casks to help to extinguish the flames. In the
reign of Henry the Fourth, John Holland,
Duke of Exeter, dwelt at Rougeinont, which
is, however, chiefly interesting to the crow
and his flighty friends from the fact that
Shakespeare mentions a tradition concerning it.
The Crookback came here once with his
army, and shuddered at being told the name of
the castle, as an Irish prophet had predicted
that he should not live long after seeing Richmond.

      Richmond! when last I was in Exeter,
      The mayor in courtesy showed me the castle,
      And call'd it Rouge-mont, at which name I started,
      Because a bard of Ireland told me once
      I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

Exeter, looking far away towards the warm
green sea that beats upon Devon's red cliffs, was
an old British town built long before Caesar, and
called Caer Isc, the city on the river. Antiquaries
observe that like most Celtic trading towns it has
been built for safety just beyond where the river
ceases to be navigable. Coins of the Greek
dynasties in Syria and Egypt prove that
Phoenician merchants must have come here
many hundred years before Christ to trade
for Cornish and Dartmoor tin. Then the
Romans marched in and made it a great station.
Lastly the Saxons fortified the town on the
Exe, and traded here with the Britons from
across the Tamar. The Exe was the frontier
then for the Damnonians, but Athelstan
came and drove them pell mell into Cornwall,
and rebuilt the walls of Exeter. The Britons
cooped up among the granite rocks of Cornwall
soon had their avengers; the Danes came
crowding up the Exe with their black sails and
black banners, and wintered at Exeter in 876,
rejoicing in the Saxon beeves and ale. They grew
accustomed to the place and pillaged it again
under Sweyn in 1003. The old red tower was
always getting beaten about by stones from
military engines, and chipped by crossbow
bolts. William the Conqueror besieged it,
wishing to sieze Githa, the mother of Harold,
and her daughter, but they escaped safely to
Bruges. Perkin Warbeck, when joined by the
Bodmin men, and calling himself Richard the
Fourth, besieged Exeter, but unsuccessfully,
and flying from the king's troops to Taunton,
took refuge in the New Forest. Soon afterwards
surrendering himself, but broke prison,
and was hung at Tyburn.

Exeter had its share of troubles in the
civil wars. Prince Maurice took it after an
eight months' siege, and then it became the
king's great stronghold in the west; for he was
always popular in Devonshire and Cornwall,
and the proud queen resided at Exeter, and
kept the nobles loyal to the flag. There
she gave birth to that princess Henrietta,
afterwards the Duchess of Orleans, who
was eventually poisoned, and on whom Bossuet
preached one of his sublimest funeral sermons,
fhe Prince of Orange made a formal entry
into the fair capital of the west on his way to
take possession of King James's crown, and in
1789 old King George and Queen Charlotte
were received by the mayor and aldermen, to
the delectation of the honest Devonshire people
and the sardonic contempt of Peter Pindar.
That sneerer, eventually so easily bought off,
says:

          Mayster may'r, upon my word,
          Poked to the king a gert long sword,
          Which he poked pack agen.

The journey to Exeter, now little more than
five hours by express, used to take "old
Quicksilver" seventeen or eighteen hours, with horses
never off the trot. It was thought wild work at
that rate, and our forefathers considered
themselves desperadoes who had accomplished great
deeds when they stepped out in Fore-street,
and congratulated each other at the danger
well over. In 1720 a Mrs. Manley, with the
spirit of an African traveller, published a book
on " A stage-coach journey from London to
Exeter." The ponderous vehicle started at
three in the morning, stopped at ten in order
that the passengers might dine, and at three P.M.
coolly retired into an inn-yard to safe moorings
for the night. The journey was completed in
four days, and the average pace was a safe cozy
four and a half miles an hour.

The crow perched complacently in the gable
niche of the west front of the grand old cathedral,
nestling down, so that he seems a mere
black spot from below—a mere black wafer at
the feet of crumbling old St. Peter, looks down
at the rows of angels, kings, and saints, and
croaks applause at the piety of Edward the
Third's lord high treasurer, Bishop Brantyngham,
who, it is supposed, put together these
Norman towers, flying buttresses, and lofty
sheets of painted glass, all so many episodes of
the great poem in stone, hallowed by the beauty
of art.

Bishop Stapledon completed the choir in
1308- 1326, and the four outermost bays of
the choir are his also. His monument is in the
choir. A figure of the Saviour is within the
canopy, and a small figure of King Edward the
Second climbs up towards him. The arms of
the see (two keys addorsed) adorn the sleeve of
the effigy. This bishop, who founded Exeter
College, was left by Edward the Second in
charge of London. In 1326, Stapledon, then
Lord Treasurer of England, and a firm
adherent of the king against the queen and the
barons, met with a terrible death. When
Isabella landed from France, determined to chase
away the Spencers, her husband's favourites,
and advanced on London, the weak king fled to
the Welsh frontier. The bishop, as custos of the
City of London, then demanded the keys of the
Lord Mayor, Hammond Chickwell, and
determined to curb the restless citizens, took high
measures, ready to pounce on the first revolter.
The populace equally alert, fearing the mayor's
submission, and roused by Isabella's proclamations
that had been hung on the new cross at
Cheapside, rose in arms, imprisoned the mayor,
and seized his keys. They then ran to Exeter
House, in what is now Essex-street, Strand,
burnt down the gates, and destroyed all the
rich plate, jewels, money, and furniture. The