of the queen; but Elizabeth committed her to the Tower, where she was afterwards delivered of a son. Lord Hertford was summoned home, to answer for his misdemeanour; when, confessing the marriage, he also was committed to the Tower."

wrote to Cecil, setting forth-"how unmeet it is this young couple should wax old in prison," but all to no purpose. Meantime, Lord Hertford, by bribing his keepers, was permitted to pass from his own apartments to those of his wife, in the Tower. Now, the pleasant comedy was turned into a tragedy: a formal Another child was born, and this roused all the wrath of the commission of inquiry was issued, at the head of which was "virgin queen." Lord Hertford was fined in the monstrous sum Archbishop Parker, Bishop Grindal, and Sir William Petre; of fifteen thousand pounds,—a large sum of money in those days. "when the parties being unable, within a time prescribed, to This fine was divided into three parts, and was alleged to be produce witnesses of the marriage, a definitive sentence was pro-inflicted for a triple crime: five thousand for the original offence, nounced against them; and their imprisonment ordered to be five thousand for breaking his prison, and five thousand for continued during the queen's pleasure." So, because the priest repeating his vicious act. who married them probably thought it prudent to keep out of the way, the young couple, who mutually acknowledged their marriage, and were willing to live together as loving man and wife, were committed to the Tower, at the pleasure of an arbitrary shrew! The families of the parties stirred themselves in behalf of the young couple. Lady Catherine's uncle, Lord John Grey, of Pyrgo, in Essex, wrote to Sir William Cecil (Lord Burleigh) in behalf of his niece. "In faith," says he, "I would I were the queen's confessor this Lent, that I might join her in penance to forgive and forget; or otherwise able to step into the pulpit, to tell her highness that God will not forgive her, unless she freely forgive all the world." But Elizabeth was not a woman to be either intimidated or cajoled; and therefore, when we find Lady Catherine removed from the Tower to the custody of her uncle in Essex, we are not to infer that the independent language of the uncle was the sole cause of the change. "The ravages of the plague," says Sir Henry Ellis, "in London, in 1563, induced Queen Elizabeth to relax somewhat of her severity toward Lord Hertford and Lady Catherine. Secretary Cecil, writing to Sir Thomas Smith in France, in the month of August of that year, says, 'My Lord of Hertford and my Lady Catherine, by cause of the plague, are thus delivered: he with his mother, as a prisoner; she with her uncle, my Lord John Grey.' He adds-They die in London above a thousand in a week.

While Lady Catherine was with her uncle at Pyrgo, several letters were sent from them both to Cecil, entreating the queen's forgiveness. With one of Lord Grey's letters was sent a petition from Lady Catherine to the queen, the style of which, if judged by our modern ideas, is quite offensive. Only think of one woman asking another woman forgiveness for a venial offence in the following language-language, we might almost think, borrowed from the Liturgy :

"I dare not presume, most gracious sovereign, to crave pardon for my disobedient and rash matching of myself, without your highness's consent, I only most humbly sue unto your highness to continue your merciful nature toward me. I knowledge myself a most unworthy creature to fail so much of your gracious favour as I have done. My just felt misery and continual grief doth teach me daily, more and more, the greatness of my fault, and your princely pity increaseth my sorrow, that have so forgotten my duty towards your majesty. This is my great torment of mind. May it therefore please your most excellent majesty to license me to be a most lowly suitor unto your highness, to extend toward my miserable state your majesty's favour and accustomed mercy, which, upon my knees, in all humble wise I crave, with my daily prayers to God, long to continue and preserve your majesty's reign over us. From Pyrgo, the 7th of November, 1563."

Perhaps Elizabeth might have relaxed in her despotic and harsh treatment of Lord and Lady Hertford, if a Marplot had not come in the way. One John Hales, who had been clerk of the hanaper in the reign of Henry the Eighth, wrote a book on the ticklish subject of the succession to the crown, and introduced the claims of the Grey family, as well as the debateable point of the marriage. "Here," says Secretary Cecil," is fallen out a troublesome fond matter. John Hales had secretly made a book in the time of the last parliament, wherein he had taken upon him to discuss no small matter,-viz. the title to the crown after the queen's majesty. Having confuted and rejected the line of the Scottish queen, and made the line of the Lady Frances, mother to the Lady Catherine, only next and lawful. He is committed to the Fleet for this boldness, specially because he hath communicated it to sundry persons. My Lord John Grey is in trouble also for it. Beside this, John Hales hath procured sentences and counsels of lawyers from beyond seas to be written in maintenance of the Earl of Hertford's marriage. This dealing of his offendeth the queen's majesty very much."

No doubt it did; the royal shrew was not to be trifled with, and so poor Lord Hertford and his wife were sent back to the Tower again. Anne, Duchess of Somerset, mother of Lord Hertford,

6

I

But death came to release Lady Catherine from her arbitrary and cruel imprisonment. A copy of a manuscript, entitled "the Manner of her Departing," is given by Sir Henry Ellis; and he adds, very justly, "the reader will peruse it with a feeling of pity." After describing the prayers and pious ejaculations which she uttered, the narrative mentions that Lady Hopton said to her, "Madam, be of good comfort, for with God his favour you shall live and escape this; for Mrs. Cousen saith you have escaped many dangers, when you were as like to die as you be now." "No, no, my lady, my time is come, and it is not God's will that I should live any longer; and his will be done, and not mine." Then, looking upon those that were about her-" As I am, so shall you be; behold the picture of yourselves!" After conversation on one or two matters, "calling unto her woman, she said, 'Give me the box wherein my wedding ring is;' and when she had it, she opened it, and took out a ring with a pointed diamond, and said, Here, Sir Owen, deliver this unto my lord; this is the ring that received of him when I gave myself to him, and gave him my faith.' 'What say you, madam,' said Sir Owen, was this your wedding ring?' No, Sir Owen,' she said, 'this was the ring of my assurance unto my lord; and there is my wedding ring,' taking another ring, all of gold, out of the box, saying, 'Deliver this also my lord, and pray him, even as I have been to him, (as I take God to witness I have been,) a true and a faithful wife, that he would be a loving and a natural father unto my children, unto whom I give the same blessing that God gave to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.' And then took she out another ring with a death's head, and said,This shall be the last token unto my lord that ever I shall send him it is the picture of myself.' The words about the death's head were these While I live, yours!' and so, looking down upon her hands, and perceiving the nails to look purple, said, 'Lo, here he is come!' and then, as it were with a joyful countenance, she said, Welcome, Death!' and embracing herself with her arms, and lifting up her eyes and hands unto heaven, knocking her hands upon her breast, she brake forth, and said, O Lord, for thy manifold mercies, blot out of the book all mine offences!' Whereby Sir Owen, perceiving her to draw towards her end, said to Mr. Bockeham, Were it not best to send to the church, that the bell* may be rung?' and she herself hearing him, said, 'Good Sir Owen, let it be so.' Then, immediately perceiving her end to be near, she entered into prayer, and said, O Lord, unto thy hands I commend my soul! Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!' and so, putting down her eyes with her own hands, she yielded unto God her meek spirit, at nine of the clock in the morning, the 27th of January, 1567."

"The marriage," says Sir Henry Ellis, "between Lady Catherine Grey and the Earl of Hertford was not established till 1606; when the priest who had joined them being produced, and other circumstances agreeing, a jury at common law found it a good marriage." Lord Hertford was nine years in prison.

We may conclude this touching and even tragic story with something approaching to farce. Lady Mary Grey, a sister of Lady Catherine, who is described as having been the most diminutive lady about the court of Elizabeth, imitated her sister in the matter of secrecy in her marriage. She was married privately to Henry Keys, the queen's gentleman porter. The marriage does not seem to have been a very romantic one, nor, on the lady's part, a very dignified one; but the insignificance of it might have sheltered the couple from the royal virgin's vengeance. "omnibus" secretary, Cecil, writing all the way to France, says to Sir Thomas Smith-"Here is an unhappy chance, and monstrous. The serjeant porter, being the biggest gentleman in this court, hath married secretly the Lady Mary Grey, the least of all the court. They are committed to several prisons. The offence is very great." Sir Henry Ellis gives copies of two letters from Lady Mary Grey to Cecil, begging for pardon.

That

The "passing bell." It was rung at the passing from life to death, with the intention that those who heard it should pray for the person dying.

THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.

THE visitor of London who walks along the narrow street called the Old Bailey, leading from Ludgate Hill, and crossing Newgate street, would find it hard to fancy that a portion of the wall of the city once ran along it. Yet, so it was; and the prison of Newgate preserves in its name the memorial of a new gate having been struck through the wall, Lud-gate not being a sufficient thoroughfare. Prisoners were, in ancient times, confined in apartments adjoining or over the gate of the city or castle, if they were not removed to a place of greater security. Hence, when the prison was built in the room of the prison of the gate, it retained the name of Newgate.

The origin of the term "Bailey," the reader, if he is curious in etymology, may trace from one of two words, or from a combination of them both. It may come from " ballium," an outer bulwark; a portion of the ditch outside the city wall lay along the site of the street called the Old Bailey, and the term "ballium" was applied to a ditch as well as to outworks. "The Old Bailey," say the antiquarians, "near Lud Gate in London, received its name from its relative position in regard of the antient wall of the city." But perhaps the name was perpetuated by its association with the French "Baillé," signifying to be delivered to the care of one's keeper or bail. For, as a man accused of crime is held, by our old common law, to be innocent until proved to be guilty, so, strictly speaking, no man should be imprisoned, or suffer bodily restraint or coercion of any kind, until sentence is pronounced against him. To prevent, however, the escape of the guilty, accused persons were required to be baillé, or bailed-to find sureties who would be answerable for their appearance when called upon to take their trial; and those who could not find friends or neighbours willing to undergo this responsibility, were, of course, committed to prison for security.

The Old Bailey, with the adjoining prison of Newgate, have been as famous in the annals of crime, as London is in the history of Britain. The prison, until just the other day almost, was preeminent as a school of iniquity; other prisons might have been bad, but considering that Newgate was the criminal receptacle of such a city as London, it was abominable. Every body has heard of the labours of Mrs. Fry; and this consideration should cheer all philanthropic labourers, that even if their aims are only individual, yet those very individual aims may powerfully help forward great general good. The main object of Mrs. Fry and her fellowworkers was doubtless the immediate personal reformation of the unhappy victims of iniquity confined in prisons; but in doing so, they powerfully aided the progress of the great question of prison reform.

We have already given in the LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL (No. IV., pp. 60–62), some details respecting the gradual amelioration of the Criminal Law, and the numbers who were executed annually till within a very recent period, as contrasted with the milder administration of the law in the present day. As a sort of finish to those statements, we here present the reader with a picture of "The Condemned Sermon," as it used to be performed eight times a year within the prison of Newgate, over criminals condemned to die at the Old Bailey. The writer of this sketch is Mr. E. G. Wakefield, the well-known political economist, and author of " England and America." He was himself confined in Newgate, and had ample opportunity for studying the details, of which he has composed his picture. Some of our readers may be familiar with it, as it has repeatedly appeared in print; and others may think that there is exaggeration in the statements. have his own authority that not a circumstance is stated which he did not witness it was written so recently as 1830, and may be taken as a powerful dramatic sketch of scenes, the memory of which is already fading away, but which, only a very few years ago, were performed, at intervals of six weeks or two months each, within the heart of the City of London.

But we

"The condemned service is conducted with peculiar solemnity, being attended by the sheriffs in their great gold chains, and is in other ways calculated to make a strong impression on the minds of the congregation, who may be considered as representing the criminals of the metropolis. Whether the impression be a good or a bad one, I leave the reader to decide: but in order that he may have the necessary materials for deciding justly, I lay before him the following description of a condemned service, premising only this-that not a circumstance is stated which I have not witnessed.

"The sheriffs are already seated in their own pew, accompanied by their under-sheriffs, and two friends drawn thither by curiosity. Not far from them appear two tall footmen, swelling with pride at their state liveries. The ordinary is in his desk: his surplice is evidently fresh from the mangle: and those who see him every day observe an air of peculiar solemnity, and perhaps of importance, in his face and manner. The clerk is busied, searching out the psalms proper for the occasion.

"The tragedy begins. Enter first the school-master and his pupils; then the prisoners for trial; next the transports, amongst whom are the late companions of the condemned men; and then the women. Lastly come the condemned. They are four in number. The first is a youth, about eighteen apparently. He is to die for stealing in a dwelling-house goods valued at more than 57. His features have no felonious cast: on the contrary, they are handsome, intelligent, and even pleasing. Craft, and fear, and debauchery, have not yet had time to put decided marks on him. He steps boldly, with his head upright, looks to the women's gallery, and smiles. His intention is to pass for a brave fellow with those who have brought him to this untimely end; but the attempt fails; fear is stronger in him than vanity. Suddenly his head droops; and, as he sits down, his bent knees tremble and knock together. The second is an older criminal, on whose countenance villain is distinctly written. He has been sentenced to death before, but reprieved, and transported for life. Having incurred the penalty of death by the act, in itself innocent, of returning to England, he is now about to die for a burglary committed since his return. His glance at the sheriffs and the ordinary tells of scorn and defiance. But even this hardened ruffian will wince at the most trying moment, as we shall see presently. The third is a sheep-stealer, a poor ignorant creature, in whose case there are mitigating points, but who is to be hanged in consequence of some report having reached the ear of the Secretary of State, that this is not his first offence; and, secondly, because of late a good many sheep have been stolen by other people. He is quite content to die : indeed, the exertions of the chaplain and others have brought him firmly to believe, that his situation is enviable, and that the gates of Heaven are open to receive him. Now observe the fourth-that miserable old man in a tattered suit of black. He is already half dead. He is said to be a clergyman of the Church of England, and has been convicted of forgery. The great efforts made to save his life, not only by his friends but by many utter strangers, fed him with hope until his doom was sealed. He is now under the influence of despair. He staggers towards the pew, reels into it, stumbles forward, flings himself on to the ground, and, by a curious twist of the spine, buries his head under his body. The sheriffs shudder, their inquisitive friends crane forward; the keeper frowns on the excited congregation; the lately smirking footmen close their eyes and forget their liveries; the ordinary clasps his hands; the turnkeys cry hush!' and the old clerk lifts up his cracked voice, saying, Let us sing to the praise and glory of God.'

"People of London! is there any scene in any play so striking as this tragedy in real life, which is acted eight times a year in the midst of your serene homes?

Eight

"They sing the Morning Hymn, which of course reminds the condemned of their prospect for to-morrow morning. o'clock to-morrow morning is to be their last moment. They come to the burial service. The youth, who alone, of those for whom it is intended, is both able and willing to read, is, from want of practice, at a loss to find the place in his prayer-book. The ordinary observes him, looks to the sheriffs, and says aloud the Service for the Dead!' The youth's hands tremble as they hold the book upside-down. The burglar is heard to mutter an angry oath. The sheep-stealer smiles, and, extending his arms upwards, looks with a glad expression to the roof of the chapel. The forger has never moved.

"Let us pass on. All have sung the Lamentation of a Sinner,' and have seemed to pray, especially for those now awaiting the awful execution of the law.' We come to the sermon.

"The ordinary of Newgate is an orthodox, unaffected Church of England divine, who preaches plain homely discourses, as fit as any religious discourse can be fit for the irritated audience. The sermon of this day, whether eloquent or plain, useful or useless, must produce a striking effect at the moment of its delivery. The text, without another word, is enough to raise the wildest passions of the audience, already fretted by an exhibition of gross injustice, and by the contradiction involved in the conjunction of religion with the taking away of lives. The sacrifices of God are a broken

We may easily learn the fact of the Court being in session by the scene presented in Old Bailey street. Straw is laid down in the narrow street, to deaden the noise of passing carriages; while groups of idling or curious individuals, policemen and witnesses in attendance, may be seen swarming about the entrances of the Court, or crossing over to the public-houses. In the earlier part of the session, the Grand Jury are busy in their own room, examining the bills of indictment; in the "OLD COURT," two of the Judges may be presiding; and, in the "NEW COURT," the Recorder or Common-Serjeant: so that, in fact, during each session of the Central Criminal Court, there may be said to be three tribunals sitting, investigating and trying offences.

heart: a broken and contrite heart, O God! thou wilt not despise.' For a while the preacher addresses himself to the congregation at large, who listen attentively-excepting the clergyman and the burglar, of whom the former is still rolled up at the bottom of the condemned pew, whilst the eyes of the latter are wandering round the chapel, and one of them is occasionally winked, impudently, at some acquaintance amongst the prisoners for trial. At length the ordinary pauses and then, in a deep tone, which, though hardly above a whisper, is audible to all, says Now to you, my poor fellow-mortals, who are about to suffer the last penalty of the law.' But why should I repeat the whole? It is enough to say, that in the same solemn tone he talks for about ten minutes of crimes, punishments, bonds, shame, ignominy, sorrow, sufferings, wretchedness, pangs, childless parents, widows, and helpless orphans, broken and contrite hearts, and death to-morrow morning for the benefit of society. What happens? The dying men are dreadfully agitated. The young stealer in a dwelling-house no longer has the least pretence to bravery. He grasps the back of the pew; his legs give way; he utters a faint groan, and sinks on the floor. Why does no one stir to help him? Where would be the use? The hardened burglar moves not, nor does he speak; but his face is of an ashy paleness; and, if you look carefully, you may see blood trickling from his lip, which he has bitten unconsciously, or from rage, or to rouse his fainting courage. The poor sheep-in Council the cases of all those tried at the Old Bailey, against stealer is in a frenzy. He throws his hands far from him and shouts aloud, Mercy, good Lord! mercy is all I ask. The Lord in his mercy come! There! there! I see the Lamb of God! Oh! how happy! Oh! this is happy!' Meanwhile, the clergyman, still bent into the form of a sleeping dog, struggles violently, his feet, legs, hands, and arms, even the muscles of his back, move with a quick jerking motion, not naturally, but, as it were, like the affected parts of a galvanized corpse. Suddenly he utters a short sharp scream, and all is still.

"The silence is short. As the ordinary proceeds to conclude' the women set up a yell, which is mixed with a rustling noise, occasioned by the removal of those whose hysterics have ended in fainting. The sheriffs cover their faces; and one of their inquisitive friends blows his nose with his glove. The keeper tries to appear unmoved; but his eye wanders anxiously over the combustible assembly. The children round the communion-table stare and gape with childish wonder. The two masses of prisoners for trial undulate and slightly murmur; while the capital convicts, who were lately in that black pew, appear faint with emotion.

"This exhibition lasts for some minutes, and then the congregation disperses; the condemned returning to the cells; the forger carried by turnkeys; the youth sobbing convulsively, as a passionate child; the burglar muttering curses and savage expressions of defiance; whilst the poor sheep-stealer shakes hands with the turnkeys, and points upward with madness in his look!"

Such scenes are now of rare occurrence: the year 1838 (as was remarked in the article in this Journal already alluded to) passed without a "condemned sermon" having been preached in Newgate, and without an execution in the metropolis.

The "Old Court" is the chief or main court at the Old Bailey; here the judges, from choice or predilection, generally choose to sit, the "New Court" never being honoured with the presence of a judge, unless there is a pressure of business. In the "Old Court," therefore, the more serious crimes are tried, and to it the public attention is more generally directed. The Recorder and Common Serjeant of the Corporation of the City of London preside in the "New Court," and also in the absence of the judges, in the "Old Court;" sometimes in the mornings before the judges arrive, and in the evenings, if they go away early. Formerly, the Recorder used personally to report to the King whom sentence of death was recorded. The sentences of the various prisoners were also pronounced by him after the trials were over. The accession of her present Majesty rendered necessary a change in the practice of reporting in Council the cases of those against whom sentence of death was recorded; there being, of course, many cases the details of which could not be, with propriety, gone into in presence of the Queen. An act was therefore passed, soon after her accession, assimilating the practice of the Central Criminal Court to those of other criminal courts, which has somewhat diminished the personal importance of the Recorder. The "Old Court" is an oblong room, along one side of which is the "Bench,". '—a range of crimson-cushioned seats, the central seat having a canopy over it, on which is the royal arms. The act of Parliament creating the Central Criminal Court, makes the Lord Mayor and Aldermen judges of the court, but they take no part beyond being present. There are seldom more than two or three members of the Corporation on the bench at a time. On the right hand of the bench is the jury box; in the centre of the room is a table, round which sit the counsel; and opposite the bench is the "dock"-a square box, the front of which is technically called the "bar." Over the dock is a small gallery for visitors, who must pay for admission, from one shilling and sixpence and upwards each, according as the door-keeper estimates the importance of the trial, or the eagerness of the persons to be admitted. This is a disgraceful practice. By the common law, courts of justice ought freely to be open;-you can walk with. out obstruction into the space below the bar in the House of Lords, during the arguing of an appeal case; the superior courts at Westminster Hall are as freely open as a place of worship; but the doors of the Old Bailey are only unlocked by silver keys.

The Old Bailey was the great criminal court of the metropolis, and derived its importance from that circumstance. The chief We have entered, we will say, during the progress of a trial.— part of London lies in Middlesex, and the large population of the A witness is under examination in the witness-box; one or two of metropolis afforded ample employment to the court. But its the counsel are eagerly consulting together; others are carelessly jurisdiction did not extend beyond the county; and, therefore, as reading newspapers; and perhaps the prisoner at the bar tremLondon began to spread on the other side of the Thames, great bling for his fate. Enter the grand jury, accompanied by an anomalies presented themselves. A prisoner who committed an officer bearing a wand: the trial is interrupted; the clerk of the offence on the Middlesex side of the Thames, would be committed court reads aloud the "true bills" returned against prisoners; to Newgate, and tried, probably, in a few weeks, for the sessions and the frequent recurrence of the word "felony," as he reads, at the Old Bailey were held eight times a year; while, if he crossed soon tells the unpractised stranger that the larger portion of the the river, and committed an offence in Lambeth, or at Greenwich, business of the Central Criminal Court arises from those mean he would be transferred to the Surrey or Kent assizes, and might and petty crimes which spring from the combined influence of be in prison four or five months before trial. To remedy this and ignorance, vice, and poverty. When the grand jury retire, the other inconveniences, an act of parliament was passed in 1834, trial is resumed; and after its conclusion, a crowd of men, women, creating a CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT, to be held at the Old and youths may be seen pouring into the dock, ascending by a Bailey, which has jurisdiction over offences committed in all places staircase, through a covered passage, from the adjoining prison of within ten miles of St. Paul's,-an extent which includes portions Newgate. A strange medley they seem, and a humbling spectacle of Surrey, Kent, and Essex, as well as Middlesex. Offences com- they present,-some in tatters, some decently clothed, some mitted on the high seas, within the jurisdiction of the Admiralty looking round with a frown or with an air of indifference, others of England, can also be tried in this court; so that the reader may gazing, tittering, or wondering. These prisoners are arraigned by observe occasionally in the newspapers, notices of sailors and the "batch," to save time; their crimes being of a class. They others apprehended at such distant ports as Bristol or Liverpool, are told that they have the privilege of challenging the jury, but and brought up to be tried at the Central Criminal Court. possibly the greater number do not understand what that means. Its sittings are held twelve times a year, or once a month; and, as Then each juryman is sworn separately by the officer of the court each session generally occupies a fortnight, and sometimes nearly" You shall well and truly try, and true deliverance make, three weeks, the space between them is exceedingly brief.

between our sovereign lady the Queen and the prisoners at the