Professional men did not neglect to add to their dignity by the use of the muff. In addition to the gold-headed cane, the doctor carried a muff. An old book called “The Mother-in-law,” includes a character who is advised by his friends to become a physician. Says one to him: “’Tis but putting on the doctor’s gown and cap, and you’ll have more knowledge in an instant than you’ll know what to do withal.” Observes another friend: “Besides, sir, if you had no other qualification than that muff of yours, twould go a great way. A muff is more than half in the making of a doctor.” Cibble tells Nightshade in Cumberland’s “Cholerick Man,” 1775, to “Tuck your hands in your muff and never open your lips for the rest of the afternoon; ’twill gain you respect in every house you enter.” Alexander Wedderburn, before being called to the English Bar in 1757, had practised as an advocate in his native city, Edinburgh. In his references to his early days, there is an allusion to the muff, showing that its use must have been by no means uncommon in Scotland in the middle of the eighteenth century. “Knowing my countrymen at that time,” he tells us, “I was at great pains to study and assume a very grave, solemn deportment for a young man, which my marked features, notwithstanding my small stature, would render more imposing. Men then wore in winter small muffs, and I flatter myself that, as I paced to the Parliament House, no man of fifty could look more thoughtful or steady. My first client was a citizen whom I did not know. He called upon me in the course of a cause, and becoming familiar with him, I asked him ‘how he came to employ me?’ The answer was: ‘Why, I had noticed you in the High Street, going to the court, the most punctual of any, as the clock struck nine, and you looked so grave and business-like, that I resolved from your appearance to have you for my advocate.’” More instances of the muff amongst professional men might be cited, but the foregoing are sufficient to indicate the value set upon it by this class.

Towards the end of the seventeenth century it was customary to carry in the muff small dogs known as “muff dogs,” and Hollar made a picture of one of these little animals.

A tale is told of the eccentric head of one of the colleges at Oxford, who had a great aversion to the undergraduates wearing long hair, that on one occasion he reduced the length of a young man’s hair by means of a bread-knife. It is stated that he carried concealed in his muff a pair of scissors, and with these he slyly cut off offending locks.

Both the Tatler and the Spectator include notices of the muff. In No. 153 of the Tatler, 1710, is a description of a poor but doubtless a proud person with a muff. “I saw,” it is stated, “he was reduced to extreme poverty, by certain shabby superfluities in his dress, for—notwithstanding that it was a very sultry day for the time of the year—he wore a loose great coat and a muff. Here we see poverty trying to imitate prosperity.” There are at least three allusions to the muff in the pages of the Spectator. We find in the issue for March 19th, 1711, a correspondent desires Addison to be “very satyrical upon the little muff” that was then fashionable amongst men.

A satirical print was published in 1756, at the Gold Acorn Tavern, facing Hungerford Market, London, called the “Beau Admiral.” It represents Admiral Byng carrying a large muff. He had been sent to relieve Minorca, besieged by the French, and after a futile action withdrew his ships, declaring that the ministry had not furnished him with a sufficient fleet to successfully fight the enemy. This action made the ministry furious, and Byng was brought before a court martial, and early in 1757 he was, according to sentence, shot at Portsmouth.

In America muffs were popular with both men and women. Old newspapers contain references to them. The following advertisement is drawn from the Boston News Letter of March 5th, 1715:—

Mrs. Alice Morse Earle, in her “Costume of Colonial Times” (New York: 1894), gives other instances of men’s muffs being missing, “In 1725,” says Mrs. Earle, “Dr. Prince lost his ‘black bear-skin muff,’ and in 1740 a sable-skin man’s muff was advertised.” It is clear from Mrs. Earle’s investigations that the beaux of New England followed closely the lead of the dandies of Old England. “I can easily fancy,” she says, “the mincing face of Horace Walpole peering out of a carriage window or a sedan-chair, with his hands and his wrists thrust in a great muff; but when I look at the severe and ascetic countenance in the portrait of Thomas Prince, I find it hard to think of him, walking solemnly along Boston streets, carrying his big bear-skin muff.” Other Bostonians, we are told, maintained the fashion until a much later period. Judge Dana employed it even after Revolutionary times. In 1783, in the will of René Hett, of New York, several muffs are mentioned, and were considered of sufficient account to form bequests.

The puritans of New England had little regard for warmth in their places of worship, and it is not surprising that men wore muffs. People were obliged to attend the services of the church unless they were sick, yet little attempt was made to render the places comfortable.

The first stove introduced into a meeting-house in Massachusetts was at Boston in 1773. In 1793 two stoves were placed in the Friends’ meeting-house, Salem, and in 1809 one was erected in the North Church, Salem. Persons are still living in the United States who can remember the knocking of feet on a cold day towards the close of a long sermon. The preachers would ask for a little patience and promise to close their discourses.

Concerning Corporation Customs.

The history of old English Municipal Corporations contains some quaint and interesting information respecting the laws, customs, and every-day life of our forefathers. The institution of corporate towns dates back to a remote period, and in this country we had our corporations before the Norman Conquest. The Norman kings frequently granted charters for the incorporation of towns, and an example is the grant of a charter to London by Henry I. in the year 1101.

For more than a century and a half no person was permitted to hold office in a municipal corporation unless he had previously taken sacrament according to the rites of the Established Church. The act regulating this matter was known as the Test Act, which remained in force from the days of Charles II. to those of George IV. It was repealed on the 9th May, 1828. In the latter reign, in 1835, was passed the Municipal Reform Act, which greatly changed the constitution of many corporate towns and boroughs. It is not, however, so much the laws as local customs to which we wish to direct attention.

The mace as a weapon may be traced back to a remote period, and was a staff about five feet in length with a metal head usually spiked. Maces were used by the heavy cavalry in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but went out of use in England in the reign of Elizabeth. It is not clear when the ornamental maces came to be regarded as an ensign of authority. Their first use may be traced back to the twelfth century. At that period and later spikeless maces were carried by the guards attending princes, as a convenient weapon to protect them against the sudden attacks of the assassin. Happily their need passed away, and as a symbol of rank only they have remained. In civic processions the mace is usually borne before the mayor, and when the sovereign visits a corporate town it is customary for the mayor to bear the mace before the monarch. We learn from history that when Princess Margaret was on her way to Scotland in 1503 to be united in marriage to James IV., as she passed through the city of York the Lord Mayor shouldered the mace and carried it before her. The mace was formerly borne before the mayoress of Southampton when she went out in state. A singular custom connected with the mace obtained at Leicester. It was customary for the newly-elected mayor to proceed to the castle, and in accordance with a charter granted by James I., take an oath before the steward of the Duchy of Lancaster, “to perform faithfully and well all and every ancient custom, and so forth according to the best of his knowledge.” On arrival at a certain place within the precincts of the stronghold the mayor had the great mace lowered from an upright position as a token of acknowledgment to the ancient feudal earls within their castle. In 1766 Mr. Fisher, a Jacobite, was elected mayor, and like others of his class was ever ready when opportunity offered to show his aversion to the reigning dynasty. He purposely omitted the ceremony of lowering the mace. When the servant of the mayor refused to “slope the mace,” the Constable of the castle or his deputy refused to admit the mayor. The ceremony was discontinued after this occurrence, and the mayor went in private to take the oath.

THE LORD MAYOR OF YORK ESCORTING PRINCESS MARGARET.

The following ordinances were in force at Kingston-upon-Hull about 1450, and point their own moral.

“No Mayor should debase his honourable office by selling (during his Mayoralty) ale or wine in his house.”

“Whenever the Mayor appeared in public he should have a sword carried before him, and his officers should constantly attend him; also he should cause everything to be done for the honour of the town, and should not hold his office for two years together.”

“No Aldermen should keep ale-houses or taverns, nor absent themselves from the town’s business, nor discover what is said in their councils, under heavy penalties.”

An entry in the annals of Hull in 1549 states that three of the former sheriffs of the town, named respectively Johnson, Jebson, and Thorp, were fined £6 13s. 4d. each “for being deficient in the elegance of their entertainments, for neglecting to wear scarlet gowns, and for not providing the same for their wives during their shrievalties.” Ten years later a Mr. Gregory was chosen sheriff, and he refused to accept the office. The matter was referred to the Queen in Council, and he was ordered to be fined £100, to be disfranchised and turned out of the town. We are told that the order was executed.

We gather from the ancient records of Canterbury that, in 1544, it was decided “that during winter every dark-night the aldermen, common council, and inn-holders are to find one candle, with light, at their doors, and the other inhabitants are to do in like fashion upon request, and if any lantern be stolen, the offender shall be set in the pillory at the mayor’s discretion; the candles are to be lighted at six, and continued until burnt out.”

In 1549 the sheriff of Canterbury paid a fine of three shillings and fourpence for wearing his beard.

Another quaint item in the Canterbury records under the year 1556 is an order directing the mayor every year before Christmas to provide for the mayoress, his wife, to wear one scarlet gown, and a bonnet of velvet. If the mayor failed to procure the foregoing he was liable to a fine of £10.

BURYING THE MACE AT NOTTINGHAM.

At Nottingham the new mayor took office on the 29th September each year. The outgoing mayor and other members of the corporation marched in procession to St. Mary’s Church. At the conclusion of divine service all retired to the vestry, and the retiring mayor occupied the chair at the head of a table covered with a black cloth, in the middle of which lay the mace covered with rosemary and sprigs of bay. This was called burying the mace, and no doubt was meant to denote the official decease of the late holder. The new mayor was then formally elected, and the outgoing mayor took up the mace, kissed it, and delivered it to his successor with a suitable speech. After the election of other town officials the company proceeded to the chancel of the church, where the mayor took the oath of office, which was administered by the senior coroner. After the mayor had been proclaimed in public places by the town clerk, a banquet was held at the municipal buildings; the fare consisted of bread and cheese, fruit in season, and pipes of tobacco! The proclaiming of the new mayor did not end on the day of election: on the following market-day he was proclaimed in face of the whole market, and the ceremony took place at one of the town crosses.

THE MAYOR OF WYCOMBE GOING TO THE GUILDHALL.

We learn from the Report of the Royal Commission issued in 1837 that the election of the Mayor of Wycombe was enacted with not a little ceremony. The great bell of the church was tolled for an hour, then a merry peal was rang. The retiring mayor and aldermen proceeded to church, and after service walked in procession to the Guildhall, preceded by a woman strewing flowers and a drummer beating a drum. The mayor was next elected, and he and his fellow-members of the corporation marched round the market-house, and wound up the day by being weighed, and their weights were duly recorded by the sergeant-at-mace, who was rewarded with a small sum of money for his trouble.

In the Gentlemen’s Magazine for 1782 we find particulars of past mayoral customs at Abingdon, Berkshire. “Riding through Abingdon,” says a correspondent, “I found the people in the street at the entrance of the town very busy in adorning the outside of their houses with boughs of trees and garlands of flowers, and the paths were strewed with rushes. One house was distinguished by a greater number of garlands than the rest. On inquiring the reason, it seemed that it was usual to have this ceremony performed in the street in which the new mayor lived, on the first Sunday that he went to church after his election.”

At Newcastle-on-Tyne still lingers a curious custom which dates back to the period when strife was rife between England and Scotland. It has long been the practice to present the judges attending the Assizes on their arrival with two pairs of gloves, a pair to each of their marshals and to the other members of their retinue, also to the clerks of Assize and their officers. The judges are entertained in a hospitable manner during their stay in the city. At the conclusion of the business of the Assizes the mayor and other members of the Corporation in full regalia wait upon the judges, and the mayor thus addresses them:—

“My Lords, we have to congratulate you upon having completed your labours in this ancient town, and have also to inform you that you travel hence to Carlisle, through a border county much and often infested by the Scots; we therefore present each of your lordships with a piece of money to buy therewith a dagger to defend yourselves.”

The mayor then gives the senior judge a piece of gold of the reign of James I., termed a Jacobus, and to the junior judge a coin of the reign of Charles I., called a Carolus. After the judge in commission has returned thanks the ceremony is ended. Some time ago a witty judge returned thanks as follows: “I thank the mayor and corporation much for this gift. I doubt, however, whether the Scots have been so troublesome on the borders lately; I doubt, too, whether daggers in any numbers are to be purchased in this ancient town for the protection of my suite and of myself; and I doubt if these coins are altogether a legal tender at the present time.”

The local authorities are anxious to keep up the ancient custom enjoined upon them by an old charter, but they often experience great difficulty in obtaining the old-time pieces of money. Sometimes as much as £15 has been paid for one of the scarce coins. “Upon the resignation or the death of a judge who has travelled the northern circuit, we are told the corporation at once offer to purchase from his representative the ‘dagger-money’ received on his visits to Newcastle, in order to use it on future occasions.”

It was customary, in the olden time, for the mayor and other members of the Banbury Corporation to repair to Oxford during the assizes and visit the judge at his lodgings, and the mayor, with all the graces of speech at his command, ask “my lord” to accept a present of the celebrated Banbury cakes, wine, some long clay pipes, and a pound of tobacco. The judge accepted these with gratitude, or, at all events, in gracious terms expressed his thanks for their kindness.

The Corporation of Ludlow used to offer hospitality to the judges. The representatives of the town met the train in which the judges travelled from Shrewsbury to Hereford, and offered to them cake and wine, the former on an ancient silver salver, and the latter in a loving-cup wreathed with flowers. Mr. Justice Hill was the cause of the custom coming to a conclusion in 1858. He was travelling the circuit, and he communicated with the mayor saying, “owing to the delay occasioned, Her Majesty’s judges would not stop at Ludlow to receive the wonted hospitality.” We are told the mayor and corporation were offended, and did not offer to renew the ancient courtesy.

The making of a “sutor of Selkirk” is attended with some ceremony. “It was formerly the practice of the burgh corporation of Selkirk,” says Dr. Charles Rogers, the social historian of Scotland, “to provide a collation or dejeûner on the invitation of a burgess. The rite of initiation consisted in the newly-accepted brother passing through the mouth a bunch of bristles which had previously been mouthed by all the members of the board. This practice was termed ‘licking the birse:’ it took its origin at a period when shoemaking was the staple trade of the place, the birse being the emblem of the craft. When Sir Walter Scott was made a burgess or ‘sutor of Selkirk,’ he took precaution before mouthing the beslabbered brush to wash it in his wine, but the act of rebellion was punished by his being compelled to drink the polluted liquor.” In 1819, Prince Leopold was created “a sutor of Selkirk,” but the ceremony was modified to meet his more refined tastes, and the old style has not been resumed. Mr. Andrew Lang, a distinguished native of the town, has had the honour conferred upon him of being made a sutor.

The Mayor of Altrincham, Cheshire, in bygone times was, if we are to put any faith in proverbial lore, a person of humble position, and on this account the “honour” was ridiculed. An old rhyme says—

“The Mayor of Altrincham, and the Mayor of Over,
The one is a thatcher, and the other a dauber.”

Sir Walter Scott, in “The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” introduces the mayor into his pages in no flattering manner. Mr. Alfred Ingham, in his “History of Altrincham and Bowdon” (1879), has collected for his book some curious information bearing on this theme. He relates a tradition respecting one of the mayors gifted with the grace of repartee, which is well worth reproducing:—“The Mayor of Over—for he and the Mayor of Altrincham are often coupled—journeyed once upon a time to Manchester. He was somewhat proud, though he went on foot, and on arriving at Altrincham, felt he would be all the better for a shave. The knight of the steel and the strop performed the operation most satisfactorily; and as his worship rose to depart, he said rather grand-eloquently, ‘You may tell your customers that you have had the honour of shaving the Mayor of Over.’ ‘And you,’ retorted the ready-witted fellow, ‘may tell yours that you have had the honour of being shaved by the Mayor of Altrincham.’ The rest can be better imagined than described.”

We learn from Mr. J. Potter Briscoe that a strange tradition still lingers in Nottingham, to the effect that when King John last visited the town, he called at the house of the mayor, and the residence of the priest of St. Mary’s. Finding neither ale in the cellar of one, nor bread in the cupboard of the other, His Majesty ordered every publican in the town to contribute sixpennyworth of ale to the mayor annually, and that every baker should give a half-penny loaf weekly to the priest. The custom was continued down to the time of Blackner, the Nottingham historian, who published his history in 1815.

The mayor of Rye, in bygone times, had almost unlimited authority, and if anyone spoke evil of him, he was immediately taken and grievously punished by his body, but if he struck the mayor, he ran the risk of having cut off the hand that dealt the blow.

As late as 1600, at Hartlepool, it was enacted, that anyone calling a member of the council a liar be fined eleven shillings and sixpence, if, however, the term false was used, the fine was only six shillings and eightpence.

Bribes for the Palate.

In the days of old it was no uncommon practice for public bodies and private persons to attempt to bribe judges and others with presents. Frequently the gifts consisted of drink or food. In some instances money was expected and given. It is not, however, to bribery in general we want to direct attention, but to some of its more curious phases, and especially those which appealed to the recipients’ love of good cheer.

Some of the judges even in a corrupt age would not be tempted. One of the most upright of our judges was Sir Matthew Hale. It had long been customary for the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury to present to the judges of the Western Circuit six sugar loaves. The gift was sent to Hale, and he directed his servant to pay for the sugar before he tried a case in which the donors were interested. On another occasion while he was on circuit, a gentleman gave him a buck, hoping by this act to gain his favour in a case that was to be tried before him. When the trial was about to commence, Hale remembered the name of the gentleman and inquired if he was the person from whom the venison had been received. On being informed that such was the fact, he would not allow the trial to proceed until he had made payment for the buck. The gentleman strongly protested against receiving the money, saying that he had only presented the same to the Chief Baron as he had done to other judges who had gone the circuit. Further instances might be mentioned of presents being offered and refused by Hale, but the foregoing are sufficient to show the character of the man.

Newcastle-on-Tyne municipal records contain many references to presents of sugar loaves. There are for example gifts to noblemen who called at the town on their way to Scotland. In January 1593, we find particulars of 23s. 7d. for sugar and wine “sent in a present to my L. Ambassador as he came travling through this towne to Scotland called my L. Souch.”

The charges are as follow:—

A little later the Earl of Essex was bound for Scotland and received a present at the hands of the local authorities. The town accounts state:

In the following month the Earl of Essex, in company of my Lord Wharton, returned from North Britain and received sugar and wine costing the town £4 14s. 10d. The details of the amount are as under:—

The Bishop of Durham was not overlooked. In February, 1596, we find an entry as follows:—

“Mr. Maiore and his brethren” enjoyed sugar and sundry pottles of wine.

It is satisfactory to find that the ladies were not neglected at Newcastle-on-Tyne. Here is an entry referring to the entertainment of the Mayoress and other ladies:—

In the same month is an entry far different in character. It is a charge of 4d. for leading a scolding woman through the town wearing the brank. Payments for inflicting punishment on men and women frequently occur.

The accounts of the borough of St. Ives, Cornwall, contain an item as follows:—

The records of the city of Winchester include particulars of many presents of sugar loaves and other gifts. On March 24th, 1592, it was decided at a meeting of the municipal authorities to present the Lord Marquis of Winchester with a sugar loaf weighing five pounds, and a gallon of sack, on his coming to the Lent Assizes. The accounts of the city at this period contain entries of payments for sugar loaves given to the Recorder for a New Year’s present, and for pottles of wine bestowed on distinguished visitors.

At a meeting held in 1603 of the local authorities of Nottingham, it was agreed that the town should present to the Recorder, Sir Henry Pierrepoint, as follows:—“A sugar loaf, 9s.; lemons, 1s. 8d.; white wine, one gallon, 2s. 8d.; claret, one gallon, 2s. 8d.; muskadyne, one pottle, 2s. 8d.; sack, one pottle, 2s.; total, 20s. 8d.”

A year later the burgesses of Nottingham wished to show the great esteem they entertained for the Earl of Shrewsbury, and it was decided to give to him “a veal of mutton, a lamb, a dozen chickens, two dozen rabbits, two dozen of pigeons, and four capons.” This is a truly formidable list, and seems more suitable for stocking a shop than a gentleman’s larder.

The porpoise in past times was prized as a delicacy, and placed on royal tables. Down to the days of Queen Elizabeth it was used by the nobles as an article of food. In the reign of that queen, a penny in twelve was the market due at Newcastle-on-Tyne, when the fish were cut up and exposed for sale. The heads, fins, and numbles were taken in addition. The seal was subject to the same regulations. The porpoise was deemed suitable for a present. In 1491 it is recorded that a large porpoise was sent from Yarmouth as a gift to the Earl of Oxford.

The annals of Exeter furnish particulars of several gifts of fish. In 1600 it was decided by the local authorities to present to the Recorder of the city, Mr. Sergeant Hale, annually during his life, eight salmon of the river Exe. The Mayor for the time being had a like quantity allowed. It was resolved on the 10th January, 1610, to present, at the cost of the citizens, to the Speaker of the Parliament, in token of good will, a hogshead of Malaga wine, or a hogshead of claret, whichever might be deemed most acceptable, and one baked salmon pie.

Sir George Trenchard in 1593 received from the Mayor of Lyme a box of marmalade and six oranges, costing 7s.

Six months later the municipal accounts of Lyme include an entry as follows:—

Mr. George Roberts, in his “Social History of the Southern Counties,” has an interesting note respecting the potatoes named in the foregoing entry. He says:—“The sweet potato (Convolvulus Batatas) was known in England before the common potato, which received its name from its resemblance to the Batata. This plant was introduced into this country by Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins in the middle of the sixteenth century. The roots were, about the close of the reign of Elizabeth, imported in considerable quantities from Spain and the Canaries, and were used as a confection rather than as a nourishing vegetable.”

We will close this paper with particulars of a present which may be regarded more of an example of esteem than an attempt at bribery. Hull, in the days of old, was noted for its ale. The Corporation of the town often presented one or two barrels to persons to whom they desired to show a token of regard. Andrew Marvell, the incorruptible patriot, represented the place in Parliament from 1658 until his death in 1678. He was in close touch with the leading men of the town, and wrote long and interesting letters, detailing the operations of the House of Commons, to the Mayor and Aldermen. In one of his epistles to the Burgesses of Hull he refers to a gift of ale. “We must,” says Marvell, “first give thanks for the kind present you have been pleased to send us, which will give occasion to us to remember you often; but the quantity is so great that it might make sober men forgetful.” Marvell’s father was master of the Hull Grammar School, and it was there the patriot was educated.

ANDREW MARVELL.

Hull ale finds a place in proverbial lore, and is named by Ray and others. Taylor, the water poet, visited the town in 1622, and was the guest of George Pease, landlord of the “King’s Head” Inn, High Street. In Taylor’s poem, entitled “A Very Merrie Ferry Voyage; or, Yorke for My Money,” he thus averts to Hull ale:—

“Thanks to my loving host and hostess, Pease,
There at mine inne each night I took mine ease;
And there I got a cantle of Hull Chesse.”

The poet, in a foot-note, says:—“Hull cheese is much like a loaf out of the brewer’s basket; it is composed of two samples, mault and water in one compound, and is cousin german to the mightiest ale in England.” Ray quotes the proverb, “You have eaten some Hull cheese,” as equivalent to an accusation of drunkenness.

Rebel Heads on City Gates.

The barbarous custom of spiking heads on city gates, and on other prominent places, may be traced back to the days of Edward I. His wise laws won for him the title of “the English Justinian,” but he does not appear to have tempered justice with mercy. In his age little value was set upon human life. His scheme of conquest included the subjugation and annexation of Scotland and Wales.

David, the brother of Llewellyn the Welsh Prince, had been on the side of the English, and at the hands of Edward had experienced kindness, but in return he showed little gratitude. In 1282 he made an unprovoked attack on Hawarden Castle. Subsequently his brother Llewellyn joined in the rising, and undertook the conduct of the war in South Wales, while David attempted to defend the North of the country. In a skirmish on the Wye, Llewellyn was slain by a single knight. David soon fell into the hands of the English, and was sent in chains to Shrewsbury. Here he was tried by Parliament, consisting of “the first national convention in which the Common had any share by legal authority, and the earliest lawful trace of a mixed assembly of Lords and Commons.” Guilty of being a traitor was the verdict returned, and David was condemned to a new and cruel mode of execution, viz., “to be dragged at a horse’s tail through the streets of Shrewsbury, and to be afterwards hung and cut down while alive, his heart and bowels burnt before his face, his body quartered and his head sent to London.” The head of Llewellyn was also to be sent to London, to be spiked on the Tower encircled with a crown of ivy.

On the gates of old London Bridge have been spiked the heads of many famous men—not a few whose brave deeds add glory to the annals of England and Scotland. The heroic deeds of Sir William Wallace have done much to increase the dignity of the history of North Britain. After rendering gallant service to his native land, he was betrayed into the hands of the English by his friend and countryman, Sir John Menteith, at Glasgow. He was conveyed to London, was tried and condemned as a rebel, and on August 23rd, 1305, suffered a horrible death, similar to the fate of David, Prince of Wales. His body was divided and sent into four parts of Scotland, and his head set up on a pole on London Bridge. Edward I. degraded himself by this cruel revenge on a patriotic man. In the following year the head of another Scotch rebel, Simon Frazer, was spiked beside that of Wallace.

OLD LONDON BRIDGE, SHEWING HEADS OF REBELS ON THE GATE.

In the reign of Edward II., Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, rose to almost supreme power, but his rule was most distasteful to the people. It was oppressive and ended in disaster. In 1316, when the Earl was at the height of his fame, he discovered that a knight formerly in his household had been induced by the King of England to carry to the King of Scotland a letter asking that some of his soldiers might slay him. The Earl was then at Pontefract and had the knight brought before him, and by his orders he was speedily executed, and his head spiked on the walls of the castle.

The Barons met the forces of Edward II. at Boroughbridge, in 1322, and were totally routed, and their leaders, the Earl of Hereford was slain, and the Earl of Lancaster was taken prisoner, and afterwards executed at Pontefract. About thirty knights and barons suffered death on the scaffold in various parts of the country, so that terror might be widely spread. Some of the bodies were suspended for long periods in chains, and amongst the number were those of Sir Roger de Clifford, Sir John Mowbray, and Sir Jocalyn D’Eyville. They were hanged at York, and for three years their bodies were hung in chains, and then the Friar Preachers committed them to the ground. Another rebel, Sir Bartholomew de Badlesmere, was executed at Canterbury, and his head was cut off and spiked on the city gate at Canterbury.

At Boroughbridge Sir Andrew de Harcla displayed courage of a high order, and was rewarded with the title of the Earl of Carlisle, and military duties of a more important order were entrusted to him, but he did not long enjoy his honours. The Scots advanced into this country and met the English at the Abbey of Byland, and completely overpowered them; the Earl remaining inactive at Boroughbridge with 2,000 foot and horse soldiers. On a writ dated at Knaresborough, February 27th, 1323, he was tried for treachery, his collusion with the Scotch was clearly proved, and the following sentence was passed upon him:—“To be degraded both himself and his heirs from the rank of earl, to be ungirt of his sword, his gilded spurs hacked from his heels—said to be the first example of its kind—to be hanged, drawn, and beheaded, his heart and entrails torn out and burnt to ashes, and the ashes scattered to the winds; his carcase to be divided into four quarters, one to be hung on the top of the Tower at Carlisle, another at Newcastle, the third on the bridge at York, and the fourth at Shrewsbury, while his head was to be spiked on London Bridge.” “You may divide my body as you please,” said the Earl, “but I give my soul to God.” On March 3rd, 1323, the terrible sentence was carried out.

Under the year 1397, John Timbs, in his “Curiosities of London,” records that the heads of four traitor knights were spiked on London Bridge.

On Bramham Moor, Yorkshire, on Sunday, February 19th, 1408, Sir Thomas Rokeby, high sheriff of the county, fighting for Henry IV., completely defeated an army raised by the Earl of Northumberland, and other nobles who had revolted against the king. The Earl was slain on the field, and his chief associate, Lord Bardolf, was mortally wounded and taken prisoner, but died before he could be removed from the scene of the battle. The heads of these two noblemen were cut off, and that of the Earl placed upon a hedge-stake, and carried in a mock procession through the chief towns on the route to London, and finally found a resting-place on London Bridge. He was popular amongst his friends, and they greatly grieved at his death. It was indeed a sore trial to those who had loved him well to see his mutilated head, full of silver hairs, carried through the streets of London, a gruesome exhibition for a heartless public. The head of Lord Bardolf was also spiked on London Bridge.

Some passages in the life of Eleanor Cobham, first mistress and afterwards wife of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, furnish an insight into the superstitions of the period. She was tried in 1441 for treason and witchcraft. The chief charge against her was that she and her accomplices had made a waxen image of the reigning monarch, Henry VI., and placed it before a slow fire, believing that as the wax melted the king’s life would waste away. She was found guilty and had to do public penance in the streets of London, and was imprisoned for life in the Isle of Man. Three persons who had assisted her crimes suffered death. One Margaret Jourdain, of Eye, near Westminster, was burned in Smithfield. Southwell, a priest, died before execution in the Tower, and Sir Roger Bolinbroke, a priest, and reputed necromancer, was hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn, and his head was fixed on London Bridge. The Duchess, in the event of Henry’s death, expected that the Duke of Gloucester, as nearest heir of the house of Lancaster, would be crowned king.

The details of Jack Cade’s insurrection are well-known, and perhaps a copy of an inscription on a roadside monument at Heathfield, near Cuckfield in Sussex, will answer our present purpose:—

In 1496 two heads were placed on London Bridge; one was Flammock’s, a lawyer, and the other that of a farmer’s who had suffered death at Tyburn, for taking a leading part in a great Cornish insurrection.

John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, was tried, and executed on June 22nd, 1535, nominally for high treason, but, as a matter of fact, because he would not be a party to the king’s actions. Shortly before his execution the Pope sent to him a Cardinal’s hat. Said the king when he heard of the honour to be conferred upon the aged prelate, who was then about seventy-seven years old, “’Fore heaven, he shall wear it on his shoulders then, for by the time it arrives he shall not have a head to place it upon.”

Fisher met his death with firmness. At five o’clock in the morning of his execution he was awakened and the time named to him. He turned over in bed saying: “Then I can have two hours more sleep, as I am not to die until nine.” Two hours later he arose, dressed himself in his best apparel, saying, this was his wedding day, when he was to be married to death, and it was befitting to appear in becoming attire. His head was severed from his body, and after the executioner had removed all the clothing, he left the corpse on the scaffold until night, when it was removed by the guard to All Hallows Churchyard, and interred in a grave dug with their halberds. It was not suffered to remain there, but was exhumed and buried in the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula in the Tower. The head was spiked on London Bridge. Hall and others record that the features became fresher and more comely every day, and were life-like. Crowds were attracted to the strange sight, which was regarded as a miracle. This annoyed the king not a little, and he gave orders for the head to be thrown into the river.

A similar offence to that of Fisher’s brought to the block a month later the head of a still greater and wiser man, Sir Thomas More. He was far in advance of his times, and his teaching is bearing fruit in our day. His head was placed on London Bridge, until his devoted daughter, Margaret Roper, bribed a man to move it, and drop it into a boat in which she sat. She kept the sacred relic for many years, and at her death it was buried with her in a vault under St. Dunstan’s Church, Canterbury.