uncle, the future great Duke of Somerset, emerged from the gateway, arrayed in a ‘doublet of black cloth-of-gold, and a cloak of crimson satin flowered with gold, and ribanded with nets of silver.

’ He turned, doffed his plumed cap, bent his body in a low reverence, and began to step backward, bowing at each step. A prolonged trumpet-blast followed, and a proclamation, “Way for the high and mighty the Lord Edward, Prince of Wales!” High aloft on the palace walls a long line of red tongues of flame leapt forth with a thunder-crash; the massed world on the river burst into a mighty roar of welcome; and Tom Canty, the cause and hero of it all, stepped into view and slightly bowed his princely head.

He was ‘magnificently habited in a doublet of white satin, with