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the quiet burial at Windsor taking place in snowy weather, and the snow covering the pall, the King afterwards went among many of his admirers by the name of "the White King." The George which the King gave the faithful Bishop contained a portrait of Charles's mischievous wife Henrietta Maria, who was generally believed to have been already unfaithful to him, and who soon after the execution married Jermyn, her lover.

BAYNARD'S CASTLE.

This bygone palace stood immediately below St. Paul's, and on the banks of the Thames, to the east of Montfiquet Castle, a tower which derived its name from one of the rapacious Norman barons who followed the standard of William the Conqueror. Its neighbour borrowed its appellation from Baynard, another swordsman in the same hungry army. The fortress on the Thames side was forfeited by the founder or some treasonable descendant in 1111, and granted to Robert Fitzgerald, the son of Gilbert earl of Clare, whose family kept their gauntleted grip on it for three centuries. In 1428, having lapsed again to the crown, probably by treason, it was accidentally burnt, but the site was soon after granted by Henry V. to Humphrey duke of Gloucester. In 1447 the marriage of that weak and irresolute young King, Henry VI. (then only twenty-four), with Margaret of Anjou, the beautiful and highspirited daughter of Réné count of Provence, had thrown the power almost entirely into the hands of the ambitious Cardinal Beaufort, the great promoter of the marriage, and the young King's uncle and favourite counsellor. In 1447, the second year of her marriage, the King and Queen called their parliament together at Bury, and, as if apprehensive of treason, summoned the commonalty of Suffolk to attend them, armed with bills and bows. The second day of the session the royal wrath fell like a thunderbolt on Duke Humphrey, who was arrested by John viscount Beaumont, the Queen's seneschal. The Cardinal had at last struck the blow that revenged six-and-twenty years of hatred. State prisoners are apt to fall sick, and in seventeen days after his arrest the Duke of Gloucester was found dead in his bed. Some said he was murdered; but his body, produced in both Houses of Parliament, and exposed to public view for several days, showed no wound. The Cardinal followed his enemy to the grave within a few weeks. There is no reason, ambitious and daring as Margaret was, to connect her with the removal of Duke Humphrey. On the attainder of Humphrey, Castle Baynard passed into the hands of Richard duke of York; and here it was that that desperate and evil spirit at first refused the crown when his unlucky confederate, Stafford duke of Buckingham, offered it him at the head of the Corporation of London. Baynard's Castle remained the hunchback usurper's till that day when he was struck off his horse at the foot of the Leicestershire hill near Aymon Lays, and his crown was cast into a hawthorn-bush. In the reign of Elizabeth the Earls of Pem

broke became tenants-at-will of the old castle; and here in 1641 Philip earl of Pembroke and Montgomery was installed Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. His second Countess, the proud "Anne Dorset, Pembroke and Montgomery," resided at Baynard's Castle while her husband lived at the cockpit at Whitehall, to be nearer the court round which his fortunes revolved. She described it in her memoirs as "a house full of riches, and more secure by my lying there." The month after his restoration, King Charles II. went to supper at Baynard Castle, which was soon afterwards swept away in the red deluge of the Great Fire.

CROSBY HALL.

Crosby Hall, Bishopsgate-street-formerly a literary institution, now we believe feeding the body more than the mind, in the shape of a cooperative dining-room-was built by Sir John Crosby in 1466. It is a fine perpendicular building, and as a specimen of well-preserved domestic architecture is only equalled by the celebrated Hall of John Halle at Salisbury—a merchant's house of the fifteenth century or a little later. Sir John Crosby was a rich grocer and woolstapler, and bought the land of the Prioress of St. Helen's. He was sheriff and alderman in 1470, he was knighted by Edward IV. in 1471, and after a brief tenure of his stately house-the highest at that time, Stow says, in London-died in 1475. The house is immortalised by Shakespeare, who frequently mentions it in his Richard III. When the usurper is suing for the love of Anne of Warwick, after the murder of her young husband at Tewkesbury, and the death (probably murder) of her husband's father, Henry VI., the wretch, who had discovered the Princess disguised as a cookmaid in some humble citizen's family, says to the weeping lady in one of the few repulsive and unnatural scenes that Shakespeare wrote:

"That it may please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place."

Now Shakespeare's father had been a soldier of Henry VII.'s, and his historical facts in this play are less erroneous than those in Henry VI., where he mixes up Jack Cade's deeds with Wat Tyler's, and makes Margaret of Anjou (then a child) effect the ruin of the persecuted Duchess of Gloucester. It is to Crosby-place Richard III. bids the murderers of Clarence come for their reward. In 1542 King Henry VIII., who gave away palaces and manors as lavishly as if they had been comfits, bestowed Crosby Hall on Antony Bonvice (Bonofacio), an Italian merchant; and in 1576 Alderman Bond, the then tenant, added to it a Belvidere turret.

TYRO

O RIVER, shining River, winding River, golden River!
Swift rushest thou by mead and wood;
The sunbeams follow with thy flood,
The winds are songs to soothe thy rest,
The stars are gems to deck thy breast,
And Earth was only made to be

A cradle, holy Stream, for thee.

O River, trackless River, changeful River, endless River!
I wander on thy sedgy bank,

Where the dark reeds grow tall and rank,
Waiting that mystic hour when he,

Thy god, thyself, shall come to me,
And we again, linked hand in hand,
Above thy starlit deep shall stand.

O River, wondrous River, magic River, sacred River!
What is this god who holds my soul
Resistless 'gainst his sweet control?
His breath is fiercer than thy breath,
His grasp is strong as love and death,
And with his kiss there comes to me
The odour of the barren sea.

O River, fatal River, darkling River, deadly River!
Since I have seen his godlike face,

I grow to hate my mortal race;
Since I have leaned upon his breast,
I taste no more soft sleep or rest:
All life is melted into this,

The bitter-sweet of his salt kiss.

O River, sighing River, moaning River, wailing River!
Dark are my dreams of coming days;
Dimly I see the hideous ways
That lie before these weary feet,
The dreadful noontide's tropic heat,
The lonely night, the galling chain,

A cycle of despair and pain.

O River, dancing River, gleaming River, joyous River!
Love keeps no count of days to come;
Love knows no fear of death and doom;
And while above thy deep I stand,
My hand locked fast in his strong hand,
And on my brow his salt-sea breath,
What heed have I of doom or death!

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