WE have often wondered how the mind of a stranger to London is impressed by seeing bare-headed young men moving about our city-thoroughfares wearing the costume of the period of the boy-king Edward VI.;—what he thinks of the blue-gown, orange-coloured petticoat, leather belt, yellow stockings, and clerkly band worn by the unmonk-like young gentry, who have succeeded the old Grey-Friars, those who in their day were seen in the narrow streets of ancient London. We have often seen a green-looking countryman peeping through the palisades in Newgate-street, while the boys have been at play in the open space before the hall; but could never divine what he thought, though his open mouth and fixed eyes told that something or another was passing through his brain; but whether he was struck by the dimensions of the building, the quaint dress of the schoolboys, or their cheerful laughter and merry romps, was alone known to himself. How few, except they are lovers of history, know or care any thing about Edward VI.! They may have heard that his brutal father beheaded wives as fast as he married them; that Lady Jane Grey perished on the scaffold; but of the events between, during the brief reign of the boy-king, they know nothing. More than one of our old chroniclers assert that he was poisoned. We often marvel that no one has closely examined contemporary authorities, and, by comparing them with the many documents of that period, which have of late years been brought to light, endeavoured to settle this disputed point of history.

The remains of the monastery of Grey Friars were repaired for the reception of the “poor fatherless children” in 1552; and before the close of the year nearly four hundred found shelter within the old monastic walls. At first they wore a dress of russet-cotton, which was afterwards changed for blue, and which colour they have no doubt worn ever since.

Stowe has left us a most interesting and beautifully-written account of the origin of Christ’s Hospital, with something so nervous and touching in the language, that we feel the good old man’s heart must have been fixed on the subject while he wrote. He tells us how “Mr. Doctor Ridley, then Bishop of London, came and preached before the king’s majesty at Westminster, in which sermon he made a fruitful and goodly exhortation to the rich to be merciful to the poor; and also to move such as were in authority to travail by some charitable way and means to comfort and relieve them.”

The boy-king was so struck by the appeal, that he sent for the bishop as soon as the service was over, when the following scene took place, as described by Stowe: “There were present no more persons than they two, and therefore (the king) made him sit down in one chair, and he himself in another, which, as it seemed, were before the coming of the bishop there purposely set, and caused the bishop, maugre his teeth,[A] to be covered, and then entered communication with him in this manner: first, giving him hearty thanks for his sermon and good exhortation, he therein rehearsed such special things as he had noted, and that so many, that the bishop said, ‘Truly, truly (for that commonly was his oath), I could never have thought that excellency to have been in his grace, but that I beheld and heard it in him. At last, his king’s majesty much commended him for his exhortation for the relief of the poor; ‘but, my lord,’ quoth he, ‘you willed such as are in authority to be careful thereof, and to devise some good order for their relief; wherein, I think, you mean me; for I am in (the) highest place, and therefore am the first that must make answer unto God for my negligence, if I should not be careful therein, knowing it to be the express commandment of Almighty God to have compassion of His poor and needy members, for whom we must make an account unto Him. And truly, my lord, I am, before all things else, most willing to travail that way; and doubting nothing of your long and approved wisdom and learning, who have such good zeal, as wisheth help unto them, but also that you have had some conference with others, what ways are best to be taken therein, the which I am desirous to understand, I pray you therefore say your mind.’”

The bishop declared that he was so astonished he scarcely knew how to reply: he, however, thought of the citizens of London, and proposed to try what he could do amongst the wealthy merchants. The king at once gave him a letter, and the good bishop had an interview that very evening with the Lord Mayor, Sir Richard Dobbs, who agreed to do all he could to carry out the boy-king’s wishes. Next day there was a dinner (no doubt the dinner did it); aldermen and other citizens were present; so the matter was decided and placed before the king. In short, beside many providing several other charities, the old monastery of Grey Friars was given up for children of the poor; and thus the charitable and pious son built up a blessing out of what his church-destroying father had made all but desolate. Henry had sold all the consecrated vessels, or appropriated them to his own use; for it is said that more than one sacramental cup of precious metal, which in the last hour had been pressed to the lips of the dying, was used in the drunken revels of the brutal Defender of the Faith. Even the costly monuments and grave-stones (many of them, no doubt, the tombs of pious benefactors) were torn up and sold, to furnish supplies for the revels of this wife-killing king.

It must have caused the heart of the young king to have swelled with pleasurable emotion, when those children were presented to him so shortly after the conversation which took place between himself and the bishop, and in (it is said) the very chamber of the palace where the king received him after he had preached that memorable sermon; and which event is preserved in the immense picture that still hangs in the hall of that Hospital, in which he is portrayed presenting the charter to the Lord Mayor.

Stowe again says: “And, for a further relief, a petition being made to the king’s majesty for a license to take in mortmain, or otherwise without license, lands to a certain yearly value, and a space left in the patent for his grace to put in what sum would please him, he, looking on the void place, called for pen and ink, and with his own hand wrote this sum in these words, ‘Four thousand marks by the year;’ and then said, in the hearing of his Council, ‘Lord, I yield Thee most hearty thanks that Thou hast given me life thus long to finish this work, to the glory of Thy name.’ After which foundation established he lived not above two days; whose life would have been wished equal to the patriarchs, if it had pleased God so to have prolonged it.”

And so the boy-king died in the sixteenth year of his age, after having founded this grand hospital for boys—poisoned, as the old chroniclers tell us, with a nosegay, which had been prepared purposely to hasten his death. And children played around those cloisters while the young king’s favourite, Lady Jane Grey, was beheaded; and when, in Mary’s reign, the fires in Smithfield reddened over the bodies of pious men. And probably in those days they could see the open space behind their play-ground beyond the ditch, and hear the shrieks of women carried to the fiery stake in that blood-stained and savage age; and in their dreams these “poor fatherless children” would see these sights and hear these sounds. But few very “poor fatherless children” are now inmates of Christ’s Hospital; and if the spirits of the dead can look down upon the deeds of men on earth, the eyes of the good and gentle young king must have been dimmed with tears, or flashed with anger, at witnessing the carriages that sometimes draw up and take away such children as need not his charity. When the Commissioners have done examining the title-deeds of our Universities, let them come here; for we are widely misinformed if a Whiston is not needed at Christ’s Hospital. From the Illustrated London News of March, 1843, we have copied the following graphic description of a supper in the hall of Christ’s Hospital:

“One of the most interesting Lenten sights of the metropolis is the supping in public of the scholars of Christ’s Hospital on the evenings of eight Sundays, terminating with Easter-day. On these occasions admission may be obtained by tickets, liberally granted by the president, governors, and other officers of the Hospital, ‘the noblest institution in the world.’

“These suppers are held in the magnificent hall, which, next to Westminster Hall, is the noblest room in the metropolis. It measures 187 feet in length, 51 wide, and 46-1/2 high. It was designed by the late Mr. Shaw, architect to the hospital, and is in the style of the last period of pointed architecture, before its Italian debasement.

“Provided with your ticket, you enter the court-yard from Newgate-street, where the rattling of carriages denotes the arrival of the distinguished company; and the light streaming through ‘the stately range of beautiful windows, with their stained glass arms and devices,’ indicates that the hall is prepared for the occasion. The public are admitted to the floor of the hall as well as to the gallery facing the organ-loft. Assuming your privilege to be for the latter, you enter by the arcade beneath the hall, whence you ascend on the left by a newelled stone staircase to the gallery. The scene from hence is very impressive; the vast apartment is lit with a double row of chandeliers with argand lamps. Immediately above you is an immense picture, said to have been painted by Holbein, of Edward VI. granting the Hospital charter to the City; and on the long line of wall facing the windows is another great picture—‘Charles II. giving audience to a deputation from the Hospital,’ by Verrio. There are other paintings here, but they are seen to less advantage than the flat-ribbed ceiling, the well-proportioned windows, the tasteful oak fittings, and, in short, the beautiful as well as gigantic architecture of the hall. The company fast pour in, and ‘the trade boys,’ a party to each table, bring in baskets of bread, knives, &c.; leathern piggins, into which the beer is poured from a leathern jack; and one brings candles, which are lit and set about the tables, already laid with the cloth. The boys next stream in, and seat themselves at their respective tables, each of which has its separate nurse. All being thus prepared, precisely at seven o’clock the official procession enters, consisting of the Lord Mayor, president, treasurer, and governors, walking two by two; the organ rolls forth its ‘billows of sound;’ the assemblage stand up en masse, and join in the hymn, which is led by the singing-boys in the organ-gallery. Meanwhile the distinguished personages take their seat on the raised daÏs stretching across the farther end of the hall. The Lord Mayor takes a carved chair, made of oak from old St. Katherine’s Church; behind him sit the official personages, and next the distinguished visitors—invariably numbering many elegantly-dressed ladies; whilst other visitors are accommodated beneath the windows. On the opposite side a Grecian, or elder boy, mounts the pulpit; and, silence being enforced by three strokes of a hammer, he proceeds with the evening service, appropriate lessons, prayers, &c., at the close of which the supper commences; the visitors walking to and fro between the tables. It is a homely meal of bread and cheese, relieved by sundry ‘pulls’ at the contents of the piggins—carrying many a spectator back to his own school-days. After supper, an anthem accompanied on the organ is sung, that on Easter-day being composed by one of the senior scholars, and the subject of an annual prize in the school: an impressive prayer or blessing follows. The organ again peals forth; the singing-boys from the gallery join their fellows; and the tables having been cleared, and the cloths rolled up, the nurse of the first table leads the way, followed by the boys, two and two, towards the Lord Mayor, where she curtsies, and they bow two and two; the trade boys carrying the baskets, piggins, &c., and the rolled-up cloths, which add grotesqueness to their etiquette. Having passed the daÏs, they return by nearly the whole length of the room to the door by which they entered; and thus the obeisance continues until the whole number of boys, upwards of 800, have disappeared. The official personages then retire, the organ ceases, and by this time the majority of the general company have quitted the hall. The spectacle is altogether a most impressive one, awakening associations of general benevolence, and an especial sense of the excellence of this right royal institution.”

might be written up here for the benefit of visitors: for the boys, if well, are compelled to rise at six in summer and seven in winter. Still they have so many hours left for play, as they do not breakfast until eight, after which school commences at nine, and breaks up at twelve; they have then another hour and a half for washing, dinner, and play, and are again liberated at four; more play, supper and prayers—and so ends the day.

OLD STAIRCASE.
OLD STAIRCASE.

From that scarce work, the London Spy, we quote the following description of Christ’s Hospital and its approaches as it appeared nearly two centuries ago: “We went through a narrow entry which led us by a parcel of diminutive shops, where some were buying gloves, some smoking tobacco, others drinking brandy; and from thence into a famous piazza, where one was selling toys, another turning nutcrackers, a third, with a pair of dividers, marking out such a parcel of tringum-trangums, [that] to understand the right use of which is [would be] enough to puzzle the brains of Esculapius. From thence we passed into another cloister, whose rusty walls and obsolete ornaments denoted great antiquity, where abundance of little children in

CHRIST’S CHURCH.
CHRIST’S CHURCH.

blue ‘jackets’ and kite-lanthorned caps was very busy at their several recreations. This, says my friend, was originally founded by Edward VI. for the education of ‘poor children,’ but has been largely improved since by additional gifts, and is one of the noblest foundations in England. No youth can have the advantage of a better education than is here allowed them, [and they] are afterwards provided for according as they are qualified, being either sent to sea, [to] trades, or the university. There is a ridiculous story reported and credited by many people, which is, that a gentlewoman, possessed of great riches, when she came to die, gave her whole estate to this hospital, leaving behind her a poor sister, for whom she neglected to make any provision, who, having the expectancy of the estate after the other’s decease, and finding herself unhappily disappointed, reflecting upon her unfortunate condition and the unkindness of her sister, broke her heart, and upon her deathbed rashly pronounced the curse of some distemper always to attend the hospital; ever since which time it has always been subject to * * * But I look upon this tale to be very fabulous, for indeed it would be very wonderful that so many hundred children, though looked after with all the cleanliness imaginable, should at any time be all free from all those distempers to which they are chiefly incident.”—Part V. 1699.

We have given at page 171 an engraving of the old cloister which Ned Ward mentions, shewing the ancient staircase also. Both are still remaining. If the word “jacket” was understood in his day, as it is at present, to mean a coat without tails, the costume has undergone an alteration.

In Christ’s Church, which was built after the Great Fire (that damaged both the church and the old hospital) by Wren, the “Spital Sermons,” which were formerly preached at Paul’s Cross, are still delivered at Easter. The children of Christ’s Hospital attended then, as they do now, these ancient Spital Sermons. In this church Baxter, author of The Saint’s Rest, is buried. It is well worth a visit to see the blue-coat boys (as they are commonly called) seated in the galleries on each side the organ. We have given an engraving of the church.

Lamb, Hunt, and Coleridge, who were all educated at Christ’s Hospital, have left pleasant reminiscences of this place in works which are in the hands of so many readers, that their names need only to be mentioned here.

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