leader, Wat Tyler. The young king was attended only by a small band of devoted men, while the other appeared as the leader of thirty thousand lawless and infuriated followers. The metropolis had, for many days, been at the mercy of the rebels: neither life nor property were safe. The Temple; the Duke of Lancaster's palace in the Savoy ; the palace of the Archbishop of Canterbury; the Hospital of the Knights of St. John, at Clerkenwell; as well as the houses of the judges, and of the more powerful and obnoxious citizens, had recently been attacked and levelled with the ground. It was, in fact, a fearful struggle between poverty and wealth-between order and misrule. Consternation was depicted on every countenance, and terror reigned in every heart. The last daring acts of the rebels had been to force the gates of the Tower, to cut off the heads of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lord Chancellor, and the Lord Treasurer, and even to pillage the royal apartments.

It was at this formidable crisis that the young king consented to an interview with the rebel chief at Smithfield. Tyler having ordered his companions to keep in the back-ground till he should give them a preconcerted signal, presented himself fearlessly on horseback among the royal retinue, and entered familiarly into conversation with the King and his advisers. Among other privileges which he demanded for the lower orders, he insisted that all the warrens, streams, parks, and woods should be common to every one, and that the right of pursuing game should be equally free. More than once, during the interview, he drew his dagger in a threatening attitude, insolently throwing it into the air, and then catching it in its descent. At length he went so far as to seize hold of the bridle of the King's horse; when Sir William Walworth, Lord Mayor of London, unable any longer to repress his indignation, felled the rebel to the ground with his sword, on which he was immediately despatched by the king's attendants. The multitude no sooner saw their leader fall, than they prepared themselves for revenge; and, but for the extraordinary presence of mind which Richard displayed on the occasion, the King and his attendants must inevitably have perished. Advancing alone towards the rebels“ What means this clamour, my liege men ?” he said ; “what are ye doing ?” Will ye kill your King! Be not angry that ye have lost your leader. I, your King, will be your captain. Follow me to the fields, and I will grant you all you ask.” The populace, overawed by the presence of majesty, and by the gallant bearing of the young King, followed him implicitly to St. George's Fields, where he was still holding a parley with them, when a body of men, which had been collected by the wealthier and more influential citizens, and who were joined by Sir Robert Knolles, with a force of well-armed veterans, suddenly made their appear

At the sight of this unexpected force a


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panic seized on the rebels, who, throwing down their arms, fled in all directions.

Stow has pointed out the exact spot in Smithfield on which Richard stood. “The King,” he says “stood towards the east, near St. Bartholomew's Priory, and the commons towards the west, in front of battle."





On the south-eastern side of Smithfield stand the remains of the beautiful church, and of the once vast and wealthy Priory, of St. Bartholomew, founded by Rahere, the first Prior, in the reign of Henry the First.

At the time of the suppression of the religious houses, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, it was distinguished by its vast extent of building, its beautiful and shady gardens, its exquisite cloisters, its grand refectory, its fish-ponds, and by all the appurtenances of a great monastic establishment. Its mulberry-garden, planted by Prior Bolton, was famous; and it is only five or six years since, that the axe levelled to the ground the last and finest of these trees, which were co-eval with the old monks, who must often have enjoyed

* The priory was founded about the year 1102, and was “ again new built” in the year 1410.-Stow, 140.

their refreshing fruit, and meditated beneath their shady foliage.

Passing under a gateway, rich with carved roses and zig-zag ornaments, we enter the fine old church of St. Bartholomew. As we gaze on the solidity of its massive pillars, its graceful arches, and the beauty of its architectural details, we cannot fail to be impressed with that sense of grandeur and solemnity, which only such a scene can inspire. The remains of the old church are in the Norman style of architecture, and are apparently of the same date as the earlier portions of Winchester Cathedral. It may afford a tolerable notion of its former magnificence, to mention that the present church is merely the chancel of the ancient edifice; the only other remains being a small portion of the transepts and the nave, where they unite with each other, immediately beneath the spot where the tower formerly rose.

Surrounded by mean hovels, and by a population of the lowest description, the exterior of the ancient Priory, though degraded to strange purposes, is scarcely less interesting than the interior. Beauty and decay meet us at every step. In order to view the noble arches of the ancient cloisters, we must dive into a timber-yard; or, if we seek for arched ceilings and fretted cornices, they are to be met with in the apartments of an adjoining publichouse; while the old refectory, formerly one of the noblest halls in London, has been converted into a tobacco manufactory. The fine oaken roof

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