d, backed by the fifteenth-century stone screen which closes the
west end of the Chapel; within the wooden frame, which was constructed
purposely to enclose it, is the famous stone called the Stone of Scone.
This piece of Scotch granite was brought from Scotland in the early
fourteenth century by the conquering English King, Edward I., and given
over to the safe custody of the Westminster monks. In the Abbey it has
remained ever since, and all our sovereigns from that time until the
present day have received the insignia of royalty seated in the chair
upon the historic stone. The latter has been the subject of many an
old-world legend: it is said to have been Jacob's pillow when he saw the
vision of the angels ascending and descending between heaven and earth;
after which it became the seat of kings in Spain, in Ireland, and finally
in Scotland, where there is no doubt that the Scottish sovereigns used it
as a coronation throne. The chair itself bears little trace of its
former splendour; it was originally decorated with paintings. The lions
were regilded at the last coronation.

* * * * * *

Cut on the stones as we walk away down the chapel is the name of George
II., the first Hanoverian king who was buried in England. With him lies
his wife Caroline, a queen of good memory, and other members of their
numerous family are in close vicinity. The later sovereigns of the
Hanoverian stock gradually lost all sentiment for Westminster, and are
interred at Windsor. Through the gates and round abruptly to the left is
the southern aisle, where we find three royal ladies' tombs, and the
names of many Stuart princes and princesses who were interred in the
vaults. Margaret, Countess of Lennox, niece of Henry VIII., is the first
we come to. Her marble altar tomb, with its recumbent effigy and the
figures of her children round the sides, is a fair specimen of late Tudor
art, but not comparable to the earlier ones by the Italian artist. Her
elder son, Darnley, a broken crown above his head, kneels with his face
turned towards the monument of his wife, Mary, Queen of Scots, whose fair
fame must ever be blackened by her suspected complicity in his {99}
murder. Of the second son, Charles, and his unhappy daughter Arabella,
we cannot speak at length to-day. Arabella's coffin is next to that of
Prince Henry, her cousin and fair-weather friend, but he made no effort
to save her from the consequen