s in the bartisans of an old tower, I
have my fears that they can bode her no good. I have seen them in the
House of Lords, clothed in their idolatrous robes; and when I looked at
them so proudly placed at the right hand of the king's throne, and on the
side of the powerful, egging on, as I saw one of them doing in a whisper,
the Lord Liverpool, before he rose to speak against the queen, the blood
ran cold in my veins, and I thought of their woeful persecutions of our
national church, and prayed inwardly that I might be keepit in the
humility of a zealous presbyter, and that the corruption of the frail
human nature within me might never be tempted by the pampered whoredoms
of prelacy.

Saving the Lord Chancellor, all the other temporal peers were just as
they had come in from the crown of the causeway--none of them having a
judicial garment, which was a shame; and as for the Chancellor's long
robe, it was not so good as my own gown; but he is said to be a very
narrow man. What he spoke, however, was no doubt sound law; yet I could
observe he has a bad custom of taking the name of God in vain, which I
wonder at, considering he has such a kittle conscience, which, on less
occasions, causes him often to shed tears.

Mrs. Pringle and me, by ourselves, had a fine quiet canny sight of the
queen, out of the window of a pastry baxter's shop, opposite to where her
majesty stays. She seems to be a plump and jocose little woman; gleg,
blithe, and throwgaun for her years, and on an easy footing with the
lower orders--coming to the window when they call for her, and becking to
them, which is very civil of her, and gets them to take her part against
the government.

The baxter in whose shop we saw this told us that her majesty said, on
being invited to take her dinner at an inn on the road from Dover, that
she would be content with a mutton-chop at the King's Arms in London, {2}
which shows that she is a lady of a very hamely disposition. Mrs.
Pringle thought her not big enough for a queen; but we cannot expect
every one to be like that bright accidental star, Queen Elizabeth, whose
effigy we have seen preserved in armour in the Tower of London, and in
wax in Westminster Abbey, where they have a living-like likeness of Lord
Nelson, in the very identical regimentals that he was killed in. They
are both wonderful places, but it costs a power of money to get through
them, and all the folk about them think of nothing but money; fo