“Stop, stop, my dears,” cried Mr. Wilmot, in answer to the girls’ repeated enquiries: “one question, if you please, at a time. What did you say, Ann?”

“I was wondering, Sir,” answered Ann, “that you should have, amongst this beautiful collection of paintings, an engraving of London Bridge: I have passed over it repeatedly, and never saw any thing remarkable in it.”

“Perhaps not, my dear,” said Mr. Wilmot; “but might not this proceed from your ignorance of the events connected with it. For my own part, I never cross it without musing on the ‘mighty past,’ and contrasting the eventful scenes that have taken place either upon it, or in its immediate vicinity, with the present happy state of commercial bustle and national peace.”

“And pray, Sir, what were those events?” asked Ann: “when did they take place, and when was the bridge built? If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you will have the kindness to relate to us a few of these particular circumstances.”

“Certainly, my love,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “and in endeavouring to give you the information you desire, I trust you will find it not only a detail of dates, but a chain of interesting anecdotes; which have, moreover, for you, Susan, the additional charm of being all true. And now, without any further preface, I shall inform you, that the first notice of the existence of a bridge occurs in the laws of Ethelred, which fix the tolls of vessels coming to Billingsgate ad pontem. Pennant remarks that it could not be prior to 993, when Unlaf the Dane sailed up the river as high as Staines, without interruption; nor yet subsequent to the year 1016, in which Ethelred died, and the great Canute, king of Denmark, when he besieged London, was impeded in his operations by a bridge, which even at that time must have been strongly fortified, to oblige him to have recourse to the vast expedient I shall tell you of. He caused a prodigious ditch to be cut on the south side of the Thames, at Rotherhithe or Redriff, a little to the east of Southwark; which he continued at the south end of the bridge, in the form of a semicircle, opening into the western part of the river. Through this he drew his ships, and effectually completed the blockade of the city. Evidences of this great work were found in the place called Dock Head, near Redriff. In digging this dock, in 1694, fascines (or faggots) of hazel and other brush-wood, fastened down with stakes, were discovered; and large oaken planks, and numbers of piles, have been met with in ditching, in other adjacent parts.

“Previous to the erection of the bridge, a ferry had long been established, on or near the site. Some historians assert, that the first stone bridge was built or commenced in the reign of the empress Maude; but during the boisterous era of her brief dominion, and her incessant struggle for power with king Stephen, it may be supposed that she had little time for beautifying the city.

“Pennant and other antiquarians inform us, that the first stone bridge was built in the reign of John, by Peter, curate of St. Mary Cole Church, a celebrated architect of that period: it proved the work of thirty-three years; and Peter dying in the interim, was buried in the chapel, which he had constructed in one of the piers, in honour of St. Thomas.

“Solidity appears to have been the chief object of the artist; and to accomplish this object, all other considerations were disregarded or sacrificed. It would be superfluous to descant on the well-known defects of the foundation of London Bridge: they survive to this day, though not to the same extent as formerly. You will be surprised to hear, that the bridge was crowded with houses, badly constructed, which leaned in a terrific manner, and were obliged to be propped with timber, which crossed in arches from the roofs, to keep the buildings together, and to prevent them from falling into the river. Dismal confined residences, immersed in dirt and dissonance, for ever assailed by the din of carts and rumbling over the narrow pavement; the clamours of watermen, the rush of falling waters, and the frequent shrieks of drowning wretches, whelmed in the cataract below: to these horrors, were added, at intervals, the calamities of fire and pestilence.

“A conflagration burst out on the south-west side: the bridge was instantly covered with multitudes, who rushed out of the city to extinguish the flames. Whilst engaged in this charitable office, the fire seized the other end, and hemmed in the crowd. Above three thousand persons perished: those who escaped the flames, were swallowed by the waves; and the fire above was only less insatiable than the deluge beneath. Originally there were three openings on each side of the street, decorated with balustrades, to give the passengers a view of the water and the shipping.

“In one of these a draw-bridge was contrived, useful either by way of defence, or for the admission of vessels into the upper part of the river. This was protected by a strong tower, which being well armed and manned, occasioned the repulse of Fauconbridge, in 1471, in his wild attempt upon the city, at the head of a lawless banditti, under pretence of rescuing the unfortunate Henry the Sixth, at that time a prisoner in the Tower in London. Sixty houses on the bridge were burnt in the desperate attack, and no less desperate defence. A second conflict took place during the ill-conducted insurrection of Sir Thomas Wyatt, in the reign of Queen Mary; and the check which that rash adventurer received, in endeavouring to force the bridge, brought on a series of disasters which ended in the total annihilation of his disorganized force. He, and about sixty of his followers, were executed, and their heads gibbeted in the most public parts of the city. So late as the year 1598, Hentner, the German traveller, enumerated above thirty heads, which he had counted with a pathetical accuracy; and the old map of the city, 1597, represents them in horrible clusters.”

“How dreadful such exhibitions must have been!” said Susan.

“Yes, my dear, it must have been revolting to every humane mind: and I gladly turn your attention from the contemplation of this frightful spectacle, to the romantic exploits of Edward Osborne, apprentice to Sir William Hewit, cloth-worker, who, about the year 1536, was an inhabitant of one of the perilous houses on the bridge. A maid-servant, playing with his only daughter in her arms, at a window over the water, dropped the child: death seemed inevitable; for few escaped the whirlpools below, and still fewer were daring enough to hazard their own lives, in the fearful chance of saving another’s; but young Osborne lost not a moment in considering the risk, but plunged gallantly into the torrent, and brought the rescued infant safely to land. His intrepid valour met its due reward: when the young lady attained womanhood, she paid her preserver with her heart. Several persons of rank asked her hand in marriage; and the earl of Shrewsbury, representative of the noble family of Talbot, became a suitor to the merchant’s heiress. But, undazzled by the title which courted her acceptance, with the tender devotedness to her first affection, that renders woman’s love so pure and holy, she kept her faith to her more humble lover; and Sir William, grateful for the precious blessing of a daughter endued with one of the sweetest attributes of feminine virtue, generously gave her to him who best deserved the boon. Edward Osborne proved no common man: he took the tide of fortune at the flood, and became the founder of a family destined to obtain the highest honours in the state. The duke of Leeds sprung from this auspicious union.”

“I am glad this brave young man succeeded so well,” said Ann. “Have you any more anecdotes to tell us, Sir?”

“A melancholy tale,” continued Mr. Wilmot, “is connected with the annals of London Bridge. Amidst the multitudes who have found a grave in the dangerous abyss which yawns beneath, one voluntarily sought in it a resting-place, and oblivion for a spirit deeply wounded by the ingratitude of a friend. The son of Sir William Temple, the bosom counsellor of William of Nassau, yet the honest adviser of his ill-starred master, James the Second, when his father declined to take a share in the new government, accepted the office of secretary of war. His interest procured the release of captain Hamilton, confined in the Tower for high treason, under his promise that he would repair to Tyrconnel, then in arms for king James in Ireland, and persuade him to submit. When arrived in that country, this faithless friend immediately joined the rebels, and led on a regiment to the attack of king William’s troops. The taunts of rival courtiers, the unfortunate termination of his endeavours to serve his sovereign; and, above all, the sting of that barbed arrow, winged by the hand of one whom he had so loved and trusted, threw him into a profound melancholy; and though the king was fully convinced of his innocence, he possessed not fortitude to sustain the mental pang. On the 14th of April, 1689, he hired a boat on the Thames, and directed the waterman to shoot the bridge: at that instant he flung himself into the cataract; and having filled his pockets with stones, to prevent all chance of safety, instantly sunk.

“He left a note in the boat, in explanation of the motives which led to the fatal resolution, to this effect: ‘My folly in undertaking what I was unable to perform, has done the king and kingdom a great deal of prejudice. I wish him all happiness, and abler servants than John Temple.’

“Deeply as we must lament the wrongs and sufferings of this unfortunate gentleman, we cannot help deploring still more his melancholy end. ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ is a sacred and imperative command, equally involving self-destruction with murder. And, although the spirit may be goaded to agony, yet insanity can alone apologize for suicide. Let us hope, that in this instance, it was temporary mental aberration that led to the fatal act.

“But to return to the narrative of London Bridge. The church of St. Magnus, at the bottom of Fish-street Hill, is a memorial of the foresight and sagacity of Sir Christopher Wren. The houses on the bridge, at the time that this building was erected, projected beyond it, and reached the church, when they became too great a nuisance to be tolerated, and were taken down. The foot-path to the bridge was obstructed by the tower of St. Magnus, so that travellers were obliged to traverse the carriage-road. Unwilling to endure the continuance of this inconvenience, a meeting was held to consult on the propriety of cutting a passage through the wall. This expedient was considered to be extremely hazardous; but no other being practicable, it was determined to try it. The workmen, on commencing their operations, found a complete and perfect arch, which this great architect, foreseeing the alterations which time would render necessary on the bridge, had provided for the convenience of posterity. When the present bridge shall be taken down, passengers will have to rejoice at the increased convenience and comfort that a new erection may afford; but the antiquary will sometimes heave a sigh over the destruction of this silent memorial of days long passed away.”

“Pray, Sir,” said Susan, when Mr. Wilmot paused, “who was Sir Thomas Wyatt, of whom you spoke in the early part of your account?”

“Sir Thomas Wyatt, of Allingham Castle in Kent,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “was the son of the poet, wit, and courtier of that name. He was once distinguished for his zealous loyalty, and is said to have been also a catholic, a peculiarly acceptable circumstance in the reign of queen Mary, herself a rigid Papist. Though allied in blood to the Dudleys, not only had he refused, to Northumberland, his concurrence in the nomination of Jane Grey, but without waiting to see which party would prevail, he had proclaimed queen Mary in the market-place at Maidstone; for which instance of attachment he had received her thanks. But Wyatt had been employed, for several years, on embassies to Spain; and the intimate acquaintance he had acquired of the principles and practices of its court, filled him with such horror, that, on the intended marriage of Mary with Philip, he incited his friends and neighbours to rebellion. For this unguarded and very wrong step, he justly suffered the punishment of the laws. Other charges were adduced; and it was said, (how truly cannot now be ascertained,) that it was the intention of the conspirators to dethrone Mary, and place her sister Elizabeth on the throne, having first married her to the earl of Devonshire. These latter accusations might be groundless; but when a man permits himself to take up arms against his sovereign, he cannot say, ‘So far will I go, and no further.’”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Susan, when Mr. Wilmot concluded: “I hope all your anecdotes are not finished.”

“Amongst the names that I have enumerated,” replied Mr. Wilmot, “I forgot to mention Sir William Wallace, who was hanged and quartered in Smithfield, in 1305, and his head stuck upon a pole fixed upon London Bridge.”

“Dear Sir,” said Susan, “what crime had he committed? and who was he?”

“His only crime, my dear,” answered the old gentleman, “was magnanimously defending his country against the ambitious designs of our king Edward the First. But to answer to your second question fully, I must enter first into a few particulars.

“One of the enterprises that presented itself to the ambition of the martial Edward, was the conquest of Scotland; a country which he was desirous of annexing to his hereditary dominions, as Ireland and Wales had already been; or, at least, of reducing it to a state of dependance on the English crown. A dispute arose about this time, between the competitors for the crown of Scotland, John Baliol and Robert Bruce, whose claims were nearly equal, and whose parties were almost of equal strength.

“To avoid the horrors of a civil war, the chiefs determined that the question should be referred to the king of England, for arbitration.

“This appeal furnished Edward with the occasion he had long desired, of laying claim to the sovereignty of Scotland. He endeavoured, in vain, to establish his right by precedents, arguments, and diplomatic reasonings. None of these availed to produce conviction in the minds of the Scotch, till they were backed by a powerful army! Judgment was at last given in favour of Baliol, though clogged with the condition, that he should take the oath of allegiance to the king of England. But this unhappy prince soon found, that, instead of being a sovereign, he was really a slave. To remind him of his dependance on the crown of England, Edward cited him, on every trifling occasion, to his court, and required him to renew his homage continually. This royal vassal was summoned six times in the course of the year, to appear before the king in parliament, and answer to complaints lodged against him; and, on some of these occasions, he was treated with the greatest indignity. Averse as was this prince from war, he could not submit to such degradation, but secretly prepared to shake off a yoke which had proved so galling. An open rupture would probably have immediately ensued, had not the attention of Edward been withdrawn from the affairs of Scotland, by a war with France, in which he found himself suddenly involved. A scuffle which had taken place between the crew of a Norman and English vessel, involved the nations to which they belonged in a destructive war, which raged with great fury for a considerable time, and in which torrents of human blood were wantonly shed.

“In order to avert the storm of war from his own dominions, the French king made common cause with Baliol of Scotland, and encouraged him to assert his independence; and Edward immediately suspended his continental operations, that he might lend his whole strength to the conquest of Scotland, and the subjection or expulsion of its sovereign.

“The Scottish chiefs, who had witnessed with indignation the degradation of their king and country, gathered all their forces; and every thing indicated the approach of a tremendous conflict. But as yet they wanted a leader of sufficient courage and patriotism, around whose banner they might rally with confidence. Baliol made a feeble effort to preserve his crown; but was at length utterly defeated by the earl of Warienne, in the battle of Dunbar, after which he surrendered himself to Edward, who committed him to the Tower of London, where the unfortunate prince languished several years in solitary confinement.

“Nor was the severity of the king confined to the person of the fallen monarch. Many of the nobility of Scotland were sent into England, and immured in different castles; the ensigns of royalty were carried off, with all the contents of the Scottish treasury; and the most important affairs, both civil and military, confided to Englishmen.

“Thus Scotland wore, for a time, the appearance of a conquered country; and it is not improbable that Edward flattered himself, that these hardy sons of the north were completely brought into subjection. If such, however, were his expectations, he was soon undeceived; for whilst the king was carrying on the continental war, for the recovery of those possessions which had formerly belonged to the English crown, a revolution suddenly broke out in Scotland, which was stirred up by a chief of great intrepidity and inflexible patriotism. This celebrated chieftain was Sir William Wallace, whose virtues and heroic deeds make so conspicuous a figure in the annals of Scotland, and whose name well deserves to be enrolled amongst the patriots and martyrs of former generations.

“This generous chief, feeling yet more acutely for the oppressed state of his country, than for his personal wrongs, gathered around him a small but valiant band, which harassed the English army in all its movements, and not unfrequently attacked, with success, detachments of the army, far superior in number to themselves. The reputation, and consequently the followers of Wallace, increased daily; until, at length, he was able to give battle to the earl of Surry, who commanded an army of forty thousand veteran soldiers, and he defeated him, with great loss, in the celebrated battle of Stirling. Following the tide of success, which had set in so strongly in his favour, Wallace drove the English before him, out of Scotland, penetrated into the border counties, took possession of several English fortresses of great strength, and returned laden with the spoils of victory. Edward was informed of these disasters, while prosecuting a war in Flanders, and lost no time in repairing to the north of England, with all the troops he could collect. In a short time he found himself at the head of an army, containing upwards of eighty thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry. Thus powerfully reinforced, he marched forward to meet the enemy, who were encamped near Falkirk. A tremendous battle ensued, in which, after prodigies of valour performed on both sides, the English were completely victorious. But notwithstanding the overwhelming forces of the English monarch, and the divided state of their own country, the Scottish patriots were not deterred from persisting in the attempt to regain their independence, however hopeless it might appear. They rallied again and again, after repeated defeats and losses, until, at length, the principal nobility of Scotland, moved by jealousy of each other, and corrupted by the flatteries of Edward, deserted, and finally betrayed, their gallant leader. The satisfaction of Edward was too great to be concealed, when he learned that Wallace had been delivered into his hands, by the treachery of Sir John Monteith, one of his own countrymen: unmindful of the generosity which had distinguished his youth, he now breathed revenge against his fallen adversary, and ordered him to be conducted to London, where he was publicly executed as a traitor, though he had never been a subject of the English crown.”

“Oh, how unjust,” said Susan. “Do tell us some more anecdotes.” “Oh, pray do,” said Ann.

“I am sorry to refuse you,” answered Mr. Wilmot; “but it is two o’clock, and it is time to join your mamma. Besides,” continued he, smiling, “we should even use our rational pleasures with moderation, if we mean to continue the enjoyment of them.”

“Well, then, dear Mr. Wilmot, you will let us come soon again,” cried the girls.

“Yes, my dears,” he replied. “But see, the sun is shining: we can take a little walk before dinner: it will refresh you.”

The party then left the gallery.