In the northeast corner of the White Tower is a massive staircase, connecting the three stories. The column around which the stairs wind is a remarkable and well preserved specimen of ancient masonry. A wall seven feet in thickness runs north and south, which divides the tower from base to summit. Another wall extending east and west subdivides the southern portion into unequal parts, forming in each story one large and two small rooms. The smallest division on the ground floor is called Queen Elizabeth’s Armory, being filled with armor and trappings of her day. On the north side of this room, one is shown a cell formed in the thickness of the wall, ten feet long and eight wide, receiving no light save from the entrance. In this dark and dismal room was imprisoned for twelve long years the gay and brilliant courtier, Sir Walter Raleigh, on suspicion merely of being implicated in a plot to place the Lady Arabella Stuart, the niece of the unfortunate Queen of Scots, on the throne of England. This ill-fated lady also perished in the tower, her reason having been dethroned by her long and cruel captivity. In the year she died, Sir Walter was released and sent to South America to search for gold mines; returning unsuccessful he was remanded to the Tower, and beheaded in 1618 to please the Spaniards. James First wished to gain their favor, as his son Prince Charles was to be married to the Infanta. Raleigh’s bravery and valor had been too often directed against the Spaniards for them not to exult over his cruel fate. In this wretched and gloomy cell, it is said, he wrote his “History of the World.” In the center of this armory are various instruments of torture; about the room are stands of weapons, halberds, battle axes, maces and bills, and military instruments for cutting the bridles of horses; at the end of the room is a figure on horseback, representing Queen Bess. Her dress is copied from an ancient portrait, and she is attended by officers and pages. Just back of these figures hangs a very old picture of St. Paul’s cathedral. But the most terribly fascinating objects in this room are the block, the headsman’s hideous, grinning mask and the original axe. With horror the visitor looks upon the block, dented here and there where the executioner’s nervous blows struck wide of the mark, and upon the ponderous axe, whose blade has cleft the necks of so many royal and noble victims.