'Bull's Stake,' in the Canterbury Butter-Market; yet it is difficult to understand how a boy having the use of his eyes and limbs could, in those days, be unacquainted with the horrors and miseries of the hapless bulls, whose flesh, by special order of the Burghmote, was not allowed to be sold unless the unfortunate beast had been baited before it had been slaughtered. 'Now and then an infuriated animal broke from the stake, carrying terror and confusion before him as he franticly rushed through the narrow thoroughfares of the Mercerie, followed by shouting butchers and by yelling dogs, scarcely less savage or brutal than their masters.'

Other reprehensible subjects occupied the attention of the citizens and naturally formed the subjects of the elders' gossip. The readiness with which daggers, the accompaniment of every freeman's attire, were drawn and made use of is exemplified in many quaint and tragic records of the time, and the rapidity with which the folks took the law into their own hands and stayed not for the law's reprisal, caused life to be held cheap. Sometimes such episodes not only ended in the death of one of the combatants, but also in the trial and execution of his slayer or slayers. To the execution it was usual for parents to take their children, not only as an outing for themselves and the youngsters, but because to witness the sending out of life of the more or less unfortunate criminal was regarded as a salutary warning for the youthful spectator. What

object-lessons for a child! What tales of terror for an imaginative boy! What inducements to succumb to passion for a hasty youth! What disregard of danger for an impulsive man! What subversion of one's ideas of justice was everywhere prevalent!

Entertainment of a different character, but generally more expensive for the townsfolk, was afforded by the visit of somebody of note, perhaps even the sovereign in person, in which case the archbishop or the corporation had to play the host. In 1573, when little Kit was in his tenth year, Queen Elizabeth paid one of her visits to Canterbury, and was magnificently entertained, the usual costly gifts being made to her and the members of her suite during her stay. To meet her on her arrival it was arranged that 'Mr. Mayor, the Aldermen, and every one of them, ride in their scarlet gowns to meet the Queen; and the Common Council be on foot with their best apparel, and likewise as many of the chief Commoners as have gowns.' 25

The Church vied with the corporation in honouring the queen. Archbishop Parker and other high dignitaries met her Majesty at the west door of the cathedral, to which she had ridden on horseback, and when her 'grammarian,' who was one of the scholars of the King's School, had finished his oration to her, she alighted and went into the cathedral to evensong. During her visit the queen resided at the monastery of St. Augustine, which her father, Henry the Eighth, had seized and turned into a palace.

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B

Here she kept her court, attending service at the cathedral every Sunday during her stay at Canterbury, and affording the citizens a continuous jubilee during the whole of her visit. On her birthday, which she kept at the archbishop's palace, the queen and her attendants, together with a large company of distinguished visitors, were entertained by Archbishop Parker at an enormous expense to the worthy if wealthy ecclesiastic. The corporation at her departure presented the queen with a costly piece of plate, and made presents to all her attendants, including heralds, trumpeters, sergeants-at-arms, and 'gentlemen surveyors of the ways.'

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It cannot be doubted but that young Kit was among the crowd which from time to time gazed on the queen and her gorgeous retinue, and that he was amid the spectators, even if he took no active part as a performer, at the fêtes and pageants devised for her Majesty's amusement.

Later in the year 1575 occurred a still more memorable matter for Canterbury. The visit of the queen was followed by the arrival of a still more mighty monarch, the terrible Plague reaching the city and committing dreadful ravages. Whether the home of the Marlowes had to have its door marked with the portentous sign of the red cross and the inscription which accompanied it, 'Lord have mercy upon us,' to signify death had been busy there, is unknown, but among the places affected was the King's School, which was closed until the 1st of

September of that year in consequence of the terrible epidemic. If the Marlowe family lost none of its own members it must have had to bewail the loss of some kindred and friends amongst the many victims. Amid all the impressive events of those days nothing could have affected an imaginative boy's mind more than the ghastly sights and sickening incidents which attended a visitation of the Plague; the effects of which were to weaken all human ties, to dull all earthly pleasures, and to carry off young and old, rich and poor, indiscriminately.

The magnificent architectural antiquities of his native city cannot fail to have made lasting impression upon Marlowe's plastic mind, and to have excited his boyish wonder and admiration. Canterbury could not fail to have ever been a city of marvel for him. Every evening when the sounds of the busy streets began to wane, and the mystical hour of eight rang out from the several steeples, how breathlessly must he have waited for the sound of the curfew from the lofty Bell Harry' tower, telling him of bed-time. How solemnly must have sounded to him the knell from that bell as, in 1575, in accordance with custom immemorial, it tolled out to the saddened city the news that an archbishop, a noble benefactor, had passed away. Little Kit could not then have foreboded that that sullen sound betokened in the death of Parker the loss of the best friend this world had given him.

All things considered, it may be deemed that

Marlowe's boyhood days were neither unhappy nor unprofitable. Sometimes death broke in upon the family circle, and from time to time bore away first a sister and then his little brothers; but these things often happen, and rarely cause more than a passing cloud in the morning of life. The child saddens for a time over the loss of a playfellow, but others gradually take its place, and the wound closes, scarcely leaving a scar.

If Kit lived in the two-story timbered building, still standing in the parish of St. George, which has been suggested as his birthplace, and which even in his days must have been very ancient, one can easily conjure up a picture of him as the leader of a troop of children pattering up and down the dimly lighted stairs and running in and out of the many tiny rooms of their quaint old home; sometimes mixing in the sports and gambols of the four sisters left to him, or of other relatives and companions, helping with his childish treble to make music in the darksome corridors. Or, as he grew in years, he may be fancied gazing out dreamily at the antique church opposite, where the only recorded incidents of his early life happened; where his parents were wedded, he and his brothers and sisters were christened, and some of them buried. Or, as he grew older and pondered more earnestly over the causes and consequences of things, he would have gazed from the rear of the old dwelling far away into the fairyland of Fancy, catching perchance