“Big Ben,” the great bell on the clock-tower, was just booming ten deep strokes as our party neared the Houses of Parliament. A steadily rushing stream of people, buses, hansoms, and trucks (not forgetting bicycles, which are still numerous in England), was pouring across Westminster Bridge, and swinging around the corner into the wide street called Whitehall; but in the near vicinity of the graceful, long building, with its pinnacles and spires, in which the English laws are made, all was quiet and few people were moving about. In a square court from which steps lead down to the river, a sentinel was pacing back and forth.

“In the days when the Thames was the most used highway of the Londoners, here was probably one of the places where the nobles could step on shore from their luxurious barges.” Mrs. Pitt said this as they were looking down upon the soldier from the street above.

Close up against one side of the Houses of Parliament is Westminster Hall, with its quaint row of supporting buttresses. This ancient edifice was built by William Rufus, the son of the Conqueror himself. Having entered by St. Stephen’s Porch, the usual approach, they went down a few steps at the left into this fine old room. It is empty now, and its vastness is unadorned except by some statues of kings and queens along the sides.

“This hall,” stated Mrs. Pitt, “was first begun by William Rufus, but it has been restored and added to at various times by many of the other sovereigns. It also formed part of the ancient Palace of Westminster. I want you to notice especially the oak roof with its heavy timbers, and unsupported by any columns. It is considered very fine in its construction, and I think it beautiful, as well. Have you the guidebook, Philip? Read to us some of the great events of the hall while we stand here.”

So Philip began. “Well, some of the earliest meetings of Parliament were held here; also, all the kings as far down the line as George IV have celebrated their coronation feasts in this hall. Here Charles I was tried and condemned (there’s a brass in the floor which marks where he stood at the trial), and here Cromwell in royal purple robes was received as Lord Protector. Some of the others who were tried here are William Wallace, the Scotch patriot, Sir Thomas More, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Guy Fawkes, and the Earls of Essex and Strafford. Until very recently the Law Courts adjoined here.”

“Thank you, Philip; now, if you are ready, Betty, we’ll go on and see something more of this great building.”

It gives one a slight idea of the extent of the huge structure to know that therein are one hundred stairways and eleven hundred rooms! Visitors are shown the “King’s Robing-room,” the “Victoria or Royal Gallery,” the “Prince’s Chamber,” and so many rooms and corridors, that it is impossible to remember them all, or even to appreciate them at the time of a visit. Fine wall paintings, statues, and rich decorations of all kinds abound. Both the rooms where sit the House of Peers and the House of Commons, respectively, are magnificent apartments; perhaps the former is rather more splendid in appearance, with its stained-glass windows picturing all the English sovereigns, its frescoes, and throne, with the gilded canopy.

As they finally passed out and started over toward Westminster Abbey, Mrs. Pitt said:

“It was at one of these entrances (perhaps at the very one by which we just left), that a most curious thing happened in 1738. It had just been decided that ladies should no longer be permitted in the galleries of the Houses. Certain noble dames who were most indignant at this new rule, presented themselves in a body at the door. They were, of course, politely refused admission, and having tried every known means of gaining entrance, they remained at the door all day, kicking and pounding from time to time. Finally, one of them thought of the following plan. For some time they stood there in perfect quiet; some one within opened a door to see if they were really gone, whereupon they all rushed in. They remained in the galleries until the ‘House rose,’ laughing and tittering so loudly that Lord Hervey made a great failure of his speech. Wasn’t that absurd? It seems that there were ‘Suffragettes’ long before the twentieth century.”

Arrived at the Poets’ Corner once again, they found that one of the vergers was just about to conduct a party “in behind the scenes,” as Barbara called it. “Behind the scenes” includes the Chapel of Henry VII and that of Edward the Confessor, besides the many smaller ones which surround the choir.

These little irregular chapels are crowded with all sorts of tombs, from those of the long effigy to those of the high canopy. Sometimes a husband and wife are represented on the tomb, their figures either kneeling side by side, or facing each other. Often the sons and daughters of the deceased are shown in quaint little reliefs extending all around the four sides of a monument. The figures are of alabaster or marble, and there are frequently fine brasses on them which bear the inscriptions. It is interesting to remember that the effigy or reclining figure of a Crusader always has the legs crossed.

A flight of black marble steps leads up to Henry VII’s Chapel. Betty thought this reminded her a little of the choir of St. George’s Chapel at Windsor, and it is true that the two are somewhat similar. To build this memorial to himself, Henry VII tore down another chapel, and also an old house in which the poet Chaucer once lived. The loveliest feature of this chapel is the “fan-tracery” of the ceiling. Its delicacy and grace are very beautiful! There are wonderfully carved oak choir-stalls here also, each having been assigned to a certain Knight of the Order of the Bath, and decorated with the Knight’s armorial bearings. Above each stall is a sword and a banner of faded colors. The tomb of the founder, Henry VII, and of his wife, Elizabeth of York, is in the center of the chapel, and surrounded by a brass screen. George II and several members of his family, Edward VI, Charles II, William and Mary, Queen Anne and her consort, and Cromwell, are all buried near by most of them having no monuments. In the north aisle of this chapel is the tomb of the great Queen Elizabeth, and just opposite it, in the south aisle, is that of her cousin and enemy, poor Mary Queen of Scots.

Just behind the high altar is the chapel of Edward the Confessor, containing the once splendid, mediaeval tomb of that sainted King. Its precious stones have been stolen away now, and the whole is covered by a gorgeous cloth put there at the coronation of Edward VII.

“I’ve seen the tombs of so many kings and queens,” exclaimed John, heaving a sigh, “that I truly can’t take in any more. Why, they’re so thick all around here that you can’t move without bumping into three or four of ’em! There’s Henry V, and overhead the shield and helmet he used at Agincourt; and here’s Edward I, and Richard II, and Edward III, and Queen Eleanor, and Queen Philippa. Who was she? Oh, here’s the old Coronation Chair, isn’t it?” At sight of this, he once more became interested.

This famous old chair was made in the time of Edward I, and every English sovereign since that day has been crowned in it. Underneath the seat of the chair is kept the ancient Stone of Scone, which is said to have been used as a pillow by the patriarch Jacob. Edward I, in 1297, brought the stone from Scotland as a sign of his power over that country, and placed it in the Abbey. King Edward III’s sword and shield-of-state stand beside the chair. There is something about these three objects which makes one stand long before them. They are so ancient so deeply impressive and embody so much of English history itself.

In a little room above one of the smaller chapels are found the curious Wax Effigies. These figures made of wax, and of life size, were carried at funerals, and were intended to look like the deceased, and dressed in their clothes. They are very ghastly, robed in their faded, torn garments, as each peers out from its glass-case. Queen Elizabeth, Charles II, William and Mary, Queen Anne, General Monk, William Pitt, and Lord Nelson are among those represented.

Betty stood before the figure of Queen Elizabeth, whose waxen face is pinched and worn, and really most horrible to look at.

“Didn’t she die propped up on the floor in all her State robes?” asked Betty.

“Yes,” was Mrs. Pitt’s reply. “It isn’t any wonder that she looked like that, is it? She is said to have been beautiful in her youth, but later, she became so very ugly that her ladies-in-waiting got false looking-glasses, for they didn’t dare to allow their mistress to see her wrinkles.”

After lingering for a short time in the grand old Abbey, they all mounted a bus and rode down to Bishopsgate Street to take lunch, at Crosby Hall. This splendid old example of a London mediaeval palace (having had a varied career since its great days), is now turned into a restaurant, and our party took seats at a long table in what was once the Banqueting-hall.

“This is really a very historic old house,” declared Mrs. Pitt. “It was built in 1470 by Alderman Sir John Crosby, who died about the time it was finished, and it passed into the hands of the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard III. Here, that cruel man had the news of the successful murder of the little Princes in the Tower, and here held his great feasts in this room, I suppose.”

They were all looking about at the lofty hall with its carved oak ceiling, minstrels’ gallery, stained-glass windows, and large fireplace.

“This has recently all been restored, and I suppose it gives us a very slight idea of its past glory. Later on, Sir Thomas More lived here, and then Philip Sidney’s sister, the Countess of Pembroke, owned it. Shakespeare mentions it in his play of ‘Richard III,’ you know. In mediaeval times, there were many great houses in London (Baynard’s Castle and Cold Harbour foremost among them), but all except a little part of Crosby Hall have disappeared. The owners of these houses, the wealthy nobles, lived in great magnificence, having four, six, or even eight hundred servants. Just fancy how large the establishments must have been! In Queen Elizabeth’s day, the French Ambassador was lodged here with four hundred retainers. At that time, there were more great palaces in London than there were in Verona, Florence, Venice, and Genoa, all counted together; but instead of being situated on the Grand Canal or in a spacious square, the English palaces stood in narrow, filthy streets, surrounded by the poor hovels of the common people. It seems to me that our lunch is a long time coming,” she commented.

Adjoining Crosby Hall is a very interesting church St. Helen’s, which has been called the “Westminster Abbey of the City,” because of famous citizens of “the City,” who are buried there. Among them is Sir Thomas Gresham, the great merchant of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, who founded the Royal Exchange, and did much to increase London’s trade. The church dating mostly from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century is very quaint and old. It consists of two parallel naves, divided by pillars.

“The church was once connected with an ancient nunnery which covered the whole square outside. The naves were originally quite separated by a partition; one side was used by the nuns, and the other by the regular members of the parish. Shakespeare once lived in St. Helen’s parish, and is charged up on the church books with a sum of something over five pounds.” Mrs. Pitt gave this information as they walked about, gradually growing accustomed to the dim light.

“See here, John,” whispered Philip; “here’s something interesting. It’s this little square hole in the wall, which is called the ‘nuns’ squint.’ That woman, whom I suppose is the caretaker, has just been telling me what that means. You see, the nunnery was on this side, or, at any rate, the part where the nuns slept. When a nun was dying, the rest would carry her to that little ‘squint,’ and in that way she could look through to the church and see the altar.”

Leaving St. Helen’s Place, and passing the picturesque, narrow façade (or front) of Crosby Hall, Mrs. Pitt took them along Cheapside, one of the most crowded streets of the city. The amount of traffic is tremendous there, and it is said that sometimes teams are held eight hours in the alleys before they can get out. They noted Bow Church, and the site of John Gilpin’s house at the corner of Paternoster Row.

“Oh, is that the John Gilpin in Cowper’s poem?” cried John, excitedly. “He lived here, did he? And where did he ride to?”

“I believe he went out through Tottenham and Edmonton. Mrs. Gilpin was at the Bell Inn at Edmonton when she saw her husband fly by. Over the entrance at the Bell is such a funny picture of the scene! They don’t know just where he went, do they, Mother?” inquired Barbara.

“No, I rather think not,” was Mrs. Pitt’s laughing answer. “Let’s walk through Paternoster Row, now. The little bookshops are so old and quaint! For centuries the booksellers have been loyal to this locality, but I hear that they are beginning to move elsewhere now. Here’s Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane is not far away. In London, there’s a reason for the name of almost every street. The monks, in walking from the river to St. Paul’s, used to be telling their beads and reciting their prayers all the while. You see, the Ave Maria was said at this point, and back at the corner came an Amen. In olden days, the makers of rosaries and paternósters had their shops in the little street we have just left, as well as the booksellers. The streets leading off Cheapside show what business was carried on there; for instance, on the south side are Bread, Candles, Soap, Fish, and Money-changing; and on the north side are Wood, Milk, Iron, Honey, and Poultry. By the by, the poet Milton was born in Bread Street. The ironmongers congregated in Ironmongers Lane; the vintners or wine-merchants were in the Vintry; and the makers of hosiery in Hosiery Lane. Now we’ll go to Chancery Lane, and pay a short visit to the Record Office, for there are some things there which I want you to see.”

The Public Record Office is a modern building, constructed for the purpose of keeping the valuable State documents and archives, which, during the present reign, have been moved from the Tower and the Chapter House of Westminster Abbey. The different departments of government are continually handing over to the Record Office papers which are no longer needed for daily use. Among the intensely interesting treasures of this museum are the logbooks of the Royal Navy, and dispatches from Marlborough, Wellington, and others. There are State papers of Wolsey, and Thomas Cromwell, and letters of all the kings and queens, as well as of Chaucer, the Black Prince, Raleigh at the Tower, Lady Jane Grey as Queen, Sir Philip Sidney on his death-bed, and many, many others of equal interest.

“Why, you’d need a whole week to see all these!” exclaimed Betty, looking up from her examination of a paper containing the confessions of Guy Fawkes.

Mrs. Pitt glanced at her quickly. She was excited, and her face was flushed.

“Yes, and we must not stay any longer, for we have seen enough for one day. I want to show you just one more thing before we go, however, and this is more wonderful than all the rest. See, it is the great Doomsday Book!”

Carefully kept under glass, in cases furnished with dark shades to pull over when the books are not being examined, are the two large volumes of what is known as the “Doomsday Book.” On the ancient, yellowed parchment pages, and in strange old characters, are the records, made at the time of William the Conqueror, of the disposal of the lands of England among his Norman nobles. It is simply impossible to believe that it is authentic, that such a very ancient relic really can exist!

They soon felt tired and ready to leave any further examination of the papers until another visit, however. There are times when all sight-seers, no matter how enthusiastic, come to a point where for that day they can appreciate no more. So our party adjourned to a little tea-shop in Regent Street, and afterwards, to make a few purchases at that fascinating shop, Liberty’s.