Another class of letters is concerned with piracies and outrages committed at sea.

Thus in 1364 the Mayor and Aldermen demand of Baudwyn de la Heuse, Admiral of France, compensation from the towns of Rouen, Harfleur, Caen, and Bayeux, for an outrage in which certain Norman sailors called “billecoks claybakes” had captured and pillaged a ship laden with tin. Again, there was the case of Thomas de Ware, citizen of London, who loaded a ship with wine, oil, pewter vessels, spurs, etc., to the tune of £231: 0: 10 and sent it across to Bruges. While sailing on “La Sheelde” the ship was attacked and pillaged by four Flemish ships. Would the city of Bruges make compensation, or would they prefer reprisals?

It is sometimes asserted that all the carrying trade for centuries was in the hands of foreigners, and especially of the Hanseatic merchants. This is not wholly true, for there were many ships belonging to the London merchant, the Merchant Adventurer; it is undoubtedly true that the Hanseatic Merchants at one time threatened to absorb the whole of the carrying trade, but they never quite succeeded. There were the English ships, a very large fleet which sailed every year to Bordeaux and back, bringing with them some fifteen thousand tuns of wine. They went forth together, and they came home together, for fear of the pirates who swarmed in the Channel and in the North Sea. Now and then the Hanseatics put forth their strength and drove the English vessels off the seas, but they went back again. In 1348 a pirate named Vitaliani seized Bruges, a city containing English as well as German Merchants, and looted it. We remember how Mayor Sir John Philpot manned a fleet, put himself on board, and destroyed the ships of Mercer the Scottish pirate. In 1440 the Bastard Falconbridge received the thanks of the City for his services against pirates. In consequence of the losses sustained at the hands of the Breton pirates, Edward III. granted to the towns of Dartmouth, Plymouth, and Fowey, the right to carry on war with Brittany. The people of Brittany, says the poet,

The Mayor and Aldermen also collected debts. Debt-collecting forms another class of letters. They wrote, for instance, to the Mayor and Bailiffs of Gloucester informing them that one John de St. Alban, pinner, owes Walter Wyredrawer, citizen of London, 41s. Will they get the money and send it up to London?

A great many letters refer to runaway apprentices. It must not be imagined that the condition of the prentice was always satisfactory, or that his conduct was always good. Very often he ran away, sometimes taking his master’s property with him; sometimes he complained that his master would not teach him his craft; sometimes his master sent him to prison for idleness or roguery; sometimes, when his articles were out, his master refused to get him his freedom; he then petitioned the Lord Mayor’s Court.

The letters always show that the City knew where the runaway prentice, or where any other kind of rogue that they wanted, was to be found. How were they traced? In country districts there was no resting-place or hiding-place found for persons escaping with stolen property. They could not sell it in the country; nor could they live on it; they were obliged, therefore, to take refuge in towns; all the towns were small, so the runaways could not hide or skulk in obscure corners, they had to declare themselves, their names, their quality. That this was the case is shown by these letters, many of which demand restitution for a citizen unjustly detained and deprived of his wares on suspicion of being a rogue.

Thus, Roger Bountayn, Citizen of London, was arrested at Chepstow as a suspicious person. For some unknown reason, for he was clearly a respectable citizen, he was unable to give an account of himself. Perhaps he stammered. So he was clapped into prison, and they took from him all he had; viz. 10s. 6d. in money, two chains and a ring of silver, worth 5s., and a robe trimmed with white budge (rabbit fur) worth 7s. 6d. I suppose that he communicated by means of some Lawyer or Merchant with the Mayor, who presently entreated the Bailiffs of Chepstow to make restitution “for love’s sake.”

For the same sweet reason, the Mayor and Bailiffs of Oxford were entreated to send to John English the goods, viz. a horse, half a sack of wool, and four nobles in money, taken by them from William Ware, the runaway apprentice of the said John English. Sometimes the Mayor and Corporation wrote an account of an injury which reveals, or seems to reveal, a great deal.

What possibilities, for instance, there are in the story of John de Walhouse! He was a citizen of London; and, being moved, one hopes, by piety and not by a morbid desire of change and travel, was resolved on going a pilgrimage. He might have gone to the Black Virgin of Willesden, in which case he could have taken his wife Lucy, and so might have done the job in one day. Or he might have gone to Our Lady of Walsingham, which would have taken a fortnight or three weeks. He could have taken his wife there, too. Nothing would do, however, but that he must go to Rome, a long journey of two thousand miles, too far for tender woman to endure. So he left her at home, in charge of all he had; perhaps, but this is not explained, in charge of the shop, if there were a shop. What happened in his absence? The Tempter came; he must have come, otherwise Lucy would not have behaved as she did. He came in the shape, form, and appearance of a young man of attractive manners. He flattered poor Lucy, who was but weak; he made love to her; he persuaded her to fly with him; and, as there was property in the house, they took the property with them—robes of fur, harness, mazers, all kinds of things. They loaded a pack-horse or two with these things and they travelled northwards. When the pilgrim returned, proud of his staff and cockleshells, bearing perhaps some priceless relic which a good friar had let him have for a mere trifle, burning to tell his wife about all his adventures, he found the house closed. Where was Lucy? The neighbours only knew that one morning, when they arose at break of day, the house was closed. Lucy must have gone through the gates of the City as soon as they were opened. While he stood agape with looks of distraction, one whispered in his ear, “Master, I know where they are—he and she—and your goods. They are at Lynn.” So the Mayor wrote the letter calling for restitution, and one knows nothing more, but fears the worst.

It was to Lynn that another sinner, John Aleyn, repaired, taking with him the goods of his mistress Alice. Again, there was the injury done to Peter Grubbe, who chartered a ship and sent her to Winchelsea to bring home a cargo of free wood. Observe that the Sussex forests were not then destroyed, and that the woods on the north of London were not sufficient to provide the City with fuel. The Captain loaded his ship, but then steered for Dunkirk, where he sold the cargo on his own account. Will the Echevins of Dunkirk, asks the Mayor of London, act honourably in the matter, and make Peter disgorge? It would be a pity to proceed to reprisals.

One more case. It is that of John de Hilton, citizen and pewterer. He thought himself quite safe when he went away to St. Ives’ Fair with his string of pack-horses and his load of pewter. For he had confided the care of his property to his servant Agnes, whom he trusted, as a woman of blameless life. Alas! Agnes had deceived her worthy master. She was a married woman who pretended to be single, and her husband was a great rogue. As soon as the master went away the husband concerted with his wife, and they carried off between them property left behind to the extent of £30: 14s. There were no banks in those days, nor were there any “running cashes” at the goldsmiths’ . What a man had he carried about, or kept in some safe place, unknown to the world. Agnes took with her £10 in gold, £6 in silver, silver pieces valued at 26s. 8d., fourteen silver spoons, 20s., one piece of cloth, 100s., one long furred robe, 33s. 4d., one short robe, 26s., one stone called “peletote,” 16s., rings of gold, 20s., and naperie, 20s.; the fugitives were traced to the City of Dublin. The Mayor of London writes to the Mayor of Dublin asking for the recovery of the goods, and the bringing of the two to justice.

Another class of letter was the Letter Patent, or the Letter Recommendatory. Two friars are going to Rome on business, they bear with them the Mayor’s Letter Recommendatory; a merchant is going to a country fair, he takes with him Letters Patent with the Mayor’s seal, stating that he is a good and true man and entitled to the privileges of the City. The unfortunate John de Radclive, born in St. Botolph’s Without Bishopsgate, asks for and obtains a letter from the Mayor, stating that his left ear, deficient by one half, was not, as many would think, struck off by the hangman as the concluding ceremony of procession and pillory, but was actually bitten off by a horse.

These extracts may conclude with a case which illustrates the custom of London as to testamentary disposition. It was that the testator could bequeath one-third of his estate as he wished, but that one-third must go to his heirs, sons, or brothers, and one-third to his widow. If, however, it could be shown that the heirs had received the part or the whole in advance, they would have nothing. These shares were called the “reasonable part.” The custom continued in London until 11 George I., i.e. 1725. In the case before us, the Mayor and Aldermen inform the Burgomasters and Echevins of Bruges, that Agatha, widow of Geoffrey de Wantynche, lately resident in Bruges, had brought over the property of her husband, or such of it as was portable, and had satisfied her husband’s two brothers Peter Brown and John Brown of Wantynche, brethren and heirs of the deceased, as to the “reasonable part” of the property. To this testimony they are asked to give credence “for love’s sake.”

Concerning the position of women in Mediæval London. The ladies of the Palace and the Castle certainly managed to obtain as much pleasure out of life as their modern descendants. The young maidens, who were, in a way, apprentices of the grande dame, learned how a household was to be managed; they sat at the spinning-wheel; they carded wool; they heckled flax; they embroidered very beautifully. As for amusements, they had plenty, for they danced, they sang, and danced as they sang; they played games, of which they possessed and knew an immense number; they listened to the reading of romances and to minstrels; they either heard music or they played music; they went to mass every morning; they told stories and asked riddles; they played chess and draughts; they rode; they went hunting; they went hawking; and they kept pets—larks, magpies, falcons, jays, parrots, squirrels, cats. In the spring and summer they passed a great deal of time in the garden—the literature of the period is full of the garden.

The ladies in the garden danced; they looked on at dancing; they played the mandoline and sang songs; the young knights sat with them and played and sang with them; they plucked the fruit; they played with their pets; they picked the flowers and made garlands—for themselves and the young gallants. The wife and daughters of a merchant had a garden, which they used in exactly the same way as the ladies of the Castle. A summer-house and a fountain were necessary accompaniments to every garden.

The great ladies had their bevy of maids in attendance, who sat at the spinning-wheel and embroidered. They made all kinds of fine things for themselves; they had their hawks and hounds; they practised music; they understood how to distil certain things. In the City, the merchant’s wife had her servants who made things, but not so much as in the country because there were shops where one could buy. Many of them, however, were skilled in the properties of herbs; they understood midwifery—it is remarkable that in the whole of Riley’s Memorials the midwife is never mentioned. Was every married woman, then, a practitioner among her friends? Or were there sages femmes? The amusements of the better sort in the City were, one imagines, principally the gossip and daily chat among friends, particularly after the morning mass. The women dined with their husbands in the Companies’ Halls; they held banquets in their own halls; they had dancers and mummers to amuse them; they had their children to bring up; and they paid great attention to their dress.

If we descend a step we find ourselves among the retailers and the craftsmen. The retailers or shopkeepers included many women—regratresses: there were alewives—brewsters—who made and brewed and sold their own beer; there were fish-wives—from time immemorial there have been fish-wives—there were “broiderers” and dressmakers of all kinds in immense numbers; there were weaverwomen—websters; women who baked—baksters; those who spun—spinsters; there were domestic servants; and there were many thousands of matrons who took care of the house, brought up the children, brewed the ale, bought and dressed the food, made and mended the clothes.

A married woman could rent a house, or carry on business in a shop or a craft on her own account; if her husband had nothing to do with the business she was to be charged as a femme sole. She could be sued for debt and she could be cast into prison, her husband being untouched.

The women who worked for their livelihood were cheated and defrauded, as they are now, for they had no companies or guilds, and no associations; they were paid in kind. Edward IV., for instance, passed an ordinance that the carders should pay their women servants in coin and should give them full weight of wool. Some of the women, as has happened since, occasionally got drunk; some played dishonest tricks, as that woman who was set in stocks for putting pitch into the beer measure, thereby lessening the quantity of the quart; or that fish-wife who sold stinking fish and stood in the stocks while her fish was burnt under her nose—a terrible punishment; there were scolds among them; there were in fact as many kinds of women as there are at present.

In a poem called “The most Pleasant Song of Lady Bessy,” by Humphrey Brereton, are the following lines which illustrate the education of noble ladies. “Lady Bessy” is Elizabeth of York, and she thus speaks:—

One little anecdote I must give to show the spirit that was then in the women of England. In the year 1404 the French effected a landing at Dartmouth, the landsmen turned against them armed; they were joined by their wives, who fought beside their husbands and drove off the invaders.

Another anecdote to show the small consideration held for women. In the year 1379 Sir John Arundel’s squadron, then at sea in the Channel, was overtaken by a storm. There were on board the ships sixty women, some of whom had gone with the sailors of their own accord, and others who had been forcibly carried off. To lighten the ship, every one of these wretched women was thrown into the sea and drowned.

The model bourgeoise is set forth in “How the Good Wyf taugte hir Dougter” (published by the E. E. Text Society in The Babees Book) beginning

The sum of her teaching is as follows: It is the aim of every woman to become a wife, she must therefore carefully consider her actions. In the first place, she must go to church every day and love God.

She must pay the church, dues; she must help the poor; in church she must pray, beads in hand, neither chattering nor laughing; she must be “of fair bearing and of good tongue.” If any man makes her an offer of marriage, she is to receive him courteously, whoever he may be, and must show the case to her friends, and she must not sit with him in any place where a scandal might arise. When she marries a man she must love him above all earthly things; she must answer him meekly; she must be fair of speech, mild of mood, true in word and deed, of good conscience. She must be of seemly semblance; she must not be loud in laughter. In the street she must not brandish her head or shake her shoulders; she must not swear; she must not gaze about in the streets; she must not visit the tavern; she must take “measurably” of the good ale; and must not get drunk. She must not go to see wrestlings or cock-throwing like a strumpet—the ways of the class, one observes, remain unchanged—they went to public shows then just as they go to the Music Halls now. Again, if a strange man speaks to her in the street she is to greet him and pass on; above all things she must not stand and talk with him lest he tempt her with gifts. She is to govern her household wisely and set everybody to work early; if need be, she will work herself; she will see that when work is done things are put away; on pay day she must administer the wages. She is not to envy her neighbour’s fine attire, but to behave in a friendly spirit towards her neighbours.

She must not ruin her husband with extravagance, nor must she borrow. She must not spare the rod if her children “been rebel.” As soon as her daughters are born she will begin to collect things for them against their marriage—this leads us to think that the wife was expected to contribute part at least of the furniture of the house: or was it a dot that was gathered and stored up for the girl?

That is enough; the good mother supposes the life of a housewife, able to work herself if need be, i.e. work of making and sewing, embroidering, brewing, cooking, and all kinds of household work; obedient to church and husband; a fond mother, a good manager. There is not a single word said of books or of learning, of reading or of writing—was the bourgeoise not taught to read and write? I do not know. But I imagine, remembering the custom later on, that the woman was taught to read, but that she seldom had any occasion to use that accomplishment. Nothing, again, is said of any amusements, we are not in the gardens of the Castle, we are in a City street, the house is one of a cluster, each house facing a different way, perhaps, gabled, the storeys projecting one above the other, we look out across the narrow street upon another house like this. At the back is a small garden, the doors are all open and the housewives come out and talk to each other about the prices of everything, which have gone up horribly within the memory of people still young; within, the maids and the daughters work and whisper. The rod hangs upon the wall for those who talk and do not work.

We learn, from the frequent practice of bequeathing a dowry, that it was customary to endow a girl with a marriage portion. Thus in 1341 Richard atte Gate leaves his daughter Agnes ten pounds of silver for her marriage; in 1342 Nicholas Crane, fishmonger, leaves Amina his niece £20 sterling for her marriage portion, a robe valued at 20s., and divers household stuffs. In 1340 Lucy Wycombe leaves her daughter Johanna certain rents in Eastcheap, certain household goods, and a letter patent of the King worth £100, all for her dowry. In 1344 Philip Swift leaves an annuity to hand out of his estate to Juliana his daughter for her marriage. If a girl, the daughter of a citizen, was left an orphan, the right of giving her in marriage belonged to the Mayor and Commonalty.

It was held to be greatly meritorious for a widow to make a solemn vow of chastity in honour of her deceased husband. Such an act had to be first allowed by the Bishop before whom the widow was led, and after the celebration of mass she made her vow in these words:—

“I ... M. or N. heretofore the wife of M. or N. vow to God and to our Holy Lady Saint Mary and to all Saints in the presence of our Reverend Father in God M. or N. by the grace of God Bishop of M. or N. that I will be chaste henceforth during my life.”

And the Bishop, after receiving her vow, put a ring upon her finger and clad her in a mantle which she was to wear during the rest of her life.

I must now touch upon a subject which belongs to every great town in all times, namely, the existence of the disorderly woman. There is little direct information on the subject, but indirectly much may be inferred. Thus in 1281 women of the town were ordered to wear hoods lined with common lambskin or rabbitskin and not with richer furs. In 1351 such women were ordered to wear abroad a hood made of ray only, and without lining of any kind, i.e. they were not to set off their faces by beautiful hoods, and thus try to make themselves attractive. In the year 1382 they were again enjoined to wear hoods of ray only. In the year 1393 they were admonished to keep within the quarters assigned to them on Bankside, and in Cock Lane, Smithfield, and they were ordered not on any account to presume to be seen in any tavern, street, or public place outside these limits. These repeated ordinances clearly point to a considerable number of such women, and to their intrusion into respectable places.

John of Northampton, Mayor and Reformer, took upon himself the duty of the Bishop, and cleansed the City of the disorderly women, ordering any woman guilty of unchaste deeds to be carried through the City on a cart and placed in stocks, with her hair cut off.

In the year 1385 there is a suggestive case. It is that of Elizabeth, wife of Henry Moring, who, under the cover of the craft of brodery, which she pretended to follow, took in one Johanna and other girls as apprentices, but instead of teaching them that craft she incited them to follow a lewd life, and let them out on hire to friars and chaplains and other men.

From time to time there were attempts to get rid of the scandal, especially among the followers of the court and camp. The women were driven away, but they came back again; they were punished in the most cruel manner; they were made hideous by slitting their noses and even cutting off their lips, yet more women came.

Everything, in a word, points to the fact that in spite of all ordinances and provisions, London was then, as now, greatly frequented by the disorderly woman. She was musician, singer, dancer, and tumbler; tambourine in hand, she haunted the taverns; she followed the army in multitudes; she arrayed herself in gorgeous clothing to entice the young priest and the friar; she would not be restrained within certain quarters; she lived in the Palace; she belonged to the Court; when her beauty faded, unless she died, as often happened, she became servant to those who succeeded her; or she became an alewife; or she procured and enticed girls to take her place and follow in her steps. History is almost silent about her; yet we can make out so much. Her appointed places were Bankside and Cock Lane: near the former place there lay, until quite recently, a narrow patch of green without any tombs or tombstones—it is now a timber yard. It was the graveyard of the “Single Women.” They existed—they still exist,—because there was then—as there is now—a whole army of single men. Then there were thousands of priests, monks, and friars, thousands of men-at-arms following in the livery of this Lord and that Lord; now there are thousands of men, no longer ecclesiastics and soldiers, but of every profession and every trade, who remain unmarried into middle life, for whom the “single” woman still exists. Now, as formerly, the only way to abolish the courtesan is to teach the young men restraint.

The maintenance of houses for the reception of prostitutes was always strictly forbidden within the walls of the City. The licensed houses of Bankside were kept up until the reign of Henry VII., then they were closed: but the old traditions clung to the place, and the women, if they were banished, quickly returned. Ordinances for the management of the houses and regulations for the prevention of disorder were issued by Henry II., by Edward III., by Richard II., and by Henry VI. The following is the information upon the subject given by Stow:—

“Next on this bank was sometime the Bordello, or Stewes, a place so called of certain stew-houses privileged there, for the repair of incontinent men to the like women: of the which privilege I have read thus:

In a Parliament holden at Westminster, the eighth of Henry the Second, it was ordained by the Commons, and confirmed by the King and Lords, that divers constitutions for ever should be kept within that lordship or franchise, according to the old customs that had been there used time out of mind.

I have also seen divers patents of confirmation, namely, one dated 1345, the nineteenth of Edward the Third. Also, I find that in the fourth of Richard the Second these stew-houses, belonging to William Walworth, then Mayor of London, were farmed by ‘Froes’ of Flanders, and spoiled by Wat Tyler and other rebels of Kent: notwithstanding, I find that ordinances for the same place and houses were again confirmed in the reign of Henry the Sixth to be continued as before. Also, Robert Fabian writeth, that in the year 1506 the twenty-first of Henry the Seventh, the said stew-houses in Southwarke were for a season inhibited, and the doors closed up, but it was not long (saith he) ere the houses there were set open again, as many as were permitted for (as it was said) whereas before were eighteen houses, from thenceforth were appointed to be used but twelve only. These allowed stew-houses had signs on their fronts, towards the Thames, not hanged out, but painted on the walls, as a Boar’s Head, the Cross Keys, the Gun, the Castle, the Crane, the Cardinal’s Hat, the Bell, the Swan, etc. I have heard of ancient men, of good credit, report, that these single women were forbidden the rites of the Church so long as they continued that sinful life, and were excluded from Christian burial, if they were not reconciled before their death. And therefore there was a plot of ground called the Single Woman’s Churchyard, appointed for them far from the parish Church.

In the year of Christ 1546, the thirty-seventh of Henry the Eighth, this row of stews in Southwarke was put down by the King’s commandment, which was proclaimed by sound of trumpet, no more to be privileged, and used as a common brothel, but the inhabitants of the same to keep good and honest rule as in other places of this realm, etc.”

To turn to another subject. In the account of the early days of St. Thomas à Becket we get a glimpse of the London merchant’s home which, like Fitzstephen’s description of London, goes not far enough. The future Archbishop, Martyr, and Saint was born where the present Mercers’ Chapel stands in Cheapside. His father, Gilbert, was of knightly family, a native of Thierceville, a little town near the Abbey of Bec in Normandy. He appears to have migrated to Rouen while still young; there he married Roesia, daughter of a burgher of Caen. The young couple came over to London about the year 1116 and here prospered. It has been suggested that Gilbert of Rouen and Roesia of Caen were Thomas’s grandparents and that his father, Gilbert, was born in London and that his mother’s name was Matilda. It seems difficult to understand how a simple burgher from Rouen should in two or three years become a leading citizen in London, even, according to his biographer, vice-comes, i.e. portreeve. He was a man at one time of large property; he founded a chapel in St. Paul’s Churchyard, where he was himself buried; and for many years the newly elected Mayor paid a visit on his election to the tomb of Gilbert. To say that Gilbert came over in the wake of the Conqueror is absurd, because he must then have been of age, which would make him seventy, at least, when Thomas was born. Yet he was a leading citizen of London during the years of his boyhood, and this fact is impossible to explain on the assumption that Gilbert came over in 1116. If, however, his father, the elder Gilbert, came over in 1066 or thereabouts, being then, perhaps, twenty years of age, a son of his, born say in 1086, might very well be the father of Thomas, born in 1118. (See also p. 8).

The City of London in any case claimed the saint as her own son:

“Me quae te peperi, ne cesses, Thoma, tueri.”

Gilbert claimed kinship with the Norman Theobald; among his friends was one Rechin de l’Aigle of Pevensey, a noble of Norman birth, who lodged with Gilbert when he came to London.

The visions which came to the mother before the birth of her child are pleasing in their simplicity. We are told that she saw her child standing before her at the door of Canterbury Cathedral; that twelve bright stars dropped into her lap; and that she dreamed that she was giving birth to the Cathedral itself. There is the pretty story of the baby’s coverlet. Roesia (or Matilda) found fault with the nurse for not laying a coverlet over him in his cradle. “Why,” said the nurse, “he has already got a beautiful red silk coverlet.” She took it up and unfolded it. The coverlet proved too big for the room; it was too big for the hall; it was too big for the street; it was too big for Smithfield.

The mother placed Thomas under the special protection of the Virgin, who saved him from a fever—when she came to him in a vision and gave him the keys of Heaven. She also saved him by a miracle when he fell into the stream and was nearly drawn into the mill-wheel.

It was the mother’s godly custom to put the child into a scale and to weigh him against bread, meat, clothes, and money which she gave to the poor. She died when the boy was twenty-one. If only the good and pious soul could have lived to see her boy a glorified Saint! He was sent to school at Merton Priory—not one of the City schools. From Merton he was sent to Paris. On his return he found that his father had suffered losses, having had his house burned over his head three times. He then, with the intention of becoming a merchant, entered into the counting-house of one Osbern Huitdeniers “of great name and repute.” Two Normans, however, named Baldwin the Archdeacon and Eustace of Boulogne, who lodged with Gilbert when they were in London, remarked the intelligence of the young man, Gilbert’s son, and introduced him to Theobald. The rest of the story belongs to history.

Here is a glimpse of City manners. To Thomas, son of Hugh atte Bow, citizen and mercer, was left the sum of £300 on the death of his father. This sum was deposited with Robert de Brinkeleye, mercer, to be kept and judiciously employed for the profit of the boy. Robert had the use of this sum for thirteen years. He paid yearly for the use of the money “according to the custom of the City” 4s. for every pound, or £60 a year, which is 20 per cent. This makes £780, so that when Thomas came of age he would have had, but for deductions, the sum of £1080, equivalent to about £15,000 of our money. But Robert, also according to the custom of the City, sent in a bill for 2s. in the pound per annum for the said £300 for his trouble in the guardianship of the boy. That amounted to £390. Further, he charged for the board of Thomas 2s. a week or 104 shillings yearly, which amounted to £67: 12s. For the clothes of Thomas he charged 40 shillings a year or £26 in all. Also, for teaching, 2 marks yearly for ten years, making 20 marks or £13: 6: 8. Also, for learning to ride and for work and residence at Oxford £13 more. It was not, therefore, uncommon for the son of a London merchant to study at Oxford. In all, the guardian’s charges amounted to £509: 18: 8, so that Thomas’s inheritance came to £570: 1: 4. This little history shows that the cost of maintenance of a boy at that time was no more than 3½d. a day; that education could be had for £1: 6: 8 a year, and that for the use of money 20 per cent was considered a fair charge.

The cost of keeping a girl, perhaps not an heiress, in the case of a certain Alice, was reckoned at 8d. a week, and the cost of her clothes at 13s. 4d. a year.

We may now consider the expenses of London members of Parliament. In the year 1389 Parliament was held at Cambridge and was attended by four representatives of the City, viz. Adam Bamme, Henry Vanner, William Tonge, and John Clenhond. They rode down together, taking with them or sending before them two pipes of red wine. They hired a house at Cambridge, but were compelled to take one nearly ruinous; the woodwork was rotten, the roof leaky, the plaster broken. A thorough repair of the house was carried out; the rubbish with which it was filled was carted away, fine stools and forms were made; tablecloths, cushions, and wall-hangings of striped worsted were bought; eating, drinking, and cooking utensils were procured; fuel, consisting of firewood, charcoal, turf and sedge, was laid in; and the bills for the whole attendance were sent in to the Corporation and by them paid. They show that the journey to Cambridge and back of the party, with their servants and “harness,” cost £7: 16: 8; the distance we know is 57 miles or 114 miles there and back; but the number of servants we do not know; and we cannot get at the items. But this was what the City had to pay for its members of Parliament. The total may be reckoned, money being worth then fifteen times its present value, at least, at about £1500, which is an enormous bill.

The language used in London was most certainly always English. The better class undoubtedly understood that kind of French which Chaucer called the French of Stratford-atte-Bow. For the nunnery of St. Leonard, Bow, was an ancient Benedictine Foundation, where Anglo-French was taught by the nuns.

The people never spoke any other language than English. The proceedings at the Court of Hustings were in English, so were those of the Folk mote and the Ward mote; the sermons were in English; the miracle plays were in English: the Early English Text Society has unearthed and published a vast mass of Early English, not Anglo-Norman, work, consisting of popular songs, satirical verses, paraphrases of Scripture, rules of Anchorites and monks, and translations.

At Oxford the students translated into French and English alternately, “ne illa lingua Gallica penitus sit omissa.” Chaucer knew Anglo-French, but wrote in English, and he wrote for the better class, not the common people. Gower wrote first in French, then in Latin, and lastly in English. In the year 1362, Parliament was opened by a speech in English: about the same time the Courts of Law were ordered to be held in English.

The custom of the Anglo-Saxon of the present day, who, wherever he is found, imposes his language upon the markets in place of the language of any other trader, no doubt prevailed on the quays and at the port of London then, where the polyglot Babel of the foreign sailors had to be reduced to the common English for the transaction of business.

Skeat has the following remarks on Chaucer’s “French of Stratford-atte-Bow”:—

“There is nothing to show that Chaucer here speaks slightingly of the French spoken by the Prioress, though this view is commonly adopted by newspaper-writers who know only this one line of Chaucer, and cannot forbear to use it in jest. Even Tyrwhitt and Wright have thoughtlessly given currency to this idea: and it is worth remarking that Tyrwhitt’s conclusion as to Chaucer thinking but meanly of Anglo-French was derived (as he tells us) from a remark in the Prologue to the Testament of Love, which Chaucer did not write. But Chaucer merely states a fact, viz., that the Prioress spoke the usual Anglo-French of the English Court, of the English law-courts, and of the English ecclesiastics of the higher rank. The poet, however, had been himself in France, and knew precisely the difference between the two dialects: but he had no special reason for thinking more highly of the Parisian than of the Anglo-French. He merely states that the French which she spoke so ‘fetisly’ was, naturally, such as was spoken in England. She had never travelled, and was therefore quite satisfied with the French which she had learnt at home. The language of the King of England was quite as good, in the esteem of Chaucer’s hearers, as that of the King of France; in fact, King Edward called himself king of France as well as of England, and King John, was, at one time, merely his prisoner. Warton’s note on the line is quite sane. He shows that Queen Philippa wrote business letters in French (doubtless Anglo-French) with ‘great propriety.’ What Mr. Wright means by saying that ‘it was similar to that used at a later period in the courts of law’ is somewhat puzzling. It was, of course, not similar to, but the very same language as was used at the very same period in the courts of law. In fact, he and Tyrwhitt have unconsciously given us the view entertained, not by Chaucer, but by unthinking readers of the present age: a view which is not expressed and was probably not intended. At the modern Stratford we may find Parisian French inefficiently taught: but at the ancient Stratford, the very important Anglo-French was taught efficiently enough.”

Lydgate’s poem called “London Lickpenny,” because the City drinks and absorbs the visitor’s money, contains the most lively picture of the streets of London in the fifteenth century. The title, as Skeat has pointed out, was wrongly conjectured (by Halliwell) to mean “London Lackpenny”:—