aw of the
State--stands John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland; a man whose
steel-blue eyes are as cold as his heart, and whose one aim in every
action of his life is the welfare and aggrandisement of John Dudley. He
professes himself a Lutheran: at heart, if he care at all for religion
of any kind, he is a Papist. But it will not be of service to John
Dudley at the present moment to confess that little fact to the world.
Grouped around these two are men of all types--Cranmer, Archbishop of
Canterbury, true Nature's gentleman, leal-hearted Gospeller, delicate in
mind, clear in intellect, only not able, having done all, to stand;
Ridley, Bishop of London, whose firm, intelligent, clear-cut features
are an index to his character--perhaps a shade too severe, yet as severe
to himself as any other; Hugh Latimer, blunt, warm-hearted old man, who
calls a spade a spade in the most uncompromising manner, and spares not
vice, though it flaunt its satin robes in royal halls; William Herbert,
Earl of Pembroke, the mean-spirited time-server who would cry long life
to a dozen rival monarchs in as many minutes, so long as he thought it
would advance his own interests; Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, who spends
his life in a fog of uncertainty, wherein the most misty object is his
own mind; William Paulet, Marquis of Winchester, who always remembers
his motto, "I bend, but break not;" Richard Lord Rich, the
sensual-faced, comfortable-looking, stony-hearted man who pulled off his
gown the better to rack Anne Askew, of old time; and, behind them all,
one of whom they all think but little--a young man of short stature,
with good forehead, and small, wizened features--Mr Secretary Cecil,
some day to be known as the great Earl of Burleigh, who holds in his
clever hands, as he sits in the background with his silent face, the
strings that move most of these puppets, and pulls them without the
puppets knowing it, until, on the accession of Mary, the Tower gates
will be opened, and Stephen Gardiner will walk forth, to take the reins
into his hands, and to steep England in blood.

Of public events, there have been few since the general confiscation of
church plate in the preceding month.

The Londoners, of whom our friends at Mistress Winter's form a part, are
divided in opinion concerning this step; but neither party has been too
much distressed to observe the usual dance round the Strand maypole, on
the site of which Saint Mary-le-Strand will pre