ces of his royal father, James the First's
wrath. The young Prince died three years before the distracted lady, who
lost her reason and pined to death in the Tower. The body of their aunt,
Mary Stuart, with its severed head, was already in this vault, brought
here by her son's filial piety soon after his accession to the English
throne. With these are other kinsfolk. Henry's sister Elizabeth, Queen
nominally of Bohemia, but in her last days she was the sovereign of no
tangible realm, only of the fragile kingdom of hearts. With his mother
lies Prince Rupert, the dashing Cavalier and daring seaman; beside them
are the coffins of Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and Mary, Princess of
Orange, both the victims of smallpox--that terrible scourge which
devastated rich and poor alike before the discovery of vaccination. They
died at Whitehall Palace, where they had come to congratulate their
brother, Charles II., whose troubles they had shared, on his peaceful
restoration to the English realm. The heavy monument which James I.
erected {100} above this vault to the memory of his "dearest mother"
closely resembles that of her rival Elizabeth in the opposite aisle.
This one cost about 100 pounds more than the other, and is therefore
somewhat more elaborately decorated. The white marble portrait effigy
represents the Queen in her middle age, and gives no idea of her youthful
beauty; at her feet is the Scotch lion, much mutilated. Against the wall
is the original warrant, signed by James himself, ordering the removal of
Mary's coffin from Peterborough to Westminster. We have already referred
more than once to the tomb of Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby,
mother of Henry VII., the foundress of two colleges at Cambridge and of a
chair of divinity at both Universities. Now let us stand beside it for a
few moments and look upon the face of this cultured, religious woman,
who, after many trials in early life, ended her days in a holy peace,
secluded from the world by her own choice, yet ever ready to return to
her son's Court when he desired her presence. Notice especially the
moulding of the delicate yet capable hands. Torrigiano's head of Lovell
just above is worthy also of the closest attention, but we can pass by
the inartistic statue of Horace Walpole's mother, and the ugly {101}
monument of General Monck against the wall. Monck himself deserves far
more recognition than he usually receives. His share in the restoratio