THE ORB, of gold, six inches in diameter, banded with a fillet of the same metal, set with pearls and surmounted by a large amethyst supporting a cross of gold.

THE QUEEN'S ORB is of smaller dimensions, but composed of the same splendid materials and

ornaments.

THE SWORD OF MERCY, or CURTANA, of Steel, ornamented with gold and pointless.
THE SWORDS OF JUSTICE, Ecclesiastical and Temporal.

THE ARMILLE, or CORONATION BRACELETS, of gold chased with the rose, fleur-de-lys, and harp, and edged with pearls.

THE ROYAL SPURS, of gold, used in the coronation ceremony, whether the Sovereign be King or Queen.

THE AMPULLA, or GOLDEN EAGLE, for the Holy Oil. This vessel is of pure gold, it resembles an eagle with wings expanded, and is of great antiquity.

THE GOLD CORONATION SPOON, used for receiving the sacred oil from the ampulla at the anointing of the Sovereign, and supposed to be the sole relic of the ancient Regalia.

THE GOLDEN SALT CELLAR is of beautiful workmanship and is called a model of the White Tower. THE BAPTISMAL FONT of silver gilt used at the christening of the Royal children. This magnificent piece is upwards of four feet high.

A SILVER WINE FOUNTAIN, presented to Charles II. by the corporation of Plymouth. There are also various dishes, and other articles of gold, used at the coronation, including a beautiful service of Sacramental Plate used for the same august ceremony.

The estimated value of this magnificent collection of Jewels is upwards of THREE MILLIONS; the Queen's Crown alone being valued at one million pounds sterling.

Tickets of Admission to the Armoury and Regalia may be had at the Armoury Ticket office within the entrance gate. A warden is in attendance every half hour, to conduct parties in waiting. Open from ten o'clock till four every day. Admission to the Armouries, sixpence each; to the Regalia, sixpence each person.

Before quitting our subject of the Regalia, we must not omit to chronicle, in our sketch of the Tower, Colonel Blood's daring attempt to carry off the crown.

Thomas Blood was a native of Ireland, and is supposed to have been born in 1628. In his twentieth year he married the daughter of a gentleman of Lancashire; then returned to his native country, and having served there as lieutenant in the Parliamentary Forces, received a grant of land instead of pay, and was by Henry Cromwell placed in the commission of the peace. On the Restoration, the Act of Settlement in Ireland, which affected Blood's fortune, made him at once discontented and desperate. He first signalized himself by his conduct during an insurrection set on foot to surprise Dublin Castle, and seize the Duke of Ormond, the Lord Lieutenant. This insurrection he joined and ultimately became the leader of; but it was discovered on the very eve of execution, and prevented. Blood escaped the fate of some of his chief associates, the gallows, by concealing himself for a time among the native Irish in the mountains, and ultimately by escaping to Holland, where he is said to have been favourably received by Admiral Ruyter. We next find him engaged with the Covenanters in the rebellion in Scotland in 1666, when, being once more on the side of the losing party, he saved his life only by similar means. Thenceforward Colonel Blood appears in the light of a mere adventurer, bold, and capable enough to do anything his passions might instigate, and prepared to seize Fortune wherever he might find her, without the slightest scruple as to the means. The death of his friends in the insurrection we have mentioned seems to have left on Blood's mind a great thirst for personal vengeance on

the Duke of Ormond; whom, accordingly, he actually seized on the night of the 6th of December, 1676, tied him on horseback to one of his associates, and, but for the timely aid of the Duke's servant, would have, no doubt, fulfilled his intention of hanging him at Tyburn. The plan failed, but so admirably contrived had it been that Blood remained totally unsuspected, although a reward of £1,000 was offered for the discovery of the assassins. He now opened to his associates, an equally daring, but much more profitable scheme, had it been successful; which was thus carried out :-Blood one day came to see the Regalia, dressed as a parson, and accompanied by a woman whom he called his wife; the latter professing to be suddenly taken ill, was invited by the Keeper's wife into the adjoining domestic apartments. Thus an intimacy was formed, which was subsequently so well improved by Blood, that he arranged a match between his nephew and the Keeper's daughter, and a day was appointed for the young couple to meet. At the appointed hour came the pretended parson, the pretended nephew, and two others, armed with rapier blades in their canes, daggers, and pocket pistols. One of the number made some pretence for staying at the door as a watch, while the others passed into the Jewel-house, the parson being desirous that the Regalia should be shown to his friends, whilst they were waiting the approach of Mrs. Edwards and her daughter. No sooner was the door closed than a cloak was thrown over the old man and a gag forced into his mouth; and, thus secured, they told him their object, signifying he was safe if he submitted. The poor old man, however, faithful to the trust reposed in him, exerted himself to the utmost, in spite of the blows they dealt him, till he was stabbed and became senseless. Blood now slipped the crown under his cloak. Another of his associates secreted the orb, and a third was busy filing the sceptre into two parts; when one of those extraordinary coincidents, which a novelist would scarcely dare to use, much less to invent, gave a new turn to the proceedings. The Keeper's son, who had been in Flanders, returned at this critical moment. At the door he was met by the accomplice stationed there as sentinel, who asked him with whom he would speak. Young Edwards replied he belonged to the house, and hurried up stairs, the sentinel, we suppose, not knowing how to prevent the catastrophe he must have feared otherwise, gave warning to his friends. A general flight ensued, amidst which the robbers heard the voice of the Keeper once more shouting "Treason! Murder!" which being heard by the young lady, who was waiting anxiously to see her lover, she ran out into the open air, reiterating the cries. The alarm became general, and outstripped the conspirators. A warden first attempted to stop them, but at the discharge of a pistol he fell, and they without waiting to know if he were hurt, passed his post. At the next, one Sill, a sentinel, not to be outdone in prudence, offered no opposition, and they crossed the drawbridge. At St. Catherine's gate their horses were waiting for them; and as they ran along the Tower wharf they joined in the cry of "Stop the rogues!" and so passed on unsuspected, till Captain Beckman, a brother-in-law of young Edwards, overtook the party. Blood fired, but missed him, and was immediately made prisoner. The crown was found under his cloak, which, prisoner as he was, he would not yield without a struggle "It was a gallant attempt, however unsuccessful," were the witty and ambitious rascal's first words; "it was for a crown!"

Not the least extraordinary part of this altogether extraordinary affair was the subsequent treatment of Colonel Blood. Whether it was that he frightened Charles by his threats of being revenged by his associates, or captivated him by his conjoined audacity and flattery (he had been engaged to kill the King, he said, from among the reeds by the Thames side above Battersea, as he was bathing, but was deterred by an "awe of majesty") it is difficult to say; the result, however, was, that instead of being sent to the gallows, he was taken into such especial favour, that application to the throne through his medium became one of the favourite modes with suitors, and it is even asserted that Charles II. granted him a pension of £500 per annum. Blood died in 1680.

It was not to be supposed that this affair should pass without exciting a great deal of comment and scandal. Robertson, in his "History of Insipids," writes

"Blood, that wears treason in his face,
Villain complete in parson's gown,
How much he is at Court in grace
For stealing Ormond and the crown!
Since loyalty does no man good,

Let's steal the King, and outdo Blood."

Poor Edwards lived to manifest the truth of the last line but one of these verses. All the reward he obtained was £300 for himself and son, and the money remained so long unpaid that the orders were previously disposed of at half their value.

THE WARDERS were anciently the servants of the Constable of the Tower, employed by him to guard the prisoners and watch the gates; but through the influence of the Good Duke of Somerset, Protector during Edward VI's minority, as a reward for their attention to him whilst a prisoner in the Tower, they were appointed extraordinary yeomen of the guard; and they have ever since worn the livery of that body, which was instituted by Henry VII. The fashion of the warder's dress is that of Henry VIII's time. The honor of the appointment is generally bestowed on veterans who have distinguished themselves in their country's service.

THE LION TOWER, which contained the Tower Menagerie (was on your right as you entered) and was one of the sights of London from the time of Henry III. to the reign of William IV., and the removal of the few animals that remained to the Zoological Gardens in the Regent's Park. A century ago the lions in the Tower were named after the reigning Kings; and it was long a vulgar belief, “that when the King dies, the lion of that name dies after him." The Menagerie was removed in November, 1834. The present Refreshment-room, by the Ticket-house, occupies the site.

The annals of the Tower as a state prison are replete with gloomy and fearful events. A detailed account of these would fill volumes; a list even of the renowned and notorious, who, during the past eight centuries have pined within these walls in captivity, would far exceed our limits. We can only, therefore, attempt to recall to the recollection facts knows to every one, but which memory often refuses to furnish at the needed moment, and to point out the localities connected with these facts by history or tradition. It will render the retrospect more easy, if we consider the prisoners who have been immured within the fortress under five periods.

During the First Period—the Norman and early Plantagenet age-history has recorded the names of few captives of note.

Ralph Flambard, Bishop of Durham, was the first state prisoner known to have been incarcerated in the Tower of London. His origin was humble, but his talents made him so useful to William Rufus in carrying out his oppressive system of taxation, that he raised him to the highest offices in the state. Henry I. imprisoned him on his accession, in 1100, to please the people, but the wily Flambard contrived to escape and fled to Normandy. The bishop kept a sumptuous table, and his jovial character was agreeable enough to his keepers, amongst whom he circulated the wine-cup most freely. A rope was conveyed to him in a fresh tun of the generous liquour wherewith he made the hearts of his companions glad. The wassail was prolonged to the point of the most helpless drunkenness; and the bishop escaped from the window by the aid of his good rope, whilst his warders were soundly sleeping. Hugh de Burgh was another captive statesman of this period, but of far different order. He was the guardian of the King and kingdom during Henry III.'s minority, and those who envied his great

ness so prejudiced his sovereign against him that he was cruelly imprisoned within the Tower dungeons for some time about 1240. He was subsequently released.

During the Second Period-the 14th century-the Tower appears in the lustre of that martial glory which was shed upon our country by the royal warriors, Edward I., Edward III., and Edward the Black Prince. We especially connect the crested pride of the first Edward with the conquest of Wales. A tragical instance of the irksomeness of captivity to Cambria's mountain chiefs, was given in the attempt made by Griffin, the son of the Prince of North Wales, to escape from the Tower The treacherous rope by which he lowered himself from his turret, broke! and the unhappy prince was found next morning a mangled corpse beneath. His son, undaunted, soon after did escape, and sueceded to the principality; but only to fall in battle before the victorious Edward, who sent his ivy crowned head to be fixed over the turret which had proved so fatal to his father. The names of many Welsh chiefs are chronicled as having been captives in the Tower during this period. Morgan David, Llewellyn Bren, Madoc Vaghan, and others, some of whom died in captivity. Owen Glendower proved in the reign of Henry IV. (1399) how mighty a spirit still lingered amidst the mountain's of Wales. The expiring effort for independence appears to have been made by Owen's son, and several chiefs who were led captive to the Tower by Henry V., then Prince of Wales, after the battle of Usk, 1410. Many a bright spirit from Scotland, too, chafed within the dismal dungeons of the royal fortress during the 14th century, and just previous to its commencement. The battle of Dunbar, in 1296, placed in Edward's hands not only the Scottish king, Baliol, but a large portion of the most influential Scottish nobility, many of whom shared their sovereign's captivity in the Tower.

But the great memory of the Tower in this reign is Wallace, who entered its gloomy walls in 1305, and after undergoing a kind of trial, was dragged from thence through Cheapside to Smithfield, tied to horses' tails, and there executed with barbarities according but too well with the infamy of the deed. The courts of Law and the monastic cloister, swelled the immense number of prisoners during this period, the Chief Justice of the King's Bench, and several other judges having been committed for corruption, and the entire inmates of Westminster Abbey, abbot, monks, and servants, on suspicion of theft. Whilst Edward was in Scotland, in 1303, his treasury, then kept in the Abbey, was broken open, and robbed to the extent, it is said, of a hundred thousand pounds. No thief could be discovered, so Edward summarily packed off to the Tower the whole establishment, of eighty-one persons. They were tried and acquitted.

In the reign of Edward II. Lord Mortimer and several other barons were seized and committed to the Tower. Here he gained over his Keeper, and having invited Stephen de Segrave, the constable, with the other chief officers of the Tower, to a banquet, he made them intoxicated, and got safely off to France. He then joined the Queen, and immediately set on foot the conspiracy which ended in Edward's imprisonment in his own palace here, and subsequent murder. A day of retribution was approaching. By the young King Edward III's order, Mortimer was suddenly arrested at Nottingham, and brought with his two sons and others to the Tower, loaded with chains, and then left in one of its darkest dungeons till the period of his trial and execution. France and Scotland continued, through this long and brilliant reign, to pour their tribute of illustrious captives into our great fortress. John, Earl of Murray, one of the great supports of the Scottish throne, was taken prisoner in 1336, and being unable to raise the immense ransom demanded, lingered here for some years. The mode of his liberation is not the least remarkable part of his history. In 1340 he was granted to William Earl of Salisbury, like so much land or live stock, "to do with him as most for his advantage," and, remarkably enough, ultimately was exchanged for his own keeper (on Salisbury's being made prisoner

in France) through the intercession of the King of Scotland. In 1346 another terrible blow desolated the hearths of half the nobility and knighthood of Scotland; this was the battle of Neville's Cross, near Durham, in which David Bruce, the King, the Earls of Fife, Monteith, Wigtown, and Carrick, the Lord Douglas, and fifty other distinguished chiefs fell into the hands of the English. The King was immediately conducted, with all honour and ceremony, under an escort of twenty thousand men, to London, through the streets of which he passed towards the Tower, mounted on a high black courser : the civic companies lining the whole way on the occasion, habited in their liveries. Eleven dreary years did the unhappy monarch spend in the Tower before he could obtain his liberation, even on the high condition of engaging to pay one hundred thousand marks, and delivering some of his principal nobility as hostages. Some of his nobility were still less fortunate. The Earl of Monteith having previously done fealty to Edward, was hanged and quartered.

In 1346, Edward having taken Caen, "a goodly town, and full of drapery and merchandize, and rich burgesses, and noble ladies and damsels, and fine churches, and one of the fairest castles in all Normandy," sent off to the Tower, as the fruits of his success, the Constable of France, with the Count de Tankerville, three hundred opulent citizens, and an immense amount of booty.

In 1347, the Tower gates opened to admit thirteen prisoners, twelve of whom had been known only as peaceful citizens a few months before; the governor of Calais, John de Viennes being at their head. The next important French prisoner was Charles de Blois, whose struggle for the dukedom of Brittany, against De Montford and his fair and gallant countess, had cost both nations so much blood and treasure. He was not liberated till 1356, and then only after heavy ransom had been exacted.

In 1357, news of a great battle that had taken place in France began to be bruited abroad, in which it was said the English had thrown all their other recent victories into the shade. Accordingly on the 24th of May the assembled multitudes of the Metropolis beheld their favourite Black Prince enter at the head of a triumphal procession that surpassed even the wildest tales of rumour. The King of France, his son, four other princes of the blood, eight earls, and an innumerable train of lesser but still important personages, graced the pageant of the victor of Poictiers. The chief residence of John was the Savoy; the other illustrious prisoners were mostly confined in that prison whose terrible walls must by this time have become almost as much an object of awe in France and in Scotland as in our country. Edward III. often held his court in the Tower, and on one occasion, the royal prisoner (John) entertained Edward III. and all his court in the great hall of the Palace-The treaty of Brétigny restored John to his throne in 1360.

Six hundred Jews were incarcerated in these dungeons during Edward III.'s reign, for clipping and adulterating the coin of the realm. The monarch, whose prejudice against them was so strong, finally banished all that nation from England, compelling them to leave behind them their immense wealth, and their libraries so rich in the treasures of science, which were taken possession of by the monasteries. Roger Bacon owed much of his extraordinary knowledge to the Jews' libraries, especially to the gigantic volumes of the Babylonish Talmud.

In the Third Period the splendour of the 14th century passed away, and during the 15th a gloomy shroud of darkest deeds enveloped the Tower of London. Edward the Black Prince, the pride and delight of the nation, was arrested by the hand of death in the glory of his manhood. During this period many distinguished men were confined here; some but as a step to their execution. Sir Simon Burley, one of the most accomplished men of his age, who had been chosen by Edward the Black Prince as the companion of his son (Richard II.) was the chief of these victims to the spirit of faction. This dark period was appropriately commenced with the erection on Tower Hill of the fatal