A new stone strong room has been built for the Royal Jewels, and one now sees the Regalia by day-light. It is a glittering show; but nothing seems to be very ancient in the collection, except the spoon wherewith anointing oil has been poured on all the royal heads that have been crowned since the days of Edward the Confessor. How many Archbishops have held its handle; how many princes have been touched with its bowl! At the bare thought, all the history of England seemed to rise before my sight, and I felt that there is a value in such symbols of a Nation’s continuous existence. When displayed, not as gewgaws of a vulgar pomp, but as the memorials of a fruitful antiquity, they cannot but inspire a sentiment of veneration in every beholder, and serve to keep alive the vestal flame of loyalty and love for a throne which is invested, indeed, with traditional splendours, but which rests on the surer foundations of existing freedom and righteous law. When I stood again in the open court, I longed to be told nothing so much as where the old Archbishop was confined, when he gave Strafford that parting benediction. It had been arranged by Usher, their common friend, that they should thus take leave of one another. The noble Strafford came forth walking to the scaffold on Tower-hill, but craved permission to do his last observance to his friend. For a moment he feared the old primate had forgotten him, but just then he appeared at the dismal window of his own prison. “My Lord—your prayers and your blessing”—said Strafford, kneeling down: and the benediction was given accordingly; after which the primate swooned in a fit of sorrow, while the stout Earl rising, said, “God protect your innocence,” and then stepped onward with a military bearing, and passed to his execution, as if it were to a triumph. Somewhere here, all this went on! I could almost fancy it before my eye. Then, too, I thought of Raleigh. And here, hard by, was the undoubted spot, within the walls, where stood the scaffold on which suffered the Queens Anne Boleyn and Katharine Howard; and Lady Jane Gray, more lovely and more innocent than either. But it was not the thing to be looking at such a spot in broad daylight. How much I should have been pleased with the privilege of lodging, just one night in the White Tower, not to sleep, but to stand at my window and look out upon the Court, and upon Tower-hill, by pale moonlight, and so—to think, and think, and think!