"Methinks they say, 'Come not to London, Francis! Come not to London town!' But is there not in truth amidst all their toning some melody or chant?" "There is, child, but not as thou hast so fancifully thought a warning to thee. How melodious is their chime! Think the rather on that than on aught else." "Yes, my lord; and how wonderful is the city! Marry! whatever betides I shall have seen London!" She sat erect as she spoke, and drank in the scene with appreciative eyes. Lord Shrope looked at Britain's metropolis with pride. The last rays of the setting sun fell lingeringly upon the great city. For great it was though it numbered but one and thirty thousand inhabitants at this time. Paris alone excelled it in numbers. London, as the representative of England in her supremacy of the seas, her intellectual grandeur, and above all as the friend of those who dared to oppose the power of Rome, London stood in the eyes of all men as the greatest city of the world. The towers and turrets that gleamed above the strong walls that encircled the city; the sure gates that gave entrance thereto; the princely palaces with their large gardens, rich porches and stately galleries; the open fields that came up close to the walls; the distant hills of Essex, Middlesex, Surrey and Kent covered thickly with woods; the silvery Thames, the silent highway of the Londoners, its bosom covered by a forest of masts and spanned by the great bridge,--even then old,--with its gateways, towers, drawbridges, houses, mills, chapel and wharfs; all these went to make a picture that thrilled every English heart. The girl looked first this way and then that as though she could never drink her fill. "My lord," she cried, "prithee tell me which of all those turrets is the Tower?" "To the east, child. The white tower that rises so majestically from the surrounding turrets. Therein is written the whole history of England. That is the lofty citadel which it is said the great Julius himself raised. And yonder lies Saint Paul's. That sombre and dungeon like stronghold is Baynard's castle. To our left is Westminster, and yon beautiful palace is Whitehall. It is known of all men how it reverted to the crown at the fall of Wolsey. The queen's father adorned it in its present manner. There stands Somerset house, and yonder is Crosby. On the bankside in Southwark are the theatres and Paris gardens where are the bear pits. Look about thee, Francis. On every building, almost on every stone is writ the history of our forbears. On all those walls are traces of Roman, Briton, Anglo-Saxon and Norman. History in stone. What sermons they might preach to us had they but tongues!" "It is beautiful!" said Francis again. "The bells have ceased their chiming," said Lord Shrope. "I would not break into thy enjoyment, child, but we must hasten. Before the darkness falls we must enter Greenwich where Elizabeth is."