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334 daughter, the Lady Jane, and to become a spy on all the king's sayings and doings, and to inform the duke when any of his Council had private interviews with him.

These depositions are not stated by the king as made in his presence, and therefore they were probably as reported to him; and we are confirmed in this opinion by the fact, that the duke on his trial in vain demanded that Crane should be confronted with him. The trial of the duke, such as it was, took place on the 1st of December, in Westminster Hall. Twenty-seven peers were summoned to sit as his judges, the Marquis of Winchester being appointed lord high steward, to preside. On that morning Somerset was brought from the Tower, with the axe borne before him; whilst a great number of men carrying bills, gleaves, halberds, and poll-axes, guarded him. A new scaffold or platform was raised in the hall, on which the lords, his judges, sat; and above them the lord high steward, on a raised seat ascended by three steps, and over it a canopy of state. The judges consisted almost wholly of the duke's enemies, and conspicuous amongst them were Northumberland, Northampton, and Pembroke. The witnesses against him were not produced, but merely their depositions read. Somerset denied the whole of the charges respecting his intention to raise the City of London, declaring that the idea of assassinating the gendarmerie was worthy only of a madman. As to the accusation of proposing to kill the Duke of Northumberland and others, he admitted that he had thought of it, and even talked of it, but on mature consideration had abandoned it for ever.

On this confession, the judges declared him guilty of felony without benefit of clergy. They were desirous to adjudge it treason, but this Northumberland himself overruled. When this sentence was pronounced, Somerset fell on his knees and thanked the lords for the fair trial they had given him, and implored pardon from Northumberland, Northampton, and Pembroke for his design against their lives, entreating them to pray the king's mercy to him, and his grace towards his wife, his children, and his servants. On the sentence being pronounced only felony, the axe of the Tower was withdrawn; and the people, seeing him returning without that fatal instrument, imagined that he was wholly acquitted, and gave such shouts, that they were heard from Charing Cross to the hall. According to Holinshed, he landed from the river "at the crane of the Vine-tree, and so passed through London, where were both acclamations—the one cried for joy that he was acquitted, the other cried that he was condemned."

Edward was said to be much troubled at the approaching fate of his second and last uncle, but there certainly is no evidence of the fact in the accounts of the times. Both Stow and Edward's own journal bear testimony to the universal mirth and merriment of the Christmas festivities of that year, the Lord of Misrule even entering the Tower with his noisy followers, bringing uproar to the very ears of the prisoner; and thus closed the year on the once proud Somerset. Opportunity was now given him to reflect on that time when his own brother was confined in the same fortress, and awaiting death by his means. Somerset pleaded hard for mercy, but Warwick barred all access to the king, his nephew; and the only favour granted him was that he should have plenty of time to prepare for death.

Sis weeks after his sentence, the warrant for his execution was signed. The chronicler quaintly remarks that "Christmas being thus passed and spent with much mirth and pastime, it was thought now good to proceed to the execution of the judgment against the Duke of Somerset." The day of execution was the 22nd of February, 1552. To prevent the vast concourse which, from the popularity of his character amongst the common people, from his opposition to enclosures during his protectorship, was sure to take place, the Council had issued a precept to the lord mayor, commanding him to take all necessary measures for restraining the rush towards Tower Hill. The constables in every ward had, therefore, strictly charged every one not to leave their houses before ten o'clock that morning. But, by the very dawn, Tower Hill was one dense mass of heads, assembled there more in expectation of the duke's reprieve than of his execution. At eight o'clock he was delivered to the sheriffs of London, who led him out to the scaffold on Tower Hill. The duke appeared to meet his death with more resolution than he had shown on many occasions during his life. He knelt down, and, after spending some time in prayer, he rose, and, turning towards the east side of the scaffold, he addressed the people, saying that he had ever been a faithful subject, and was, therefore, willing to lay down his life in obedience to the law. Yet he protested that he had never offended the king in either word or deed. That, so far from having to repent of his proceedings when he was in power as Protector, he especially rejoiced that he had settled the kingdom in a form of religion which, in his opinion, the most resembled the primitive church. He therefore exhorted them to maintain it, and to practise it, if they meant to escape the punishment which heaven awarded to offending nations.

At that moment there was a strange noise and confused rush, occasioned by a body of officers with bills and halberds, who had been ordered to attend the execution, but who, on finding themselves behind time, rushed pell-mell towards the scaffold. Those in the way were thrown down; those around driven here and there, occasioned a panic in the crowd pressing on them. The scene of confusion became universal, the real cause being unknown. Some were trampled down, upwards of a hundred were forced into the Tower ditch, and those on the outskirts fled into the City, ascribing various wild causes for the disturbance. When some degree of order was restored, Sir Anthony Brown, a member of the Council, was seen riding towards the scene. The multitude at this sight, cried, "A pardon! a pardon!" and the shout was carried forward till it reached the scaffold. The duke paused, but was soon cruelly undeceived; and, though a hectic colour mounted to his cheeks, he resumed his address with apparent composure, repeating the assertion of his loyalty; exhorting them to love the king, obey his councillors, and to give him their prayers, that, as he had lived, so he might die, in the faith of Christ. He begged them to preserve quiet, that he himself might be the more assured, the spirit being willing, but the flesh weak. He then made another prayer; and, after that, rising, he bade farewell, not only to the sheriffs and