On what used to be the altar step of the north aisle stands a baby's
cradle--a cradle on real rockers. A gorgeous coverlet, all trimmed with
rich guipure lace, falls from the corners of the cradle in splendid,
rich folds. The arms of England, Scotland, and Ireland are carved on the
back. And when you look under the head of the cradle you see that a baby
lies sleeping in it. A darling tiny baby it is--its little wee face set
in a close lace cap and lace ruff, under a kind of lace-trimmed hood
that forms part of the pillow. You can almost fancy that if the cradle
were set rocking the babe might open her eyes. But "baby and cradle, and
all," are marble--marble, yellow with the dust and wear of nearly three
hundred years.

"The Cradle Tomb" of Westminster, as it is called, has been far better
described than by any words of mine. A card hangs close beside it,
placed there by desire of Lady Augusta Stanley, on which is a poem "by
an American lady." That lady is a well-known favorite of American
readers; for she is none other than "Susan Coolidge." And the lovely
verses--some of which I venture to transcribe--appeared in _Scribner's
Monthly_ for 1875:

A little rudely sculptured bed,
With shadowing folds of marble lace,
And quilt of marble, primly spread,
And folded round a baby face.

Smoothly the mimic coverlet,
With royal blazonries bedight,
Hangs, as by tender fingers set,
And straightened for the last good-night.

And traced upon the pillowing stone
A dent is seen, as if, to bless
That quiet sleep, some grieving one
Had leaned, and left a soft impress.

* * * * *

But dust upon the cradle lies,
And those who prized the baby so,
And decked her couch with heavy sighs,
Were turned to dust long years ago.

The inscription on her cradle tells us that this dear baby,

Sophia, a royal rosebud, plucked by premature fate, and
snatched away from her parents--James, King of Great
Britain, France and Ireland, and Queen Anne--that she might
flourish again in the rosary of Christ, was placed here on
the twenty-third of June, in the fourth year of the reign of
King James, 1606.

The little creature was born on the twenty-first of June at Greenwich--a
favorite palace of the English sovereigns. Great preparations had been
made for her christening, and for the tourneys which were to be