole once stood. Narrow side streets lead off the Strand, and
looking down them one may see the river, and understand why the
street was so named. It originally ran along by the bank of the
Thames, and the splendid houses of the nobles lined the way.

"These fine stone buildings on our left are the new Law Courts, and
the griffin in the center of the street marks the position of old
Temple Bar. There! We've passed it, and now we are in Fleet Street.
Temple Bar was the entrance to the 'City,' you know. To this day the
King cannot proceed into the 'City' without being first received at
Temple Bar, by the Lord Mayor. At one time, the city of London
comprised a small area (two and a quarter miles from end to end), and
was inclosed by walls and entered by gates. Originally there were but
four gates,--Aldgate, Aldersgate, Ludgate, and Bridgegate. Think what
a small city it was then! It is curious to know that in spite of that,
there were then one hundred and three churches in London. The real
center of life for centuries was at 'Chepe,' or Cheapside, as it is
now called. You'll see it later."

[Illustration: "THE KING CANNOT PROCEED INTO THE 'CITY' WITHOUT BEING
FIRST RECEIVED AT TEMPLE BAR BY THE LORD MAYOR."--_Page 68._]

Betty had been looking eagerly, even while she listened to what Mrs.
Pitt was saying. Her eyes now rested upon an old church, over the
door of which stood a queer, blackened statue of a queen.

"The church is St. Dunstan's," responded Mrs. Pitt again. "That old
statue of Queen Elizabeth is one of the few things which escaped the
great fire in the reign of Charles II. The figure once stood on the
ancient Lud Gate of the city. They say that it was in the church-yard
of St. Dunstan's that John Milton sold his wonderful poem of 'Paradise
Lost' for five pounds."

"Let's see,--that would be twenty-five dollars, wouldn't it? I haven't
your English money clear in my mind yet," John confided to Philip. "I
can't somehow feel that it's real money unless it's in dollars and
cents."

Philip soon pointed to a little alley-way on their left, and said,
"The Cheshire Cheese is in a little court back of there. You can't
think how many buildings, courts, and alleys are hidden in behind all
of these shops. Some of the old inns, or coffee-houses, which were
famous are (or were) there. Now, here's Ludgate Hill, and in a minute
you'll have a view of St. Paul's."

St. Paul's Cathedral stands on a hill, and because of its position
and huge dome it is the most conspicuous of London's landmarks. But,
because of the closely surrounding buildings, it is much hidden from
near view. As the bus mounted Ludgate Hill, having passed under the
railroad-bridge, they suddenly saw the tremendous cathedral looming up
before them.

They paused for a moment by the statue of Queen Anne, in front of the
main entrance, while Mrs. Pitt, following her delightful habit,
reminded them of certain notable facts.

"No one knows exactly how long there has been a church upon this
site," she began, beckoning them closer to her, as the noise of the
traffic was so great, "but Bede, the oldest historian, says that a
chapel was built here by a Saxon king, before the time of the Romans.
When Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, built this present edifice,
after the great fire of 1666, he found relics of three periods,--the
Saxon, the British, and the Roman. St. Paul's has been burned five
times. The last fire (the one of which I just spoke) destroyed the
church which we know as 'old St. Paul's.' Now, let's go in, for there
is much to be seen."

Next to St. Peter's at Rome, St. Paul's in London is the largest
church, in the world. The first impression a person gets is one of
great vastness and bareness, for, unlike Westminster Abbey, here one
does not encounter at every step famous statues, memorials, and
graves. The nave is tremendous in width and in length. Chapels open
from both sides, but they seem far off and shadowy. Way in the
distance is the choir, the altar, and the group of chairs used at
services. Everything is quiet, empty, and bare.

"I never imagined such a huge church!" said Betty, much impressed. "I
feel lost and cold, somehow. What are you thinking, Mrs. Pitt? I'm
sure we'd all like to hear."

"I was just picturing, as I always do when I come here, the scenes the
nave of old St. Paul's presented in Henry VIII's time. Would you like
to hear? Well, in the sixteenth century, this nave was called 'Paul's
Walke,' and it was a place of business. Yes," she assured them, as
John and Betty exclaimed, "down these aisles were booths where
merchants of all kinds sold their wares. Counters were built around
the pillars, and even the font was used by the vendors. Pack-horses
laden with merchandise streamed always in and out, and crowds of
people elbowed their way about, shouting and gesticulating excitedly."

"But didn't they have any services at all in St. Paul's Cathedral?"
asked Betty wonderingly.

"Oh, yes!" continued Mrs. Pitt, "the services went on just the same.
The people were used to the noise and confusion. Here came the tailors
to look at the fine new clothes which the young dandies wore when they
took their morning promenades. All the latest books and poems were
always to be found on sale here. Bishop Earle wrote 'Paul's Walke--you
may cal--the lesser Ile of Great Brittaine. The noyse in it is like
that of Bees, in strange hummings, or buzze, mixt of walking, tongues,
and feet; it is a kind of still roare, or loud whisper.'

"I am glad to be able to say, however," she continued, "that before
that dreadful period, there was a time when the cathedral was not so
dishonored. Once these walls were covered with valuable shrines,
pictures, and tapestries, and costly jewels glittered everywhere.
There was one huge emerald which was said to cure diseases of the
eyes. Here came John Wycliffe, the great reformer, at the summons of
the Archbishop of Canterbury, to answer for the publication of his new
doctrines. Here, Henry of Bolingbroke prayed for his successful
seizure of the throne, and here he also wept over the grave of his
father, John of Gaunt. Sir Philip Sidney was buried here, and his
father-in-law, Sir Francis Walsingham, Queen Elizabeth's secretary;
and there was a magnificent monument to Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord
Chancellor, but these were all destroyed by the Great Fire."

About the aisles and nave are many monuments to great soldiers,
sailors, painters, statesmen, literary men, and others. Most of them
are very ugly, and our party did not linger long over these. After
walking under the dome, and looking up into its tremendous heights,
they went down into the crypt, which is really the most interesting
part of the cathedral.

The crypt is vast, dark, and gloomy. Other parties may be heard
walking about and talking in the distance, without being seen, and
their voices echo strangely. In the "Painters' Corner," Sir Joshua
Reynolds, West, Lawrence, Landseer, and Turner, all famous artists,
lie buried beneath the pavement. Sir Christopher Wren, surrounded by
members of his family, lies under the dome, as was his wish. Lord
Nelson and the Duke of Wellington both have splendid tombs there.

"These are all we now have of the monuments of the old cathedral,"
remarked Mrs. Pitt, pointing to where in a corner some mutilated
figures, heads, and broken monuments lay, all in a heap.

John was delighted when it was proposed to climb up into the dome, and
to test the "Whispering Gallery," on the way. It seemed an endless
climb up the spiral stairs, and Mrs. Pitt, Barbara, and Betty lagged
behind. When they finally came out into the great round gallery, the
two boys were over on the opposite side. Betty, after waving to them,
sat down on a bench against the wall, and suddenly she heard John's
voice, saying "Glad to see you at last!" She put her lips to the wall
and whispering an answer, found that John could hear her, too. They
were having quite a lengthy conversation, holding first their lips to
the wall to speak, and then their ears to listen, when Mrs. Pitt
interrupted them.

"That's great fun, but we have still a hard climb before us," she
reminded them. "I think we had better go on."

The remainder of the way was much more difficult, as the steps were
steeper and narrower than ever, but they at last emerged on the little
platform, running around the top of the dome.

"My, what a view!" they cried.

"Yes, you're the first visitors in many a day who could see so far,"
the man in charge told them.

If the terrible black smoke which comes from the hundreds of chimneys,
and the fog permit one to see it all, the view is truly fine. It is
especially interesting to trace the river in its various curves, and
to pick out the many bridges which span it. Another striking feature
is the immense number of spires. The guide pointed out the churches to
them, and also the different parts of the city.

"If you thought it was windy on the bus, Betty, I wonder what you call
this," exclaimed Barbara, grasping her hat with both hands. "I'm going
down now."

The others were quite ready to follow, and they wound their way down,
down, down, until they stood again on the main floor, under the dome.

"This is called St. Paul's Church-yard," said Mrs. Pitt, leading the
way around back of the cathedral. "This used to be a very busy place.
St. Paul's School was here, within the yard, as well as many shops.
The first printer who produced books for children had his shop in this
corner. In the days when the interior of the building was put to such
dreadful uses, the outside was treated quite as badly. Shops of all
kinds were built up against the cathedral, and sometimes the noise
which the carpenters made greatly disturbed those at the service
within. It must have been shocking indeed! It is said that for a very
small sum, the sexton would allow boys to climb up and ring the bells
as much as they liked; and, on the day of Queen Mary's coronation, she
saw a Dutchman standing on the weather-vane, waving a flag."

"My! I'd like to have seen that!" cried John, to whom such gymnastic
feats appealed.

While they walked back to the Cheshire Cheese, Mrs. Pitt explained to
them what St. Paul's Cathedral once comprised.

"In the London of the Middle Ages, the Church ruled supreme," she told
them. "At least one-fourth of the entire city was owned by the
churches and the religious houses. To carry on the monasteries and
churches, a tremendous number of people were necessary. At St. Paul's,
in 1450, there were:

     The bishop,
     Four archdeacons,
     The treasurer,
     The precentor,
     The chancellor,
     Thirty greater canons,
     Twelve lesser canons,
     Fifty chaplains, and
     Thirty vicars.

These were of the higher rank; there were innumerable others of lower
rank, such as the master of the singing-school, the binder, and the
translator. The brewer, in 1286, brewed 67,814 gallons, and the baker
baked about 40,000 loaves. This gives one a little idea of what it
meant to conduct a cathedral in those days of the all-powerful
Church."

Between the poor shops of Fleet Street, open many little passages, and
these lead into tiny courts and winding alleys. The entrance to one of
them is marked with the sign, "Wine Office Court." Directly off from
this narrow, dark alley stands the famous Cheshire Cheese, the only
genuine old-time tavern or "coffee-house" which still exists
unchanged. It is a little, low building, with quaint bow-window of
square panes.

"Why, we can't all get in there, can we?" laughed John, as Mrs. Pitt
stepped inside. The door is very small, and the hallway was so crowded
by curious visitors, and by jostling, pushing waiters, that it did not
seem possible for another person to enter. They managed, however, to
elbow their way through the crowd into the celebrated "coffee-room"
itself.

That "coffee-room" is splendid! The ceiling is very low, and the walls
are wainscoted in dark wood. Although the room is so small, there are
numerous long tables, and old-fashioned, high-backed settles. One
seat, in the corner farthest from the door, is marked with a little
tablet, telling us that there was Dr. Johnson's chosen place. Several
pictures of that noted gentleman adorn the walls. It always seems
very much out of keeping with the quaintness of the room, to find it
full of laughing, chattering Americans. A few quiet English clerks
come there for their noon meal, but the majority of the patrons of the
Cheshire Cheese are the tourists.

"There's nothing to do but to wait here until we can get seats," said
Mrs. Pitt; so they all remained standing in the middle of the floor,
directly in the path of the waiters, until finally some seats were
free, and they slid into one of the long benches which extend down
each side of the tables, placed endwise to the wall.

"Are you sorry you proposed coming here?" Mrs. Pitt asked Betty,
watching with amusement her crest-fallen face as she saw the soiled
linen, and untidy look of the entire table.

"Oh, no," Betty answered doubtfully, "only I guess people come here
more because Dr. Johnson did, than because they like it."

Mrs. Pitt laughed. "That's very true," she said. "The service isn't
exactly prompt, either. We've already waited quite fifteen minutes, I
am sure. I ordered lark pie and Cheshire cheese for you, of course.
Every one takes them on his first visit here."

The lark pie was Dr. Johnson's favorite dish, but that fact does not
suffice to make it very enjoyable. Betty frankly confessed that she
could not manage to eat hers, but John pretended to be very
industrious over his, although he did a good deal of looking about the
room and commenting upon things he saw.

"There's even sawdust on the floor," he announced jubilantly. "Did you
ever! My! How hot and stuffy it is here! Were all old inns just like
this, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Yes, pretty much so, I think," was the response. "There were ever so
many of them, you know, and each was frequented by a certain class of
men. For instance, there was the 'British Coffee-house,' where all the
Scotch visitors went; there was 'Robin's,' which was noted for its
foreign bankers and ambassadors; and there was 'Dolly's Chophouse,'
where the wits congregated. Most of the famous clubs held their
meetings at one or another of the 'coffee-houses,' too. The 'Spectator
Club' met at 'Button's Coffee-house,' and there the 'Spectator Papers'
had their beginnings. There Addison, Steele, Pope, and others, spent
their leisure hours. Some of the London clubs of the eighteenth
century had very queer names!" she continued. "There was the 'Ugly
Club,' the 'Quack Club,' the 'Beefsteak Club,' the 'Split-Farthing
Club,' and the 'Small Coalmen's Music Club,' for example. Here, at the
Cheshire Cheese, Goldsmith often came with Dr. Johnson. Can't you
imagine the two sitting over at that table, with Boswell not far away,
patiently listening, quill in hand? Dr. Johnson was very careless and
untidy, you know, and invariably spilled his soup. It was he who used
to walk up and down Fleet Street touching every post he passed!"

All this time they had been waiting for their cheese. When it finally
came, it proved to be much better than the lark pie. The cheese is
served in little three-cornered tins, and is poured hot over crisp
pieces of toast.

When they had finished, they went up the winding stairs to see the
room where the famous "Literary Club" used to meet. Dr. Johnson's
chair is preserved there.

"Didn't Dr. Johnson live near here, too, Mother?" asked Barbara, as
they came out again into the court.

"Yes, I believe he lived in both Johnson and Bolt Courts," Mrs. Pitt
told them. "His haunts were all about here. In number six, over there,
Goldsmith is said to have written 'The Vicar of Wakefield.'"

From there, they walked up Fleet Street, discussing their unusual
lunch as they went. They had all enjoyed it,--even Betty.

She made them all laugh, however, by announcing seriously, "I'm glad I
went, but I think it is just about as nice to read about lunching
there, as to really do it. And then, you wouldn't be quite so hungry
afterwards!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

A SUNDAY NIGHT CHAT

It was Sunday afternoon, and the time for John and Betty to send their
weekly letters home. The day was a beautiful one in early spring, the
grass and trees in the garden behind the house were very green, birds
were singing outside, people were continually walking by, and the
letters progressed but slowly. Every few moments Betty stole a glance
out-of-doors, and John sat leaning his elbow on the desk chewing the
end of his penholder, while he gazed steadily out of the window.

"Well, what do you think of it all, John?" asked Betty thoughtfully.
"Aren't we glad we came, and aren't Mrs. Pitt and Barbara and Philip
good to us?"

"Just splendid!" exclaimed John most emphatically. He had turned away
from the window now, and was entering earnestly into the conversation.
"I just tell you what, Betty, it's a different thing to peg away at
an old, torn history-book at school, and to come over here and see
things and places, while Mrs. Pitt tells you about them! Why, I
honestly like English history the way we're learning it now!"

Betty smiled in an elder-sisterly fashion. "Well, I always did like to
study history, but it surely makes it nicer and easier to do it this
way. But besides that, John, don't you think it's queer and very
interesting to see the way the English do things--all their customs, I
mean. They're so different from ours! Why, when I first saw Barbara
that day at the train, I thought it was the funniest thing that her
hair was all hanging loose down her back. I wouldn't think of being so
babyish! I thought perhaps she'd lost off her ribbon maybe, but she's
worn it that way ever since. And her little sailor-hat looks so
countrified as she has it,--'way down over her ears!"

[Illustration: "I'D FEEL LIKE 'LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY' GOING AROUND
WITH THOSE CLOTHES ON!"--_Page 84._]

"I know it; it seemed mighty funny to me to see Philip's black suit
with the long trousers, his broad collar, and skimpy short coat! It's
what all the boys at the Eton School wear, he says. They must feel
like fools! Why, I'd feel like--like--'Little Lord Fauntleroy' going
around with those clothes on all the time!" John's voice was full of
scorn, yet his eyes twinkled with fun. "But, the high hat, just like
father's opera-hat, which Philip wears, beats it all!" he continued.
"I'm so used to it now, though, that I don't think of it any more.
It's queer how soon you get used to things! It's just like riding
along the streets, and keeping to the left instead of to the right.
The first time I rode in a hansom (you weren't there that day, Betty)
and we suddenly turned a corner, keeping close to the left curb, I
poked open the little door in the roof and shouted, 'Hey there!
Mister! You'll bump into something if you don't look out!' The driver
just stared; he didn't seem to know what I was talking about."

"Yes," went on Betty in her turn, "keeping to the left did seem queer
at first. You know, John, how often we have wished that Dan and the
automobile were over here. Honestly, I think Dan would surely have an
accident! He never could remember to keep to the left! Now, we simply
must go on with our letters! Begin when I say three! One--two--(hurry,
John, you haven't dipped your pen!), three!" and both commenced to
write industriously.

The letters were finally finished just as the tea-bell rang. Betty ran
to wash her hands, and then they went down to the library, where tea
was served every afternoon that they were at home.

"Why! I quite like tea over here!" Betty remarked. "I never drink it
at home! Mother would be so surprised if she saw me! Do all English
people drink it every afternoon as you do, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Yes, it seems to go with the English people, somehow. We'd quite as
soon think of doing without our breakfast or dinner as our
four-o'clock-tea. You've noticed, my dear, how I always manage to get
my tea at some little shop when we are on one of our sight-seeing
tours. Really, I am quite lost without it! Oh! it's just a habit, of
course." As she spoke, Mrs. Pitt poured herself another cup.

When the tea things had been removed, and a fire was lighted, stories
were called for.

"Tell us some of the stories you know about different places and old
customs, Mother," urged Barbara.

"Very well," said Mrs. Pitt willingly. "Let--me--see! You remember,
don't you, having the guide point out London Bridge to you, from the
top of St. Paul's, day before yesterday? That's the oldest bridge, you
know, for it seems to have existed as long ago as we know anything of
London itself. But legend has it that before there was any bridge over
the Thames, people crossed in a ferry which was run by a certain John
Overs. This man naturally became rich, as very many people were always
paying him for taking them across the river, but he was a great miser.
The ferryman had one fair daughter about whom he was as miserly as he
was with his money,--keeping her shut up out of reach of her lover.
One day, John Overs thought he would like to save the cost of
providing food for his household, so he pretended to be dead. He
expected that his servants would fast in consequence, as was the
ancient custom; but so great was their joy when they thought their
master dead, that they all began to dance, to make merry together, and
to feast upon all they found in the house. The old miser stood this
just as long as he could, and then he sprang up to lay hands upon
them. The servants fled, believing that it was something
supernatural--all except one, who, more daring than the rest, killed
his master with his weapon. So old John did die after all, but in an
unexpected way.

"Part the second of my story tells of how the monks of a neighboring
abbey finally consented to bury the body; when the abbot returned,
however, he was very angry at what they had done, and gave the friars
some orders. They dug up the body of the poor old boatman, tied it to
the back of an ass, and turned the animal loose. The body was finally
thrown off at the place of public execution (directly under the
gallows), and there it was buried and remained. Meanwhile the
daughter, Mary, was having more trouble. Immediately upon the death of
her father, she had sent for her lover, but in coming to her, he had
been thrown off his horse and killed. This was too much for the
unfortunate girl, who decided to retire to a nunnery, leaving her
entire fortune to found the church of 'St. Mary Overy.' That is the
real name of the church now known as Southwark Cathedral, which stands
just across London Bridge. Now, how do you like that story?"

[Illustration: "YOU REMEMBER, DON'T YOU, HAVING THE GUIDE POINT OUT
LONDON BRIDGE?"--_Page 86._]

"Great!" exclaimed John. "Whoever thought that up had a vivid
imagination, all right!"

"Why, don't you believe it, John?" said Betty, who always took
everything most seriously.

When they were quiet again, Mrs. Pitt talked on.

"London Bridge, up to the time of the Great Fire, was crowded with
houses, you know, and there was even a chapel there. Over the gate at
the Southwark end of the bridge, the heads of traitors were exhibited
on the ends of long poles. Here Margaret Roper, whom you met at the
Tower, came, bargained for, and at last secured the head of her
father, Sir Thomas More. But, to go back to the houses! Hans Holbein,
the painter, and John Bunyan, the poet, are both said to have resided
on London Bridge. I also like the story which tells of a famous wine
merchant, named Master Abel, who had his shop there. Before his door,
he set up a sign on which was the picture of a bell, and under it were
written the words, 'Thank God I am Abel.' Here's a picture of old
London Bridge. Imagine how quaint it must have looked crowded by these
picturesque old houses, and with its streets filled with travelers.
All those entering London from the south came across that bridge,
which was consequently a great thoroughfare. Near the Southwark side
of the bridge is where the Tabard Inn stood--the inn from which the
Canterbury Pilgrims set out; and near the bank, known as Bankside in
those days, was the celebrated Globe Theatre, connected with
Shakespeare and his associates. The popular Paris Gardens were there,
too, where the sport of bear-baiting was seen in Queen Elizabeth's
time. If we went over there, we could see the former sites of these
historic places, but they are now covered by unattractive, modern
buildings or great breweries. It's hard to conjure up the Globe
Theatre out of present-day Southwark," she added with a sigh, as if
she were speaking to herself. "Not far from the site of the Tabard
Inn, a picturesque, gabled house once stood, in which John Harvard was
born. Yes, John, that was the man who founded Harvard College, at your
American Cambridge."

"Yes, and I mean to go there myself some day!" announced John,
immediately fired by the familiar name of our oldest university. "My
father went, you know."

Mrs. Pitt and the two girls spent the remainder of the evening in
talking over plans for the next day, but John's thoughts had been
turned to college, and so he and Philip had a lively time comparing
notes about English and American colleges.

"Where do you mean to go, Philip?" John inquired.

"Oh, to Cambridge, of course! My father, his father, and all my family
for generations back have been to Trinity College, Cambridge. That's
the largest college in England, and was founded by Henry VIII. Oh,
it's jolly there! There are old quadrangles around which the men live;
there's a beautiful old chapel, built in the Tudor period; and there's
the dining-hall. That's grand! Back of the college is the river, the
Cam. There's a lovely garden there, and over the river on which the
men go boating, is an old bridge. I had a cousin who lived in the
rooms which Byron once occupied. He, Macaulay, Tennyson, Thackeray,
Dryden, and many other famous men went there. Oh, it's the only
college for me! I shall be there in three years, I hope!"

"Well, Harvard's our oldest college. It was founded by your John
Harvard almost as soon as Boston itself, and 'Teddy' Roosevelt went
there! It's good enough for me! The only trouble is that they can't
seem to beat at football, somehow, and I mean to play and see if I
can't help 'em win. That's the only trouble with old Harvard, though,"
John said, feeling that he must be loyal to his college in this
international discussion; "otherwise she's all right! There's the
Stadium, where all the big games are played, and there's the Charles
River for us to row on. There are loads of fine new buildings, too,
and I'd like those better than the old ones. We don't care who lived
in 'em! Oh, the fellows at Harvard have a splendid time!"

Mrs. Pitt had overheard some of this conversation with much amusement,
for the ideas and ideals of the two boys were so different, and so
very characteristic of each.

"I think you'd enjoy a visit to Cambridge, John," she said. "We must
try to manage it. You'd find one of our colleges very unlike yours in
America. Both Oxford and Cambridge Universities are made up of many
colleges, you know; at Oxford, there are twenty-two, and at Cambridge,
eighteen. Each college has its own buildings, its own professors, its
own chapel and dining-hall, and each college is complete in itself,
although they all belong to one university. You would think the rules
very strict! When the Cambridge men go to chapel, and at other
specified times, they are required to wear their gowns and queer
little flat caps, called 'trenchers' or 'mortar-boards.' At Oxford,
the gates of each college are closed at nine o'clock every evening; a
man may stay out later (even until twelve), if he can give a good
reason for it. If he remains out all night, though, he is immediately
dismissed. How would you like that?" she laughed, seeing John's
disgusted expression. "There are men called 'scouts,' who look after
the men's rooms, and bring them their breakfast. The students are very
carefully watched, and if one of them stays away from his meals at the
dining-hall more than two or three times a week, the affair is
investigated."

"My! When we go to college in America, we are men, and can look after
ourselves!" John drew himself up very straight, and spoke with great
dignity. "Cambridge may be older and have more--more--'associations,'
but I'd rather go to Harvard."

CHAPTER EIGHT

WINDSOR CASTLE, STOKE POGES, AND ETON SCHOOL

"It's only a little more than twenty miles out to Windsor," remarked
Mrs. Pitt, one June morning. "Suppose we go in the motor, and then we
can have a glimpse of both Stoke Poges and Eton School, on the way."

There were always many exclamations of delight at mention of the
"motor," so it was settled, and the party set out at ten o'clock, all
in the highest of spirits. It was slow and difficult driving through
the city streets, but the English chauffeur was quite used to keeping
to the left, as well as being perfectly familiar with the rules which
govern the traffic, so he had none of the accidents which Betty and
John had prophesied that their father's American chauffeur would not
be able to avoid. Very soon, however, they had reached the suburbs,
and then they came into the open country.

They could go faster now, and the big touring-car sped over the
wonderfully smooth roads at a speed which delighted the young people.
The weather was proving a bit uncertain. Every little while, a tiny
shower descended upon them out of a blue sky full of great white
clouds, the sun shining warm and bright all the while.

"Oh, don't let's put up any umbrella," exclaimed Betty, during one of
the showers. "Rain never seems to do any harm in England. You don't
get wet, and never mind it a bit. Truly, I like it, for it's so pretty
to see it raining with the sun out. There! now, it's stopped again!
Just see that lovely rainbow!"

The English country is always beautiful in its individual way, but it
is especially so on one of these showery days, when every leaf and
flower looks fresher than ever with the rain-drops glistening on it.
Now and then, they slowed down while passing through a busy town,
where pretty ladies and children in little two-wheeled carts drove
about doing the morning marketing. Most of the way, however, lay
through country roads bordered by green-hedged fields in which the
ever-present sheep grazed; and here and there were high brick walls
over which the stately, vine-covered homes were just visible. There
were also picturesque little workmen's cottages at the edge of the
wood, and lodges covered with climbing-roses.

It seemed as though they had only been riding a very short time when,
upon emerging from a shady road, they drew up at a little gateway.
John felt impatient at having to stop, and looked questioningly around
at Mrs. Pitt from his place on the front seat. The others were already
getting out, he found, and Mrs. Pitt was saying:

"This is Stoke Poges, and I want you to see it, for it's such a lovely
spot. Probably you have all learned in school parts of Gray's 'Elegy,'
and very likely you never cared or thought much about the poem. Even
if that's true, you can't possibly help loving this peaceful,
beautiful place, in which it was written."

[Illustration: THE MOSS-GROWN SAXON PORCH.--_Page 97._]

They were now walking along a little path which led into the
church-yard. A straight gravel walk stretches between the graves, up
to the ancient church, which is very small, and has one tower closely
covered with ivy. The fine old Saxon porch, and one doorway show great
age; but it is in the whole effect rather than in any detail of the
little church and its surroundings that the charm lies. One cannot
imagine a more quiet, remote spot! On one side is the group of
yew-trees which Gray mentions in the poem, and in their shelter are
the hoary stones which mark the graves of the "rude forefathers of the
hamlet." Standing there, one almost hesitates to speak above a whisper
for fear of arousing something or somebody out of sleep, or of
breaking the wonderful spell of the place. Pausing under those trees,
and feasting one's eyes upon the lovely, rural scene, not a sound
reaches the ear except the twitter of the birds, and perhaps the faint
jingle of a cow-bell. Mrs. Pitt gave a start at the sound of John's
voice, when he suddenly said:

"Let's go and find Gray's tomb, Philip; the guidebook says it's on the
other side of the church."

The rest lingered for just one more look at the little church, with
its vines, and the rich, dark-red brick-work of the moss-grown Saxon
porch, which the sun touches lovingly as it filters through the heavy
leafage of the yew-trees; then they followed Philip and John.

Close to the outer wall of the church is a large tomb in which Gray is
buried with his beloved mother. No word on the slab tells that the
famous poet is buried within; there is only his mother's epitaph,
which Gray wrote, and in which he speaks of himself as "the only child
who had the misfortune to outlive her."

When Mrs. Pitt came up, John was standing near the tomb with his hat
off, saying, "All right, Mr. Gray; I'll read your poem over again just
as soon as ever I get home."

The bustling, lively scenes of Eton School presented a marked contrast
to the quiet of Stoke Poges. Moving about the grounds between the
different school-buildings, were dozens of boys all dressed in the
regulation Eton suit, such as Philip himself wore. They were laughing,
shouting, and playing games, just like other boys, but such actions
somehow seemed out of keeping with their quaint costumes. From the
automobile John looked down upon them, his eyes full of wonder and
surprise.

"I suppose they are real boys," he said in a puzzled way, "but they
don't look like them."

While Philip talked with some of his friends, and John lingered near
the group, the others visited the beautiful Eton Chapel, and were
especially interested in the familiar picture of Sir Galahad, which
hangs there. The principal buildings of the school are ranged about
two large courts; in the center of the Outer Quadrangle is a bronze
statue of Henry VI, the founder of the school. The library is valuable
and contains some costly books and manuscripts. Fox, Peel, Chatham,
Wellington, and Shelley were Eton boys, and the latter's autograph may
still be seen on one of the desks.

As they left Eton and crossed the bridge over the Thames, they duly
admired the magnificent view of Windsor Castle, which may be enjoyed
from that point. Above its many roofs and towers stands the great
round keep, the oldest part of the castle, having been built by Edward
III.

The castle is on a hill in the center of the town, and the quaint,
red-roofed houses reach even to its walls. After passing the statue of
Queen Victoria, the automobile left the party at the entrance to the
castle, through Henry VIII's gateway, carved with the Tudor Rose.
Inside, they joined a party and were shown about by a guide.

They saw so many buildings that John and Betty found it rather
bewildering. In thinking it over afterwards, certain objects remained
most clearly in their memory.

"St. George's Chapel is really the most beautiful thing there, of
course," said Betty, as they rode away. "I never saw such carving as
there is on the seats--no, stalls--in the choir! Henry VIII, Jane
Seymour, and poor Charles I are buried there, too. I like those faded
banners and the coats-of-arms which belonged to the Knights of the
Garter. The whole place is lovely, I think. There are lots of little
chapels off from it, too, like Westminster Abbey; didn't the guide say
that the tomb of Queen Victoria's father, the Duke of Kent, is there?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Pitt, "and I hope you haven't forgotten the
Albert Chapel. It adjoins St. George's, you remember, and we stood in
the doorway when our turn came and looked in. It is very old, and is
on the site of an ancient chapel of St. Edward, but Queen Victoria
made it what it is now, and restored it in honor of her husband,
Prince Albert. The interior is truly remarkable for its fine marbles,
mosaics, sculptures, stained-glass, and precious stones. I fancy they
would not especially appeal to you, however. How did you like the
State Apartments? It was fortunate that the Royal Family was not in
residence, so that we could be admitted."

"Well," began John, "they made us hurry so that I didn't see very
much. That guide drove us along as though we were a flock of sheep! I
liked that big room though, where all the portraits of the generals
are. They called it the Waterloo Room, didn't they? Anyway, there were
splendid pictures of Wellington, Metternich, Blücher, and lots of
other fellows. Did you see the busts of Wellington and Marlborough in
one of the other rooms, Philip? There are silk flags which hang over
both the busts, and that cross old guide growled out that they are
replaced every year on the anniversaries of the two
battles;--Wellington gets a new flag on June 18th, because of Waterloo
in 1815, and Marlborough gets his on August 13th, on account of the
battle of Blenheim in 1704."

"In that room," explained Mrs. Pitt, "is where the 'command'
theatrical performances are held. When the King hears the report of a
play which he thinks he would like, he simply commands the company to
come to him; and if he happens to be at Windsor, he and the Court
witness the play in the Waterloo Chamber. Your American Sousa's Band
played there once. I saw Betty and Barbara lingering before the large
picture of Charles I and his family. I am glad you liked it, girls,
for that's an especial delight of mine. Dear little 'Baby Stuart' is
so lovable! That was in the Van Dyck Room, which contains many of that
master's works. Those State Apartments are only for the use of Royal
guests, you understand, when they come on visits. I always wish that
we could see the King or Queen's private rooms, don't you? It would be
so interesting. What's your favorite part of the castle, Barbara?"

"Oh, I like the terrace better than anything else," Barbara answered,
without a moment's hesitation. "The view of the valley, with the river
and Eton Chapel in the distance, is so pretty! Then, there is
something so stately and impressive about the wide, long terrace
itself. I once read that it was Queen Elizabeth's favorite walk, and
there couldn't be a more appropriate place for a queen to choose. I
like that gateway with E. R. on it, showing that it was built in
Elizabeth's reign; and it's fun to look up to the little bay-window
which is said to have been her room. Then I like the old Curfew
Tower, too," she added.

"Yes," broke in Mrs. Pitt. "That's one of the gloomiest parts of the
whole castle, in its history as well as in its aspect. Of course,
terrible things happened at Windsor just as they did elsewhere; but
although Windsor dates from a very early period, and figures in the
reigns of all the sovereigns, its history contains more of the bright
and happy than of the tragic. Down in a miserable, windowless cell in
the lower part of the Curfew Tower, it is wrongly said that Queen Anne
Boleyn was put to spend the night before her execution, as you know,
and there still remain in the Tower some fearful instruments of
torture. The Horseshoe Cloister near there, is very ancient, and the
houses are delightfully mediæval. Did you look in some of the tiny
windows as we passed through? It is said that in a small hall there,
in the Horseshoe Cloister, Shakespeare's 'Merry Wives of Windsor' was
first produced."

"Who was it that the guide told us was imprisoned near the Round
Tower, and who fell in love with a lady whom he saw walking in the
gardens? I have forgotten the names." It was Betty who spoke, for she
had been quietly thinking over the visit.

"That was young James of Scotland, whom Henry V caused to be captured
in time of truce, and thrown into prison at Windsor, where he remained
almost twenty years. The English treated him kindly, however, and he
spent his time in studying and watching the lady in the garden, who
afterwards became his queen."

"Oh! But, really, the stables are best of all!" exclaimed Philip, who
loved horses like a true Briton. "I do like to go there and be shown
about by one of those men in the black suits and yellow vests, and the
bright cockades in their silk hats. Once when I was little, one of
them let me go into a stall and feed some sugar to a splendid great
horse named Black Beauty. I wished I could do it to-day, too! All the
carriages which carry the Court ladies are stupid, I think, but the
horses and ponies are jolly!" whereupon Philip and John went off into
an animated discussion about the horses of the Royal Stables, and how
much they envied the men who cared for them.

"Oh, what a sweet little village!" cried Betty, jumping up excitedly,
as the automobile slowed down and entered a little narrow lane.

Chalfont St. Giles is an extremely picturesque, old-time village. Its
thatched-roofed cottages huddle together in a beautiful green valley,
and about the edge of a pond where ducks swim, and happy, barefooted
children play. One of the old houses is a place of interest to many,
as the great poet, John Milton, lived there after he fled from London
at the time of the plague.

The poet's home is a most primitive cottage with low ceilings, and a
little dark room, lighted by one casement window, in which he may have
written part of "Paradise Lost." When standing in that chamber, one is
reminded of the well-known picture which shows the blind Milton
dictating one of his poems to a daughter. Outside is a delightful
old-fashioned garden in which the largest and reddest of poppies grow,
and where it is said that Milton loved to linger.

"I wish we needn't hurry," sighed Mrs. Pitt, "but I'm afraid we'll be
late to dinner. See, we are short of time already!"

So they quickly took their seats again for the short trip back to
town, and drew their wraps about them, as the air had grown chilly.
They all felt rather tired, and were silent as they reviewed in mind
the history and scenes of Windsor Castle, one of the most beautiful
and certainly the most famous of English royal residences.

[Illustration: JOHN MILTON LIVED THERE AFTER HE FLED FROM
LONDON.--_Page 105._]

CHAPTER NINE

MORE ABOUT LONDON

"Big Ben," the great bell on the clock-tower, was just booming ten
deep strokes as our party neared the Houses of Parliament. A steadily
rushing stream of people, buses, hansoms, and trucks (not forgetting
bicycles, which are still numerous in England), was pouring across
Westminster Bridge, and swinging around the corner into the wide
street called Whitehall; but in the near vicinity of the graceful,
long building, with its pinnacles and spires, in which the English
laws are made, all was quiet and few people were moving about. In a
square court from which steps lead down to the river, a sentinel was
pacing back and forth.

"In the days when the Thames was the most used highway of the
Londoners, here was probably one of the places where the nobles could
step on shore from their luxurious barges." Mrs. Pitt said this as
they were looking down upon the soldier from the street above.

Close up against one side of the Houses of Parliament is Westminster
Hall, with its quaint row of supporting buttresses. This ancient
edifice was built by William Rufus, the son of the Conqueror himself.
Having entered by St. Stephen's Porch, the usual approach, they went
down a few steps at the left into this fine old room. It is empty now,
and its vastness is unadorned except by some statues of kings and
queens along the sides.

"This hall," stated Mrs. Pitt, "was first begun by William Rufus, but
it has been restored and added to at various times by many of the
other sovereigns. It also formed part of the ancient Palace of
Westminster. I want you to notice especially the oak roof with its
heavy timbers, and unsupported by any columns. It is considered very
fine in its construction, and I think it beautiful, as well. Have you
the guidebook, Philip? Read to us some of the great events of the hall
while we stand here."

So Philip began. "Well, some of the earliest meetings of Parliament
were held here; also, all the kings as far down the line as George IV
have celebrated their coronation feasts in this hall. Here Charles I
was tried and condemned (there's a brass in the floor which marks
where he stood at the trial), and here Cromwell in royal purple robes
was received as Lord Protector. Some of the others who were tried here
are William Wallace, the Scotch patriot, Sir Thomas More, Sir Thomas
Wyatt, Guy Fawkes, and the Earls of Essex and Strafford. Until very
recently the Law Courts adjoined here."

"Thank you, Philip; now, if you are ready, Betty, we'll go on and see
something more of this great building."

It gives one a slight idea of the extent of the huge structure to know
that therein are one hundred stairways and eleven hundred rooms!
Visitors are shown the "King's Robing-room," the "Victoria or Royal
Gallery," the "Prince's Chamber," and so many rooms and corridors,
that it is impossible to remember them all, or even to appreciate them
at the time of a visit. Fine wall paintings, statues, and rich
decorations of all kinds abound. Both the rooms where sit the House of
Peers and the House of Commons, respectively, are magnificent
apartments; perhaps the former is rather more splendid in appearance,
with its stained-glass windows picturing all the English sovereigns,
its frescoes, and throne, with the gilded canopy.

As they finally passed out and started over toward Westminster Abbey,
Mrs. Pitt said:

"It was at one of these entrances (perhaps at the very one by which we
just left), that a most curious thing happened in 1738. It had just
been decided that ladies should no longer be permitted in the
galleries of the Houses. Certain noble dames who were most indignant
at this new rule, presented themselves in a body at the door. They
were, of course, politely refused admission, and having tried every
known means of gaining entrance, they remained at the door all day,
kicking and pounding from time to time. Finally, one of them thought
of the following plan. For some time they stood there in perfect
quiet; some one within opened a door to see if they were really gone,
whereupon they all rushed in. They remained in the galleries until the
'House rose,' laughing and tittering so loudly that Lord Hervey made a
great failure of his speech. Wasn't that absurd? It seems that there
were 'Suffragettes' long before the twentieth century."

Arrived at the Poets' Corner once again, they found that one of the
vergers was just about to conduct a party "in behind the scenes," as
Barbara called it. "Behind the scenes" includes the Chapel of Henry
VII and that of Edward the Confessor, besides the many smaller ones
which surround the choir.

These little irregular chapels are crowded with all sorts of tombs,
from those of the long effigy to those of the high canopy. Sometimes a
husband and wife are represented on the tomb, their figures either
kneeling side by side, or facing each other. Often the sons and
daughters of the deceased are shown in quaint little reliefs extending
all around the four sides of a monument. The figures are of alabaster
or marble, and there are frequently fine brasses on them which bear
the inscriptions. It is interesting to remember that the effigy or
reclining figure of a Crusader always has the legs crossed.

A flight of black marble steps leads up to Henry VII's Chapel. Betty
thought this reminded her a little of the choir of St. George's Chapel
at Windsor,--and it is true that the two are somewhat similar. To
build this memorial to himself, Henry VII tore down another chapel,
and also an old house in which the poet Chaucer once lived. The
loveliest feature of this chapel is the "fan-tracery" of the ceiling.
Its delicacy and grace are very beautiful! There are wonderfully
carved oak choir-stalls here also, each having been assigned to a
certain Knight of the Order of the Bath, and decorated with the
Knight's armorial bearings. Above each stall is a sword and a banner
of faded colors. The tomb of the founder, Henry VII, and of his wife,
Elizabeth of York, is in the center of the chapel, and surrounded by a
brass screen. George II and several members of his family, Edward VI,
Charles II, William and Mary, Queen Anne and her consort, and
Cromwell, are all buried near by--most of them having no monuments. In
the north aisle of this chapel is the tomb of the great Queen
Elizabeth, and just opposite it, in the south aisle, is that of her
cousin and enemy, poor Mary Queen of Scots.

Just behind the high altar is the chapel of Edward the Confessor,
containing the once splendid, mediæval tomb of that sainted King. Its
precious stones have been stolen away now, and the whole is covered
by a gorgeous cloth put there at the coronation of Edward VII.

"I've seen the tombs of so many kings and queens," exclaimed John,
heaving a sigh, "that I truly can't take in any more. Why, they're so
thick all around here that you can't move without bumping into three
or four of 'em! There's Henry V, and overhead the shield and helmet he
used at Agincourt; and here's Edward I, and Richard II, and Edward
III, and Queen Eleanor, and Queen Philippa. Who was she? Oh, here's
the old Coronation Chair, isn't it?" At sight of this, he once more
became interested.

This famous old chair was made in the time of Edward I, and every
English sovereign since that day has been crowned in it. Underneath
the seat of the chair is kept the ancient Stone of Scone, which is
said to have been used as a pillow by the patriarch Jacob. Edward I,
in 1297, brought the stone from Scotland as a sign of his power over
that country, and placed it in the Abbey. King Edward III's sword and
shield-of-state stand beside the chair. There is something about these
three objects which makes one stand long before them. They are so
ancient--so deeply impressive--and embody so much of English history
itself.

In a little room above one of the smaller chapels are found the
curious Wax Effigies. These figures made of wax, and of life size,
were carried at funerals, and were intended to look like the deceased,
and dressed in their clothes. They are very ghastly, robed in their
faded, torn garments, as each peers out from its glass-case. Queen
Elizabeth, Charles II, William and Mary, Queen Anne, General Monk,
William Pitt, and Lord Nelson are among those represented.

Betty stood before the figure of Queen Elizabeth, whose waxen face is
pinched and worn, and really most horrible to look at.

"Didn't she die propped up on the floor in all her State robes?" asked
Betty.

"Yes," was Mrs. Pitt's reply. "It isn't any wonder that she looked
like that, is it? She is said to have been beautiful in her youth, but
later, she became so very ugly that her ladies-in-waiting got false
looking-glasses, for they didn't dare to allow their mistress to see
her wrinkles."

[Illustration: "OH, HERE'S THE OLD CORONATION CHAIR, ISN'T IT?"--_Page
113._]

After lingering for a short time in the grand old Abbey, they all
mounted a bus and rode down to Bishopsgate Street to take lunch, at
Crosby Hall.[A] This splendid old example of a London mediæval palace
(having had a varied career since its great days), is now turned into
a restaurant, and our party took seats at a long table in what was
once the Banqueting-hall.

[Footnote A: Crosby Hall was taken down in 1908, but is soon to be
re-erected in Chelsea, near the site of the home of Sir Thomas More.]

"This is really a very historic old house," declared Mrs. Pitt. "It
was built in 1470 by Alderman Sir John Crosby, who died about the time
it was finished, and it passed into the hands of the Duke of
Gloucester, afterwards Richard III. Here, that cruel man had the news
of the successful murder of the little Princes in the Tower, and here
held his great feasts--in this room, I suppose."

They were all looking about at the lofty hall with its carved oak
ceiling, minstrels' gallery, stained-glass windows, and large
fireplace.

"This has recently all been restored, and I suppose it gives us a very
slight idea of its past glory. Later on, Sir Thomas More lived here,
and then Philip Sidney's sister, the Countess of Pembroke, owned it.
Shakespeare mentions it in his play of 'Richard III,' you know. In
mediæval times, there were many great houses in London (Baynard's
Castle and Cold Harbour foremost among them), but all except a little
part of Crosby Hall have disappeared. The owners of these houses, the
wealthy nobles, lived in great magnificence, having four, six, or even
eight hundred servants. Just fancy how large the establishments must
have been! In Queen Elizabeth's day, the French Ambassador was lodged
here with four hundred retainers. At that time, there were more great
palaces in London than there were in Verona, Florence, Venice, and
Genoa, all counted together; but instead of being situated on the
Grand Canal or in a spacious square, the English palaces stood in
narrow, filthy streets, surrounded by the poor hovels of the common
people.--It seems to me that our lunch is a long time coming," she
commented.

Adjoining Crosby Hall is a very interesting church--St. Helen's, which
has been called the "Westminster Abbey of the City," because of famous
citizens of "the City," who are buried there. Among them is Sir Thomas
Gresham, the great merchant of Queen Elizabeth's reign, who founded
the Royal Exchange, and did much to increase London's trade. The
church--dating mostly from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century--is
very quaint and old. It consists of two parallel naves, divided by
pillars.

"The church was once connected with an ancient nunnery which covered
the whole square outside. The naves were originally quite separated by
a partition; one side was used by the nuns, and the other by the
regular members of the parish. Shakespeare once lived in St. Helen's
parish, and is charged up on the church books with a sum of something
over five pounds." Mrs. Pitt gave this information as they walked
about, gradually growing accustomed to the dim light.

"See here, John," whispered Philip; "here's something interesting.
It's this little square hole in the wall, which is called the 'nuns'
squint.' That woman, whom I suppose is the caretaker, has just been
telling me what that means. You see, the nunnery was on this side, or,
at any rate, the part where the nuns slept. When a nun was dying, the
rest would carry her to that little 'squint,' and in that way she
could look through to the church and see the altar."

Leaving St. Helen's Place, and passing the picturesque, narrow façade
(or front) of Crosby Hall, Mrs. Pitt took them along Cheapside, one of
the most crowded streets of the city. The amount of traffic is
tremendous there, and it is said that sometimes teams are held eight
hours in the alleys before they can get out. They noted Bow Church,
and the site of John Gilpin's house at the corner of Paternoster Row.

"Oh, is that the John Gilpin in Cowper's poem?" cried John, excitedly.
"He lived here, did he? And where did he ride to?"

"I believe he went out through Tottenham and Edmonton. Mrs. Gilpin was
at the Bell Inn at Edmonton when she saw her husband fly by. Over the
entrance at the Bell is such a funny picture of the scene! They don't
know just where he went, do they, Mother?" inquired Barbara.

"No, I rather think not," was Mrs. Pitt's laughing answer. "Let's walk
through Paternoster Row, now. The little bookshops are so old and
quaint! For centuries the booksellers have been loyal to this
locality, but I hear that they are beginning to move elsewhere now.
Here's Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane is not far away. In London,
there's a reason for the name of almost every street. The monks, in
walking from the river to St. Paul's, used to be telling their beads
and reciting their prayers all the while. You see, the Ave Maria was
said at this point, and back at the corner came an Amen. In olden
days, the makers of rosaries and paternosters had their shops in the
little street we have just left, as well as the booksellers. The
streets leading off Cheapside show what business was carried on there;
for instance, on the south side are Bread, Candles, Soap, Fish, and
Money-changing; and on the north side are Wood, Milk, Iron, Honey, and
Poultry. By the by, the poet Milton was born in Bread Street. The
ironmongers congregated in Ironmongers Lane; the vintners or
wine-merchants were in the Vintry; and the makers of hosiery in
Hosiery Lane. Now we'll go to Chancery Lane, and pay a short visit to
the Record Office, for there are some things there which I want you to
see."

The Public Record Office is a modern building, constructed for the
purpose of keeping the valuable State documents and archives, which,
during the present reign, have been moved from the Tower and the
Chapter House of Westminster Abbey. The different departments of
government are continually handing over to the Record Office papers
which are no longer needed for daily use. Among the intensely
interesting treasures of this museum are the logbooks of the Royal
Navy, and dispatches from Marlborough, Wellington, and others. There
are State papers of Wolsey, and Thomas Cromwell, and letters of all
the kings and queens, as well as of Chaucer, the Black Prince, Raleigh
at the Tower, Lady Jane Grey as Queen, Sir Philip Sidney on his
death-bed, and many, many others of equal interest.

"Why, you'd need a whole week to see all these!" exclaimed Betty,
looking up from her examination of a paper containing the confessions
of Guy Fawkes.

Mrs. Pitt glanced at her quickly. She was excited, and her face was
flushed.

"Yes, and we must not stay any longer, for we have seen enough for one
day. I want to show you just one more thing before we go, however, and
this is more wonderful than all the rest. See, it is the great
Doomsday Book!"

Carefully kept under glass, in cases furnished with dark shades to
pull over when the books are not being examined, are the two large
volumes of what is known as the "Doomsday Book." On the ancient,
yellowed parchment pages, and in strange old characters, are the
records, made at the time of William the Conqueror, of the disposal of
the lands of England among his Norman nobles. It is simply impossible
to believe that it is authentic,--that such a very ancient relic
really can exist!

They soon felt tired and ready to leave any further examination of the
papers until another visit, however. There are times when all
sight-seers, no matter how enthusiastic, come to a point where for
that day they can appreciate no more. So our party adjourned to a
little tea-shop in Regent Street, and afterwards, to make a few
purchases at that fascinating shop,--Liberty's.

CHAPTER TEN

RICHMOND AND HAMPTON COURT PALACE

"Well, I really don't care much how long the boat is in coming,"
exclaimed Betty delightedly. "It's such fun to watch all the other
boats going up and down the river, and to look up at busy Westminster
Bridge!"

Our friends were at the little landing in the shadow of the
above-mentioned bridge, awaiting the arrival of the steamer which was
to carry them to Kew Gardens. It was early morning, and the distant
roar of the traffic from the great bridge above reached them together
with the shrill whistles of all the different river craft.

"Hey! There goes _Sir Walter Raleigh_ under the bridge there! I can
see the name just as plainly! And,--well I never!--there come _Lady
Jane Grey_ and _Sir Thomas More_! Do all the boats have names like
that? Wonder how the great people would like it if they knew! _Sir
Thomas_ is an express; he's on official business this morning, and
isn't going to stop! Now! here comes _Queen Elizabeth_ herself!
Nothing less than a queen for me! I hope we'll take her!" John cried
excitedly.

The _Queen Elizabeth_ did prove to be the Kew and Hampton Court boat,
so when the gangway was put across, the five went on board and took
some comfortable seats in the bow.

"Now, there are a number of things which I wish to point out to you
right away," remarked Mrs. Pitt, "so please be very attentive for a
few moments. Just as soon as we are started and go under Westminster
Bridge here, you will have the most beautiful view of the Houses of
Parliament, on your right. There! See if the great building isn't
graceful from here! And isn't its river-front imposing with all the
statues of the sovereigns!

"Now! Quickly! Look to the left, and see the building with the gateway
and square, blackened towers and battlements. That's Lambeth Palace,"