friend I must have come over from France on purpose to
keep his third mayoralty. So I am for the City on Thursday; and whoever
loves good wine, good sturgeon, good gold, or good men, had best come
with me.'

Such inducements were not to be neglected, and though Queen Catherine
minced and bridled, and apologized to Duchess Jaqueline for her husband's
taste for low company, neither princess wished to forego the chance of
amusement; and a brilliant cavalcade set forth in full order of
precedence. The King and Queen were first; then, to his great disgust,
the King of Scots, with Duchess Jaqueline; Bedford, with Lady Somerset;
Gloucester, with the Countess of March; the Duke of Orleans, with the
Countess of Exeter; and Malcolm of Glenuskie found himself paired off
with his sovereign's lady-love, Joan Beaufort, and a good deal overawed
by the tall horned tower that crowned her flaxen locks, as well as by
knowing that her uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, the stateliest,
stiffest, and most unapproachable person in all the Court, was riding
just behind him, beside the Demoiselle de Luxemburg.

Temple Bar was closed, and there was a flourish of trumpets and a parley
ere the gate was flung open to admit the royal guests; but Malcolm, in
his place, could not see the aldermen on horseback, in their robes of
scarlet and white, drawn up to receive the King. All that way up
Holborn, every house was hung with tapestry, and the citizens formed a
gorgeously-apparelled lane, shouting in unison, their greetings attuned
to bursts of music from trumpets and nakers.

Beautiful old St. Paul's, with the exquisite cross for open-air preaching
in front, rose on their view; and before the lofty west door the princely
guests dismounted, each gentleman leading his lady up the nave to the
seat prepared in such manner that he might be opposite to her. The
clergy lined the stalls, and a magnificent mass was sung, and was
concluded by the advance of the King to the altar step, followed by a
fine old man in scarlet robes bordered with white fur, the collar of SS.
round his neck, and his silvery hair and lofty brow crowning a face as
sagacious as it was dignified and benevolent.

It seemed a reversal of the ordinary ceremonial when the slender agile
young man took in hand the sword, and laid the honour of knighthood on
the gray-headed substantial senior, whom he bade to arise Sir Richard
Whittington. Jaqueline of Hainault had the bad taste to glan