Chapter Chapter 33 · Edward as King.

. Edward as King.

Miles Hendon was picturesque enough before he got into the riot on

London Bridge--he was more so when he got out of it.  He had but little

money when he got in, none at all when he got out.  The pickpockets had

stripped him of his last farthing.

But no matter, so he found his boy.  Being a soldier, he did not go at

his task in a random way, but set to work, first of all, to arrange his

campaign.

What would the boy naturally do?  Where would he naturally go?

Well--argued Miles--he would naturally go to his former haunts, for that

is the instinct of unsound minds, when homeless and forsaken, as well

as of sound ones.  Whereabouts were his former haunts?  His rags,

taken together with the low villain who seemed to know him and who even

claimed to be his father, indicated that his home was in one or another

of the poorest and meanest districts of London.  Would the search for

him be difficult, or long?  No, it was likely to be easy and brief.  He

would not hunt for the boy, he would hunt for a crowd; in the centre of

a big crowd or a little one, sooner or later, he should find his poor

little friend, sure; and the mangy mob would be entertaining itself

with pestering and aggravating the boy, who would be proclaiming himself

King, as usual.  Then Miles Hendon would cripple some of those people,

and carry off his little ward, and comfort and cheer him with loving

words, and the two would never be separated any more.

So Miles started on his quest.  Hour after hour he tramped through back

alleys and squalid streets, seeking groups and crowds, and finding no

end of them, but never any sign of the boy.  This greatly surprised him,

but did not discourage him.  To his notion, there was nothing the matter

with his plan of campaign; the only miscalculation about it was that the

campaign was becoming a lengthy one, whereas he had expected it to be

short.

When daylight arrived, at last, he had made many a mile, and canvassed

many a crowd, but the only result was that he was tolerably tired,

rather hungry and very sleepy.  He wanted some breakfast, but there was

no way to get it.  To beg for it did not occur to him; as to pawning

his sword, he would as soon have thought of parting with his honour;

he could spare some of his clothes--yes, but one could as easily find a

customer for a disease as for such clothes.

At noon he was still tramping--among the rabble which followed after

the royal procession, now; for he argued that this regal display would

attract his little lunatic powerfully.  He followed the pageant through

all its devious windings about London, and all the way to Westminster

and the Abbey.  He drifted here and there amongst the multitudes

that were massed in the vicinity for a weary long time, baffled and

perplexed, and finally wandered off, thinking, and trying to contrive

some way to better his plan of campaign.  By-and-by, when he came to

himself out of his musings, he discovered that the town was far behind

him and that the day was growing old.  He was near the river, and in the

country; it was a region of fine rural seats--not the sort of district

to welcome clothes like his.

It was not at all cold; so he stretched himself on the ground in the lee

of a hedge to rest and think.  Drowsiness presently began to settle upon

his senses; the faint and far-off boom of cannon was wafted to his ear,

and he said to himself, “The new King is crowned,” and straightway fell

asleep.  He had not slept or rested, before, for more than thirty hours.

He did not wake again until near the middle of the next morning.

He got up, lame, stiff, and half famished, washed himself in the river,

stayed his stomach with a pint or two of water, and trudged off toward

Westminster, grumbling at himself for having wasted so much time.

Hunger helped him to a new plan, now; he would try to get speech with

old Sir Humphrey Marlow and borrow a few marks, and--but that was enough

of a plan for the present; it would be time enough to enlarge it when

this first stage should be accomplished.

Toward eleven o’clock he approached the palace; and although a host of

showy people were about him, moving in the same direction, he was not

inconspicuous--his costume took care of that.  He watched these people’s

faces narrowly, hoping to find a charitable one whose possessor might

be willing to carry his name to the old lieutenant--as to trying to get

into the palace himself, that was simply out of the question.

Presently our whipping-boy passed him, then wheeled about and scanned

his figure well, saying to himself, “An’ that is not the very vagabond

his Majesty is in such a worry about, then am I an ass--though belike I

was that before.  He answereth the description to a rag--that God should

make two such would be to cheapen miracles by wasteful repetition.  I

would I could contrive an excuse to speak with him.”

Miles Hendon saved him the trouble; for he turned about, then, as a man

generally will when somebody mesmerises him by gazing hard at him from

behind; and observing a strong interest in the boy’s eyes, he stepped

toward him and said--

“You have just come out from the palace; do you belong there?”

“Yes, your worship.”

“Know you Sir Humphrey Marlow?”

The boy started, and said to himself, “Lord! mine old departed father!”

Then he answered aloud, “Right well, your worship.”

“Good--is he within?”

“Yes,” said the boy; and added, to himself, “within his grave.”

“Might I crave your favour to carry my name to him, and say I beg to say

a word in his ear?”

“I will despatch the business right willingly, fair sir.”

“Then say Miles Hendon, son of Sir Richard, is here without--I shall be

greatly bounden to you, my good lad.”

The boy looked disappointed. “The King did not name him so,” he said to

himself; “but it mattereth not, this is his twin brother, and can give

his Majesty news of t’other Sir-Odds-and-Ends, I warrant.”  So he said

to Miles, “Step in there a moment, good sir, and wait till I bring you

word.”

Hendon retired to the place indicated--it was a recess sunk in the

palace wall, with a stone bench in it--a shelter for sentinels in bad

weather. He had hardly seated himself when some halberdiers, in charge

of an officer, passed by.  The officer saw him, halted his men, and

commanded Hendon to come forth.  He obeyed, and was promptly arrested

as a suspicious character prowling within the precincts of the palace.

Things began to look ugly.  Poor Miles was going to explain, but the

officer roughly silenced him, and ordered his men to disarm him and

search him.

“God of his mercy grant that they find somewhat,” said poor Miles; “I

have searched enow, and failed, yet is my need greater than theirs.”

Nothing was found but a document.  The officer tore it open, and Hendon

smiled when he recognised the ‘pot-hooks’ made by his lost little friend

that black day at Hendon Hall.  The officer’s face grew dark as he read

the English paragraph, and Miles blenched to the opposite colour as he

listened.

“Another new claimant of the Crown!” cried the officer. “Verily they

breed like rabbits, to-day.  Seize the rascal, men, and see ye keep

him fast whilst I convey this precious paper within and send it to the

King.”

He hurried away, leaving the prisoner in the grip of the halberdiers.

“Now is my evil luck ended at last,” muttered Hendon, “for I shall

dangle at a rope’s end for a certainty, by reason of that bit of

writing.  And what will become of my poor lad!--ah, only the good God

knoweth.”

By-and-by he saw the officer coming again, in a great hurry; so he

plucked his courage together, purposing to meet his trouble as became a

man.  The officer ordered the men to loose the prisoner and return his

sword to him; then bowed respectfully, and said--

“Please you, sir, to follow me.”

Hendon followed, saying to himself, “An’ I were not travelling to death

and judgment, and so must needs economise in sin, I would throttle this

knave for his mock courtesy.”

The two traversed a populous court, and arrived at the grand entrance of

the palace, where the officer, with another bow, delivered Hendon into

the hands of a gorgeous official, who received him with profound respect

and led him forward through a great hall, lined on both sides with rows

of splendid flunkeys (who made reverential obeisance as the two passed

along, but fell into death-throes of silent laughter at our stately

scarecrow the moment his back was turned), and up a broad staircase,

among flocks of fine folk, and finally conducted him into a vast room,

clove a passage for him through the assembled nobility of England, then

made a bow, reminded him to take his hat off, and left him standing in

the middle of the room, a mark for all eyes, for plenty of indignant

frowns, and for a sufficiency of amused and derisive smiles.

Miles Hendon was entirely bewildered.  There sat the young King, under

a canopy of state, five steps away, with his head bent down and aside,

speaking with a sort of human bird of paradise--a duke, maybe.  Hendon

observed to himself that it was hard enough to be sentenced to death

in the full vigour of life, without having this peculiarly public

humiliation added.  He wished the King would hurry about it--some of the

gaudy people near by were becoming pretty offensive.  At this moment

the King raised his head slightly, and Hendon caught a good view of his

face. The sight nearly took his breath away!--He stood gazing at the

fair young face like one transfixed; then presently ejaculated--

“Lo, the Lord of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows on his throne!”

He muttered some broken sentences, still gazing and marvelling; then

turned his eyes around and about, scanning the gorgeous throng and the

splendid saloon, murmuring, “But these are _real_--verily these are

_real_--surely it is not a dream.”

He stared at the King again--and thought, “_Is_ it a dream . . . or _is_

he the veritable Sovereign of England, and not the friendless poor Tom

o’ Bedlam I took him for--who shall solve me this riddle?”

A sudden idea flashed in his eye, and he strode to the wall, gathered up

a chair, brought it back, planted it on the floor, and sat down in it!

A buzz of indignation broke out, a rough hand was laid upon him and a

voice exclaimed--

“Up, thou mannerless clown! would’st sit in the presence of the King?”

The disturbance attracted his Majesty’s attention, who stretched forth

his hand and cried out--

“Touch him not, it is his right!”

The throng fell back, stupefied.  The King went on--

“Learn ye all, ladies, lords, and gentlemen, that this is my trusty and

well-beloved servant, Miles Hendon, who interposed his good sword and

saved his prince from bodily harm and possible death--and for this he is

a knight, by the King’s voice.  Also learn, that for a higher service,

in that he saved his sovereign stripes and shame, taking these upon

himself, he is a peer of England, Earl of Kent, and shall have gold

and lands meet for the dignity.  More--the privilege which he hath just

exercised is his by royal grant; for we have ordained that the chiefs

of his line shall have and hold the right to sit in the presence of the

Majesty of England henceforth, age after age, so long as the crown shall

endure.  Molest him not.”

Two persons, who, through delay, had only arrived from the country

during this morning, and had now been in this room only five minutes,

stood listening to these words and looking at the King, then at the

scarecrow, then at the King again, in a sort of torpid bewilderment.

These were Sir Hugh and the Lady Edith.  But the new Earl did not

see them.  He was still staring at the monarch, in a dazed way, and

muttering--

“Oh, body o’ me!  _this_ my pauper!  This my lunatic!  This is he whom

_I_ would show what grandeur was, in my house of seventy rooms and

seven-and-twenty servants!  This is he who had never known aught but

rags for raiment, kicks for comfort, and offal for diet!  This is he

whom _I_ adopted and would make respectable! Would God I had a bag to

hide my head in!”

Then his manners suddenly came back to him, and he dropped upon his

knees, with his hands between the King’s, and swore allegiance and did

homage for his lands and titles.  Then he rose and stood respectfully

aside, a mark still for all eyes--and much envy, too.

Now the King discovered Sir Hugh, and spoke out with wrathful voice and

kindling eye--

“Strip this robber of his false show and stolen estates, and put him

under lock and key till I have need of him.”

The late Sir Hugh was led away.

There was a stir at the other end of the room, now; the assemblage fell

apart, and Tom Canty, quaintly but richly clothed, marched down, between

these living walls, preceded by an usher.  He knelt before the King, who

said--

“I have learned the story of these past few weeks, and am well pleased

with thee.  Thou hast governed the realm with right royal gentleness and

mercy.  Thou hast found thy mother and thy sisters again?  Good; they

shall be cared for--and thy father shall hang, if thou desire it and the

law consent.  Know, all ye that hear my voice, that from this day, they

that abide in the shelter of Christ’s Hospital and share the King’s

bounty shall have their minds and hearts fed, as well as their baser

parts; and this boy shall dwell there, and hold the chief place in its

honourable body of governors, during life.  And for that he hath been

a king, it is meet that other than common observance shall be his due;

wherefore note this his dress of state, for by it he shall be known, and

none shall copy it; and wheresoever he shall come, it shall remind the

people that he hath been royal, in his time, and none shall deny him his

due of reverence or fail to give him salutation.  He hath the throne’s

protection, he hath the crown’s support, he shall be known and called by

the honourable title of the King’s Ward.”

The proud and happy Tom Canty rose and kissed the King’s hand, and was

conducted from the presence.  He did not waste any time, but flew to his

mother, to tell her and Nan and Bet all about it and get them to help

him enjoy the great news. {1}

Conclusion. Justice and retribution.

When the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by confession of

Hugh Hendon, that his wife had repudiated Miles by his command, that

day at Hendon Hall--a command assisted and supported by the perfectly

trustworthy promise that if she did not deny that he was Miles Hendon,

and stand firmly to it, he would have her life; whereupon she said,

“Take it!”--she did not value it--and she would not repudiate

Miles; then the husband said he would spare her life but have Miles

assassinated!  This was a different matter; so she gave her word and

kept it.

Hugh was not prosecuted for his threats or for stealing his brother’s

estates and title, because the wife and brother would not testify

against him--and the former would not have been allowed to do it, even

if she had wanted to.  Hugh deserted his wife and went over to the

continent, where he presently died; and by-and-by the Earl of Kent

married his relict. There were grand times and rejoicings at Hendon

village when the couple paid their first visit to the Hall.

Tom Canty’s father was never heard of again.

The King sought out the farmer who had been branded and sold as a slave,

and reclaimed him from his evil life with the Ruffler’s gang, and put

him in the way of a comfortable livelihood.

He also took that old lawyer out of prison and remitted his fine. He

provided good homes for the daughters of the two Baptist women whom he

saw burned at the stake, and roundly punished the official who laid the

undeserved stripes upon Miles Hendon’s back.

He saved from the gallows the boy who had captured the stray falcon, and

also the woman who had stolen a remnant of cloth from a weaver; but he

was too late to save the man who had been convicted of killing a deer in

the royal forest.

He showed favour to the justice who had pitied him when he was supposed

to have stolen a pig, and he had the gratification of seeing him grow in

the public esteem and become a great and honoured man.

As long as the King lived he was fond of telling the story of his

adventures, all through, from the hour that the sentinel cuffed him

away from the palace gate till the final midnight when he deftly mixed

himself into a gang of hurrying workmen and so slipped into the Abbey

and climbed up and hid himself in the Confessor’s tomb, and then slept

so long, next day, that he came within one of missing the Coronation

altogether.  He said that the frequent rehearsing of the precious lesson

kept him strong in his purpose to make its teachings yield benefits to

his people; and so, whilst his life was spared he should continue to

tell the story, and thus keep its sorrowful spectacles fresh in his

memory and the springs of pity replenished in his heart.

Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favourites of the King, all through his

brief reign, and his sincere mourners when he died. The good Earl

of Kent had too much sense to abuse his peculiar privilege; but he

exercised it twice after the instance we have seen of it before he was

called from this world--once at the accession of Queen Mary, and once at

the accession of Queen Elizabeth.  A descendant of his exercised it

at the accession of James I.  Before this one’s son chose to use the

privilege, near a quarter of a century had elapsed, and the ‘privilege

of the Kents’ had faded out of most people’s memories; so, when the Kent

of that day appeared before Charles I. and his court and sat down in the

sovereign’s presence to assert and perpetuate the right of his house,

there was a fine stir indeed!  But the matter was soon explained, and

the right confirmed.  The last Earl of the line fell in the wars of the

Commonwealth fighting for the King, and the odd privilege ended with

him.

Tom Canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome, white-haired old

fellow, of grave and benignant aspect.  As long as he lasted he was

honoured; and he was also reverenced, for his striking and peculiar

costume kept the people reminded that ‘in his time he had been royal;’

so, wherever he appeared the crowd fell apart, making way for him, and

whispering, one to another, “Doff thy hat, it is the King’s Ward!”--and

so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in return--and they valued it,

too, for his was an honourable history.

Yes, King Edward VI. lived only a few years, poor boy, but he lived them

worthily.  More than once, when some great dignitary, some gilded vassal

of the crown, made argument against his leniency, and urged that some

law which he was bent upon amending was gentle enough for its purpose,

and wrought no suffering or oppression which any one need mightily mind,

the young King turned the mournful eloquence of his great compassionate

eyes upon him and answered--

“What dost _thou_ know of suffering and oppression?  I and my people

know, but not thou.”

The reign of Edward VI. was a singularly merciful one for those harsh

times.  Now that we are taking leave of him, let us try to keep this in

our minds, to his credit.

FOOTNOTES AND TWAIN’S NOTES

{1}  For Mark Twain’s note see below under the relevant chapter heading.

{2}  He refers to the order of baronets, or baronettes; the barones

minores, as distinct from the parliamentary barons--not, it need hardly

be said, to the baronets of later creation.

{3}  The lords of Kingsale, descendants of De Courcy, still enjoy this

curious privilege.

{4}  Hume.

{5}  Ib.

{6}  Leigh Hunt’s ‘The Town,’ p.408, quotation from an early tourist.

{7}  Canting terms for various kinds of thieves, beggars and vagabonds,

and their female companions.

{8}  From ‘The English Rogue.’  London, 1665.

{9}  Hume’s England.

{10}  See Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull’s Blue Laws, True and False, p. 11.

NOTE 1, Chapter IV. Christ’s Hospital Costume.

It is most reasonable to regard the dress as copied from the costume

of the citizens of London of that period, when long blue coats were the

common habit of apprentices and serving-men, and yellow stockings

were generally worn; the coat fits closely to the body, but has loose

sleeves, and beneath is worn a sleeveless yellow under-coat; around the

waist is a red leathern girdle; a clerical band around the neck, and

a small flat black cap, about the size of a saucer, completes the

costume.--Timbs’ Curiosities of London.

NOTE 2, Chapter IV.

It appears that Christ’s Hospital was not originally founded as a

_school_; its object was to rescue children from the streets, to

shelter, feed, clothe them.--Timbs’ Curiosities of London.

NOTE 3, Chapter V. The Duke of Norfolk’s Condemnation commanded.

The King was now approaching fast towards his end; and fearing lest

Norfolk should escape him, he sent a message to the Commons, by which

he desired them to hasten the Bill, on pretence that Norfolk enjoyed the

dignity of Earl Marshal, and it was necessary to appoint another, who

might officiate at the ensuing ceremony of installing his son Prince of

Wales.--Hume’s History of England, vol. iii. p. 307.

NOTE 4, Chapter VII.

It was not till the end of this reign (Henry VIII.) that any salads,

carrots, turnips, or other edible roots were produced in England.  The

little of these vegetables that was used was formerly imported from

Holland and Flanders.  Queen Catherine, when she wanted a salad, was

obliged to despatch a messenger thither on purpose.--Hume’s History of

England, vol. iii. p. 314.

NOTE 5, Chapter VIII. Attainder of Norfolk.

The House of Peers, without examining the prisoner, without trial or

evidence, passed a Bill of Attainder against him and sent it down to the

Commons . . . The obsequious Commons obeyed his (the King’s)

directions; and the King, having affixed the Royal assent to the Bill by

commissioners, issued orders for the execution of Norfolk on the morning

of January 29 (the next day).--Hume’s History of England, vol iii. p

306.

NOTE 6, Chapter X. The Loving-cup.

The loving-cup, and the peculiar ceremonies observed in drinking from

it, are older than English history.  It is thought that both are Danish

importations.  As far back as knowledge goes, the loving-cup has always

been drunk at English banquets.  Tradition explains the ceremonies in

this way.  In the rude ancient times it was deemed a wise precaution

to have both hands of both drinkers employed, lest while the pledger

pledged his love and fidelity to the pledgee, the pledgee take that

opportunity to slip a dirk into him!

NOTE 7, Chapter XI. The Duke of Norfolk’s narrow Escape.

Had Henry VIII. survived a few hours longer, his order for the duke’s

execution would have been carried into effect. ‘But news being

carried to the Tower that the King himself had expired that night,

the lieutenant deferred obeying the warrant; and it was not thought

advisable by the Council to begin a new reign by the death of the

greatest nobleman in the kingdom, who had been condemned by a sentence

so unjust and tyrannical.’--Hume’s History of England, vol. iii, p. 307.

NOTE 8, Chapter XIV. The Whipping-boy.

James I. and Charles II. had whipping-boys, when they were little

fellows, to take their punishment for them when they fell short in their

lessons; so I have ventured to furnish my small prince with one, for my

own purposes.

NOTES to Chapter XV.

Character of Hertford.

The young King discovered an extreme attachment to his uncle, who

was, in the main, a man of moderation and probity.--Hume’s History of

England, vol. iii, p324.

But if he (the Protector) gave offence by assuming too much state, he

deserves great praise on account of the laws passed this session,

by which the rigour of former statutes was much mitigated, and some

security given to the freedom of the constitution.  All laws were

repealed which extended the crime of treason beyond the statute of the

twenty-fifth of Edward III.; all laws enacted during the late reign

extending the crime of felony; all the former laws against Lollardy or

heresy, together with the statute of the Six Articles.  None were to be

accused for words, but within a month after they were spoken.  By

these repeals several of the most rigorous laws that ever had passed

in England were annulled; and some dawn, both of civil and religious

liberty, began to appear to the people.  A repeal also passed of that

law, the destruction of all laws, by which the King’s proclamation was

made of equal force with a statute.--Ibid. vol. iii. p. 339.

Boiling to Death.

In the reign of Henry VIII. poisoners were, by Act of Parliament,

condemned to be _boiled to death_.  This Act was repealed in the

following reign.

In Germany, even in the seventeenth century, this horrible punishment

was inflicted on coiners and counterfeiters.  Taylor, the Water Poet,

describes an execution he witnessed in Hamburg in 1616.  The judgment

pronounced against a coiner of false money was that he should ‘_be

boiled to death in oil_; not thrown into the vessel at once, but with

a pulley or rope to be hanged under the armpits, and then let down into

the oil _by degrees_; first the feet, and next the legs, and so to boil

his flesh from his bones alive.’--Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull’s Blue Laws,

True and False, p. 13.

The Famous Stocking Case.

A woman and her daughter, _nine years old_, were hanged in Huntingdon

for selling their souls to the devil, and raising a storm by pulling off

their stockings!--Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull’s Blue Laws, True and False,

p. 20.

NOTE 10, Chapter XVII. Enslaving.

So young a King and so ignorant a peasant were likely to make mistakes;

and this is an instance in point.  This peasant was suffering from this

law _by anticipation_; the King was venting his indignation against a

law which was not yet in existence; for this hideous statute was to

have birth in this little King’s _own reign_. However, we know, from the

humanity of his character, that it could never have been suggested by

him.

NOTES to Chapter XXIII. Death for Trifling Larcenies.

When Connecticut and New Haven were framing their first codes, larceny

above the value of twelve pence was a capital crime in England--as it

had been since the time of Henry I.--Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull’s Blue

Laws, True and False, p. 17.

The curious old book called The English Rogue makes the limit thirteen

pence ha’penny:  death being the portion of any who steal a thing ‘above

the value of thirteen pence ha’penny.’

NOTES to Chapter XXVII.

From many descriptions of larceny the law expressly took away the

benefit of clergy:  to steal a horse, or a _hawk_, or woollen cloth from

the weaver, was a hanging matter.  So it was to kill a deer from the

King’s forest, or to export sheep from the kingdom.--Dr. J. Hammond

Trumbull’s Blue Laws, True and False, p.13.

William Prynne, a learned barrister, was sentenced (long after Edward

VI.’s time) to lose both his ears in the pillory, to degradation from

the bar, a fine of 3,000 pounds, and imprisonment for life.  Three years

afterwards he gave new offence to Laud by publishing a pamphlet against

the hierarchy.  He was again prosecuted, and was sentenced to lose _what

remained of his ears_, to pay a fine of 5,000 pounds, to be _branded on

both his cheeks_ with the letters S. L. (for Seditious Libeller), and to

remain in prison for life.  The severity of this sentence was equalled

by the savage rigour of its execution.--Ibid. p. 12.

NOTES to Chapter XXXIII.

Christ’s Hospital, or Bluecoat School, ’the noblest institution in the

world.’

The ground on which the Priory of the Grey Friars stood was conferred

by Henry VIII. on the Corporation of London (who caused the institution

there of a home for poor boys and girls). Subsequently, Edward VI.

caused the old Priory to be properly repaired, and founded within

it that noble establishment called the Bluecoat School, or Christ’s

Hospital, for the _education_ and maintenance of orphans and the

children of indigent persons . . . Edward would not let him (Bishop

Ridley) depart till the letter was written (to the Lord Mayor), and then

charged him to deliver it himself, and signify his special request and

commandment that no time might be lost in proposing what was convenient,

and apprising him of the proceedings.  The work was zealously

undertaken, Ridley himself engaging in it; and the result was the

founding of Christ’s Hospital for the education of poor children. (The

King endowed several other charities at the same time.) “Lord God,” said

he, “I yield Thee most hearty thanks that Thou hast given me life thus

long to finish this work to the glory of Thy name!”  That innocent and

most exemplary life was drawing rapidly to its close, and in a few days

he rendered up his spirit to his Creator, praying God to defend the

realm from Papistry.--J. Heneage Jesse’s London:  its Celebrated

Characters and Places.

In the Great Hall hangs a large picture of King Edward VI. seated on his

throne, in a scarlet and ermined robe, holding the sceptre in his left

hand, and presenting with the other the Charter to the kneeling Lord

Mayor.  By his side stands the Chancellor, holding the seals, and next

to him are other officers of state.  Bishop Ridley kneels before him

with uplifted hands, as if supplicating a blessing on the event; whilst

the Aldermen, etc., with the Lord Mayor, kneel on both sides, occupying

the middle ground of the picture; and lastly, in front, are a double row

of boys on one side and girls on the other, from the master and matron

down to the boy and girl who have stepped forward from their respective

rows, and kneel with raised hands before the King.--Timbs’ Curiosities

of London, p. 98.

Christ’s Hospital, by ancient custom, possesses the privilege of

addressing the Sovereign on the occasion of his or her coming into the

City to partake of the hospitality of the Corporation of London.--Ibid.

The Dining Hall, with its lobby and organ-gallery, occupies the entire

storey, which is 187 feet long, 51 feet wide, and 47 feet high; it is

lit by nine large windows, filled with stained glass on the south side;

and is, next to Westminster Hall, the noblest room in the metropolis.

Here the boys, now about 800 in number, dine; and here are held the

‘Suppings in Public,’ to which visitors are admitted by tickets issued

by the Treasurer and by the Governors of Christ’s Hospital.  The tables

are laid with cheese in wooden bowls, beer in wooden piggins, poured

from leathern jacks, and bread brought in large baskets.  The official

company enter; the Lord Mayor, or President, takes his seat in a state

chair made of oak from St. Catherine’s Church, by the Tower; a hymn

is sung, accompanied by the organ; a ‘Grecian,’ or head boy, reads the

prayers from the pulpit, silence being enforced by three drops of a

wooden hammer.  After prayer the supper commences, and the visitors walk

between the tables.  At its close the ’trade-boys’ take up the baskets,

bowls, jacks, piggins, and candlesticks, and pass in procession, the

bowing to the Governors being curiously formal.  This spectacle was

witnessed by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1845.

Among the more eminent Bluecoat boys are Joshua Barnes, editor

of Anacreon and Euripides; Jeremiah Markland, the eminent critic,

particularly in Greek Literature; Camden, the antiquary; Bishop

Stillingfleet; Samuel Richardson, the novelist; Thomas Mitchell, the

translator of Aristophanes; Thomas Barnes, many years editor of the

London Times; Coleridge, Charles Lamb, and Leigh Hunt.

No boy is admitted before he is seven years old, or after he is nine;

and no boy can remain in the school after he is fifteen, King’s boys and

‘Grecians’ alone excepted.  There are about 500 Governors, at the head

of whom are the Sovereign and the Prince of Wales.  The qualification

for a Governor is payment of 500 pounds.--Ibid.

GENERAL NOTE.

One hears much about the ‘hideous Blue Laws of Connecticut,’ and is

accustomed to shudder piously when they are mentioned.  There are people

in America--and even in England!--who imagine that they were a very

monument of malignity, pitilessness, and inhumanity; whereas in reality

they were about the first _sweeping departure from judicial atrocity_

which the ‘civilised’ world had seen.  This humane and kindly Blue Law

Code, of two hundred and forty years ago, stands all by itself,

with ages of bloody law on the further side of it, and a century and

three-quarters of bloody English law on _this_ side of it.

There has never been a time--under the Blue Laws or any other--when

above _fourteen_ crimes were punishable by death in Connecticut.  But in

England, within the memory of men who are still hale in body and mind,

_two hundred and twenty-three_ crimes were punishable by death! {10}

These facts are worth knowing--and worth thinking about, too.