"And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of Kings: How some have been deposed, some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd."

One good result of the Battle of Bosworth Field was that it ended the "Wars of the Roses," which had been a curse to England for thirty years.



Bull-baiting was one of the favourite sports of our forefathers, the bull being usually fastened to an iron ring in the centre of a piece of ground, while dogs were urged on to attack it, many of them being killed in the fight. This space of land was known as the Bull-ring, a name often found in the centre of large towns at the present day. We knew a village in Shropshire where the original ring was still to be seen embedded in the cobbled pavement between the church and the village inn. But at Atherstone the bull had been fastened to a large stone, still to be seen, but away from the road, which had now been diverted from its original track.

The ancient whipping-post, along with the stocks, which had accommodation for three persons, had found their last resting-place inside the old market-hall. They must have been almost constantly occupied and used in the good old times, as Atherstone was not only on the great Watling Street, but it had a unique position on the other roads of the country, as an old milestone near our hotel, where we found our refreshments waiting our arrival, informed us that we were a hundred miles from London, a hundred miles from Liverpool, and a hundred miles from Lincoln, so that Atherstone could fairly claim to be one of the central towns in England, though the distance to Lincoln had been overstated.



We continued walking along the Watling Street for a short distance, until we reached the end of the town, and then we forked on to the right towards Nuncaton; but in a very short distance we came to the village of Mancetter, where there was a fine old church, apparently the Parish Church of Atherstone. When the Romans were here they protected their "Street" by means of forts, and one in a small chain of these was at Mancetter, the Manduesdum of the Romans, their camp appearing in the form of a square mound, with the "Street" passing through the centre. Inside the church were quite a number of very old books, in one of which we were shown a wood-cut representing the burning of Robert Glover and Cornelius Bongley at Coventry in 1555. Glover was a gentleman who lived at the Manor House here, and was one of the Mancetter Martyrs, the other being Mrs. Lewis, a tenant of his who lived at the Manor House Farm. She was burnt in 1557, two years later. A large tablet was placed in the church to their memories, both of them having suffered for their adherence to the Protestant Faith. The east-end window was a curiosity, for it contained a large quantity of thirteenth-century stained glass which had been brought here from Merevale Abbey. It was probably damaged both there and in transit, as it seemed to have a somewhat rough appearance; the verger informed us, when pointing out several defects in the figures, that a local glazier had been employed to erect it who did not understand such work, and though he had no doubt done his best, he had made some awkward mistakes. Why David's sword appeared behind his back the verger could not explain, so my brother suggested that either the head or the body had been turned the wrong way about.



There were five bells in the church tower, the largest of which was, of course, the tenor bell, weighing thirty-three hundredweight, and the words that had been cast on it set us a-thinking:

My soaring sound does warning give That a man on earth not only lives.

There were usually some strange records in these country churchyards, and we generally found them in the older portions of the burial-grounds; but we had very little time to look for them as the night was coming on, so we secured the services of the verger, who pointed out in the new part of the churchyard a stone recording the history of Charles Richard Potter in the following words:

Born—May 11, 1788. Married—May 11, 1812. Died—May 11, 1858.

So the eleventh day of May was a lucky or an unlucky day for Mr. Potter—probably both; but one strange feature which we only thought of afterwards was that he had lived exactly the allotted span of three score years and ten. In the old part of the yard were the following epitaphs:

The Earth's a City Full of crooked streets Death is ye market-place Where all must meet If life was merchandise That man could buy The rich would always live Ye poor must die.

In bygone times it was no unusual thing to find dead bodies on the road, or oftener a short distance from it, where the owners had laid themselves down to die; we ourselves remembered, in a lonely place, only a field's breadth from the coach road to London, a pit at the side of which years ago the corpse of a soldier had been found in the bushes. Here, apparently, there had been a similar case, with the exception that the man had been found by the side of the Watling Street instead of the fields adjoining. No one in the district knew who the stranger was, but as sufficient money had been found on him to pay the cost of the burial, his corpse was placed in Mancetter Churchyard, and as his name was unknown, some mysterious initials, of which no one now living knew the meaning, appeared on the headstone.

Here lieth interr'd the Body of I.

H. I. M.

What Ere we was or am it matters not to whom related, or by whom begot, We was, but am not. Ask no more of me 'Tis all we are And all that you must be.

We now hurried on, but as every finger-post had been painted white to receive the new letters, the old words beneath the paint were quite illegible, and, the road being lonely, of course we got lost, so, instead of arriving at Nuneaton, we found ourselves again at the Watling Street, at a higher point than that where we had left it when leaving Atherstone. Nearly opposite the lane end from which we now emerged there was a public-house, set back from the road, where a sign, suspended from a pole, swung alongside the Watling Street to attract the attention of travellers to the inn, and here we called to inquire our way to Nuneaton. The name of the house was the "Royal Red Gate Inn," the pole we had seen on the Watling Street holding a wooden gate painted red. We asked why the red gate was a royal one, and the landlady said it was because Queen Adelaide once called there, but who Queen Adelaide was, and when she called there, she did not know. When asked what she called for, she replied, "I don't know, unless it was for a drink!" As we did not know who Queen Adelaide was ourselves, we had to wait until we reached Nuneaton, where we were informed that she was the wife of William IV, and that in her retirement she lived at Sudbury Hall in Derbyshire, so this would be on her coach road to and from London. The lane at one end of the Red Gate went to Fenney Drayton, where George Fox the Quaker was born, about whom we had heard farther north; but we had to push on, and finally did reach Nuneaton for the night.

(Distance walked twenty-seven miles.)

Thursday, November 2nd.

In our early days we used to be told there was only one man in Manchester, which fact was true if we looked at the name; in the same way we were told there was but one nun in Nuneaton, but the ruins of the nunnery suggested that there must have been quite a number there in the past ages. We had seen many monasteries in our travels, but only one nunnery, and that was at York; so convent life did not seem to have been very popular in the North country, the chorus of a young lady's song of the period perhaps furnishing the reason why:



Then I won't be a Nun, And I shan't be a Nun; I'm so fond of pleasure That I cannot be a Nun.

The nuns had of course disappeared and long since been forgotten, but other women had risen to take their places in the minds and memories of the people of Nuneaton, foremost amongst whom was Mary Ann Evans, who was born about the year 1820 at the South Farm, Arbury, whither her father, belonging to the Newdegate family, had removed from Derbyshire to take charge of some property in Warwickshire. "George Eliot" has been described as "the greatest woman writer in English literature," and as many of her novels related mainly to persons and places between Nuneaton and Coventry, that district had been named by the Nuneaton people "The Country of George Eliot." Scenes of Clerical Life was published in 1858, and The Mill on the Floss in 1860, and although the characters and places are more difficult to locate than those in Adam Bede, the "Bull Hotel" at Nuneaton has been identified as the "Red Lion" in her novel, where Mr. Dempster, over his third glass of brandy and water, would overwhelm a disputant who had beaten him in argument, with some such tirade as: "I don't care a straw, sir, either for you or your encyclopaedia; a farrago of false information picked up in a cargo of waste paper. Will you tell me, sir, that I don't know the origin of Presbyterianism? I, sir, a man known through the county; while you, sir, are ignored by the very fleas that infest the miserable alley in which you were bred!"



We left the "Newdegate Arms" at Nuneaton early in the morning, on our way to Lutterworth, our next object of interest, and passed by the village of Hartshill, where Michael Drayton was born in 1563. He was a lyric poet of considerable fame and a friend of Shakespeare. His greatest work, Polyolbion, a poetic description of different parts of England, was published in 1613. He became Poet Laureate, and at his death, in 1631, was buried in Westminster Abbey.

We again went astray owing to the finger-posts being without names, but at length reached the Watling Street at cross-roads, where there was a very old public-house called "The Three Pots," and here we turned to the right along the Street. The road was very lonely, for there were very few houses on the Street itself, the villages being a mile or two away on either side, but we had not gone very far before we met a Church of England clergyman, who told us he had just returned from India, and that he would much have liked to form one of our company in the journey we were taking. He was sorry he had not met us lower down the road so that he could have detained us a short time to listen to some of our tales of adventures, and he would have given us a glass of beer and some bread and cheese; which he altered to milk and eggs when we told him we did not drink beer. We explained to him that we should never be able to complete our journey if we joined the company of the beer-drinkers at the many taverns we passed, and lingered at, on our way. Our experience was that we were expected to tell tales, and the farther we travelled the more we should have had to tell. He quite saw the force of our argument, and then he said: "I presume you are not married," and when we told him we were not, he said, "I thought not, as you would never have been allowed to engage in so long a journey," and added, "I am just about to be married myself." We told him we were sorry he was about to lose his liberty, and, wishing him much happiness, and again thanking him for his proffered hospitality, we resumed our march.



In passing through country villages we often met the local clergyman or doctor, of whom we invariably inquired concerning any objects of interest to be seen. It was marvellous how many of them expressed a wish to imitate our example. This, however, was only on fine days, for we seldom met those gentlemen when the weather was bad, and we wondered whether, if we had, they would still have expressed a wish to form one of our company! Fine weather prevailed that day, and we soon arrived at the High Cross which marked the Roman centre of England. It was at this point that their most celebrated roads, the Fosse Way and the Watling Street, crossed each other, running, we supposed, from north-east to south-west and from north-west to south-east, to the extreme ends of the kingdom in each direction. The Cross in the time of the Romans was made of wood, being replaced or renewed in successive generations, until in the middle of the seventeenth century it was utilised as a finger-post, consisting of a long pole with four arms, to direct the way from "London to West Chester," and from "York to Bristol." In 1712 an ornamental stone cross was erected on the same spot by a number of gentlemen headed by Basil, the fourth Earl of Denbigh, who had large estates in that neighbourhood. The tableland on which it stood was 440 feet above the sea-level, rivers running from it in every direction, and such was the extent of the country visible from the Cross that with the aid of a telescope fifty-six churches could be seen. This elevated position might account for the Cross being struck by lightning in 1791 and partially destroyed, but the inscriptions on the base, which had been left standing, were still visible, although partially obscured by the numerous names and initials of vandals, who have succeeded in closing many interesting places to more civilised and sensible people. We could perhaps go further and describe them as fools, for what will it matter to posterity what their initials or names are; they only rouse the ire of those who follow them and a feeling of disappointment that they had not caught the offenders in their act of wanton mischief and been able to administer some corporal punishment or other.

Years ago the benevolent owner of a fine estate situated near a town decided to open his beautiful grounds to his poorer neighbours, but before doing so he erected at the entrance gate two large wooden tablets resembling the two tablets of the Ten Commandments formerly fixed in churches but now rapidly disappearing, and on these he caused his conditions and desires to be painted in poetry, four verses on each tablet. They represent what most landowners desire but few obtain:

I

No chief to enter at this gate To wander through this fine estate; The owner of this ancient Hall A kindly welcome bids to all: Yet hopes that no one will neglect The following wishes to respect.

II

When in the meadows grown for hay. Keep to the Drive or right of way. Fright not the cattle on the lea Nor damage flower nor shrub nor tree; And let no vestiges be found Of paper, scattered o'er the ground.

III

One more request will sure suffice: From carving any rude device Refrain! and oh let no one see Your name on post, or bridge or tree. Such were the act of fool, whose name We fear can ne'er descend to fame.

IV

Your olive-branches with you take, And let them here their pastime make. These scenes will ever seem more fair When children's voices fill the air: Or bring, as comrade in your stroll, Your Dog, if under due control.

V

If, to the gentle art inclined, To throw a fly you have a mind. Send in your card and state your wish To be allowed to catch a fish: Or if the woodland to explore, Pray seek permission at the door.

VI

These boons are granted not quite free, Y'et for a very moderate fee; Nor fear but what it is ordained That all the money thus obtained Shall to the fund be handed down For aid to sick in yonder Town.

VII

The owner of this blest domain Himself to sojourn here is fain; And if by land or sea he roam Yet loveth best his native home, Which, for two centuries or near, His ancestors have held so dear.

VIII

Admire well the graceful art Of Nature's hand in every part: Full well he knoweth how to prize This fair Terrestrial Paradise; And 'tis his wish sincere and true That others should enjoy it too.

But to return to the High Cross and the Watling Street. The description on the Cross was in Latin, of which the following is a translation:

The noblemen and gentry, ornaments of the counties of Warwickshire and Leicestershire at the instance of the Right Honourable Basil Earl of Denbigh, have caused this pillar to be erected in grateful as well as perpetual remembrance of peace at last restored by her Majesty Queen Anne. If, Traveller, you search for the footsteps of the ancient Romans you may here behold them. For here their most celebrated ways crossing one another extend to the utmost boundaries of Britain. Here the Bennones kept their quarters and at the distance of one mile from here Claudius, a certain commander of a Cohort, seems to have had a camp towards the Street, and towards the Fosse a tomb.

We were pleased to see that the remains of the Cross had been enclosed in the garden of a house belonging to the Earl of Denbigh, a descendant of the Earl who had been instrumental in building it, and it was now comparatively safe from further defacement.

The Romans built stations along their roads, and near the High Cross stood their military station Bennones, on the side of which many Roman remains, including a Roman urn, had been discovered. It was of great importance to them that any hostile movement amongst the turbulent Britons should be reported immediately, so young men who were quick runners were employed to convey intelligence from one station to another; but this system was improved upon later by building on the side of the road, in as prominent a position as possible, at intervals of five or six miles, a house where forty horses were stabled so that news or soldiers could, if required, be carried by relays of horses a distance of a hundred miles along the road in the course of a single day. We were now only about twelve miles from Leicester, and we had to walk about six miles in that county in order to reach Lutterworth, famous throughout England as the parish where the great Reformer John Wiclif spent the last nineteen years of his life as rector. We passed through a fine grazing and fox-hunting country on our way, and found Lutterworth a rather pleasantly situated little town. Our first visit was naturally to the church, and as we walked along the quiet street leading up to it we saw a woman standing at her cottage door, to whom we spoke concerning the great divine, asking incidentally how long it was since he was rector there. She said she did not know exactly, but as far as she could remember she thought it was about 146 years since he died. On arriving at the church we found that it was about 487 years since Wiclif departed, and we thought it strange that a lady who lived almost under the shadow of the church steeple could have been so ill-informed. The church had recently been restored, and a painting of the Day of Doom, or Judgment, had been discovered over the arch of the chancel under the whitewash or plaster, which we were told Oliver Cromwell had ordered to be put on. At the top of this picture our Saviour was represented as sitting on a rainbow with two angels on each side, two of whom were blowing trumpets, and on the earth, which appeared far down below, the graves were opening, and all sorts of strange people, from the king down to the humblest peasant, were coming out of their tombs, while the fire and smoke from others proclaimed the doom of their occupants, and skulls and bones lay scattered about in all directions.



It was not a very pleasant picture to look upon, so we adjourned to the vestry, where we were shown a vestment worn by Wiclif in which some holes had been cut either with knives or scissors. On inquiry we were informed that the pieces cut out had been "taken away by visitors," which made us wonder why the vestment had not been taken better care of. We were shown an old pulpit, and the chair in which Wiclif fell when he was attacked by paralysis, and in which he was carried out of church to die three days afterwards. We could not describe his life and work better than by the inscription on the mural monument subscribed for in 1837:

Sacred to the Memory of John Wiclif the earliest Champion of Ecclesiastical Reformation in England. He was born in Yorkshire in the year 1324, and in the year 1375 he was presented to the Rectory of Lutterworth. At Oxford he acquired not only the renown of a consummate Schoolman, but the far more glorious title of the Evangelical Doctor. His whole life was one perpetual struggle against the corruptions and encroachments of the Papal Court and the impostures of its devoted auxiliaries, the Mendicant Fraternities. His labours in the cause of Scriptural truths were crowned by one immortal achievement, his Translation of the Bible into the English tongue. This mighty work drew on him, indeed, the bitter hatred of all who were making merchandise of the popular credulity and ignorance, but he found abundant reward in the blessing of his countrymen of every rank and age, to whom he unfolded the words of Eternal Light. His mortal remains were interred near this spot, but they were not allowed to rest in peace. After a lapse of many years his bones were dragged from the grave and consigned to the flames; and his ashes were cast in the waters of the adjoining stream.

That he was a man of distinction may be taken for granted, as he was master of that famous college at Oxford, Balliol College, where his picture hangs in the dining-hall to-day.

When in Lichfield Cathedral, where we saw Chantrey's monument of Bishop Ryder, we had omitted to ask for particulars about him, but here we were told that he was appointed Rector of Lutterworth in 1801, and had been a benefactor to the town. He was made Canon of Windsor in 1808, Dean of Wells 1812, Bishop of Gloucester 1815, and finally became Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry. He died at Hastings in 1836, and as Chantrey himself died in 1841, his monument of Bishop Ryder, that had impressed us so deeply, must have been one of his latest and best productions.



Lutterworth was the property of William the Conqueror in 1086, and it was King Edward III who presented the living to Wiclif, who was not only persecuted by the Pope, but also by the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London. On two occasions he had to appear before the Papal Commission, and if he had not been the personal friend of John o' Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the fourth son of the King Edward who had given him the living, and probably the most powerful man in England next to the king, he would inevitably have suffered martyrdom. He was equally fortunate in the following reign, as John o' Gaunt was uncle to Richard II, the reigning monarch, under whose protection he was spared to finish his great work and to translate the Holy Bible so that it could be read in the English language.

We went to see the bridge which crossed the small stream known as the River Swift, for it was there that Wiclif's bones were burned and the ashes thrown into the stream. The historian related that they did not remain there, for the waters of the Swift conveyed them to the River Avon, the River Avon to the River Severn, the Severn to the narrow seas, and thence into the wide ocean, thus becoming emblematic of Wiclif's doctrines, which in later years spread over the wide, wide world.

A well-known writer once humorously observed that the existence of a gallows in any country was one of the signs of civilisation, but although we did not see or hear of any gallows at Lutterworth, there were other articles, named in the old books of the constables, which might have had an equally civilising influence, especially if they had been used as extensively as the stocks and whipping-post as recorded in a list of vagrants who had been taken up and whipped by Constables Cattell and Pope, from October 15th, 1657, to September 30th, 1658. The records of the amounts paid for repairs to the various instruments of torture, which included a lock-up cage for prisoners and a cuck, or ducking-stool, in which the constables ducked scolding wives and other women in a deep hole near the river bridge, led us to conclude that they must have been extensively used.

A curious custom prevailed in Lutterworth in olden times. There were two mills on the River Swift, and the people were compelled to grind all their malt at one mill and all their corn at another, and to bake all their bread in one oven; in those "days of bondage" a person durst not buy a pound of flour from any other miller. These privileges were abused by the millers to make high charges, and it was on record that a person who ventured to bake a cake in his own oven was summoned, but discharged on his begging pardon and paying expenses. This unsatisfactory state of things continued until the year 1758, when a rebellion arose headed by a local patriot named Bickley. This townsman roused his fellow-citizens to resist, and built a malthouse of his own, his example being soon followed by others, who defied the owner of the privileged mill, and entered into a solemn bond to defend any action that might be brought against them. The contest was one of the most interesting and remarkable ever known in the district, and was decided at the Leicester Assizes in July 1758, the verdict being in favour of the parishioners, with costs to the amount of L300. One of the greatest curiosities to be seen in Lutterworth was an old clock which was there in 1798, and still remained in good working order; the description of it reads as follows:

The case is of mahogany; and the face is oval, being nineteen inches by fifteen inches. The upper part exhibits a band of music, consisting of two violins, a violoncello, a German flute, three vocal performers, and a boy and girl; the lower part has the hour and minutes indicated by neat gilt hands; above the centre is a moment hand, which shows the true dead beat. On the right is a hand pointing to—chimes silent—all dormant—quarters silent—all active; to signify that the clock will perform as those words imply. On the left is a hand that points to the days of the week, and goes round in the course of seven days, and shifts the barrel to a fresh time at noon and midnight. The clock strikes the hour, the four quarters, and plays a tune three times over every three hours, either on the bells alone, the lyricord, or on both together. Three figures beat exact time to the music, and three seem to play on their instruments; and the boy and the girl both dance through the whole if permitted. But still, by a touch all are dormant, and by another touch all are in action again. The lyricord will play either low or loud. The machine goes eight days, either as a watch clock, quarter clock, quarter-chime-clock or as a quarter chime lyrical clock. It will go with any or all parts in action, or with any or all parts dormant. It has four chime barrels, and plays sixty-five tunes, many of them in two or three parts, on nineteen musical bells, and on the like number of double musical wires. A child may do everything necessary to show its varied and complicated action.



The maker was Mr. Deacon, a Baptist minister of Barton-in-the-Beans, who began life as a farm boy when he was eleven years of age. A gentleman happened to call on the farmer one evening and had some nuts given to him, and as he could not crack them, one of the other servants said to the boy, "Sam, bring the wooden nut-crackers you made!" When the boy brought them, the visitor, after cracking a nut, examined them carefully for some time, and was so struck with the ingenuity displayed in their construction that he took the lad and apprenticed him to a clock-maker in Leicester, where he became one of the cleverest workmen in the kingdom, the most elaborate and curious piece of mechanism he made being this wonderful clock.

We returned from Lutterworth by a different route, for we were now off to see Peeping Tom at Coventry; but our experiments on the roads were not altogether satisfactory, for we got lost in some by-roads where there was no one to inquire from, and eventually reached the snug little village of Monks Kirby. Here, according to the name of the village, we should at one time have found a Danish settlement, and at another a church belonging to the monks; but on this occasion we found a church and a comfortable-looking inn opposite to it, where we called for an early tea. This was quickly served and disposed of, and shortly afterwards we reached, coming from the direction of the High Cross, the Fosse, or Foss-way, one of the four great roads made by the Romans in England, so named by them because there was a fosse, or ditch, on each side of it. We walked along its narrow and straight surface until we came to a road which crossed it, and here, about halfway between Rugby and Coventry, we turned to the right, leaving the "fosse" to continue its course across Dunsmore Heath, where in ancient times Guy, the famous Earl of Warwick, slew the terrible Dun Cow of Dunsmore, "a monstrous wyld and cruell beast." The village of Brinklow was now before us, presenting a strange appearance as we walked towards it from the brook below, for at the entrance stood a lofty mound formerly a Roman camp, while behind it was a British tumulus. In the Civil War there was much fighting all along the road from here to Coventry, and Cromwell's soldiers had not left us much to look at in the church, as the windows had all been "blown out" at that time, leaving only some small pieces of stained glass. The church, however, was quite a curiosity, for it sloped with the hill, and was many feet lower at the Tower end than at the east. We walked along a rather steep inclined plane until we came to a flight of four steps which landed us on the chancel floor, where another inclined plane brought us up to the foot of the two steps leading to the altar; we were told that there was only one other church built in such a form "in all England." We were now well within the borders of the county of Warwickshire, which, with the other two Midland Counties of Worcestershire and Staffordshire, formerly contained more leading Roman Catholic families than any other part of England, so we were not surprised when we heard that we were passing through a country that had been associated with the Gunpowder Plot, and that one incident connected with it had occurred at Combe Abbey, which we would pass a mile or two farther on our way. The originator of the Gunpowder Plot, Catesby, was intimately connected with many of the leading families in these counties, and was lineally descended from the Catesby of King Richard III's time, whose fame had been handed down in the old rhyme:

The Rat, the Cat, and Lovel the Dog Rule all England under the Hog.

the rat meaning Ratcliffe, the cat Catesby, and the hog King Richard, whose cognisance was a boar. Robert Catesby, the descendant of the "cat," was said to be one of the greatest bigots that ever lived; he was the friend of Garnet, the Jesuit, and had been concerned in many plots against Queen Elizabeth; when that queen died and King James, the son of Mary Queen of Scots, ascended the throne, their expectations rose high, for his mother had suffered so much from Queen Elizabeth that they looked upon her as a martyr, and were sure that their form of religion would now be restored. But great was their chagrin when they found that James, probably owing to his early education under John Knox in Scotland, was more ready to put the laws in force against the Papists than to give them greater toleration.



Catesby and his friends resolved to try to depose James and to place the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I, afterwards the beautiful Queen of Bohemia, whom her royal parents had placed under the care of the Earl of Harrington, then the owner of Combe Abbey, about five miles from Coventry, on the throne in his stead. The conspirators assembled at Dunchurch, near Rugby, but held their meetings about six miles away, in a room over the entrance to the old Manor House at Ashby St. Ledgers, the home of Catesby, where it was proposed to settle matters by blowing up the Houses of Parliament. These were to be opened on November 5th, 1605, when the King, Queen, and Prince of Wales, with the Lords and Commons, would all be assembled. In those days the vaults, or cellars, of the Parliament House were let to different merchants for the storage of goods, and one of these immediately under the House of Lords was engaged and filled with some innocent-looking barrels, in reality containing gunpowder, which were covered by faggots of brushwood. All preparations were now completed except to appoint one of their number to apply the torch, an operation which would probably involve certain death. In the meantime Catesby had become acquainted with Guy Fawkes, a member of an old Yorkshire family, and almost as bigoted a Papist as himself, who had joined the conspirators at Dunchurch, the house where he lodged being still known as Guy Fawkes' House, and when the question came up for decision, he at once volunteered his services, as he was a soldier and a brave man. They were accepted, and Sir Everard Digby was to stay at Dunchurch in order to be ready to seize the young Princess Elizabeth while the others went to London. It so happened that one of the conspirators had a friend, Lord Monteagle, whom he knew would be sure to attend the opening of Parliament, and as he did not want him to be killed he caused an anonymous letter to be written warning him not to attend the opening of Parliament, "for though there be no appearance of any stir, yet I say they shall receive a terrible blow this Parliament, and yet shall not see who hurts them." The letter was delivered to Monteagle by a man in a long coat, who laid it on his table and disappeared immediately. It was afterwards handed to King James, who, after reading the last paragraph, repeated it aloud, "and yet they shall not see who hurts them," and said to Cecil, "This smells gunpowder!" Their suspicions were aroused, but they waited until midnight on November 4th, and then sent soldiers well armed to search the vaults, where they found a man with a long sword amongst the barrels. He fought savagely, but was soon overpowered. When the conspirators found that their plot had been discovered, and that Guy Fawkes was in custody, instead of escaping to France as they might easily have done, they hastened down to Dunchurch, "as if struck by infatuation," in the wild hope of capturing the young Princess and raising a civil war in her name; but by the time they reached Combe Abbey, the Earl of Harrington had removed Elizabeth to Coventry, which at that time was one of the most strongly fortified places in England. They now realised that their game was up, and the gang dispersed to hide themselves; but when the dreadful nature of the plot became known, it created such a profound sensation of horror throughout the country, that every one joined in the search for the conspirators, who in the end were all captured and executed. Great rejoicings were held, bonfires lit, bells rung, and guns fired in almost every village, and thereby the people were taught to—

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November The Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot.

These celebrations have been continued on each fifth of November for centuries, November 5th becoming known as "Bonfire Day." And in our Book of Common Prayer there was a special service for the day which was only removed in the time of Queen Victoria. Guy Fawkes was executed on February 6th, 1606.

Fortunately for the Protestants the reign of the queen who was known by them as the "Bloody Queen Mary" was of short duration, for they were then subjected to very great cruelties; on the other hand there was no doubt that during the much longer reign of Queen Elizabeth that followed, the Papists also suffered greatly; still under James they were now bound to suffer more in every way, short of death, for the great mass of their fellow-countrymen had turned against them owing to the murderous character of the Gunpowder Plot, so—

On Bonfire Day, as Britons should, They heaped up sticks, and turf, and wood; And lighted Bonfires bright and hot, In memory of the Popish Plot!

We were ourselves greatly interested in November 5th, which was now due to arrive in three days' time; not because some of our ancestors had been adherents to the Roman Catholic Faith, nor because of the massacres, for in that respect we thought one side was quite as bad as the other; but because it happened to be my birthday, and some of our earliest and happiest associations were connected with that day. I could remember the time when a candle was placed in every available window-pane at home on November 5th, and when I saw the glare of the big bonfire outside and the pin-wheels, the rip-raps, and small fireworks, and heard the church bells ringing merrily, and the sound of the guns firing, I naturally thought as a child that all these tokens of rejoicing were there because it was my birthday. Then the children from the village came! first one small group and then another; these were the "Soulers," or "Soul-Cakers," who ought to have appeared, according to history, on All Souls' Day; they were generally satisfied with apples or pears, or with coppers. The most mysterious visitor was the horse's head, or hobby horse, which came without its body or legs, but could make a noise just like the neighing of a horse, and could also open its mouth so wide that a glass filled with beer could pass down its throat. To complete the illusion we could hear its jaws, which were filled with very large teeth, close together with a crack, and although the glass was returned in some way or other, we never saw the beer again. The horse's head was accompanied by a lot of men known as Mummers, dressed in all sorts of queer clothes, who acted a short play, but the only words I could remember were, "King George, King George, thou hast killed my only son!" and at that point one of the actors fell on the grass as if he were dead. But these were reveries of the past; when the spell broke I found myself walking with my brother in the dark alongside the grounds of Combe Abbey, the only lights we could see being some in the park, which might have been those from the abbey itself. We were expecting to come upon a private menagerie which was supposed to exist somewhere in the park, and we had prepared ourselves for the roars of the lions seeking their prey as they heard our footsteps on the road, or for the horrid groans of other wild animals; but beyond a few minor noises, which we could not recognise, all was quiet, and passing the small village of Binley we soon arrived at Coventry, where we stayed for the night at an ancient hostelry near the centre of the town.

St. George, the Patron Saint of England, who lived in the early part of the fourth century, and was reckoned among the seven champions of Christendom, was said to have been born in Coventry. In olden times a chapel, named after him, existed here, in which King Edward IV, when he kept St. George's Feast on St. George's Day, April 23rd, 1474, attended service. Coventry was a much older town than we expected to find it, and, like Lichfield, it was known as the city of the three spires; but here they were on three different churches. We had many arguments on our journey, both between ourselves and with others, as to why churches should have towers in some places and spires in others. One gentleman who had travelled extensively through Britain observed that towers were more numerous along the sea coasts and on the borders of Wales and Scotland, while spires were most in evidence in the low Midland plains where trees abounded. In these districts it was important to have part of the church standing out from the foliage, while on a hill or a bare cliff a short tower was all that was needed. He actually knew more than one case where the squires in recent times had a short spire placed on the top of the church tower, like the extinguisher of an old candlestick, because it was said they needed guide-posts by which to find their way home from hunting!



In olden times, ere the enemy could approach the village, the cattle were able to be driven in the church, while the men kept an easy look-out from the tower, and the loopholes in it served as places where arrows could be shot from safe cover. In some districts we passed through we could easily distinguish the position of the villages by the spires rising above the foliage, and very pretty they appeared, and at times a rivalry seemed to have existed which should possess the loftiest or most highly decorated spire, some of them being of exceptional beauty. The parish churches were almost invariably placed on the highest point in the villages, so that before there were any proper roads the parishioners could find their way to church so long as they could see the tower or spire, and to that position at the present day, it is interesting to note, all roads still converge.

We had no idea that the story of Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom was so ancient, but we found it dated back to the time of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, who in 1043 founded an abbey here which was endowed by his wife, the Lady Godiva. The earl, the owner of Coventry, levied very hard taxes on the inhabitants, and treated their petitions for relief with scorn. Lady Godiva, on the contrary, had moved amongst the people, and knew the great privations they had suffered through having to pay these heavy taxes, and had often pleaded with her husband on their behalf. At last he promised her that he would repeal the taxes if she would ride naked through the town, probably thinking his wife would not undertake such a task. But she had seen so much suffering amongst the poor people that she decided to go through the ordeal for their sakes, and the day was fixed, when she would ride through the town. Orders were given by the people that everybody should darken their windows and retire to the back part of their houses until Lady Godiva had passed. All obeyed except one man, "Tom the Tailor," afterwards nicknamed "Peeping Tom," who, as the lady rode by on her palfrey, enveloped in her long tresses of hair, which fell round her as a garment, looked down on her from his window, and of him the historian related that "his eyes chopped out of his head even as he looked." The ride ended, the taxes were repealed, and ever afterwards the good Lady Godiva was enshrined in the hearts of the people of Coventry. Many years later a beautiful stained-glass window was placed in the Parish Church to commemorate this famous event, and Leofric was portrayed thereon as presenting Godiva with a charter bearing the words:

I Luriche for love of thee Doe make Coventry toll free.



This story Tennyson has immortalised, and its memory is still perpetuated in the pageants which are held from time to time in the city. Coventry was described in 1642 by Jeremiah Wharton, an officer under the Earl of Essex in the Parliamentary Army, as "a City environed with a wall, co-equal with, if not exceeding, that of London, for breadth and height, and with gates and battlements, and magnificent churches and stately streets, and abundant fountains of water, altogether a place very sweetly situated, and where there was no lack of venison." The walls of Coventry, begun in the year 1355, were very formidable, being six yards high and three yards thick, and having thirty-two towers and twelve principal gates. They defied both Edward IV and Charles I when with their armies they appeared before them and demanded admission, but they were demolished after the Civil War by order of Charles II, because the people of Coventry had refused admission to his father, King Charles I. Coventry possessed a greater number of archives than almost any other town in England, covering eight centuries and numbering over eleven thousand. My brother was delighted to find that one of them related to a very old man named Thomas Parr, recording the fact that he passed through the town on his way to London in 1635, at the age of 152 years. It reminded him of a family medicine known as Old Parr's Pills, which at one time was highly prized; they had been used by our grandfather, who died in his ninety-seventh year, and he often wondered whether his longevity was in any way due to those pills. They were supposed to have been made from the same kind of herbs as old Parr was known to have used in his efforts to keep himself alive, and during supper my brother talked about nothing else but that old man; if he was an authority on anything, it was certainly on old Thomas Parr. This man was born on the Montgomery border of Shropshire, where a tablet to his memory in Great Wollaston Church bore the following inscription:

The old, old, very old man

THOMAS PARR

was born at Wynn in the Township of Winnington within the Chapelry of Great Wollaston, and Parish of Alberbury, in the County of Salop, in the year of our Lord 1483. He lived in the reigns of 10 Kings and Queens of England, King Edward IV. and V. Richard III. Henry VII. VIII. Edward VI. Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth. King James I. King Charles I. He died the thirteenth and was buried at Westminster Abbey on the fifteenth November 1635 Age 152 years and 9 months.

John Taylor, known as the Water Poet because he was a Thames waterman, who was born in 1580, and died in 1656, was a contemporary of Parr, and wrote a book in 1635, the same year that old Parr died, entitled The Olde, Olde, very Olde Man, in which he described Thomas Parr as an early riser, sober, and industrious:

Though old age his face with wrinkles fill. He hath been handsome and is comely still; Well-faced, and though his Beard not oft corrected Yet neate it grows, not like a Beard neglected.

Earl Arundel told King Charles I about this very old man, and he expressed a desire to see him; so the earl arranged to have him carried to London. When the men reached old Parr's cottage, which is still standing, they found an old man sitting under a tree, apparently quite done. Feeling sure that he was the man they wanted, they roused him up, and one said, "We have come for you to take you to the King!" The old man looked up at the person who spoke to him, and replied, "Hey, mon! it's not me ye want! it's me feyther!" "Your father!" they said, in astonishment; "where is he?" "Oh, he's cuttin' th' hedges!" So they went as directed, and found a still older man cutting away at a hedge in the small field adjoining the cottage, and him they took, together with his daughter, for whom the earl had provided a horse. Musicians also went with him, and it was supposed that he was exhibited at the different towns they called at on their way to London, and such was the crush to see him in Coventry that the old man narrowly escaped being killed. When he was taken into the presence of King Charles, the king said, "Well, Parr, you've lived a long time," and Parr answered, "Yes I have, your Majesty." "What do you consider the principal event in your long life?" asked the king, to which Parr replied that he hardly knew, but mentioned some offence which he had committed when he was a hundred years old, and for which he had to do penance in Alberbury Church, with the young woman sitting beside him barefooted, and dressed in white clothing! Whereupon King Charles said, "Oh, fie, fie, Parr, telling us of your faults and not your virtues!"



Parr was feted in London to such an extent that he died of surfeit, and was buried in the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey, where his tombstone still exists, and is inscribed:

Thomas Parr of Y'E County of Sallop Borne in A'P 1483. He lived in Y'E Reignes of Ten Princes VIZ:— K. Edw. 4. K. Edw. 5. K. Rich. 3. K. Hen. 7. K. Hen. 8. K. Edw. 6. Q. Ma. Q. Eliz. K. Ja. & K. Charles Aged 152 Years & was buried Here Novemb. 15. 1635.

His portrait was painted by Van Dyck, who at that time was the Court painter of King Charles I, and there were other oil paintings of him in various places in England and abroad.

(Distance walked thirty-one miles.)

Friday, November 3rd.



Our hotel was quite near the Coventry Parish Church dedicated to St. Michael, which was said to be the largest parish church in England, so we went out early this morning to visit it. We found it to be a very fine church, and in it we saw some workmen erecting a beautiful stained-glass window in which they had already placed the likeness of two saints, one of whom was St. Ambrose. We wondered why they should be putting such images in what we supposed to be the Reformed Church of England. The men told us we should find a very fine stained-glass window across the way in St. Mary's Hall, which had been erected in the time of Henry VI, and was originally the work of John Thornton of Coventry, who also had charge of the erection of the famous east window we had already seen in York Minster. We only saw the exterior of the windows in St. Mary's Hall, as we could not find any door that was open, so we hurried away to form the acquaintance of "Peeping Tom," whose image we had come so many miles to see. We found him high up on a corner of a street as if looking down on the passers-by below. The building in which he appeared was doing duty as a public-house, so we went in and saw the landlord, to whom we explained the nature of our visit and journey, and he kindly conducted us up the steps to the small room at the top of the house where Peeping Tom was to be seen. He was a repulsive-looking image of humanity, made of wood, without arms, and with a hideous face; how long he had occupied his present position no one knew, but as we had seen images of wood made hundreds of years ago, we were willing to suppose that he was a relic of antiquity. Photography at the time of our visit was only in its infancy, but small cards, 4 inches long by 2-1/2 inches wide, with photographic views on them, were beginning to make their appearance—picture postcards being then unknown. On our tour we collected a number of these small cards, which were only to be found in the more populous places. In our case we were able to get one at Coventry of Peeping Tom, a facsimile of which we here produce. We did not stay long in his company, for we looked upon him as an ugly and disreputable character, but hurried back to our hotel for a good breakfast before starting on our walk to the country of Shakespeare.



The dull days of November were now upon us, which might account to some extent for the sleepy appearance of the old town of Coventry; but it appeared that underlying all this was a feeling of great depression caused by the declining state of its two staple industries—watches and silk. The manufacture of watches had been established here for many years, for as early as 1727 the archives recorded that a watch-maker had been appointed Mayor of Coventry, and for anything we knew the manufacture of silk might have been quite as old an industry there; but the competition of American and Swiss watches was making itself seriously felt, and the Treaty with France which admitted French silks into England, duty free, was still more disastrous, causing much apprehension for the future prosperity of the "good old town."

We lost a little time before starting, as my brother had seen something in a shop window that he wanted to buy, but having forgotten the exact position of the shop, we had to search diligently until we found it. It was quite an artistic bookmarker made of white silk, with ornamental bordering in colours which blended sweetly, enclosing a scroll, or unfolding banner, which only displayed one word at each fold:

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

I never knew what became of that book-mark until years later, after he was married, when I saw it in his family Bible, and then I could guess where it had been in the interval. I noticed also that he began to quicken his speed considerably, and to be inclined to walk farther each day, his explanation being that we were obliged to make up for lost time. I also noticed that he wrote more notes in his diary in shorthand, his knowledge of which I envied. He said that before he started on the journey he imagined he knew the history of England, but had now become convinced that he had it all to learn, and he thought the best way to learn it thoroughly was by walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End.



A story was once told of two commercial travellers who had travelled extensively, and were asked to write down the prettiest road in all England, and one of them wrote "from Kenilworth to Coventry" and the other wrote "from Coventry to Kenilworth"! This was the road on which we had now to walk to reach what was known as "Shakespeare's country." There were many pretty roads in England, and although this road was very fine, being wide and straight and passing through a richly wooded country, we had seen many prettier roads as regarded scenery. We soon arrived at the historical Castle of Kenilworth, which, judging from the extent of its ruins and lofty towers, must at one time have been a magnificent place. According to local history the castle was originally built in the reign of Henry I, and at one time it was in the possession of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, who was born in 1206, and who has been described as the "Father of English Parliaments." Henry belonged to the Plantagenet family, the reigning house from Henry II in 1154 to Richard III, who was killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. The strangest history in that family appeared to be that of Eleanor Plantagenet, the daughter of Henry II, who caused her to be married when only four years old to the great Earl of Pembroke, who was then forty, and who took her as a bride to his home when she was only fourteen years old, leaving her a widow at sixteen. She was thrown into such an agony of grief that she took a solemn vow in the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury never to marry again, but to become a bride of Christ. Seven years afterwards, however, she returned to the Court of her brother, who was then Henry III, and, meeting Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, the king's favourite, one of the most handsome and accomplished of courtiers, to whom he had given Kenilworth Castle, the widowed countess forgot her vow, and though solemnly warned by the Archbishop of the peril of breaking her oath, Montfort easily persuaded Henry to give him his sister in marriage. The king knew that both the Church and the barons would be violently opposed to the match, and that they could only be married secretly; so on one cold January morning in 1238 they were married in the king's private chapel at Windsor; but the secret soon became known to the priests and the peers, and almost provoked a civil war. The Princess Eleanor was not happy, as her husband, who had lost the favour of her brother the king, was ultimately killed in the cause of freedom, along with her eldest son, at the Battle of Evesham. He was the first to create a Parliament.



In the year 1206 a festival was held at Kenilworth, attended by one hundred knights of distinction, and the same number of ladies, at which silks were worn for the first time in England, and in 1327 Edward II was there compelled to sign his abdication in favour of his son. Kenilworth Castle probably attained the zenith of its prosperity in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who in 1563 conferred it upon her favourite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, who entertained her there with great magnificence on four different occasions, 1566, 1568, 1572, and 1575. But the former glory of Kenilworth Castle had departed, and we only saw it in the deplorable condition in which it had been left by Cromwell's soldiers. They had dismantled the lofty towers, drained the lake, destroyed the park, and divided the land into farms, and we looked upon the ruins of the towers, staircases, doorways, and dungeons with a feeling of sorrow and dismay. We could distinguish the great hall, with its chimney-pieces built in the walls; but even this was without either floor or roof, and the rest appeared to us as an unintelligible mass of decaying stonework. And yet, about half a century before we made our appearance at the ruins, a visitor arrived who could see through them almost at a glance, and restored them in imagination to their former magnificence, as they appeared in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He has described the preparations for the great feast given in her honour in 1575 by the Earl of Leicester, and resuscitated the chief actors in that memorable and magnificent scene. He was described as "a tall gentleman who leaned rather heavily on his walking-stick," and although little notice was taken of him at the time, was none other than the great Sir Walter Scott, whose novel Kenilworth attracted to the neighbourhood crowds of visitors who might never have heard of it otherwise.

We had begun to look upon Sir Walter in the light of an old acquaintance, once formed never to be forgotten, and admired his description of Kenilworth Castle:

The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure inclosed seven acres, a part of which was occupied by extensive stables, and by a pleasure garden, with its trim arbours and parterres, and the rest formed a large base-court, or outer yard, of the noble Castle. The Lordly structure itself, which rose near the centre of this spacious enclosure was composed of a huge pile of magnificent castellated buildings, apparently of different ages, surrounding an inner court, and bearing in the names of each portion attached to the magnificent mass, and in the armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away, and whose history, could Ambition have lent ear to it, might have read a lesson to the haughty favourite who had now acquired and was augmenting the fair domain. A large and massive Keep, which formed the Citadel of the Castle, was of uncertain, though great antiquity. It bore the name of Caesar, perhaps from its resemblance to that in the Tower of London so called. The external wall of this Royal Castle was on the south and west sides adorned and defended by a Lake, partly artificial, across which Leicester had constructed a stately bridge, that Elizabeth might enter the Castle by a path hitherto untrodden. Beyond the Lake lay an extensive Chase, full of red deer, fallow deer, roes, and every species of game, and abounding with lofty trees, from amongst which the extended front and massive towers of the Castle were seen to rise in majesty and beauty.

The great feast provided by the Earl of Leicester in honour of the visit of Queen Elizabeth to Kenilworth Castle in 1575 was of a degree of magnificence rarely equalled either before or since, extending continuously over the seventeen days of the queen's stay, beginning at two o'clock, at which time the great clock at the castle was stopped and stood at that hour until the Princess departed. The cost of these ceremonies was enormous, the quantity of beer alone consumed being recorded as 320 hogsheads.



Sir Walter describes the preparations for the feast and the heterogeneous nature of the crowd of people who attended it. The resources of the country for miles round were taxed to their utmost, for not only the queen's purveyors, but the Earl of Leicester's household officers had been scouring it in all directions to provide the necessary viands and provisions. The services in this respect of all the leading families had been requisitioned, and—

They took this opportunity of ingratiating themselves by sending large quantities of provisions and delicacies of all kinds, with game in huge quantities, and whole tuns of the best liquors, foreign and domestic. Thus the high-roads were filled with droves of bullocks, sheep, calves and hogs, and choked with loaded wains, whose axle-trees creaked under their burdens of wine-casks and hogsheads of ale, and huge hampers of grocery goods, and slaughtered game, and salted provisions, and sacks of flour. Perpetual stoppages took place as these wains became entangled; and their rude drivers, swearing and brawling till their wild passions were fully raised, began to debate precedence with their wagon-whips and quarter-staves, which occasional riots were usually quieted by a purveyor, deputy-marshal's man, or some other person in authority breaking the heads of both parties. Here were, besides, players and mummers, jugglers and showmen, of every description, traversing in joyous bands the paths which led to the Palace of Princely Pleasure; for so the travelling minstrels had termed Kenilworth in the songs which already had come forth in anticipation of the revels, which were there expected. In the midst of this motley show, mendicants were exhibiting their real or pretended miseries, forming a strange though common contrast betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of human existence. All these floated along with the immense tide of population, whom mere curiosity had drawn together; and where the mechanic, in his leathern apron, elbowed the dink and dainty dame, his city mistress; where clowns with hobnailed shoes were treading on the kibes of substantial burghers and gentlemen of worship; and where Joan of the dairy, with robust pace and red sturdy arms, rowed her way onwards, amongst those prim and pretty moppets, whose sires were knights and squires. The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay and cheerful character. All came forth to see and to enjoy, and all laughed at the trifling inconveniences which at another time might have chafed their temper. Excepting the occasional brawls we have mentioned among that irritable race the Carmen, the mingled sounds which arose from the multitude were those of light-hearted mirth and tiptoe jollity. The musicians preluded on their instruments—the minstrels hummed their songs—the licensed jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as he brandished his bauble—the morrice-dancers jangled their bells—the rustics hallow'd and whistled—men laughed loud, and maidens giggled shrill; while many a broad jest flew like a shuttle-cock from one party to be caught in the air, and returned from the opposite side of the road by another, at which it was aimed.



The arrival of the Queen, who had journeyed from Warwick Castle, had been somewhat delayed, and the Guards had some difficulty in keeping the course clear until she appeared with the lords and ladies who accompanied her. It was dark when she approached the Castle, and immediately there arose from the multitude a shout of applause, so tremendously vociferous that the country echoed for miles around. The Guards, thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen was to advance, caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire to the castle, and announced to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered the Royal Castle of Kenilworth. The whole music of the castle sounded at once, and a round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was discharged from the battlements; but the noise of drums and trumpets, and even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the roaring and reiterated welcome of the multitude. As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was seen to appear from the gate of the park, and, broadening and brightening as it came nearer, advance along the open and fair avenue that led towards the Gallery Tower, lined on either hand by the retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was passed along the lines, "The Queen! The Queen! Silence, and stand fast!" Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by 200 thick waxen torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a light like that of broad day all around the procession, but especially on the principal group, of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner, and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. She was mounted on a milk-white horse, which, she reined with peculiar grace and dignity, and in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of a hundred kings.



Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and cloth of gold, rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in quality as her Host as of her Master of the Horse. The black steed which he mounted had not a single white hair on his body, and was one of the most renowned chargers in Europe, having been purchased by the earl at large expense for this royal occasion. As the noble steed chafed at the slow speed of the procession, and, arching his stately neck, champed on the silver bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his mouth and speckled his well-formed limbs as if with spots of snow. The rider well became the high place which he held and the proud animal which he bestrode, for no man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more perfect than Dudley in horsemanship and all other exercises belonging to his rank. He was bareheaded, as were all the courtiers in the train, and the red torchlight shone upon his long curled tresses of dark hair and on his noble features, to the beauty of which even the severest criticism could only object the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead somewhat too high. On that proud evening he wore all the graceful solicitude of a subject, to show himself sensible of the high honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the pride and satisfaction which became so glorious a moment. The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's person, were of course of the bravest and the fairest—the highest born nobles and the wisest councellors of that distinguished reign, and were followed by a crowd of knights and gentlemen. It was now the part of the huge porter, a man of immense size, to deliver an address and drop his club and resign his keys to give open way to the Goddess of the Night and all her magnificent train, but as he was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit—the contents of one immense black jack of double ale—Sir Walter only records the substance of what the gigantic warder ought to have said in his address:

What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones? Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones! Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw, My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. Yet soft,—nay stay—what vision have we here? What dainty darling this—what peerless peer? What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold. Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold? Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, My club, my Key, my knee, my homage take. Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;— Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this!

Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the herculean porter and then passed through the guarded tower amidst the sounds of trumpets and other instruments stationed on the tower and in various parts of the castle, and dismounted near Mortimer's Tower, which was as light as day as she walked across the long bridge built especially for her and lit with torches on either side. She had no sooner stepped upon the bridge than a new spectacle was provided, for as soon as the music gave signal that she was so far advanced, a raft on the lake, disposed as to resemble a small floating island, illuminated by a great variety of torches, and surrounded by floating pageants formed to represent sea-horses, on which sat Tritons, Nereids, and other fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, made its appearance upon the lake, and, issuing from behind a small heronry where it had been concealed, floated gently towards the farther end of the bridge. On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in a watchet-coloured silken mantle, bound with a broad girdle, inscribed with characters like the phylacteries of the Hebrews. Her feet and arms were bare, but her wrists and ankles were adorned with gold bracelets of uncommon size. Amidst her long silky black hair she wore a crown or chaplet of artificial mistletoe, and bore in her hand a rod of ebony tipped with silver. Two nymphs attended on her, dressed in the same antique and mystical guise. The pageant was so well managed that the Lady of the Floating Island, having performed her voyage with much picturesque effect, landed at Mortimer's Tower with her two attendants, just as Elizabeth presented herself before that outwork. The stranger then in a well-penned speech announced herself as that famous Lady of the Lake renowned in the stories of King Arthur, who had nursed the youth of the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty had proved too powerful both for the wisdom and the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since that period she had remained possessed of her crystal dominions, she said, despite the various men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been successively tenanted. The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saintlowes, the Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the Plantagenets, great though they were in arms and magnificence, had never, she said, caused her to raise her head from the waters which hid her crystal palace. But a greater than all these great names had now appeared, and she came in homage and duty to welcome the peerless Elizabeth to all sport which the castle and its environs, which lake or land, could afford! The queen received the address with great courtesy and the Lady of the Lake vanished, and Arion, who was amongst the maritime deities, appeared upon his dolphin in her place. But amidst all this pageantry Sir Walter throws a side-light on Mervyn's Tower, where we see a prisoner, a pale, attenuated, half dead, yet still lovely lady, Amy Robsart, the neglected wife of Leicester, incarcerated there while her husband is flirting with the queen in the gay rooms above. Her features are worn with agony and suspense as she looks through the narrow window of her prison on the fireworks and coloured fires outside, wondering perhaps whether these were emblems of her own miserable life, "a single spark, which is instantaneously swallowed up by the surrounding darkness—a precarious glow, which rises but for a brief space into the air, that its fall may be lower."



Sir Walter Scott described Kenilworth as "a place to impress on the musing visitor the transitory value of human possessions, and the happiness of those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous contentment," and it was with some such thoughts as these in our own minds that we hurried away across fields and along lovely by-lanes towards Leamington, our object in going there by the way we did being to get a view of the great mansion of Stoneleigh, the residence of Lord Leigh, who was also a landowner in our native County of Chester. It seemed a very fine place as we passed through the well-wooded park surrounding it, and presently reached his lordship's village of Ashow, where the old church, standing on a small knoll at the end of the village, looked down upon the River Avon below, which was here only a small stream. The roofs of many of the cottages were thatched with straw, and although more liable to be set on fire than those covered with the red tiles so common in the County of Warwick, they looked very picturesque and had the advantage of not being affected so much by extremes of temperature, being warmer in winter and cooler in summer for those who had the good fortune to live under them. We noticed several alms houses in the village, and near the smithy had a talk with an old man who was interested to know that we came from Cheshire, as he knew his lordship had some property there. He told us that when a former Lord Leigh had died, there was a dispute amongst the Leigh family as to who was the next owner of the estate, and about fifty men came up from Cheshire and took possession of the abbey; but as the verdict went against them they had to go back again, and had to pay dearly for their trespass. He did not know where the Leighs came from originally, but thought "they might have come from Cheshire," so we told him that the first time they were heard of in that county was when the Devil brought a load of them in his cart from Lancashire. He crossed the River Mersey, which divided the two counties, at a ford near Warrington, and travelled along the Knutsford road, throwing one of them out occasionally with his pikel, first on one side of the road and then on the other, until he had only a few left at the bottom of his cart, and as he did not think these worth taking any farther, he "keck'd" his cart up and left them on the road, so there were persons named Lee, Legh, or Leigh living on each side of that road to the present day. The old man seemed pleased with our story and grinned considerably, and no doubt it would be repeated in the village of Ashow after we had left, and might probably reach the ears of his lordship himself.

Two of the Lees that the Devil left on the road when he upset his cart took possession of the country on either side, which at that time was covered with a dense forest, and selected large oak trees to mark their boundaries, that remained long after the other trees had disappeared. But in course of time it became necessary to make some other distinction between the two estates, so it was arranged that one landlord should spell his name Legh and the other Leigh, and that their tenants should spell the name of the place High Legh in one case and High Leigh in the other, so that when name-plates appeared on carts, each landlord was able to tell to which estate they belonged. There were many antiquities in the country associated with his Satanic Majesty, simply because their origin was unknown, such as the Devil's Bridge over which we had passed at Kirkby Lonsdale, and the Devil's Arrows at Aldborough, and it was quite possible that the remote antiquity of the Legh family might account for the legend connected with them. There were several facts connected with the Cheshire estate of the Leghs which interested us, the first being that my grandfather was formerly a tenant on the estate, and the squire had in his possession the rent rolls for every year since about 1289. A fact that might interest ladies who are on the lookout for a Mr. Wright is, that out of a hundred tenants on that estate at the present day, twenty-seven householders bear the name of Wright.



But the strangest incident connected with High Legh was the case of a young man who came from Scotland to work in the squire's gardens there. He had attended Warrington Market, and was returning over the river bridge when he stopped to look at a placard announcing a missionary meeting to be held in the town that night. He decided to stay, although he had quite seven miles to walk on his way home, and was so impressed by what he heard that he decided to become a missionary himself, and became one of the most famous missionaries of the nineteenth century. His name was Robert Moffat, and he laboured hard in South Africa, where his son-in-law, David Livingstone, following his example, also became a renowned explorer and missionary in the "Dark Continent."

Accept me for Thy service, Lord, And train me for Thy will, For even I in fields so broad Some duties may fulfil; And I will ask for no reward Except to serve Thee still. MOFFAT.



We soon arrived at Leamington, which was quite an aristocratic town, and different from any other we had seen on our journey, for it consisted chiefly of modern houses of a light stone colour, which contrasted finely with the trees with which the houses were interspersed and surrounded, and which must have appeared very beautiful in the spring time.

The chief object of interest there was the Spa, which although known to travellers in the seventeenth century, had only come into prominence during recent times, or since the local poets had sung its praises. In the introduction to a curious book, published in 1809 by James Bissett, who described himself as "Medallist to his Majesty King George the Third, proprietor of the Picture Gallery, public, news-room, and the museum at Leamington," there appeared the following lines:

Nay! Foreigners of rank who this look o'er To try the Wells may quit their native shore; For when they learn the virtues of the Spaw Twice tens of thousands to the spot will draw, As when its wondrous powers are pointed out And men found cap'ring who have had the gout; When pallid cheeks regain their roseate blush And vigorous health expels the hectic flush When those once hypp'd cast the crutch away; Sure when the pride of British Spas they see They'll own the humble instrument in me!

The Spa, it appeared, had been patronised by royalty on several occasions, and Queen Victoria in 1838 acceded to the request that the inhabitants might henceforth style the town the "Royal Leamington Spa." Benjamin Satchwell claimed to have discovered the principal well there in 1784, and on his tombstone in the churchyard appeared the following:

Hail the unassuming tomb Of him who told where health and beauty bloom, Of him whose lengthened life improving ran— A blameless, useful, venerable man.

We only stayed a short time here, and then walked quickly through a fine country to the ancient town of Warwick, with Guy's Cliffe and Blacklow Hill to our right, the monument on the hill being to Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, the hated favourite of Edward II. Gaveston was beheaded on the hill on July 1st, 1312, and the modern inscription reads:

In the hollow of this rock was beheaded, on the first day of July 1312, by barons, lawless as himself, Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, the minion of a hateful King, in life and death a memorable instance of misrule.



Gaveston surrendered to the insurgent barons at Scarborough, on condition that his life should be spared; but he had offended the Earl of Warwick by calling him the "Black Hound of Arden," and the earl caused him to be conveyed to Warwick Castle. When brought before Warwick there, the Earl muttered, "Now you shall feel the Hound's teeth," and after a mock trial by torchlight he was led out of the castle and beheaded on the hill. Every one of the barons concerned in this rather diabolical action died by violence during the next few years.



As we crossed the bridge leading over the River Avon we had a splendid view of Warwick Castle, which had the reputation of being the finest example of a fortified castle in England, Sir Walter Scott describing it as "the fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendour which yet remain uninjured by time." It could boast of a continuous history from the time of Ethelfreda, the daughter of the Saxon King, Alfred the Great, and its towers rose to a considerable height, Caesar's tower reaching an elevation of 174 feet. Here could be seen the famous and exquisite Vase of Warwick, in white marble, of unknown age and of fabulous value, said to have been found at the bottom of a lake near Hadrian's Villa, at Tivoli, in Italy. There were an immense number of curios in the castle, some of which were connected with that famous character Guy, Earl of Warwick, including his shield, sword, and helmet, and his kettle of bell-metal, twenty-six feet wide and capable of holding 120 gallons of water. We had no time to visit the interior of the castle, but it was interesting to read, in one of his letters, what Dr. Adam Clark saw there in 1797: "I was almost absolutely a prey to astonishment and rapture while I contemplated the painting of the wife of Schneider by Rubens, such a speaking canvas I never beheld." He saw the large Etruscan vases collected by Sir William Hamilton, some bronze cups dug out of the ruins of Herculaneum, and the bed in which Queen Anne slept and which, according to report, she wrought with her own hands. In the Armoury he was permitted to fit on some of the armour, and attempted also to wield the sword of Guy, Earl of Warwick, which weighed seventy pounds. He also examined the rest of Guy's gigantic equipments, not omitting his porridge-pot, which held no gallons and was filled every time an Earl of Warwick came of age. This Guy was not the famous King Maker, but the original Guy, who lived at a time when England was covered with thick forests in which savage beasts, now unknown, roamed at large, causing great havoc amongst the early settlers, both to their persons and their cattle. Of gigantic stature, he was renowned for his courage and prowess, and, being in love with the fair Felice at Warwick Castle, for her sake he performed prodigious feats of valour, both at home and abroad. Amongst other monsters which preyed upon and terrified human beings he killed the wild and fierce Dun Cow which infested Dun's Moor, a place we had passed by the previous day; and we were reminded of his prowess when we saw the sign of the "Dun Cow" displayed on inns in the country, including that on the hotel at Dunchurch. He went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he killed many Saracens, and when on his return he landed at Portsmouth, King Athelstane, ignorant of his name, asked him if he would become his champion in a contest on which the fate of England depended. The king told him that the Danes had with them a champion named Colbran, a gigantic Saracen, and that they had offered to stake their fortunes on a duel between him and an English champion, not yet found, on condition that if Colbran won, England must be given up to Anlaf, King of Denmark, and Govelaph, King of Norway. Guy undertook the fight willingly, and defeated and killed the gigantic Saracen, after which he privately informed the king that he was the Earl of Warwick. He secured the hand and affections of the fair Felice, but when the thoughts of all the people he had killed began to haunt him, he left her, giving himself up to a life of devotion and charity, while he disappeared and led the life of a hermit. She thought he had gone into foreign lands, and mourned his loss for many years; but he was quite near the castle all the time, living beside the River Avon in a cave in a rock, which is still called Guys Cliffe, and where he died. Huge bones were found and kept in the castle, including one rib bone, which measured nine inches in girth at its smallest part and was six and a half feet long; but this was probably a bone belonging to one of the great wild beasts slain by the redoubtable Guy. We were sorry we could not explore the castle, but we wanted particularly to visit the magnificent Beauchamp Chapel in St. Mary's Church at Warwick. We found this one of those places almost impossible to describe, and could endorse the opinion of others, that it was "an architectural gem of the first water and one of the finest pieces of architectural work in the kingdom." It occupied twenty-one years in building, and contains the tomb of Richard Beauchamp, under whose will the chapel was begun in 1443; Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the haughty favourite of Queen Elizabeth, was also entombed here. We had too much to do to-day to stay very long in any place we visited, but we were interested in the remains of a ducking-stool in the crypt of the church, although it was far from being complete, the only perfect one of which we knew being that in the Priory Church of Leominster, which reposed in a disused aisle of the church, the property of the Corporation of that town. It was described as "an engine of universal punishment for common scolds, and for butchers, bakers, brewers, apothecaries, and all who give short measure, or vended adulterated articles of food," and was last used in 1809, when a scolding wife named Jenny Pipes was ducked in a deep place in one of the small rivers which flowed through that town. The following lines, printed on a large card, appeared hanging from one of the pillars in the aisle near the stool:



There stands, my friend, in yonder pool, An engine called a Ducking Stool; By legal power commanded down, The joy, and terror of the town. If jarring females kindle strife, Give language foul, or lug the coif: If noisy dames should once begin To drive the house with horrid din, Away! you cry, you'll grace the stool We'll teach you how your tongue to rule. Down in the deep the stool descends, But here, at first, we miss our ends, She mounts again, and rages more Than ever vixen did before. If so, my friend, pray let her take A second turn into the lake; And rather than your patience lose Thrice and again, repeat the dose, No brawling wives, no furious wenches No fire so hot, but water quenches.



The stool was exactly like a chair without legs, fastened on one end of a long pole, in the centre of which was a framework with solid wooden wheels. The culprit was fastened in the chair with her face towards the men, who were at the other end of the pole, and who had to push and guide the machine through the narrow streets of the town until they reached the "deep hole," where the unfortunate woman had to be ducked overhead in the river. Her feet were securely tied to the top of the pole to prevent them from being hurt when passing through the town, and to hinder her from using them to keep her head above the water. The poet describes the "engine called a ducking-stool" as the "joy and terror of the town," but the "joy" could only have been that of the men, women, and children who could be spared to see the show, and knew the woman's scolding propensities. If she continued scolding after the first "duck," down she went again, and again, until, as we imagined, half filled with water, she was unable to scold further, and so the water triumphed in the end:

No brawling wives, no furious wenches No fire so hot, but water quenches.

The tower of St. Mary's Church was built on four lofty arches, one of which formed the entrance to the church while the other three formed entrances to the street, the footpath passing through two of them.



We passed alongside the ancient and picturesque half-timbered building known as Lord Leicester's Hospital, which was one of the few buildings in the town that escaped the fire in 1694. It had been built by Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth and of Kenilworth fame, to accommodate twelve poor men or brethren besides the master, who, according to Dugdale the famous antiquary, "were to be clothed in blew cloth, with a ragged staff embroydered on the left sleeve," and not to go into the town without them. The hospital dated from 1571, but what was formerly the banqueting-hall belonged to an earlier period, and owed its preservation largely to the fact that the timber of which the roof had been constructed was Spanish chestnut, a timber which grew luxuriantly in the forests of England, and resembled English oak. It was largely used by the monks in the building of their refectories, as no worm or moth would go near it and no spider's web was ever woven there, the wood being poisonous to insects. It is lighter in colour than oak, and, seeing the beams so clean-looking, with the appearance of having been erected in modern times, it is difficult for the visitor to realise that they have been in their present position perhaps for five or six centuries. Over one of the arched doorways in the old hospital appeared the insignia of the bear and the ragged staff, which was also the sign of public houses, notably that at Cumnor, the village of Amy Robsart. This we discovered to be the arms of the Earls of Warwick, originating during the time of the first two earls: the first being Arth or Arthgal of the Round Table—Arth meaning bear—and the second Morvid, who in single combat overcame a mighty giant who came against him with a club—a tree pulled up by the roots and stripped of its branches; and in remembrance of his victory over the giant the "ragged staff" ever afterwards appeared on the coat of arms of the Earls of Warwick.