VI. 



THE Armory of the Tower of London forms, it is 

 generally admitted, one of the most interesting sights 

 of the great metropolis. No one can look without 

 wonder upon that goodly array of knights and noble 

 warriors, nor help an involuntary sigh over the de- 

 generacy of modern humanity. Though the figures 

 before us are technically and irreverently termed 

 c dummies/ the hardened shell with which their body 

 and limbs are cased we know has felt the throb of 

 many a true English heart, maybe, glistened beneath 

 the sun at Cressy and Agincourt, or perhaps on 

 the bloody fields of Worcester and Marston Moor. 

 It requires no great power of the imagination to 

 transport ourselves to bygone centuries, and listen 

 to the ring of hostile arms, the sepulchral voices of 

 men whose heads are inurned in casques of steel, 

 blended with the clash of battle-axes, the whizz of 

 arrows, the neighing of steeds, the rattle of 

 musketry, and at intervals the deep booming 

 cannon's roar. 



