then, unable to bear his exposure longer, he crawled forth to warm his numbed limbs at the nearest cottage fire. Here he was discovered by a party of the royal troops, who had been despatched to scour the country in search of him, and it is generally believed that the man in whose cottage he first took shelter betrayed him, and put the troopers on his track.

He was at once conveyed to London; and thus it came about, that while Wyatt was waiting outside London Bridge, his colleague, upon whose efforts he had counted so much, was taken to the Tower. A very different journey thither from that he had intended to take. He had hoped to go there it is true, but as a conqueror, not as a prisoner.

And the hard features of Mary Tudor doubtless lost for a while their grave look of deep anxiety, as she learned that her enemies were thus one by one putting themselves into her power. But Wyatt yet remained unconquered, and the hopes of the anti-papal party were now centred in him.

WYATT'S ADVENTURE ON LONDON
BRIDGE.

The news of Suffolk's failure seemed only to give Wyatt fresh courage, and nerve him to still greater efforts. His position was one of great peril, and the support he had counted upon receiving from the citizens of London seemed likely to fail him. Yet no thought of turning back appears to have entered his mind. Possibly he thought it was as dangerous to retreat as to go forward.

His difficulty was to cross the Thames. In those days, no other archways spanned the river between London Bridge and Kingston. And London Bridge was a narrow lane of houses, with a strong gate near the Southwark side, while in the centre was a drawbridge. Wyatt at once saw the difficulty of his situation. Having halted his men, he gave strict instructions that no plundering would be permitted, and then allowed them to disperse for a while among the inhabitants of the Borough, who received them with great cordiality.

Across the grey water of the river he could hear the hum of the excited populace on the other side; and as the dusk drew on, a boat stole across, and he learned that a price was set on his head. The Queen had proclaimed him a traitor, and offered a substantial reward for his capture. To show how much he despised this, he caused his name to be graven in large letters, and set them on his helmet. Then as dusk deepened into night, he crept out alone from his quarters and went down to the gate. Peeping in the lodge window he saw that the porter and his wife were cosy beside their winter fire. He then climbed

over the gate, and crept along till he came to the drawbridge. Below flowed the black water; across the narrow chasm, standing out clearly in the torchlight, he could see the muzzles of several cannon; and behind them crowds of armed men kept watch and ward.

It was quite clear that there was no chance of obtaining a passage over London Bridge, and Wyatt returned the way he came, undecided whether to march to Kingston, or return to Deptford and cross by boats.

The next day occurred the only case of pillage. Some of the men being near Winchester House, the residence of Bishop Gardiner, their dislike to him overcame their feelings of obedience, and, shouting aloud, they burst open the doors and overran the house like an overwhelming flood. They not only carried off his victuals, of which there was plenty, but with unpardonable vandalism they left not a book in his library untorn, so that, says Stow, "men might have gone up to their knees in leaves of books, cut out and thrown underfoot." But their leader was quickly on the spot, and with stern voice bade them desist. They were in arms against foreign oppression he said, and not against their brethren, no matter what might be their religious opinions. No harm was intended even to Mary herself. Let them take heed therefore to do no one injury.

These words produced their effect, and there were many citizens across the water who began to doubt Mary's plausible words at the Guildhall. They found that Wyatt's troops were not bent on pillage, as she had said they were; they were behaving themselves quietly, and their leader was not acting as the presumptuous rebel she had described him. The prisons were not tampered with, and no undue efforts to obtain soldiers were resorted to. Beyond fortifying his position by placing a battery of two guns at the Southwark end of the bridge, and digging a deep trench in front of the guns, and keeping his other cannon in readiness, Wyatt did nothing. His rebellion seemed indeed more like an armed protest against the Spanish marriage than an attempt to seize the crown and produce lawless anarchy. Therefore no attempts were made to engage Wyatt's troops, and thus the second night closed in.

The situation was now becoming most alarming; so much sympathy existed for the rebels, that none of Mary's generals could trust their troops. Moreover, the attack I could only be made at considerable disadvantage, and they hesitated before precipitating the quarrel, and deluging the streets with their brothers' blood. Mary was alternately furious and fearful; but in the main her Tudor spirit kept her up, and her obstinate resolve to marry Philip never faltered. "Crown, country, even life itself,

shall go before I give up the Prince of Spain," she said.

AN OMINOUS PAUSE.

For four days did this anomalous state of things continue. The capital was in a situation of armed suspense. The Council were divided, the people were suspicious, and Wyatt's cause was slowly gaining ground. To this ominous state of things had Mary's perversity brought the country, which only six months before, had resounded with joy bells for her accession. At last, events decided themselves, and a slight incident altered the whole course of action. Late on Monday afternoon, the 5th of February, one of Wyatt's sentries seeing a boat belonging to the Tower pass up the river near the Southwark side, challenged it, and receiving no answer, he fired, and killed one of the watermen. Next morning Sir John Brydges, the governor of the Tower, gave notice, that in return he should open fire upon the rebels. In alarm the people of Southwark crowded round Wyatt, beseeching him either to protect them from the bombardment or to flee. Wyatt, half beside himself with agitation and indecision, resolved to march to Kingston Bridge, and endeavour to force his way across. Had he been able to have remained quictly at Southwark, most likely he would have been ultimately successful, for the popular feeling was steadily rising in his favour. But he was obliged to take decided action, and, unfortunately for himself, he took that which ended in his ruin.

His army seems to have sadly dwindled down, and chronicles of the period state that only fifteen hundred men followed him out of Southwark. His feelings of keen disappointment may well be imagined from a conversation he is reported to have held with one, Master Dorell, a merchant from London, whom he met on his way to the west. "Ah! good Master Dorell," said he, "I pray you commend me unto your citizens; and say unto them from me, that when liberty was offered them they would not receive it; neither would they admit me within their gates, who for their freedom and for rescuing them from the oppression of foreigners would frankly spend my blood in this cause and quarrel."

The rebels reached Kingston at dusk, and found half the bridge broken down, and a strong guard posted on the opposite side. Without any delay Wyatt loaded his cannon and sent shot after shot through the twilight among his opponents. These doughty warriors, not liking this state of things, speedily decamped, and Wyatt set to work to repair the broken bridge. This was quickly done by means of barges, and before midnight the little army had crossed and were marching back towards the town.

As they tramped along, we imagine that every one of those men must have, to an extent, regretted their adventure. The weather was very cold, the keen winter blast cut their faces like whip-cord, and the roads were ankle-deep in thick mud; weary and footsore, with sadly diminished numbers, their project of taking London with scarce more than a thousand men seemed the wildest scheme that ever entered the mind of man. Had it not been that they expected support from the citizens within the gates, they would surely never have marched on.

Through the thick night the rebels struggled slowly onwards to London. Most of the Kentish men had returned home, and those who now composed the troops were disaffected persons from various parts of the country, including the city-band who had gone over to Wyatt at Rochester. They had cannon with them; and the heavy pieces of ordnance proved a terrible hindrance to the celerity of their movements; once, near Brentford, one of the guns was fixed firmly in the mud, and much precious time-nearly two hours-was lost in extricating it.

PREPARATIONS TO RESIST THE REBELS.

The news of Wyatt's coming preceded him, and shortly after midnight the alarm was given at the Queen's Place that Wyatt was near. Instantly drummus were sent down the dark and silent streets of the slumbering city, and by four o'clock in the morning the alarum had been beaten all round the town, the train-bands had been aroused, and Pembroke, with ten thousand men, was posted at Charing Cross; and near Hyde Park Corner, which had then recently become the property of the Crown, was placed a strong body of cavalry, upon whose loyalty Mary could rely.

These preparations being complete, the troops waited quietly through the stormy dawn for Wyatt's appearance. The morning gradually grew lighter, but still he did not come; when at last, towards ten o'clock, the weary watchers on the top of the hill above Knightsbridge saw the advance guard of the rebel forces straggling feebly along by the open fields. It was clear that they were greatly exhausted by their tiring night march, and faint for want of food. The royal troops waited until about half had passed, then dashing down the lane by Hyde Park, they cut the rebels completely in two, and those who were lagging behind were either scattered or slain. Wyatt, believing that his friends in the city would welcome him at Temple Bar, pressed forward along what is now Piccadilly. A small battery had been placed at the point which is now the top of St. James's Street; and as Wyatt appeared, the guns opened fire, and a few of his men fell; but undaunted, he

pressed forward, and swerving to the right so that the great mass of his opponents were on his left, he made a short cut toward Charing Cross.

Part of his band, led by Knyvett and the sons of Lord Cobham, struck across the Green Park, which had then been but recently enclosed, meaning to attack the Queen's palace from the west, while Wyatt engaged the guards on the opposite side.

Until the rebel leader drew near Charing Cross, not a blow was struck against him. The citizens marshalled along the way let him pass, and it was not until he reached what is now Trafalgar Square, when he met Sir John Gage and part of the Queen's Guard, that a sword was drawn to oppose his progress. But here the vain and weak-minded Courtenay, who was a source of weakness on whichever side he elected to stand, -annoyed at being put under Pembroke, and perhaps ashamed to actually appear in arms against the very party he had possibly helped to raise, or perhaps acting from a definite plan of treachery, turned his horse and hastened to Whitehall, crying, "Lost! lost! all is over! Wyatt has conquered!"

Some of the soldiers followed him, believing what he said to be true; and others, not liking Wyatt's determined attitude, broke their ranks also. They hurried to the Palace, and meeting the men led by Knyvett and the Cobhams at the entrance, were some of them slain and others knocked over. Their leader himself was rolled in the mud, so great was the onslaught of the rebels. Others rushed through the palace galleries crying aloud that Pembroke and their other leaders had betrayed them.

Shouts of "Treason! Treason!" and "Lost! lost! all is lost!" rang alarmingly through the Palace. Mary, who had watched the whole proceedings from her palace windows, cried aloud, "I myself will fight and die with those who die for me!" It was the crucial moment of the insurrection, and she knew it. If the Londoners sympathised with the rebels, as they seemed inclined to do, Mary would indeed have lost both crown and husband. But at this moment a strong company of archers, who had been sent by Pembroke to protect the Palace, made their appearance, and their clouds of arrows did great damage in the rebel ranks. A sharp fight followed, in which Knyvett's party were dispersed, though he himself, with the sons of Lord Cobham, managed to cut their way through and joined Wyatt.

Meanwhile the rebel leader was riding along the Strand; he had heard the noise of the battle, and hurried on still faster to enter Ludgate before it should be closed, and join those within the city who had promised their help. The men still divided their ranks to

let him pass, and hope rose high in his heart as from along Fleet Street he could see the gate open on Ludgate Hill; his progress was still unopposed, and, spurring their tired horses, the rebels hastened forward. But when within a few yards of it, to their keen disappointment and indignation, they saw the gate shut in their faces! Lord Howard of Effingham and a party of men had just arrived, and, amid the murmurs of the bystanders, they just closed the gate in time, and, in spite of all opposition, they meant to keep it fast. Wyatt still rode on, and knocked for admittance; but Lord William's angry voice replied, "Begone traitor! thou shalt not enter here!"

Wyatt's reply was the sad and melancholy answer of a brave man who felt keenly the faithlessness of those upon whom he had relied, "I have kept touch," he said, which in the English of to-day we may suppose to mean, "I have done my part, and fulfilled my share of the bargain; I can do no more." And then, wearied and exhausted, he sank on a seat near the Belle Sauvage Inn, and waited the course of events.

WYATT'S LAST FIGHT.

Along the Strand sounded the shouts of Pembroke's victorious troops. "Down with the draggle-tails!" they cried, alluding in derision to the clothes of Wyatt's wearied troopers, which had been soiled by the mud and dirt of their midnight tramp. The men who had followed him thus far, seeing now how hopeless the struggle had become, betook themselves to the narrow lanes and streets on either side, and in a few moments Wyatt's force had vanished like the morning mist before the sun, scarce a score or so remaining round their leader.

In a minute more, up came Knyvett with the poor remnant of his men, and, seeing that to remain outside Ludgate would be instant death, the little band resolved to turn back by the path they had come, hoping to cut their way through any opposition, and that the city train-bands would let them pass as before. They were successful until they reached the Temple, for the men were desperate, and they quickly disposed of such opposition as they met with. But Pembroke's cavalry, having dispersed the half of the rebels they had cut off at Hyde Park, were now riding up, and although Wyatt and his friends charged them with a dauntless courage which deserved success, they were soon overpowered.

Clarenceux, one of the Queen's heralds, rode up to Wyatt and persuaded him to yield, saying, “Sir, the day has gone against you; it were best to yield, and not surcharge yourself with the blood of your brave followers.

Sir Maurice Berkeley was near, and to him Wyatt surrendered his broken sword. Berkeley took him up on his own horse and galloped rapidly to Westminster. Knyvett,

Brett, and the Cobhams, were also taken back to Westminster. At Whitehall stairs they were placed in a barge and conveyed to the Tower, Mary, still at her window in the palace, seeing them go.

Brave Wyatt! we pity him as we see him pass along the silent highway to his prison and his doom. He had "kept touch;" he had done what he could; he had done all a brave man dared do to preserve England from that

knew what he might expect -a short shrift and the headsman's block; but for his loved England to be at the mercy of a bigoted Spaniard, this was the bitter thought that burned within the patriot's

his friends in the city should have seen that it was not closed, he might have been successful, and Philip of Spain would never have come to England, and possibly the Protestant martyrs would never have been burned.

But Wyatt's attempt had failed, and the Queen's party was triumphant all along the line. Shortly afterwards Sir James Crofts was captured in Wales, and thus all the insurgent leaders were either in prison or in exile.

QUEEN MARY'S BITTER REVENGE. And now Mary, having obtained a signal victory, began to show her vengeance. Her

soul; for Wyatt was a patriot, though possibly a mistaken one. He acted as he thought for the best. His purpose was honest, and his designs were sincere. Had his confederates resembled him in his bravery and disinterested earnestness, -had they supported him as they led him to expect they would, had he not hastened when he should have waited, and waited when he should have hastened, had he even retrieved his errors by leaving his dismounted gun at Brentford, and thus arrived in town two hours earlier, before Pembroke had had time to make his preparations,-had he been even a few minutes before Ludgate was closed, though

temper was aroused and she meant to make short work of her opponents. The next day a proclamation was circulated throughout London, to the effect that all persons who sheltered any of the insurgents would at once be put to death.

rebels

The

were

in

given up scores, and all the prisons and churches were speedily filled. Every one who had taken part in the rebellion against the Prince of Spain was to be hung; every one, indeed, who could by any chance be thought to op

pose the Queen's wishes was to suffer. Courtenay, Elizabeth, and even the gentle Lady Jane Grey, who had taken no part whatever in this rebellion,-all were to die! Renard and his Spanish master had triumphed, England now would be under their thumb, and joyously the wily ambassador wrote home the news. All along he had been urging Mary to deeds of cruelty, and now she listened to him.

A few months previously, Lady Jane Grey and her husband, Lord Guildford Dudley, had been convicted of high treason, and although they had nothing whatever to do with this. last trouble, yet she was a descendant of Henry VII., and her father, with others, had