alt, 243 



terrible, indeed, at the period of their reality, but when 

 ended, how soon forgotten ! yet not forgotten by the aged 

 woman, who is resting, as in a quiet home, within that 

 spacious room in the Abbey of Bermondsey. It is her 

 right to be there, for the prior and monks are bound by 

 their charter to entertain, and that most hospitably, the 

 representative of their great founder, Clare, Earl of Glou- 

 cester. Edward VI. was the sole heir of that family, and 

 the queen dowager is privileged to occupy the nobly 

 panelled halls, and state-chambers, that are expressly 

 reserved for the descendants of the founder.* 



The waves and billows of life's deepest waters have 

 passed over that aged woman who is sitting in a richly 

 carved chair, at the great oriel-window, watching the 

 summer clouds as they flit over the smiling landscape, and 

 cast their shadows on the abbey fields. Her venerable 

 figure, beautiful even in its decrepitude, though not with 

 the beauty of sunny youth, yet such as the bright ray of 

 the setting sun sheds over an autumn landscape, recalls 

 the faint remembrance of a lovely woman who once stood, 

 with two orphan boys beneath the oak of Whittlebury, to 

 sue for the restitution of her broad lands, from the gallant 

 Edward. 



Hark to the toll of the convent bell. It is tolling 

 for Elizabeth Woodville, late Queen Dowager of Eng- 

 land, and the requiem is being sung, which breathes 

 peace to the passing spirit. The moon is up, and yet the 

 * Annals of the Abbey of Bermondsey. 



