however, a redder light came up out of the depths of the streets, and wreaths of grey smoke mingled with the glare. The Thames was crowded with boats, and voices of merriment were heard amidst the distant sounds of drum and trumpet. The common stairs or bridges were thronged with people landing. The wherry in which sate the two guardsmen ran in to a private stair at Bridewell; and with the same hearty laugh they stepped into a spacious garden. "Charles," said the more boisterous of the companions," this will be a snug nest for the right witty Almoner when Empson's head is off." In a few minutes a noble-looking person, dressed in a sober but costly suit, like a wealthy citizen, joined them, making a profound reverence. "No ceremony," exclaimed he of the loud voice; and then, making an effort to speak low," His Highness is safe in the palace; and we are two of his faithful guards who would see the Midsummer Watch set. Have you a dagger under your russet coat, my good Almoner?-for the watch, they say, does not fear the rogues any more than the gallows." It was Wolsey, then upon the lower rounds of the ladder of preferment, who answered Henry in the gay tone of his master. Brandon, who, in spite of his generous nature, did not quite like the accommodating churchman, was scarcely so familiar with him. The three, however, all gaily enough passed onward through the spacious gardens of Empson's deserted palace, which covered the ground now known as Dorset Street and Salisbury Square; and with a master-key with which the prosperous Almoner was already provided, they sallied forth into the public street, and crossing Fleet Bridge, pursued their way towards West Cheap.*

Lud-gate was not closed. In the open space under the city wall was an enormous bonfire, which was reflected from the magnificent steeple of Paul's. Looking up the hill there was another bonfire in the open space before the cathedral, which threw its deep light upon every pinnacle of the vast edifice, and gleamed in its many windows as if a thousand tapers were blazing within its choir and transepts. The street was full of light. Over the door-ways of the houses were "lamps of glass, with oil burning in them all the night;" and "some hung out branches of iron, curiously wrought, containing hundreds of lamps lighted at once."+ Before the houses were tables set out, on which were placed ponderous cakes, and flagons of ale, and wine "unexcis'd by kings;" and the sturdy apprentices, who by day were wont to cry, "What lack ye?” threw open their blue cloaks, disclosing their white hose, with a knowing look of independence, as they courteously invited the passer-by to partake of their dainties. Over the doors hung the delicate branches of the graceful birch, with wreaths of lilies and St. John's wort; and there were suspended pots of the green orpine, in the bending of whose leaves the maiden could read her fate in love. Wending their way through the throng, the three men of the west felt, the two younger especially, something of that pleasure which human beings can scarcely avoid feeling at the sight of happiness in others. Henry whispered to Wolsey, "This is a merry land;" and the courtier answered, "You have made it so.”

* "On Midsummer- Eve, at night, King Henry came privily into West Cheap, of London, being clothed in one of the coats of his guard." (Stow's Annals,' under date 1510.) It is not likely that Henry, though bold enough, would so far yield to the impulses which belong to a youth of nineteen as to go alone. Brandon had been his companion from childhood; Wolsey had already learned to minister to his pleasures as one mode of governing him. The patent by which the great churchman obtained Empson's house is dated 1510.

+ Stow's Survey.

The three visitors of the city moved slowly along with the dense crowd towards the Cross in West Cheap. They there stationed themselves. The livery which two of them wore would have secured them respect, if their lofty bearing had not appeared to command it. The galleries of the houses, and the windows, were filled with ladies. Between the high gabled roofs stood venturous boys and servants. Tapestry floated from the walls. Within was ever and anon heard the cadence of many voices singing in harmony. Then came a loud sound of trumpets; and a greater light than that of the flickering bonfires was seen in the distance; and the windows became more crowded; and the songs ceased within the dwellings.

The procession which was approaching was magnificent enough to afford the highest gratification to one at least of the three spectators that we have described. It suggested, however, the consideration that it did not belong to himself, and threw no particular glory round his throne and person. But, nevertheless, his curiosity was greatly stimulated; and that love of pomp which he had already begun to indulge, în processions, and jousts, and tournays, could not fail of receiving some delight from the remarkable scene that was before him. He was, as Cavendish has described him, " a young, lusty, and courageous prince, entering into the flower of pleasant youth." His amusements were manly and intellectual, "exercising himself daily in shooting, singing, dancing, wrestling, casting of the bar, playing at the recorders, flute, virginals, and in setting of songs and making of ballads." * The future sensual tyrant is not readily seen in this description. But here, on Midsummer-Eve in 1510, was Henry standing beside the Cross in West Cheap, and mixing unknown amongst his subjects, like the Haroon Er-Rasheed of the Thousand and One Nights.' Onward came the Marching Watch, winding into Cheap from the little conduit by Paul's Gate. Here, literally,

"The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,

Of burning cressets.”

The pitchy ropes borne aloft in iron frames sent up their tongues of fire and wreaths of smoke in volumes which showed, afar off, like the light of a burning city. Stow tells us that for the "furniture" of the Marching Watch there were appointed seven hundred cressets; besides which every constable, amounting to two hundred and forty, had his cresset. Each cresset had a man to bear it and another to serve it, so that the cresset-train amounted in number to almost two thousand men. This was, indeed, civic pomp upon a splendid scale. A poet of the next century, whose name is almost unknown in the ordinary catalogues of English poetry, but who has written with more elegance and taste than half of those we call classics-Richard Niccols, in a performance called London's Artillery,' has the following very beautiful lines descriptive of the bonfires and cresset-lights of the great festival of the Summer Solstice :

"The wakeful shepherd by his flock in field
With wonder at that time far off beheld
The wanton shine of thy triumphant fires
Playing upon the tops of thy tall spires."

* Hall.

Mingled with the cresset-bearers came on two thousand men of the Marching Watch, some mounted, and some on foot. There were "demilances" on great horses; gunners with their harquebuses and wheel-locks; archers in white coats, with bows bent and sheafs of arrows by their sides; pike-men in bright corslets; and bill-men with aprons of mail. Following these came the constables of the Watch, each in bright harness gleaming from beneath his scarlet jornet* and his golden chain; with his henchman following him, and his minstrel before him, and his cresset-light by his side; and then came the waits of the city, and morris-dancers footing it to their merry notes; and then, in due order, the mayor himself on horseback, and his sword-bearer, his henchmen, his harnessed footmen, his giants, and his pageants. The Sheriffs' Watches, says Stow, "came one after the other in like order, but not so large in number as the Mayor's." Niccols, still apostrophizing London, thus describes this part of the solemnity :

"Thy goodly buildings, that till then did hide

Their rich array, open'd their windows wide,

Where kings, great peers, and many a noble dame,
Whose bright, pearl-glittering robes did mock the flame

Of the night's burning lights, did sit to see

How every senator, in his degree,

Adorn'd with shining gold and purple weeds,

And stately mounted on rich-trapped steeds,

Their guard attending, through the streets did ride
Before their foot-bands, grac'd with glittering pride
Of rich gilt arms."

Onward swept the mighty cavalcade past the Cross at Cheap, along Cornhill,
and by Leadenhall to Aldgate. It was to return by Fenchurch Street and
Gracious Street, and again into Cornhill and through Cheapside. The multi-
tude thronged after it, but the three strangers remained almost alone.
"This
costs gold," said Wolsey. "And it is worth the cost," replied the king.
"Would they fight," said Brandon, "these demilances and archers?” "Indeed
they would," said Wolsey: and turning round to the king, "such men have
fought with your Highness's grandsires; and the cry of Clubs of the blue-cloaks
is as fearful a rallying cry as that of St. George." "Come," said the king, "we
must homeward. Are the streets watched, or shall we have to knock a knave
or two on the pate ?" The streets were watched. They again passed Ludgate ;
and as they descended Flect Hill they found the lamps still burning before the
doors, but the hospitable tables were almost deserted. At due intervals stood a
constable in bright harness, surrounded by his footmen and his cresset-bearer;
and as they went onward through Fleet Street, and looked to the right and left,
up the narrow lanes, there was still the cresset gleaming in the armour. “ We
are safe to-night," said the king. "This is a glorious affair, and I shall bring
her Highness to see it on St. Peter's Eve. How looks the city, my grave Almoner,
on other than festival nights?" "It is a melancholy place, your Highness.
After curfew not a light to be seen: the one cresset in a street makes it more
gloomy; and masterless men cut purses in the dark, while the light-bearer tells
the rogues where there is no watch." "Ha!" exclaimed the king. "This should

* Probably scarf.

be remedied," added the statesman.

There were three

"The cost of one Midsummer-Eve would double the watch for the rest of the year." "Ho," said Harry, "hang up the thieves, and let the true men keep in their houses." "They break into the houses," said Wolsey. "We will tell our justices to spare none of them," replied the king. They were by this time at Temple Bar. led-horses waiting, and a dozen footmen with lighted torches. Slowly they rode, for the way was rough, past St. Clement's, and through the Strand, and by Charing Cross to the palace-gates. Here and there was seen a solitary bonfire, but there was no rush of population as in the city. The large palatial houses were dark and silent. The river, which ever and anon lay spread before them as they looked upon it through the broad open spaces of its bank, was red with the reflection of the city fires. The courtier-priest was at his master's stirrup as he alighted; and Henry whispered, "Come to me to-morrow. Our people want Empson's head, and the sooner you get his house the better." With a loud laugh his Highness and Brandon vanished into an inner court of the palace, and the Almoner rode thoughtfully to his lodgings.

During the reign of Henry VIII., as Harrison tells us, he hung up, of great thieves, of petty thieves, and rogues, three score and twelve thousand. This was a wholesale mode of dispensing with a preventive police; though we doubt whether the prison and the gallows were cheaper than lighting and watching. The same graphic pen, writing in 1586, adds-" He seemed for a while greatly to have terrified the rest; but since his death the number of them is so increased, that, except some better order be taken, or the law already made be better executed, such as dwell in uplandish towns and little villages shall live but in small safety and rest."* London, we have no doubt, had a pretty equal share of discomfort and danger. The time was passed when it could be enjoined, as by the statute of Edward I., "that none be so hardy as to be found going or wandering about the streets of the city after curfew tolled at St. Martin's-le-Grand, with sword or buckler, or other arms for doing mischief, or whereof evil suspicion might arise, nor any in any other manner, unless he be a great man, or other lawful person of good repute, or their certain messengers, having their warrants to go from one to another, with lanthorn in hand." The progress of industry had rendered it necessary that others, besides great men and their accredited messengers, should go about at night, and not be considered as malefactors. Thirty years after the Midsummer Eve of 1510, Henry VIII. put down the marching watch, "considering the great charges of the citizens;" but the good old lovers of pageantry would not so readily part with it, and it was several times attempted to be revived, till, in 1569, it was altogether abandoned; and it was determined " in the room thereof to have a substantial standing watch, for the safety and preservation of the city." It is curious, in these our own days of police and gas-lights, to look back to the means by which the safety and preservation of the city were secured. The watchman had gradually been transformed from a sturdy constable in harness into a venerable personage bearing halberd and lanthorn. It was the business of this reverend person to make the cry inscribed under the + Stow's Survey.

Description of England, book ii, ch. 11.

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figure of the watchman here given. He had to deal with deaf listeners, and he therefore proclaimed with a voice of command, "Lanthorn!" But a lanthorn alone was a body without a soul; and he therefore demanded "a whole candle." To this the vital spark was to be given, and he continued to exclaim, light." To render the mandate less individually oppressive, he went on to cry, "Hang out your lights!" And that even the sleepers might sleep no more, he ended with "Hear!"

We are told by the chroniclers that, as early as 1416, the Mayor, Sir Henry Barton, ordered lanthorns and lights to be hanged out on the winter evenings, betwixt Allhallows and Candlemas. For three centuries this practice subsisted, constantly evaded, no doubt, through the avarice and poverty of individuals, sometimes probably disused altogether, but still the custom of London up to the time of Queen Anne. The cry of the watchman, "hang out your lights," was an exhortation to the negligent, which probably they answered only by snores, equally indifferent to their own safety and the public preservation. A worthy mayor in the time of Queen Mary provided the watchman with a bell, with which instrument he accompanied the music of his voice down to the days of the Commonwealth. The "Statutes of the Streets," in the time of Elizabeth, were careful enough for the preservation of silence in some things They prescribed that "no man shall blow any horn in the night, or whistle after the hour of nine of the clock in the night, under pain of imprisonment;" and, what was a harder thing to keep, they also forbad a man to make any "sudden outcry in the still of the night, as making any affray, or beating his wife." Yet a privileged man was to go about knocking at doors and ringing his alarum-an intolerable nuisance if he did what he was ordered to do. But the watchmen were, no doubt, wise in their generation. With honest Dogberry, they could not see how sleeping should offend;" and after the watch was set, they probably agreed to " go sit upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed." Dekker, however, describes the bellman as a person of some activity-" the child of darkness; a common night-walker; a man that had no man to wait upon him, but only a dog; one that was a disordered person, and at midnight would beat at men's doors, bidding them (in mere mockery) to look to their candles, when

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