Up the long vista, thus presented, were visible thousands of groups, on horseback and on foot, decked out in gay and glittering colours: and as brilliant a scene displayed itself to the south, in the wide court before the palace, surrounding which appeared the venerable Abbey, the vast Hall, the long line of the royal dwelling, the monastery, the chapel of St. Stephen, with its tall belfry, and many another tower and lofty archway, and the old church of St. Margaret, built about a century and a half before, together with the lofty yet heavy buildings of the Woolstaple, and the row of arches underneath. Banners and pennons fluttering in the wind; long gowns of monks and secular clergymen; tabards and mantles of every hue under the sun; the robes and headdresses of the ladies and their women, and the gorgeous trappings of the horses, catching the light as they moved hither and thither, rendered the line from the Eleanor cross to the palace one living rainbow; while the river, flowing gently on upon the east, was covered with boats, all tricked out with streamers and fluttering ribbons. Even the grave, the old, and those dedicated to seclusion and serious thought, seemed to have come forth for this one day; and, amongst the crowd, might be distinguished more than one of the long, grey, black, or white gowns, with the coif and veil which marked the nun. All seemed gay, however; and nothing was heard but laughter, merriment, gay jests, the ringing of the bells, the sounding of clarions, and, every now and then, the deep tone of the organ, through the open windows of the Abbey, or a wild burst of martial music from the lesser court of the palace. Habited in black, as mourning for his unhappy cousin, Richard of Woodville felt himself hardly fitted for so gay a scene; but his good mien and courteous carriage gained him many a civil word as he moved along, or perchance some shrewd jest, as the frank simplicity of those days allowed. "Where is the black man going?" cried a pert London apprentice; "he must be chief mourner for the dead king." "Nay, he is fair enough to look upon, Tom," replied a pretty girl by his side. "You would give much to be as fair." "Take care of my toes, master," exclaimed a stout citizen; "your horse is mettlesome." "He shall not hurt you, good sir," replied Woodville. "Let me hold by your leg, sir squire," said a woman near, "so shall I have a stout prop." "Blessings on his fair, good-natured face!" cried an old woman; "he has lost his lady, I will wager my life." "You have not much there to lose, good mother," answered a man behind her. "Well, he will soon find another lady," rejoined a buxom dame, who seemed of the same party, "if he takes those eyes to court." "Out on it, master!" exclaimed a man who had been amusing the people round him by bad jokes; "is your horse a cut-purse? He had his nose in my pouch."