The Tower of London: A Historical Romance, Illustrated

XXXVIII. – HOW THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH AND COURTENAY WERE DELIVERED OUT OF THE TOWER TO FURTHER DURANCE; AND HOW QUEEN MARY WAS WEDDED, BY PROXY, TO PHILIP OF SPAIN

Elizabeth still continued a close prisoner in the Bell Tower. But she indulged the most sanguine expectations of a speedy release. Her affections had received a severe blow in Courtenay’s relinquishment of his pretensions to her hand, and it required all her pride and mastery over herself to bear up against it. She did, however, succeed in conquering her feelings, and with her usual impetuosity, began now to hate him in the proportion of her former love. While his mistress was thus brooding over the past, and trying to regulate her conduct for the future within the narrow walls of her prison, Courtenay, who had been removed to the Flint Tower, where he was confined in the basement chamber, was likewise occupied in revolving his brief and troubled career. A captive from his youth, he had enjoyed a few months’ liberty, during which, visions of glory, power, greatness, and love – such as have seldom visited the most exalted – opened upon him. The bright dream was now ended, and he was once more a captive. Slight as his experience had been, he was sickened of the intrigues and hollowness of court life, and sighed for freedom and retirement. Elizabeth still retained absolute possession of his heart, but he feared to espouse her, because he was firmly persuaded that her haughty and ambitious character would involve him in perpetual troubles. Cost what it might, he determined to resign her hand as his sole hope of future tranquillity. In this resolution he was confirmed by Gardiner, who visited him in secret, and counselled him as to the best course to pursue.

“If you claim my promise,” observed the crafty chancellor, “I will fulfil it, and procure you the hand of the princess, but I warn you you will not hold it long. Another rebellion will follow, in which you and Elizabeth will infallibly be mixed up, and then nothing will save you from the block.”

Courtenay acquiesced, and Gardiner having gained his point, left him with the warmest assurances that he would watch over his safety. Insincere as he was, the Chancellor was well-disposed towards Courtenay, but he had a difficult game to play. He was met on all hands by Renard, who was bent on the Earl’s destruction and that of the princess; and every move he made with the queen was checked by his wary and subtle antagonist. Notwithstanding her belief in their treasonable practices, Mary was inclined to pardon the offenders, but Renard entreated her to suspend her judgment upon them, till the emperor’s opinion could be ascertained. This, he well knew, if agreed to, would insure their ruin, as he had written secretly in such terms to Charles the Fifth as he was satisfied would accomplish his object. Extraordinary despatch was used by the messengers; and to Renard’s infinite delight, while he and Gardiner were struggling for ascendancy over the queen, a courier arrived from Madrid. Renard’s joy was converted into positive triumph as he opened his own letters received by the same hand, and found that the emperor acquiesced in the expediency of the severest measures towards Elizabeth and her suitor, and recommended their immediate execution. The same despatches informed him that Charles, apprehensive of some further difficulty in respect to his son’s projected union with Mary, had written to the Count D’Egmont at Brussels, with letters of ratification and procuration, commissioning him to repair to the court of London without delay, and conclude the engagement by espousing the queen by proxy.

Not many hours later, the Count himself, who had set out instantly from Brussels on receiving his commission, arrived. He was received on the queen’s part by the Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Shrewsbury, comptroller of the household, and the Marquis of Winchester, high treasurer, and conducted to the state apartments within the palace of the Tower, where the court was then staying. Mary appointed an audience with him on the following day, and in the interim, to Renard’s disappointment, remained closeted with Gardiner, and would see no one beside. The ambassador, however, consoled himself with the certainty of success, and passed the evening in consultation with D’Egmont, to whom he detailed all that had passed since the flight of the latter.

“The heretical faction in England,” he observed, “is entirely crushed – or will be so, when Jane and Elizabeth are executed. And if his highness, Prince Philip, will follow up my measures, he may not only restore the old faith throughout the realm, but establish the inquisition in the heart of London within six months.”

The next day, at the appointed hour, the Count D’Egmont attended by Renard and the whole of his suite, was conducted with much ceremony to the council-chamber in the White Tower. He found Mary surrounded by the whole of her ministers, and prostrating himself before the throne, acquainted her with his mission, and, presenting her with the letters of procuration he had received from the prince, entreated her to ratify on her side the articles already agreed upon. To this request, for which she was already prepared by the emperor’s despatches, Mary vouchsafed a gracious answer, saying: “I am as impatient for the completion of the contract as the prince your master can be, and shall not hesitate a moment to comply with his wishes. But I would,” she added, smiling, “that he had come to claim its fulfilment himself.”

“His highness only awaits your majesty’s summons, and an assurance that he can land upon your shores without occasioning further tumult,” rejoined D’Egmont.

“He shall speedily receive that assurance,” returned Mary. “Heaven be praised! our troubles are ended, and the spirit of disaffection and sedition checked, if not altogether extinguished. But I pray you hold me excused for a short time,” she continued, motioning him to rise; “I have some needful business to conclude before I proceed with this solemnity.”

Waving her hand to Sir Thomas Brydges, who stood among the group of nobles near the throne, he immediately quitted the presence, returning in a few moments with a guard of halberdiers in the midst of which were Elizabeth and Courtenay. At the approach of the prisoners, the assemblage divided into two lines to allow them passage; and preceded by the lieutenant, they advanced to within a short distance of the queen.

Marv, meantime, had seated herself; and her countenance, hitherto radiant with smiles, assumed a severe expression. A mournful silence pervaded the courtly throng, and all seemed as ominous and lowering as if a thunder-cloud had settled over them. This was not however the case with Renard. A sinister smile lighted up his features, and he observed in an under-tone to D’Egmont, “My hour of triumph is at hand.”

“Wait awhile,” replied the other.

Elizabeth looked in no wise abashed or dismayed by the position in which she found herself. Throwing angry and imperious glances around, and bending her brows on those who scanned her too curiously, she turned her back upon Courtenay, and seemed utterly unconscious of his presence.

At the queen’s command, Gardiner stepped forward, and taking a roll of paper from an attendant, proceeded to read the charges against the prisoners, together with the depositions of those who had been examined, as to their share in the insurrection. When he concluded, Elizabeth observed in a haughty tone – “There is nothing in all that to touch me, my lord. Wyat has recanted his confession, and avowed he was suborned by Renard. And as to the rest of my accusers, they are unworthy of credit. The queen’s highness must acquit me.”

“What say you, my lord!” demanded Gardiner of Courtenay.

“Nothing,” replied the earl.

“Do you confess yourself guilty of the high crimes and misdemeanours laid to your charge, then?” pursued the chancellor.

“No!” answered Courtenay, firmly. “But I will not seek to defend myself further. I throw myself on the queen’s mercy.”

“You do wisely, my lord,” returned Gardiner; “and your grace,” he added to Elizabeth, “would do well to abate your pride, and imitate his example.”

“In my father’s time, my lord,” observed the princess, scornfully, “you would not, for your head, have dared to hold such language towards me.”

“I dared to plead your mother’s cause with him,” retorted Gardiner with much asperity. “Your majesty will now pronounce such sentence upon the accused, as may seem meet to you,” he added, turning to the queen.

“We hold their guilt not clearly proven,” replied Mary. “Nevertheless, too many suspicious circumstances appear against them to allow us to set them at large till all chance of further trouble is ended. Not desiring to deal harshly with them, we shall not confine them longer within the Tower. Which of you, my lords, will take charge of the princess Elizabeth? It will be no slight responsibility. You will answer for her security with your heads. Which of you will take charge of her, I say?”

As she spoke, she glanced inquiringly round the assemblage, but no answer was returned.

“Had not your highness better send her grace under a sure guard to the emperor’s court at Brussels,” observed Renard, who could scarcely conceal his mortification at the queen’s decision.

“I will think of it,” returned Mary.

“Sooner than this shall be,” interposed Sir Henry Bedingfeld, “since none worthier of the office can be found, I will undertake it.”

“You are my good genius, Bedingfeld,” replied Mary. – “To you, then, I confide her, and I will associate with you in the office, Sir John Williams, of Thame. The place of her confinement shall be my palace at Woodstock, and she will remain there till you receive further orders. You will set out with a sufficient guard for Oxfordshire.”

“I am ever ready to obey your highness,” replied Bedingfeld.

“Accursed meddler!” exclaimed Renard to D’Egmont, “he has marred my project.”

“The Earl of Devonshire will be confined in Fotheringay Castle, in Northamptonshire,” pursued Mary. “To you, Sir Thomas Tresham,” she continued, addressing one of those near her, “I commit him.”

“I am honoured in the charge,” returned Tresham, bowing.

“Your majesty will repent this ill-judged clemency,” cried Renard, unable to repress his choler; “and since my counsels are unheeded, I must pray your highness to allow me to resign the post I hold near your person.”

“Be it so,” replied Mary in a freezing tone; “we accept your resignation – and shall pray his imperial majesty to recal you.”

“Is this my reward?” exclaimed Renard, as he retired, covered with shame and confusion. “Cursed is he that puts faith in princes!”

The prisoners were then removed, and as they walked side by side, Courtenay sought to address the princess, but she turned away her head sharply, according him neither look nor word in reply. Finding himself thus repulsed, the earl desisted, and they proceeded in silence as long as their way lay together.

And thus, without one farewell, they parted – to meet no more. Liberated at the instance of Philip of Spain, Courtenay journeyed to Italy, where he died two years afterwards, at Padua, obtaining, as Holinshed touchingly remarks, “that quiet, which in his life he could never have.” Of the glorious destiny reserved for Elizabeth, nothing need be said.

The prisoners removed, the queen presented her hand to the Earl of Pembroke, and repaired with her whole retinue to Saint John’s Chapel.

Arrived there, Mary stationed herself at the altar, around which were grouped Bonner, Tunstal, Feckenham, and a host of other priests and choristers, in their full robes. In a short time, the nave and aisles of the sacred structure were densely crowded by the lords of the council, together with other nobles and their attendants, the dames of honour, the guard, and the suite of the Count D’Egmont. Nor were the galleries above unoccupied, every available situation finding a tenant.

D’Egmont, as the representative of Philip of Spain, took up a position on the right of the queen, and sustained his part with great dignity. As soon as Gardiner was prepared, the ceremonial commenced. D’Egmont tendered his hand to Mary, who took it, and they both knelt down upon the cushion before the altar, while the customary oaths were administered, and a solemn benediction pronounced over them. This done, they arose, and Gardiner observed to the queen in a voice audible throughout the structure – “Your majesty is now wedded to the Prince of Spain. May God preserve you both, and bless your union!”

“God preserve Queen Mary!” cried the Earl of Pembroke, stepping forward.

And the shout was enthusiastically echoed by all within the chapel. But not a voice was raised, nor a blessing invoked for her husband.

Te Deum was then sung by the choristers, and mass performed by Bonner and the priests.

“His imperial majesty entreats your acceptance of this slight offering,” said D’Egmont, when the sacred rites were concluded, presenting the queen with a diamond ring, of inestimable value.

“I accept the gift,” replied Mary, “and I beg you to offer my best thanks to the emperor. For yourself, I hope you will wear this ornament in remembrance of me, and of the occasion.” And detaching a collar of gold set with precious stones from her own neck, she placed it over that of D’Egmont.

“I now go to bring your husband, gracious madam,” said the count.

“Heaven grant you a safe and speedy journey!” replied Mary.

“And to your highness a prosperous union!” rejoined the count; “and may your race long occupy the throne.” So saying, he bowed and departed.

D’Egmont’s wish did not produce a cheering effect on Mary. Jane’s words rushed to her mind, and she feared that her union would not be happy – would not be blessed with offspring. And it need scarcely be added, her forebodings were realised. Coldly treated by a haughty and neglectful husband, she went childless to the tomb.

XXXIX. – OF THE WEDDING OF SIR NARCISSUS LE GRAND WITH JANE THE FOOL, AND WHAT HAPPENED AT IT; AND OF THE ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY HIM, ON THE OCCASION, TO HIS OLD FRIENDS AT THE STONE KITCHEN

Sir Narcissus Le Grand made rapid strides in the royal favour, as well as in that of his mistress. He was now in constant attendance on the queen, and his coxcombry afforded her so much amusement, that she gave him a post near her person, in order to enjoy it. Jane the Fool, too, who had a secret liking for him, though she affected displeasure at Mary’s command, became so violently enamoured, and so excessively jealous, if the slightest attentions were paid him by the dames of honour, that the queen thought it desirable to fix an early day for wedding.

The happy event took place on Saturday, the 10th of February, at Saint Peter’s chapel on the green, and was honoured by the presence of the queen, and all her attendants. Never were merrier nuptials witnessed! And even the grave countenance of Feckenham, the officiating priest on the occasion, wore a smile, as the bridegroom, attired in his gayest habiliments, bedecked at all points with lace, tags, and fringe; curled, scented, and glistening with silver and gold, was borne into the chapel on the shoulders of Og, – who had carried him from the By-ward Tower, through a vast concourse of spectators, – and deposited at the altar near the bride. Behind Og, came his two brethren, together with Dames Placida and Potentia; while Peter Trusbut, Ribald, and Winwike, brought up the rear.

Arrived at the height of his ambition, graced with a title, favoured by the queen, and idolised by his bride, who was not altogether destitute of personal attractions, and was, at least, twice his own size, the poor dwarfs brain was almost turned, and he had some difficulty in maintaining the decorous and dignified deportment which he felt it necessary to maintain on the occasion. The ceremony was soon performed, – too soon for Sir Narcissus, who would willingly have prolonged it – The royal train departed, – not, however, before Mary had bestowed a well-filled purse of gold upon the bridegroom, and commanded him to bring his friends to the palace, where a supper would be provided for them. Sir Narcissus then offered his hand to his bride, and led her forth, followed by his companions.

A vast crowd had collected before the doors of the sacred edifice. But a passage having been kept clear by a band of halberdiers for the queen, the lines were unbroken when the wedding-party appeared. Loud acclamations welcomed Sir Narcissus, who paused for a moment beneath the porch, and taking off his well-plumed cap, bowed repeatedly to the assemblage. Reiterated shouts and plaudits succeeded, and the clamour was so great from those who could not obtain a glimpse of him, that the little knight entreated Og to take him once more upon his shoulder. The request was immediately complied with; and when he was seen in this exalted situation, a deafening shout rent the skies. The applauses, however, were shared by his consort, who placed on the shoulder of Gog, became equally conspicuous.

In this way, they were carried side by side along the green, and Sir Narcissus was so enchanted that he desired the bearers to proceed as slowly as possible. His enthusiasm became at length so great, that when several of those around him jestingly cried, “Largesse, largesse! Sir Narcissus,” he opened the purse lately given him by the queen, and which hung at his girdle, and threw away the broad pieces in showers. “I will win more gold,” he observed to Og, who remonstrated with him on his profusion; “but such a day as this does not occur twice in one’s life.”

“Happiness and long life attend you and your lovely dame, Sir Narcissus!” cried a bystander.

“There is not a knight in the Tower to be compared with you, worshipful sir!” roared another.

“You deserve the queen’s favour!” vociferated a third.

“Greater dignities are in store for you!” added a fourth.

Never was new-made and new-married knight so enchanted. Acknowledging all the compliments and fine speeches with smirks, smiles, and bows, he threw away fresh showers of gold. After making the complete circuit of the fortress, he crossed the drawbridge, and proceeded to the wharf, where he was hailed by different boats on the river: everywhere, his reception was the same. On the return of the party, Hairun invited them all to the Lions’ Tower, and ushering them to the gallery, brought out several of the wild animals, and went through his performances as if the queen herself had been present. In imitation of the sovereign, Sir Narcissus bestowed his last few coins, together with the purse containing them, upon the bearward. During the exhibition, the knight had entertained his consort with an account of his combat with old Max; and before quitting the menagerie he led her into the open space in front of the cages, that she might have a nearer view of the formidable animal.

“It will not be necessary to read you such a lesson, sweetheart, as my friend Magog read his dame,” he observed. “But it is as well you should know that I have a resource in case of need.”

“I shall not require to be brought to obedience by a bear, chuck,” returned Lady Le Grand, with a languishing look. “Your slightest word is law to me!”

“So she says now,” observed Dame Potentia, who happened to overhear the remark, to Dame Placida. “But let a week pass over their heads, and she will alter her tone.”

“Perhaps so,” sighed Placida. “But I have never had my own way since my encounter with old Max. Besides, these dwarfs are fiery fellows, and have twice the spirit of men of larger growth.”

“There is something in that, it must be owned,” rejoined Potentia, reflectively.

Max, by Sir Narcissus’s command, was let out of his cage, and when within a few yards of them, sat on his hind-legs, and opened his enormous jaws. At this sight, Lady Le Grand screamed, and took refuge behind her husband, who, bidding her fear nothing, drew his sword, and put himself in a posture of defence. Suppressing a laugh, Hairun informed the knight that Max only begged for something to eat; and sundry biscuits and apples being given him, he was driven back to his cage without any misadventure. Hairun then led the party to his lodging, where a collation was spread out for them, of which they partook-At its conclusion, Peter Trusbut observed, that if Sir Narcissus-and Lady Le Grand would honour him with their company at the Stone Kitchen on the following night, he would use his best endeavours to prepare a supper worthy of them.

“It will give me infinite pleasure to sup with thee, worthy Peter,” replied the knight, with a patronising air; “but I must insist that the banquet be at my expense. Thou shalt cook it, – I will pay for it.”

“As you please, worshipful sir,” rejoined Trusbut. “But I can have what I please from the royal larder.”

“So much the better,” returned Sir Narcissus. “But mine the entertainment shall be. And I here invite you all to it.”

“My best endeavours shall be used to content your worship,” replied the pantler. “We have had some good suppers in the Stone Kitchen ere now, but this shall exceed them all.”

“It is well,” replied the knight. “Hairun, you had better bring your monkey to divert us.”

“Right willingly, worshipful sir,” replied the bearward; “and if you have a cast-off suit of clothes to spare, I will deck him in them for the occasion.”

“You will find my last suit at the By-ward Tower,” replied Sir Narcissus. “Og will give them to you; and you may, if you choose, confer upon him the name I have cast off with them.”

“I will not fail to adopt your worship’s suggestion,” returned Hairun, smothering a laugh. “Henceforth, I shall call my ape Xit, and who knows whether in due season he may not attain the dignity of knighthood?”

Sir Narcissus did not exactly relish this remark, which made many of the guests smile; but he thought it better not to notice it, and taking a courteous leave of the hospitable bearward, proceeded to the palace, where a lodging was now given him, and where he passed the remainder of the day with his friends in jollity and carousing. Nor was it until the clock had chimed midnight, that he was left alone with his spouse.

At what hour Sir Narcissus arose on the following morning does not appear. But at eight in the evening, attired as on the previous day, and accompanied by his dame in her wedding-dress, he repaired to the Stone Kitchen. He found the whole party assembled, including, besides those he had invited, Win-wike, and his son, a chubby youth of some ten years old, Mauger, Wolfytt, and Sorrocold. Sir Narcissus could have dispensed with the company of the three latter; but not desiring to quarrel with them, he put the best face he could upon the matter, and bade them heartily welcome. He found, too, that Hairun had literally obeyed his injunctions, and brought his monkey with him, dressed up in his old clothes.

“Allow me to present Xit, the ape, to your worship,” said the bearward.

“He is welcome,” replied Sir Narcissus, laughing, to conceal his vexation at the absurd resemblance which the animal bore to him.

Sir Narcissus was then conducted to a seat at the head of the table. On the right was placed his lady, on the left, Dame Placida; while the pantler, who, as usual, filled the office of carver, faced him. The giants were separated by the other guests, and Ribald sat between Dames Placida and Potentia, both of whom he contrived to keep in most excellent humour. Peter Trusbut did not assert too much when he declared that the entertainment should surpass all that had previously been given in the Stone Kitchen; and not to be behindhand, the giants exceeded all their former efforts in the eating line. They did not, it is true, trouble themselves much with the first course, which consisted of various kinds of pottage and fish; though Og spoke in terms of rapturous commendation of a sturgeon’s jowl, and Magog consumed the best part of a pickled tunny-fish.

But when these were removed, and the more substantial viands appeared, they set to work in earnest. Turning up their noses at the boiled capons, roasted bustards, stewed quails, and other light matters, they, by one consent, assailed a largo shield of brawn, and speedily demolished it. Their next incursion was upon a venison pasty – a soused pig followed, – and while Gog prepared himself for a copious draught of Rhenish by a dish of anchovies, Magog, who had just emptied a huge two-handed flagon of bragget, sharpened his appetite – the edge of which was a little taken off, – with a plate of pickled oysters. A fawn roasted, whole, with a pudding in its inside, now claimed their attention, and was pronounced delicious. Og, then, helped himself to a shoulder of mutton and olives; Gog to a couple of roasted ruffs; and Magog again revived his flagging powers with a dish of buttered crabs. At this juncture, the strong waters were introduced by the pantler, and proved highly acceptable to the labouring giants.

Peter Trusbut performed wonders. In the old terms of his art, he leached the brawn, reared the goose, sauced the capon, spoiled the fowls, flushed the chickens, unlaced the rabbits, winged the quails, minced the plovers, thighed the pigeons, bordered the venison pasty, tranched the sturgeon, under-tranched the tunny-fish, tamed the crab, and barbed the lobster.

The triumphs of the repast now appeared. They were a baked swan, served in a coffin of rye-paste; a crane, likewise roasted whole; and a peacock, decorated with its tail. The first of these birds, – to use his own terms, – was reared by the pantler; the second displayed; and the last disfigured. And disfigured it was, in more ways than one; for, snatching the gaudy plumes from its tail, Sir Narcissus decorated his dame’s cap with them. The discussion of these noble dishes fully occupied the giants, and when they had consumed a tolerable share of each, they declared they had done. Nor could they be tempted with the marrow toasts, the fritters, the puddings, the wafers, and other cates and sweetmeats that followed, – though they did not display the like objection to the brimming cups of hippocras, which wound up the repast.

The only person who appeared to want appetite for the feast, or who, perhaps, was too busy to eat, was Sir Narcissus. For the first time in his life, he played the part of host, and he acquitted himself to admiration. Ever and anon, rising in his chair, with a goblet of wine in his hand, he would pledge some guest, or call out to Peter Trusbut to fill some empty plate. He had a jest for every one; – abundance of well-turned compliments for the ladies; and the tenderest glances and whispers for his dame, who looked more lovesick and devoted than ever. By the time the cloth was removed, and the dishes replaced by flagons and pots of hydromel and wine, Sir Narcissus was in the height of his glory. The wine had got a little into his head, but not more than added to his exhilaration, and he listened with rapturous delight to the speech made by Og, who in good set terms proposed his health and that of his bride. The pledge was drunk with the utmost enthusiasm; and in the heat of his excitement, Sir Narcissus mounted on the table, and bowing all round, returned thanks in the choicest phrases he could summon. His speech received several interruptions from the applauses of his guests; and Hairun, who was bent upon mischief, thought this a favourable opportunity for practising it. During the banquet, he had kept the monkey in the back-ground, but he now placed him on the table behind Sir Narcissus, whose gestures and posture the animal began to mimic. Its grimaces were so absurd and extraordinary, that the company roared with laughter, to the infinite astonishment of the speaker, who at the moment wras indulging in a pathetic regret, at the necessity he should be under of quitting his old haunts in consequence of his new dignities and duties; but his surprise was changed to anger, as he felt his sword suddenly twitched from the sheath, and beheld the grinning countenance of the ape close behind him. Uttering an exclamation of fury, he turned with the intention of sacrificing the cause of his annoyance on the spot; but the animal wras too quick for him, and springing on his shoulders, plucked off his cap, and twisted its fingers in his well-curled hair, lugging him tremendously. Screaming with pain and rage, Sir Narcissus ran round the table upsetting all in his course, but unable to free himself from his tormentor, who keeping fast hold of his head, grinned and chattered as if in mockery of his vociferations.

Lady Le Grand had not noticed the monkey’s first proceedings, her attention being diverted by Ribald, who pressed her, with many compliments upon her charms, to take a goblet of malmsey which he had poured out for her. But she no sooner perceived what was going forward, than she flew to the rescue, beat off the monkey, and hugging her little lord to her bosom, almost smothered him with kisses and caresses. Nor were Dames Placida and Potcntia less attentive to him. At first, they had treated the matter as a joke, but seeing the diminutive knight was really alarmed, they rubbed his head, patted him on the back, embraced him as tenderly as Lady Le Grand would permit, and loudly upbraided Hairun for his misconduct. Scarcely able to conceal his laughter, the offender pretended the utmost regret, and instantly sent off the monkey by one of the attendants to the Lions’ Tower.

It was some time before Sir Narcissus could be fully appeased; and it required all the blandishments of the dames, and the humblest apologies from Hairun, to prevent him from quitting the party in high dudgeon. At length, however, he was persuaded by Magog to wash down his resentment in a pottle of sack, brewed by the pantler – and the generous drink restored him to instant good-humour. Called upon by the company to conclude his speech, he once more ventured upon the table, and declaiming bitterly against the interruption he had experienced, finished his oration amid the loudest cheers. He then bowed round in his most graceful manner, and returned to his chair.