nd kept with
religious care under glass cases, the precious volumes seem indeed
likely to last to the very break of doom. It is curious to remark that
London only occupies some three or four pages. There is also preserved
the original Papal Bull sent to Henry VIII., with a golden seal attached
to it, the work of Benvenuto Cellini. The same collection contains the
celebrated Treaty of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, the initial
portrait of Francis I. being beautifully illuminated and the vellum
volume adorned by an exquisite gold seal, in the finest relievo, also by
Benvenuto Cellini. The figures in this seal are so perfect in their
finish, that even the knee-cap of one of the nymphs is shaped with the
strictest anatomical accuracy. The visitor should also see the
interesting Inventory Books relating to the foundation of Henry VII.'s
chapel.

The national records were formerly bundled up any how in the Rolls
Chapel, the White Tower, the Chapter House, Westminster Abbey, Carlton
Ride in St. James's Park, the State Paper Office, and the Prerogative
Will Office. No one knew where anything was. They were unnoticed--mere
dusty lumber, in fact--useless to men or printers' devils. Hot-headed
Hugh Peters, during the Commonwealth, had, in his hatred of royalty,
proposed to make one great heap of them and burn them up in Smithfield.
In that way he hoped to clear the ground of many mischievous traditions.
This desperate act of Communism that tough-headed old lawyer, Prynne,
opposed tooth and nail. In 1656 he wrote a pamphlet, which he called "A
Short Demurrer against Cromwell's Project of Recalling the Jews from
their Banishment," and in this work he very nobly epitomizes the value
of these treasures; indeed, there could not be found a more lucid
syllabus of the contents of the present Record Office than Prynne has
there set forth.

[Illustration: HOUSE SAID TO HAVE BEEN OCCUPIED BY DRYDEN IN FETTER LANE
(_see page 102_).]

Dryden and Otway were contemporaries, and lived, it is said, for some
time opposite to each other in Fetter Lane. One morning the latter
happened to call upon his brother bard about breakfast-time, but was
told by the servant that his master was gone to breakfast with the Earl
of Pembroke. "Very well," said Otway, "tell your master that I will call
to-morrow morning." Accordingly he called about the same hour. "Well, is
your master at home now?" "No, sir; he is just gone to breakfast with
the Duke of Bucking