0 SCENES IN THE LIFE OF PRINCESS ELIZABETH. NE of the most touching stories in our own or any other history is that of the Princess Elizabeth, the fragile young daughter of King Charles I., who passed only fifteen years in this world, and died alone, and a prisoner, far from the mother and sister who would gladly have nursed and comforted her, and a prey to both grief and disease. Yet life shone brightly on her babyhood, for she was born in St. James's Palace on the 28th of December, 1635, when the snow was on the ground. The States of Holland, by way of congratulating King Charles on the birth of his little daughter, sent him a present of costly china, ambergris, a valuable time-piece, and several pictures, among which were two by the great Italian painter Tintoretto, and four by Titian. She was only a few months old when a terrible illness, called the plague, broke out in London, and she was sent with her royal sister and brothers to Richmond; and, lest infection should approach the little ones, the Privy Council issued an order to the local authorities that no lodgers, beggars, or vagrant persons should be suffered to come into the neighbourhood. A portrait of the Princess Elizabeth when five years old represents her as a plump, fair child, with her hair in long, loose curls, a rose in one of her tiny hands, and a bright-eyed squirrel beside her. She was considered very much like her sister Mary, from whom, and from her mother, she was parted in the spring of 1642, when the Queen took her eldest girl to Holland as the bride of the Prince of Orange. The two elder boys became their father's companions, and Elizabeth and a baby brother lived very quietly at St. James's Palace. In a few months, however, the plague made its very unwelcome appearance in the vicinity, and as the House of Commons did not wish the two children to fall into the hands of the King's friends, they removed them to Lord Cottington's house in Broad Street. The atmosphere of the City did not suit the poor little Princess, and she became so unwell that her governess told the Parliament she must go back again to St. James's, unless some more suitable abode could be found. After a great deal of fuss, they were allowed to return, and the Parliament twice granted passes to equerries who were sent by Charles to visit his little ones. The poor King had little enough money for himself, but spent the greater part of his slender income on his two babes in their nursery, till the Commons declared that if His Majesty could afford to make war on them, he could afford to buy his own clothes, and entirely stopped the supplies. Princess Elizabeth and her brother were worse off than ever, and at length the Countess of Roxburgh sent a remonstrance to Parliament about their wants. The Speaker, after satisfying himself that her statements were correct, told the House that the condition of poverty in which the Royal children were plunged was such that he should be ashamed to speak of it, or have it publicly known. So a proper allowance of money for food, dress, and other necessaries was paid regularly from the Mint; but, at the same time, orders were given that only orthodox divines should be allowed to preach at St. James's, that all superstitious pictures belonging to the children should be defaced, and that every one who loved their father should be removed from them. Little Elizabeth, on hearing that the persons who had being so kind to her were to be taken away, wrote a touching, childish note to the House of Lords, which she gave to the Earl of Pembroke, who read it to the Peers. The end of it was that a proper and suitable household was arranged for the poor little forlorn creatures, and several of the attendants were fond enough of them to comply with whatever conditions the Parliament required, rather than leave. Lady Roxburgh did, indeed, cease to be governess, but her place was filled by the Countess of Dorset, who had originally been chosen for it by the King. In the autumn of 1643, the Princess, in running across a room, fell down and broke her leg, and, though the bone was skilfully set, and united rapidly and well, the shock much affected her health, which was already delicate. Yet it was not till July of the following year that she and her brother, and their retinue, were allowed to have change of air, by being removed to Chelsea. But, though her body was feeble, her mind was quick and bright, and she was permitted and incited to learn far more than was good for any child of her years. The lady who actually taught her was a Mrs. Makin, whose system was to divide the time of her pupils into two parts, one of which was spent in serious study and the acquisition of languages, and the other in music, singing, dancing, writing, and needlework. By means of hard work, before Elizabeth was eight years old she could read and write French, Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. But if she had been able to run about and play, or had been with the kind father and mother who would have talked to, caressed, and amused her, she probably would not have been such a learned little lady. In 1645, the kind and good Countess of Dorset died, and the children were transferred to the care of the Earl and Countess of Northumberland, who took them to Sion House, and did all they could to make them happy; and while under their roof they were joined by the young Duke of York. Elizabeth was delighted to see her elder brother, but often told him that if she were a boy she would not be a captive while there were any means of escape. Perhaps it was not wise counsel, but what could she do, poor child? Her wits were sharpened by sorrow, and she feared all sorts of evils, hardly knowing what form they might take. A little later, King Charles was allowed to see his children, who started at seven o'clock in the morning to meet him at Maidenhead. You may imagine how pleased they all were, when from the windows of the Greyhound Inn they saw their father ride up. Elizabeth was twelve years old, and when they had parted she was only seven. little brother, Harry, was seven, and had not seen the King since he was two. Her 66 Do you know me, child?" asked Charles; and when the boy said "No," told him, in a mournful tone, I am your father, child, and it is not one of the least of my misfortunes that I have brought you and your brothers and sisters into the world to share my miseries." The elder ones began to cry, but their parent soothed them, and sat down with Harry and Elizabeth on his knees, and James clinging to his side. Presently, General Fairfax came in, and Elizabeth, knowing that they owed the comfort of this meeting principally to him, thanked him, and assured him of her eternal gratitude with all the self-possession of a woman. Then the children beguiled their father's cares with their prattle, Elizabeth giving him some graver details of their life; and by-and-by dinner was served, which they ate cheerfully together, and then prepared to ride to Caversham, a beautiful country house on the banks of the Thames, which may still be seen from the railway, where they spent two pleasant days, and parted, mutually cheered by the hope of seeing more of one another in future. And so they did, for a time, as the King lived at Hampton Court, and was allowed to go to and from Sion House, while the children were permitted to go to him, and, just before they were removed to St. James's for the winter, to spend from Saturday till Monday with him. The two sentinels whose duty it was to keep watch in the gallery into which the Royal apartments opened, disturbed Elizabeth, who could not sleep while they were pacing up and down. A few days later, Charles escaped from Hampton Court, but was speedily captured, and sent as a prisoner to Carisbrooke Castle, in the Isle of Wight; and then Elizabeth thought it was high time for her brother James to get out of England, and take refuge with the Princess of Orange. They managed capitally, by playing night after night at hide-and-seek, till at last one night James told little Harry he would give him a two hours' hunt, and while the child sought for him, up-stairs and down-stairs, all over the palace, slipped away and got on board a Dutch skiff in the Thames, which set sail and took him safely to Holland. All through the dreary winter loving letters were exchanged occasionally between the "most dear father," as she called him, and Elizabeth. Then the girl entreated the Parliament to let her go to her sister in Holland; but it was all in vain, and at last the tidings came to Sion House that the King was condemned to death, and that his children were to go to St. James's on the 29th of January, to bid him farewell. The news almost killed the Princess, but she gathered all her fortitude together that she might have strength to go. When she entered the room, and saw how grey her father's hair had grown, and the forlorn appearance of his neglected dress, she burst into a passion of convulsive tears. The King took her in his arms, seated her on his knee, kissed and caressed her into something like calmness, and sent by her his message of undying love to the wife who was so far from him, bade her and his other children to forgive his enemies, and remember that he died a martyr for the laws and liberties of his land, and for maintaining the true Protestant religion. The commissions were many for the young memory bewildered with grief, and when he had ended, he said, "Sweet heart, you'll forget this." "Never, while I live," replied the weeping girl; and then the father kissed and caressed his little boy, who cried piteously, though he was too young to understand all that was said to him, or the bitterness of the parting before them. Then the King divided between them a few jewels, and, with a last embrace to each, turned away to his bed-chamber, when a wail of anguish from his daughter called him once more to her side, to fold her in his arms, kiss her over and over again, and then to leave her. The poor children were taken back to Sion House, and how Elizabeth wept and prayed with a breaking heart all the next day can only be imagined. She never recovered from the sorrow and tension of those hours, and was, in fact, dying from that time until she ended her pilgrimage. The kind old physician who had attended her from infancy found that she was seriously ill, and could bear no remedies which he thought likely to alleviate her pain. The Earl and Countess of Northumberland were most kind; but the former had firmly opposed the King's execution, so the children were taken from him and committed to the charge of Lord and Lady Leicester, at Penshurst, in Kent. Lady Dorothy had boys and girls of her own, and her motherly heart was sore for the Princess; but Elizabeth had to be taken from her next, and both brother and sister were removed to Carisbrooke. Elizabeth was ill and sad, but roused herself one bright August afternoon to play a game of bowls with little Harry on the green, which had been laid down for their father's recreation. A heavy shower came on, and she caught a feverish cold, which, added to her other ailments, soon brought death to her release, and she passed away at three o'clock on Sunday afternoon, September 8th, her head resting on a Bible which her father had used to the last, and bequeathed to his child. Her body was embalmed and buried in the parish church of Newport, which was rebuilt in 1854; and our beloved Queen ordered a beautiful recumbent statue, by Baron Marochetti, to be placed in the new edifice, as “a token of respect for her virtues, and sympathy for her misfortunes." E. CLARKE. ELLA'S NECKLACE. HE present which Ella's father had given to her Mon his return from his last voyage was a coral necklace. He was captain of a ship, and brought Ella so many handsome om presents that she scarcely knew what to do with them. "I shall go to school in Gmy necklace," said Ella to the nurse; "and the girls will all wish they had one like it. I should not like to be as poor as Anna Green; she has always worn the same shabby old frock." And Ella, who was lying idly on the sofa with the coral necklace round her neck and a red ribbon in her hair, felt quite superior to her little schoolfellow. "I don't like Anna Green," said Ella to herself, as she was turned back in her lessons the next morning, whilst Anna Green went to the top of the class. And she began to whisper to Ellen Murray, who sat next to her, and tell her about her necklace. "No talking, young ladies," said Miss Dale, one of the teachers. So Ella had to wait for the playhour, when she should be able to show her treasure. II. IT was a very pleasant playground- a well-mown field, sloping down to a wide stream. It was a hot day, and the girls soon found themselves under the shady trees beside the water. Ella was in the midst of them, displaying her necklace. "I wish I had one;" "And I," "And I," "And I," said a dozen voices. Anna Green said nothing. "Anna Green is afraid of looking at it," said Ella, "lest she should be jealous. But she shall have a sight for all that. Look, Anna! look!" and she threw the necklace high up into the air, intending to catch it as it came down. But by some mischance she threw it a little too far, and instead of dropping into her hand it fell into the stream. There was a general cry of consternation, in which Anna Green joined. "You're glad it's gone, I know you are," said Ella excitedly; "but I shall get it; we can hook it out with sticks." But alas, sticks were of no avail. Anna Green said nothing. She had taken off her shoes and stockings. "I don't mind the water," she said. "I know I can get it. Just tie two or three scarfs together so that I may have something to hold, and I shan't mind." Ella shrank back, but in a moment the other girls had knotted handkerchiefs and scarfs together, and Anna, holding one end tightly, whilst they held the other, stepped off the bank into the stream, which was shallow at first, but grew deeper and deeper where the necklace was lying. She waded on, the water not feeling cold, as it was a hot day, but it was now above Anna's knees. She dived down; the necklace, however, was not where she thought it was. Again she dived down, and this time she caught the necklace, and handed it to Ella, saying, "There it is, Ella; I should have been very sorry if you had lost it." 66 "What's all this?" said the voice of Miss Dale. Anna, come up to the house at once. I do not know what Mrs. Martin will say when she finds that one of her pupils has been in the water." And Miss Dale took off Anna Green. "She won't lay the blame on any one," said Maria Murray, "she'll take it all herself." "She's the best girl of all of us," said another. Ella was silent; and darting swiftly after Miss Dale and Anna, she came up to them, and said, "It's all my fault that Anna got into the water. I'll tell Mrs. Martin all about it." III. ELLA did not spare herself; she told Mrs. Martin everything, ending up with, "If there is any one to punish, let me be punished." "I am not going to punish any one," said Mrs. Martin; "you have had a lesson, which I hope you will not forget. And Anna Green will probably have a severe cold, and be obliged to stay at home. And so it was; Anna Green did not make her appearance at school for many days, and Ella for once in her life felt quite unhappy about her schoolfellow, and determined to amend. At last Anna Green returned to school, and took her usual place in the schoolroom. When the playhour came, and all the girls were gathering round her, Ella walked straight into the circle. "Anna," she said, "I am sorry for all the unkind things I have said. Will you accept my necklace, and let us be friends." "We will be friends," said Anna, kissing her, "but I cannot take your necklace. I thank you for the kind thought, and I shall be glad to be your friend." Ella never forgot the lesson she had learned through her coral necklace, and whenever she looked at it, she said "My necklace has done me more good than any other present that my father has given me." |