esent,
conclude with Dr Whitaker's remark, that "The King was little aware of
the effects which the ill-judged licence was likely to produce on the
common people. The relics of it are hardly worn out to this day; and
there is scarcely a Sunday evening in any village of the county of
Lancaster which does not exhibit symptoms of obedience to the injunction
of honest 'recreation.'"--_Royal Progresses of James I_.

On the 15th of August, in the year 1617, a day memorable for its heat
and brightness, and for the more enduring glory shed over this remote
corner of our rejoicing and gladdened realm, came forth King James, from
the southern gate of his loyal borough of Preston, in a gilded and
unwieldy caroche, something abated of its lustre by reason of long
service and the many vicissitudes attending his Majesty's "progresses,"
which he underwent to the great comfort and well-being of his dominions.

It were needless to set forth the mighty state in which this war-hating
monarch, this "vicegerent of Divinity," departed--or the great error and
agitation of Mr Breares, the lawyer, when he made a marvellous proper
speech at the town-cross--wiping his forehead thrice, and his mouth
barely once. Nor shall we dilate upon the distress, and dazzling silk
doublets of the mayor and aldermen of this proud and thrice-happy
borough--nor how they knelt to the soft salute of his Majesty's hand.
Our whole book were a space too brief, and a region too inglorious, for
the wide pomp and paraphernalia of the time; and how the bailiff rode,
and the mace-bearer guarded the caroche, it were presumption, an
offensive compound of ignorance and pride, to attempt the portraiture.
Suffice it to say, they wore mulberry-coloured taffeta gowns, carried
white staves and foot-cloths, and were preceded by twenty-four stout
yeomen riding before the king, with fringed javelins, unto a place
beyond Walton, where they departed. Our object is to notice matters of
less magnitude and splendour; occurrences then too trivial to guide the
pen of the chronicler, lost beneath the blaze and effulgence that
followed on the track of this pageant-loving king. Scraps, which the
pomps and vanities of those days would have degraded, we thus snatch
from oblivion; a preservation more worthy, and an occupation more
useful, we hope, than to hand down to admiring ages the colour and cut
of taffeta or brocade.

This "wisest" of earthly kings was an ill-spoiled compound of qualities