and here, looking towards the City, with her back to the Gate, close beside the Pillory, stood Queen Bess in effigy, upon a pedestal, as it were a Protestant saint in her shrine; for the day had been chosen on account of its being the day of her accession and of Queen Mary’s death.  She was set about with gilded laurel-wreaths, and bore a gilded sceptre; and beneath her, like some sacrificial fire, blazed a great bonfire, roaring up to heaven with its sparks and smoke.  Half a dozen masked fellows, in fantastic dresses, tended the bonfire and replenished the flambeaux that burned about the effigy.  Indeed it was strangely like some pagan religious spectacle—­the goddess at the entrance of her temple (for the gate looked like that); and the resemblance became more marked as the ceremonies were performed which ended the show.  A Catholic might well be pardoned for retorting “Idolatry,” and saying that he preferred Mary Queen of Heaven to Bess Queen of England.

It was from Moorfields that the procession came, and it took a good while to come.  But I was entertained enough by the sight of all the people, to pass the time away.  A number of gentlefolks opposite to my window sat on platforms, all wrapped up in furs, and some of them masked, with a few ministers among them; and I make no doubt that Dr. Tonge was there, though I did not see him.  But I did see a merry face which I thought was Mistress Nell Gwyn’s; and whether it was she or not that I saw, I heard afterwards that she had been there, to His Majesty’s great displeasure.

And in the same group I saw Mr. Killigrew’s face—­that had been page to Charles the First, and came back to be page to his son—­for his grotesque and yet fine face was unmistakable; the profligate fop Sir George Etheredge, gambler and lampooner, with drink and the devil all over him; solemn Thomas Thynne, murdered two years afterwards, for a woman’s sake, by Count Conigsmark, who was hanged for it and lay in great state in a satin coffin; and last, my Lord Dover, with his great head and little legs, looking at the people through a tortoiseshell glass.  The Court, or at least, some of it, enjoyed itself here, in spite of the character of the demonstration.  Meanwhile out of sight a great voice shouted jests and catchwords resonantly from time to time, to amuse the people; and the crowd, that was by now packed everywhere against the houses, upon the roofs and even up Chancery Lane, answered his hits with roaring cheers.  I heard the name of the Duke of Monmouth several times; and each time it was received with acclamation.  Once the Duke of York’s was called out; and the booing and murring at it were great enough to have daunted even him. (But he was in Scotland now—­too far away to hear it—­and seemed like to remain there.) And once Mrs. Gwyn’s name was shouted, and something else after it; and there was a stir on the platform where I thought I had seen her; and then a great burst of cheering; for she was popular enough, in spite of her life, for her Protestantism. (It was not works, they hated, thought I to myself, but Faith!)