  HOW many of the Pansies know what Westminster Abbey is? Of course a large number of you little folks are not yet acquainted with it. I don't know a pleasanter way for people of your age to learn about it, than to read the book bearing the title which I have given above. Listen to what it says about the building, "That Abbey is the record of the growth of our two great nations. Within its walls we are on common ground. America is represented just as much as England. All English and American boys and girls should love Westminster Abbey." There are pictures of the wonderful and beautiful building scattered through the book; thirty-two illustrations, in a book of two hundred and ninety-four pages. It is almost like visiting the building itself, to read about it in this book written by Rose Kingsley. It is a beautifully bound volume, my copy being in brown and gold. Usual price one dollar. To members of the P. S. sixty cents. With this introduction, I am going to let the story speak for itself, by giving you a page or two from it, together with the picture of "The Cradle Tomb." photograph "THE CRADLE TOMB." "On what used to be the altar step of the north aisle of Westminster Abbey, stands a baby's cradle—a cradle on real rockers. A gorgeous coverlet, all trimmed with rich guipure lace, falls from the corners of the cradle in splendid rich folds. The arms of England, Scotland and Ireland are carved on the back. And when you look under the head of the cradle you see that a baby lies sleeping in it. A darling tiny baby it is—its little wee face set in a close lace cap and lace ruff, under a kind of lace-trimmed hood that forms part of the pillow. You can almost fancy that if the cradle were set rocking, the babe might open her eyes. But 'baby and cradle, and all,' are marble—marble, yellow with the dust and wear of nearly three hundred years! "'The Cradle Tomb' of Westminster, as it is called, has been far better described than by any words of mine. A card hangs close beside it, placed there by desire of Lady Augusta Stanley, on which is a poem by an American lady. That lady is a well-known favorite of American readers; for she is none other than Susan Coolidge. And the lovely verses—some of which I venture to transcribe—appeared in Scribner's Monthly for 1875: A little rudely sculptured bed, With shadowing folds of marble lace, And quilt of marble, primly spread, And folded round a baby face. Smoothly the mimic coverlet, With royal blazonries bedight, Hangs, as by tender fingers set, And straightened for the last good-night. And traced upon the pillowing stone A dent is seen, as if, to bless That quiet sleep, some grieving one Had leaned, and left a soft impress. ........ But dust upon the cradle lies, And those who prized the baby so, And decked her couch with heavy sighs, Were turned to dust long years ago. "The inscription on her cradle tells us that this dear baby, 'Sophia, a royal rosebud, plucked by premature fate, and snatched away from her parents—James, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, and Queen Anne—that she might flourish again in the rosary of Christ, was placed here on the twenty-third of June, in the fourth year of the reign of King James, 1606.' "The little creature was born on the twenty-first of June at Greenwich—a favorite palace of the English sovereigns. Great preparations had been made for her christening, and for the tourneys which were to be held at the same time in honor of her grandfather the King of Denmark's visit. But the baby only lived two days, and was hastily baptized 'Sophia,' after the Queen of Denmark. James the First gave orders that she should be buried 'as cheaply as possible, without any solemnity, or funeral.' Nevertheless he made a contract with Nicholas Poutrain, the royal sculptor, for her monument, the cost of which was not to exceed one hundred and forty pounds. And we find that her coffin was very solemnly conveyed up the river by barge, covered with black velvet, accompanied by three other barges covered with black cloth and bearing many nobles, lords, ladies, and the officers-of-arms, to the Parliament stairs at Westminster. Thence the procession went to the southeast door of the Abbey, where it was met by the great lords of the Council, the Heralds, and chief officers of the court." |
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