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ish colour, and the female is without the white ruff on the neck: it is not till four years have passed, that they put on their adult plumage ; their feathers then, with the exception of the white ruff on the neck, and a white spot on the wing of the male, are of a dark grayish black. At the base of the beak of the male bird is placed a large caruncle, of a hard and leathery substance.
The numerous moults of the condor, before it assumes its perfect plumage, is not a fact peculiar to this bird, but holds good, in reference to many other birds of prey; and the consequence has been, great confusion in the description of the different species. The eagles do not attain their adult plumage till their fifth year.
"The condor appears to have more tenacity of life than any other bird of prey. Humboldt was present at certain experiments on the life of a condor, at Riohambra. They first attempted to strangle it with a noose: they hung it to a tree, and dragged the legs with great force for many minutes; but scarcely was the noose removed, than the condor began to walk about, as if nothing had been the matter. Three pistol-balls were then discharged at him, within less than four paces distance. They all entered the body. He was wounded in the neck, chest, and belly; but still remained on his feet. A fifth ball struck against the thigh-bone, and, rebounding, fell back on the ground. The condor did not die for half an hour after the numerous wounds which it had received. Ulloa informs us, that in the cold region of Peru, the condor is so closely furnished with feathers, that eight or ten balls may strike against its body, without one piercing it."
CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.
I Would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced wj(n polish d manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility), the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that hath humanity, forewarned,
Will step aside, and let the reptile live.
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,
And charged, perhaps, with venom, that intrudes—
A visitor unwelcome—into scenes
Sacred to neatness and repose,—the alcove.
The chamber, or refectory.—may die:
A necessary act incurs no blame.
Not so when, held within their proper bounds,
And guiltless of offence, they range the air,
Or take their pastime in the spacious field:
There they are privileged; and he that hunts
Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong,
Disturbs the economy of nature's realm,
Who, when she f'orm'd, designed them an abode.
The sum is this: If man's convenience, health,
Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.
Else they are all—the meanest things that are—
As free to live, and to enjoy that life.
As God was free to form them at the first;
Who, in His sovereign wisdom, made them all.
You, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too. The spring-time of our years
Is soon dishonour'd and defiled; in most
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most devilish of them all.
Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule
And righteous limitation of its act,
By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man;
And he that shows none—being ripe in years,
And conscious of the outrage he commits,—
shall seek it and not find it, in his turn. Cowper.
CHURCH ESTABLISHMENTS. It is perhaps the best among all our more general arguments for a religious establishment in a country, that the spontaneous demand of human beings for religion is far short of the actual interest which they have in it.
This is not so with their demand for food and raiment, or any article which ministers to the necessities of our physical nature. The more destitute we are of these articles, the greater is our desire after them. In every case where the want of any thing serves to whet our appetite, instead of weakening it, the supply of that thing may be left, with all safety, to the native and powerful demand for it among the people themselves. The sensation of hunger is a sufficient guarantee for there being as many bakers in a country, as it is good and necessary for the country to have, without any national establishment of bakers.
This order of men will come forth in number enough, at the mere bidding of the people, and it never can be for want of them, that society will languish under the want of aliment for the human body. It is wise in government to leave the care of the public good, wherever it can be left safely, to the workings of individual nature; and, saving for the administration of justice between man and man, it were better that she never put out her hand, either with a view to regulate, or to foster any of the operations of common merchandize. But the case is widely different, when the appetite for any good is short of the degree in which that good is useful or necessary; and, above all, when just in proportion to our want of it, is the decay of our appetite towards it. Now this is, generally speaking, the case with religious instruction.
The less we have of it, the less we desire to have of it. It is not with the aliment of the soul as it is with the aliment of the body. The latter will be sought after; the former must be offered to a people whose spiritual appetite is in a state of dormancy, and with whom it is just as necessary to create an hunger, as it is to minister a positive supply. In these circumstances, it were vain to wait for any original movement on the part of the receivers. It must be made on the part of the dispensers. Nor does it follow, that because government may wisely abandon to the operation of the principle of demand and supply, all those interests where the desires of our nature, and the necessities of our nature, are adequate the one to the other, she ought, therefore, to abandon all care of our interest, when the desire, on the part of our species, is but rare, and feeble, and inoperative, while the necessity is of such deep and awful character, that there is not one of the concerns of earthliness which ought for a moment to be compared with it.
This we hold to be the chief ground upon which to plead for the advantage of a religious establishment. With it, a church is built, and a teacher provided, in every little district of the land. Without it, we should have no other security for the rearing of such apparatus, than the native desire and demand of the people for Christianity, from one generation to another. In this state of things, we fear, that Christian cultivation would only be found in rare and occasional spots over the face of extended territories; and instead of that uniform distribution of the word and ordinances, which it is the tendency of an establishment to secure, do we conceive that in every empire of Christendom, would there be dreary, unprovided blanks, where no regular supply of instruction was to be had, and when there was no desire after it, on the part of an untaught and neglected population. We are quite aware that a pulpit may be corruptly filled, and that there may be made to emanate from it the evil influence of a false or mitigated Christianity on its surrounding neighbourhood. This is an argument, not against the good of an establishment, but for the good of toleration. There is no frame-work reared by human wisdom which is proof against the frequent incursions of human depravity. But if there do exist a great moral incapacity on the part of our species, in virtue of which, if the lessons of Christianity be not constantly obtruded upon them, they are sure to decline in taste and desire for the lessons of Christianity; and if an establishment be a good device for overcoming this evil tendency of our nature, it were hard to visit with the mischief of its overthrow, the future race either of a parish or of a country, for the guilt of one incumbency, or for the unprincipled patronage of one generation. Chalmers.
Infidelity is one of the characters of the human mind, which, from the days of paradise to our own, has never wholly left it; and, till our knowledge is greatly multiplied, will perhaps not be universally extinguished, because it is the champion of matter against mind—of body against spirit—of the senses against the reason—of passion against duty—of self-interest against self-government—of dissatisfaction against content—of the present against the future —of the little that is known against all that is unknown— of our limited experience against boundless possibility. Sharon Turner.
Lord, shall thy children come to thee?
A boon of love divine we seek— Brought to thy arms in infancy,
Ere heart could feel, or tongue could speak, Thy children pray for grace, that they May come themselves to thee this day.
Lord, shall we come? and come again?
Oft as we see yon table spread, And—tokens of thy dying pain—
The wine pourd out, the broken bread? Bless, bless, O Lord, thy children's prayer. That they may come and find thee there!
Lord, shall we come? come yet again?
Thy children ask one blessing more; To come, not now alone, but then,
When life and death and time are o'er. Then, then to come, O Lord, and be Confirm'd in heaven, confirm'd by thee.
FAMILIAR ILLUSTRATIONS OF NATURAL PHENOMENA. No. II. On The Tides Of Narrow Seas. "we have already seen that, if the earth were a sphere, entirely covered with water, the attraction of the moon would cause a rise and fall of the water upon its surface, twice in the course of rather more than twenty-four hours. The waters of an open ocean would be heaped up in the parts under the moon, and in the parts which are exactly opposite, on the other side of the earth. And this great wave would constantly follow the apparent course of the moon. It would be of immense breadth; for there would be only two ridges and two hollows in the whole circumference of the earth, which is about twenty-four thousand miles at the equator.
But if we only look at an artificial terrestrial globe, or at a map of the world, we shall see at once that such a tide can never take place; for the land everywhere interferes with the sea; and the depth of the sea itself, although great, according to our notion of distance, is very small compared with the whole bulk of the earth. The greatest height of any moun
tain above the level of the sea is about five miles, and it is probable that the greatest depth of the sea is not much more. Now the earth is a globe, the diameter of which is sixteen hundred times as great as this, so that the utmost depth of the sea, on an artificial globe of sixteen inches in diameter, would be represented by a thin fibre only a hundredth part of an inch thick, or about as thick as the paper on which this is printed.
Still, wherever there is an ocean of considerable extent, measuring from east to west, there will be formed a tide-wave, on the same principles as we have already supposed, the ridge of which follows the apparent course of the moon from east to west. Now the only part of the sea, in which the action of the moon upon the waters can cause anything like such a regular tide is the Great Southern Ocean, including the southern part of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and of the Indian Sea. Although this great belt of water does not lie under the equator, it extends, with little interruption, in a direction from east to west, round the whole of the globe. In these seas, then, we may look for a tide of great regularity; and it is accordingly found.
The sea next in extent, in a direction from east to west, is the remaining part of the Pacific Ocean.
With respect to the Atlantic Ocean, although it extends nearly from Pole to Pole, in a direction from north to south, its breadth from east to west is by no means so great; and for the present purpose we may consider it as a great arm of the Southern Ocean, stretching in a direction at right angles, to the course of the general tide-wave in that open sea.
To understand how the tides in such an arm of the sea are formed, let us suppose a long trough of water p a, and a narrower trough c K opening into it.
Now suppose the water in P a to be set in motion, so as to have a succession of waves passing along from p to a; and suppose A and B to be two successive ridges of such waves, with a hollow between them at L. Then, when the ridge A is at c, the water.will be highest at c; as the ridge moves along, the water at c will sink, and be the lowest when L reaches c; and it will again rise until the second ridge B has reached c.
But it is plain, that since there is nothing to stop some of the water of the ridge A from running along the trough c K, to find its level, part of it will run along, and form a moveable ridge (a), which will advance along c K exactly in the same manner as A moves along p Q. There will therefore be a new set of waves moving along c K, not in the direction of the width of c K, but in the direction of its length.
It must also be observed, that the ridge a may not move so fast as the original ridge A, but that the time elapsed between the passage of two successive ridges past any point (as m, in c K) will be the same as the time between the passage of two successive ridges, A B past c; since the ridge B would give rise to a wave under the very same circumstances as those in which A caused one.
Now we may conceive P a to represent the Great Southern Ocean, along which the tide-wave is constantly passing, in the direction r a, from east to west. In . like manner, c K may represent the Atlantic Ocean, of which m is on the African coast, and n on the American coast. And we shall have a succession of tide-waves, such as a, moving from south to north, and succeeding one another, after the same interval of time as that in which A succeeds n, or a little more than twelve hours.
Accordingly, it is found that, in the Atlantic Ocean, the tide-wave does move from south to north, the ridge of the waves extending in a slanting direction, and in an irregular form, across from the African to the American coast.
In order to explain the manner in which these waves cause the tide in different branches of the same sea, we will trace the course of the tide-wave round the coast of England.
Suppose the moon to have passed the meridian of Ushant, on the N. W. part of the coast of France, at twelve o'clock in the day. The tide-wave of the Atlantic will reach Ushant soon after three o'clock on the same afternoon, its ridge stretching towards the N. W., so as to fall a little south of Cape Clear in Ireland.
This wave soon after divides itself into three branches. One part passes eastward up the English Channel, causing high-water in succession at all the places at which it arrives. It moves at about the rate of fifty miles an hour, so as to pass through the straits of Dover, and reach the Nore about twelve o'clock at night. The second branch of the tidewave passes more slowly up the Irish Channel, causing high-water along the coast of Wales, Lancashire, and Cumberland, and upon the eastern coast of Ireland. The third and principal part of the same wave moves much more rapidly, being in a more open sea. By six o'clock it has reached the northern extremity of Ireland: about nine it has got to the Orkney Islands, and forms a wave extending due North. At twelve at night, the summit of the same wave extends from the coast of Buchan in Scotland eastward to the Naze in Norway, and in twelve hours more it has flowed down the eastern coast of England, forming the flood-tide from the North, and reached the Nore, where it meets the morning tide, which left the mouth of the English Channel about eight hours before.
The consequence of the meeting of the two tides at the Nore is very remarkable in the Thames. Sometimes the tide from the North is a little later than the other, and continues to flow after the other has ebbed considerably, thus causing a second tide on the same day. Another consequence is, that on the whole eastern coast of England, the tides are upon the whole highest when the wind blows strongly from the North West, or off-shore. This may appear strange at first: but the cause is quite plain, when we remember that the tide is caused by such a wave as has been described, passing round the northern extremity of Scotland into the German Ocean.
It will be seen also that the tide in the English Channel, is twelve hours earlier than the tide in the German Ocean: so that if the highest spring-tide from the south reached the Nore at twelve o'clock in the day, the highest spring-tide from the north would not occur till twelve o'clock at night. C.
Thk Cashew or Firework Nut.—This nut, about the size and nearly the shape of a Windsor bean, is occasionally imported into this country from the West Indies, where it forms an economical source of amusement to the native children, who put it on the end of B long wire, or sharp stick, and then set it on fire, by holding it for half-a-minute over a flame. The nut contains a quantity of oil, and gives out a succession of vivid minute streams of fire and smoke, until the husk of the nut is burnt to a cinder. It is then easily opened, the kernel is found properly roasted, and it is eaten like an almond, to which, by many, it is thought superior in flavor.
ANNIVERSARIES IN SEPTEMBER.
1606 That dreadful conflagration began, which is usually called the
Fire of London. 1752 The New Style was adopted at London. See Vol. I., p. 247. 1792 Massacre of the Prisoners at Paris, which lasted till the 6th. and in which 4000 persons, confined in the various prisons of that metropolis, were put to death by order of the Directory. TUESDAY, 3rd. 1189 Richard I. crowned at Westminster, on which occasion the populace, taking advantage of the festivity, fell on the Jews, plundered their houses, and murdered many of them. 1651 Battle of Worcester, by which the power of Oliver Cronmtl
was established. 1658 Death of Cr omucU. He expired, in the midst of one of the most awful tempests on record, in the sixtieth year oflii? age. WEDNESDAY, 4th.
1819 Captain Parry, in the Hecla, penetrated as far as 110° W.
in the polar regions, by which he became entitled to the reward offered by Government for the northern discoveries. THURSDAY, 5th. 1774 First meeting of the American Congress at Philadelphia. 1800 Malta given up to the British, after a blockade of two years.
FRIDAY, 6th. 1769 A very beautiful Comet was seen in London, which was only
surpassed in size and splendour by that of 1811. 1790 Parliaments of France suppressed by the National Convention.
1820 An extraordinary Eclipse of the Sun, central and annular, was
visible in Europe.
1159 Two Popes elected, namely, Victor III. and Alexander 1II.. by whom the Roman Church was divided, until the death of Victor, in 1164, to the great scandal of all Europe.
1533 Queen Elizabeth born at Greenwich.
1807 Copenhagen taken by the British under Lord Cathcart and Admiral Gambier.
1812 Battle of Borodino between the French and Russians, twentyfive leagues from Moscow, in which the French were victorious, but obtained little advantage, owing to the rigour of the climate.
1720 The Plague broke out at Marseilles, which carried off 18,000 persons.
1760 Canada ceded to Great Britain.
1798 The French troops, which had been landed in Ireland to assist the rebels on the 22nd of August, were defeated, and surrendered themselves to Lord Cornwallis at Ballinamark.
1831 Coronation of his present Majesty, William IV., and hs Royal Consort.
JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND.
Published In Weekly Numbers, Price One Penny, And In Monthly Part* Price Sixpence, And Sold by all Booksellers and Newtrenden in the KingtlosB.
If the variety of historical associations excited by the view of any edifice can entitle it to distinction, the Tower Of London may claim a foremost place. The scenes of oppression and misery which its walls have witnessed, crowd on the recollection; the sight of its exterior defences, which seem to indicate strength and security, leads the imagination to penetrate those chambers which were, for centuries, the prisons not only of bad and designing men, but of the great and good, the victims of tyranny or anarchy. Happily, the emotion which it excites, with regard to our own times, is of a more peaceful kind, and, as a relic of antiquity, intimately connected with many a page of the history of this country, it is particularly interesting to Englishmen.
"To see the lions" is a proverbial phrase, originating from the Menagerie contained in it; and one of the first objects of the visiter to the metropolis frequently is to obtain a sight of the Tower of London.
We propose to furnish in this paper such an historical end descriptive account, as may prove useful to the visiter, and interesting to the general reader; to describe briefly the various buildings, and to point out the objects worthy of examination; prefacing the subject with a few historical notes connected with the edifice.
It has been said that the Romans had a fortress on the site of the present Tower; but there are no sufficient proofs of the correctness of this assertion. A few Roman coins and other antiquities were formerly discovered in digging; but as these had no necessary connexion with the spot, and as no mention respecting such a fortress is made by early historians, we cannot but doubt .its having existed. The oldest part of this structure has even been, sometimes, attributed to Julius Ctosar; an error which Gray, with a poet's license, has adopted in his beautiful Ode of The Bard; Vol. III.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
The earliest and principal portion of the building, and which is, to this day, the commanding feature of the place, is the White Tower, or Keep, built, by order of William the First, about 1080, by Gundulph, Bishop of Rochester, who was celebrated as a military architect.
King Stephen retired here during the Civil Wars in 1140, and thus, as is supposed, first rendered the Tower a royal residence. The custody of the Tower was made hereditary in the family of De Mandeville, who came over with the Con queror; but it did not long remain so. Geoffrey de Man deville held it for the Empress Matilda, but was besieged in it by the citizens of London, who favoured Stephen's party; and being taken prisoner, in 1143, was compelled to surrender it with his other possessions. In 1189, Long champ, Bishop of Ely, to whom Richard the First confided the Tower, as guardian of the kingdom during his absence in Palestine, strengthened the fortifications, and surrounded it with a ditch. King John made considerable additions, and kept his court here in the latter part of his reign. During the struggles between this monarch and his barons, the Tower was given up to Prince Lewis of France, who had been called over by the latter; but it was once more resigned on the peaceable accession of Henry the Third, in 1217. This sovereign made considerable additions to its fortifications and buildings; among others, the royal chapels, the great hall, and the chamber of state. He kept his court here with great dignity in 1220.
The first prisoner recorded to have been confined in the Tower was Ralph Flambard, Bishop of Durham, in Henry the First's reign; this prelate having bet., the minister and adviser of William Rufus. The celebrated Hubert <le Burgh, Earl of Kent, to whom the place had been entrusted by King Henry the Third, was disgraced, and imprisoned there about 1232. In 1244, Griflin, son of Llewellin, Prince of Wales, was killed by falling from the Tower in endeavouring to escape with his son, and other Weish hostages.
Henry the Third, during the civil wars between himself and his barons, made the Tower his place of retreat on several occasions, and for this reason strengthened it in every manner he could devise*. On the accession of his son Edward the First, the enlargement and completion of what Henry had left unfinished, may be considered as the last additions of any importance made to it as a fortress. Six hundred Jews were confined in it at one time, charged with adulterating and clipping the coin ; and various nobles of Scotland and Wales were at different times its inmates, victims to this Kind's invasions of those kingdoms. In 1305, the famous William Wallace was confined here before his execution. During the commotions of the ensuing reign of the unfortunate Edward the Second, the Tower was an object of repeated attacks, and changed masters frequently; and the invasion of France by Edward the Third, rendered it again the prison of maw illustrious persons of that country. The Counts of Eu and Tankcrville, With three handled citizens of Caen, we're confined there on the capture of that city; and David, King of Scotland, and the Lords of Fife and Monteith, became their fellowprisoners in consequence of the battle of Neville's Cross. To these were shortly after added Charles of Blois, and the valiant John of Vienne, the governor of Calais, together with twelve of the chief citizens. In 1359, John, King of France, and his son, were sent to the Tower for stricter confinement, after hiving been previously prisoners at the Savoy in London, and at Windsor Castle.
The troubles of Richard the Second's reign again bring tho Tower into notice, after the few years of comparative tranquillity which followed the treaty of Brctigny in 1360, and the restoration of the French King. In 1377, Richard came forth from its gates to proceed to his coronation at Westminster; but, very soon afterwards, ho with the royal family and many nobles and prelates, were besieged within its walls by the rebel Wat Tyler, at the head of sixty thousand men. In 13S7, the King was again besieged in this fortress by his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, and, on an apparent reconciliation being effected, many executions of the King's ministers and others took place by the Duke's orders: among others, Sir Simon Burley was beheaded on Tower Hill, being the first person who suffered decapitation on that spot, so frequently afterwards the scene of similar punishments. Here, finally, in 1397, King Richard resigned his crown to Henry Bolingbroke, who went from the same spot to be crowned, and shortly afterwards the body of the deposed and murdered Richard lay for one night in the Tower, on the eve of its burial!
During the reigns of the Fourth and Fifth Henries little worth notice occurred respecting this fortress, it being only used as a prison of state. In it was confined James Prince of Scotland, son of Robert the Third, who, in 140fi, at nine years of age, being driven on shore in the North, when on his way to France for education, was kept as a prisoner by Henry the Fourth, in violation of all justice; by the death of his father, he became King of Scotland during his imprisonment, and thus was the third monarch of that country, within a century, who was an inmuie of the Tower. The talents and genius of this sovereign are proved by his beautiful poem called "The King's Quhair," (quire, or book,) written at Windsor, whither he was removed. During his detention he was well treated, and was a favourite of the King, but he did not recover his liberty till 1423, after an imprisonment of eighteen years, and then was compelled to give hostages for the payment of a ransom of 40.000J. In the reign of Henry the Sixth, the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, the Earls of Eu and Vendome, and many other French nobles were sent to the Tower, victims of the wars for the maintenance of our authority in France during that period.
In 1450, the Tower was again besieged by an army of rebels under Jack Cade. Lord Say, and Sir James Cromer, his son-in-law, became the victims of the people's hatred and violence. But this transient commotion was
* Xt is said that a noble gateway, with the walls and bulwarks adjoining, fell down on their completion, and when restored, the same late attended them the second time; this was attributed to a miracle, but appears to have been owing to the badness of the foundations.
but the prelude to the many interesting events of which the Tower became the subsequent scene, during the wars of the two Roses. In 1460, Lord Scales, the governor, was besieged in it by the Earl of Salisbury and Lord Ctrbham, and surrendered on the capture of King Henry the Sixth at Northampton. After various alternations of success and defeat, Henry the Sixth, in consequence of the battle at Hexham in 1464, was sent prisoner to the Tower, where he remained many years, during which his successful rival, Edward the Fourth, occupied it as a royal palace more frequently than had been done for many reigns previously. The sudden restoration of Heiwy, in 14 70, and the equally singular success of Edward hi the following year, are curious events in the history of those times ;" the former monarch having again exchanged his crown for that prison he had so lately occupied, and where he was soon joined in his captivity by his ill-fated Queen Margaret, after her final defeat at Tewksbury. The popular story of the murder of Henry by the Duke of Gloucester, made immortal by the pen of Shakspeare, is not borne out by the researches of antiquarians; all that is known with certainty being, that he died there a few- days after Edward's triumphant return to the capital. In 1473, the Duke of Clarence, brother to King Edward, was imprisoned on some trivial charges, tried and executed. It is said that he was drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine; but too much caution cannot be used in making some distinction between the well-authenticated facts of history, and tbise splendid dramatic versions by which important historical events have been frequently disguised. Few parts of the chronicles of our country are involved in more obseurin* than the scenes which immediately followed the death (if the King, and the appointment of the Duke of Gloucester as Protector.
The Council Chamber, presently to be mentioned, is supposed to have been the room where the arrest of L-:rds Hastings and Stanley and the Bishop of Elv, when assembled in deliberation, took place, the former being instantly executed in the court-yard. This event was tie prologue to the Duke's usurpation of the crown; but whether he consummated his crime by the murder of his infant nephews, will, in all probability, ne\er be marie clear to the worldt. The jealousy of Henry the Seventh caused the execution of Edward Plantagenet, son of the Duke of Clarence, at the Tower; and by that of his shtcr, the Countess of Salisbury, in the following reigu, the rojil line of Plantagenet was extinguished.
It has not been deemed necessary to allude to all (he imprisonments and executions of eminent persons which took place, but only to those interesting events which form striking periods in the history of the Tower; accordingly, the next we shall mention are the rapidly succeeding tragic scenes acted there during the reign of Henry tlie Eighth. In 1534, the great and good Sir Thomas More, together with Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, were imprisoned for denying the King's supremacy, and executed the following year on the fatal hill. In May, 1536, the Queen, Anne Boleyn, suffered in consequence of the brutal fickleness of her husband's affections. No year now passed without its sufferers, either as prisoners or as capital victims: Lords Thomas Howard, Darcy, and Montague, and the Marquis of Exeter, sent thither by the jealous monarch on charges of treason, ended their lives upon the block. In 1540, Cromwell, Earl of Essex, the wise and faithful minister of his ungrateful King, was executed because he had been the principal promoter of the marriage with Anne of Cleves, who was distasteful to her incoustant husband. To his execution soon succeeded that of the fourth Queen, Catharine Howard, and her associate Lady Rochford.
In 1542, a singular contrast to this list of sufferings, though equally fatal'to the object, is afforded by the suddes death, from joy, of Arthur Plantagenet, Viscount Lisle, an illegitimate son of Edward the Fourth, on receiving assurance that the King was convinced of his innocence of an alleged conspiracy, and of being restored to the royal favour. The following reign of Edward the Sixth witnessed ths order for the execution of Seymour Lord Sudley, and High Admiral; the warrant being signed by his brother, I he Protector, the Duke of Somerset, who was himself, with
t There is extant a "wardrobe account" of 1483, whicb, after .H<scribing the dresses for the King (Richard) and his Queen, rocDtrari one for Prince Edward (the fifth), who, it thence appears, nas t« have attended the ceremony of the coronation of his uncle: wbciaet he did so or not is unknown.