Babies were differently treated in those days. Now, be they children of a queen, or of the humblest commoner, they stay safe at home in their nice, warm nurseries, under their mother's eye. But the royal children of that date were sent off to be cared for "by trusty persons of quality." Little Princess Mary was given into the charge of Lady Knyvett. And on the first of June, when she was not two months old, she was taken down to Stanwell where Sir Thomas Knyvett lived.

He was allowed twenty pounds per week for the diet of the princess and of her suite, consisting of six rockers, and several inferior attendants; but the king took upon himself the payment of their wages, the expenses of her removals from house to house, of her apparel, coach and horses, etc.[56]

The Children of Westminster Abbey — Part 57

[Illustration: THE MONUMENTS OF PRINCESS SOPHIA AND PRINCESS MARY.]

The Children of Westminster Abbey — Part 57

Lady Knyvett took the greatest care of her little charge. But children were badly understood in those times. Badly nursed, and fed, and clothed, two thirds of the babies that were born in England died. It was only the very strong ones who could survive their bringing-up. Think only of that stuffy cradle of "carnation velvet," and the "mantles of unshorn velvet," and the bibs "wrought with gold and colored silks." Hot, uncomfortable, unhealthy things--one shudders to think of a little tender baby in such garments. Then think of the utter ignorance of most of the physicians of those days; and of the appalling disregard of ventilation, baths, and proper food. What wonder, then, that little Princess Mary did not live long. When she was scarcely more than two years old she caught a violent cold, which settled on her lungs with burning fever. The queen came constantly to see her little girl. But no tenderness or skill availed; and after a month's illness the little creature sank on the sixth of September, 1607. For fourteen hours

The Children of Westminster Abbey — Part 57

there was no sound of any word heard breaking from her lips; yet when it sensibly appeared that she would soon make a peaceable end of a troublesome life, she sighed out these words, "I go, I go!"[57]

And again when some stimulant was given her she looked up and said, "Away, I go." And yet once more she repeated faintly "I go;" and so went home.