the reply vouchsafed by Cromwell to his messenger was, that one man had been killed and several wounded, and that unless the criminals were surrendered he would withdraw the soldiers and leave the people "to pull down the house, and execute justice themselves." The threat was sufficient: Don Pantaleon, three "Portugals," and an English boy, the Don's servant, were given up, were confined in the guard-house for the night, and next day sent prisoners to Newgate, whence, some few days later, Don Pantaleon effected his escape,-only to be speedily recaptured. Owing to the intervention of the Portuguese merchants the trial was postponed until the following July, when on the 6th the prisoners were arraigned in the "Upper Bench Court' on a charge of murder. One half the jury were foreigners. At first Don Pantaleon refused to plead, on the ground that he held a commission to act as ambassador in the event of his brother's death or absence from England. But being threatened with the peine forte et dure, he pleaded not guilty. The evidence against him and his fellowprisoners was, of course, irresistible; the jury returned an unanimous verdict of guilty, and sentence of death was passed upon the five prisoners. Great exertions were made to save Don Pantaleon's life, but Cromwell remained inexorable. "Blood," he said, "had been shed, and justice must be satisfied." The only concession he could be induced to make was that the Don should suffer by the axe instead of by the hangman's rope. By a strange coincidence, Don Pantaleon and Gerard suffered on the same day. While the former lay in Newgate the latter involved himself with Vowel and Somerset Fox in a loyalist plot, was detected, arrested, tried by the High Court of Justice, found guilty of high treason, and sentenced to death. He was beheaded on Tower Hill on the evening of July 10th, 1654. When brought to the scaffold he was not allowed to address the people, but, being pressed to reveal the secrets of the conspiracy for which he suffered, he replied, that "if he had a thousand ives he would lose them all to do the king any service, and was now willing to die upon that suspicion; but that he was innocent of what was now charged against him." He died with great fortitude. About an hour later, on the same scaffold stood Don Pantaleon, having been conveyed thither in a mourning coach with six horses, attended by a number of his brother's suite. After spending some time in devout exercises, the Don, who showed a good deal of discomposure, handed to his confessor his beads and crucifix, and then laid his head upon the block. At the executioner's second stroke it was severed from his body. "Don Pantaleon's brother," says Carlyle, "all sorrow and solicitation being fruitless, signed the Portuguese treaty that very day, and instantly departed for his own country, with such thoughts as we may figure." We may dismiss the later history of the New or Exeter 'Change in a few paragraphs. It was here, at the sign of the Three Spanish Gipsies, that Nan Clarges, or rather Ratsford, sold her husband's wash-balls, fans, gloves, and perfumery, and traded as a milliner. Among her customers was Colonel George Monk, and while he lay a prisoner in the Tower from 1694 to 1696 she undertook to look after his house. "She was neither pretty nor well-bred," says Mr. Julian Corbett; "she had a sharp tongue, and manners that were not refined. But the colonel was soft-hearted, and she was very kind; the colonel was so handsome and had such a soldierly air, and then all his friends had forgotten him, and the perfumer was detestable. So the gloomy walls of the Tower were brightened with an unholy idyll, and thus began the intrigue which was to make a duchess of plain Nan Clarges, the farrier's daughter of the Savoy." She quarrelled with her husband, and separated from him in 1648. In 1652 she was married to General George Monk in the church of St. George, Southwark, and in the following year was delivered of a son, afterwards second Duke of Albemarle. It was generally credited that this second marriage took place while her first husband was alive; but all authentic evidence seems to point to the contrary. What cannot be denied is that she was a woman of coarse speech and coarse manners. Clarendon says: "She was a woman nihil muliebris præter corpus gerens ;" and Burnet describes her as 66 a ravenous, mean, and contemptible creature, who thought of nothing but getting and spending.” Pepys says she was "a plain, homely, and ill-looked dowdy;" and, referring to his dining with the Duke, remarks that the "Duke had sorry company, dirty dishes, bad meat, and a nasty wife at table." The Duke was dining one day with one Troutbeck, a "drunken sot," when he chanced to express his surprise that Nan Hyde, as he called Clarendon's daughter, should have become Duchess of York. "If you will give me another bottle," says Troutbeck, "I will tell you as great, if not a greater, miracle; and that is, that our dirty Nan should come to be Duchess of Albemarle." I give the story as generally told; but very much doubt whether Monk was the man to have suffered such an insolence. Douglas Jerrold's pretty little comedy of The White Milliner is founded on a tradition connected with the New Exchange, for which Pennant is responsible :-" Above stairs sat, in the character of a milliner, the reduced Duchess of Tyrconnel, wife of Richard Talbot, Lord Deputy of Ireland under James II. The female suspected to be his Duchess, after his death (1691) supported herself for a few days, till she was known and otherwise provided for, by the little trade of the place; she had delicacy enough not to wish to be detected; she sat in a white mask and a white dress, and was known by the name of the White Milliner." this story there seems not to be the slightest foundation. For In the early part of the present century a Mr. Cross kept a menagerie at the 'Change, the great attraction of which was an elephant named Chundah, originally purchased for a sum of 900 guineas. It was almost as great a favourite with the London public in those days as Jumbo of immortal memory was in our own. Unfortunately he showed symptoms of insanity, and in March 1826 it became necessary to destroy him, under circumstances which Hone has described with much prolixity in his "Every Day Book." Poison having no effect upon him, musketry was resorted to; but a whole storm of musket balls was rained upon the poor brute before he was mortally hit. It is estimated that he received upwards of one hundred and fifty bullets. His skeleton is preserved in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. I may note that the body of the poet Gay lay in state in the upper room of Exeter 'Change (1732), prior to its removal to Westminster Abbey (December 23rd). Exeter 'Change was taken down in 1829. The Story of Pall Mall. This THE spacious and handsome thoroughfare which stretches from the foot of St. James's Street to that of the Haymarket, containing some of the stateliest buildings London has to boast of, is called PALL MALL from a game of that name introduced into England from France in the reign of Charles I. It was known, however, in the preceding reign, for in his "Basilicon Doron" (or Royal Gift) James I. recommends it to his son, Prince Henry, as a game he should practise for health and amusement's sake. game in Blount's "Glossographia" is thus defined:-Pale Maëlle (Fr.), a game wherein a round bowle is with a mallet struck through a high arch of iron (standing at either end of an alley), which he that can do it at the fewest blows, or at the number agreed on, wins. The game was used heretofore in the long alley near St. James's, and vulgarly called Pell Mell." Charles II. was passionately fond of it, and for its more private enjoyment laid down the Mall in St. James's Park. As Waller says:— "Here a well-polished Mall gives us the joy To see our Prince his matchless form employ : |